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#romanogers fanfiction

eddiemsguitar · 9 months

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Reassembled: Coming soon

@atiny-angel @swifteforeverandalways @axelwolf8109 @epickiya722 @greek-freak101 @the-iridescent-phoenix

Based of the Avengers game, Natasha thought Steve was dead and raised their son with the help of Bucky, when Kamala Kahn gives her a chance to avenge her husband, Natasha discovers something....

#my writing #romanogers #romanogers fanfiction #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #natsteve #natasha x steve #my aesthetic

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finnicks · 1 year

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( fic ) crawl out my body into yours

crawl out my body into yours

mcu; natasha/steve | mature; 12.6k words

When Steve returns the Soul Stone to Vormir, he pays the highest price to bring Natasha back.

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Or: Steve and Natasha are soulbonded and Natasha discovers the real reason why Steve’s deal worked.

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darsynia · 1 year

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They Show Their Truth (one single time) | Oneshot

gif from @marvelheroes

Summary: Steve's managed to keep how he feels about Natasha a secret, but the vision he saw in South Africa shook him.

Caring about Natasha Romanoff this much means that when there's a chance to heal her wounds by revealing his secret, Steve throws himself on the grenade, because of course he does.

Length/Warnings: 5,443 | Porn with plot, unrequited love. Minors DNI

Tags (please forgive me if this isn't your thing, feel free to ignore if so 💚): @ronearoundblindly @munstysmind @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @starryeyes2000 @deepbatched @chibijusstuff @caplanreblogsfics

This was written as a request for my friend @salovie a while back!

They Show Their Truth (one single time)

“I don’t trust a guy without a dark side.”

The worst part is that Stark would probably appreciate what Steve is struggling with. He might even trust Steve more because of it, and isn’t that just exactly the worst conclusion to draw, tonight?

Steve’s on his back on the floor in the Barton family room. He’d feel more comfortable if he could rest on his side with his back against the couch, second best to the wall, but every square foot of wall in this room is filled with shelving. Toys, books, puzzles; the accoutrements of a life he’ll never live, all stacked up with the chaotic order of an unexpected visit. The couch is ready for Natasha, with a sheet covering the cold, worn leather. He’s left her the handcrafted afghan and the better of the two pillows Clint’s wife had offered, and kept the sports fleece for himself.

It makes sense that they’ve put the two of them in here; whatever is going on between Bruce and Nat means it would be irresponsible to force them to share. Stark’s by himself on an air mattress in the laundry room instead of in the guest room with Bruce, because out of all of them, he’s the one most likely to accidentally set Banner off-- and just like Clint said, it’s not that they don’t trust Bruce. They don’t trust Tony.

Steve likes Laura Barton. It seems to him that she understands the purgatory they’re all putting themselves through, most of them, anyway. He sure as hell hopes she hasn’t caught on to his, but she couldn’t have.

If she had, she wouldn’t have put him in a room with Natasha.

He gets up and turns off the overhead light, using the chain, then flips off the switch. The ceiling fan’s breeze is just on the edge of too much, but if Nat wants it on, it’ll be set up so the light won’t disturb her. He walks over to the door and cracks it, listening. Laura and Natasha are still talking quietly in the kitchen. Steve pushes the door mostly shut again, and turns off the light that’s across the room from the couch, leaving just the one lamp directly next to it.

He winces. The room is now bathed in an orange-yellow glow that reminds him of the quality of light in the vision he’d seen in South Africa. The truth is that practically everything here reminds him of the vision.

The glint of the sun off of the axe had reminded him of the flashbulbs.

One of Barton’s kids had spilled juice, and its blood red color had been like the wine on the soldier’s chest.

A rare moment of collective laughter in the dining room with Nick Fury had pulled Steve out of the moment and thrust him, unwillingly, back into the vision.

He’d had to walk away, away from the mirth, away from her red hair as she faced away from him, so similar to the twice-damned vision where Peggy Carter had asked him to dance. As he’d turned to say yes, she’d spun away, dress flying off to reveal a tight-fitting black jumpsuit, the brown wig falling away to red, her familiar, beloved face morphing into Natasha Romanoff’s familiar, beloved face.

Because she is. Beloved. Despite everything. No amount of brutal training at the gym until his hands are numb and bruised, no amount of self-denial or self-recrimination has cured him of it. Hell, no monk has ever kept himself as pure for the sake of his God as Steve Rogers has, for fear of thinking of his teammate in a way that is definitely unholy.

The result has been the exact opposite of his intention; all roads lead to Natasha in his mind, because as ever, Steve Rogers aspires for that which cannot be. The only thing he’s learned from being chosen for the program, from rejecting orders and saving his best friend despite everything, from crashing the plane to save the world, from waking up after seventy years on ice, is that fate loves to give him what he wants.

And he wants her.

“Not this time,” Steve murmurs from his position on the floor, one knee up, arm behind his head.

“Well, if that’s the way it’s gonna be,” Natasha says in a sultry, teasing voice from the doorway.

Steve launches himself into a stand as if she’s the personification of an enemy, and in a way, she is.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Steve, but you’re a little edgy.”

“You and Clint are always telling me to rough it up a little, just trying to follow orders,” Steve jokes, backing up out of her way as she walks into the room.

“We were thinking more along the lines of getting you to watch some porn, grow some scruff,” she tells him. “So, you trying to be chivalrous, leaving me the couch and the best blanket?”

The tingling awareness he’s been fighting down for hours rears back to life at her provocative words, even more so when she immediately tempers them with a challenge about the couch. He knows her. Her behavior tells him that she thinks her words were reckless, that’s why she’s covering them. That means there was some truth to what she said, that they were revealing. If he were an enemy, it might be a trick to let him lower his guard, but she doesn’t know that he’s been fighting her in his mind for months. At least, he hopes to hell she doesn’t.

“Not at all,” Steve lies smoothly. “It’s pure math. I don’t fit.”

Nat turns her warm, impish gaze towards him and Steve feels a jolt of pure, unadulterated desire. Don’t, sweetheart. Don’t, he begs in his own head. She’s vulnerable, open, teasing, coy. Because she trusts him.

“Now, come on, soldier,” she says, sweetly mocking. “That’s boy scout math. Unimaginative math. I could probably fit the whole team on that couch if I had to. They might even enjoy it.”

He’s hardly ever seen her like this, but he knew she had it in reserve. “Well,” he says in his best regimental, Team Captain voice, hoping she won’t hear the regret he feels in pulling it out to dash water all over her lush, flirty flames. “That might be so, but that has nothing to do with sleeping.”

“Oh no, Steve,” she says, amused concern woven through the husk of her voice. “Turn it off, I absolutely cannot sleep with a Steve Rogers figurine in the room with me tonight!” Natasha comes over to him, her lips curved into a smile under furrowed eyebrows, and before he can fully understand what she’s doing, she’s got her hands on him, stroking along his back, and he’s hard, his heartbeat spiking, she’s going to know, fuck, fuck…

“Nat, what--” he chokes out, throwing his arms out wide in hopes that he can talk himself down before she walks back around.

“I’m looking for the pull cord,” she says, resting a hand on his arm so she can lean over and catch his eye. “For your sayings. You know, ‘It’s the American Way!’ and ‘Do it for your country!’”

Every single thing she says sounds like innuendo to him. To think that Tony fucking Stark thought he doesn’t have a dark side. He’s sworn more in silent frustration about this gorgeous, unattainable woman than Stark probably has in the whole year, on purpose, out loud.

“Lay back and think of Uncle Sam?” Steve suggests, forcing his limbs to move, walking toward the other side of the room as he pulls his arms out of the long-sleeved overshirt he’s wearing.

“I’ve actually done that, you know. Multiple times,” Nat tells him, chuckling.

“Are you going to sleep in that? Do you want me to leave the room while you change?” he forces himself to ask. She’s got her own dark, long-sleeved shirt on, over a soft, grey thing that clings to her curves in a wholesome, farmhouse way that doesn’t stop him from finding it sexy in the slightest.

“You wouldn’t have to even if I wasn’t,” she tells him in a voice that chastises him for even asking.

I don’t trust a man without a dark side, Tony’s voice repeats, in his mind.

He should have just confessed to Stark. ‘Some nights I’m so desperate for thoughts of Natasha that I’ve tied my hands to my own bedpost. Just enough resistance so I wake up if my hands drift down to touch myself. It’s her face in my erotic dreams, her body in my everpresent thoughts. Not Peggy’s. I’m not wholesome, Stark. I’m a sinner. A hypocrite.’

“The figurine comment was metaphorical, Steve,” Nat is saying. She’s inches away from him somehow, because once again he’s caught up in his thoughts. “You okay? Tony said you were unaffected, but--”

“He’s wrong. She got to me.”

“Yeah,” Natasha breathes, looking up at him. “Me too.” Her eyes are troubled, hurt, practically anguished.

Steve’s resolve weakens, and he smiles down at her with a fraction of his feelings showing through as reassurance. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Nat looks up at the ceiling and does a little frustrated shiver. “Talk, no. I either need to--” she breaks off and looks at Steve, her eyes shining with repressed tears. “There’s something really wrong about punching Captain America in the face because I need a release of tension.”

He thinks he knows what her aborted sentence was. I either need to hit someone or fuck someone.

Steve says what he was thinking out loud. “People see me as standing for the way things ought to be. Fairness. Doing your duty. Things working out the way they’re supposed to.” He lets out a short, frustrated sigh. “Life doesn’t always happen that way, and reacting with frustration against that fact is very reasonable. If you need to, go ahead. Punch me.”

“She really did get to you,” Nat whispers.

“I mean it. You know I can take it, Natasha. Physically, I mean. I won’t take it personally.” He wants her to. If he can’t have her softness, he’ll take hardness over nothingness.

The regretful vulnerability is back on her face. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew why I need it.”

“They’re trying to tear us apart, Natasha. The best way not to tear is to reinforce the connections you already have.”

“It’s not about what I saw. At all. It’s about wanting someone and being rejected, not even because I’m not enough, but because he’s too broken.” She reels back in reaction to even saying the words, and impulsively, Steve reaches down and takes her wrists, shakes them until she responds by resisting his actions.

“You didn’t want to set him off in Clint’s house. You won’t set me off,” Steve lies. She already has, in exactly the wrong way. “Shove me, hit me, punish me. Get it out.” He pulls her hands, despite her resistance, until they’re flat on his chest. “He said he was too broken?”

Natasha’s lovely face crumples for a split second before her jaw tightens in anger. She shoves him; Steve was ready for it, doesn’t stop himself, lets the momentum carry him back a little.

“As if being broken is some kind of contagious!” she bites out, her voice angry but restrained. There are children sleeping in the house somewhere, after all. “As if I’m not a shattered teapot--” another shove. “--held together by the kind of toxic glue that builds up--” she punches his shoulder in a jab that does more than sting. “--in your system until I’ve killed you just by doing my job!”

For the word ‘job,’ Natasha drops back and her foot flies out, catching him in the chest. If they had been anywhere else, Steve would have let the full force of it knock him across the room, as intended, but he can’t risk the sound bringing someone who might see the heat he’s trying to repress. Instead, he takes the hit, his foot braced on the door, which shakes but doesn’t make much noise. Steve ends up on one knee, looking at Natasha, who is breathing heavily out of fury rather than exertion.

“Isn’t that just the perfect kind of symbolism,” she sighs, sounding defeated.

Steve raises his eyebrows, biting his cheek inside his mouth against the way his pants are pulled tight and uncomfortable against his arousal. That should be enough to kill it, but she’s walking toward him and all he can focus on are her hips, the way they sway. He wants to see what they look like with his hand gripping them, his thumb pressing against the thin, delicate skin that curves toward her inner thighs.

“You have my shoeprint on your chest, Rogers,” Nat says.

“What, it’s visible now?” he quips. The hold she’s got over him has been too close to the surface for too long.

“Now don’t go trying to make me feel better,” she says in that rich, amused voice of hers, tossing him a look before starting back toward the couch. It reminds him of the first time he ever wanted her; she’d said something in that tone and he’d found himself suddenly desperate to trace the origins of the sound with his lips and tongue against her neck.

“Any man who doesn’t want you is definitely broken,” Steve tells her, standing.

If she doesn’t recognize his confession, is that his fault?

“Even if that’s true, and I know it’s not, I’m just as easy to brush off,” she says, nodding at the way he’s wiping away the dust of her shoe so it doesn’t soil Laura Barton’s bedclothes. His hands still, not just because of what she’s said, but because Natasha’s rolling up the sheet and tossing it to the side, adding the pillow seconds later.

“What are you--” he starts, cutting himself off when she tugs the couch cushion off of the frame of the couch and sets it beside his makeshift bedroll. “Nat?”

He can’t sleep beside her. He can’t not sleep beside her, not after Bruce seems to have done his best to fracture her confidence into little pieces just so he could sweep her away more easily.

“You asked what you can do? You can do this.” Her words are short, choppy, defensive. “I can’t sleep next to Clint and take my confidence from him, not when he’s doing that for Laura right now. Unless you--”

“Here, my arms are longer,” Steve says, picking up the sheet and unfurling it over the cushions for her before she finishes that final, uncertain sentence.

“Thanks, Captain,” she tells him, her lips twitching up into a tiny, precious smile.

“At your service, Ma’am.”

He doesn’t let himself watch her wriggle into a comfortable sleeping position, choosing instead to walk over and turn out the light. He seeks out his own sparse sheet and too-short blanket in the fresh darkness, turning his back so his arms can’t seek her out in his sleep. Steve does scoot back far enough that he’s up against her cushions, the only concession he’ll allow himself to her nearness. He reminds himself sternly that it is just to give her the warmth and closeness she said she needed, nothing more.

Steve wakes to the feeling of a small hand worming its way under the tight shirt he’s wearing. He can feel Natasha’s body pressed up against his back, all softness and curves and forbidden sweetness.

Is she awake??

This is the stuff of his nightmares, dreams he’s forcibly categorized as such because of the moral implications. Her arm has snuck under his, so he lifts his arm, hoping the change of pressure will be enough to wake her up. Instead, this earns him a closer snuggle, one where he can identify her breasts along his back, the dip of her pelvis molding against his ass.

“Nat?” he whispers.

“Cold,” she says, her lips and nose nuzzling the word against his shoulder. Steve doesn’t know what to think. Her hand on his stomach is warm. In his sleep-fuzzed laxity, he decides to react the way he assumes he would if he didn’t have an attachment to her, which is to roll over and encourage her to curl up against him to warm herself up.

Steve rolls onto his back, the movement brushing his body against her in thrilling ways.

“Mmm,” she murmurs, chasing his heat as he carefully scoots over so that she can slot into the warmth of the place he’d been lying. Steve only succeeds in moving about three inches before Natasha throws her right leg out and twines it around his left leg as she slips down from the thick cushions toward him. Before he fully understands what’s happening, she’s mostly on top of him, her head pillowed on his shoulder, her hot hand tucking ever so slightly into his waistband.

“Natasha, this can’t be what you do with Clint,” Steve hisses at her, desperate for her to stop moving before he shames himself with the speed of how fast he hardens for her. So far he’s controlling himself through sheer embarrassment on her behalf, but that won’t last much longer if she keeps squirming.

“Mmm, you’re right. He would have shoved me off by now, and we would have sparred about it or I’d have headed off to have a hot shower and a thorough conversation with my own hands,” she says, her voice wavering between an actual whisper and a tone husky with vocal fry.

Steve is nearly speechless. “Shower it is, then?” he suggests.

“Fresh out of hot water.” Natasha tells him, using a firm grip on his waistband to haul herself across his body to straddle him. Steve lifts both of his hands up over his head in self defense, but he’s essentially lost the battle. She’d removed her pants at some point in the night, and she’s sleep-mussed and gorgeous. Their enemies’ mental handiwork has done its job, led him right to what he’s always wanted, and it’ll be the end of them. She has to feel his reaction to her.

He closes his eyes and turns his head away. “I’m not going to fight you,” he says.

“That much is obvious,” she observes.

“What do you want me to say?” he asks between gritted teeth. “Put any man in this position and he’ll react the same.”

“Anything but that,” Natasha says in a small voice. Steve looks at her and sees pain in the angle of her head, the tightness around her eyes, the straightness of her back. She’s not putting all of her weight on him, he can tell, and just imagining the coiled strength that she’s exerting to rest so lightly and devastatingly against his thighs is undoing him.

She’s holding steady, but it feels like she’s pressing down thanks to his reaction to her. His body is gorging itself on a futile hope, and there’s no way that Natasha Romanoff doesn’t know this.

“I’m not Bruce,” he says, simply.

Her smile is a slice of pain. “Obviously,” she says, lowering herself fully and rocking her hips, pinning him with a challenging gaze.

Steve’s instinct is to stop her, but when he tries, his hands clutch naked skin and soft lace. The smile she offers him in response freezes him in place.

He shakes his head, delighted, miserable. “What are you looking for? Validation?”

“Goddamnit, Rogers, stop trying to fix everything,” she says, grinding against him again, making him gasp. “If the team’s fucked, the team’s fucked, so why not fuck the team, right? That’s what I’m trained for.”

The agony in her voice is all the worse because she doesn’t sound vulnerable anymore, and her eyes have lost the sheen of regret. She’s bitter, determined, and so broken in the process that Steve aches for her in a whole new, terrifying way. He reaches up to touch her face and she slaps at him before grabbing him, tearing open her shirt and clutching his hand to her breasts, fighting to keep him from fisting it.

Steve sits up, alarmed at her violence, and she tightens her thighs against him, rocking rhythmically.

“This is just sparring with different weapons, Nat, don’t do this,” he says.

“It’s all I have,” she snaps. “It’s my role. Tony would do it, you know he would.”

The jibe hits him in just the right way to be really painful, and Steve wrenches his hand away from her breast, trying to mitigate the way she’s ramping his desire up so skillfully with the drag of her body.

“Tony couldn’t, not in the way you want,” he says, his heart pounding, realizing that her plea for him not to fix it will have to be the one that will go unanswered. He knows exactly what she needs. Exactly. It’ll rip him apart to do this, in all of the best, soul-destroying ways, but it’s what she needs. Steve Rogers, throwing himself on the wire for his team.

“You and your stupid fucking rivalry--”

Steve interrupts her by arching his back, thrusting up against her, holding her gaze. “That’s not it.”

Natasha’s still hard-edged, scoffing. “I should have realized that would set you off. It must drive you crazy that his giant tower puts him ahead in your dick-measuring contest.”

“You think Tony wants you the way I want you? He doesn’t,” he says, blunt and honest. Her hips stutter in surprise, and Steve lets himself slide one hand up to the front clasp of her bra, flicking it open. “He’s known you longer, sure.” Natasha’s green eyes are wide, stunned. He takes advantage of her momentary stillness to hold her steady as he sits all the way up, sliding his other hand up to cup her face. “But would he throw away everything he has at the very thought of kissing you again, on purpose this time? No.”

“Steve?” she breathes, hesitant, haunted.

“Say the word and I’ll sleep on the porch and never mention this,” he tells her, hoping to hell she doesn’t.

“What even is ‘this?’” Natasha asks, tracing his face with doubtful eyes. “You trying to make up for Banner? I’m not a grenade, Rogers.” Her words are vulnerable but her voice isn’t. She’s using it as a weapon, pushing her sex appeal into the tone, sultry and challenging.

He watches himself push one of her wild curls back behind her ear, indulging a long-held desire that has nothing to do with the other ways he wants to touch her. “Seems like you’re trying to blow up like one. You just picked the exact wrong person to prove your point.” Steve makes eye contact with her. “Since when do I lie to you? About anything?”

“You want me,” she states dubiously, tossing her head, shaking it as she questions him, as if even saying it at all is too much to be believed.

“Very much.”

“I find it hard to believe this is anything more than a seventy-year--”

Steve buries his hand in the curls at the back of her head and kisses her, pouring all of his longing into the sweep of his lips, coaxing her to respond. For all the time he’s wanted this, he’d always thought if he got the chance again, it would be like the first time. Unexpected, unplanned, uncomplicated, unrepeatable. Not like this. Not with ardor, affection, adoration.

Natasha shifts toward him after a few seconds, letting out a small noise and tilting her head to deepen the kiss. Her movement sparks the napalm in his blood, little explosions of pleasure that follow her hand as she grabs his shirt, dragging it up his back to bare it for her fingernails. Steve can’t help it, he thrusts up into the sweet heat of her thighs in his lap, even as she gasps her mouth open for him to taste her. Natasha pulls back and rips off her shirt.

“Touch me, please, Steve, touch me,” she begs, grabbing his hand from where he’s been gripping her hip like a lifeline.

“I--” he starts, completely forgetting what he was going to say as he watches her throw her head back as soon as he palms her breast, shifting his grip so he can trace his thumb across her nipple. “Ahhhh, fuck,” she groans. Steve dips his head to suck an open-mouthed kiss against her neck at the same time he uses both hands to circle his thumbs across her nipples again. The sound she makes in response is as resonant and aching as he’d always hoped it would be, from the outside.

“Do you believe me now?” he says, each word a kiss.

“I might need more proof. You could be very dedicated to my well-being,” she laughs. It’s throaty and sexual, and he surprises her and even himself by the way he abandons what he was doing to hold her down as he grinds his hardness against her yet again, blatant and demanding. “Yeah?” she encourages.

“Yeah,” he pants, screwing his eyes shut to settle the overpowering urge he has to wreck everything about himself and the team, rip off their clothing and rut with her. He wants to keep this, and to hell with Banner and his reticence.

“So, you’re saying…” she dangles, reaching down and unbuttoning his pants, taking down the zipper, and lifting herself up long enough for him to yank everything down in a frantic rush. Steve can barely believe what’s happening until it happens-- she takes him in her hand at the same time she curls her other hand around his neck to haul him down for a filthy kiss. Every single nerve ending in his body is a conductor for her electricity, and the two of them together prompt a chemical reaction that send his pleasure centers into overdrive.

With a herculean effort, Steve pulls back from the kiss, cupping her face with one hand, the other fisted in the fleece beneath them, channeling all of his excess energy and desperation. He’s not in control, and he knows he could hurt her by accident.

“Was supposed to be about you,” he manages to say between a gasp and a groan at the way she’s working him with expert movements.

“Are you kidding? You should see your face,” Nat says in that rich, sensuous voice of hers. “Very complimentary. But how did you keep this from me?”

Steve drops his head, overcome, when she leans over and tongues his nipple in a completely unexpected, devastating move. “S’wrong,” he slurs. “Ahhhhh, stop, stop, Natasha, you-- stop.” She stills her hand slowly, easing him into the loss of it, and it’s so thoughtful, so thorough, so Natasha, that the action cuts the last threads that held his heart back from its inevitable fall.

“Bet you never thought you’d try to stop me,” she whispers in his ear, hooking her chin over his shoulder for a second, her various movements inexplicable until suddenly they’re not, she’s naked and sinking onto him, and Steve’s gone, he’s gone, his back arching, hips chasing her heat and tightness.

“Shhh, shhh,” Nat reassures. Her hands smooth over his back, his arms, his face, and finally he can open his eyes and see her, sweat-touched and exquisite.

“Natasha,” Steve whispers, shaking his head. He has never felt so clumsy and imprecise in his life. “I wanted to make you see,” he tries to explain. She’s given him everything he’s wanted, freely, somehow, but his goal had been to tear apart her insecurities, not force her to support him in exposing his own.

“You did. You are,” she says, but he shakes his head, noses a caress onto her shoulder.

“We’re all a mess in so many ways, the team,” Steve tells her, groaning as she tightens around him, seeking out her lips to taste the groan when he strokes his fingertips over her nipple. “Most of our strengths are outside-in. Yours is inside-out. You’re made of steel, coated in silk.”

“You always fuck so poetic?” she teases, but her eyes are luminous.

“Gotta get it all out now,” Steve whispers, seeing his peak on the horizon and craving as well as dreading it.

“Steve,” she warns, and he shakes his head.

“You know I’m right.”

Natasha leans over, kisses his neck just under his ear, and whispers, “That why you haven’t really touched me?” she challenges.

“I’m inside you, that’s not enough?” he groans, knowing it’s not, feeling caught out, hating and loving the way she absolutely knows him. His avoidance had been subconscious, but she’s a master of that domain.

Oh my, is she.

Natasha sets a hand on his shoulder and caresses him all the way down to his hand, pulling him, unresisting, to just above where they’re joined.

“Touch me, Steve. Make it so every time I see your hands I remember this. If I can’t keep you, if this is it, if this is all I get, give me that to remember this by,” she whispers.

“Fuck, Natasha, you can’t just--” he groans, so close to coming his vision is whiting out, but she stills her hips.

“You kept this from me,” she says.

She’s right.

As penance goes, it’s appropriate.

Steve turns his hand, lightly probing and swirling his fingers exactly where she wants him to. Her reaction rattles him to the core; Natasha had always struck him as an inherently sensual person, even if she only let small glimpses of that show at any given time, and rightly so. But even a light graze of his fingers against that sensitive part of her takes her apart. It’s wrecking to watch, and he craves the chance to see it over and over, again and again, in any and every possible way, even as his orgasm approaches exactly like the tiny death the poets call it.

“God, Steve, yes. Yes, fuck, please, please,” she babbles, her mouth pressed against his shoulder to muffle the noises just enough for propriety, or so he hopes. “Please, sweet-- ahhhhh!”

Because fate loves to give Steve just what he wants, they come apart at the same time, the cloying, clenching, glorious pleasure bearing down on him just as the woman he cares so much about shakes and shudders and begs in his arms.

They hold still for long enough that each of them has to know it’s just to prolong the inevitable.

“Count of three?” Natasha finally whispers.

“No need,” Steve says, and they slowly pull apart, avoiding eye contact. He’s trying to decide which shirt to soil when she brings him a package of non alcoholic baby wipes.

“Thanks,” he says.

“No, thank you,” Natasha says. It’s sincere, he realizes. No sarcasm, no innuendo, no amusement, just a sincere, heartfelt gratitude that feels simultaneously like a slap and a caress.

“You’re important to me,” he mutters, pulling his clothes back on.

“Right back at you, Cap,” Natasha tells him. It’s the transition, he can sense it. He settles back onto the sheet, facing her this time, a tiny concession to plausible deniability. She’s perceptive enough to catch it, of course, but they’ve got a shared secret, now, and that’s just the way things are. There’s just one more thing to do, one final rip through a single word written on a mostly torn piece of paper.

“Don’t give up on Banner,” Steve tells her, his tone as kind and matter-of-fact as he can make it, right now. “Today was probably the worst day of his life. People don’t make rational decisions on days like that.” The smile feels bitter and truthful on his lips.

Natasha’s lying on her side, lifted those few inches above him by the height of the cushions she’s resting on top of. Her expression had been sober, maybe even sad, but on hearing those words, a tiny fraction of lightness crosses her face. One corner of her lip turns up.

“Really?”

Steve’s paper metaphorically flutters to the floor, the bold block letters of the word landing imprecisely, but readable. UNRE QUITED, it reads. The meaning of the first four letters of the second half are not lost on him.

“Really.”

#steve rogers x natasha romanoff #steve rogers smut #natasha romanoff smut #romanogers #romanogers smut #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #angst #romance #smut #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #stevenat

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imdonnalynn · 7 months

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RANDOM PLOT IDEA

Plot: What if it was Steve and Natasha that went to Vormir to retrieve the Soul Stone? How would that have turned out? Would Steve had taken her place? Or would Natasha have been able to outwit him?

A/N: I'm not the biggest fan of Endgame due to a lot of the character developments and ending arcs to a lot of characters. Especially for Steve, it was the worst possible ending for his character ever, it ruined it for me pretty much.

Fandom: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU), Avengers: Endgame

Pairing: Natasha "Black Widow" Romanoff, Steve "Captain America" Rogers

Warnings: None

I reserve the right to attempt a plot idea of my own and anyone else is welcome to try as well. Long as they give credit where they at least got part of the idea.

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lokiswifeduh · 1 year

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beautiful flesh

pairings: tattoo!artist!buckybarnes x fem!plus!size!reader

summary: You're going in with Natasha to get a tattoo, but you're nervous since the place you want it in has a little extra skin. Thankfully, Bucky is there to assure you you're beautiful.

warnings: needles, blood, tattoos, negative self-talk, I think that's it!

Natasha walked in first, the bell on the door jingling as she stepped through. You walked in behind her, timidly looking around as you kept at least a two-foot distance between the two of you.

"Romanoff!" A blonde man grinned as he stepped up to the counter, wiping off a bottle with black liquid in it. He was covered in tattoos, his arms filled with roses and skulls and his neck was covered in intricate designs as well. You eyed the ink drawings, admiring them from behind your friend.

"Y/n!" You snapped out of your daydream as Natasha caught your attention. "Hmm?" She let out a small chuckle, "I was just telling Steve here about the tattoo you wanted to get."

You nodded, "Yeah, I want flowers." "You gotta be a little more specific, doll." All your heads snapped in the direction of the man walking from behind the glass partition. His eyes were steel blue, contrasting with the chestnut brown of his hair. His muscled flexed back and forth as he cleaned off a piece of equipment, the tattoo's on his arms moving over the muscles underneath.

You soon realized everyone was staring at you, awaiting a response. "Uh, a vine of flowers, with the branch going up on my breast." You slightly lifted your arm, motioning with your other to the underneath of your right breast. Bucky's eyebrow raised slightly, "I hope you gotta picture, doll. Come on back." I looked to Natasha who had already sat down at Steve's station, the blonde artist already working on sanitizing and cleaning her arm where her next design was going.

You followed the brunette man to the back of the store, walking through and into a room where there was a chair with a table of supplies. "You can lay down on your back." You moved, following his words as you let your back rest against the chair, your legs bent down but not enough to touch the ground.

Bucky cleaned off his machine, making sure everything was prepped and ready. You didn't wanna tell him this was your first tattoo but somehow you could tell he knew. Plus the absence of art on your bare arms and back made a statement that you hadn't done this before.

Bucky sat down on the rolling stool beside the chair, "Lift up your shirt for me, doll." You cringed, Bucky catching your grimace. Just as you were about to lift your tank top he caught your hand, "If you're uncomfortable you don't have to do this." You shook your head, "It's not, I just..." You took a deep breath, "I'm a little bigger than most girls and I'm not really sure this tattoo will..work with my size."

Bucky's brows furrowed in confusion before softening his gaze, "Doll, I've been doing this for a while. And I can tell you, no matter the size you are or the shape you are beautiful, and this tattoo, or any you get in the future will look amazing on your exquisite body." You let out the breath you were holding, squeezing your eyes shut only to open them as you made eye contact with the brunette sitting above you.

"You mean that?" Bucky nodded, a smirk gracing his lips, "You have nothing to be worried about, doll. You have an amazing body, believe me." You nodded your head, pulling up your shirt and holding it so he could sanitize your skin.

He wiped off the area you described, "I might need you to lift a little more of your bra if that's okay." You let out a low laugh, "Can I at least know your name before I flash you?" He huffed out a surprised chuckle, "My names' James. and you are?"

"Y/n" You lifted your bra a little more as he swiped the disinfectant over the under of your boob.

"Well, nice to meet you Y/n." You smiled, feeling his hands over your body like electricity.

"You too, James."

A/N: I honestly loved this idea! Plus it was fun getting to photoshop Natasha and Bucky with tattoos! I want to start doing more Bucky x plus-size!reader, since I am plus-size myself and it is hard to find fics with plus-size readers.

#bucky barnes x fem!reader #tattoo!artist!bucky #fanfic #marvel #buckybarnes #avengers #bucky imagine #fanfiction #fluff #fem!reader #natasha romanoff #romanogers #steve rogers #tattoo!artist!steverogers #marvel imagine #winter soldier

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mylevisdontfitanymore · 8 months

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"Consequences Be Dammned" by Anonymous

New! Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanoff stuffing and weight gain fic with chubby Nat

1/3 chapters posted

#fanfiction recommendation #fic rec #text #stuffing #weight gain #belly kink #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #steve rogers × natasha romanoff #romanogers #chubby natasha

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leennaan · 10 months

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Masterlist

Request open

WoSo: I mainly write for those listed below but if you have a request for another player feel free to ask

Arsenal WFC

Alessia Russo

Sleepless Nights

Take on the world pt1 pt2 pt3

Leah Williamson

Coming home

Lionesses

DFB Women (German National Team)

Lena Oberdorf

Coming soon

Lea Schüller

Love in the air (coming soon)

The best day of our life

Giulia Gwinn

When two sports collide

Klara Bühl

I hate that I love you

Family Talks

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thebleedingpearl · 4 months

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My fanfic IS dying and yet I persist

My first ever fanfic (“One Small Change” same author name as my @. #Romanogers fix it in the MCU. Just a really nice piece of work i say so myself) is totally going downhill and even though i don’t love that im not gonna let it die

But

I got like 4 new ideas in the span of like a week and I started writing those (they’re #bishova if you care) and my god i love writing those two in love

I cant wait to finish turning the vibes into coherent plots so i can post them

#mcu fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #romanogers #bishova #i am a slave of adulthood #but i take every chance i get to write my silly little fanfics

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ninazadzia · 5 months

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"As she faced me, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I had to say it. I had to say what I’d been thinking for the better part of ten years, since the moment I’d met her.”

In another universe, in a dive bar in Lithuania, Bucky is there for Yelena after the Snap.

Bucklena AU. Set in the same universe as this side of paradise, on Earth-2000 (aka the OG Bucky/Yelena universe). E for smut.

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yourenotdonefighting · 8 months

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I’m really terrible at taking writing breaks when I say I’m going to.

See Exhibit A:

In which Steve convinces Natasha to take her aggression out on him instead of the poor, defenseless punching bag.

She tightened her thighs around his neck just as he gripped her waist and tried to toss her off. The forward motion let Natasha pull him down with her. The three men on the floor let out a collective gasp as Steve hit the mat with a thud, and his eyes widened in surprise. In one fluid motion, she rolled over onto him, straddling his waist and pinning his arms to his sides, her forearm pressed against his throat.

“Had enough?” she asked, leaning down to whisper in his ear. His breath blew hot against her cheek, and she pressed her arm a little harder into his throat. Not enough to hurt him, but enough to let him know that she absolutely could.

Instead of tapping, Steve smiled. “Not a chance.”

Before she could react, he’d maneuvered an arm free, hooked it under hers and flipped her onto her back. He knelt over her and pinned her hands over her head in one of his. His free hand pressed into the mat next to her head, as he leaned in close.

“I can play that game, too,” he said in a low voice, and he wondered if she could see the same heat in his eyes that he saw in hers.

Natasha’s lips parted slightly, and for a second neither of them moved. Her eyes flickered to his mouth, long enough for Steve to notice, and he lowered his face toward her just a fraction of an inch. She knew if she didn’t move he would kiss her, audience or not.

“They’re watching,” she said quietly.

#romanogers #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #steve x natasha #capwidow #ao3 #ao3fic #marvel mcu #marvel fanfiction

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eddiemsguitar · 8 months

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When someone asks how I write my fanfiction.

#writing #angst #angst memes #fanfiction memes #writing memes #sterek #jethan #aralas #romanogers #karamel #guardiancorp #not my gif #thiam #everlark

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finnicks · 2 years

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( fic ) we held heaven in our hands for days

we held heaven in our hands for days

mcu | natasha/steve teen, 1k When Steve returns the Soul Stone to Vormir, Vormir decides to give him someone in return.

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darsynia · 1 year

Note

Nat and Steve romance pls!

I enjoyed this, thanks for the request! Requests are still open!

Summary: Steve Rogers' mom had loved stories about romance, especially between two people who saw each other as equals. Pre-serum, fulfilling his mother's wish had seemed a hopeless ideal, and post-serum, equally so. Until he met Natasha.

Length/Warnings: 820 words, no warnings

Equals

Steve’s mom had loved romance novels. Her favorites had always been the ones where a secretary falls for her boss, or a nurse for her patient, but he could remember her complaining: ‘Where are the stories where they’re equals, Stevie? I want to read about them being equals!’

He’d never forgotten, had held that hope in the back of his head like a talisman, but Steve had never expected his romantic life to bring her wish to fruition. He was weak, puny, overlooked. Women wanted someone who could provide for them, who could stand up for them-- and then suddenly, he’d overshot the mark. ‘This Hero Has No Equal!’ one article had crowed.

No equal.

Steve came out of the ice, but it took him awhile to thaw. Once he did, he handled the task of adjusting to modern life, of warming up fairly well, in every way but one. He was… distracted by Natasha Romanoff.

Yes, by her beauty at first, but once he got used to how luminous she always seemed to be, Steve never ‘got used to’ her competency. It always floored him, how Nat was strong in ways he’d never be able to master, lithe when it counted, clever always. Her quick wit and sharp strategic mind left him alternatively in stitches and in awe, and falling for her was so easy he was almost embarrassed it took him so long to realize that’s what he’d done.

He didn’t intend to tell her, of course. That would be an overstep, and if Steve couldn’t be her partner, at least he could be her protector, someone she could count on to see her as-- oh.

An equal.

A couple weeks after that realization, Steve found himself being shoved up against the wall during a sparring session with Natasha. She’d taken him off guard, which was fair. He was still coming to grips with… everything.

“Out with it,” she said, her smaller frame no less threatening or deadly as she held a static weapon bristling with energy at his throat.

“Lunch didn’t agree with me?”

Natasha pushed the weapon closer. If he so much as swallowed hard, it would sting him. “What else?”

He felt completely out of his depth. “Your, ah, uniform shirt is unzipped more than normal,” he admitted. It was the truth, and he’d caught himself staring more than once so far.

Natasha’s smile was feral. “True. And?”

He moved swiftly and without warning, darting sideways and catching her waist with one hand to spin her off-balance. As usual, Nat rolled with the movement and turned it to her advantage, shooting out a kick that stole away his breath for a few seconds. He was fast enough to trap her kicking leg in both hands, yanking her forward into his body.

She should have tried to escape.

She should have pressed her advantage.

Natasha did neither. Instead, she leaped at him, and instinct led Steve to catch her weight at her ass and her back, one leg falling behind to brace the two of them so he didn’t tip over.

“And?” she repeated, one leg on either side of him, a steady hand brushing back his sweaty hair from his forehead.

There was no way his feelings weren’t written all over his face, Steve realized as he looked at her unblinking, green-eyed expression. She’d tricked him into showing her, meaning that she’d figured him out.

The best he could do was hope she felt honored, instead of offended. He’d wanted to be different than other men, for her. He’d wanted to be her equal.

“How long have you known?” Steve asked, entranced, impressed, imprisoned.

“Kiss me and find out,” she suggested archly-- and oh. Oh.

Natasha Romanoff kissed like time was running out, like no one was watching, like she couldn’t get enough. Steve sank to his knees in self-defense, needing to touch her, to ground the two of them with his hands cradling her face, tangled in her hair. His heart hadn’t pounded like this when he’d jumped from an airplane, and when their lips parted enough to catch a breath, he told her exactly that.

“Mine either,” she said, taking his hand from her cheek and pressing it against her too-low zipper, so he could feel for himself.

“So, you’re saying--” he started to say, needing reassurance, but Natasha stopped him with a quick kiss, then drew back.

“I’ve wanted to jump from the airplane before,” she said, a shadow crossing her face for a split second before she refocused on his face, and smiled. “With you, I’m not worried about how we land.”

He pulled her close, unable not to, and as he kissed her hair, her forehead, and her tear-wet cheek on his way to her lips, Steve realized that she could either mean they’d never land, or that she wasn’t worried about the fall.

He was equally happy with either.

#steve rogers x natasha romanoff #romanogers #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #steve x natasha #steve rogers fanfiction #natasha romanoff fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #steve rogers romance #natasha romanoff romance #blurb week

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pennywaltzy · 1 year

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3. Use the words: kitchen, date, music -- Steve/Nat

So this is another part of my "Vignettes In A Life Together" series! I had a lot of fun making Steve a foodie, and I hope you all enjoy this.

100 - Steve whips up something special for his and Natasha's hundredth date.

READ @ AO3 | SERIES PAGE

Steve loved to cook. One of the things Natasha had noticed when they’d moved in together was how fluidly he cooked, almost dancing from pot to pan to counter to oven, his movements imbued with a sort of grace that reminded her of her ballet training. He knew the dimensions of the kitchen by heart, and knew exactly how many steps it was to each part of the kitchen it was that he needed. It was truly magical, the experience of watching him cook.

Tonight he was making a pasta with some fresh shrimp he’d gotten, and it was going to be topped with some sort of cream sauce made from scratch. There was going to be steamed asparagus as a side, freshly baked garlic bread (also from scratch, she was assured), and a perfectly paired white wine for them both, not that the alcohol had much affect on either of them. Following all that would be some better than sex brownies that Foster’s assistant was known for making. They were absolutely delicious in Natasha’s opinion, but then, it was one of the few things she would consider better than sex with Steve Rogers.

She sat at a bar stool at the counter, watching him dance around the kitchen in his own personal waltz, keeping up a steady stream of conversation with her as he cooked. When he was done and the food was all plated and ready to eat, he sat next to her at the counter and waited. This was part of the ritual: he never took a bit until she did first, to see her reaction to the food. So she speared some of the shrimp to the pasta, twirling it with her fork and making sure she got a decent amount of the decadent smelling sauce, and took a bite.

Oh my God, this might rival the brownies for being better than sex, she thought to herself. She moaned as she chewed, eliciting a grin from Steve. “Perfect?” he asked.

“Absolute perfection,” she replied when she was done swallowing.

“Good. I thought maybe there was too much garlic in the sauce.”

“There is no such thing as too much garlic, as long as you’ll agree to kiss me despite bad breath,” she said with a smile.

“I love kissing you, so that goes without saying,” he said, turning his attention to his food and taking his first bite. “Besides, my breath would stink too.”

“There is that,” she said, and then they settled to eat in peace for a bit. The silence was comfortable, but then it always was with Steve. He settled the dark thoughts in her head just by being there, and she was so thankful for it.

When it was time for dessert he went to the pan that Darcy had sent up to them and cut them each a brownie. Then he topped up their wine glasses and raised his up. “To the best hundredth date I could have asked for.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “We haven’t had a hundred dates, have we? Really?”

“We have,” he said with a nod.

“Then I think we should finish our dinner and celebrate such an impressive milestone with a romp in the bedroom,” she said.

Steve held her gaze with his bedroom eyes in full force. “Or we can skip dessert and go straight to the romp.”

“I like the way you think, Rogers,” she said as she set down her glass and stood, offering him her hand. “After you.”

#steve rogers #natasha romanoff #romanogers #stevenat #steve x natasha #fanfic #fanfiction #my stuff #mcu #marvel cinematic universe

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