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If meant to be evil and mean... why be hot and give me back scratches and call me baby?🤨 I LOVE THIS NEW CHAPTER BTW INCREDIBLE, SHOWSTOPPING

the domestic realm

pairing: dark!nat/f!reader

summary:

“I’m hungry,” you mumble. “Go make me a sandwich.”

She scoffs, slipping her hand under your hoodie to scratch at your back. “You just set women back by, like, five decades.”

additional notes: sfw drabble, kidnapping, dark!nat but shes soft and lazy, stockholm syndrome central, dark domestic fluff redux

series: one, two, three, ao3

Keep reading

we need some mediocre nat fluff now to hear us from that stab in the heart fic

gotchu baby

content warnings: nsfw i sprinkled in some porn so, as usual peak mediocrity

she brings white claw to meet ur friends<3 and youre like i set a low bar for you and youre playing limbo with it. and yet ur friends are like so impressed by her because shes an avenger and she just smirks at you over the table

you ask her why she doesnt speak russian to you regularly and shes like well u dont speak clown to me regularly? and u whack her stomach but she just pulls u in for a hug and ur like ur so annoying but u kiss her anyway

when u go for a walk w her through the park and u see an ice cream truck ur like go buy us a cone and shes like wtf why dont U buy it bitch and ur like u wear the strap, u pay the bill

shes just like :| but goes and pays for it anyway but before u can even take a bite of it, she eats the whole thing and shes like yeah look i need the energy, i burn so much of it putting up w ur ass

you rolling ur eyes: you love putting my ass up

nat: very true<3

sometimes u take naps in her office and she comes in and wakes u up and is like come eat me out under my table and ur like ??? u didnt even say hi bro tf but like ur a slut so yeah

sometimes u show up to bring her lunch so she makes a joke about how its reciprocal: she eats something and u eat something

when halloween rolls around and they have those fake decorations, u buy a bag of spiders and u find her at the gym and u throw them at her and ur like "for halloween im you, i attack people with my spider bullshit" she gets u in the ring and slams you on ur back and ur like "i still dont regret doing that" and she sits on your waist, straddling u and rolls her eyes but shes smiling fondly down at u and she kisses u and then grabs ur face and says Get the fuck out. and youre like no<3 and she says And stop visiting me at work. and youre like No<3

nat and her cock gag<3 when u dont stop irritating her she tells u to open up baby, spits in ur mouth, shoves it in, and pats ur cheek twice, says ur so much more bearable like this

when ur nice to her she'll let u braid her hair so she'll sit cross legged on the floor while netflix is on and u play w her hair and sometimes you'll yank her head back by the braid for a kiss and she doesn't say anything about it until it comes time for a spank lmao she counted.

she will show up at ur job too, hand u a wrap or a sandwich she bought for like $3 and then talk u into making out in her car or in a storage closet, every time u leave the other hanging -- either ur break is over or she has to go or smth

u send her memes about being a boomer and she says shut up and ur like ok cradle robber. she says u like me w a cane. u tell her ur looking at her respectfully bc u always respect ur elders. she dresses up as steve for Halloween and tells u its because shes dressing her age. and by steve i mean she just wears a tight shirt and flexes all the time. u have no complaints

at the pool she pushes u in and ur like I'm drowning i need mouth to mouth and she obliges because she saves lives u know<3

ok soft gfs sometimes when shes out of the country you'll call her and ur sleepy bc its weird timezones and ur like pls be safe. come back soon. and nats like side eying her coworkers bc they cannot see her emote like this so shes like "um yes i like mac n cheese" and ur like "and thats i love you in repressed russian spy right?" and shes turning around to face a wall and smiling and going "yes it is" and when she comes home u hand her a microwave mac n cheese and she kisses u at the door and u tell her so sweetly that shes washing all the dishes from the past week bc she cannot skimp out on chores and shes like sure ok but i have a lot of laundry for u to do:) don't get stuck again. Or do. i don't mind

inspired by tiktok for ur anniversary u both agree not to buy each other gifts but ur bored one day and make a macaroni frame and u put in a picture of u both and ur like Sike i got a gift for u <3 and shes panic buying shit like brand name clothes, make up, a brand new sex toy, and ur like ......nat i literally just got u this.

shes so unimpressed she says shes going to return everything u don't deserve ANYTHING but she lets u kiss her jaw and her cheek and her lips and u tell her thank u baby and ur like :) ily and shes like ok fine.

mediocre nat is really just a simp ngl

OPF request, natasha braiding R's hair after a shower together with some discussion about their past during the braiding? Also some of the head lean backward, pulling on braid for a kiss please :) If you'd like (I would also love it) the showering scene with them both being dumb and nearly getting soap in their eyes or something lmao

yesssssss, this is beautiful!

| natasha x fem!reader | only pretty faces |

warnings: mentions of death

You hear Natalia switch the shower on, the water thundering through the pipes, and you slip out of bed and pad down the corridor to the bathroom. Still no lock on the door: you push it open with your fingertips and inhale the steam that billows out. You step in and shut the door with a click behind you: Natalia’s shadow twists in the shower.

“Hey,” she says, from behind the half-drawn shower curtain. “You scared me.”

You pull your clothes off, let them crumple in a pile next to hers, and tie your hair back.

“I’m not scary,” you say. You lift a leg over the lip of the bath and step into the spray: it’s hot and forceful. Natalia reaches for you, grabs your elbows and pulls you closer. She kisses you, her face warm and wet. Her hair is soaked down, soap bubbles drifting off her shoulders - you reach out and smooth them away with your palm.

“No,” she says. She runs her fingers over your eyebrows, dripping water into your eyes.  “You’re not. You’re cute.”

You pull an awful face at her, but you don’t draw away. Eventually, she smiles at you, kisses you again with that smile still on her face.

“Want me to wash your hair?” she asks, palms flat against your sternum. 

“Yes,” you say. You push your forehead against the strong bridge of her nose. She presses her lips to the space between your eyebrows. “Let me sit down. It’s early.” She laughs.

“Okay.” She presses lightly on your shoulders and you go willingly, sinking to the floor of the bathtub. You trace her thighs with your fingers as you drop, and then you twist so your back is to her, your knees up to your chest. The spray of water is rapidly wetting your hair. Natalia tugs it gently out of its hair tie and digs her fingers into it, sorting through the snarls and knots. Then she sits behind you, lays her legs out alongside yours, and starts the wash.

Her hands are strong and steady, lulling you back into a steady doze. You lay against her chest, allowing her to enclose you, less like a cage and more like a shield against the wide white wall behind the two of you.

Each cycle of the wash is gentle and thorough. You must sit there for at least an hour, but she doesn’t complain of wasting the day or sitting in discomfort in half an inch of warm water. This intimacy is strange, close and naked but not sexual, easy in a way that makes you want to sink into her, crack her open and climb inside. You grip her legs to ground yourself from those images.

Natalia’s hands paused in your hair. “You good?” she asks. The spray beats down on your shoulders

“Good,” you say. You squeeze her knees playfully and in retaliation, she smears bubbles over your cheeks.

“Idiot,” she says, affectionately. You lay your head back on her shoulder and she grins down at you.

“You’re dripping soap in my eye,” you say, blinking rapidly. Your eye begins to burn.

“Oh, God,” Natalia says, sticking her hands into the shower stream quickly to rinse them off. “Sorry, sorry-” She cups her palms and splashes water over your face, too much, and it goes spilling into your mouth and up your nostrils. You splutter, scrambling up into a sitting position and scrubbing at your face. Behind you, Natalia begins to giggle in between her apologies. You twist and spit a stream of water in her face.

When the two of you step out, washed and scrubbed pink and breathing hard from your little water fight, Natalia grabs her towel. You tug it out of her hands. She raises her eyebrows at you quizzically.

The words almost stick in your throat. “Let me,” you say. Natalia hesitates - hesitates like she never does - and you grip the towel, so fearful of her withdrawal.

“Okay,” she says. You nod.

You dry her, feet first, then shins and strong calves and thighs, and as you progress, she watches you carefully. Observes you like she’s learning. You dry her stomach, her ribs, her spine, pausing to touch the rise of muscle beneath her skin. You keep your touch deliberately gentle. Her shoulders lose their tension when you wipe the water from her collarbones.

“Done,” you say, and you fold the towel over the rail and step away. She’s watching you still, hands in fists by her side. She seems to shiver, and you crouch to pick up her fresh clothes and offer them to her. She takes them, but doesn’t put them on, rather holds them out in front of her as if she’s afraid they contain a spider or a venomous snake. “Nata,” you say. Her eyes are wet. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she says faintly. “I-” she cuts off her words and stares down quickly at her feet. “Nothing’s wrong. That was sweet. That’s all.”

Those words break your odd little trance, shrugging off the moment like a gossamer layer. You grab your t-shirt and pull it on over your head, your hair dampening the collar.

“Do you want cereal?” you ask, moving past her out of the bathroom door. 

It seems an age before she answers. “Yes,” she replies, her voice soft, frail like an icicle.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● 

You fix her cereal for her and by the time she’s dressed and wandered through the door of the kitchen, your hair has dried in tangles down your back. She surveys it instead of your face.

“Do you want me to braid it?” she asks, without making eye contact. You shove her bowl towards her and she sinks into a chair, receiving it with both hands. “You remember? We used to braid-”

“I remember,” you say. “I remember most of it.” That’s not at all true. You remember gentle fingers in your hair, your own hands fumbling through soft red and black and blonde locks. You also remember the snap of a neck in your hands, the dead stare of a little girl with her hair still in braids, fresh from the night before. And you remember pain and pain and pain.

Natalia lifts her spoon to her mouth.

You chew meditatively on your toast. You want her legs around your hips again, your head on her shoulder. You want to lie against her, within her, forever. “I’d like that,” you say. 

She smiles at you, relief dawning on her face.

She sits you down on the floor in the living room and switches the TV on. The punch bag is laid underneath the window like a sedan. Then she sits behind you, knees around your shoulders with a comb and a hairbrush and bends your hair to her will.

Natalia is gentle with you: always gentle. She pulls knots apart with her fingers, brushes your temple with her knuckles. 

“I remember this,” you tell her, and her hands still in the half-done braid. The TV twitters on. “This was one of the good memories.”

“One of the only ones,” she says softly. She carries on, twists and turns, locking your hair into itself. “You really remember this?”

“Only the concept,” you say. That at least is true: the braids are your memory, not the hands that made them, not the faces they framed.

“I braided your hair,” Natalia says, after a long pause. Far too casual. “You wouldn’t let anyone else touch it. Except for Kira.”

“Except for Kira,” you echo. You don’t remember Kira. You don’t want to ask: some sickening part of you imagines broken bones and blood in the snow. Natalia finishes the plait and gathers up the rest of your hair.

She pauses.

She tugs lightly on your hair and you tip your head back obediently, until your crown is in her lap and she’s staring down at you. Your neck stretches and strains.

Natalia leans down and kisses you, a touch more like a steal. You reach as far as you can to kiss her again, but she withdraws and pushes your head back up.

Her fingers card gently through your remaining hair, gathering three strands. “You don’t have to remember if you don’t want to,” she says quietly. “God knows I’d rather be ignorant.”

“I’m not ignorant,” you reply. You watch the TV move and flicker with dazed eyes. “I remember the pain. I remember that I don’t want to go back. Anymore.” You’ve dragged yourself from the mud: no, she did. She rescued you.

“I know,” Natalia says. She strokes your cheek with her thumb and you lean into her touch. “I’m grateful for you.”

requests | masterlist

taglist: @when-wolves-howl @fayhar @maggieromanov @transbi-spidey @romanoffscottage @blackxwidowsxwife @lizlil @screechcat @maddess @mellxa @haeva @diaryoflife @natashasilverfox @vicmc624 @strangegardentaco @phantomvael @lorsstar1st @rysnwilder @ima-gi–na-tion @paryl @picnicmic  @smallestavenger @lainjupi   @d1s0nym @simpforflorencepugh1 @the-v01d @kqmui @s1ut4nat @btay3115

notes: listen guys, I am so unmotivated right now. I’m so close to finishing TPTF and I’m so frustrated about this but here’s a little thing to keep you hooked. (also I linked my ko-fi in my bio if you felt like giving me money UNRELATED to fic writing because I am NOT MAKING MONEY OFF this, okay marvel?)

Her Or Me?

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: You find yourself in a situation you never would have imagined, and Natasha has to make a choice- will she save you or her sister?

Word Count: 1,844

Warnings: Heavy angst, angst without a happy ending, guns, descriptions of torture, descriptions murder, death, major character death, blood, stabbing, broken bones, grief, depression, self-blame, and cursing.

A/N: Here you go anon! I made this like super angsty, I guessed you might have wanted that? Sorry if this was too angsty though! This was something that was so painful to write but also I was invested in it. I would say enjoy but… read the warnings, man.

Natasha never would have thought that she would have to choose between her sister and the love of her life. You supposed she would have laughed and scoffed. This was mainly because of how smoothly her life had been going- she left the Avengers to live out her life with you, and was fitting into a society surprisingly well.

The idea that someone could simply come by and snatch up the two people she cared most for and threaten her with it- well, she couldn’t even think about it without tearing up.

Unfortunately, that’s exactly what happened. And there was nothing Natasha could do anymore.

Your day started relatively normal. You had woken up a bit late and barely made it to work on time, but you quickly found yourself working through your workday routine. There were meetings here and there, and you worked on responding to emails.

You looked over at the clock and yawned, getting ready to pack up for the day and head home. It was roughly 5:30 PM when you started driving back to your apartment but quickly noticed a van following behind you.

At first glance, it didn’t worry you that much. You were an average person, so the idea anyone would have it out for you didn’t make much sense.

But when you went around the block to your apartment building and the car still followed you into the parking lot, you got panicky. You stopped the car and locked all the doors before reaching for your phone and dialing Natasha’s number.

“Hey, baby what’s up?” You heard the redhead ask from the other line.

You took a deep breath, “Someone’s following me, Nat. Someone in a van- they’re sitting in the parking lot and they haven’t come out yet, but I’m scared.”

Natasha paused, “Okay, don’t panic. Just drive back to the cafe, I’m about a three minute walk from there. We’ll meet up. Just drive there- Yelena works there so you should be safe.”

“No, there’s a man in a dark hoodie walking towards me, I don’t-”

The call ended.

You panicked, looking for every weapon you could possibly use when you heard a fist banging on the window. You silently prayed that Natasha would drive over and assume that you were in danger- which you most certainly were.

You screamed when the man ripped your car door completely off and grabbed your neck and arm. You tried to yell for help, but his grip was too tight, and you were quickly losing oxygen.

Your only thoughts were on Natasha- how you missed her. How it wasn’t your time to die yet. How you weren’t ready.

But then, all you felt was a sharp stinging sensation poked into your neck by a needle, and everything went black.

When you woke up, all you felt was extreme pain. Your arms hung up high by a metal chain, and you quickly noticed blood running down your wrist from how tightly the chains were. You saw a dull light and tried to figure out where you were.

As your eyes adjusted, you concluded that you were in fact in the middle of a warehouse. Deep breathes. Just think, what would Natasha do? You thought to yourself, before checking all your pockets for your phone.

No such luck. All of your personal belongings had been taken away from you.

You attempted once again to scan the room, and gasped in shock at what you saw- Yelena, in the same chains and position as you with a gag in her mouth and desperately fighting the metal that restrained her.

You fought back your urge to scream- you had to help her, and you had to help her now. You lowered your voice and whispered, “Yelena, it’s me. It’s Y/N. You have to calm down, okay?”

You could see the blonde’s eyes widen as she tried to get a good look at you. You noticed her trying to get rid of the gag with her tongue, and eventually, it fell out of her mouth. “They took us. They want to get to Natasha- they want her. They’ll kill us if we don’t-”

Yelena never got the opportunity to finish her sentence when a tall, brunette woman slapped her across the face and put the gag back in her mouth.

You felt sick just seeing the woman’s disgusting, evil smirk at the pain you both were in. “It’s nice to finally have you both here. Truly, I am. Now, I know you’re both very smart people. And I think the two of you know exactly what I want. Hm?”

You paused but nodded, “I know who you want. You want Natasha- you’ll never get her. She’s too smart- she’ll come with the Avengers and you’ll never see the light of day again!” You hissed at her- and your rage only grew when the woman simply chuckled in response.

“That’s adorable. But your little girlfriend is already on the way, my dear. When I told her that she had two hours to come here and choose who to save-”

You cut the woman off, “Choose to save? No, don’t you want her dead- you want to murder her! You’re using us as bait, why would you-”

“Listen! You do not know what happened in my past. I don’t wish to see Romanoff die. Now, that would be much too cruel. I want to see her suffer- I want to see the pain in her eyes realizing that she will be the reason one of you won’t walk out of here alive. I want her to be tortured by her guilt every day she walks on this planet.” The brunette growled at you, and you almost felt nauseous as you saw a sick smile tilt her lips.

Yelena’s face dropped, and you could hear the broken sobs racking her chest through the cloth in her mouth. You on the other hand felt painfully numb. A type of numbness feeling you’d never experienced before- it was so strong that you felt you couldn’t live with it.

“Three… two… one.”

There was a crash and Natasha came rushing in, a gun pointed straight at the woman’s head. “Let them go! They have nothing to do with us, Widow. Allow them to leave here safely and I’ll replace them.”

The woman, or Widow you supposed, just chuckled quietly and shook her head, “No Romanoff. You’re not calling the shots here anymore. You don’t get to choose- well, actually, maybe you do.” Her head tilted before she called out, “Boys! It’s ready!”

Natasha tried to rush over to Yelena, but the Widow simply pushed her right back.

You saw two men wearing all black walk into the room, and you felt the cool metal of a gun pressed firmly against your temple and a strong, muscular arm wrapped around your neck. You glanced over at Yelena, who was in the same situation as you.

“You see Romanoff, I’m not here to kill you. I’m only here to kill one of your loves here- which is up to you of course.” Widow replied, looking at her nails, seeming completely unbothered by the events that were occurring.

Natasha’s face streamed with tears and she said in a broken voice, “You can’t expect me to choose. I can’t choose between them- I love them both. I can’t-” She was cut off but Yelena’s scream when the man took a knife and firmly stabbed her thigh.

Natasha was quick to run over but Widow was faster, holding her back, “Now, now your lovely sister will be fine, Romanoff. But I have noticed you care for her, yes? I suppose Y/N can be the one to go then?”

You let out a choke when the arm around your neck tightened, and you felt your airway close. “No, leave them alone! Fucking stop, get off of me you bitch! Stop, stop!” Natasha yelled, thrashing in Widow’s arms.

You could see Natasha's eyes go back and forth, watching life slowly drain out of both of you. You had stab wounds in both of your legs, and you were choking while Yelena had both of her wrists broken.

“Stop it! Please goddamnit, stop it! I can’t, you have to stop! Kill me instead, please! Don’t make me watch them die, just fucking please!” Natasha begged in a hoarse voice, cries of agony ripping through her.

Widow tutted, “Oh you poor thing. Don’t you understand? They don’t both have to die. You can save one of them- why let them both die? Choose Romanoff. Their time will come soon.”

“No, no-” Yelena screamed with a sob when the man stabbed her in her upper right arm- “You leave my sister alone, stop!”

“Nat… please.” You begged her, your oxygen slowly running out. You saw the redhead look at you with watery eyes, and looked away, almost too ashamed to see you. “We have everything planned out… we have a future.”

“I’m sorry baby.” She let out another sob, tears violently running down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry Y/N, I love you so much. I’ll love you forever, baby. I’ll never forget you.”

“NO, PLEASE-”

“Yelena.” Natasha whispered quietly to Widow, and she gave a short nod of approval for the man to finally end your suffering

“You can’t, Nat, NO-”

The click of the gun went off, and the bullet ran through your skull. Natasha cried out as blood ran down your temples, and your eyes had no emotion in them.

“It’s okay, Romanoff. We can’t save them all, hm?” Widow said with a sadistic grin before looking towards the man, who still had a grip on Yelena. “It’s okay. Let Belova go with her sister.”

Yelena was quickly removed from her chains and Natasha wasted no time running over to her and grasping her in her arms.

“They’re gone- because of me! I did this, I’m a murderer- I’m a killer-” Yelena shushed her and slowly rocked her.

“No Nat. You’re not a killer, far from it. Widow didn’t give you a choice, okay? You’re a good person, Nat. Y/N understood- they loved you. They would never blame you.” Yelena grunted in pain, falling over.

Natasha gasped and helped the blonde stand, “We have to get you to a hospital, come on. Let’s go.” The redhead promptly scooped up her sister and ran to the nearest door before running into the daylight.

“It’s going to be okay, Nat. Y/N loved you. Please, understand that they will always love you.” Natasha slowly shook her head, tears forming once again in her eyes,

“I heard their voice, and it wasn’t one of forgiveness. They loved me with all their heart and I threw it away- I’ll never be able to live without them, Lena. I cannot feel happy anymore.”

“That’s not true, you don’t know-”

“It is. Without them, I’m nothing. Just an empty shell. And for what I’ve done, it’s what I deserve. I deserve this guilt, this suffering. I truly do.”

Main Taglist: @catasha @romanoffs-wallflower @wandanatvoid @marvelwomen-simp @freesloppy @alotofpockets @thewidowsghost @didujustcallmedumb @dawnoftime22 @deadcvpid @romanoffscottage @millieistheunofficialsimp @heartoreadallthequeerthingz @avengerswriter4eva @multifandomlesbianic @romanottsmaximoff @chiyongberry

Natasha Romanoff Taglist: @milfloverslut @ghostlybailiffathletestatesman @madamevirgo @proudmorning @fanfictioniseverything

Angst Taglist: N/A

yk when schools had to be online due to covid and lessons were conducted through zoom? heres my idea related to that:

r teasing prof!nat while nat is having a call w her students, how wld nat react?

I'm combining these, hope that's okay! <3

warnings: spanking, choking, strap on use, fingering (r receiving), edging, crying, smut 18+ only, unedited

thank you for 2.5k | nat drabbles

You and Natasha had rules. Rules that you were supposed to follow so she wasn't reprimanded for dating one of her students. One of these rules is that when you were at her house, which now was extremely often since lockdown started, you'd attend her class from a different room, preferably her bedroom. This was because she'd never teach in there and it was soundproof, so if you were to unmute nobody would even guess you were in the same house.

And you wouldn't communicate while you were in class. She still needed to be fair, she wasn't going to give you any special treatment during class hours. But the lecture today seemed to drag on longer than usual, and you were getting bored. Natasha had put the class into breakout rooms to discuss... something. All you wanted was for class to be over already.

You sighed as no one in your breakout room seemed to be interested in participating in a discussion and you silently thanked the universe. You were bored, but not enough to contribute to a class discussion.

Your mind soon started wandering to Natasha as you eyed your reflection in the mirror adjacent to the bed. Your fingers ran over the bruises on your neck, you admired them through the reflection as a smirk appeared on your face when the idea popped into your head.

You discarded the sweater you were wearing, leaving you in your underwear. You threw your laptop to the end of the bed, resting your head on your arm as you propped your ass in the air, your back arching beautifully. You snapped the picture, knowing you'd get some reaction out of Natasha.

Should I give them a show prof?

img_3472.png

Natasha's jaw clenched when she saw your message, her eyes locked onto her phone screen as everyone joined the main room again. You smirked when you saw her face lit up by her phone screen a second before she turned back to the class, her jaw set. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as she started lecturing again like nothing ever happened.

You huffed, tapping your chin trying to think of other ways to catch her attention. You already broke one rule, there was no point in trying to be good for the rest of the day. You made your way to the doorway, leaving your laptop on the bed, open to the lecture but on mute, so you wouldn't make any noise on her end.

You softly closed the door behind you, quietly making your way down the hallway to her office door. You knew her camera faced away from the door, the only thing visible behind her being her bookshelf. Your fingers trembled as you touched the cool metal of the door handle, it's now or never.

You twisted the knob and opened the door quietly, leaning against the doorframe and crossing your arms. A small pout made its way onto your lips, Natasha’s eyes moving towards you for a split second before she focused back on the screen, expression unwavering. She continue lecturing, your eyes narrowing as you pushed yourself off the doorframe. You took determined steps towards her table, her hands flattening against her desk in warning.

You smirked, getting on your hands and knees and crawling forward under her desk. You settled between her legs, your hands slowly running up her thighs and under her skirt. You listened to her voice, still unchanging as you continued your movements, determined to make her give you attention.

It wasn’t until you started pressing your lips against her inner thigh that her hand came down to push on your shoulder. You pressed forward against her hold, teeth grazing against her skin. She hissed mid sentence, pausing to look down at you with fire in her eyes. Both from anger and from how turned on she already was, your favorite combo.

“Sorry guys, my cat is just being extra needy today,” She pushed tow fingers past your lips and gripped your jaw, pushing you away. You had to hold back a whine, deciding instead to hollow out your cheeks and properly suck on her fingers. She spared a glance at you before taking her fingers out, moving her hand to firmly grip your jaw so hard it could form bruises. 

Your eyebrows scrunched together, you knew better than to grip her forearm, but your hands were still on her thighs, and she only hand one hand to stop you. Your hands slid over her smooth skin, gently squeezing as you continued moving up her thighs. Her grip tightened, eyes glancing down at the clock and noticing she could wrap class up without alerting anyone. 

She quickly talked about her last couple slides before finally getting to her last one, just as your fingers reached her underwear. You scooted closer to her, making her open her legs wider. 

“Let’s wrap it up here today, make sure to read the textbook chapter assigned for next week,” You knew she usually stayed after class for questions, but your didn’t feel like waiting. Your fingers pushed her underwear aside and slid through her folds, a small grin forming when you noticed how wet she already was. “I won’t be able to stay after class, my cat just got into something she wasn’t supposed to. I’ll see you guys next week.”

Natasha frantically ended the call and slammed her laptop shut, scooting away from her desk and pulling you up by your jaw, making you release a whiny moan. She turned you around and bent you over her desk, fingers hooking under the hem of your underwear before snapping it back against your skin.

“What did I tell you about not distracting Mommy while I’m at work?” Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, moving your hips back against her, longing for contact. She pulled back and gripped your hips, the hard smack echoing around the room. “Are you too much of a dumb little slut to remember the rules?”

Her fingers slid over your underwear, pushing down right where you needed her. You whimpered, moving your hands to behind your back for her to grip onto. “I just wanted to play with you, Mommy.”

“So you didn’t only forget the rules, didn’t you whore?” She grabbed your hair and pulled your body up against her chest. “You also forgot what you are.”

She pushed you back into her desk and flipped you over, gripping your thighs and pushing them apart. You reached out for her with a moan, earning a smack to both your thighs. “Hands up, and keep them there.”

“Mommy,” You whined, gripping the other edge of the bed. The position made you feel exposed, Natasha’s eyes roaming all over your body with a hunger that only added to the growing heat between your legs. The redhead towered over you, one hand cupping your heat and the other coming up to wrap around your throat.

“You’re just my little play thing,” She said, inches away from your face. Her lips trailed wet kisses down your jaw and to your neck, teeth grazing your skin and making you squirm under her. Her fingers hooked into your underwear and pulled them down your legs before moving back to where it was and slipping two fingers into you without warning. “My stupid little toy.”

She moved her fingers art an unforgiving pace, making you whine and buck your hips up into her, arms aching to reach down and touch her. You arched your back off her desk, eyes rolling to the back of your head as her thumb moved onto your clit. 

“Are you gonna cum, my sweet thing?” She asked, tugging your earlobe between her teeth. You moaned, knuckles turning white gripping onto the desk. Natasha raised her head to look at your face, bringing her free hand to tug your bra down, revealing your breasts. “You’re gonna have to ask first.”

“Please, Mommy,” You desperately squirmed under her as she pinched your nippled between her thumb and index finger. “Please let me cum, I need it.”

“Oh you need it?” She asked, slowing down and bringing tears to your eyes. She was an expert on how your body worked, knowing exactly when to curl her fingers, when to pick her pace and when to slowly bring you closer to the edge. “Should’ve though about that before you decided to break the rules, princess.”

Unfortunately, that also meant she knew all your tells. You whined as she pulled her fingers out, curling your body up when her hand came down onto your pussy. She pulled your body up against her as you let the tears fall down your cheeks, wrapping your legs around her waist and trying to grind onto her hips. 

“Please, Mommy,” You grabbed onto her face, making her look at you. She wrapped her arms around your body, soothingly rubbing her hand up and down your back. “I’ll be good, I promise, please.”

“It’s too late for that, honey,” She pouted mockingly, pecking your lips and pulling you closer. She lifted your body off her desk and started making her way into her bedroom, mocking you as you cried in frustration. She laid you down onto her bed, shoving a pillow under your hips when she turned you onto your stomach. 

Natasha moved off the bed, pulling out the silk ties from the dresser before moving back to the bed, tightly tying your hands together then to the bed. She moved behind you, spanking your ass another few times, enough to make your skin sting. 

She coated her fingers with her saliva before pushing them into you once again, moving them fast and deep. She ignored your moans and whines, pushing your face harder against the soft mattress the more you whined. 

Natasha quickly worked you to the edge, over and over again. She used almost every toy she had by the time she was satisfied with the tear stains on your cheeks and the drool sliding from the corner of your mouth. 

She had already used you to make herself cum three times, between the other million times she edged you, and you finally thought she was gonna give you what you wanted, your entire body aching and trembling under the older woman.

“Have you learned your lesson, slut?” She asked, slowing her pace as you clenched around the thick cock strapped to her hips. You were incoherent at this point, head rolling to the side as you attempted to look back at her.

“Yes, I’m sorry,” You cried, tugging on the ropes on your wrists and pushing back into her. “I won‘t do it again, I promise Mommy.”

“Good girl,” She pulled the strap out, the toy completely soaked with your arousal. She got off the bed and moved to her bathroom, returning without the strap and with a damp cloth in her hand. You whined as she cleaned you up, extremely sensitive but also desperately needing a release.

“Mommy,” You whimpered as she turned you around, kissing up your neck as if she hadn’t just edged you until you cried. 

“I know baby, you want to cum,” She said, pulling back as she tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Too bad you won’t be doing that for a week.”

𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞

summary ─ “i thought we were going to share her, barnes.”

pairings ─ dilf!neighbor!pornstar!bucky barnes x reader x milf!pornstar!natasha romanoff

warnings ─ smut, +18, threesome yo, oral sex (f receiving), anal sex, strap ons, kissing, cockring, nipple play, natalia is indeed blowing the reader’s mind eheheeh, james is losing it lol, dirty talk, pet names, reader is being sandwiched between james and natasha, fluff, found family trope is real :’) 

a/n ─ hi! i’m back with a part three. many of you asked for a part where natasha was involved, so i thought i could give you guys this little piece of heaven <333 lol.enjoy this 8.5k monster! i’m sorry it took me too long to write and post it :( hope you like it! thank you so much for all the love you’ve shown for the previous parts <33 please leave comments if you like it! thank you <333

part one ─ part two

You were baking cookies with Anya when James stepped into his apartment with Natasha behind him. Anya shrieked happily as she launched herself into the arms of her mother. Natasha chuckled and hugged her, arms tight around her tiny body and her face hidden into the crook of her daughter’s neck. You smiled at the sight.

Keep reading

it was neither 😔 im sorry i meant that genuinely

OH lmao my bad I'm doing okay, how are you? :)

Yelena *panicking*: Natasha's going to kill me for letting you get hurt.

Y/N: It wasn’t your fault though, I’m the one who snuck away!

Yelena: Trust me, that’s going to mean jack shit to her when she sees that bruise. I don’t think you understand just how much of her sanity hinges on your happiness and safety.

I don’t know who need to hear it this evening but:

Your favorite fictional characters are proud of you!!!

They are not disappointed in you for failing that one test!

You did not let them down because you made a mistake on that one thing!

They do not hate you because you upset that one person or did that one “bad” thing!

They LOVE you because you are doing the best you can given the circumstances. They are PROUD of what you’ve accomplished today. A glass of water? Worked on a hobby? Took a shower? They are PROUD.

Don’t let your brain use your comfort characters against you.

They are there for you no matter what.

Luck

Summary: The reader is content in her relationship and her sexuality, but when a coworker brings up some painful questions, she has to wonder if Bucky and Yelena are missing something vital from their relationship because of her.

Pairing: ace!Reader x Bucky Barnes x Yelena Belova

Word Count: ~7.3k

Warnings: poly relationship, mentions/discussion of sex (not smut, no description), angst (happy ending), acephobia, biphobia

A/N: This turned out to be an incredibly cathartic and personal fic for me to write. I would love to hear any feedback and hope you enjoy it!

There was something about the way people looked at her when she told them, that made her keep the secret for years. 

She knew she was different, and sometimes she felt broken for it.

She didn’t know how to explain it, and so for years she had kept it a silent secret, hiding the truth of her singular nature, her virginity, no matter how socially constructed it was, and her solitude. 

But Y/N was comfortable being ace, content and happy.

And until Bucky Barnes had come into her life, she had been convinced she might simply be alone forever, content that it might be that way. But Bucky had been understanding in a way that no one else ever had been or tried to be. Their relationship had come on slowly, like waves against a craggy shore. Bucky needed something slow, something that might have seemed agonizingly slow to anyone else. 

But she had enjoyed it, had liked hand holding that turned to cuddling that turned to kissing. And so when Bucky brought up sex - she felt comfortable enough to tell him the truth. 

She’d panicked a little, worried he wouldn’t get it, would write her off the moment she said it. It had happened in the past with people she thought she could trust. 

He’d listened and understood and told her it didn’t change anything. Bucky had been thoughtful, listened carefully to her explanation that she didn’t feel sexual attraction. He’d been prepared to figure something out when she told him she could have sex with him, would enjoy it too, she just wouldn’t ever suggest it. It wasn’t a need for her, like it might be for him. 

You just have to tell me what you need. 

And it worked, because working through needs and wants and freedom was something Bucky had been learning too. That this choice was always his to initiate seemed not only to work for him but encourage him.

Y/N met Yelena at the strip club she worked at as a bartender. Yelena had been chasing someone in the club, smashing glass and knocking over tables, arsenal of weapons strapped around her small body. Y/N felt a connection with her almost immediately, and not just because she’d stopped a man from stabbing her. 

Somehow she had fit between her and Bucky so well, it was like Yelena had always been there. 

Yelena vaguely knew of Bucky, knew that Bucky had known Natasha at some point, however blurry and distorted those memories might be. 

Introducing them had been easy, and falling into the current relationship had been even easier. 

She didn’t question why or how either of them had accepted it, each of them wanting it as bad as the other. She didn’t consider why it worked, why they accepted it. Never questioned if something might be missing. 

The relationship worked. 

That was all that mattered. 

~

It was usually a mistake to try to explain her relationship to people who did not know her well. Not only was she in a poly relationship, but she was also asexual. 

It confused people. 

“I mean,” the new hire Y/N’s training starts to ask, tilting her head to the side. “How does it work then? Don’t you hate sex? Oh, they’re asexual too, then?”

With her back turned she rolls her eyes and finishes polishing the glass in her hand, “They definitely don’t hate sex. And I don’t hate sex. It's just not a need for me. I could go forever without it.” 

“Oh,” the woman says, eyes trained on the currently empty dance stage. “I kind of thought that was the point though. Of being asexual. Hating it.” 

“Like anything, it's a spectrum. Some people are sex repulsed, some don’t mind the idea if it makes their partner happy. And anything in between. It’s individual.” She shelves the glass in her hand, wishing she hadn’t brought it up, had settled on an easier answer to the question so are you seeing anyone?

She should have left it at a simple yes, and fielded all the follow up questions with I’m a private person, sorry. 

But she had liked the new hire, gotten along with her for the past two weeks of her training period. She seemed open, and cool, and was also queer. But she knew better than that, that being queer did not preclude people from having other biases and stereotypes. 

“So you do have sex with them? How often?” 

She stiffens. 

It's not something people who don’t fall onto the ace spectrum get asked. The question hurts, reminds her of all the little holes inside her, all the things that she thought were broken about herself for years. 

She tries to laugh it off, finally turning to meet her eyes, “I’m not answering that, sorry.” 

The giggle that escapes the new hire, Lisa, makes her cringe, so she sets about turning all the liquor bottles so their labels face outwards, anything to avoid looking at the other woman. 

“Clearly you’re attracted to them-,”

“Yeah, I am,” she tries not to snap. “I can tell when someone is hot but that doesn’t mean I want to fuck them. That’s what asexuality is, lack of sexual attraction,” she tries to explain patiently. “I’m more attracted to personality anyways-,”

“Then what’s the point?” Lisa cuts her off. 

“Of what?” She asks leaning against the counter as one of the regulars approaches the bar. Lisa takes a minute to flirt for a tip and make his drink before sending him off again. 

“Attraction I guess?” She turns to her, crossing her arms and raising a brow. “Like, if you don’t ever really want to have sex with them, then what’s the point?”

She doesn’t know how to respond and so she shakes her head and turns away, wiping the counter down. 

The point? She loves them. She’s attracted to them in every other way, was happy to make sure all their needs were met. And it worked well, she thought, that Bucky and Yelena had each other too. 

Luckily she’s saved from answering or thinking about it too much as a wave of customers approach the bar and one of the girls takes the first dance of the night. She smiles and chats like she always does, efficient and friendly, harsh when a drunk becomes too much. 

She likes her job, likes the quick pace of it. She likes how she doesn’t have to think, despite Lisa’s words hurricaning around her mind, an endless loop.

It’s a question she had asked herself so many times, while she was coming to terms with what she thought her identity might turn out to be. 

What’s the point of being attracted to someone if you don’t want to sleep with them? 

She still doesn’t really know. She doesn't like the cracked feeling that springs up in her chest at the thought. 

Love, she tells herself harshly. Intimacy and safety and warmth, that’s the point. 

Sex didn’t make a relationship complete. 

She tries to remind herself of all the ways she isn’t broken, of all the ways she’s capable of love, that physical love is not the ultimate expression of love. That she isn’t broken because she doesn’t feel a particular pull to the act.

Bucky and Yelena love her as she is, accept her as she is. 

She’s devoted, she loves both of them in spades. 

Bucky because he’s warm and protective and gentle. 

Yelena because she’s funny and loyal and soft under the shell she wears.

She’ll go home to them after this shift, shower off the smell of the club, slot herself behind them in their king size bed, beam with happiness when one of them would inevitably turn and tuck her closer. 

Certainly she has a type, she smiles to herself.

Loyal and protective with a hard exterior that hides a heart of gold. Not to mention that they’re both formerly brainwashed Russian assassins. The bond she had watched them form over it had been when she worried the most. People with shared trauma either jived well or they decidedly did not. 

Lucky for her, Yelena’s firebrand reckoning with the world for the loss of her years and her sister contrasted well with Bucky’s quiet path of amends, hardly spoken of but which helped remind Yelena to temper herself. 

Lisa does fine during their shift and Y/N thinks that she can probably handle her next shift alone, or at least without training wheels. Their shift ends at midnight, the closers replacing them at the bar. 

She’s glad to be heading home, wants desperately to be away from Lisa and the thoughts that she makes shift around in her mind. She drifts to the dancers’ changing room, where she keeps her bag and coat. The girls greet her as she enters. She knows most of them well after years of running the bar. 

Lisa follows, the conversation between them now pleasant, about how she’d done well and could fly solo, about the customers.

She thinks the conversation between them earlier was a fluke, a little misunderstanding that they didn’t have to talk about anymore. 

But as she’s shrugging on her coat, Lisa turns and says, “Like, sorry for bringing it up again, but I was thinking - isn’t one of your partners a girl? Do you prefer sleeping with her? Have you heard of compulsory heterosexuality? Maybe-,” 

This was the worst part of it. The boxing in, the suffocating labeling that people tried to foist onto her. The assumption that she hadn’t already thought of that, that she’s confused and that a veritable stranger knew her better than she knew herself. 

“No,” she says simply, cutting Lisa off. “It’s not that. It’s not them, it's me.” 

“So then you’re bisexual.” 

The word almost sounds dirty coming out of her mouth. 

One of the dancers notices. “Hey,” Nicole, one of the veteran dancers snaps. “Fuck off. There’s nothing wrong with being bisexual.” 

“Of course not,” she answers in a tone that suggests there is. “I’m just trying to get an understanding of Y/N’s relationship.” 

“It's not yours to understand,” Nicole says, standing to join Y/N, looping their arms together. “Fuck off, new girl, before I drag you out of here.” 

Lisa looks shocked for just a moment, before opening her mouth. Y/N continues, not letting the other woman continue whatever thought had occurred to her, “Look, I’m not pressed about labeling myself, or what I feel, or my relationship. I’m attracted to both of my partners, and I don’t feel sexual attraction to anyone.”

Nicole squeezes her hand, reassuring and warm and she’s never been more grateful. She remembers Nicole sitting on the floor behind the bar on a slow night, hiding from the manager and listening to her talk about her sexuality without any judgment, curious and supportive. 

After that night, Nicole got free drinks whenever she wanted them. 

The conversation seems to be over as Lisa shrugs and moves to grab her bag. She’s about to sigh, tension draining away as Nicole pats her arm when Lisa says quietly, “I just wonder what they get out of it.” 

She pauses, Nicole’s fingers tightening against her skin again. “What?”

Lisa shrugs. “Just like, if they fuck without you, and they’re happy…like why do they need a third?”

She blinks, automatically putting out an arm to stop Nicole from lunging forward to throttle the girl. 

“Guess it's good it doesn’t affect you then,” Y/N says stiffly.

“Not trying to be rude. Just saying. Do they fuck without you around?” 

She swallows and answers, not sure why she’s entertaining the question. “They do. I know that they do. It makes sense for us, for our relationship.”

Y/N has had sex with Bucky and Yelena seperately, and on several occasions together. 

But more often than not, they had sex with each other. 

It never makes her feel like she isn’t valued, like she’s the annoying third to an otherwise stable two person relationship. 

Is it possible she misjudged the situation so badly because sex wasn’t important to her? 

But Yelena also has a low sex drive, so much so that Y/N had thought she was ace as well. But Yelena hadn’t wanted to label herself and so she had let it go. 

Either way, she and Bucky needed sex in the relationship where Y/N did not. 

She wants to comment that maybe the conversation is inappropriate for work, but the dressing room of a strip club had heard much worse than this minor embarrassment.  

“You don’t have to answer her questions,” Nicole says. 

“It’s okay.” 

Lisa raises a brow, and Y/N hates that she’s thinking about it now. If there’s something she’s missing. If she’s as incomplete as she’s always feared she was.

No, she thinks viciously, stopping that line of thought. She isn’t incomplete, but maybe she’s wrong for their relationship, if their needs aren't being met. 

Needs could be overlooked in any relationship, why not theirs? 

“I’m just saying, maybe you should think about it. Maybe you should talk about it with them. It's not fair to them after all if you’re withholding something they need because you might be confused.” It hurts to hear but she finds herself nodding anyway. She keeps a hand pressed into Nicole’s arm. 

She decides that that should be the end of the conversation, before the panic choking her bubbles up and sends her spiraling. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ve got a train to catch.” 

“Sure.” 

Some of the other dancers approach her as she heads for the door but she waves them back, says she’s fine.

Outside in the cool midnight air, she takes a deep breath, holding in the panic, the anxiety swimming around in her stomach, the worry that her partners were lacking in something vital and she hadn’t realized it. 

A burning shame builds up and cascades over as she stands there with her back pressed against the brick exterior of the building. She feels stupid. 

Has she really spent years coming to terms with who she is for a few awkward questions make her question everything all over again? 

She thought she handled this years ago, had come to terms with her identity. 

Clearly not, if it was this easy to uproot her again. 

But no, she’s secure in herself, as being as she is. The real worry is the thought that she’s hurting the people she cares about, that she’s not good enough for them, that she’s not enough for them. 

Back when it had just been her and Bucky, he had always met her after her shifts and walked her home. 

It had taken him months to kiss her, months after that to ask her about sex. 

Bucky was not from this era, how could he be expected to understand her? Understand this part of her? 

But he had, where the woman inside the club hadn’t even tried. 

“I don’t want you do anything you don’t want to,” Bucky said, licking his lips nervously. “I never want to make you uncomfortable.” 

The fact that he asked, that he was worried at all soothed her. No one else had ever cared enough to ask, to reassure her, to make sure she would always be comfortable too. “I don’t hate it…I just don’t feel a need. I want to, if you want to. It makes me happy to make you happy.”

And it had, and it does. 

She could enjoy it, she just didn’t feel the need, the want.

She enjoyed it just fine once it was initiated, but mostly because the person she was with liked it so much. 

She liked kissing much better, liked cuddling, liked the feel of skin against skin, the warmth and comfort of another presence. 

The remembrance of Bucky waiting for her all those months ago, only makes his absence now more keenly felt, even though he’d not accompanied her home in months. Not since she assured him that she would be okay, that his waiting for her made her feel a loss of autonomy, like her skin did not belong to her.

And so, he had relented, let her download a walk home app, though his worry had been renewed the day she met Yelena. The club smashed to pieces, a knife nearly lodged in her side. She had pointed out to Bucky’s great chagrin that the near death experience had not occurred on her walk. 

Y/N’s  independence is important to her, but her safety is important to Bucky. Now, she wonders if her rejection of his presence pushed him away. 

Did she push people away? 

She shoves away from the wall, hoping that the dancers rip Lisa apart as she walks to the subway station. 

The ride is short but only makes her heart pound harder, watching the late night revelers sway with the rock of the train. Usually, it would make her smile. But tonight as she watches couples flirt and laugh, she feels empty.

It only reminds her of the missing thing inside her, the want that she’s told should be there.

Maybe that missing thing will be enough to drive away the people she cares about most.  

~

The apartment is dark. 

She doesn’t turn on the lights, creeps through the living room on silent feet. In the bathroom, she avoids her reflection, avoids thinking about herself at all as she strips off her club clothes and climbs in the shower. 

Once she towels off and changes, she crosses the hall to slip into bed behind Bucky, who’s normally closest to the door, a protector against the night. 

But when she pushes the door open, she can’t seem to bring herself to step over the threshold. 

They’re curled together. She can see the blonde of Yelena’s hair over the curve of Bucky’s shoulder. Their breathing is steady and even. There’s a space for her, very deliberately left. She aches to fall into it, to press her forehead against Bucky’s back and curl her arm around his side to clutch at Yelena’s fingers. 

Instead, she closes the door, picks up a blanket from the end of the couch, and lays down there instead.

Her skin feels empty, but she tells herself it’s better than feeling too much. 

~

She’s woken by the stroke of fingers against her arm, the top of her shoulder, and then the dip of her collarbone. 

“Did you fall asleep here?” Comes the gentle accented words of Yelena. “That was very stupid of you. You know to come right to bed.” 

She blinks her eyes open, blurry vision taking a moment to clear. 

Yelena’s face is free of makeup, her long hair loose around her shoulders. She reaches out to pinch a piece between her fingers, tugging gently on the strand. “No. You looked too peaceful to disturb.” 

Yelena’s brow furrows, she shoves Y/N’s shoulder. “No. You do not disturb us. Never.” 

She tries not to feel the acid in her stomach curl at the word us. An us she suddenly feels she’s not a part of. “Okay,” she says simply instead, sitting up to take Yelena’s hand between her own. Her gaze is still hard, penetrating, like she can see to the center of her. Yelena opens her mouth but Y/N quickly cuts her off. “Where’s Buck?”

“Sleeping still.” She keeps peering at her, like she could read her thoughts if she looked hard enough. “What’s wrong?” 

She tries to look surprised, but by the way Yelena rolls her eyes it’s a poor attempt. “Nothing, Lena,” she says, lifting her hand to press a kiss to her palm. 

“If you are going to lie, at least be good at it,” she says but doesn’t press further. “No more sleeping on the couch.” Yelena stands and crosses to the kitchen. “Come help me make an American breakfast. I want the whole thing today.” 

“Should we make mimosas too?” 

“Of course,” she shrugs in that very particular Yelena way, with the lift of her shoulders and purse of her lips, brows sneaking up her forehead. 

Y/N feels a pulse of love spike within her, telling her to forget the emotional wariness that Lisa’s questions had inspired. She stands from the couch, stretching before she folds the blanket back into its spot over the sofa’s arm. 

When she turns toward the kitchen, Yelena is eyeing her again. 

Sometimes she hates living with two former spies. They miss nothing. 

She smiles, walking toward the counter where Yelena is cracking eggs into a bowl. She knows that she’s still suspicious by the way she watches her. 

Thankfully she doesn’t say anything else and they fall into an easy routine. 

An hour later they have a complete spread before them, pancakes, eggs and toast, sliced fruit, avocados, bacon and sausage. 

If there was one thing she adored about Yelena it was her tendency to overindulge, filling up all the gaps inside her with things she wanted, missed out on, and wanted to try. 

It led to mornings like these, where they were already tipsy by the time the food finished cooking, where she grips Y/N’s hips and pats flour onto her cheek. 

“Next time you will make biscuits and gravy for me,” she says, pushing her back into the counter, hands cupping around Y/N’s wrists where she braces her hands against the stone. “I have not gotten to try them yet.”

She leans forward and pushes her nose into Yelena’s cheek, “Sure.”

Yelena pulls away to raise her arms above her head and wiggle on the spot, smiling. 

It makes Y/N smile, eases the worries and insecurities swirling around inside her. 

They’re just settling down at the breakfast table laden with food when the bedroom door opens and Bucky emerges, scrubbing sand from his eyes before he takes in the spread. “Hungry this morning?” he asks, voice gruff with sleep and amusement. 

Bucky stops by the table, kissing the side of Yelena’s head. She waves him away, “Ah, stop that. Get a plate.” 

He sends her a gentle smile and moves off to get the plate. 

She tries not to let her heart sink, tries to remember if he’s always missed her at breakfast, had always only given a kiss to Yelena. Bucky knows she likes greeting kisses, enjoys them in fact. 

She keeps her expression carefully neutral, her eyes turned down, as all the light she’d felt cooking with Yelena drifts away. 

A foot kicks at her ankle under the table. 

“James,” Yelena says. “Something is wrong with your girl. She won’t tell me what. She did not come to bed with us.” She loves the way Yelena’s accent sounds when she says the word girl, rounds out the syllables until they're soft and malleable and warm. 

The warmth is slighting undercut by being called Bucky’s girl, like she’s being siphoned off onto someone else, like she’s not also Yelena’s. 

Bucky turns from the cabinet, plate in hand, watching her carefully. “Why didn’t you, doll?” 

Had he even noticed? Would he have brought it up if Yelena hadn’t? 

Something like shame wells up inside her. For overthinking everything over comments made by someone who did not know her, who did not know her people. Y/N wants to lie all the anxieties eating at the inside of her skin at their feet and let them reassure her, but she worries that she’ll see pity instead and everything bad in her mind will be confirmed. “I didn’t want to disturb you,” she says quietly instead.  

Bucky is looking at her closely now too, but he’s not as good at reading her as Yelena is and so he just frowns.

He sits down at that small, worn kitchen table and peers at her. So she swallows and lifts her head, “Nothing is wrong. I really just didn’t want to disturb you. There wasn't any room anyways.” 

“Liar,” Yelena says into her glass, slouched back in her chair, not looking at her. 

“Prove it,” she snips back.  

“So shove us over next time,” Bucky mediates. 

And that dreaded us is back. Us versus her. She feels like an outsider all of a sudden. How did she ever expect to be equal among them when she did not participate equally in the relationship? 

All she can see now is how complete they are with each other, how utterly unnecessary she is.

She tries to stop the thoughts, tries to derail the things making her second guess everything about them, all of the other differences she’d always ignored, told herself didn’t matter. 

It wasn’t only about sex, though that was a big part of it. 

They share life experiences that she will never know, that she will never be able to relate to. Between being literal super people and former assassins, they also bonded through the recent loss of the most important people in their lives. The grief and turmoil they worked through everyday, how could she ever hope to understand, to compare? 

They match and she does not. 

In so many ways, she does not belong. 

When did that happen? When did they stop fitting together?

Have they ever? Was she that oblivious to everything? 

“See she keeps making that face,” Yelena says, not even looking at her as she digs for a stray piece of fruit at the bottom of her mimosa glass with one finger. “Like someone has just punched her.” 

She swallows and tries to control her face, tries not to let the hurt well up into her eyes. 

Bucky reaches out gently, always so gentle, like a giant in a model village. He touches the inside of her wrist, leans forward to lift her hand and press a kiss to her pulse point. 

It makes her want to cry, reminds her of their first couple months together where everything was shy and newly strange in the best way. When she thought everything would work out because Bucky was so old fashioned and slow with romance, that all he had to do was ask her for what he needed and she would be glad to give it. “Sweetheart, tell Yelena what happened so she can beat up whoever hurt you.” 

“Someone has hurt you?” Comes the indignant response immediately. Yelena slams her glass into the table with enough force to crack it.

“No,” she says immediately before Yelena can barrel out the front door and stab the first person she sees. Y/N turns Bucky’s hand in hers to squeeze his fingers. “Really everything is fine. I’m just feeling a bit off.” 

Yelena shoulders loosen and she slouches back down into her chair but you notice the knife in her hand that she had indeed snatched up off the table. Like she really would go fight someone with a dull kitchen blade.

She holds out her hand for it and Yelena reluctantly drops it into her hand. “You would tell me if someone has hurt you?” 

“Yes.”

Yelena relaxes at that. 

Bucky chuckles, lets go of Y/N’s wrist to load up his plate with food. 

She only picks at the food on her own plate, regretting the mimosa already as her stomach tightens and curdles around it. 

Before last night, she would have watched Yelena and Bucky with affection, how he turned toward her fully when she was talking, how they gravitated together, the gentle way Bucky laughed when Yelena exaggeratedly told a story. 

She didn’t feel jealous. 

No, she felt abandoned though everything is still the same, like a ship had sailed without her and she’d been so stupid that she hadn’t even realized it, standing on a shore with an empty horizon. She feels more than stupid, like she’s standing on the shore and the ship had sailed away months before. 

When breakfast is over and Yelena disappears to get dressed, something about meeting up with Kate, which likely just meant breaking into Kate’s place to scare the shit out of her, Bucky helps Y/N with the dishes. 

He leans into her, presses a kiss to her temple. “Whatever it is, we’re here for you.” He nudges his nose against her temple until she looks into his eyes. 

Her heart gives a painful thump as she bumps her forehead against his shoulder. “Bucky, it’s really nothing. I’m just in my head about something.”

“I’m in my own head all the time too. ‘M here if you need me.” 

She smiles, feels just a bit lighter at the way he presses close to her side, keeps contact with her like it gives him strength. 

Yelena passes them on her way out the door, her fingers hooking into Y/N’s  pajama shorts to press a hard kiss against her mouth before she smiles and disappears, Kate’s bow slung over one shoulder and a baseball bat in her hands.

Bucky drops a kiss to her hair, and Y/N watches her lean up into it. 

It makes Y/N smile, and the slam of the front door is almost comforting, the sounds of home. 

Where Bucky is all gentleness with her, Yelena is aggressive, like she wouldn’t always be able to give her love, so she gave it as forcefully as she could while she was allowed. 

But she can’t chase those stupid words away. 

What did they need a third for? Wasn’t she just complicating things for two people who deserved simplicity?

Even though she and Bucky had been together before Yelena came into their lives with the force of a hurricane, maybe she was only ever supposed to serve as the glue that stuck them together. 

She can’t help but feel like she was now the pulled stitch, the last piece of the puzzle that suddenly did not fit.

They would be better together without her, their relationship would certainly be easier. 

~

She avoids the pair of them all week, lucky that her schedule at work kept her away, that Bucky was busy with Sam in Louisiana for a few days, that Yelena was preoccupied with whatever she and Kate were up to, then liberating one the the widows who happened to be in New York. 

But they notice the change in her, because of course they do. She tries to act as normally as possible but Bucky and Yelena notice almost everything, even the slightest difference is something monumental to them. 

They notice that she sleeps on the couch, that she smiles only when necessary, that she’s melancholy, though she tries not to show it. 

Spies. They tend to know more than anyone wants them to. 

Yelena goes so far as to show up at the club, glitter framing her eyes, lips painted red, neon lights dancing around her head as she approaches the bar with a knife in her hand. “Who?”

“What?” 

“Who is hurting you? Who makes you so sad?”

She has to swallow back the burn in her throat as she lies to her, “Yelena, honey, nothing, no one.” She’s grateful that Lisa isn’t working though she’s never brought up the subject of her relationship again. Nicole likely threatened her. “Everything is fine.” 

The look in her eyes says she does not believe her, that she will fight whatever has made the minute changes in you.

“Solntse,” she says. “You know I would kill everyone here for you, yes?” 

She nods and Yelena nods back. 

“You don’t have to be sad alone,” Yelena says, “You taught me this. Remember?”

She had, when the force of her grief for Natasha had almost drug her under. 

Again, she nods, her throat so tight she can’t speak.

“I will leave you now,” she says, watching the other bartender struggle to help all the customers. “Bucky will walk you home. You will sleep with us tonight.” 

She opens her mouth to protest, but Yelena waves the knife at her, catching the attention of one of the bouncers. “No. This is happening.” 

And before she can get a word in, she blinks and Yelena is gone, slipping away so easily that the bouncer looks confused too. 

Sure enough when she leaves the club that night, Bucky is waiting for her at the corner, like he used to every single night. 

He falls into step beside her and wraps her fingers between his own. 

“Mind if we walk or do you want to take the train?”

“We can walk.” 

And so they do, silence stretching between them. It reminds her of the worries stirring inside her, that she’s let fester for the last week. She’d thought that they would ease over time but she had not stopped worrying.  

That she would never be enough, for anyone. 

Maybe for a time, but never for forever.

Bucky is the one to break the silence as they approach their apartment building. “Lena wants to have a movie night. She has the movie picked out.” He pulls her to a stop in front of their stoop, cups her jaw in his hand. “You haven’t been yourself lately. We’re worried about you.” 

She swallows but doesn’t look away from him. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m trying to get over it.” 

“Y’don’t have to do it alone, y’know? We’re here.” 

She turns her head and kisses his palm gently. “I know.”

Bucky nods but looks worried.

When they reach the apartment and Bucky throws open the door, they find Yelena already tucked on the couch, blankets spread over her legs, a big bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. “Heeeey!” she says, dragging out the word and smiling as she excitedly points at the TV. “Movie night! Since you love this couch so much,” she snarks. “Sleeping on it all the time now.” 

Bucky shucks off his jacket as he crosses the room, settling on the sofa and slinging one arm over the back. 

They’re both looking at her now, waiting for her to come inside, close the front door. 

But she suddenly can’t find it in herself to move. 

She stands there like an idiot, watching the pair of them, how Bucky reaches out and presses the tips of his fingers into Yelena’s shoulder, and she can’t imagine how she’s supposed to fit between them on the couch even though they’ve left a clear space for her between them. 

Yelena says her name. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, stepping inside, closing the door gently. “Sorry I’ve been so weird lately. But I’ve been thinking and -,” She looks away from them, down at her toes. “I-,”

“Are you leaving?

The question is asked so gently, softly. 

But Yelena’s voice is hard steel underneath and so Y/N knows that means she’s breaking on the inside. She knows if she looks up Yelena will have that pouted mask of indifference in place. She knows that Bucky’s eyes will be wide, his shoulders stiff. 

Neither of them, for all their training, could hide anything they felt. 

“No,” she says quietly. “I don’t - I’m worried I’m…” she hesitates and then decides to come out with it. “I don’t want to.”

“Then don’t,” comes the fierce reply. “Stop being stupid and sit down.” 

Bucky shifts forward on the couch, “Doll, tell us what’s bothering you.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to break up with me,” she admits suddenly. “Are we happy? Do we work together? I thought we did. I was happy. But -,” she paces, can’t look at them still. “Then I had to explain to someone what being ace means and how it’s different for everyone and then she asked…what’s the point? And I have to ask you that too because I can’t stop thinking about it. What’s the point?”

Silence stretches between them when she finally stops talking. Painful and loud.

The anxiousness that’s been drumming at the inside of her chest all week threatens to burst out of her. 

“Point of what?” Bucky breaks the silence, the timber of his voice crush, weighed down. “Us?”

“No.” She looks up, shakes her head violently, “No. No, not you. I - I love both of you. What’s the point of me? I can’t - maybe I won’t ever be able to put as much into this relationship and maybe it’s selfish of me to ask you to accept that about me. If you need more. And…if you’re happy together and you can meet all of each other's needs then why -,” She swallows and continues even when her voice breaks, “Why do you need me?”

When neither of them answers, she panics, the yawning blackhole of insecurity swallowing her up.  “And I’ve been feeling lately like maybe I was just meant to bring you together. There’s so much the two of you share that I won’t ever be able to understand. Maybe I don’t belong.”

She presses her lips together then to avoid saying more, to avoid sounding even more pathetic than she already did. 

Y/N closes her eyes and leans back against the closed front door, counting backwards from ten, crossing her arms over her chest to keep her ribs from coming undone at the seams. 

“Who made you believe this?” Yelena asks, her voice angry. “I need to know so I can kill them.” When she’s upset her accent deepens, and Y/N imagines the scrunch between her brows but can’t bring herself to open her eyes. 

Something touches her shoulder and she nearly jumps out of her skin. But it's just Bucky, who has stood and drifted over on silent feet. 

“Who?” He asks and there’s a quiet anger in his voice. 

She lets him untuck her arms and guide her to the couch. 

Yelena doesn’t touch her, just sits forward and stares and waits. 

“It doesn’t matter who. She didn’t say anything that isn’t kind of true.” 

“So you believe this is true? You want to take my home and family away from me again because of this? Because of lies from a stranger?”

She shakes her head, “No, Lena, of course not. Of course, I wouldn’t abandon you. I just have to know if this dynamic is right.” 

Bucky squeezes her fingers, heads off Yelena’s fiercely building energy, “‘s not true, Y/N. What this person said isn’t true.” 

“No,” Yelena says, her voice still harsh, but she takes Y/N’s other hand and her grip is gentle. “It is not.” 

She feels so stupid in that moment, her neck and face warm, the people she desperately loves holding either of her hands.

Yelena scoffs, “You will tell me who.” 

“No,” she says, knowing that would literally put someone’s life at stake. 

Bucky takes a gentler path, as is his habit with her. His heart is loyal and soft and breakable. She has to wonder if she’s the one to have broken it now. 

“Remember when you first told me you were ace?” He asks, his thumb stroking slowly over the back of her hand. Yelena’s shoulders drop next to Y/N, and she knows there’s some form of silent communication going on above her head as the pair of them look at each other. 

“Yes-,”

“And I told you that it didn’t matter to me,” he continues. “Yelena said the same thing when we told her, remember?” Bucky waits for her to nod before he continues, “Did we do something to make you think that wasn’t true?” 

“Of course not-,”

“Because honey, this works because of you. You make us complete.” She feels Bucky tangle his fingers with Yelena’s, their hands pressing along the curve of Y/N’s spine. “You belong with us. You give us everything we need. Sex? That isn’t why ‘m here. That isn’t why we're together.”

Yelena is nodding, her head against Y/N’s shoulder. “It is because I love you. We love you.” She shrugs against her, “You give us everything anyways. You always give everything you have. More than that. And its not like I have a high sex drive either.” 

And she knows that’s true. 

Yelena rarely brought sex up. 

Bucky was usually the one to do it, and he preferred it that way, liked the control it gave him over his life. He’d made a point to always tell both of them what he needed, when he needed it.  

She’s quiet for a moment just breathing and letting herself absorb the heat of both of them, letting herself absorb the truths being given to her. “I just don’t want you to miss anything. Or feel like you aren’t getting everything you need. I want to be a part of you.” 

Yelena laughs suddenly, turning her head to press her forehead into Y/N’s arm, nuzzling against her with her eyes closed. “We would be fucking miserable if it was only the two of us.” Yelena is laughing, she can feel her smiling against her arm, “Our life experience makes both of us bitter bitches. We would be miserable without you.” 

Y/N tries not to smile, because it was true. 

Bucky pokes the corner of her mouth. “We get everything we need. Even if we never had sex, we get everything we need. And sweetheart? What's the point? God, the point is that I fucking love you. That you are everything I’ve ever needed and you understood me when no one else was trying to.”

Yelena is nodding again, her fingers gripping Y/N’s. “You make us better people,” she says quietly. “You take care of us. You tell us all we have to do is ask for anything we need and you will give it. And you do. Anything. You give everything.” She pushes her back until her back is pressed against Bucky’s chest, his arms automatically wrapping around her. 

Yelena slips forward, curling into her embrace. She’s overwhelmed by their presence, by their renewed acceptance. Bucky holds both her hands while Yelena tips her face up to kiss her carefully. 

She wants to cry for being so lucky. She cups Yelena’s jaw, kissing her back with the fierceness she knows the other woman craves.  

It had never been this easy before, with anyone else, of someone saying, I see you and it's okay. I love you as you are. You are enough. 

“I’m not broken,” she says out loud, because it's important in that moment. “I won’t change.” 

“We know, solntse.” 

“I’m sorry,” she says. 

“We know that too.”

Bucky kisses the side of Y/N’s head, let’s Yelena lean up and kiss him before he asks, “Now, who made you believe you were?”

She sighs, brushing a strand of Yelena’s hair behind her ear. “I’m not telling you. It would put that person in serious danger. I’m pretty sure Nicole kicked her ass already anyways.” 

“Remind me to buy Nicole some flowers. We can invite her for dinner and she can tell us.”

Lucky, she thinks again, so lucky, to have found two people who so completely understood her, who accepted her without question. Two people, who only asked for what she was comfortable to give. 

Yelena fits herself against Y/N, tucking her head under her chin while Bucky wraps his arms around both of them. 

“What movie did you want to watch, Lena?” She asks, curling her hair around a finger, touching the corner of her jaw. 

Yelena looks up, her eyes going to Bucky and then back to Y/N, “You pick.” She settles back down against her. 

So she clicks on something random on Netflix and calls it good enough, knows none of them will be watching it anyways.

She pets Yelena’s hair, feels Bucky’s fingers against her arm, occasionally twitching out to touch the top of Yelena’s head. 

“It was Lisa wasn’t it?”

She sighs and Yelena laughs, knowing she guessed correctly. “I’m going to hide the knives.” 

“Like I need a knife.” 

“Don’t kill her.” 

“Ah, no, of course not,” she says, shrugging. “Maim, maybe a little.”