#steve rogers x natasha romanoff

[talesofely]

Happier.

Pairings : Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Steve Rogers

Summary : Your ex-girlfriend, Natasha, seems happier with her new man than she was with you. Or is she? (summaries r my biggest weakness, if it isn't obvious yet)

Warnings : Angst, Fluff (?), a talesofely ending (i'm not sorry 😓), swearing, mentions of romanogers, uses Y/N twice, pls tell me if u see anything else

Word count : 1.1k

Note : not a big fan of romanogers, so this kinda hurts to write 😭

You were walking down a familiar street. You weren't sure if it was the 29th street or the street close to the park. It was a dark and cold night, ones you used to enjoy a lot. You used to love walking around at night, the serenity and calmness it brought was something you cherished a lot. Everything changed due to a certain situation a month ago tho.

Your feet stopped moving when your eyes spotted a newly opened restaurant. It wasn't supposed to be that big of a deal, until you saw a couple walk out. It was Steve Rogers, and Natasha. She was wrapped in Steve's arms as they walked out of the restaurant into the peaceful night road.

You bit your lower lip to calm yourself down. It's only been a month since you two broke up, how could she move on so fast?

You didn't know why you decided to follow them. All you knew was that you were a few feet behind them, watching as Steve said something that made Natasha laugh.

They were headed to a bar. You entered a few minutes after them, immediately spotting them at a small bar table. You subsequently sat on the table on the corner.

It was bittersweet to see them smiling so widely, like they were so inlove. Your eyes subconsciously landed on Natasha. She looks happy. Happier than she was with you.

You smiled sadly. Seeing her like this brought you joy and sadness at the same time. Joy, 'cause seeing her smile always made you happy. Sadness, 'cause you aren't the reason for her smile anymore.

You knew you were also at fault. She hurt you without knowing, and you hurt her for it. Your break up was messy. It was a decision made in the heat of the moment. She dared you to walk away, to leave her alone, and you did.

But you also knew you loved her more than yourself. You treated her like how Carl treated Ellie in the movie Up. Apparently, she doesn't love you as much as you loved her, as she was moving on faster than you could've ever done.

You didn't mind, tho. Especially when you saw how happy she looked with Steve. Who were you to prevent her from having that kind of happiness?

You bit your lower lip and ducked your head, not having the guts to watch the love of your life in another's arms.

You felt a soft tap on your arm after a few minutes. You looked up to see your friends from work, smiling sympathetically at you. They sat at the table you were in, wordlessly buying bottles of alcohol for all of you.

They gave you a bottle of Natasha's favorite beer. Instinctively, you passed it to Natasha that was supposed to be beside you. You froze and sighed deeply when you remembered.

You finished the beer bottle faster than usual. You had high alcohol tolerance, but you didn't drink too much before 'cause you wanted to stay sober for Natasha. You nursed the empty bottle as you stared at your only reason to live being someone else's.

"Stop sulking, Y/N. I know how much you love her, but you shouldn't act like it's the end of your life end just because she left." Scarlett, one of your friends, said with a small smile.

"Yeah, babes, you'll find someone else that'll make you feel the same way—if not more than you did with Natasha." Lizzie gave you a small hug, trying her best to comfort you.

"I appreciate it, guys, really... but I don't think I'll ever find someone who I won't compare to Natasha. She's it for me." You responded with a bittersweet smile, watching as Natasha laughed at another one of Steve's jokes. It made you wonder how funny they really were to make her laugh that much.

"Jeremy, you're friends with Clint, right?" The said man nodded, looking at you in confusion.

"Don't mention my name, but please ask him to tell Natasha, that if he breaks her heart... I'll always be here, waiting patiently for her. No matter what." You sighed deeply seeing the couple stand up, and got ready to leave. You drank the last of your drink before ordering another bottle.

_______________

"Hey, Nat, have you heard?" Clint asked as he entered the kitchen where Natasha was coincidentally in.

"Heard about what?"

"Y/N finally released a single. Tony's going to play it tonight."

Natasha's brows furrowed in confusion, searching her best friend's face for any signs of playfulness but found nothing.

"What's it called?"

"Happier."

Natasha bit her lower lip, as she nodded, trying to act like she didn't care about it. Based on the title, she figured it was about being happier without her.

_______________

The avengers settled down in the common room, all ready to hear your first single.

"Ready?" Tony played the recording despite Sam's small "Wait." as he ran to the kitchen to grab a snack.

When your voice came through the speaker as you sang the first line, Natasha felt her heart clench. Oh how she missed your voice, your lullabies when she nightmares hinder her from sleep, and your soft singing as you danced with her around the kitchen in the refrigerator light at 3am.

As the song continued, Natasha realized the lyrics were about her. About your previous relationship. About... missing her.

Not only that, but the information on the lyrics were almost the same as the night she went out with Steve. 29th and Park, a month, a bar, corner of the room, empty bottle... Shit. You saw her.

Her panicking eyes met Steve's equally surprised ones. She immediately took her phone out, despite the song not even ending yet. She cursed when she was brought straight to voice mail. This doesn't stop her from calling you multiple times again though.

Clint looked at Natasha in realization, only then remembering and realizing what Jeremy's cryptic message was about.

So you were the 'she' he was talking about.

The archer approached his best friend, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Nat." He called her attention, only to be answered by a hum and glossy eyes from her.

"Jeremy, one of Y/N's friend, talked to me yesterday. He told me to tell you that, 'She'll always be there, waiting patiently for you. No matter what.'" He said quietly, trying to not attract unwanted attention to the now silently crying spy, knowing how much she hates others seeing her vulnerable side.

If only you picked up her calls, if only you read her texts, if only she knew your address, if only she knew you were there that day... she would've approached you and told you that it wasn't real. It was a mission. A mere undercover mission.

If only you knew that her heart still is, and will always be, yours.

If only you knew that she will only truly be happy with you.

Note : i'm sorry...? part 2 or naaahh? i kinda like this ending:> btw, i used this to cure my writer's block so BAHHAHAHAHA enjoyyy! mwaAaAaAaA:3

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanov #natasha x you #natasha romanoff x gender neutral reader #natasha romanoff x female #natasha romanoff x steve rogers #steve rogers x natasha romanoff #romanogers #i'm not that big of a fan of romanogers soo.... #gay gay gay #natasha i love u #marry me #writer's block #ely !! ★ #by ely !! ★

[skyfallslayer]

A Stitch In Time - Masterlist

Main Masterlist

° Summary: A Time Heist mission goes wrong, and some of the Avengers end up in the 1950s. Desperately clinging to their lives, they wind up in a place subconsciously. And unfortunately for Steve, and especially to Bucky, they find themselves face to face with someone they wish not to see.

° Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Daughter!Reader; Steve Rogers x Teen!Reader.

° Rating: Teen (May Go Up)

° Warnings: At the beginning of each chapter.

° Word Count: 4,569

° Start Date: 7/20/23

° End Date: N/A

° A/N: I'm actually really excited for this one! I'm still editing out some of the kinks and I'll try to release the first chapter soon (and how many more will follow). I'll see you then!

-INDEX-

°Prologue: Memories Be Dammed Worried about how his mission my go, Bucky visits a 'touchy' place, and recalls the short life he had with you.

°Chapter 1: Salt In The Wound (Coming Soon) Dazed and confused, Steve drags an injured Bucky to a safe location, unaware subconsciously that this safe haven belonged to someone they once knew

°Chapter 2 (Coming Soon)

-Taglist Is Open-

@navs-bhat @liarasstuff @justmewoo @thed1v1n3

@luckyzipperscissorsbat @like-a-domino @kissesofdeadforme @superduckmilkshake @xxannyxx @delicatepersondinossaur @bisexuawolfsalt @thelaceygarden @kandis-mom

@redwolf1123 @claxre-bear @lillygwenstacy @whynobodylikeyellow @lovebugspots @searchn0tfound @feifei202

#bucky barnes x daughter!reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x teen!reader #steve rogers x child!reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x teen!reader #bucky barnes x child!reader #james bucky barnes #steve rogers #sam wilson x teen!reader #steve rogers x natasha romanoff #romanogers #natasha romanoff x teen!reader #tony stark x teen!reader #time travel #marvel au #bucky barnes au #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #my fanfic writing #my fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #skyfallwrites

[darsynia]

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

[imdonnalynn]

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.

#steve rogers #captain america #natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha alianovna romanova #natasha alianovna romanoff #natalia alianovna romanova #natalia alianovna romanoff #avengers #avengers endgame #soul stone #vormir #chris evans #scarlett johansson #steve x natasha #steve rogers x natasha romanoff #romanogers #steve x natasha fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #romanogers fanfiction #imdonnalynn #imdonnalynn random plot idea

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐍𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

a/n: Am I currently watching Winter Soldier? ... yes. It’s such a comfort movie though. Also, Steve is such a comforting character ... Chris Evans’s voice is like sinking into a hot bath on a winter’s night. Okay maybe that last sentence was kinda cringe, but oh mother effin well.

warnings: mentions of domestic violence, no details though - it’s only briefly mentioned

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ      

SFW🌿

・The sexual tension between the three of you was insane. 

・You couldn’t deny the chemistry, but Steve was barely ready for a relationship. So polyamory was something that was completely off the table... 

・That was until he met you, Nat’s secret lover, turned significant other.

・A jealousy grew in him, that he hadn’t realised he had. A jealousy that he hadn’t felt so strong

・It was deep and he felt a pull from his very core. Like he was meant to know you, and be ... with you. But not just you. With Nat. Because he felt so strongly about her. 

・Not just her physical beauty, but the pain that she’s gone through. He can see that. He can connect with it. 

・He sees you and Nat tied in some way, and he wants everyone to see him as tied to the two of you as well

・It was your idea. One night snuggled next to your love, her red hair tied loosely in a bun, you brought Steve up. 

・And she changed ... it wasn’t a big change, but you felt it in her demeanour. Like a sixth sense from you, you knew she felt a certain way about Steve

・So, when you said out loud that you wanted him to be apart of your relationship, as a third party. She blanched. Shocked. Not in a negative way. But in a ... ‘this can’t be real’ type of way

・ “Are you doing this for me...?” she whispered, her hold on you tightening

    “For you? Baby, I like him... there’s something about Steve...”

“There definitely is something about Steve...” she laughed, pulling you closer

・Within the next few weeks she brought it up

・And he dropped what he was holding. One of Tony’s thousands-of-dollars tablets. The super soldier, THE Captain America, fumbled and let the tablet drop

・ “Not how you were expecting the day to go huh?” 

・He turned into a bright red tomato. Cliche, but he did. 

・And he couldn’t look Nat in the eye until a week later, when he asid he’d be up for it. 

・ “I want to take it slow,” he was sitting in his dining room. With the two of you on the opposite side of the table

・You smirked up at him and Nat had an almost identical smile. Cat-like. 

・ “You call the shots, Captain.” 

・You both honoured Steve’s wishes to keep things slow. You knew something like this was going to be a bit tricky

・But it turned out much easier to manoeuvre 

・Steve likes being in charge of certain things around the house, and although you and Nat don’t adhere to gender stereotypes, Steve does want to mow the lawn and take the garbage out. 

・He also likes to make dinner and do the laundry. Nat’s version of a meal is usually a cup of noodles and two slices of toast with butter on it 

・You like having lots of plants around the house and the other two actually look after them as well. 

・It should be noted that Steve Rogers has in fact been caught dancing to Lizzo. 

・And he can actually shake his ass very well (although he can’t twerk) 

・There’s a lot of banter, and Nat can be very flirty with Steve. Her aim is to make him blush

・But there are also times when they connect on a deeper level because of the trauma they both have endured 

・You all live in a four-bedroom flat in New York, with two bathrooms and a lovely balcony. It’s very safe. 

・Nick Fury has been invited over many times but he never takes you up on your offer

・But Wanda comes over a LOT. And Steve is like an adoptive father to her, making you and Nat her adoptive mothers

・Nat invites Tony over and there’s a bit of tension between him and Steve. You ... like to watch to see what happens 

・Whenever there’s a party at Tony’s, you’re always invited. Actually, you’re one of his favourite people - although he would never admit it 

・One of Nat’s secrets is that she would love to go to women’s rights and justice protests, as well as Pride (she would TOTALLY dress up) but because of her line of work, she can’t be seen ... doing things like that (political things) 

・Although when a tragedy happened on your neighbourhood, Nat said “fuck it!” and she solved the murder, while also speaking out for domestic violence victims 

𝑯𝒆𝒓 𝑷𝒆𝒕 𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒀𝒐𝒖: (the majority of these are said sarcastically) Honey, Honey-buns, Sexy, Angel. And they’re usually accompanied by a smirk. 

𝑯𝒆𝒓 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑳𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆: Gift Giving and Words of Affirmation. She loves to give you momentos from her travels and the dates you three go on together. Her heart soars when she sees them around the shared apartment. 

𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝑷𝒆𝒕 𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒀𝒐𝒖: Sweetheart, Dear, Princess, Gorgeous. At first he was a bit embarrassed to call you these names, but because he’s gotten used to being in a relationship, he calls you these names without hesitation or shame

𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑳𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆: Physical touch and Quality Time. He likes when you tickle the hair at the nape of his neck, and grab his face and kiss his cheek.

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈:

Blood Of My Blood by Ramin Djawadi

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔:

  ✧ Looks Like He Could Kill You, Is Soft (Steve) x Looks Like She Could Kill You, Can Kill You (Nat) x Looks Soft, Can Kill You (You)

  ✧ Responsible And Level-Headed (Nat) x Responsible And Hot-Headed (You) x Responsible And Honourable (Steve)

  ✧ Moon (Nat) x Sun (Steve) x Eclipse (You)

  NSFW🔞minors dni!

・Steve calls you his ‘good girl’, particularly when you’re on your knees

・Nat likes when you take the lead, but she is a switch. Not really a dominatrix, because she sees sex as something so special 

・Steve is more of a giver than a receiver

・Nat’s very good at giving head but prefers to receive it 

・There are times when it’s just two of you having sex. 

・Steve loves having sex throughout the house, at times ... on the floor. He can be a deeply passionate man. Hot kisses, a lot of grinding and whining. He’s put off sex for so long, that when he has a taste - he can’t get enough

・Nat’s favourite place to have sex is the bathtub. With her sitting in between your legs, with the hot water surrounding both of you - she loves when you touch her gently, fondling her breasts and giving her soft caresses

・Steve likes to be called ‘sir’, ‘master’, ‘daddy’. And on special occasions, when his blood is running hot, he begs to be called ‘captain.’

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x natasha romanoff #steve rogers x reader x natasha romanoff #marvel #mcu #dating would include #poly relationship #marvel poly #polyamory #poly headcanons #polyamourous #marvel headcanons #mcu headcanons

[late-to-the-party-81]

For the very first time - Chapter 4

[or 5 times the Cap Quartet slept with each other and 1 time they slept all together]

AN: As promised, two for the price of one today to make up for the gap in posting. If you're seeing this, make sure you have checked out Chapter 3 first. This is also set during the events of CA:TWS @catws-anniversary.

Once again, many thanks to @kingofsorrow20 for beta-ing

Likes are loved, reblogs are golden.

Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Join my tag list here

Master list

Chapter Summary: Getting blown up at Camp Lehigh was unexpected and so was Steve’s reaction to it. Nat can’t say she’s mad about it, in fact she’s pleasantly surprised. 

Chapter Relationship: Nat x Steve

Chapter Word count: 1.6k

CW: Teasing, Danger kink, Friends to lovers, Rough Sex, Vaginal sex, Quickie, Captain Kink

Nat and Steve - May 2014

Getting blown up at Camp Lehigh was not what Nat had thought would happen today, but then again she wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting when she and Steve decided to go down this rabbit hole. A cache of data, to be sure? But a cache of data stored within the computerised mind of a Nazi/Hydra genius brought to the US as part of Operation Paperclip? That had definitely not been one of the things she had anticipated.

However, somehow, she was still alive, which was all thanks to Steve, his shield and his cute - but also annoying - saviour complex. 

She coughed as the dust settled around them, her body protected by Steve and his disc of Vibranium. He was laid on top of her, and despite her own strength, Steve was still a big man and Nat was starting to feel a little crushed.

“Umm, Steve. Can you get up?”

She could hear him breathing, so he was alive, but he didn’t respond. Maybe he was knocked out? It took a lot for that to happen, but it wasn’t impossible. She tried a tentative wriggle, to see if she could get out from under him, but two things brought her to a halt. The first was Steve’s voice, ragged and deep. 

“Nat, for the love of god, just stay still for a moment.”

The second was the sensation of something pressed against her buttocks. Something that was apparently the reason for Steve wanting her to stay still. 

Nat couldn’t help it. She started to giggle.

“Steve? Are you turned on by being pressed against me, or is it the danger that’s got you all fired up?”

She couldn’t see his face, but could imagine the blush that was making its way up his neck.

“I plead the fifth,” was his mumbled response, and the imp on Nat’s shoulder took control.

“Is that why you turned down all those dates I tried to set you up on? Not enough danger for you? Who knew America’s golden boy was so kinky?” She gave a tentative shimmy of her hips.

“Nat…” Steve ground out, one of his hands curling harder into her hip and Nat grinned to herself. 

It was the most ridiculous thing. They were in the ruins of a Hydra bunker, surrounded by rubble and dust and god knows what else, and here she was teasing her friend about the erection that was digging into her butt. She had started to wonder if Steve had no interest in women at all, although the kiss they’d shared on the escalator - and Steve’s reaction afterwards - had all but disabused her of that notion. 

Also, she wasn’t blind - she could see what a cute and good-looking guy he was - she just hadn’t thought he was interested in her like that, hence both her interlude, and then further conversation, with Sam those few days ago. But what if…

She wiggled again, in a way that couldn’t be considered either accidental or an attempt to get out from under him.

“Stop!” Steve barked, and a shiver went through Nat’s body at the authority in his voice. 

“Or what, Captain? You gonna take out your battle lust on me?” Yeah, she was being a teasing brat, but if that was what it took for Steve to lose his composure, then so be it.

“For fuck’s sake, Nat. Just stay still. It’ll go away in a minute and then we can never talk about this again.”

“But that’s boring, Steve. And what if I’m not adverse to you taking out your battle lust on me? What if the idea of you just fucking me and taking what you want excites me? You know I can take it.”

She heard his heavy gulp and the sharp indrawn breath. Felt the infinitesimal twitch of his hips.

“Stop joking with me. Y-you don’t know what you’re saying,” he all but stuttered.

“I’m not joking and I think I do. I’m a big girl, Captain. When was the last time you just let yourself go? When did you last just fuck? Have you ever?” She ground her hips back in a slow circle against his crotch and listened to him groan. “Think how good it would be? Just to sink inside and rut into me until I’m overflowing and crying out your name?”

“Fuck. Fuck! If I start, I won’t be able to stop, Nat. I won’t.”

“Then don’t. Let it out, Steve. Fuck me. Fuck me here in the rubble like the animals we are.”

With a sound akin to a roar, Steve pushed up from the ground and back onto his knees, pulling Nat up with him, his right arm looped around her narrow waist. She turned her head over her shoulder and Steve crashed his lips to hers.

She’d been in charge of that first kiss, but this one was definitely being run by Steve. Nat didn’t know why she’d thought he couldn’t kiss, because this - this - was mind blowing. This wasn’t Steve Rogers, this was the Captain, and he was doing what she’s said he could - taking what he needed. 

His tongue pushed into her mouth and his teeth nipped at her lower lip. His left hand palmed her breast through her top and his right had dropped down to work on the fastening of her pants. With the zipper dealt with, Steve pushed them roughly down to her knees, along with her underwear.  His large fingers wasted no time zero-ing in on her core, pushing between her folds and deftly finding her clit. Fuck, she hadn’t expected this either - hadn’t expected Steve to be so self-assured and well, good at this. However, he definitely knew what he was doing, as sparks of pleasure shot through her.

Nat moaned into the kiss, her own right hand covering Steve’s as he teased her and spread her slick over her sex. “Remember that you asked for this, Nat. I’m not gonna go easy on you,” Steve warned, his voice dark and menacing, and Nat shuddered again, filled with a dark want.

“Give it your best shot, Captain.”

Steve suddenly pressed two of his fingers inside her, and Nat groaned at the stretch, her head falling back against Steve’s shoulder and her legs spreading as far as they could with her pants still wrapped around her knees.

“You’re so tiny, Nat. Gotta get you ready for me,” Steve purred in her ear, his thrusting fingers creating lewd, wet sounds. “Think you can take a third one yet?”

“Yeah,” she breathed out. “I can take it.” Steve took her at her word, easing his index finger in alongside the others. “Oh, god!” Nat’s moan echoed around the collapsed building and she bucked her hips into Steve’s hand. She raised her left hand, threading it into Steve’s hair and harshly clutching a fistful. “Fuck me, Steve. Come on! Just do it!”

Steve dipped his head, lips trailing over her neck as he let go of her breast to free himself from his slacks. “Never let it be said that my mother didn’t raise a gentleman. Gonna give you everything you’ve asked for.” He pulled his fingers from Nat’s pussy with a wet squelch and before she could even take a breath, he’d replaced them with his cock, pushing inside her with one firm thrust.

Nat swore she saw the back of her own head with how hard her eyes rolled. Steve’s slick soaked hand went back to her clit, rubbing rough circles as his hips snapped, fucking into her as deep as he could manage in this position, his cock rubbing against the inside of her channel in just the right way.

Nat didn’t even try to hold back her cries. There was no-one around for miles, and even if there had been, she wouldn’t have even cared. In all of her teasing of Steve, she hadn’t realised how much she also needed this. 

This was fucking. There was nothing gentle or tender about it. It was raw and animalistic. A way to release the tension and make use of the adrenaline rushing through both their veins and she fucking loved it.

“You gonna come, Nat? Are you going to be a good girl for your Captain?”

Where the fuck had Steve’s dirty mouth come from, Nat thought. It was a good thing he wasn’t like this most of the time or she’d be walking around SHIELD with permanently wet panties. Although if she had known that Steve had this within him, she would’ve jumped his bones long ago. All that fantastic sex wasted. Fingers crossed Steve would be up for an encore some time soon.

“Yes,” she breathed out. “I’m gonna come, Captain. Oh, fuck. Gonna…”

Her whole body went taut, and then the coil snapped inside her, pleasure fanning out in waves reaching the ends of her hair and the tips of her toes simultaneously. She was aware of Steve reaching his own peak with a roar, his cum flooding her insides and leaking back out to run down her legs. She sagged into his hold, trusting in his ability to hold her upright until they were both ready to move again.

However, as wrung out as she was, she couldn’t help but tease him a bit more.

“So, what about Sam? Would you go on a date with him?”

She almost heard Steve roll his eyes.

“Will you quit it, Nat?”

Chapter 5

Tag list: @km-ffluv, @wheezy-stucky, @kmc1989, @kombatfather1796, @christywrites, @doasyoudesireandlive, @sonatabee-blog, @endlesstwanted

#catws10 #catws anniversary #Romanogers #steve x natasha #steve rogers x natasha romanoff

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

Wild (4/4)

Pairing: Lycanthrope!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Hinted SteveNat

Summary: Over the years, Y/N has found that in times of great need, a wolf appears to aid her. She relies on its presence until one day, her wolf is in need of her help instead.

A/N: This is the final part of the Wild miniseries. I hope you’ve enjoyed it and that this fluff is the perfect little cherry on top for you. There’s a little bit of Russian in this and the translations can be found at the end of the fic. Thank you for reading and supporting me! Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Previous Part | Miniseries Masterlist

“Good morning, Маленький,” Bucky murmurs, and you groan when he nudges his nose against your cheek, not wanting to let go of your dream. He chuckles, his breath soft and warm over your skin, and you scrunch up your face before reluctantly opening your eyes. 

Morning sunshine filters in through your bedroom curtains, but Bucky’s body and the long brown hair hanging down like a second curtain blocks most of it. He’s propped a few inches over you and smiling. Though you’re tired, it only takes a second for you to smile back at him.

“Good morning, my love,” you reply. Your own voice scratches with sleep but he doesn’t mind. Bucky never minds, not as long as it’s you.

“Do we have plans today?” He shifts positions, staying over you but giving you room to rearrange the blankets and get comfortable again now that you’re awake. Or rather, now that you’re half-awake. “I want to go for a run.”

Humming gently, you reach up and cup his cheek in your hand, rubbing his cheek with your thumb. “It’s been a while since we’ve run together, hasn’t it? Work keeps you busy.”

“And you,” Bucky replies. “And you’ve been spending a lot of time with Nat lately.”

You grin. “Is that jealousy I hear?”

It is, you can sense it through your shared bond, and you squeal when his irritation flares at your teasing. Bucky flips you, blankets and all. You settle on top of him with a grin, your legs straddling his waist with the comforter in between you. His hands slide up your thighs to your hips to help keep you steady.

“Run with me today?” he prods.

A knock cuts your answer short before it’s even started, and both you and Bucky look towards the door. You hadn’t been listening to anything outside your happy little bubble, but you know it’s Natasha. Even with Bucky now living in the cottage, you never have any visitors, especially not early in the morning.

“Y/N, Bucky, are you awake?” Natasha asks when nobody answers. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other and her spoon clinks against her mug. 

You shake your head to get rid of the extra thoughts clouding your brain. Having enhanced senses is normally a wonderful thing, but it still overwhelms you after waking up each day. Sometimes even the tiniest of sounds and smells are enough to overstimulate you. Bucky squeezes your hips in sympathy. He knows all about the adjustments you’ve had to make in your life since finding out you were lycan. Some of them are small, like the enhanced senses, but others are larger, like sharing an emotional bond with him. You may be connected on a deeper level than most couples, but you’re still a relatively new couple. There are times where you want nothing more than to bury yourself in a hole after profusely embarrassing yourself in front of him, and nothing he can do makes it better.

“We’re awake!” you call back, sliding off Bucky’s hips. He groans in protest, making you chuckle, and you head over to open the door. You shiver once you’re away from the warmth of the bed and you make a mental note to turn down the air conditioning in your room—you and Bucky run hotter than Natasha, so you keep a window unit to add some extra chill now that it’s summer. He must have gotten up in the middle of the night to turn down the temperature, making it extra cold in your room.

When you open the door, Natasha is, predictably, dressed for the day with a cup of coffee in hand. She smells like sweat and you know even without your enhanced senses that she’s already been for her morning run through the forest. You’ve shown her all the best trails and Bucky has joined in on carving out the paths for her during your own nightly runs, as infrequent as they’ve become lately.

“You might want to get dressed,” Nat says, not even bothering to greet you. Her expression is grave and your face falls. “There’s someone here to see you.”

“Me?” you ask. “Who?”

She shakes her head and her gaze shifts over your shoulder to look at Bucky, then back at you. “Both of you.”

You know Bucky can feel your anxiety before you’re even aware it’s there, but as you nod and shut the door again, you can sense his own. He’s normally the person who steadies you and the feeling is odd. Forcing away a comment about it, you turn to get clothes, not meeting his eyes.

“Y/N?” Bucky says. You pull open the top drawer of your dresser and pull out a shirt. “Y/N, can you look at me?”

Reluctantly, you turn slightly and lift your head to peer at him. He stands beside the bed, watching you.

“What?” you ask.

“We don’t know who it is. Maybe it’s something good,” Bucky suggests, and you shake your head.

“No one comes to see us here, James.” He stands a little straighter when you use his real name. “Not unless they want something or it’s bad news. The last time someone came here to see me, it was to ask me more questions about HYDRA.”

“Do you think they might be back?” Bucky closes the distance between you to pull clothes from the dresser as well, though he gives you space to change out of your pajamas.

You shake your head again, then lean down to pull the rest of your outfit from the other drawers. “I don’t know. Maybe. I can’t think of anything I haven’t told them, with the exception of you, and I’d never tell them about what they did to you, not in a million years.”

The two of you fall silent as you dress. Once you’re ready, you head out to the living room together, where Nat is standing near the front door with her mug. She’s watching the porch through the windows. Whoever came to call on you is standing off to the side, just out of view from where you’re standing. Her lips are pressed together in irritation and worry, and you try not to let it rile you up.

“Did they say who they are?” Bucky asks. He reaches down to take your hand and you let him lace your fingers together.

Natasha glances over and shakes her head. “No. He didn’t want to talk to me. He said he’d wait outside until the two of you were ready to talk.”

You frown. “It’s 90 degrees outside. They really didn’t want to come in?”

She shrugs. “I tried. I wasn’t going to force a stranger to come into our home if they didn’t want to, not unless it was an emergency.”

Outside on the porch, the stranger moves, standing from the swing and blocking some of the light coming in through the windows. Their shadow shifts across the living room floor and in that moment, Bucky tenses. He lets go of your hand, shoulders past Nat, and barges out the front door. He pauses for a moment just outside the doorway.

“Steve?” he asks, and your heart lurches. Only seconds later, your mate is released from his shock and he charges forward to hug the other man.

You murmur your own surprise and carefully move past Natasha as well, tentatively stepping out on the porch. The birds are already chirping and swooping down to eat from the bird feeder you’d hung on the tree in the front yard a few weeks ago. With the summer sun shining high in the sky and the grass lush and green, it’s an idyllic scene for Bucky and Steve’s reunion. You’ve heard a lot about their friendship. Bucky has told you story after story of their escapades as kids, and even some after they’d grown up. You can’t count the number of nights you’ve fallen asleep to those stories.

“How are you here?” Bucky finally asks as he pulls away. “I thought…” He keeps Steve within arm’s reach as you watch from a distance, giving them space until he’s ready to introduce you.

“I was looking for other lycans. I heard about a community of them near New York, but it turned out to be a trap. Once I got away, I wasn’t able to travel. I needed time to heal, so I laid low until I thought it would be safe. Then I had to track you down.” Steve chuckles and squeezes Bucky’s arm. “You were hard to find, pal, though I suppose you’ve got a good reason for that. Hi.” He looks over your mate’s shoulder and meets your eyes, a small, knowing smile on his face. It’s fond, but you still feel your cheeks grow warm at the acknowledgement.

Bucky turns and smiles wide when he sees you. He holds out a hand and you close the distance between you, lacing your fingers together again.

“Y/N, this is Steve, my best friend. Steve, this is Y/N, my mate.”

The final word holds a quiet emphasis that only lycans and their companions know. Steve’s eyebrows raise slightly as he holds out his hand for you to shake.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. I hope this punk’s been good to you,” he says.

You laugh and shake his hand. “He has. I’m glad I finally get to put a face to the name. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Only good things I hope?” Steve asks. He glances over at Bucky, who only shrugs. He’s grinning, though, and neither you nor Steve are surprised by the unapologetic expression.

The breeze blows through the yard, making heat prickle across your skin as the chimes hung near the porch steps play. You squeeze Bucky’s hand.

“I know we’ve only just been introduced, but I want to tell you that seeing you as a lion was probably one of the strangest moments of my life. I’m not sure if knowing that you weren’t a normal lion would’ve made it better or worse,” you tell him. 

Steve seems surprised and he looks between you and Bucky. “We’ve met before?”

Slipping an arm around your waist, Bucky presses a kiss to the top of your head and replies for you. “Only once. You want coffee, Steve? Or something to eat? It’s getting hot out.”

Steve nods. You and Bucky lead him to the kitchen, where Natasha is sitting in her normal seat at the kitchen table with her coffee. She casts you all a cursory glance before going back to the newspaper crossword. While she looks entirely uninterested in what’s happening, you know she’s listening, so you quickly interrupt her charade to make introductions.

“Nat, this is Steve, Bucky’s friend. Steve, this is my friend, Natasha. She’s trustworthy, even if she doesn’t always look at it.” You gesture between the two of them before continuing into the main part of the kitchen, but you watch out of the corner of your eye as they exchange polite smiles and a handshake. Their hands linger a moment longer than necessary and you shoot Bucky a look.

He shakes his head, a teasing look in his eyes. “Don’t try anything,” he whispers. “Just get to know him first before you try and set him up with Nat.”

“Oh, come on!” you hiss.

He shakes his head again. “You don’t know as well as I do. I don’t want you to blame yourself if it doesn’t work out.”

“Is your girl already scheming, Bucky? I can see why you get along.”

Steve’s voice from behind startles you, and Bucky rubs a soothing hand over the slope of your back when you tense. It’s strange to have another person in your tiny home, especially someone so large and with such a booming voice. He may be kind and genuine in nature, but it was still an intrusion, at least right now. You’d forgotten that he, unlike Nat, can hear almost everything you say.

“You still drink your coffee with a little cream and sugar?” Bucky asks, and Steve nods in response.

Bucky maintains physical contact with you when you stop by the counter so he can pour three cups of coffee, whether with his hand, elbow, arm, or hip. You don’t move away even when you know your presence is an inconvenience to the process. Besides, even if you wanted to, Bucky would protest and pull you back. He likes having you near and you’re not going to complain.

You watch in silence as Bucky prepares your drink first, then slides it in front of you. Smiling softly, you pick it up for a sip, then give him your nod of approval. His expression softens and he smiles again. It’s your smile, the one he gives only to you when he’s basking in your presence after a long day or when he particularly feels the deep love and appreciation your connection as mates provides. Steve can’t bring out that smile, only you. Lycans can’t fly, but you certainly feel like you can now that Bucky’s looked at you like that.

When he goes back to making his and Steve’s cups, you glance over at the kitchen table, where the other lycan has sat down across from Nat. She’s pointedly ignoring him as she works on the crossword, and you can tell even without knowing him long that he’s trying to figure her out. Part of you wants to tell him that he never will, but most of you wants to watch him try. 

With the two coffees in hand, Bucky breaks contact with you and heads over to the kitchen table. You take your time, gathering up breakfast as he gives Steve one of the mugs and leans against the end of the counter. 

“You and Y/N met back in the city, after I first found you again,” Bucky explains.

A beat passes before Steve asks, “The girl from the alley? That’s you?”

You glance over and nod, smiling a little. “That’s me. You were definitely a surprise that day. It’s not every day you see a lion in the middle of the city.”

If you hadn’t known her better, you wouldn’t have noticed Nat’s pencil faltering slightly as she writes in an answer, but you see it out of the corner of your eye. She’s dying of curiosity inside, you know she is. She knows, however, that asking a lycan about their animal form is impolite, especially if you’re a human, which means she won’t ask until she’s got you alone. Nat’s smart enough not to get mixed up in something she doesn’t understand if it can easily be solved by cornering someone and grilling them for answers later on.

Steve laughs and takes a sip of the coffee, then gives Bucky an appreciative nod. “I didn’t realize you were lycan, Y/N. Usually we can tell right away, but you seemed fully human,” he says.

“I didn’t realize I was lycan then, either,” you explain as you plate the breakfast you’ve scrapped together for you and Bucky. Natasha has left out a plate of pancakes and you carry that, as well as the other plate, over to the table. You slide the pancakes over to Steve. “Do you want syrup?”

He nods and you turn to get it, gesturing with one hand towards the second plate on the table.

“Go ahead and eat, James.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, and you nod, kissing him on the cheek.

“I’m sure. I’ll find something later if I need it.” You get the syrup, picking up your coffee from the counter on the way back, and then settle in the seat Bucky has left empty for you. “To answer your question, Steve, I didn’t realize I was lycan until I shifted in my sleep one night after Bucky started living here. I woke up as a wolf and Bucky was quick to explain most things that went along with the discovery.”

“You let him live with you even though he was a lycan?” Steve asks, surprised.

Bucky reaches over your shoulder to set the plate down in front of you. More than half the food is gone. “They didn’t know I was a lycan,” he answers. “Y/N and Natalia saved my life. I kept my identity a secret until after Y/N shifted, and then I realized why I felt so drawn to her all those times.”

There’s a wide grin on Steve’s face as he sets down his fork and knife. The pancakes are already demolished. Lycans eat fast, but Steve seems to be quicker than normal. That or he was just incredibly hungry. If he’s anything like Bucky, he’ll soon be eating you out of house and home. One lycan means some extra groceries, two means an extra trip a week, but three? You can’t imagine the amount of food you’ll be going through if he stays any longer than today.

“Drawn to her? You wouldn’t shut up about her for months before we ran into her in that alley, and it was even worse after,” he says. “Drawn to her’s a bit of an understatement.”

“Punk,” Bucky huffs, and you laugh. He leans down and wraps his arms around your shoulders from up above, and you hold onto his arms with one hand while you eat with the other.

“I thought your name was Natasha. Is it Natalia or Natasha?” Steve asks, addressing Nat for the first time since entering the room.

She looks up, her face neutral. “И я думал, что у тебя никогда не хватит смелости заговорить со мной.”

Bucky chokes and sputters as he attempts to hold in his laughter. He presses his face into your hair, and even you have to duck your head to hide your smile. Your Russian’s gotten much better with two speakers in the house, if only out of necessity. Poor Steve looks obviously confused, and you feel a little bit bad for enjoying his misery.

This time, Nat leans forward over the table, crushing her crossword against the wood. Steve’s drawn into her web, a hopeful expression replacing the confusion as she raises her eyebrows.

“Do you like to read, Steve?” she asks, and he nods, then shakes his head.

“I do, but I don’t. I like art more. Sketching, mostly. The only thing I like to read is classic novels, but those are harder to carry around than a single sketchpad,” he answers. He’s babbling. It’s endearing, and you and Natasha exchange a split-second glance before she turns back to him.

She hums in approval and then sits up straight again, picking up her pencil. “If you’re staying in town, you can borrow some of my books. I’ve got stacks in my room.” She points towards the hallway with her eraser, her smile softening from sly to friendly. “And I’d love to see some of your sketches.”

Steve practically melts under Natasha’s warmed gaze and you tilt your head back to look up at Bucky.

“I told you so,” you murmur.

“We’ll see,” he whispers back, then leans down to kiss you on the forehead. “You wanna go for a run later? With Steve?”

You hum and smile at him. “If you’ll have me. I don’t want to get in the way if you want time to catch up…”

Bucky shakes his head and straightens, then grabs your hand and leads you to stand. He pulls you closer until your noses are almost touching and your eyelids flutter at the proximity.

“You’re never in the way. I’ll run with you till my legs fall off.”

Movement at the table makes you take a sudden step away, cheeks warm. Even though Steve knows you and Bucky are mates, it still feels wrong to be flaunting your relationship right in front of him. Bucky is his best friend, after all. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable, not so soon after their reunion. You’d do so many things just to get him to stay. You never want him to leave Bucky’s life ever again.

“It’s okay,” Steve quickly reassures you, his smile genuine. “You can be yourselves around me, I promise. Just because Bucky’s my friend doesn’t mean I don’t expect you to act like his mate when I’m around. I’ve lived with other lycans almost my whole life. I know how these things work.”

Sheepishly, you nod and step back into Bucky’s personal space. His arms immediately encircle you and you try to relax at his touch.

“If it’s okay with you guys, I’d like to get a lay of the land. I’m not going to intrude on your space, but I was thinking of getting a place nearby…” Steve trails off. He looks out the glass sliding doors at the neat rows of vegetables, herbs, and flowers that the three of you planted earlier that spring. They’re growing well, thankfully.

“We were just talking about that,” Bucky replies. “We planned on going for a run today anyway. Y/N and I can show you all the best spots.”

Natasha stands from her seat as well, the crossword and pencil in one hand and her empty mug in the other. “You know, Lucas mentioned that Joseph’s cabin by the river is for sale. Maybe you could take Steve down that way. I’m sure I can get him a showing tomorrow if he wants.”

Joseph Cherub’s old log cabin is nestled in the thicker part of the forest less than a ten minute walk away. It hasn’t been occupied in years, not since the owners moved to the city, but it’s in good shape. The owners paid a local to drive out and keep up the property, especially when the weather is bad. Not only is the cabin near the river, but there’s an area for a small garden. Steve would be able to fish and grow his own food, if he wanted.

The little cabin is close enough that it would allow the three of you to meet up and run together. You would have another lycan nearby—one who’d been a part of your past, no less—and it would be Bucky’s dearest friend. There’s no better combination than that. Plus, if Steve moved into the cabin, Nat would be able to see him a lot more.

“No viewing needed,” Steve answers, shaking his head, and your smile falls. “I’m good at fixing things, and if Bucky vouches for it, then it’s fine.” He looks pointedly at his best friend, and you lift your gaze to look at Bucky as well.

After a moment, Bucky nods, then smiles wide. You grin too.

“Looks like we’re neighbors again, Stevie,” Bucky teases, and you laugh. He gives your waist an affectionate squeeze at the sound.

Steve groans. “Don’t call me that.”

Translations:

Маленький = Little One

И я думал, что у тебя никогда не хватит смелости заговорить со мной. = And I thought you’d never have the balls to speak to me again.

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Wild Tags: @mylifeofcalculatedchaos

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #Bucky Barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #sebastian stan #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #steve rogers x natasha romanoff #lycanthrope #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction #marvel reader insert #Avengers #avengers fanfic #avengers fic #avengers fanfiction #avengers reader insert #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x plus size reader

[vaniladraws15]

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[reginaphalange2403]

This song kinda gives Natasha’s thoughts on choosing not to be in a relationship with Steve because she wants better for him and doesn’t think she’s good enough

#brb sobbing #romanogers #stevenat #Steve rogers #natasha romanoff #steve rogers x natasha romanoff #Evie talks #evie shitposts #Spotify

[ninazadzia]

"welcome to the red room" mood board

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[skyfallslayer]

A Stitch In Time || Prologue

-Bucky Barnes x Daughter!Reader-

Series Masterlist

° Series Summary: A Time Heist mission goes wrong, and some of the Avengers end up in the 1950s. Desperately clinging to their lives, they wind up in a place subconsciously. And unfortunately for Steve, and especially to Bucky, they find themselves face to face with someone they wish not to see.

° Chapter Summary: Worried about how his mission may go, Bucky visits a ‘touchy’ place, and recalls the short life he had with you.

° Date: 7/20

° Rating: Teen

° Word Count: 4,569

° Warning: Talks about death/dying; Reference to Suicide; Guilt; Child Abandonment; Talks of Fertility Issues; Alcohol; Allusions to Depression. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

° A/N: The only excuse I have for taking so long to get this out is because I had an expected mental health break. One that was needed. But I'm back! And I'm slowly updating some of my other stories! So be on the look out for those! Also, let me know if I missed any warnings! Enjoy!

The freshly wetted grass squished underneath his boots with each and every step. His shoulders were slacked, but his wrists were tense as he held the delicate bouquet with both of his hands. He was always nervous to be here, even though he’s done it so many times after finding it, the nervousness never went away. The nausea never stopped too… or the guilt… the fear… the sadness. Nothing ever stopped like he so desperately wanted to. Was this a curse he was stuck with for helping to bring another child into this cruel world?

He reaches the end of his line, just a few short inches away from where his toes could touch the stone; The stone etched with words and numbers that made his heart ache. And when his knees felt weak he lowered himself to the ground, sitting back on his heels. With a bittersweet expression on his features, he removes the old lilies and replaces them with your favorite, pearly white ones. The ones you always smelled like when you came back from playing in the park. Who knew he would miss such a fragrance? 

He takes a deep inhale through his nose, and exhales quietly, gathering his thoughts. “Hey, baby girl. It’s been some… time since I’ve visited. I honestly thought I should wait until your half birthday, but…” He trails off, frowning. “But uh, I’m heading off on another mission tomorrow, a… potentially dangerous one.” He chuckles dryly. “You know the deal with those.”

He pauses like he’s waiting for your answer he knows he won’t get, letting the hot summer wind touch his face and through his chocolate locks. He waited for that as his cue to continue on.

“Uh… so…”

It hurts to even think about it.

“I was just…”

Should he even say it?

“Wondering again if it goes south I can…”

Should he repeat what he always says to your grave?

“Be next to you?”

Another pause, this time it felt more painful. It always hurts to be here. It always hurts to say those words because it wasn’t like he had a death wish, it wasn’t like he was afraid of death, he just… didn’t know if he deserved to be next to you. You were his whole world and he fucked it up. Fucked it up so bad that it makes him more anxious to want to hold you, and hug you, and kiss you, and just talk to you. He loves you. 

He’s loved you since the very beginning.

.

.

.

Bucky would have fallen back in shock if it wasn’t for the small bundle in his arms. His ex-girlfriend had just said some words that he didn’t need to hear right now. Couldn’t even comprehend it.

No, it wasn’t, ‘Can we get back together? I made a mistake’.

No, It wasn’t, ‘The baby isn’t yours’.

No it was–

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” He asked, disbelief etched in his words. There was also an underlying sense of anger and betrayal, because–

She couldn’t be serious...

Right?

He watched the woman standing in front of him roll her eyes, snatching her purse from his living room’s couch while responding, “I don’t want her. I only had her because you wanted to keep the baby after finding out I was pregnant.”

He nearly doubled over when he heard the disgust in her voice. “So you’re just going to leave?” Bucky asked, seeing his ex now putting on her winter coat. “But our daughter needs a mother figu–”

“YOUR daughter.” His ex snapped, poison on her tongue. “That baby–” She points furiously. “That baby is a spitting image of you. All the way from the shape of her face to the way she smiles. Everything. Which is fine by me, I don’t want someone looking like me out in the world.”

Bucky opened his mouth to speak as he followed her behind as she walked towards the front door. Unfortunately, she beats him to it. “As for a mother figure, you’ve got three sisters and a mom. That baby can pick up skills from them.”

She swings the door open, letting in the cold breeze of February. Snowflakes flew in, sticking to her clothes and curly hair. Bucky immediately stood sideways and drew you as far away as he could from the freezing air.

(Was she trying to freeze you?!)

“Dottie!” He called out from the doorway, stopping her on the porch.

She wasn’t even going to look back at him, wasn’t she? Or even look at you? Did she truly not feel anything?

He doesn’t know why but his voice cracked, and although he and his ex’s relationship was always rocky, and they both knew that whatever was between them wasn’t going to work out, he still doesn’t want her to leave him alone with a one week old.

“Come on…” He continued, quietly. “At least stay for a couple months until I can do this on my own.” His lower lip quivered slightly. “Please?”

He felt you shift a bit in his arms, probably from the weather, and waited for her to turn around…

But she never did.

“Goodbye, James.” Dottie said, before trailing across the snow covered path to the sidewalk. 

Bucky watches her disappear into the night, his feet glued to the floor even when part of his mind told him to run after her. It would be a lie if he said that he didn’t want to go after her, thinking that maybe she’ll change her mind if actually begs, but the mere thought went out the door when you started to get fussy and cry.

Something deep within him kicked in, probably that parental instincts he’s heard about from his own parents, and all his attention was turned to you cradled in a lilac colored blanket.

“Hey…” He whispered, readjust his hold so that he could gently brush their–

No.

That’s officially gone out the window. 

It’s just his daughter. His.

He readjust his hold so that he could gently brush HIS daughter’s cheek. To brush your cheek like a soft paint brush across a canvas. “Hey. Don’t cry.” He says, soothingly.

He makes a soft shushing sound as he closes the front door with his hip, before carefully guiding himself to sit near the fireplace. He lays you cautiously in his lap, almost in awe as he sees your eyes peeking open for the first time.

(Y/E/C) eyes. 

So beautiful like the world itself. He almost wanted to start taking pictures.

Maybe later though.

He chuckles sadly, tears in his own as he brushes your cheeks again. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry, I got you.” He said, smiling down. “I got you, baby girl.”

You cooed quietly, staring back at him with a bit of curiosity. The look you were giving him melted his heart, but it also made him feel like he didn’t deserve any of this.

“I’m sorry…”  He croaks, sniffling. “It looks like it’s just going to be me and you, doll. I’m so sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”

You made the cute sounds that took his breath away again, taking up his whole surroundings. However, if it wasn’t for his military training, he probably wouldn’t have even heard someone tumbling down the stairs. Bucky glances at the living room entrance, finding a certain skinny blond that he called his best friend. He saw his chest move slightly, and could almost hear him panting from here.

“S-Sorry.” Steve exhales, leaning against the door frame. “Your mom sent me down here when we heard everything go quiet.”

Bucky smiled a little. “She got worried?”

Steve copies him with a chuckle.  “Yeah. She wanted to make sure you hadn’t run off with her grandchild.”

The brunette shakes his head. “That sounds like my mother.” He turns his attention back on you, but from the corner of his eye he could see his friend shifting uncomfortably, almost hesitantly, in his spot. His smile grows. “Come here.”

“What?” The blond said, genuinely confused. 

“Come here, Steve. You can see her.”

He stiffens up a bit, looking unsure. “H-Her… A-Are you… are you sure?” Steve asked, pointing towards the stairs in the hallway. “I-I shouldn’t be the one seeing your baby first. Shouldn’t I–”

“Get your ass over here, Rogers.” Bucky said, almost wishing he could free his hand up and drag him by the ear (he was always so timid and too cautious sometimes).

Not even daring to question his best friend’s wish, Steve wandered over and took a seat on the couch next to Bucky. He leans in close, examining the small bundle in the soldier’s arms.

Steve’s big blue eyes lit up with joy. “Wow, Buck. She’s adorable.” He said, as you scrunch up your nose to show off your cute, chubby cheeks.

“She is.” Bucky said, fighting back the stinging sensation in his eyes again. He now wonders…

(Is this what it's going to feel like all the time now?)

After a moment of silence, Bucky threw his friend through another loop. “Wanna hold her?”

Steve held his hands up in defense almost immediately after those words left his tongue. “Oh, no. I shouldn’t.”

“I trust you.” Bucky holds you out a little, a reassuring look on his face.

Steve raises a cautious eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yes.” Bucky laughs. “I’ll show you.”

Bucky then takes his time showing Steve how to hold you, giving him pointers and readjusting everyone once and awhile until he has you in a good position. The blond’s nerves seemed to vanish into thin air when he started to see that you were looking at him with the same curious eyes you made at your father. Those eyes of yours could melt anyone’s hard shells at this point.

Steve chuckles, and grins as he gets butterflies in his stomach from you. “What’s her name?” He asks, sparing a glance at your dad for a split second. “Did Dottie ever give her one?”

Bucky shakes his head sadly. “No.” He said, his voice feeling rather small at the moment. “No she didn’t. I’m tasked with giving her one.”

“Have you thought of any? I know you were looking through some books a few weeks back.”

“I have and I think…” He takes another good look at you, making sure the name was the right choice. “I was thinking… (Y/N).”

“(Y/N)?” The blond repeats back, testing it out like an echo chamber for his friend who nodded back.

“Yeah. (Y/N).” Bucky tests it out his lips as other names start to form. “(Y/N)... Stevie Barnes.”

He looks up in surprise. “Stevie?” Steve asks in disbelief again. 

Bucky smiles. “Well, I heard Stevie is the girl version of Steve, so…”

“But…” His blue eyes look away again, looking completely torn.

Your father raises an eyebrow over this. “But what?”

“You’re flattering me way too much, Bucky.”

“Am I?” Bucky asked, tilting his head, slightly puzzled.

“Y-Yes!” Steve said, shaking his head. “Y-You can’t– You shouldn’t name your kid after me.”

Now it was his turn to be even more confused. “Why not?”

“Because, I’m– y-you have sisters! Parents. Y-You should name her after them. Not me.”

“But, Steve, you’re my brother. Besides…” Bucky shifted in his seat, knowing what he’ll say next is touchy. “I know… the doctor said you might not be able to have kids so… think of this as me… giving you a small piece of that.”

Silence befell, the subject was something that really hurt Steve when he heard it the first time; Hell, it even hurt his mother who was present at the time. It kind of haunted him for a while because what could he offer to a person who wanted to share his life? 

Steve stares at him for a while before tearing up, laughing quietly and looking away. “Jesus, Bucky. You’re making me cry.”

A chuckle. “Well don’t, ‘cause I’ll start crying again.” Bucky says, making them belly laugh. 

The blond sniffles and tests the name out on his own. “(Y/N) Stevie Barnes.” He looks back down at you, his smile returning fully. “Not bad, Buck.”

Your father looked at him teasingly. “And what’s that supposed to mean, Steven?”

“Nothing.” Steve replies, holding back another laugh as he watches you start to drift back to sleep. “I’m really happy for you, man.”

“Thanks.” 

A few moments more passed before you were carefully placed back in your father’s arms, where all he did was stare back at you as you pulled yourself to sleep. His happy face started to falter, and there was a heavy amount of doubt in his ocean blue orbs. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Steve.” He finally admits before swallowing the lump in his throat. He soon felt his friend’s hand on his leg, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“You don’t have to do this alone, Bucky. You’ve got your family and you’ve got me.” Steve said, honestly. “And you know this. However, don’t doubt yourself, you got this. You’re going to be a great dad.”

Bucky’s lip curled up a bit, not caring that he was about to cry again. “Steve Rogers. The man who always knows what to say.”

“What can I say? I try.” He asked, coping with his expression.

“And you think I’ll be great? Even with me being a soldier and everything else that comes with it?” Your father asked, doubt was still just lingering on the surface no matter what he did.

Steve gives another gentle squeeze. “I know you’ll be great. I know you’ll do anything to make sure she’ll be okay. So don’t worry too much, okay? (Y/N)’s going to be lucky she has you.”

Bucky hums, truly grateful for a friend like him. 

And without an ounce of hesitation, he bends down slowly and kisses your sleeping forehead. 

“I already loved you so much, (Y/N). I hope you realize that.” He whispers, lovingly. “And I’ll do anything to make sure you’re safe.”

He swears at that moment he saw you smile.

.

.

.

Bucky brushed his flesh fingers against the words in the stone, tracing your name and important dates. February 23rd, 1936. A snowy, snowy day. Cool and crisp. Although he had to wait and wait until you were a week old to hold you, a week old to realize he was on his own, a week to realize that he truly loved you. No upcoming birthday surprises could top this one. But if he loved you so much then…

Why were you cursed to be underground?

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

When Bucky got back home to his apartment, he found himself subconsciously grabbing the bottle of scotch in his cabinet. Although he knew he couldn’t technically get drunk, the feeling he got after a couple glasses was close enough. Sometimes… he liked the quietness in his home, the time to relax, untouched and left alone to be himself; But most of the time, after so many years of being alone in his head, he loathes being alone. Friends and family were everything to him growing up. You were everything to him growing up. 

He still wonders what it would be like if you were here, running around, asking him twenty questions, painting his toes, etcetera. He always wondered what you were like when you got older, the side of you he never got to see. He always wondered what those short years did for you.

Why did he have to get taken from you so soon?

.

.

.

You dove around your grandparents and aunts’ legs as you made your way out of the house, ignoring how your father’s duffle bag, that subconsciously you hated, was laying on the porch steps. You stumble around a bit on your five year old legs, before finding the person you wanted to see. 

“Uncle Steve!!!” You yelled, throwing your arms up.

“Hey, Pumpkin.” He said, teasingly. He wastes no time to scoop you up, and carefully holds you close to him (it’s been years and he’s still afraid he’ll drop you). “Have you gotten smaller?”

You scrunched up your nose at him, shaking your head. “No.” You giggled at the silly nickname, and it all was because you were pocket size.

“No?” Steve said, tilting his head, all cocky. “Are you sure?”

You giggled again. “Yes.”

He grins. “Just checking.”

A sigh came from inside, before the two of you saw your father exiting his parents house, all dressed in his neatly ironed uniform. He looked miserable as he gazed at his bag on the porch.

“Ready?” Steve asked, readjusting his hold on you as he frowned himself.

“Unfortunately.” Bucky mumbled, not ready for what’s yet to come. However, when he faces you his whole expression changes for the better. “And there’s my little girl!”

“Papa!” You yelled, holding your arms out. He takes you in his arms, hugging you gently. “Are you leaving, Papa?”

“Oh, baby doll, I am.” He said, pulling back to look at you. “But don’t worry, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He taps your nose. “Okay?”

You nodded slowly and smiled. “Okay!”

“Good.” He gives you a big kiss on your head, before peppering your face with some more making you laugh. “I love you, (Y/N).”

“I love you, too, Papa.”

“I love you more.”

He gives you one more kiss and one more hug before transferring you over back to Steve. They both give each other a strong hug and pat on the back, smiling bittersweetly.

“Be safe, Bucky.” Steve said, trying to hide his concern.

“I will. You too. The both of you.” Bucky said, grabbing his bag and making sure his voice was stern.

“We will. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Thank you, Steve.” 

He bid them goodbye, and you and Steve watched him walk down the path to the military jeep parked nearby. It was chilling almost to watch, and your five year old mind couldn’t quite comprehend the heavy feeling you felt underneath the surface.

“Uncle Steve?” You asked, prying his eyes away from the moving vehicle. 

“Yeah?” He said, softly.

You looked at him all puzzled, something wasn’t adding up. “I thought you told me you were going with him?” You swear he mentioned something like that to you yesterday. Right?

His eyes look away from you, almost like he was recollecting himself before giving you his answer. “I am. But not yet.” He replies, honestly. His orbs finally meet yours again. “Not until I know you're okay.”

“Really?” You asked, tilting your head to the side with curiosity.

“Sure am.” He smiles once more. “Now, what do you want to do? You want to see what Grandpa and Grandma are doing?”

Your eyes light up at their names. “Yes!!!” 

He laughs at your enthusiasm. “Okay, okay. Let’s go see them.”

.

.

.

Bucky throws a bottle of scotch across the room, shattering somewhere. He didn’t care though. It’s not like he even batted an eye.

Five years old. 

That was it.

That’s the last time he ever saw you.

And that hurt like a bitch.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

He doesn’t know when…

But everything suddenly just…

Clicked.

Memories of his flooded in like a broken dam. He starts to recall who he was before and after the fall. Before and after the war. Before and after everything. So as he made his way to Siberia with his friend, Steve, he remembers something that was like a knife to his heart.

“I have a daughter.” Bucky said abruptly, cutting Steve off.

When he was on the run after the helicarriers fell, he remembers his time growing up in the early 1900s. The (multiple) times he saved his best friend’s ass from being picked on, or the way he took his younger siblings to the park, or helping his mother bake, or fixing the car with his dad. But there were a few memories he was confused by for a long time.

First he only heard little laughs, or someone trying to sing a child’s song. Then he saw little toys and dresses. Then he saw a little face with big, wondrous eyes. It didn’t take him long to realize who she was.

He met with his friend’s eyes quickly, almost getting choked up by an emotion that had been under lock and key for so long. “...I have a daughter… don’t I?”

Steve, who seemed taken back by his sudden string of words, opens and closes his mouth a few times, before settling his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Yes, Bucky. You do.”

Bucky looked away, the confirmation sending his mind spiraling again, and the Captain could tell. He decides to approach this carefully since he knows his friend isn’t hundred percent in his right mind yet.

“Do you remember her?” Steve asked, watching him nod slowly. “What do you remember?”

Bucky thinks long and hard about this. What did he remember about you?

“Uh… I remember she was tiny… always tiny.” He chuckles quietly, making Steve smile. “She uh… had um… (Y/H/C) hair that was kind of wavy when she got older. Um… big, bright (Y/E/C) eyes. She… she um… smiled a lot… I think?”

“Yeah, she did Buck. All the time.” Steve said, patting his shoulder gently as he could see the joy it was bringing to his friend.

Bucky laughs again. “Uh… you used to call her by a weird nickname. What was it? Uh…” He purses his lips. “Po… Potato?”

Now it was the blond’s turn to laugh. “N-No. No. Close… Starts with a P, though.”

“Um…” His eyes light a spark. “Oh. Yeah. I remember now. We took her to her first Halloween pumpkin patch when I could hold in one hand because she was so tiny.”

“Yep. That’s what I called her.” He says with a nod. “Your Ma tried to dress her up like one.”

“Oh, yeah, she did.”

And then it got quiet, and Steve saw the bright light in his friend’s eyes go out when the wheels started to turn again. He held his breath, knowing what he was recalling next.

Bucky swayed on the balls of his feet a bit, looking at the floor. “She was five the last time I saw her.” He says, bittersweetly. “I remember, the night before, I took her to Coney Island, and we just played games and ate until our bellies ached. I got her a stuffed bear on the ring toss…”

Steve squeezed his shoulder, trying to give him some comfort because he knew there was no stopping any memories of you.

“She was with you when I left. I gave her hugs, and kisses and…” His voice starts to break. “I love you’s…. Um…”

“Bucky–” Steve begins, hating how hurt he looked.

“Steve. W-Was that last time you saw h-her too?”

Steve closed his mouth, thinking to himself. He couldn’t lie. He was a terrible liar which the brunette always sees through. So what was the point of even trying?

Cap shakes his head. “No. I saw her when she was nine. ‘Bout to be nine.”

“N-Nine?” Bucky asked, just above a whisper. “W-Why?”

“Um…” He swallows. “I had to…. I had to tell your family about, you know… the train… and you.”

The Soldier went distant. “O-Oh…”

“I wanted to make sure I was the one to tell them.” 

“Oh…” Bucky started to get teary eyed. “D-Did you tell her?"

Steve held his breath again. It was like his mind started to relive that day.

You looked so happy to see him, but he watched that expression vanish when you saw his sadden face. It hurts to take you by the hand and into your room. It hurts to see how you’ve grown, and to think he got to see it and not your dad made the situation a whole lot worse.

He wanted to lie and tell you your dad was hurt. 

He wanted to lie and tell you your dad was still at war and won’t be home for a while.

He wanted to lie and say everything was going to be okay.

But he couldn’t, and felt like it was his duty to tell you what happened to your father, to his best friend.

He knew if the situation was reversed, Bucky would be doing the very same thing now.

And when he did tell you, he hated how you kept on denying it. You called him a liar, and god he wished he was.

“I-I did…” He said, feeling his eyes sting as well. 

Bucky jaw clenches. “A-And?”

Steve looks away for a second. “She cried for three hours.”

“O-Oh…” Bucky looks away too. “I always h-hated when s-she cries.”

With his hand still on the brunette shoulder, he gave him another comforting squeeze. “She…” Cap chokes, his memories flooding in all at once. “S-She um… she gave me her blanket, the one that she came home with. She um, wanted me… to promise to come back to her. But um… I failed at that, I guess.”

Bucky frowns. “Steve–"

“I tried finding her, Buck.” He finally looks at him. “When I came out of the ice, SHIELD managed to give me some of my things from the war. I kept the blanket in my chest, so… I tried finding her, because I didn’t want to break that promise to (Y/N), but…”

“You didn’t find anything?”

Steve shakes his head. “Not exactly.” He whispers, exhaling shaky. 

“Not exactly?” Bucky asked, wanting an answer. “What does that mean?”

Now it was Steve’s turn to look all messed up. Especially since he couldn’t make eye contact again. He swallows a lump in his throat and says, “I’m so sorry, Bucky…”

“Sorry about what?” Bucky couldn’t understand what was happening and it was honestly starting to scare him. “What are you sorry about?”

“(Y/N)...” He sighs quietly, and forces himself to look in his best friend’s eyes. “Pneumonia. She, uh… got pneumonia in ‘54 and passed.” 

Now the knife has dug deeper, chilling his bones too. “She’s dead?” He said, barely audible. 

“Yeah. She’s dead.” The Captain replies, dispirit. “I found the spot where she’s buried. I can take you there if you–”

“Thank you, Steve.” The soldier says, ignoring the blond’s confused state. “I mean it. You were always so good to her, and to think you never stopped looking after all this time means A LOT to me. Do you understand? You helped my daughter when she was at her lowest, and you even found her for me. I thank you for that.”

Steve smiles bittersweetly. “No need to. I said I’ll always be there for the both of you.”

Bucky returns the gesture. “As will I.”

“Now, let’s finish this, shall we?”

.

.

.

“-Bucky.” Steve says, touching his shoulder and getting a small jolt from the man. Surprised eyes fell on him as he returned with concerned ones. “You ready?”

“Uh…” Bucky looked around quickly, remembering it was standing in the locker room changing. He didn’t even realize he had zoned out. “Y-Yeah.” He said, zipping up the front of his Quantum Suit. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

Steve tilts his head, the worriedness never vanishing. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Let’s get this mission completed.”

And those were the words that would change -everything-.

(TBC)

-Taglist Is Open-

@navs-bhat @liarasstuff @justmewoo @thed1v1n3

@luckyzipperscissorsbat @like-a-domino @kissesofdeadforme

@audigay

#bucky barnes x daughter!reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x teen!reader #steve rogers x child!reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x teen!reader #bucky barnes x child!reader #james bucky barnes #steve rogers #sam wilson x teen!reader #steve rogers x natasha romanoff #romanogers #natasha romanoff x teen!reader #tony stark x teen!reader #time travel #marvel au #bucky barnes au #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #my fanfic writing #my fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #skyfallwrites

[drabbles-mc]

Let Me Help

Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: In the aftermath of a little rogue outing gone wrong, Natasha is forced to accept some help from Steve, something that she still has trouble doing. As much as she hates to admit it, sometimes allowing people to lend a helping hand isn't the worst thing in the world.

Warnings: 18+, hurt/comfort, mentions of injuries, pining, light angst

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: I wrote this as a pinch-hit for an exchange and I'm so excited to finally be able to share it here! My first time writing Steve and Nat like this and I really enjoyed it, so I hope you do to! xo

MCU Taglist: @garbinge @artemiseamoon (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

Steve could hear Natasha grumbling and cursing to herself on the other side of the bathroom door. The motel they were holed up in was far from the worst one that they had ever stayed in, but the cheap, flimsy walls provided no real privacy. He’d heard her same complaints over the sound of the shower running a few minutes before.

He knew why she was so frustrated, and he couldn’t say that he blamed her. He was more than willing to help, but he also knew that if he offered, she was going to say no off the principle of it. She had to be the one to come to him. He admired her stubbornness the same way he admired most things about her, but moments like that made him wish that she would just let him in without so much of a fight.

When the room became silent, that was when Steve started to feel actual nerves creeping up on him. He stood up from the bed he’d been sitting on the edge of and walked over to the bathroom. He pressed his ear to the door to see if he could hear anything but was met with more silence.

Knowing he was setting himself up to be on the receiving end of her annoyance and sarcasm, he knocked lightly against the door. “All good in there?”

“Sorry,” Natasha grit out through clenched teeth, “can’t talk. Too busy climbing out the window.”

Steve chuckled softly at her response, resting his forehead against the door as he shook his head. “Wouldn’t want to interrupt that.” He paused. “Climbing out the window with only one good arm is probably tough. Want some help?”

He was ready to be met with another snide comment, but instead, he heard her sigh in defeat. He heard the sound of her footsteps on the other side and he barely pulled his head away in time as she opened the door.

She looked exhausted, and in pain, and pissed off. She held a hairbrush in one hand, her other arm pinned against her stomach just below her chest. She had on a t-shirt and sweatpants, but her hair was still dripping wet. Steve was sure that the entirety of the upper back of her shirt was going to be a few shades darker than the rest of it.

He was about to say something about it when he realized that the shirt she was wearing wasn’t hers at all--it was his. He wanted to make a joke about it, but the truth was he didn’t mind it in the slightest. She could keep it long after their self-imposed mission, their unplanned trip, was over. He’d prefer it, really.

“I need help,” she said bitterly as she stood in the doorway.

“With the window?” he asked with a small grin. “Or something else?”

She rolled her eyes but despite her pain and frustration, there was a tiny lift to the ends of her mouth as she spoke. “Very funny.”

He moved to the side so that she could walk by him. “I’ll grab a towel.”

When he came back out to the main part of the room, Natasha was sitting on the bed opposite the one that he had been on. When they showed up needing a room, they just asked for one that was cheap, and apparently, that meant it was one with two beds. They’d shared before, neither of them a stranger to close-quarters situations, but for some reason, the fact that she sat on a different bed felt deliberate.

She still looked pained and angry, but as she sat by herself on the bed, she also looked small in a way that Steve wasn’t used to seeing. Their little rogue excursion had taken a lot out of both of them and gone poorly on top of that. It left her too tired to fight against the spiral of the stress and loss of the last few years. It all seemed to be settling on Natasha’s shoulders, and her freshly-injured arm.

Steve would’ve held her if he thought she would let him. He’d like nothing more, but he knew it wasn’t going to happen. It’d take more than an injured arm and wet hair for her to allow herself something like that. He took what he could get, whatever modicum of closeness.

With the towel draped over one arm, Steve grabbed the pillows from the head of the bed and stacked them on the floor, one on top of the other, at the foot of Natasha’s bed. “It’ll be easier if you sit on those.”

She didn’t say anything, just nodding as she got up off the bed and sat down on the stack of cushions he’d just fashioned for her. Bending her legs, she looped her good arm around them and rested her forehead against her knees. In the silent room, Steve could hear the deep sigh she let out. There was a slight frown on his face and he wished that there was more he could do.

Grabbing the remote off the nightstand between the two beds, he stepped forward and tapped her lightly on her good shoulder with it. It got her to pull her face from the fabric of her sweatpants and turn to look back at him.

He held it out to her without saying anything, but the gesture still got her to crack a small smile. She took it in her good hand before turning back to face the television that was in front of them. “Want me to see if there’s anything good on the three channels they have here?”

He chuckled, feeling a small sense of relief as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Might as well. It’s three more stations than we usually get when we’re, you know…” his voice trailed off a little.

“Going rogue?” Natasha filled in the blank for him, her tone having a layer of amusement to it.

His head dropped, chin touching his chest for a moment as he laughed at her response. “Yea, that.”

For a few seconds, he didn’t move, instead just watching as Natasha leaned back against the bed a little more, letting it support her. She propped her chin on top of her knees this time as she turned on the television and started to figure out what the television situation was. It wasn’t as though either of them was really going to be paying much attention to it anyway--it was more just so that there would be some background noise.

Snapping back to the situation at hand, Steve shook his head at himself as he moved toward the foot of the bed. He sat with his legs hanging off the end of it, one foot planted on either side of Natasha so that she was situated between his legs. She didn’t say anything or make any move at all that led Steve to think that she wasn’t okay with it. He took a slow, deep breath before taking the towel and starting to slowly and gently wring the water out of her hair.

Even though his eyes were focused on Natasha, Steve was passively listening to the TV as she flipped through what few channels they had access to. He was running the towel over the ends of her hair, right where it was turning from red to blonde, when he heard a laugh track coming from the television speakers.

He spared a glance up and stilled his hands as he did so, causing Natasha to chuckle and tilt her head back slightly to look at him. “Did you watch this in your Time Capsule Catch-Up?”

Steve gave her a soft smile and shook his head. “Did you watch this when it was actually airing?” He didn’t exactly have Natasha pegged as the sitcom-watching type.

“I’d catch reruns in the middle of the night if I had the TV on. Kinda like this.”

He nodded. “Right.” There was a pause as she returned her attention to the TV and he returned his attention to her hair. He looked at the large damp spot on the shirt she was wearing that took up most of her upper back and let out a small chuckle. “If you want a dry shirt when I’m done, you can have one.” A smirk started curling the end of his lips and he was glad that she wasn’t looking at him. “Don’t have to steal the next one.”

“Not stealing,” she said as she shook her head, still not looking at him. “Just borrowing.”

“Oh, so you were gonna give it back,” he said with a soft laugh. “Right. Of course you were.”

They fell back into silence once more as he continued the process of getting more of the water out of her hair. Natasha couldn’t pretend that she wasn’t surprised at how gentle he was, how thorough. It wasn’t out of character for him, per se, but she had just never thought of him in a scenario like this. Carrying people off the battlefield to safety? Sure. Giving someone a stern You Need To Be Careful And Take Care Of Yourself talking-to? She’d been on the receiving end of that enough times to have it memorized. But this was different, something so small and intimate in a way that she hadn’t really allowed herself to think about. Not just with Steve, but with anyone. It didn’t feel the way she thought it would. It felt nice, or rather, it felt as nice as it could given the circumstances.

When he was done, Steve tossed the now-damp towel over onto the end of his bed. He waited a moment before reaching over Natasha’s shoulder, his hand open with the palm facing upwards. The silent request got a small hum of amusement out of Natasha as she placed the hairbrush into his hand.

Out of sheer force of habit, Steve said, “Let me know if it hurts,” as he started to brush out the ends of her hair.

Natasha laughed quietly at that. “I think I’ll be alright.”

Steve shook his head at her, not that she could see it anyway. But there was still a smile on his face as he did so. It grew quiet between them again, but comfortably so. The only people talking were the ones on the television and the occasional person who walked by their motel room door.

Despite the fact that there were voices and laughter coming from the TV speakers, Steve felt like he hardly heard any of it as he focused on the task at hand. He carefully, repeatedly, ran the brush through her damp hair. It was the longest that it had been in a while. She’d let it grow out enough, and gotten it trimmed enough times that there was only a little bit of blonde left at the ends. Steve liked the look, though. Of all the looks and changes Natasha had gone through in the time that he knew her, none of them had ever looked bad. He liked this the best, though, the way it had its own change within itself. Or maybe he only thought that because he was currently running a brush and his fingers through it.

“This is like,” Natasha spoke, her voice lower than usual showing how tired she was, but also that she was finally starting to relax, “the saddest slumber party ever.”

Steve chuckled at that. “If this was a slumber party, you would be doing my hair next. And I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”

“I mean I could ,” she said, “but I don’t think it would come out very good.”

“You’ll just owe me one, then.” He paused. “Do you want it back in a braid?”

She turned so that she could look at him. “Do you know how to braid?”

He offered a small, warm smile. “I think I can figure it out.”

Natasha laughed quietly, giving what she could of a shrug before realizing it was more pain than it was worth. “Sure, Steve.”

She rested her chin back on top of her knees, letting Steve set about the process of braiding her hair. There were no hesitations in his movements as he separated her hair out. Natasha might’ve been looking at the TV, but her attention was almost completely focused on Steve now, the way his fingers moved through her hair and along her scalp. The annoyance and anger that had been plaguing her before were slowly starting to fade as she shifted her focus. She was more curious now than anything else. A few joking comments crossed her mind, wanting to ask Steve if he got good at braiding from practicing on Bucky’s hair during their slumber parties, but she refrained. Instead, for once, she allowed herself to be genuinely interested and show it.

“Can I ask when you got so good at French braiding?”

Steve chuckled. “You wouldn’t believe me if I said I’ve never done this before?” They both laughed quietly at that for a moment before he continued. “Towards the end, um, my mom needed…needed help with a lot of stuff.” There was a pang in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a long time. It was a part of his life that he didn’t really talk about anymore--there usually wasn’t a reason to. “She always said that no one could ever get her hair done the way she liked it. So I tried to figure it out.”

“Tried?” Natasha asked.

He let out a small laugh at the thought of it all. “It was a lot of trial and error. I didn’t know what I was doing. I learned all the different styles that she didn’t like,” his hands worked effortlessly as he laid one lock of Natasha’s hair over the others, “including French braids.”

“Giving me a reject style?” she asked, trying to keep it as light-hearted as she could. She could hear the tiniest bit of a waver in his voice as he spoke. It was a different pain than what she’d been dealing with for the last few hours.

“It’s not a reject style--you wear it all the time.” It felt silly to admit that he noticed something like that, but it was too late to take it back now.

Natasha had a small smile on her face, a warmth in her chest that she could never admit to as she said, “You saying I have bad taste?”

Steve laughed. “ I didn’t say that, no.” He paused. “You have a hair tie?”

Natasha wordlessly held up her good arm, a black hair tie sitting around her wrist. Reaching forward, Steve deftly pulled it off her wrist and over her hand, stretching it over his own for a moment before wrapping it around the end of the braid he’d just done. He let it go, the braid falling and resting square in the middle of Natasha’s back.

“Better?” he asked now that he was done.

Natasha nodded. “Yea.” Leaning to the side, she let her head rest against the side of Steve’s leg. “Thank you.”

Steve’s breath got caught in his throat for a moment as he stared down at her. Taking a deep breath, he finally forced himself to say, “Of course.”

Now that it was done, Steve was expecting Natasha to immediately pull away from him, maybe crawl into her own bed and wordlessly tell Steve that he should get into his own bed as well. But she didn’t. She relaxed against the side of his leg, reaching with her good arm to rest her hand on his knee. Steve could see the movement of her shoulders as she took a deep breath. He tried not to feed too much into the feeling in his chest as he reached forward, softly resting his hand on Natasha’s good shoulder and giving it a light, reassuring squeeze. She returned the gesture, her grip tightening for a split second on his knee before she relaxed against him again.

#marvel #mcu #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x steve rogers #stevenat #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[darsynia]

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

[kilikina34512]

The Day He Met His Daughter

Pairing: Bucky x fem!reader (referred to as "baby doll")

Summary: After you nearly bleeding to death after delivery, Bucky spends time with his newborn daughter recounting the day's events while waiting for you to wake up.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, medical trauma (hemorrhaging), angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 4,000

I love this story! This was one of the longest story that I sat down and just wrote non-stop and I'm really proud of it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! Divider courtesy of @firefly-graphics. Make sure to check them out!

Bucky was reclined in the barely lit room, your heart monitor the only sound in the room, reminding him that you were alive and okay with every beep that went off. It was one of the two best sounds in the world to him right now. The other one quietly met his ears as he looked down to see his little girl, his princess, sleeping against his chest.

He couldn't believe his daughter was finally here. It had been a chaotic night in order to meet her, but she was here and he could hold her. Bucky couldn't wait to tell you about all that had happened in the hour she'd been resting against him, share in the joy that was her existence, tell you that he got it. He finally understood why you were so excited about that "new baby" smell.

With one hand holding her firmly against him and his metal hand holding yours, Bucky lowered his head to enjoy another whiff of that smell. "I'm so happy you're here and safe, princess," he whispered to his daughter. "I'm so happy you both are. I don't know how I'd survive in a world without you or your mama. I'm pretty sure my heart stopped when your mama told me you were on your way."

He'd been so excited and terrified when you'd texted him. Bucky had been stuck in a debrief when he'd gotten it and launched himself out of his seat, knocking it over in the process.

"And just where the hell do you think you're going, Barnes?" Fury asked, incredulously.

"My wife needs me," he called back, not stopping in his stride for the door.

"Your wife can wait, you're being sent on a mission. Do not walk out that door."

"I'm not going on the mission. I'm not missing my daughter's birth. Find someone else." Turning out of the conference room, he made a pit stop before bolting for his motorcycle. Walking into the lounge, he beelined it for just the couple he was looking for. "Steve, Nat," he barked out, "let's go. The baby's coming."

The pair jumped up from the couch and followed Bucky out. He knew you'd want them there. Despite Steve and Natasha being together, Steve was Bucky's brother from another mother and Nat was your ride or die. You both had already been referring to them and aunt and uncle to your daughter. Of course, they had to be there for support.

Continue reading here on AO3.

#hurt/comfort #ao3fic #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky x reader #bucky fluff #labor and delivery #medical emergency #oneshot #dad bucky #angst with a happy ending #steve rogers x natasha romanoff #kili stories #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes one shot #bucky x you

[capwidowshipper]

I like to think that Steve loves to paint and draw pictures of his favorite subject, which is obviously his wife Natasha. Natasha obviously notices it and looks at what he does and just loves them. She tells him that he needs to continue painting and drawing pictures of her for the rest of his life and that’s an order and Steve says “yes my love.” So, Steve just continues to paint and draw pictures of Natasha no matter what happens in their life together going forward. He can paint and draw other pictures as much as he wants, but he has to continue to paint and draw pictures of his wife and that’s non-negotiable!!!

#romanogers #captasha #captain widow #capwidow #stevenat #stevetasha #romanrogers #blackcap #stevenatasha #capnatasha #capnat #widowcap #steve rogers and natasha romanoff #steve rogers x natasha romanoff #steve and natasha #steve x natasha #steve and natasha rogers #steve x natasha rogers #art #painting #dynamic duo #power couple #partners in crime #romance #love #husband and wife #hubby and wifey #otp #my otp