MY LITTLE MEOW MEOW 💌

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.”

no bones

content warnings: no smut but reference to it, also mommy kink, nat comforts you by… being a shitty gf lol

a/n: ive opened 3 word docs to write diff things and its not coming out bc ive been haha sad af so i wrote this mediocre gfs fic, as usual ur both terrible gfs on paper but in practice it… works out actually

Keep reading

I don’t want your pity, I just want somebody near me

Natasha Romanoff x Reader 

Words: 1k 

Warnings: talks of depression/general sadness. Some swearing. Self-indulgence to the max.

A/N: This is my first fic ever so please go easy on me. Also I wrote this at 2am while listening to Mitski which is a warning all on its own.

Keep reading

love like you || w.m.

ship: scarlet witch!wanda/soft mommy!wanda/little!reader (mirror au)

warnings: allusions to multiverse of madness, smut (18+), also some light angst and lots of fluff, MDLG, selfcest, spanking, non-explicit mentions of rough sex, non-sexual punishments, aftercare

a/n: again thank u to motts and britt who truly had their gay little hands very involved in crafting this dynamic

Wanda was not expecting to choose to live a quiet life with her variant and her little, and she most certainly wasn’t expecting both of them to happily accept her into their lives - but it was exactly the environment she never knew she needed. 

It took a while for the three of you to get used to the dynamic. It was much easier for you, since you were already used to living with one Wanda. This new Wanda was just a little more broken around the edges, a little more paranoid and possessive of you, needing a lot of reassurance - which you were more than willing to provide. 

When you called her Mommy for the first time, you could practically see her tear up before she held you tighter, kissing your forehead and saying, “Yes, little one. Mommy’s here.” 

Mama and Mommy took a little more time getting used to each other - caught up in the idea that they were seeing the best and worst of each other laid out so plainly in front of them - but Mama’s soft approach to helping Mommy made the process a lot smoother for both of them. 

You actually didn’t realize that their relationship had developed into something more than just both being your mommies for a while. That was, until one day you woke up from a deep sleep, confused and cold because of the empty bed. 

You padded into the kitchen, Wandabear tucked under your arm and paci in your mouth, following the soft glow of the light over the sink. The pair were leaned against the counter, sharing soft kisses and caresses. It looked like Mommy had been crying, her tired eyes rimmed with red. But you could see a soft smile planted clearly on her face as Mama kissed her nose like she does with you when you’re feeling down. 

The moment was so intimate that you were about to creep back into bed and wait for them to return, but of course with two mind readers they were well aware of your presence. 

Mommy Wanda will sometimes get really moody and frustrated with herself for feeling that way and sometimes will accidentally snap at both of you. The first time this happened, you were immediately taken back to that first time you met her and she was in a crazed fury looking for her children, startled by finding you and Mama instead. 

She’s getting better about her temper. Mama has helped a lot, urging her to use her words and talk the feelings out rather than bottling them up until she snaps. Sometimes she still gets in cloudy moods, but she’s made a lot of progress and is able to get through them a lot easier with you and Mama helping.

Mommy Wanda is very very whipped for both of you, as much as she denies it. 

All three of you have the biggest praise kinks.

Mommy and Mama both get incredibly soft when they’re fucking and the other calls tells them how good they’re doing. And you are just always eager for positive attention from them both <3

They’re both strict with you but in very different ways. 

Mommy is much more likely to let you get away with breaking rules, like sneaking you cookies and letting you stay up past your bedtime. But she is also much more likely to punish you with spankings if you talk back to her. 

“Watch your tone with me, little devil,” is something you hear probably multiple times a day because you kind of can’t help riling Mommy up. 

Mama, on the other hand, is very strict on your daily rules. No dessert before you finish your dinner. Bedtime at 10pm. No throwing a tantrum to get something you want in the store. But if you give her a little sass, she’s usually just going to roll her eyes and let you get your bratty energy out before asking, “Are you done now, baby?” and you just pout at her and nod. 

Mama much prefers corner time as a punishment. Or writing lines. She doesn’t like to do impact play with you (but does rather enjoy the way you squirm as Mommy turns your cheeks red).

Both of them enjoy watching the other fuck you a lot. Mommy is a lot rougher than Mama - who was surprised at how much you loved the hard treatment. You had never expressed to her how you thought about her just using you. Mommy was more than willing to help fulfil those fantasies. 

The three of you always end up taking a big bath together after a tiring play session. You all barely all fit in the tub together - even after Mama got a new one. 

Mommy really loves washing you. It’s therapeutic for her to take care of you like that. 

Bedtime always consists of a lot of cuddles and kisses and sweet words before the three of you drift off to sleep. 

Keep reading

Dark! Sugar mommy melina posing as r's mother

A/N: so this one is a little different from other stuff I’ve written. I’m really excited about it tho!! I think it requires a little bit of backstory: I have crippling social anxiety and selective mutism, and I’m also just not the best at functioning in general. People thought I was 18 from the time I was 15, and now I look 18/19 (I am 18), but due to my mutism and and functioning issues, in public or at the doctor’s people have always turned to my mother to speak and decide for me. Usually it’s helpful in my life, but the potential for dark!content can’t be ignored >:)

Send me your h-word thoughts!

CW: smut! DNI if under 18!; dark!fic; mommy!melina; hints of Stockholm syndrome; mute!reader; manipulation of Doctor; Melina posing as mother; strapwarming; irresponsible driving practices; heavy manipulation; dub-con?? Sorta; it’s really dark and weird ok

“So, mom tells me you’re very anxious and sometimes have outbursts,” the doctor addresses you. You give a small nod, legs bouncing. He’s not wrong, after all.

“It’s such a struggle at home—I have such a sweet kid usually, but sometimes…” Melina fakes a disheartened sigh. “I know we spoke some on the phone about some possible medications to help,” she says.

You glance up at her. She had told you you were going to the doctor, but not why. Is she going to try and drug you up? She gives you a smile and squeeze that look reassuring, but you know better.

You’ve been mostly complacent & compliant with your captor at first, hoping good behavior would be in your interest, but as things escalated, you’ve started to struggle. It looks like she’s going to put an end to that.

“Yes, we did. From what you described, I think I have some medications in mind, one for daily use and one that would be more for those uncontrollable moments,” he says to Melina. “How does that sound, huh?” he drops his head a little and makes his voice a little softer to speak to you, how one speaks to a child.

Melina squeezes your leg a little tighter when you hesitate, making you nod quickly. He smiles at you, oblivious to the true situation at hand.

“Now, they will both be controlled medications, so make sure to keep track of them and keep them locked up,” he says as he gets up to go get his prescription pad.

“Thanks so much again for letting me come to the appointment today, doctor, it really helps. I know you don’t usually let parents of legal adults come along,” she says sweetly. He smiles and leaves.

“You did very good, baby,” she says softly to you once the door is closed.

“But, Me—mommy—I don’t need any medicine,” you whisper, looking up at her. “I don’t want any.”

“You’re behaving so well, don’t ruin it now. So far you’ve earned yourself a reward when we get home,” she coos, hand running up from your knee to your clothed mound. You gasp a little and buck gently into her touch. “Don’t you want a reward?”

“Y-yes mommy,” you say.

“That’s what I thought,” she hums. At the door handle jiggling, her hand moves back to your knee. The doctor enters and hands Melina two pieces of paper for the pharmacy.

“Now the daily one might make you feel a little more sluggish or tired than usual, just let mom know if you’re getting dizzy or feeling nauseous,” he tells you. “And mom, for the PRN one, don’t use it more than three or four times a week, and make sure you stay close—dizziness is a normal side effect,” he explains. You give a small whimper.

“Aw, it’s okay baby, it’s gonna help you,” Melina says. “Thank you, we’ll be in touch with any questions or concerns,” she turns back to the doctor, who nods. “Can you tell the doctor thank-you, sweetie?” she prompts.

“Th-thank you,” you mumble.

“Of course,” he says. You and Melina leave, pausing at the attached pharmacy to get your new prescription. When you’re finally back in the car, you fold over and cry.

“Oh, it’s alright little one, mommy’s here, mommy will take care of you,” she says sweetly, rubbing your back. “Now get your bottoms off and come sit on mommy’s lap so you can get started with your reward,” she says. You undress and crawl over to the drivers seat while she unzips her pants, revealing that she’s been packing.

“Just like that, baby,” she says as she guides your hips to sit you down on her strap. “So good for me,” she says as you give a needy whimper despite yourself. She buckles the seatbelt around you both and puts the car into gear.

“Someone will see!” you say, panicked and trying to get off.

“Settle, dekta. Remember, I have tinted windows,” she says, an iron grip around your waist. “But make sure to not move too much, I can’t be distracted,” she warns.

“Yes mommy,” you say, gently rocking your hips like you know she likes.

“That’s it, dekta,” she purrs, one hand on the wheel and the other stroking the back of your head, face buried in her neck. “It’s only thirty minutes home.”

Learning (To Trust Your Touch)

Taglist: @lynxwhispurrs

Summary: When an unexpected touch brings a realization to light, Natasha does everything to show her favorite person that it's real.

A/N: This was inspired by @missmonsters2's "Words Beneath Your Skin', a beautiful piece of art I"m not worthy of with my touch starved ass. I wanted to add my own little spin to it using my favorite assassin :3 Thank you again for giving me permission to do this <3

Warning: Open ended quote that might be interpreted as abuse. I'm not for sure, but just to be safe.

Natasha noticed.

To be fair, she is a assassin turned avenger. She notices a lot of things.

Natasha spent lifetimes learning about the human body. Where to break, where to shed blood most, vital areas that deliver poison faster than others….the list can go on.

She saw it when you visited her room. A part of the problem.

You were still new, not to the team, but to the compound. And even though everyone was mostly in and out on missions, your presence was very welcome to many.

Especially to a certain feline.

Liho was never one to welcome strangers, but your small peace offering of expensive canned tuna definitely made an impression.

Soon enough, you began to feed Liho, and her owner. Leaving small meals for both of them to find, and to keep finding you to ask for more.

You become both their favorites. And being a favorite of Natasha did allow certain perks.

“Found those limited edition chips you wanted.”

“Your shoelaces are untied,”

“Wanna go shopping?”

“I restocked the snack drawer and charged your computer.”

She pays attention as you start to settle into your new room. How you grab small snacks instead of sitting at a dinner table with the others, how you wrap yourself in a blanket when you’re in an empty living room. What snack you like best after a training session.

They’re small things, and to her credit, she was really just trying to say thank you for feeding them both. Thank you quickly turned into dates you thoroughly enjoyed.

It’s how you ended up in her room for the first time.

“I bought a few too many snacks at the store,” was the best excuse she could come up with, and she thanks whatever god there is that you bought it with that smile of yours.

Natasha’s room was interesting, simplicity mixed with sparks of modern and rustic all in one. Splashes of red and white mixed with shades of black.

“It’s pretty,”

Natasha gives you the smallest of smiles, genuine and true. “Thank you.”

Her bed is even softer. The mattress invites you, and you immediately burrow into the blankets like it’s second nature.

Meow

Liho follows suit after you open up your bag of potato chips and nestles in a spot close to you, and that night black tail swaying in pure bliss.

Then it happens.

Natasha looks at you, green eyes spotting remnants of chips resting against the corner of your lips. It doesn’t bother her, quite the contrary, you look absolutely adorable.

She brings it to your attention with a small chuckle, and hovers a finger over her face to point out the crumbs. Your focus on the movie, and perhaps looking a little too much at Natasha’s eyes and not her cue for you to wipe your face makes you brush away the opposite cheek.

A laugh escapes, and you wonder what’s so funny before she takes action herself.

Then she sees something.

How your eyes widened when you felt it. Hearing your heartbeat damn near thump out of your chest. Seeing the muscles tense up at the exact spot where the assassins hand brushes against your cheek. Feeling your face heat up at the intention, or even the very contact itself.

It’s how Natasha has her epiphany.

That you weren’t comfortable.

-

No childhood was ever really perfect, but coming to the root of it…was it really even normal?

Sure, your parents maybe made a few mistakes, but they gave you something, they gave you life. That’s probably the best gift they could give you. You didn’t need affection.

Right?

The memory of last night comes, how she…did that. Touched you. Lingering for only a few moments to the point where you thought you saw trees in those forest eyes of hers.

You look away from it, and she retracts, eyes quickly turning apologetic before you excuse yourself..

God…gardening was supposed to relax you. Not reminding you of the memory of a touch setting you off.

You gingerly touch the potting soil you laid out, placing a little in your hands and gauging the rich dirt. It’s not like grass, rooted to the ground. It’s flexible, vulnerable and-

Meow?

“Liho?”

You dust your hands off, and allow them to hover over the feline. You feel like a ghost, so close to her, but yet-

“Your momma must be mad at me, hm?”

Meow

“I know…not the smartest move to avoid her.” You allow your fingertips to ghost over the fur slowly. “I just…”

Liho makes an effort to listen. To stay as a friend, as a ear to listen.

“I don’t know.”

It’s an honest answer. One that makes Natasha’s heart break a little inside as she waits for you to finish your session with Liho.

She thinks about it for a moment, as she makes her presence known after you stop talking. A small wave and a soft “Hello” before she scoops liho in her arms and away from you.

The words slip out before you can think.

“Please…wait.”

Natasha stands still, liho jumping out of her arms in an instant and running back to your side. Natasha looks to the empty spot next to you in the green house, and when she looks at you this time, it’s different.

You see her ask. Green eyes waiting, despite everything inside her wanting to embrace and comfort you, for permission to get close to you.

You nod, and it’s the best decision you made today when you see her get comfortable on the ground.

“I’m sorry.” She starts. “I never meant to make you feel like I was going to hurt you. I would never hurt you.”

She feels like it’s her fault. For making you like this, so scared of this, of-

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Her eyebrows knit together, and she frowns as Liho makes her way to the redhead and nuzzles her thigh.

“What happened yesterday? Did I make you feel uncomfortable?”

You place your hands on your lap, the texture of your blue jeans giving some imitation of stimulation. The feeling is awkward and does little to ease your nerves, it’s baffling that jeans don’t have any other purpose than being expensive, but Natasha’s hand makes you stop.

Her hand is right in front of you. The early afternoon sunshine rests on her palm, extending towards you. She makes a conscious effort not to touch any part of your body, no matter what this urge is consuming her from the inside out.

Natasha only looks at you, and keeps her hand extended.

It’s another question.

I want to understand…please talk to me.

You take her hand, and allow your fingers to trace the lines on her palm before taking another step to full on hand-holding.

“It’s not you.” You shake your head. “Never you.”

She’s relieved, and quietly thanks a god as she looks at you. As she searches for those answers with you.

“I just…it felt so…different.”

She quirks an eyebrow at that. Before gently squeezing your hand. “Different how?”

“It felt…” You bit your lower lip in thought.

So soft, and gentle…how the warmth of her fingers rested on your cheek, her thumb swiping away the crumbs, how you felt so safe keeping eye contact with her when those few seconds felt like an eternity.

It felt like you wanted so much more of it. That..that touch.

But it’s wrong, in your mind.

It’s wrong to yourself to yearn for that feeling, to want it and to never let it go. To cherish its warmth like a fire on a cold winters day.

You find yourself not answering it. That feeling that keeps yelling at you to indulge in it.

“It felt so…new.” You explained. “Like it wasn’t going to leave. Like it was safe.”

Natasha nods. “Did it ever feel safe before?”

She waits for your answer, and feels the warmth of your hand slip away from her.

“Not everyone is like you,” You whisper. “Not everyone is good.”

She gets it.

-

Natasha never felt like this.

So determined, so hellbent on showing you something you’ve been denied for so long.

Take it slow, she reminds herself.

Natasha starts small. Hand and eye contact. A good start.

You see her extend her hand like she’s did in the green house during breakfast oneway, her forest orbs looking at you with that question.

Do you want this? It's okay if you don't.

Your decision is like that game show with the music for the final question. You’re over and under-thinking, worrying and doubting.

But she stays still and true.

You take her hand as many times as she extends it, and every decision getting just a little shorter than the last. She sees you start to intertwine your fingers with hers eventually, and the eye contact remains through it all.

You find yourself looking at her eyes so much. Sometimes it’s to check if she changed her mind, or if you did something wrong. But she brings you back with those green eyes of hers, an affirmation that it’s okay.

You're safe with me

She builds a foundation this way. Natasha slowly starts to stay a little longer by your side, she finds you starting to look for that feeling. She builds from hand holding, to sparring together, and from that, hugging.

She loves it when she gets to hug you.

The feeling of safety always washes over you when she wraps her arms around you, like she doesn’t want to let go. The subtle squeeze she gives you proved her point when Bucky called her out on it.

She didn’t want to let go. She never does.

Natasha slowly and consistently continues to build that foundation, and takes it at your pace. She’s patient, and attentive.

It gets longer, the contact.

You start to hold Liho for longer periods of time as Natasha sits next to you when you watch movies. Your fingers grazing over her fur as the assassin watches with adoration.

Hugs quickly became late night cuddling, and god it was heaven for you both.

You allowed yourself to initiate small touches. Brief hugs with the team as a greeting whenever in passing, high fives when Bucky says something funny at lunch, actually going to lunch instead of hiding in your room.

You became a permanent guest at Natasha’s bed, and you began sitting a tiny bit closer to her every time. Sometimes you’d lay on her lap as she braided your hair, others would be more comfortable sitting positions if anything else.

She sees a shift of sorts when you’re in bed with her one night.

The television show was long forgotten about ten minutes into the series, and she sees your crinkled brow under the covers. You’re not frustrated, far from it actually, and she’s relieved when she hears your heartbeat is steady.

Your body moves on its own accord. Gently shifting your position to sit up. Natasha immediately locks eyes with you, and turns down the volume with her other hand.

“Can you hold me?”

Her answer is a smile, and her eyes softening before meeting your own.

"May I?' She asks.

You give a nod, before she adjusts herself. Her movements aren’t as quick as her reflexes, she gives you the opportunity to see everything she’s doing, and the power to stop this.

You feel her hands brush against your sleep shirt, the warmth leaving as soon as it came. Her movements stop, as she gives you a moment to take in the result of her ministrations.

She’s under you, so many strands of red hair you try not count splayed all over her pillows, her hands hovering over the small of your back. Her eyes never leaving yours for a second.

“Is this-“

Her breath hitches when you take the initiative. Your hands find hers like your life depends on it, and she feels your body relax under her when you find the missing piece.

You see her look at you, and there’s something different about her.

You're beautiful

You both move in sync, you reach down as she rises to connect your foreheads together.

“How does this feel?”

Natasha’s voice is a mere whisper in the dimly illuminated room. Her raspy tone is prominent, calming, and intoxicating all at the same time. Hands ghost against your waist, holding you steady.

You lean in closer, your lips inches apart from hers.

“It feels like you..”

It does, everything feels like Natasha. From the way she holds you, to how she’s kissing you right now in this moment.

Her lips are velvet against yours, full of devotion, and adoration just for you. You take it all in, you feel it all in the kiss, and it’s euphoric.

It feels so…good, and warm, and soft and safe.

And you never want it to stop feeling this way.

You both pull away, and Natasha gives you a different smile, one that’s like the sun.

“It’s real…” she whispers incredulously. “This is real.”

“It is.” You whisper

It truly is.

You both find each other’s hands, and press your foreheads together.

Natasha squeezes, ever so softly.

“It’s always real when I’m with you”

for the smutty saturday could you do dom!scarlett johansson and sub!r with number 54 please 🥺🥺

There was not much that could make Scarlett mad, but oh did it make her blood boil to see another man touching on her girl.

Y/n knew that she was watching, watching this random guy at the bar leave a lingering touch on her lower back. She wishes she can say that she hated to tease Scarlett, but it was so fun to do so.

The anger that stroked Scarlett’s touch when she finally got Y/n in her grasp always sent her skin aflame. She could feel herself getting wet already from how she's going to handle her later.

She felt her phone buzz in her hand while this guy talked about whatever. Y/n glanced at her locked screen and noticed the one notification that she has is a text from Scarlett.

Don't get yourself in trouble little girl

Y/n locked her phone again before glancing over at Scarlett. Her eyes were staring right at them and if looks could kill, this man in front of her would be dead.

Just then, Y/n decided to laugh at his lame joke as if it was the funniest thing in the world. The people around her looked at her as she laughed obnoxiously, but she didn't care. Her hand came to rest on the man's bicep resulting in another buzz from her phone.

Touch him again and I'm going to drag you out of here

Y/n decided to text Scarlett back:

Or what? I thought we weren't together? I remember you saying something like that or maybe I imagined it.

Y/n knows that using her words against her is going to end with her face forced against a mattress and Scarlett fucking her from behind without an ounce of remorse.

Come here

The guy in front of her was still talking to her as if she was actually paying attention to him. He was cute, seemed really nice too, but she wasn’t interested in him at all. What had her attention was the conversation happening on her phone.

No

Are you going to come here, or are you going to make me come get you myself?

Y/n locked her phone again. If Scarlett wanted her like she claimed then she was going to have to do something about it. This little game was exciting her so much, lust swirling inside of her.

She was suddenly grabbed by the arm and was dragged away from the guy she was hardly talking to.

"What the fu-"

"Shut your mouth. You lost the privilege to explain yourself."

Scarlett can't even wait until they got to her house. She pushed Y/n into the back of her car. Scarlett forced Y/n over her lap and pulled up her short dress until it was over her ass.

"Such a pretty little ass...too bad I have to bruise it." Her hand came down hard on Y/n’s ass, making her yelp. Y/n found herself feeling embarrassed even though caused this to happen. Anyone could walk by and see what's happening through Scarlett’s dark tinted windows if they looked for long enough. Her heart began to race faster and faster every time she smacked her ass. Her skin burned hot under Scarlett’s touch.

"You don't have anything to say for yourself now, do you? You were such a bad girl. What happened? What happened, honey?" Y/n felt her fingers rubbing her sex through her thin panties. She whimpered when Scarlett’s fingers hovered over and pressed into her sensitive bud. Y/n was absolutely dripping through the cotton fabric of her panties. "You made a mess of yourself baby."

Scarlett pulled her panties to the side to make room for her fingers. She pushed into Y/n’s wet opening and sighed when she felt her warm walls grip her. Tears already stained Y/n’s eyes as Scarlett began to pump in and out of her much faster than she could withstand.

Scarlett noticed how Y/n was trying to grind her clit against her for some relief.

"My little baby that turned on? You want your little clit played with?"

Y/n nodded pathetically, eliciting a laugh deep from Scarlett’s chest. She had teased and teased and now she was reaping what she had sowed.

"Your pussy is tightening around me already. You gonna cum baby? Am I going to make you cum?"

Y/n could only whimper. Scarlett’s thick and agile fingers rendered her silent. She already had two inside of her then she slid another one in. She didn't think she'd be able to talk all three but she did. Scarlett filled her up with her fingers and curled them inside of her. She hits parts that only she knows how to find. The continuous rubbing over Y/n’s sweet spots made her lose her mind. Her words were mangled as she tried to cry out about how good she was making her feel.

Scarlett was relentless in how she treated Y/n’s poor pussy. Even after she suspected Y/n had came around her fingers so soon, the excess of arousal giving her away, she still finger fucked her pussy until Y/n was trying squirm out of her grasp. Scarlett just held onto her harder and kept subjecting her to the onslaught of her fingers.

"This is my little pussy. I'm the only other person who gets to touch this sweet honey pot."

"Yes! It's yours! I'm gonna cum for you," Y/n was able to cry out.

A broken cry came from her throat as she came around Scarlett’s fingers once again and much harder this time. Scarlett felt smug as she brought her to heel after she was feeling bold from teasing her. She always thought she was slick, but Scarlett made her weak in the knees. It was something about her eyes that turned Y/n into her submissive bitch.

Scarlett pulled her fingers out of her, making Y/n whimper from the empty feeling. She felt her tease her slit again before adding pressure to her clit. Her body jerked and she pulled away from Scarlett’s touch.

"Open."

Y/n kept her eyes closed, but she opened her mouth and felt Scarlett’s fingers fill her mouth. She hummed around them and sucked the taste of herself off of her fingers. Her body went slack against Scarlett. She turned her head and finally opened her eyes to look at her..

"This is nothing compared to what I'm going to do to you with my cock later. You better toughen up princess, it's going to be a long night for you."

Request something for Smutty Saturday

natty dropping to her knees to eat her little valentine out <333

warnings: older!nat x kotenok!reader, oral sex (r receiving), and age gap. nsfw

“Hey.”

Her smile grows when her eyes drop to where you’re sitting. The small make shift bench in side her walk in closet seems more comfortable than it looks like.

But it’s the way Natasha looks at you from where she stands with her hair up in a bun and cheeks pink from working out.

“Hi, Natty.”

She reaches out a hand to dance her knuckles along the apple of your cheek. “You look pretty like this.”

“Really?” You ask her, genuine shock present in doe eyes.

The older woman nods and tilts your chin up with a finger. “You don’t think so, kotenok?”

You shrug, then look away from her gaze. “I don’t really think about it too much.” The words feel more intimate now that the two of you are so physically close.

But it’s the silence that makes you take a shaky breath of air. Natasha sees it and a frown erupts on her lips. Her hand reaches over again to force your attention back to her where her thumb draws over the crevices of your bottom lip.

“Can I kiss you?”

You look baffled by the question, almost feeling the blood that rushes to your cheeks and nose. But you nod anyways and bite your lip rather nervously.

“Okay?”

You nod again. “It’s more than okay, Natty.”

The older woman leans a great height to kiss you. What was supposed to be a simple kiss turns deep when you feel her tongue smooth over your bottom lip for access. It’s the whimper that parts your part and allows her access, and it’s the hand sneaking around your neck that has you heaving in response.

Natasha grows weary as she bends over. Kneeling down and settled between your parted legs, the red head pulls away to breath and she looks at you shameless.

“You alright, Bunny?”

You flush under the use of your nickname. The way the word falls so gracefully from your girlfriend’s plump lips has you clenching your thighs in arousal.

Natasha notices and with a grin, she cocks her head in faux inquiry. “Want me to help you? Make you feel good, yeah?”

Your eyes widen at her offer. While shy, who were you to deny the red headed bombshell in front of you? Your libido and abstinence could only do so much for you. Especially with the way the older woman kneels in front of you as if in prayer.

“O-Okay, Natty.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, shy.

Her hand squeezed your thigh from where it laid. She was just as excited as you were and she made it obvious with the way she bit her lip as she leaned in to kiss you.

While her lips pecked your own in a quick manner, her hand slipped around the small cropped lounge shorts you were wearing. The soft cotton fabric felt like sandpaper against her skin and she was just as eager to tug it down your legs and let it look around your ankles.

Your heart raced out of your chest just as her hands peeled your legs apart by the knee. Despite the lack of light, the small ambiance of the lamp casted a daring shadow over your girlfriend’s features.

You had nearly forgotten the fact that you were bare to here in your shared walk in closet and that you were dripping onto the bench, anticipating her next move.

Her eyes travelled to you then to where you had your legs separated. “Jesus Christ,” her cheeks grow red at the sight of you.

You were glistening, Natasha could definitely say that. But it was the way you were looking at her with big, wide, doe eyes that shed whatever’s left of your innocence that made Natasha breathless.

Nevermind the sight of your cunt, pink and puffy, wet and drooling all over her three thousand dollar hand crafted bench. She was at awe. Both at how beautiful you were and how much she loved you.

“Sweetheart,” her growl returns you to the land of the living. Your eyes staring at her dead ahead before within a blink, and her head nudges it’s place between your legs.

A silence screams parts your mouth and the sensation of her tongue fills your cunt with ease - the familiarity of her touch caressing your insides.

“Natty - OH!”

Your body falls and arches against her. Theres that coil in your stomach that churns and curls your toes. It makes you heave before forcing your hands to grip the curls on her head.

“Jesus,” she pulls away enough to mumble it against your wet cunt. “So - So sweet for me, honey.”

A shaky whimper breaks the silence, and with your shaking legs and bucking hips, you near your finish with a loud cry of the redhead’s name. Natasha moans boastfully loud, the vibration enough to make you sensitive and pull away from her anxiously.

“Too m-much. H-Hurts.”

She pulls away, mouth and chin glistening with wetness. Her tongue barely makes an appearance but when it does, she licks away the reminiscent of you.

Then a grin pulls up on her swollen lips. Her fingers hook around your ankles, and before you know it, her mouth is back on yours.

Flipping A Story (Avengers X Teen!Fem!Reader) *PLATONIC

Characters: Avengers X Teen!Fem!Reader

Universe: Marvel, Avengers

Warnings: Bullying, fighting, violence, bit of swearing

Request: Part I: Hey! How about a avengers x reader where Reader has “mass mind control” power where she work it like a computer. She can copy, paste, cut memories from one to another. Basically control people, and make herself look like a complete victim if she wants to. She’s a teen, usually reserved and kind . She sees the Avengers as her family and friends. She had developed a thick skin to bullies and hate, just ignore them. But one day it gets out of hand in school. Part 2: They talk shit about the Avengers. And she was pissed. She decided to have fun, made him and his friend fight each other. Laugh at it. And before the principle comes, she was already fake crying. The kids ended up with slight skull fracture, broken jaw, losing teeth and some bruises. But well, she was crying so it wasn’t her fault anyways. But peter manged to record the whole thing and gave to the avengers. They were horrified and impressed at her power and acting skill.

You had a tough skin, an armour you had built up over the years through exposure to being treated differently and badly by peers and strangers alike. You’d taught yourself to be reserved, to be quiet, be kind, and be patient, because at the end of the day, you were aware you had a power that could cause a lot of damage if you so desired. It was through your caution and level head, that you found yourself close friends with people who actually understood you. The Avengers. 

Keep reading

I really like your take on the last one! How about these?

How she would deal with being around really touchy people,not the inappropriate touchy just like Hugs and Hand holding.Same for a touchy lover

How she feels about Social media and how much time she would spend on it

How she deals with starting to like someone romantically

How she makes friends

How she would handle a workaholic lover

And finally

How she reacts to random shows of affection from her lover

Hey! Yes these are fun!

1. I think at first, she’s much more comfortable if she initiates it. I think she also can tell that you find touch comforting and she likes being able to show you love/affection and know she’s doing it right.

I think she likes prolonged touch also. She’s more interested in sitting together, watching a movie, your head in her lap. Than she is about say a brief squeeze of her shoulder as you walk past. It’s hard for her to read brief touch as affection, she’s been programmed to expect the worst.

2. She texts. She’s in group chats/conversations. But, I don’t think anything more. I don’t think she wants to really be herself in front of strangers. And I don’t think she cares much to know about them either.

It’s not really social media, but I bet she watches cat videos on YouTube and sends you the links without context.

3. She doesn’t. I think she goes two ways. If you are confident, then I think she goes shy. Things aren’t moving at a pace that she is setting and she’s feeling stuff that’s overwhelming and exciting. I think she gets nervous and she starts overthinking herself. But, on dates she slowly remembers just how well you work together. Her eyes sparkle when she’s around you, and she can’t help smiling. The feeling trickles in and she lets it.

If you are shy, but honest and kind. Natasha worries and she tries to be distant. She sees the potential harm she can cause too clearly. It’s up to you to draw her back to herself. Take her hand and remind her of the simplicity of being with you. Spending time together feels too good to ignore. You ground her until she settles, accepting that good things can happen for her too.

4. Easily and never. I think she can make a lot of people feel like her friend. She seems open and is always able to fit into their life. But, she doesn’t trust many people with the parts of her that might cause friction. You’d have to see her at her worst moments, or you’d have to be consistent for a long time for her to trust you truly.

For her, friendship exists within boundaries and control. Because, even a limited friendship is more than she thinks she deserves. She seems so entirely grateful to the Avengers and the friendships she has with them. But, she is also different with each of them, and never fully herself.

5. I don’t know if Natasha could have a lover that works more than her. She is such an inherent workaholic herself. I think she’d have to see that your work is taking a toll on you to notice that you’re working too hard. And from then on, she wouldn’t be able to stop worrying about it.

I think she’d try and make your life subtly easier for a long time before she’d directly ask you to consider working less. Her work matters so much to her, so Natasha knows that yours does too.

More likely, a workaholic partner would indirectly make Natasha start to ease back on her own work. She needs to be there when you get back to work, if she wants to make sure you have a relaxing bath. She needs her lunchtime free if she’s going to find you and make sure you take a break too.

You find a balance together.

6. She’s completely thrown at first. She tries to seem calm at the time, almost neutral. You have to not let it throw you off. You’ve bought her a necklace at a gift shop. It’s spur of the moment, but you know in your heart that she should like it. When you offer to put it on for her, she accepts. But there’s a silent tension between you and you don’t know how to read it.

But then, when Natasha’s alone, she stares at herself in the mirror sometimes and she can barely believe the way her smile looks now. And the happiness curls inside her chest and she feels shy meeting her own gaze. She plays with her necklace more and more when she’s thinking to herself.

And then, at a later time. She’ll take your hand, or come up behind you and rest her chin on your shoulder, her arms wrapping around you.

That’s her reaction, that’s her thank you. She just needs to allow herself to trust the happiness, before she can show it.❤️