Left Behind In Expired Moments - Natasha Romanoff x Betty Ross
Was I the only one picking up on that “we used to sleep together” tension between Natasha and Betty in this week’s "What If" episode or am I just really gay?
Word Count: 872
Warnings: Mention of Alcohol, Small Allusion to Sex
Dr. Betty Ross catches a glimpse of red hair and freezes. She’s put physical distance between herself and S.H.I.E.L.D. for many reasons; she doesn’t know how to handle one of those reasons slowly snaking up to her with that unwavering stare.
And Romanoff thrives off of the way her entire body tenses, she just knows it. Betty crosses her arms across her chest, feeling disgustingly small as she takes a small step back, pretends not to know that Natasha’s nonchalance and heavy husk are just projected overcompensations for the way her ever observant eyes soften so slightly at Betty’s discomfort.
Betty has every intention of turning her back on the agent - god knows she has the practice - but damn that woman knows just what to say, every time, to pull her in, except no, it’s really just those damn eyes again. And Betty is so many things, including a researcher, and if there’s one specimens she’s studied too arduously, it’s Natasha Romanoff, and behind all the projections and compensations and mechanisms, Betty recognizes the tiny waver in her self-sure voice, knows that Natasha is more out of her depths than she cares to admit. She can see the way Natasha’s scared.
And if there’s something out there that can scare Romanoff, then Betty knows that she should be terrified.
So that’s how she ends up with the Black Widow - her former co-worker and former other things she’s trying hard not to relive - in her not-truly-empty office. She tells herself that her heart’s pounding because Bruce is hiding in the closet. It’s absolutely not the way Natasha hovers closely by her shoulder as they examine the syringe, warm breath tickling the space behind her ear, because there is no way this woman can still have that effect on her.
Betty schools herself, as if Natasha isn’t fluent in her body language, and asserts her findings. The room falls quiet for a moment as Natasha processes, and Betty could put distance between them, but she doesn’t. It’s difficult to stay in the moment, the familiarity of the spy’s presence pulling her into memories - late nights at S.H.I.E.L.D. and one drink turning to too many drinks and backs pressed against disheveled lab tables and calloused fingertips against her heated skin and deleted security footage the next morning followed by broken promises of “never again.”
Her name on Natasha’s lips also feels like a memory but it jolts her back to the present. Betty looks up expecting to meet a practiced nonchalant stare that she has to distill and interpret. Instead she sees genuineness and gentleness in a green gaze.
“How have you been holding up?”
Betty tries to balk at the sincerity but melts into it, even as she manages a dismissive bite to her shaky words.
“Since when have you ever worried about me other than what you could get from me?”
Natasha breathes out a sigh; Betty can feel it across her cheek and the chills that crawl up her spine along with it. In that moment, she really sees just how tired Natasha looks. Not just from the past couple of days, but the decades of exhaustion heaped upon itself, revealing the cracks in the Russian’s carefully crafted exterior and Betty is fighting against memories again and those fabricated moments where she thought she’d been granted a glimpse into Natasha’s truth, only to be left cold the mornings after.
“I’ve always cared,” Natasha admits in a murmur, eyes pleading quietly. “Just never been good at showing it.”
Betty means to scoff, but it comes out as a strangled breath as Natasha shifts closer. Her hand gently takes the syringe from Ross’s, lets it rest on the table before those deadly finger caress so achingly soft against her trembling knuckles.
“You were better off without me sticking around.”
Betty shakes her head.
“No. I would’ve been better off without ever knowing you.”
“Well it’s too late for that now, isn’t it?”
Each word eviscerates what’s left of the distance between them as Natasha’s chest brushes against hers and she sees nothing but green eyes and all that flashes through them; there’s no vitriol, no bitterness. Just exhaustion and remorse and want. Natasha’s fingers still crawl along hers, and Betty’s a cellular biologist, so well-acquainted with the way humans are made up, how they hurt and how they heal - she just wants to fix Natasha, just like she thought she could all those years ago.
She just wants to kiss her.
But then Natasha’s eyes are off hers, flitting past her shoulders to the baseball caps and pizza boxes piled on the table before she’s pulling away quickly towards the closet Bruce is hiding in (oh fuck, Betty had forgotten about Bruce; had he heard everything?), and things are barreling forward out of Betty’s control because of course it’s always mission first with Romanoff. Not that Betty can blame her, at least not right now, but she’s still stuck in the moment.
And that’s the thing when it comes to Natasha. Betty is always left behind in expired moments by a woman so long gone, it’s like she was never there to begin with.
Synopsis: In a universe where Carol Danvers stays her ass put on Earth and the entire MCU takes place during the greatest decade, I present to you: the Avengers in the 90s, playing street ball
Pairings: Carol Danvers/Maria Rambeau, BestFriends!Maria Rambeau & Sam Wilson, Implied Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes, V Subtle BlackHill
Warnings: Allusions to the traumatizing singing animatronics at Chuck E. Cheese
Word Count: 1,156
-----
In 1996, Sam Wilson is always wearing his Scottie Pippen Chicago Bulls jersey.
“MJ would be nothing without Pippen,” he constantly and confidently explains to anyone who will listen. “Every Michael needs his Scottie.”
Sam thinks he’s a much better basketball player than he actually is, but he can hold his own if he can keep his trigger-happy hands from launching an unnecessary three-pointer in pick-up games. He’ll maybe make one per game (and will consider himself the next Steve Kerr because of it), but he makes up for it because he’s the absolute king of assists.
Sam and Carol Danvers lead the charge to get some S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and the Avengers together to play pick-up every Saturday morning at the closest park. Maria and Monica Rambeau always dutifully watch from the bleachers (the former acting like its her greatest weekend inconvenience, though they all know she loves it). Monica insists on bringing the boombox, acts as the official DJ as she switches back and forth between the local hip hop and classic rock stations, because Carol swears nothing gets her in the game like glam metal.
Steve Rogers can always be seen nervously pacing the sidelines (he doesn’t think it’d be fair if he and his bulging chest join the game; besides he’s always been more of a baseball kind of guy), acting as the unofficial referee, no matter how many times they explain to him that the very nature of street ball is no rules.
“I just don’t want anybody to get hurt,” he whines with a pout so unintentionally puppy-like that they can’t help but keep letting him ref.
They call Bucky Barnes “the silent assassin” because you forget he’s there until suddenly he’s dropped twenty buckets on you out of nowhere. He grumbles every time Sam smacks his ass after a good play, but they all share secret smirks at the way he also flushes.
Rambeau alternates between heckling Sam every time he bricks a shot and hollering, “Hell yeah, that’s my best friend!” whenever he does his signature fake right, dish left to a wide open Hawkeye who sinks the three or lobs a perfect ally oop to Thor for the slam dunk.
Speaking of Hawkeye, Clint Barton is absolutely useless unless he’s behind the arc. Can’t dribble worth shit, but no one’s ever seen him miss a shot. Not ever.
Natasha Romanoff doesn’t play but can always be found wearing the shortest shorts anyone’s ever seen as she lounges on the bleachers, bobbing her head to the radio and trading jokes with Monica. When the game ends, she husks out a ‘good game, boys’ until an insistent cough draws her attention to a playfully glowering Maria Hill (who is an absolute beast on defense and in the post with that delightfully long torso of hers).
Without fail, Natasha flashes her the kind of smirk that’ll make you have to gulp down an entire gatorade in one go.
“But of course as always, the ladies did it better.”
“Thank you.” That would be Carol interrupting the moment. She’s the self-proclaimed captain every week and takes pick-up games way too seriously. Peter Parker’s no longer allowed to play with them because everyone’s afraid her competitiveness with crush his tiny little earnest spirit.
Carol’s absolutely radiant when her team wins, though, immediately beelining it to the bleachers to hoist a cheering Monica onto her shoulders as she quirks an eyebrow at the girl’s pretending-not-to-be-impressed mother.
“Don’t I get something for winning?” Carol baits.
“Yeah, you get to follow this ass to the car so you can buy us lunch.”
There’s a chorus of “oooohs” and Carol pouts until Rambeau breaks down and plants a kiss on her lips. Monica scrambles off Carol’s shoulders to leap into the arms of an approaching Sam (in a frankly very dangerous maneuver that Maria side eyes with pursed lips) as they all head for the parking lot. Bruce Banner - who shows up late and smothered in sunscreen - consoles a ruddy faced Thor with an awkward pat on the back, because the God of Thunder is absolutely a sore loser.
(“These silly Midgard games have nothing on the grand arena events we’d hold on Asgard each century! There I am the undisputed champion!”)
Carol and Maria jump into their neighboring convertibles, playfully competing to see who can get Monica to ride with them until the girl proclaims “I want to ride with Uncle Sam!” Carol gapes and Maria rolls her eyes fondly as Sam triumphantly cackles.
“You raising her right, Rambeau,” Sam teases. “She knows quality when she sees it.”
Carol putting her middle finger on display in his direction just makes Sam laugh louder as he carries Monica over to his trusty blue Camry, followed a little too close by Bucky (everyone does them the courtesy of pretending not to notice). Steve throws his ham-hocked leg over his Harley, and the rest pile into Barton’s mini van (Natasha forgoes claiming her usual assumed position of shot gun to instead press her thighs against a self-satisfied Maria Hill in the backseat).
They make their way to Chuck E. Cheese for lunch because let’s be real, Monica calls the shots (and Sam honestly likes their pizza, he doesn’t care how the super soldier Brooklyn Boys give him shit for this “blasphemy”). Tony Stark, Pepper Potts and little Morgan Stark meet them there and Stark spontaneously decides to buy a birthday party package, even though it’s nowhere close to anyone’s birthday and the Chuck E. Cheese is technically already fully booked for the day. But he’s Tony Stark - like they’re really gonna say no. With a slice of pizza in one hand and a fountain coke in the other, Tony babbles on about how he could improve the animatronic technology to make it less creepy.
“I better not go into the garage later and see one of those things,” Pepper warns as she warily eyes the stuttering movements of robotic Chuck and gang as they sing an honestly not terrible cover of the Beatles “Eight Days a Week.”
Carol and Monica go on a rampage through all the games and absolutely clean out the place, earning enough tickets to win a huge Captain Marvel plushie that Carol cheekily gifts Maria (who rolls her eyes but secretly pulls out to cuddle against every time Carol’s called up to space for long periods of time) and Thor talks excitedly about the nine realms with a creature he swears he recognizes from space until Bruce has to gently point out that it’s just a human in a giant rat costume.
That night, Carol gets an AOL instant message from NicholasNotNickFury:
NicholasNotNickFury: thanks for inviting me to your little Saturday pick up games
Pairings: Past Natasha Romanoff/Black!Reader, Eventual Carol Danvers/Black!Reader
Genre: Grief/Angst
Warnings: Mention of Characters' Death, Cursing, Lots o' Sad
Word Count: 3,016
Chapter 1
-----
There was a party raging on the battlefield, because no one didn’t know what else to do, except you all knew Tony would want you to celebrate. But maybe everyone just wanted to put off mourning till morning, didn’t quite yet want to deal with the consequences, for better or for worse.
It was an easier concept to swallow when Thor and his pretty warrior friend with the flying horse disappeared for a moment, then came back in minutes with as much Asgardian beer and liquor as they could manage (which, between the two of them, was a whole damn lot). A friend of Rocket’s - Star Lord - then took the charge, cracking open the first beer and finishing off half it in a single gulp before blasting some mix tape of 70s tunes from his space ship that soon turned the battlefield, this graveyard, into an all-out function.
The largest fire you’d ever seen raged where the compound once stood, courtesy of Zoey, and bodies started to move under the moonlight, freely to the music, helped of course by the copious amount of liquor that helped bury down any sense of sadness in favor of this celebration.
You couldn’t focus, though. You still hadn’t managed to find Nat in this swarm of familiar and strange faces, and she was the only one you wanted to see. Once you had her in your arms, then you could let yourself celebrate - or at least you could try. Even as everyone slowly started to let loose, there was this permeating sense of sadness, as prevalent as the cascades of smoke soaring upward from the fire, as no one could escape the thought of the sacrifice that allowed you all to celebrate like this.
It was like everything was in the way, though, and you supposed you could give a few minutes to these friends who you hadn’t seen in years before you found your wife.
“I can’t believe you’re married!” Zoey was gushing as you stood in a small circle with Bucky, Sam and Steve; the superpowered were wielding Asgardian drinks while the rest of you eyed their bottles enviously. You couldn’t help but grin, showing off the simple, but sleek vibranium band on your finger as Sam pretended to squeal like a valley girl with a hand to his chest and Bucky shot you a simple grin as he held out his metal arm.
“We match.”
You beamed at him, though not with the fervency of Steve, who hadn’t pulled his eyes from the Winter Solider for a second since the battle had ended. Well, except to urgently meet your eyes, seemingly desperate to pull you away for a private moment. You didn’t know why - didn’t know if you wanted to know why - and found yourself avoiding his gaze as it drifted to the crowds of people, hoping to catch the one face you wanted to see above all else.
“I feel like I know no one,” Zoey murmured beside me, also taking in all the people around her. “It’s weird to think that it’s been five years. It felt like…a malfunction. One second I was gone and the very next second, I was here, like nothing happened. Like the world had just…glitched.”
“Like a blip,” Bucky said knowingly. Zoey nodded with a frown, then perked up when the Jackson 5 started blaring from the speakers. She turned eagerly to you, already drifting to where Star Lord had started up a makeshift dance floor.
“We gotta dance!”
Sam was nodding fervently, a little grin playing at his lips as he started to move easily to the beat. You grinned a little, but you were still so distracted, especially as you could sense Steve about to interject, his eyes once again set on you, and you couldn’t get caught in a conversation with him. As much as you truly loved him, they tended to be endless.
“I’ll meet y’all out there,” you assured, backing away before their protests could fully reach your ears. “Gotta find Nat.”
“(Y/N)…” Steve started, but Zoey beat him to it as she nodded with a grin.
“Oh, I bet you do,” she said, eyebrows waggling ridiculously, and man, you missed this. You laughed heartily, then turned away, starting to feel desperate the deeper you got in the crowd. It had been over an hour - where had she been?
You finally caught a glimpse of Clint, who had seemingly changed into his civilian clothes, your heart spiking when you saw that he was talking to someone who his body mostly obscured, but you could tell it was a woman shorter than him. Of course your best bet would be to find Nat with Clint; she’d probably got caught up in the crowd and reunion just like you did, but just like he’d promised before he left, Clint was still looking out for your girl.
Before you could make my way over to them, though, you found yourself colliding straight into Peter’s strong chest. He stumbled back, the profuse apology already tumbling off of his lips, only slowing down when he noticed it was you. All thoughts of making your way to Natasha fled from your mind as you took in your friend’s red eyes, half-empty bottle of aged Asgardian liquor in his hand and the sway in his step.
“How are you, Pete?” You asked, stepping close so he could hear your voice, soft with compassion and concern.
“Drunk,” he hiccuped with a brief, bright smile that reminded you of the fifteen year old boy you had met years ago before it quickly faded. “And sad.”
Peter was always the type to wear his heart on his sleeve - one of the things that hadn’t changed about him, along with his forever gentle and earnest brown eyes. Even as he sprouted up - shoulders broader and jaw firmer and covered in the scruff he hadn’t gotten a chance to shave off yet - he was still Peter. Just a wearier, more mature one, but still always filled with a hope that had helped fuel you all.
As much as your own heart hurt over the loss of Tony, it hurt even more seeing clearly how it was affecting Peter. You’d never seen him drunk before. Granted, it took a lot of Earth liquor for someone like him to even get a buzz, but the way his words slurred off of his tongue was telling.
“I’m sorry, Pete.”
He shrugged, eyes glazing over for a second before his attention drifted to the music. He perked up slightly.
“Hey, is that Zoey?!” He smiled a little in wonder, eyes honing in on The Flame as she figuratively burned a hole in the makeshift dance floor. She had attracted the attention of a drunk Star Lord, who was laughing as she showed everyone up. “Wow. I haven’t seen her in…”
You couldn’t help but chuckle as he struggled to count.
“Five years,” you supplied, your smile more soft than mocking as he turned back to you with an eager nod. “You go say ‘hi.’ She’ll like that. I’m gonna find Nat.”
“Okay!” Peter chirped, seemingly drunk and distracted enough by Zoey to let his sadness fall to the wayside, at least for a moment. He began to stumble towards her, but stopped, something pensive crossing his gaze. “It’s not weird anymore.”
You furrowed your brow at him, “What’s not weird?”
“If me and her went out. S’not weird anymore ‘cause I’m grown up.”
You chuckled fondly at how ironically boyish he sounded. Peter’s crush on Zoey back in the day had bordered on infamous with how completely obvious it was, but of course she had seen him as nothing but a little brother, with the nine year age difference and all.
But you guessed that was a four year age difference now.
“Better get on it before that Star Douche dude does,” you said, nodding to how the aforementioned space punk was dancing a little too closely to Zoey in a way that was almost rhythmic and would have maybe been charming if you weren’t already decidedly Team Peter Parker. You clapped Peter on the back, and you grinned at each other. He started to sway towards the dance floor, his shoulders bouncing to the beat, and you watched him for a second.
“Hey Peter?”
He looked at you curiously over his shoulder. You offered him a small smile.
“We’re gonna be okay,” you said. “I know it doesn’t really feel like it now, but…we’ll get through this too.”
You were happy to see his smile sincere, no matter how small it was. He nodded once, then turned back towards Zoey and the dance floor, finally leaving you to make your way to Natasha.
Except as you got closer to Clint, you realized that he wasn’t talking to Nat, but his wife, who he must’ve fetched from their home - along with their kids - and brought back to the celebration. You furrowed your brow at how even from across the way, you could notice how red his eyes were as his shoulders seemed permanently slumped. Tony meant a lot to everyone, but you hadn’t expect to see Clint that affected.
“(Y/N)!”
You let out a sigh as you recognized Steve’s voice from behind. In a second, his long steps led him right in front of you, this striking mix of urgency and tragedy saturating his blue eyes as he gazed down at you.
“I need to talk to you,” he said in a quiet, serious tone. He took ahold of your wrist, firmly but gently, and you knew you had no chance of pulling away from his grip.
“Can it wait?” you pleaded, your head started to crane around again. “I just really want to see Nat.”
When you looked back at him, something had completely crumbled in his gaze as he stared down at you, and you knew immediately. You think you knew the second you’d stepped foot on the battlefield and hadn’t seen her, hadn’t felt her, but had buried the feeling down deep, because it couldn’t be true.
“(Y/N)…”
“No,” you said, shaking your head as you tried to step back, though Steve’s tightened grip held you in place. “Steve, no.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“No.” Your voice stretched and cracked as your eyes started to sting. This wasn’t happening. You were misreading this. Nat was about to come up to you at any second, wrap her arms around your waist, assure you that she was there, that everything was okay.
“To get the soul stone, it required a sacrifice,” Steve said, voice strained and eyes pained, and slowly you started to feel everything crumble around you. “A soul for a soul. Clint tried to stop her, tried to give his life, but you know Nat…”
He tried to smile; it didn’t hit.
You did know Nat. How she always felt like she wasn’t doing enough. How she never felt like she had fully atoned for the darkness of her past. How big and noble her heart was, how she would do whatever it took to complete the mission, if it meant it would save you all.
It’s why you loved her so much.
It felt like your chest was about to collapse on itself. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t see through the mess of tears streaming down your face. This couldn’t be real.
You could feel Steve’s arm start to come around you, but you pulled away, shaking your head as he stared at you helplessly. He was one of the greatest heroes Earth had ever known.
But there was nothing he could do about this.
-----
One shot of Asgardian liquor, and you were done. Thor wasn’t kidding about that shit.
You didn’t know how much time had passed. Could’ve been ten minutes. Could’ve been three hours. You sort of wished that it was the rest of your life, that Thanos would’ve managed that snap before Tony snatched the glove away from him - then you wouldn’t have to feel.
The next best thing, though? Being fucking drunk. The ache was there, but it was more numb. Your head unconsciously swayed to the music, fainter from where you sat in the dirt, yards away from the party. You fingered your wedding band and felt so fucking empty, but somehow it was okay, because you were drunk.
You wanted to kill Clint. He told you he’d look out for her. You trusted him to fucking look after her.
Then you remembered how broken he looked when you’d caught a glimpse of him and realized that if there was anybody who could understand how you were feeling, how you were trying not to feel, it was him.
You were rooted to the spot, though. Maybe you’d never move again. Why did it have to be Nat who went to that dumb planet to get that stupid stone? It couldn’t have been anyone else? No one knew what you’d have to lose in order to win?
You heard footsteps approaching, and usually your reflexes were sharp (you hadn’t climbed your way up the S.H.I.E.L.D. hierarchy by being slow, after all. You wondered what your job would be now that Fury and Hill were surely back. You wondered if you’d make it past this night), but it took you a long second to pull your head up from where you had been staring at your ring.
You squinted at the strong-stanced blonde hovering carefully a few feet away from you. Her figure was imposing, but somehow you could tell that her eyes were soft.
“Hey,” you coughed up a hiccup, “hey, Carol.”
She looked amused and pitying at the same time as she nodded, taking a slow step closer.
“Hey (Y/N),” she said softly. She glanced down at the bottle perched in the dirt by your feet, chanced a small smirk. “I don’t think that stuff’s made for people like you.”
“You mean us mere mortals?” You slurred with a stupid, bitter sort of grin followed by a hollow chuckle.
Her own grin was drowning in the pity now.
“Yeah. No offense.”
You shrugged. You didn’t care. Nothing like spending the past decade with a bunch of super-humans to make one deeply confront their own mortality. You’d reckoned with your normalcy a long time ago, the fact that you’d never be as great as them, no matter how hard you tried.
“How about sad people?” You said after a moment.
Her brow furrowed, puzzled.
“Sad people,” you reiterated with a slur. “This shit made for sad people? ‘Cause I’m…” You frowned for a moment. “Not sad. ‘Cause sad’s a feeling, and I don’t think I have those anymore.”
You were kind of confused by the understanding in Carol’s eyes, and you realized you knew next to nothing about her. You knew she’d saved Tony, Peter and Nebula from space five years ago, and she was possibly the most powerful being you’d ever seen. You knew she’d known Fury since you were a child and that you liked her. She felt safe without trying, was witty and to-the-point and was really easy to get along with. She’d swing by the compound to check in, every few months, and it was always nice when she did.
“I heard what happened.” You don’t know when, but suddenly Carol was sitting next to you, and you think she was trying to drown you in sympathy as she looked intently, but gently at you. “I’m sorry.
You peered at her for a long second, then shook your head.
“You can say her name, you know,” you announced, strangely angry at the vagueness of her statement, like you were fragile, like your entire childhood hadn’t been marred by loss and struggle. “Natalia Romanova. Natasha Romanoff to us dumb Americans.” You gave a laugh that came out more as a hiccup. “Black Widow. My wife.”
You ran your fingers across your wedding band as Carol watched quietly. You couldn’t really read her gaze, didn’t really care to, but she’d stopped looking at you like you were the most pathetic creature in the world, so that was nice at least.
The two of you were silent for a moment. You kept playing with your wedding band. You and Natasha had been married for one month, two weeks, three days. You thought you’d have forever. Everything burned. Your eyes, your throat, your chest.
“I lost a wife too.”
Your head snapped up. Carol was staring off towards the party, the fire still going strong.
“The same one, three different times,” she continued with a dry chuckle. “I won’t lie, it’s different than your situation, but…”
She shrugged, turning her head towards you with a slight smile.
“I know what it’s like, feeling like your entire life has been ripped away from you and there’s nothing you can do about it. I’m the biggest bad ass in the universe,” she gave a self-aware smirk, and it actually made you grin a little, “but I still couldn’t get her back.”
Helpless. That’s exactly how you felt. You’d always been able to get what you wanted, even against the most seemingly insurmountable odds - you had grown up an orphan in the hood, for Christ’s sake. But now there was this, and you knew you couldn’t get what you wanted this time. As hard as you tried, as much as you worked, what could you possibly do in the end?
You wanted to cry. You just hiccuped instead, then appraised Carol curiously.
“She didn’t die three times, though,” you said with drunken certainty. “Your wife.”
“No. Just the last time,” Carol said simply. Her words surprised you; you’d assumed maybe Carol’s wife had been snapped away but was back now. “I lost her a long time before that, though.”
There was steadiness, a resignation to the sadness that tinged her otherwise cool voice.
This is maybe niche AF but I lowkey want to write a Stumptown/Brooklyn 99 crossover fic where Dex Parios and Rosa Diaz go from rival private investigators to chaotic bi bros. Purely platonic because we need more queer friendship rep
Actually fuck fanfic - give me a TV spin-off of these two taking cases and picking up women together
Tryna break into the wlw Marvel tumblr fic world; consider this grief-ridden multi-chapter fic my resume ;)
Pairings: Natasha Romanoff/Black!Reader, Eventual Carol Danvers/Black!Reader
Genre: Grief, Angst, Romance
Summary: You thought you were used to the struggle. Between growing up as an orphan in Oakland before elbowing your way through the ranks of S.H.I.E.L.D., you were sure nothing could faze you.
But then you lose the love of your life and for the first time ever, you’re not sure how to move forward.
Notes: In this world, Peter Parker survived the Snap and S.H.I.E.L.D. still exists, just underground. Also features an OC with pyrokinetic abilities who’s the Reader’s best friend.
Chapter One - Hope
Word Count: 3,666
Warnings: Cursing, Allusions to Sex, Very Slight Ant-Man Slander, but Out of Love
In a lot of ways, the past five years had been quiet.
You’d grown up in Oakland, gone to college in Washington D.C., then lived and worked in New York ever since. You didn’t like quiet.
The biggest cities had lost their bustle, and it was one of the many reasons why you resented Thanos.
That and for taking the little bit of family you’d ever had. And the two men who were the closest things you had had to living brothers. And your absolute best friend in the world.
You coped in the way you always had - through work and through perspective. With Agents Fury and Hill gone in the snap, along with half of S.H.I.E.L.D. that had been underground after its public fall, you had moved through the ranks overnight (and you had been pretty high up there to begin with), taking over a great bulk of the remaining operations of the covert agency. Those first couple of years, you were in D.C. during the week days, watching as a fractured government slowly tried to repair itself while dispatching any leftover agents to take care of the chaos that had arisen in the aftermath. You’d go home to a pathetic one-bedroom apartment in the city most nights, it often being too late to commute to where you really wanted to be, get a few hours of sleep, then do it all over again.
It was all right. Kept you distracted. Made you feel purposeful.
It was the weekends, though, you found your truest solace. You’d put off all your responsibilities except in case of an emergency, take a quinjet up north to the Avengers compound, spend Saturday and Sunday with the woman you loved. Most of the time, you’d have the entire compound to yourselves. Maybe you didn’t like the quiet, but you loved it when it was quiet when you were with her.
After a few years, though, there was less for everyone to do as slowly, society started to move on. It was a blessing, you supposed, though sometimes it felt like a curse. You had never done well with idle hands.
It was slow enough that you could work remotely, at least, leaving your little D.C. apartment behind to take up permanent residence in upstate New York, except for emergencies. Natasha’s bedroom became y’all’s bedroom. You started to see just how broken she was, felt like a terrible partner for not realizing it sooner. She’d been able to mask it well when she’d only see you on weekends and through holograms. Now that you were together all the time, her walls couldn’t stay up for long.
Like the Avengers always had, she kept the weight of the entire world on her shoulders. Far be it from you to convince her that she didn’t need to do that, but you at least wanted her to know that she could share that burden with you. To get her to realize that became your greatest mission.
And you never failed missions.
By the time you reached the five year mark, the two of you had fallen into the sort of routine you could see yourselves doing for the rest of your lives, if this really had to be the rest of your lives (you think both of you, deep down, had hope that it wasn’t, that something more could be done, which is why you two had tried your hardest to not stop working ever since half of the world disappeared before your eyes). Together you both kept watch over a broken world - Natasha by keeping in touch with the remaining Avengers and your new friends from space as you continued to run S.H.I.E.L.D. from the compound. Occasionally you’d go out for an actual mission, finding that you got cabin fever if you stayed put too long.
Natasha would never come with you, though. She was waiting for the right one, she told you. But you think she was just scared of what would happened if she took her eyes away from the world for even just one second. She’d let you carry a little bit of that weight with her, finally, but far from it all.
She was completely open with you, though, for the first time in the seven years you’d been together (dating a former assassin came with a huge set of emotional intimacy issues, but there was no one else you’d rather work through that with). And when you two realized that wow, you’d been together for seven years, you decided that you all could use a bright spot in this darker world.
So you had a bittersweet wedding. Peter Parker was your “man of honor”, Steve Rogers was hers. Tony presided at his beautiful cabin home with his daughter Morgan as the flower girl and Rocket - much to his outward chagrin though you suspected he secretly loved it - was your ring bearer with the vibranium wedding bands that Okoye had brought for you from Wakanda. You’d even gotten Thor out of his desolate mancave on New Asgard for the night, with the promise of all the beer he could drink.
It was hard not to think of all the people who should’ve been celebrating with you, but you’d at least found the burst of happiness that you could. Moments like that reminded you two that you still had to keep fighting, even if you didn’t quite know what for all the time.
About a month later, you left for a quick mission. You were gone for three days and came back to a bustle unlike any you’d seen at the Compound in years. There was a space ship parked out front, but more surprising was the sight of Tony’s Audi convertible.
Nat’s eyes looked the brightest you’d seen them in awhile, all pretenses shattered as she greeted you with an excited smile that was surprisingly adorable.
“So this is what you do when I’m gone?” You teased, wrapping your arms around her distractedly as you took in the energy around you. God, you had missed this sort of noise. “Throw parties?”
“You caught me,” she gave back, eyes twinkling before she wrapped her arms around you tightly, but in a way that didn’t feel desperate. It reminded you of how she’d hugged you throughout your wedding day. You let yourself fall completely into her embrace, burying your face into her neck and inhaling deeply. It had only been a few days, but you’d missed her so much. How you used to spend all week without her, you had no idea. “I think we found a way to reverse the snap.”
You yanked your head up so quickly that you almost gave yourself whiplash, playfully glaring when Natasha laughed. Her eyes were so warm with hope, though, that that was soon all you could focus on.
“What?!”
She nodded excitedly, squeezing your hips. Your mind immediately started reeling, unable to keep from imagining what this meant, who you’d be able to see again.
“How?!”
Natasha’s lips curled up into a little smirk, eyes still twinkling.
“Time travel.”
Wait.
“What?!”
-----
The compound was chaotic in the wonderful way that you cherished. Thor’s booming voice and Tony’s wisecracks and Steve’s voice of reason and Rhodey’s deadpan and Bruce’s reverberating Hulk-heavy footsteps and Rocket’s quips and Clint’s snark and Natasha’s sarcasm and laugh and sass and just everything about her that had been buried beneath the rubble of the last five years, coming out now more than in just moments. None of you slept as you all plotted, planned, built; a certain energizing spark taking over all of you in this renewed sense of purpose.
There was only enough of these “Pym particles” for ten people to do this time heist, though, which meant you were the odd one out.
“Maybe when you get powers, we’ll reconsider it,” Tony quipped when you complained, chuckling when you rolled your eyes.
“I could beat you up if you didn’t have that suit,” you gave back, smirking.
“She could,” Natasha echoed before he could get a word in, shooting you a grin as she came up behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist.
Tony dramatically clutched at his chest.
“I’m offended you don’t think I’m more than my suit, Romanoff.” He paused. “Or is it (Y/L/N) now? Romanoff-(Y/L/N)?”
“Natasha and (Y/N) Widow, actually,” you joked, grinning as a laugh rippled through the Avengers. “Though I’m surprised you didn’t take Pepper’s last name, Tony. We all know she’s really the one running the show.”
You gave him your most dastardly grin as Rocket gave you a fist bump, Thor - perpetually buzzed - howled and Scott and Steve exchanged amused looks.
“See, this is why you’re not coming with us,” Tony said, pointing at you though he couldn’t quite hide his hint of a grin. “Today’s youth, so disrespectful!”
You let that go. You were in your 30s, but Tony always had a hard time not seeing you as that 22 year old first-year S.H.I.E.L.D. recruit he’d met over a decade ago.
So you chuckled, turning in Natasha’s arms in time to catch her fondly rolling her eyes.
“I will say, I’m gonna miss this banter on our mission.”
You wrapped your arms around her waist, as hers moved to your shoulder pulling her closer to you.
“Let me come with you and we won’t have to miss nothin’,” you said lowly, smirking at the way she eyed you.
“You know there’s no one I’d rather by my side,” she admitted softly, letting her fingers massage the back of your neck. You hummed pleasantly, letting your eyes flutter shut as your forehead fell against hers, “But I also like the idea of you here, safe.”
You sighed, not meaning for your breath to hit her lips, but enjoying the feel of her tensing against you nonetheless.
“I might not be a super solider or some guy with …ant powers…” you grinned when Natasha chuckled, “but I can hold my own, Nat.”
“I know you can,” she murmured. “But I’d rather know I’m coming back to you than be worried about you out there.”
You opened your eyes, found them staring into earnest and soft green irises. You could see how important this was for her, doing something that felt tangible after spending so much time and energy over the years to keep the world going, never losing hope even when no one else believed.
This mission would always mean more to her than it ever would for you.
So you nodded, craning your head to place a kiss on her forehead.
“I’ll be here waiting for you when you get back.”
She smiled, “I know.”
“Get a room, why don’t ya!”
“Shut up, Rocket.”
Hours before they were set to leave back in time, you got a call from Peter Parker saying he desperately needed you to pick him up as soon as possible from Central America, which was strange because the last time you’d checked, you’d sent him on an undercover mission to check out some disturbances in Europe (as the only Avenger whose true identity was still secret, he was most ideal to send on these sorts of things).
It did sound urgent, though, so you quickly headed to your room to change into something more extraction appropriate, unsurprised to hear the door open a few minutes later.
“Oh good,” Natasha’s voice purred playfully behind you as you pulled off the shirt you’d been lounging in. “I was hoping I’d catch you before you got all your mission clothes on.”
You chuckled as you turned to face her, then faltered. Though there was a coy smirk playing at her plump lips, her eyes told an entirely different story. You motioned for her to come closer, trying to keep the spirit high.
“Quickie before I leave?” You joked, sitting back on the bed as she came to stand in between your legs. She laughed, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes as they flickered over you before she gently placed her palm on your cheek.
“Will you be back before we go?” She asked softly.
You shook my head, your frowns matching.
“Even if it is just a pick-up and go, the round trip will take four hours.”
“I’ll see if we can wait on you.”
As much as you wanted that, you found yourself shaking your head again.
“I don’t want anything to throw y’all off,” you told her, covering the hand on your face with your own. “This is too important.”
She nodded; if there was anything you both understood, it was that some things were more important than the two of you. The fate of the world was definitely one of those things, and all the lives that hung in balance. It’s what made you heroes, before anything else.
It’s also what made you and Natasha fit together so well. You understood each other in ways that no one else could.
“I’ll see you when you get back, though,” you assured with a soft smile, grasping at her waist to pull her into your lap. She straddled you like it was second nature, though it didn’t necessary feel immediately sexual. You just liked that she was close. “After you’ve gotten that stone and you’re about to bring everybody back.”
She grinned, “You really think we can do it, huh?”
“You can do anything, Nat. You’re my fucking hero. There’s no one I trust more to save all of us.” You let my fingertips trace gently down her cheek as her eyes softened lovingly. “Don’t tell Rocket or Tony I said that. They’ll never let me hear the end of it.”
“Nope. Been recording this conversation the entire time. Gonna share it with everyone.”
You laughed as she grinned slyly.
“I hate you,” you mumbled, your thumb grazing against her bottom lip.
“I love you,” she gently pressed a kiss against the pad of your thumb. “Don’t tell anyone how soft you make me, though.”
“Oh, they already know,” you teased quietly, relishing in the way she made your heart feel. You were so close to telling Peter to find his own ride, not wanting this moment to end, but you knew you and Natasha would have to pull away eventually.
Still, you could make it stretch as long as possible.
“Yeah,” Nat agreed softly, pressing her forehead against yours. “But I like to pretend that they don’t.”
You chuckled as she grinned cheekily.
“I love you too, by the way,” you murmured, as if she didn’t already know. “So fucking much.”
Your thumb drifted from her lip, down to her chin, and forever in tune, she quickly erased the distance between you before you could pull her closer. Seven years, and you had yet to find anything as incredible as kissing her.
Except maybe when after just a few seconds, she pushed you back onto the bed, hovering over you with a twinkling smirk.
“Change your mind about that quickie?” You said playfully, biting your lip at her husky, soft laugh.
“Don’t you have to give a certain spider a ride?” She teased, as if she wasn’t the one who’d pressed her chest delicately against yours.
“There’s another spider that I’d rather give a different kind of ride right now…” Your fingers drifted down to the hem of her pants, but she was off of you before you could start to shimmy them down. You pouted ridiculously as she stood up, earning a laugh.
“We’ll have our own celebration in here when we’re both back,” she said coyly with a wink.
“Good, because we’ve only fucked once since I’ve gotten back from my mission, and it’s making me irritable.”
She chuckled as she grabbed ahold of your hands, effortlessly pulling you up off the bed and back into her arms.
“I love you,” she said again, pressing her lips against yours for a long moment. The words felt more weighted than they usually did, in the way they seemed to seep into your skin, take ahold of your chest and clench your heart. You could feel that this moment was important.
“I love you, too, Nat.”
On your way out, you were intercepted by Clint, who gave you a wry grin as he glanced down to your left hand.
“So I heard you and Nat got hitched,” he said, his eyes a soft contrast to his casual tone. “Wish I could’ve been there.”
“Me too,” you said honestly. Clint and you had never been particularly close, but he was still family, and he meant so much to Natasha. “Steve had to be Nat’s best man, and it was disaster.”
Steve had actually been great, but you knew Clint would get a kick out of the idea of Captain America stiff by the altar, uncomfortable in the face of any kind of public display of affection, as far from the truth it actually was. There was something appreciative in his eyes as he laughed.
“Well, I got dibs when you guys renew your vows.”
You nodded fervently, “Definitely. Maybe once y’all bring everyone back, we’ll do a bigger wedding. I mean, Nat would hate that - “
You paused, then burst out laughing because Clint had said the same thing at the exact same time as you had, and it made you kind of regretful that you hadn’t thought to bond with him more before Thanos had snapped his fingers. But you supposed there was time for that.
Your and Clint’s laughter faded, and both of you hovered there for a moment. Before it could get too awkward, you gave him a soft smile.
“Take care of my girl, Barton.” He and Nat were paired up for the time heist, after all.
He nodded, corner of his lips curling up into a smile that you knew was sincere for him.
“She’s probably gonna be the one having to take care of me,” he joked, but then his eyes softened. “You know I’ll do everything I can to have her back.”
“I know.”
Still, you felt a little uneasy as you headed towards the hangar where the quinjets were kept. You didn’t like being away from home base while they were out on missions. It had always been like that, even before you were with Nat. The fact that she was your wife now intensified it. You really wanted to be there when she got back.
But alas, duty called.
-----
You were thrust into battle without a moment’s notice, when Doctor Strange’s portal appeared in the back of the quinjet just seconds after you had yanked Peter out of the Mexican rainforest as he ran from a bunch of cartel guys, wielding assault rifles and screaming “gringo!” at him.
He was in the middle of an adorable, earnest, apologetic ramble (one that would always be so Peter, even if he was less boy and more man these days) after you’d playfully accused him of being racist because he made you rescue his “white ass.” He’d be trying to tell you that he’d deviated from the mission you’d given him because he’d heard rumors of something akin to the power of an Infinity Stone buried deep in Central America. He knew you’d never authorize him to go after a rumor, so he took matters into his own hands (also very Peter, and it would be hypocritical for you to fault him for that), hoping to find a power source that could maybe reverse the damage that Thanos had done.
Not that it was necessary now. The Avengers had done it. Nat had done. Everyone was back, but apparently somehow that meant a resurgence of Thanos had come with them.
There were no time for questions, though, even though you had so many as you found myself in the rubbled remains of your home with an alien army before you and a homegrown one behind you. There was no time for proper reunions, even though you managed the quickest one when you came across your best friend Zoey on the battlefield - body engulfed in the trademark flames that defined her alter ego "The Flame" - and you two clicked right into place as you set her up perfectly to sizzle one of Thanos’s goons to ash, like no time had ever passed.
You guessed for her, though, no time really had passed.
There was a quick grin and nod before chaos descended again, and you were separated into different parts of the battle. There was a glimpse of T’Challa, carrying an Iron Man glove full of jewels - the Infinity Stones, you realized - across the leveled field - and Sam soaring above you, and Bucky firing shots into the enemy relentlessly, but there was no time to focus on any of this.
There was no time for you to find Natasha in the cacophony, as you forced yourself to focus fully on the battle in front of you. When you all had finished off Thanos once and for all, then you could hold her in your arms until the end of time if you wanted. But first you all had to make sure there was still a world for everyone to still live in.
There wasn’t even time to properly celebrate, as Thanos and his entire army dissipated into dust in the perfect full circle, when Tony slumped over, eyes glazed, his light gone. There was Peter’s full weight against you suddenly, his wet eyes drenching your neck, then Steve’s strong arms around both of you. like an anchor. You couldn’t help but think that Steve’s gesture was more than just a comfort gesture because everyone had just lost the man who had brought you all together, who meant so much to each of you in different ways.
You didn’t want to confront what else it could mean, though.
I feel like I need to write a post-WWII HowardBucky fic inspired by this pic of Dominic Cooper.
Stark's stressed beyond belief as he pulls another late night tryna get S.H.I.E.L.D. off the ground. Tipsy Bucky comes across Howard and things happen.
Bucky Barnes and Howard Stark, bros to lovers, set in the Captain Carter “What If” timeline
(Because I have an uncontrollable urge to make everything gay. Sorry, can’t help it.)
“Bet you won’t steal that jeep.” Stark baits Barnes with a quirk of the brows.
Bucky hits Howard with a look - brooding Barnes meets scheming Stark, and there’s *sparks* that neither of them are gonna talk about.
“Oh yeah?”
“Oh yeah.”
So of course Bucky steals the damn jeep and Stark is thrilled, because he’s finally gotten one of these stiff ass army punks to dick around with him.
Not like dick around, he doesn’t mean it literally, but…you know what, I’m just gonna stop talking.
They whisk off swole!Peggy & scrawny!Steve in the stolen jeep, stocked up with a buncha also-stolen whiskey (Barnes is a rascal, and Stark is loving. it.) with plans to steal one last thing - just one moment where it doesn’t feel like they have the entire world on their shoulders.
They end up parked on this overlook with glittering stars as far as they can see, and of course in no time, Peggy and Steve meander off to make eyes at each other and talk vaguely around their feelings with that overused dance metaphor, leaving Howard to catch Bucky’s eyes and waggle his brows suggestively at their two friends’ retreat.
“Don’t get too frisky!” he calls out devilishly at Peggy and Steve’s ebbing figures. “We still got a war to get back to!”
Bucky tilts back his head and howls, bottle of whiskey dangling from his fingers. He can just imagine Steve’s cherry blush.
“She’s gonna break ‘im,” he says, and Stark joins in on his cackling.
“Hell, I’d let her break me,” Stark jokes. Barnes smirks.
“Yeah? You like ‘em buff?”
If that sounds suggestive, then Bucky’s blaming it on the alcohol and not on how the air suddenly seems thicker between the two of them.
Because, look. Bucky’s a dude in his prime, but being in the army - there ain’t much of a chance for some action, you know? And we’re not talking frontline, Hydra-busting, gun-toting action here.
But, like, Bucky’s dick’s been real dry lately.
And he’s always been…not a homo, because he can appreciate a dame real good but, ya know, he can appreciate a lot of other things too.
Like a lot of different kinds of people.
Fellas. He could appreciate some fellas.
Not that he’d ever say it out loud (not that he ever could; they’d boot him back to the States so quick he wouldn’t have a chance to pack). But there were a few nights he found his arms wrapped around Steve to, you know, comfort a friend but maybe he enjoyed it a little more than that.
All that to say - Buck’s drunk and constantly horny and he can recognize a handsome man when he sees one.
And Stark - yeah, he’s handsome. A little smarmy but good looking.
Speaking of Stark, he’s smirking now too at Barnes’ suggestion as he gives a coy shrug and a quick sweep of the Sergeant’s frame.
“I like ‘em all sorts of ways.”
Because c’mon, you can’t tell me playboy hedonism isn’t in the Stark genes and just because he doesn’t fondue with Peggy doesn’t me he hasn’t fondued with fongirls and fondudes and everyone outside and in-between. He’s a rich and charming New Yorker, dammit, who came of age during the Roaring 20s.
Like y’all really think alcohol was the only thing people were sneaking during those Prohibition parties. Sexual fluidity wasn’t invented in the 21st century; just talked about more.
Now Howard’s definitely gonna eventually settle down with a lady - that’s ultimately more his speed. But in the meantime…how does that one saying go?
All’s fair in love and war.
And they’re in the middle of a pretty big war right now.
So yeah, Stark’s drunk and he’s feeling mischievous and Barnes is all ruggedly handsome in a way that he can really appreciate. He’s always liked a square jaw.
And Bucky likes ‘em a little delicate and real mouthy.
So when Peggy and Steve make their way back to the look-out, hands slotted together after finally getting that kiss - quick and chaste but so sweet - they find Stark and Barnes fucking in the back of that stolen jeep.
(Can’t decide if it’s “Brokeback Mountain,” all-the-way-fucking-in, 0 to 100 style or if it’s a gentle arthouse hand job à la “Moonlight” - I’ll let y’all decide.)
“Guess we can’t return that jeep now,” Steve quips.
Issa me, ur fave pervert back with more HowardBucky 'cause I can't stop (until my ADHD inevitably gets bored of this ship next week).
(Also, I wouldn't say this is graphic, but it's def NSFW.)
Part I
So Bucky swears it’s only gonna be once. One good blowjob from a millionaire genius, getting the knees of his overpriced slacks scuffed up on the dirty jeep floorboard, and that’s gotta be enough to last him through this godforsaken war.
Howard, of course, knew it was gonna happen again.
He gives himself a challenge ‘cause how do you think he got to be the Howard Stark? By pushing himself. And he’s gonna keep pushing himself on Barnes’ cock but first, he’s gonna goad the Sergeant into stealing as many things as possible. And they’re gonna fuck in every single one.
“‘Ey Barnes!”
Bucky’s all man spread over an empty rations crate by base camp, ripped army pants clinging to those thick thighs. He’s got a cigarette dangling out of his mouth and his head craned towards the stars, and Howard can’t keep the smirk off his lips as he eyes something so gorgeous that even he couldn’t invent a sight that goddamn good.
Bucky glances at Stark as he leans up against a tree. His arms are crossed over his chest, his tie loosened and the buttons of his vest undone and Bucky’s gotta adjust himself ‘cause shit, maybe once wasn’t enough.
He’s gonna play it cool, though, taking a long drag of his cig and flicking the ashes from the tip, letting Snark and that too smug look simmer before Bucky gives him any satisfaction.
“What?”
“Bet you won’t steal a tank.”
Their eyes meet. Stark’s glimmers with a challenge that he knows Barnes can’t back down from.
“Oh yeah?”
“Oh yeah.”
The tank’s a real tight fit, but so is Stark, so it all seems fitting. Bucky’s got Stark squeezed between the cold metal of the tank and his sweating chest when he hears the top door of the tank squeak open (barely, ‘cause Stark’s panting pretty loud and Barnes can’t help but smirk at every sound he’s pulling from him - told ya he liked ‘em real mouthy).
Bucky’s gonna ignore it until he hears Howard’s voice, hoarse as hell but still brimming with irreverent cheek.
“You here for the fun, Rogers? I think you’re small enough that we can squeeze you in somewhere.”
Bucky cranes his head back to see a real ruddy faced Steve, head peeking into the tank.
“Really, Stevie?”
“I saw the tank rattling,” he defends with those steely ‘It’s my personal responsibility to fix every bad thing in the world’ eyes and his unnaturally deep voice (like c’mon, Steve’s got the body of a 12 year old but his larynx is somehow overdeveloped?), like Howard and Bucky don’t have their pants hanging by their ankles. “I thought it was a threat.”
“Only threat’s your buddy’s cock, kid.” Howard quips out, followed by a grunt when a particularly forceful thrust almost sends his head colliding into the wall. “Damn, Barnes, calm it down back there. I’m gonna need my internal organs kept intact.”
“Shut up,” Barnes grunts into Howard’s ear before his eyes are back on Steve, who’s still there for some reason, what the fuck? “Get outta here, Rogers.”
Steve scurries off, and Bucky gets back to business.
“Awww, I was kinda into showing off for an audience.”
Bucky’s not really tryna unpack what this says about him, but he immediately comes. Hard.
Another week goes by. Bucky’s shoving beans down his throat as a couple of other soldiers clumsily move their hips to some German tune creaking from the radio when he feels a mustache tickling the side of his ear and fingers sinking into his shoulder. He smells the thick, pricey cologne that’s been lingering on his clothes lately (and maybe Bucky don’t exactly hate that) and knows it’s Stark before he hears his mischievous lilt.
“Bet you won’t steal that plane.”
Howard’s a sneaky son of a bitch, his hand somehow already sliding over Bucky’s thighs and fuck it, it might get him a dishonorable discharge, but he’s gonna steal the damn plane.
One of them’s got to pilot the damn thing, though, and that’s not really Bucky’s thing, but he ends up in the pilot seat anyway with Stark perched on his lap, one hand reaching back to handle the controls and the other on Little Buck as Howard has taken to calling Bucky’s dick (Barnes acts like he hates it, usually mumbling an “It ain’t little” in response, and Stark isn’t about to argue him there). Bucky ain’t sure if he’s more impressed by the hand job or Stark’s double tasking, even with the way the plane dangerously swerves every time Bucky moans low and loud into Howard’s ear. He’s sure they’re gonna end up crashing into some poor European town, but Barnes has made his peace. Dying with Stark’s hand grippin’ him ain’t a bad way to go out.
There’s another jerk (of the plane and of Bucky’s dick), this time accompanied by a crash and a yelp coming from the back. Both look back to see that the stacked boxes of cargo have toppled over, revealing a flustered Steve on his hands and knees, buck ass naked, with Peggy towering behind him, biceps bulging out of a black tank top and Bucky’s mouth is feeling real dry suddenly.
Then he notices what Peggy’s got happening below the waist. Attached to her pelvis, there's something that looks like it's made of the stuff as Steve’s Hydra-Stomper suit...except it’s a prosthetic dick.
It’s bigger than Barnes’ and ‘cause he’s a soldier in the 40s with all kinds of fragile views about masculinity, Bucky’s a little miffed about that.
“I see you’re enjoying the prototype I whipped up for ya, Captain Carter,” Stark says, and to his credit, he keeps jerking Bucky off and piloting the plane. Truly, the man is a genius.
“What can I say?” Carter gives back with a smirk. “I just wanted to live up to my name.”
(Get it? ‘Cause Peggy’s pegging Steve?!
…I’ll see myself out.)
Stark asks Peggy and Steve if they wanna grab some fondue with them after he lands the plane, and Bucky’s not sure if Howard’s prepositioning a double date or an orgy.
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