I’ve been kinda “quiet” on here as in I very rarely post my own stuff. I reblog a lot just to share stuff I think is funny or fics I like, stuff like that.
Just a quick intro:
I’m 26 and my b-day is January 12th
Some of my favorite things include: music, writing and reading fan fiction, photography, and cooking.
I’m not the best at initiating conversation but I’m always happy to chat or just listen.
If you would like to see my original fanfics, I write for MCU Women over on my writing blog: @wannabe-fic-writer
And for my 18+ wlw followers, feel free to go check out @wannabe-after-hours my NSFW blog
🛑If you are transphobic, homophobic, racist, or looking to spread hate and negativity in any way YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE!
i distance myself when i feel unwanted. i won't beg for space in someone's life. if my presence doesn't matter, my absence won't either. i choose peace over forcing connection.
ChaPart 1 : The Missing Town
Chapter 1 - Honey! I shrunk the kids!
Chapter 2 - Liar, Liar
Chapter 3 - The Neighbor
Chapter 4 - The Assistant
Chapter 5 - The Truth
Chapter 6 - Dearly Lost
Chapter 7 - Fix the Dead
Chapter 8 - The Other Side
Chapter 9 - The Sokovian Witch
Chapter 10 - Welcome Home
Part 2 : To Build A Home
Chapter 11 - Nightmares
Chapter 12 - Red
Chapter 13 - Mind if I....?
Chapter 14 - The Twins
Chapter 15 - Vis
Chapter 16 - A Heart to Break
Chapter 17 - Idiot Hope
Chapter 18 - The Civil War
Chapter 19 - Exile
Chapter 20 - You Love Me
Chapter 21 - The Autumn Singes
Chapter 22 - The Warmest Winter
Chapter 23 - The First Days of Spring
Chapter 24 - The Last Day
Chapter 25 - Anger and Bargaining
Chapter 26 - Death and His friends
Chapter 27 - Anywhere But Home
Chapter 28 - Coming Home
Part 3:
Chapter 29 - The One She Chose
Chapter 30 - All Of Your Pieces
Chapter 31 - Paradise Calling
Chapter 32 - Wanda's Offer
Chapter 33 - The Darkhold
Chapter 34 - The Prisoner
Chapter 35 - In Every Universe
Chapter 36 -Her Gift
Chapter 37 -Where the Pieces Fall
Chapter 38 -The Last Goodbye *end*
Was originally reading this on Ao3 and, like I unfortunately do often, was zooming through chapters and realized I hadn’t shown any love for this series. So I decided the best place to rant and rave and shout praises was on Tumblr.
This. Series. Is. AMAZING!! I’m loving it, every syllable of every word of every sentence is just so good. The way the relationship progresses and particularly the way Wanda is written, the relationship between Y/n and Nat is also very cool to me. It’s just really good.
As with all good books, I had to force myself to stop about halfway through so I could sleep. But now that I’m awake I can continue. Mind you, I have not finished this series. I’m part way through Part II but I couldn’t not repost and share how much I love this.
It will get cold again eventually. The summer will not last forever. I’m not doomed to live in this unbearable heat for all eternity. <- said while gripping the countertop so hard that the tile is starting to crack
Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.
W/c: 5.5k
Chapter 19/20
Masterlist | General Masterlist
Note: Can't believe we are almost to the end. I had so many plans for this story to be an angst fest, but I didn't like that idea anymore. I love love.
Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs
"What’s up, L-A-ayyyy! Hope the 110 wasn’t too savage on your commute, ‘cause we’re cruisin’ in the express lane this morning. I’m DJ K-Breeze, and you’re locked into 92.3 The Vibe and, fam, my smile is wider than the 405 at rush hour because sitting across from me is one of the city’s finest exports
You know her voice from the chart-climber ‘Obvious’ with our homies Velvet Rebellion. You might know her lineage, yes, that Fury-Jameson dynasty runnin’ half of Hollywood. But around here, we call her the multi-hyphenate queen: Grammy-award-winning songwriter, PR sniper, founder of the brand-new Girls in Audio mentorship program, and mom to the coolest ten-year-old around.
L-A, make some noise for the fabulous, the fearless, the ridiculously talented Y/N Fury!"
There was a round of applause in the studio as K-Breeze announced your name.
"Hello LA, thanks for having me this morning," You grinned.
"Ohwee your voice is smooth like butter," K-Breeze grinned as he sat back in his chair.
"You flatter me," You chuckled, shaking your head. "First of all, thank you for that intro. My ego's never felt taller."
"You know you look real good," K-Breeze laughed. "We've known each other since we were younger. Obviously, I'm a bit older, but we've run in the same circles, and you know our kids go to the same school and are around the same age. So it's nice to finally get to have you here and talk to you one-on-one."
"It is! It's really good to see you. Thanks for having me."
"You slid in here looking like a million dollars," He said, and you nodded politely. "What's the secret? Green juice? Good genes?"
You laughed. "A ten-year-old alarm clock and a gallon of coffee this morning. That's the regimen."
There's a collective chuckle from the other studio hosts.
"Well, L.A. appreciates the view." He said.
"Breeze is pushing up on you heavy." Jazzy, his co-host said. She eyed him with a half-annoyed and half-amused expression. You looked back and forth between them. "You know she's taken."
K-Breeze threw his hands up, laughing. “Jazzy, let a man shoot his shot on-air—”
“—and miss in 4K?” she clapped back, leaning toward the mic. “Relax, Romeo.”
You raised your left hand, wiggling your fingers so the studio camera and the livestream chat caught the flash of diamond.
“Appreciate the love, Breeze, but I’m very much off the market,” you said, voice warm but final. “Fiancée’s probably listening right now, and trust me, she’s got a longer reach than this signal.”
The control booth howled; Breeze clutched his chest theatrically. “See, that’s why I stick to radio. Can’t get canceled for an innocent compliment.”
“Innocent, huh?” Jazzy teased. "While some of us are professional, congrats on the giant rock by the way, it does look good on you, girl. I want to know more about the non-profit you cofounded with your mother. What inspired this?"
"Well, my daughter inspired it, believe it or not," You began. "My daughter Isabella is ten, and we've had her on tour with us for a couple of months. Velvet Rebellion, my fiancé's band, is on a world tour. Shout out to them." You cleared your throat, settling back into the mic. “Yeah, Isabella’s the catalyst. Traveling from city to city, I kept noticing how few girls, especially Black and brown girls, were actually behind the console. They’re at the shows, they’re streaming the music, but they’re not in the booth pushing faders. So my mom and I launched Girls in Audio to change that.”
Jazzy nodded, clearly hooked. “Walk us through it, how does a ten-year-old spark a whole nonprofit?”
“Well, Bella loves to tinker,” you said, smiling. “She’d sneak side-stage during soundcheck and start asking the front-of-house engineer a million questions—‘What does this button do? Why do you set that EQ?’ One night, she looked at me and said, ‘Mom, where are the girls?’ And it just hit me. If my kid notices the gender gap at ten, adults should’ve fixed it yesterday.”
Breeze whistled under his breath. “Facts.”
“So we built a pipeline,” you continued. “We partner with public schools in South L.A. and Inglewood and donate starter gear, run weekend workshops with female engineers, pay stipends so nobody’s choosing between studio time and a part-time job. Then we place the top students as interns on real sessions of gospel, hip-hop, rock, you name it. Culture isn’t monolithic, so the training shouldn’t be either.”
Jazzy’s eyes lit up. “You said starter gear, so y’all foot the bill for laptops and interfaces?”
“Absolutely. We’ve got sponsorship from Focusrite, Ableton, and a few angels in Silicon Beach. My mom handles the grant writing; I call in favors from everybody I’ve ever written a hook for,” you laughed. “No shade, but if I’ve helped you hit platinum, I will text you for a pair of reference monitors.”
Breeze cracked up. “Put that on a T-shirt: ‘Don’t go gold if you can’t buy monitors.’”
You shrugged playfully. “Look, you gotta leverage the room you’re in.”
“Okay, Y/N, before we spin ‘Obvious’, I’ve gotta ask the question everyone’s texting us about. You slipped it in there so casually: ‘My fiancée, Natasha.’” She held up her phone, screen flooded with emojis. “The streets want to know what it’s like dating a rockstar and having a relationship so public, especially after already being married and divorced to a public figure."
You gave Jazzy a conspiratorial smile the let 's-get-real-but-keep-it-cute smile you’ve perfected after a decade in showbiz.
“Here’s the truth,” you said, fingers drumming lightly on the console. “Dating a rockstar is exactly like dating an accountant… if the accountant plays to twenty thousand screaming people every night and has a fan club named after their favorite guitar.”
The room laughed, but you kept rolling.
“I’ve done the ‘front-page-love’ thing before with the big wedding, headlines, the whole nine. What I learned is that privacy isn’t a location; it’s a boundary. Nat and I decided our relationship lives in a bubble we built ourselves. We’ll share the music, the causes we believe in, the goofy tour videos, but the arguments, the inside jokes, the ugly-cry FaceTimes at 3 a.m.? That stays in the bubble.”
You tapped your ring lightly against the mic stand. “Public eyes can feel loud, but they don’t get a vote, only we do. And when the noise gets crazy, we’ve got a ten-year-old human lie-detector who’ll roast us if we start acting famous at the dinner table. Keeps things humble real quick.”
Jazzy nodded, eyes sparkling.
K-Breeze cleared his throat. "Y/N, I have a confession to make. As you know, I've been doing this for a long time and we have known each other since the beginning. When I met you, you were this sweet little girl hanging onto your daddy's coattails. You are the middle child of three siblings. You are a mother. You work hard. You mentioned the public eye and privacy. How have you managed to keep those boundaries but also keep a level head when it comes to things like the groupie girl situation that happened a while back?"
You leaned into the mic, fingers laced in front of you, posture of a pro, but there’s a flash of real behind your grin.
“Whew, straight for the jugular at eight-forty-five in the morning,” you teased K-Breeze, earning a low laugh from the board-op in the corner. Then you got honest.
“Look, the groupie-gate headlines were messy. Anybody with Wi-Fi saw the photos and the speculation. My first impulse was not to clap back; it was to pick up my phone and call Nat. Not the lawyer or the manager, not my parents or my big sister. Just my partner, who had the biggest stake in it."
You adjusted yourself in your seat. “Boundaries look like this: I can’t control what strangers upload or hashtag. I can control whether I refresh Twitter six hundred times, right? So I log off, have the hard conversation in private, and then get back to living my life. Our daughter sees that. She learns okay, something embarrassing blew up online, Mom handled it without torching the house. That’s the lesson.”
Jazzy snapped her fingers. “Not torching the house, write that down, Breeze.”
"I got you," he responded. "Now, let's listen to 'Obvious' featuring the lovely Y/N and Velvet Rebellion. This is the hottest rock and R&B record on the charts. It's a smash hit. Congrats, ladies. Thank you so much, Y/N. This has been great. Thanks for coming out and chatting with us."
"Thank you for having me," You smiled.
"We'll take a short break, and we'll be right back."
As the commercial played, the engineer cued your single over the air. The producer came over to you, shook your hand, and told you that he loved the song. You sat with K-Breeze and mingled until it was time to talk again.
"Now, the people want to know where you have been all this time?" K-Breeze asked. "You know it's kind of expected for someone who grows up around so much music to have an interest. We saw you back in the day singing the oohs and the ahhs and performing, but what made you stop? The world wants to see more of y/n."
"Well, I'm glad you all feel that way," You nodded.
“Yeah, the assumption is Fury kid equals record deal by fifteen, right?” you laughed softly. “But when I got pregnant at seventeen, my priorities did a somersault. I’d watched the industry eat grown-ups alive; I wasn’t about to feed it a newborn. So I pivoted, college classes during nap time, writing hooks in the studio at 3 a.m., PR by day, so the bills stayed paid. Not that I necessarily had to work. My parents certainly didn't want me to, but I wanted to. I had brands and networks wanting a reality show knocking at my door when I was married to Sam. It wasn't right for us. I never stopped loving the music; I just decided the spotlight wasn’t worth my daughter flinching at every flashbulb.”
You glanced through the glass at the on-air light, then back to Breeze. “Fast-forward: Velvet Rebellion needed a layered vocal for ‘Obvious.’ Natasha asked, and it felt… fun. No thirty-city promo run, no manufactured persona, just jump in the booth, sing my heart out, hop onstage a couple of weekends, then go home to be with my kid and dog."
A quick shrug, equal parts humble and unbothered. “So I guess the answer is I never left music. I just chose the back row until the front row fit my life.”
*********
Natasha kept her attention between her phone and the stove, humming along to the soft hiss of butter in the pan as she made herself breakfast. She’d just smashed half an avocado over sourdough, sprinkled it with chili flakes, and was now putting a sunny-side egg toward the center with chef-level precision. It was a decent meal for someone who usually lived on catering trays. She had been watching the radio station's live stream of your segment with them when she heard what the radio host said.
Her thumb flew across the screen while the yolk settled.
Natasha: Tell K-Breeze to chill. That “smooth like butter” line?
Natasha: The only butter around here is the one on my toast.
Natasha: & my fiancée is spoken for 💍🔥
She grinned, took a quick photo of the finished toast with the egg halo intact, and hit send. No read-receipt yet. You were probably still shaking off the studio lights. Natasha leaned against the counter, waiting for the little “typing…” bubble that never failed to give her a rush.
Crash.
Bear heard it first and immediately rushed to the front door. Natasha quickly turned the stove off and went to search for the noise.
"Don't mind us, I'm just a little wobbly on my rollerblades," Isabella said sheepishly as she flopped down onto the ground to kick them off.
"Hi Natasha, do you live here now?" Lenny, Isabella's best friend, asked.
"Uh yeah, I moved in last week," She nodded.
"How come?" Lenny asked, following Isabella down the hallway.
"Because she and my mom are getting married," Isabella informed her friend. "We talked about this."
Natasha blinked, still clutching her phone. Two roller blades spun in lazy circles on the hardwood like crashed UFOs.
“Uh-huh-yep, we’re all one big happy household now,” she said, stepping around a helmet that had rolled under the console table. “Mind the guitar cases. And the cables. And, wow, that’s… glitter?”
Lenny’s eyes went saucer-wide. “Wait, so you and Izzy’s mom are, like, official? That’s so pog.”
Natasha opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again. “Pog… is good?”
“It means epic,” Isabella translated, already peeling off elbow pads. “She’s pogging.”
“Right. Epic. Great.” Natasha made a mental note to Google that later. She watched as the girls made a beeline for Isabella's bathroom. "Okay, I'm just gonna let you guys hang out in there while I eat breakfast, cool?"
She received no response back and decided to dig into her food. She sat herself at the kitchen island with her toast and a glass of orange juice. The sound of giggling and splashing water from Isabella's bathroom filled her ears, and she chuckled, shaking her head. She didn't even want to guess what those girls were getting into.
Natasha had managed exactly one serene bite of avocado-toast heaven when the bathroom door slammed open again. Four pink socks, skirts, and sparkles barreled into the kitchen.
"Snack raid," Isabella announced. Before Natasha could swallow, the girls had yanked open every cabinet as if a secret portal to Narnia might be hiding behind the cereal boxes. Goldfish, fruit leathers, half a sleeve of Oreos, everything hit the counter in a technicolor heap.
“Whoa, whoa, tempo, ladies.” Natasha nudged a box of fruit snacks out of Isabella's reach. “Your mom will stage-dive off a table if she sees this mess.”
“We’ll clean up,” Lenny promised, already double-fisting pretzel sticks. Isabella slid onto the stool beside Natasha, cheeks still pink from whatever they had been doing in her bedroom that required so much noise and laughter. “Nat, can I ask you something kinda… biological?”
Orange juice detoured down the wrong direction as Natasha sipped. What could they possibly have to ask her? She coughed, grabbed a napkin. “Biological as in homework, or biological as in—” She waved vaguely at the growing snack mountain.
“Girl stuff.” Isabella’s tone was hushed but deadly serious. “Like… when do boobs start actually growing? Lenny says hers are late, but I think mine are early, and Coach Karen said everybody is different, but that’s not helpful at all.”
Natasha stared at her toast, suddenly nostalgic for the simplicity of paparazzi scandals. “Well,” she began, buying seconds, “bodies run on their own tour schedule. Some headline early, some show up fashionably late, everybody still plays the same festival eventually.”
Two blank stares.
“Translation,” she tried again, “there’s no wrong time. It could be this summer, it could be two summers from now. Doctors call it a growth ‘stage,’ not a growth ‘race.’"
Lenny chewed on that literally and figuratively. “So if mine are… backstage for a while, that’s fine?”
“Totally fine.” Natasha softened, remembering her own twelve-year-old panic. “And when they do start, you come tell me or Y/N or your dad, and we’ll get you the comfiest first bra Target has ever seen. Deal?”
Both girls nodded, relief palpable.
“Now,” Natasha added, tapping the counter like a snare drum, “house rule: any conversation containing the word boobs requires at least one serving of actual fruit.”
There were groans followed by grudging applesauce cups appearing from the fridge.
"I do have a really serious question, though," Isabella's brows furrowed.
"The one before wasn't serious?" Natasha raised a brow.
"No, this is way more serious," she shook her head.
"Okay, hit me," she nodded.
"When you and Mom have a baby," Isabella began. "Can I pick the name? I think, as the oldest sibling, I should have rights."
"Oh," Natasha blinked. "Um. You have a few years before we get to that."
"I'm just saying. If you want me to like the baby, the least you can do is let me name it."
Natasha had to think about this for a moment. "I'll talk to your mom about it. In a few years."
Isabella seemed fine with that. She scooped up her snacks and wrangled Lenny to return to her bedroom.
*****
Hours later, with a babysitter covering for you and a few drinks in hand, Natasha asked you to come with her on a ride. You weren't entirely sure where she planned on taking you. Ten minutes in, you realized she’s taken the shoreline route past the Marina, not the quickest way to any venue you knew. Another five and Mulholland’s lookout posts glide by on the right. You tipped your head, studying her profile.
“We’re nowhere near the studio,” you said, eyeing Natasha before looking back to the road.
“Correct.”
“And you don’t need groceries this late.”
"Also correct.”
She turned and made a left onto a street you did recognize: a stretch of converted warehouses in the Arts District where you once took Isabella to a Saturday watercolor class. Most spaces were dark and intimate. A typical artsy venue.
Natasha parked, killed the engine, but left her phone in the cup holder.
“Come on,” she said, stepping out and grabbing a canvas tote from the back seat. You looked up at the building, Loft 312. You wanted to question her more, but decided it was best to go and investigate.
Inside, string lights zig-zagged beneath open rafters. The air smelled of paint, coffee, and faint lavender. Someone left huge drop cloths taped to the floor. In the far corner sat a rolling cart loaded with acrylics, oil sticks, and blank 30x40 canvases still wrapped in cellophane. You couldn't help but notice how quiet it was.
You turned a slow circle. “You rented the whole place?”
"Night rate.” She shrugged, suddenly shy. “Tony’s cousin manages it. I… thought it’d be fun to make something that isn’t music.”
Natasha tugged off her leather jacket, folded it over a metal stool.
You raised a brow, intrigued.
"Make something that isn't music," you repeated.
Natasha reached into the tote, produced two bottles of wine and two glasses. She walked over to a low table where she set the bottle of red and the two glasses, and pulled a bottle of white out next, handing it to you. "Take your pick."
"This is the sweetest," you grinned, taking the bottle of white and popping it open. "How did you think of this?"
"I figured we needed some real time together," Natasha answered. She reached onto the bar to find a sleek black remote. "What do you think?" The low notes of "I Wanna Know" by Avant filtered through the surround system.
"I love this song," you smiled. You watched Natasha walk back over to the canvas, take her spot, and pour a little bit of her wine into the glass. You did the same, taking a sip before sitting next to her.
"Do you like the space?" Natasha asked.
"Yeah, I mean it's gorgeous. There's a lot of natural light in here. Lots to do." You nodded. You watched as she rounded you to put a smock around you. It felt warm and soft on your shoulders. She tugged the ties at the back, fingers brushing the base of your neck.
“I figured tour buses and hotel suites all start looking the same,” she said, voice low near your ear. “Wanted a night that belonged to us."
You glanced at the blank canvas. “So this is, what, couples therapy with paint?”
“More like proof that we’re still making new memories, messy ones.” She offered you a flat brush as wide as your palm. “Pick a color; stake your claim.”
You picked the closest shade, a nice, rusty red. With the first confident swipe, a shock wave went up your spine.
"I forgot what a high painting is," you laughed.
"It's been a while for me," Natasha agreed, taking a sip from her wine glass.
"I was always the one painting my walls. It was never really something that I was encouraged to do," you shrugged. "I painted it black one year to piss my parents off."
"And how did that go?" Natasha chuckled.
"They made me repaint it," you told her.
"You rebel," Natasha teased.
"That's what they tell me," you snorted.
Natasha hummed. She finished her wine, reaching for the bottle again. "You have no idea how much I love being around you, being able to talk to you." The music shifted to Alicia Keys' "Unthinkable."
"The feeling is mutual," You smiled. You both sat with those words. For a while, the room was filled with nothing but the music and sounds of you walking across the studio.
When the canvas was nearly full, Natasha capped her tube of red and leaned against a stool, breathing hard like she’d just come off stage.
“Can I tell you something without the PR filter?” she asked.
You wiped your hands on a rag. “Always.”
“I hate how careful we've become after Miami,” she admitted. “Like we packed the whole relationship in bubble wrap. I kept waiting for you to… I don’t know. Hand me a rule book.”
“I kept waiting to feel safe enough to break one.”
Silence folded around the two of you, comfortable, this time.
Natasha stepped forward, specks of color dried on her knuckles. “If painting a wall together is what it takes for you to want me again—”
"I could never stop wanting you." You shook your head. You reached out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear.
Natasha caught your hand and pressed a kiss into your palm. "Good. Because I can't stop wanting you, either."
You both shared a look before you watched her lower her hand. "It's my own insecurity this time around." You admitted. "I think that entire situation was a non-factor. Not even a true blimp on our radar, and yet it had taken so much of my mind that I started thinking... What if someone younger catches your eye and you leave me?"
Natasha gave a half-smile. "Do you really think I would be here if that were true?"
You looked down at the ground, shuffling a bit. "Well, no, not really."
"Right," Natasha nodded. "And the only people who have the power to decide how I feel about you are me and you." She placed her hands on your arms. "But, if you want, I can remind you just how much I care about you."
"I don't need the reminder because I do know. Logically, I do," You breathed.
"Need I remind you our wedding is a month away?" She tilted her head. "Are you getting cold feet?"
"No, not at all, no, baby." You pulled her closer. You let out a shaky laugh, rubbing a stray streak of cobalt off Natasha’s wrist.
“It’s not cold feet,” you said, voice soft. “It’s more like… cluttered feet? We’ve been sprinting tour dates, interviews, Isabella’s schedule, my job, and wedding checklists. And when that Mia drama hit, I convinced myself I had to protect the plan instead of protecting us. So I threw up walls and told myself it was strategy.”
You met her eyes, heat rising in your cheeks.
“But the truth is, it was just fear wrapped in spreadsheets. The minute I pulled back, I knew it was the dumbest move I could make, because the only place I feel calm these days is right here, with paint on my face and you looking at me like I’m the whole set list.”
Natasha’s expression softened, and you pressed on, needing it out in the open.
“I feel stupid for letting noise make me question the thing I’m most certain about. I don’t want distance, Nat, I want vows, and shared coffee spoons, and arguing over whose turn it is to pack Isabella’s lunch. I want the everyday stuff that proves we’re already building the life we’re promising next month.”
You squeezed her hands.
“So no, not cold feet. Just nervous, wildly-in-love feet tripping over my own insecurities. And I’m sorry I let that doubt creep into you. There isn’t any.”
“Good,” she murmured. “Because cluttered or not, those feet are walking down the aisle to me.”
"And they've never been more ready." You nodded.
Natasha hummed, bringing her face close to yours. She brushed her nose against yours, nuzzling gently. "I think I'm going to have to make up for lost time with my wife."
"Yes, you should," You laughed softly, closing the space between you and her. Your lips molded perfectly, and you couldn't help but moan at the feel of her lips. You leaned into her, and your bodies melded like a puzzle. Her fingers gripped your hips, holding you to her. You felt like you couldn't get enough of her, and the kiss intensified. Natasha pulled away briefly, only to tug her smock over her head and toss it aside. She took her spot in front of the canvas again and patted the empty spot next to her.
You smiled, doing the same, and you both returned to your canvas, painting, sipping, and trading kisses.
"There was something you did today that made me really happy," Natasha said, lowering her glass from her lips. "Well, you did it a couple of times."
"Yeah? I thought everything I did made you happy," You said cheekily.
"Mmm," Natasha smirked. "You called her our daughter."
"What?"
"A few times. When you were talking to K-Breeze, and when we talked over the phone when I was in Miami. That's what you called her. Our daughter," Natasha, informed you.
You set your glass down, surprised by how quickly your eyes stung.
“I did, didn’t I?” you murmured, replaying the morning in your head.
Natasha nodded, smiling softly but with an impossibly bright smile. “It… landed. Like, click, this is my family. No footnote, no asterisk.”
A laugh bubbled out of you, half-choked, half-giddy. “I didn’t even realize it slipped out.”
“That’s the point,” she said, gently bumping her shoulder into yours. “It was natural. And it told me everything I’ve been hoping to hear without us scheduling a big ‘what-about-parenting-roles’ summit.”
Natasha reached out for your hand, and you tangled your fingers.
"You know what's so awesome about the word family?" she asked.
"What?"
"I've got the rest of my life to figure out the details. I know we're going to be together forever," she answered, a hopeful smile on her lips.
"Forever sounds perfect," you grinned. You eased back, still holding her hand. You grabbed the bottle of wine and handed her a newly filled cup.
“There’s… one wrinkle I never unpacked with you.”
Natasha’s brow creased, but she stayed relaxed. “All right.”
“You know that couples retreat my friends brought up a while ago? The one I kept tiptoeing around whenever the NDA subject came up?”
Natasha nodded. “The ‘mysterious-files-sealed-until-forever’ weekend, yes.” A crooked smile flickered across her lips, but her eyes stayed attentive.
“It was more than a weekend. It wasn’t mysterious so much as… messy,” you said, exhaling through your nose. “Our marriage was on its last legs. We thought a ‘modern-love’ workshop one that encouraged openness might save us.”
Natasha’s fingers tensed, then relaxed again, wordlessly urging you on.
"It was more for me than him," You explained. "If Sam had a say, we would probably still be married. He would have settled. But the thought of being with someone for the sake of being with them... it was killing me."
"Okay..." Natasha trailed off.
"Anyway, there was this after-hours party that everyone would hold, and naturally, out of curiosity, we went, and I met a woman."
You drew in a breath, wiping your fingertips on the paint-splattered apron. “That woman at the retreat?” Your pulse kicked. “It didn’t stop at a kiss. I slept with her a couple of times. It was the first time I’d ever crossed that line, the night I realized why the line even existed for me. Sam was always present, but we knew it was more than that.”
Natasha’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t pull away. So you kept going, words spilling with the relief of a secret finally surfacing.
“I’d been telling myself I was only curious, that an innocent crush would jolt the marriage awake. It jolted me instead. Sam said he was fine, modern love and all that. But the truth is neither of us could un-see what it meant. I was queer, I was starving for connection, and the marriage was already limping.”
You swallowed. “We tried to renegotiate the rules, but jealousy crept in and never left. He didn’t become the villain, and I didn’t become the cheater. We just… ended.” Your gaze dropped to the paint on your nails. "And I’ve carried the story like a caution sign ever since. ‘Want too much and you’ll ruin everything.’ Obviously, there's more to the story, but NDAs are a thing, and I value not being sued.”
Natasha’s fingers tipped your chin up. “You didn’t ruin anything then or now. You told the truth, you learned who you were, and you refused to keep pretending. That’s not destruction, that’s survival.”
“So here’s the new rule,” she whispered. “No starving. Not for connection, not for honesty, not for pleasure. We feed the whole thing, together, or we push back from the table together. Deal?”
You let out a trembling laugh. “Deal.”
She angled her head, searching your face. “Tell me what you need tonight."
“Just touch,” you said. “No finish line, no scoreboard. I want to remember that wanting you isn’t dangerous or something for the public to squabble over.”
She nodded, reaching up to run her thumb along your jaw.
"Okay, we'll just take our time." She kissed you softly, pulling you onto her lap. Your thighs straddled her. You ran your hands over her shoulders, kissing her harder. Natasha groaned into the kiss. You rocked against her, and she moaned again, running her hands up your back. "My hands aren't clean." She said in an almost pouting way.
"That's fine. Mine aren't either," You giggled. "I guess you'll just get creative."
Natasha's hands found their way to your hips, and her mouth found its way to your neck. She placed a hot, open-mouthed kiss against your neck, her tongue slipping out and swiping up, her teeth nipping at your pulse point.
"Are there cameras in here?"
"I turned them off when we came inside. Unplugged the entire system."
"Good," You breathed. Natasha's hands traveled up your shirt and under the band of your bra, cupping the heavy weight of your breast, her fingers ghosting over you. "I'm gonna make sure you remember why we work, and why we'll always work."
is their love too easy
Idk how tf I missed this chapter dropping but yes!!!
I so genuinely love Nat and R’s honesty with each other. And how open they are about their feelings. They’re just so cute and they work together, in every meaning of the phrase.
All the references of relationships and life and bodies to music is actually so cool and kind of adorable.
writing is so funny because i could write nonstop for 9hrs and then hit a block where im like "how do i transition between this moment and the next?" and then i just dont touch it for 6 months
i need a girlfriend who's OBSESSED with me. constantly touching me when we're out in public, never letting go, wants to show everyone i'm hers. i want a girlfriend who wont stop leaving bite marks all over me so everyone can see i belong to her
Reader loses something important before a press conference
Natasha’s kisses were always so heavy and tender and warm.
So warm, in fact, that you were seriously debating skipping your press conference.
You were half-sitting, half-sprawled across the couch in the private lounge of the presidential wing, shirt unbuttoned, your breast practically spilling out of your bra, Natasha hovering over you with that infuriatingly composed smirk like she wasn’t single-handedly responsible for your complete unraveling.
“I have to be downstairs in—” you gasped, but Natasha was already pressing another kiss beneath your jaw.
“Ten minutes,” she murmured, lips brushing your pulse. “Plenty of time.”
“You say that like I don’t have a full national security briefing and a press corps waiting to chew me alive.”
“Then let them wait.”
You huffed, hands buried in her shirt now, fingers tugging the fabric like maybe if you pulled hard enough, time would freeze.
“You’re going to be the reason I walk out there with my lipstick and clothes ruined.”
She pulled back just enough to raise an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s a threat.”
“It is,” you said, breathless. “It’s presidential misconduct.”
“I’m off duty.”
You bit your lip, narrowing your eyes.
“And you’re not wearing your comm,” you added. “You think I didn’t notice?”
Natasha grinned.
“Maybe I wanted to hear something else in my earpiece today.”
You didn’t respond. You just kissed her quickly, quietly, and gratefully. She pushed you further onto the couch, and you were already reaching for her zipper, her buttons, anything to get her out of that damn uniform. She slid between your thighs, her hand sliding under your skirt to snap your underwear.
"What would they say if they knew you wore cotton panties when you're the president?"
You snorted, leaning into her touch, her other hand coming up to hold your cheek.
"What do you think they're going to say about the fact that I'm fucking my agent?"
She smirked, her teeth tugging at your lower lip.
"Oww," You pouted, and she grinned, not feeling bad at all. "Besides, these panties are comfy and you know it."
"That's what makes them sexy. Knowing that I can take them off anytime I want."
Natasha didn't let you reply. Instead, she captured your lips with hers. She pressed her tongue between your lips, a soft moan escaping her.
"Natasha," you whimpered. "Fuck, you're so good."
"Five minutes, Madam President," came the voice of your chief of staff through the door. You hoped she had no clue who you were in there with and what you were doing.
"Fuck," you breathed out and Natasha chuckled. You moved to lift up, and Natasha kept you where you were. You looked at her quizzically.
"Let's use our time wisely," she smirked and slid your underwear to the side.
*****
You were late.
You were never late.
And yet here you were, speed-walking down the marbled corridor in four-inch heels, blouse slightly rumpled, hair pinned back in a rush. Your security detail kept pace, silent but probably judging. The press was already seated.
You didn’t need to check your watch. The look on your chief of staff’s face when you rounded the corner said everything.
“They’re already live,” she whispered, handing you your mic with a practiced smile. “And button that higher. There’s—” she gestured vaguely toward your collarbone, “—a mark.”
You blinked.
Then you reached up and felt it, a warm, ghostly sting just beneath your left clavicle. A kiss, no doubt. Or worse, a mouthful of impatience.
Fucking Natasha Romanoff.
You sighed, buttoning your shirt up higher as you walked, a faint smile on your lips.
Fucking Natasha Romanoff.
You fumbled for your top button, fastening it with too-shaky fingers. You cleared your throat, nodded once, and stepped through the curtain.
Flashbulbs. A wall of noise. And you - Presidential. Or at least, trying to be.
You smiled, adjusted your mic, and began your opening remarks. You were halfway through answering a question about energy policy when you shifted your weight and felt it.
A breeze.
A very specific kind of breeze.
Your eyes widened just slightly. Only slightly. But your pulse spiked.
You shifted in your stance, trying to discreetly cross one leg behind the other. It didn’t help
That was when you remembered. The panties. You couldn't remember where you'd left them or how they'd gotten off, for that matter. It was only five minutes.
You were fucked. Literally and figuratively.
Your face turned pink as the realization hit you.
"Madam President, are you okay?" came a voice from the crowd.
"Yes, of course," you smiled.
She was probably watching from the west hallway monitor, smirking like she hadn’t just taken your dignity and tucked it neatly between state secrets.
You cleared your throat again and smiled.
“… and we remain committed to a sustainable, bipartisan approach to energy independence,” you said smoothly, voice calm even as your thighs pressed closer together, seeking any kind of reprieve from the reminder of what she’d done.
I feel like no one is really talking about this scene!!!!
I need to explain my thoughts on this scene if anyone cares to hear it;
You can really see exactly where Yelenas mind is here and no one is talking about it, you can see exactly how shes feeling mentally by just how little she believes in herself. (I know it’s shown a lot during the movie especially at the start but this scene in particular just gets to me)
From her knowing her abilities and knowing she's good at what she does in Hawkeye and even in Black Widow to her degrading herself, thinking she sucks (which she says a lot during the movie) and isn't good at what she does, shows just how little she cares about everything.
I feel like this is a moment that's completely overlooked be she's roasting everyone, but you can really see just how hurt she is, feeling she has no purpose or worth.
I totally agree with this take! My personal addition to this is: A big reason I think she feels this way, like she sucks, is because Natasha died.
Imagine having all this training, being so goddamn good at what you do. So good in fact, that you were able to save other widows around the world, but you couldn’t save your own sister. All her skills and abilities amounted to nothing because she couldn’t save the one person she loves most in the world.
Obviously that’s not true cause like, she was dusted and wasn’t even there to save Natasha but that doesn’t matter cause in her mind, she should’ve been there, she should’ve saved her sister.
It was past midnight when Natasha finally slipped into the West Wing’s private residence, her hair still damp from the rain, her boots soft against the carpet.
"You should be home for dinner," you said quietly, not looking up from the folder in your lap. You sat cross-legged on the couch, glasses sliding down your nose, wearing an old campaign T-shirt Sophia had stolen and since returned.
“I was being debriefed.” Natasha stood with her hands crossed in front of her. She subtly eyed the room. “And followed. Twice.”
You glanced up, finally, your gaze softening. “Are you okay?” It was low. You could see her swallow and look down, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly.
She shook her head, her red curls shaking out as they dried.
"No one is here, Natasha." You said her name. "I sent everyone home. The kids are asleep. It's just us."
"It's never just us." She whispered. “I didn’t like being followed,” Natasha said again, quieter now.
You didn’t move at first. Just looked at her, really looked.
“You’re safe here.” You said it without blinking. “You don’t have to scan the room. You don’t have to stand like you’re waiting to be given orders.”
She hesitated, but then walked over slowly, deliberately, and stood behind the couch. For a moment, you thought she might say something. Instead, she rested her chin on your shoulder, the weight of it anchoring both of you.
You let her.
“Still thinking about Vienna?” you asked softly.
She didn’t answer, just shifted slightly so the edge of her cheek grazed yours.
You reached up and placed your hand over hers, where it had come to rest on your shoulder. “You can take a breath, Natasha. Just for tonight. You don’t have to be anything here.”
Her fingers curled lightly around yours.
“I’m still your bodyguard,” she murmured. The first kiss on your neck was a reminder.
“And I’m still the President,” you said, almost teasing.
Her nose nuzzled your jaw, the corner of her mouth ghosting across your skin.
You closed your eyes.
A second kiss to the crook of your neck, the heat of her lips lingering and sending shivers down your spine.
"I can handle it," You told her. You were willing to be whatever she needed you to be tonight.
"Can you?" she murmured.
Another kiss, and another, until you couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only feel.
She kissed you like it was her last chance. And it always felt like it might be. Like one day, you'd come to your senses and this entire thing would blow up in her face. Yet she continued to kiss you. Continue to revel in the tiny moans that passed your lips. Continued to lose herself in your taste and smell and feel.
Because it was everything.
"Tasha," you whispered, voice low and rough and heavy.
She pressed a kiss to your neck.
"Tell me no." Her lips lingered.
"I can't." Your eyes were closed.
"Then tell me to stop."
You said nothing.
"I don't want you to." You murmured, the words falling from your lips before you could stop them. "I can't."
Her fingers traced over your collarbone and slipped under the top of your shirt.
"Natasha..."
"I can't either." Her confession was quiet, her thumb tracing over the skin on the inside of your shoulder.
She kissed your neck, open-mouthed, and your fingers tightened on hers.
Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.
W/c: 4.7k
Chapter 18/20
Masterlist | General Masterlist
Note: the slightest bit of angst
Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs
Natasha couldn’t express how much she missed waking up with you in her arms. Tour life always felt like it stretched on for years, especially when you didn’t have anyone to come home to. But this time was different. So different. The parties didn’t hit the same, and she was almost embarrassed to admit it was because of you. She was completely, utterly in love with you, and that love shifted her focus. She was drinking less. Eating better. Keeping up with workouts. And taking real breaks, the kind that started with your arms around her and your voice whispering, “You did great tonight.”
The last few weeks had passed in a blur of long nights and city lights, but now things were starting to slow down. You were in Philadelphia, her second home, and one she hadn’t been in for a while. One where her mother still lived.
It was early morning, early enough that the sky was still gray and the birds were just beginning to chirp. Natasha had been lying in bed for a while, lost in thought.
Her hand moved instinctively, reaching for you beneath the sheets. The steady rise and fall of your chest, the warmth of your belly against her hand, grounded her. Reminded her why everything mattered in the first place.
“Mmm, morning,” you sighed into her, stretching until your body pressed up against hers.
She kissed your forehead, slow and soft, before answering with that husky voice you always loved.
“How’d you sleep?” you asked.
Natasha hummed. “Better now.”
Her fingers traced lazy patterns on your hip. “You snore, you know.”
You scoffed. “I do not.”
“You do,” she grinned. She was lying through her teeth, but it still got the smile she wanted. “Like a very delicate truck driver.”
You laughed, eyes still closed. “You’re annoying.”
“But you love me,” she whispered, pressing her lips to your shoulder.
You opened your eyes then, glancing at her, still a little hazy but suddenly aware of how close everything felt. Her eyes were on you. The weight of last week still lingered somewhere in the silence.
“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I do.”
“It’s still early enough for us to go back to sleep,” she suggested, brushing her thumb along the bare skin of your hip. “Or… we could get a jump on the day. I know my mom wants lunch with us later.”
"Let's just stay here for a while longer," You answered instead.
"Sounds good to me," Natasha nodded. She leaned down to kiss your lips tenderly.
The sun was just coming up outside, the sky growing a little lighter with each passing moment. Your room was quiet, and so was her breathing, which made the soft, wet sounds of her mouth on yours seem louder. She held you close and kissed you deeply, the taste of her lips filling your head and your lungs and all the empty space between you.
When her hand traveled underneath your tank top, caressing the swell of your breast, you raised your hand to stop her. One of the things you loved about Natasha was that she could read your body language. Just like you could read her, and the way her hand dropped away without a word.
"I'm sorry," you whispered.
Natasha shook her head, but the silence that followed was heavy. You could feel the disappointment radiating off of her, quiet and sharp. Being intimate wasn’t something you ever shied away from with her, but things were just different now. You didn’t mean to pull away. But you had.
And she felt it.
"What's wrong?" Natasha asked. "Did I... did I do something? Did I move too fast?"
"No, it's not that." You sighed.
She sat up, looking at you expectantly.
"Then what is it?"
"I'm sorry, Nat. I just—I can't. Not right now," you said, your words tumbling out.
"This is about her?"
You didn't say anything.
"She's not here. Y/N. She's not. She's not gonna be. And I'm here. I'm right here."
"I know, Natasha." You said, frustrated. Not with her, not entirely, but with yourself. With the pit in your stomach you hadn’t been able to shake since Miami.
She lay flat on her back and ran a hand through her hair. “Then why does it feel like I’m the one being punished?”
Your heart clenched. You hated that she felt that way. You hated that a part of you agreed.
“I’m not trying to punish you,” you said quietly. “But I’m still stuck in it. The pictures. The phone call. Her voice.” You exhaled hard. “And I know none of it was what it looked like, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t get in my head.”
Natasha didn’t say anything at first. She just lay there, shoulders tense, eyes locked on the far wall like it held all the answers.
“You should believe me,” she finally said, and there was something in her voice that made you look up.
“I do,” you said. “I’m trying.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No,” you admitted. “It’s not.”
The quiet between you was thick. Not angry but aching. Aching like a broken bone, the kind that couldn't be set.
"You want to talk about it?" Natasha asked finally.
You didn't. And yet, maybe you did. Maybe this was a conversation that had to happen. You could see her bracing herself, the muscles in her jaw clenching. She was ready. You weren’t. While you had come up with a plan that was working decently, it still left you feeling unsettled. Like the ground was crumbling beneath your feet, and if you took a step in the wrong direction, everything would come crashing down.
"No," you decided.
Natasha's eyebrows lifted. "Are you sure?"
"Positive," you said, shifting onto your side and propping your head up on your elbow. "It's nothing."
"Okay," she said softly.
"I love you, Natasha."
She nodded, a smile pulling at her lips.
"I love you," she replied, kissing your cheek. "And I'm sorry for pressuring you. I just want you to be okay."
"I know," you nodded. "And I am."
"You promise?"
"I do."
You smiled at her. "How about we take a shower?"
She looked at you quizzically.
"You've got that look," you teased.
Her brow arched, lips twitching into a smirk. “What look?”
“The one that says ‘I’m not sure if we’re showering or starting a round.’”
Natasha chuckled, finally relaxing a bit as she leaned in and nuzzled your neck. “Depends… on if I’m allowed to be hopeful again.”
You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging her away with a soft laugh. “Shower first. Maybe pancakes after. You’re on thin ice, Romanoff.”
“Shower and pancakes?” she mused. “You really know how to seduce a woman.”
You threw a pillow at her, and she caught it, grinning as she jumped out of bed.
“Come on,” she said, holding out her hand. “Let me wash away the sins of my PR nightmare.”
“You better,” you muttered, but you took her hand anyway.
It wasn’t fixed, not completely. But it felt like a step.
*******
After the shower and a lazy round of getting dressed with Natasha in jeans and a linen button-down, you in a sundress and slides, the two of you decided to stop by a local farmer’s market for coffee and fresh pastries. She insisted on holding your hand the whole time, brushing her fingers over your ring like it soothed something in her. It almost did.
You walked past booths of handmade jewelry, honey sticks, local art, and overpriced succulents before settling on a café cart tucked between a lavender stall and a woman selling prints of iconic musicians.
As you waited for your drinks, you pulled out her phone and grinned. “Wanna call Bella?”
Natasha nodded, smiling already. “Let’s do it.”
You FaceTimed Isabella, who answered on the second ring, her face still a little sleepy, but lit up when she saw the two of you on her screen.
“Hi!” she beamed. “Are you still on tour?”
"Yes, but we have an off day today," You angled the camera more toward Natasha. "We're getting a few treats before we meet with Natasha's mom."
“You look pretty,” she told you.
You grinned. "Thank you. You look sleepy."
Isabella nodded. "It's Saturday."
Natasha chuckled. "Fair."
"How's your trip going with Daddy?"
"Good," She nodded. "I like Santa Barbara. But I miss you guys. I can't wait until we all live in the same city again."
Natasha's expression softened. "We miss you, too."
"Have you gotten to see any cool movies on the tour?"
"Not yet, but I'm hoping we can watch one together next week. What do you think? You, me, and Nat?"
"Yes! I wanna see the new Barbie movie!"
"That sounds perfect." You smiled. "Go brush your teeth. Have fun."
"I will." She grinned, looking to the side as if someone was talking to her. "Daddy wants to go for breakfast. I love you guys."
"We love you, too," Natasha answered, and you smiled.
"Bye!" You waved.
"Bye." She returned the gesture and then hung up.
You slipped your phone into your pocket, and then she handed you a cup.
"You look happy," she remarked.
"I am," You said. You leaned into her embrace, reveling in her mushiness and the kiss she placed on your forehead.
"What can I do to keep that smile on your face?"
"I don't know," you shrugged. "But I'll let you know."
She smiled and kissed the top of your head. She led you back to the rental car, waving at a passerby who'd recognized her before she slid into the driver's seat.
"These smell so good." You hummed to yourself. "I can't wait to eat them. I hope your mom likes blueberries."
"She loves them." Natasha smiled, putting her sunglasses on.
"Perfect," You put a piece of the pastry in your mouth and then passed the box to her.
"Do you need the GPS?"
"Nope," She shook her head. "I know this city."
"Well, lead the way," You gestured.
********
Melina lived in a quiet neighborhood tucked away behind tall hedges and iron gates. The kind of place where the grass was always perfectly cut and not a single car dared to honk. Natasha parked in the driveway like she’d done it a hundred times, and for a second, you could feel her nerves shift the air between you.
“You okay?” you asked, wiping your hands on your dress.
She nodded, giving you a tight smile. “You’ll like her. Just… don’t let her scare you.”
You grinned. “Too late. I’ve already made up my mind to love her.”
Natasha gave you a look, both amused and worried. “God help me.”
The door opened before you could even ring the bell.
Melina stood tall, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, eyes sharp but unreadable. She wore a sleek black blouse and slacks, her silver-streaked hair pinned back neatly. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t look unfriendly either.
“Natasha,” she greeted, stepping forward to hug her daughter. “You’re late.”
“Blame traffic,” Natasha murmured into her shoulder before pulling back. “This is Y/N.”
You stepped forward, offering your hand with a confident smile. “It’s so good to finally meet you.”
Melina looked you up and down, and for a second, you thought she might actually ignore the handshake. Then she took it with a firm grip, cool fingers, and nodded once.
“You’re taller than I expected.”
You laughed. “And you’re just as intense as Natasha warned me.”
That got a smile, small, but real. Melina tilted her head slightly, her gaze still appraising but no longer cold.
“She talks about you all the time,” you added.
“I’m sure she does,” Melina said. “Come in. You’re both underdressed.”
“She’s kidding,” Natasha whispered as you followed them inside.
It was a beautiful house, all high ceilings and hardwood floors and tasteful art. There was a large fireplace, a plush couch, and an open kitchen that smelled faintly of basil and some kind of sauce you couldn't place.
Melina walked to the kitchen and took a pot from the stove.
"How was the drive?" she asked, plating food that was to die for. The smell was amazing, and you couldn't wait to taste it.
"Long," Natasha said. "But worth it."
She set the bowls on the dining table.
"Did you know, Y/N, that my daughter used to run away from home as a child?"
"Mom," Natasha protested, rolling her eyes.
"Only a couple of times," you said, playing along.
"It was four," Melina corrected, looking amused. "But who's counting?"
You chuckled. "Sounds about right."
"Don't encourage her," Natasha grumbled.
"Sit. Eat." Melina gestured.
You took a seat next to Natasha, picking up the bowl of solyanka and inhaling the heavenly aroma.
"It's amazing, Mom."
"Thank you, I know."
"So humble, too," Natasha teased, digging in.
Melina watched the two of you carefully, her gaze shifting every so often to you. You weren't sure what she was looking for, but you hoped you weren't failing.
"When were you going to tell me you're engaged?" Melina questioned. The huge rock on your finger was a dead giveaway.
Natasha sighed. "Soon, Mom. Very soon. We've just been so busy."
"Too busy to call your mother?"
"We've had a lot going on. Tour stuff and the engagement," Natasha said.
"And this Mia girl." She offered, which left you choking on your soup.
Natasha's jaw tensed. "How did you know about her?"
"You are not the only one with resources," she answered. "I have Google alerts for you."
You wiped your mouth with the napkin, trying not to cough too violently. “Well,” you cleared your throat, “guess we’re just jumping into it.”
Melina arched a brow. “I prefer directness. It saves time.”
“I don’t mind direct,” you said easily, setting your spoon down. “I just wasn’t expecting soup and scandal in the same bite.”
Natasha groaned quietly, dragging her hand down her face. “Mom…”
Melina held her gaze. “You’re a public figure, Natalia. People talk. It is my job to filter through what’s worth listening to.”
“And what did you decide?” you asked her, voice calm but with an edge.
Melina looked at you now, fully. “That I would wait and see. Natasha does not fall easily. If she has chosen you, there must be something worth knowing.”
You didn’t blink. “I’d like to think so.”
A beat passed. Then Melina nodded once. “You’re quick. Good.”
Natasha nearly choked on her water. “Can we please eat without this turning into a silent interrogation?”
“I’m just getting to know your fiancée,” Melina said, cool and amused. “Isn’t that what lunch is for?”
You smiled, amused. “I think I passed the first round.”
“Don’t get cocky,” Melina replied. “There’s dessert.”
The rest of lunch passed easily enough, and by the time the plates were empty and the table was cleared, you were certain that Melina liked you. At the very least, she was indifferent, which was better than you had hoped for.
Natasha excused herself to the restroom, leaving the two of you to chat.
"Thank you for lunch. It was really delicious."
"I'm glad," Melina said. "Would you like some tea? Or coffee?"
"Sure, tea is fine," You answered.
"Earl Grey or English Breakfast?"
"Earl Grey," you answered.
"You seem nervous," she noted.
"Maybe a little," you admitted. "It's been a while since I've done the whole meet the parents thing."
"You've been married before, yes?" She tilted her head.
"I was," You nodded.
"And now?"
"Divorced," You said, trying to keep your tone neutral.
"How long were you married?"
"Six years," you answered, not missing the way she glanced at your ring.
"It must have been difficult."
"It was." You nodded. "Not always, but in the end, we wanted different things."
Melina gave a slow, thoughtful nod. Her gaze didn’t waver, and you could feel her sizing you up not unkindly, but with the precision of someone who had learned to measure everything twice.
"And your daughter," she said, quieter now. "She is from that marriage?"
"Yes," you replied, your voice softening. "Isabella."
"She seems happy."
You smiled at that. “She is. She's the best thing I’ve ever done.”
Melina studied you for a moment longer before leaning back slightly, the tension in her shoulders relaxing just a touch.
"I can respect that," she said. "It takes strength to leave something when it’s no longer right, especially with a child involved."
You nodded again, surprised at the shift in her tone. There was something almost maternal in the way she said it, not warm, exactly, but sincere.
“Thank you,” you said.
She glanced down at her tea, stirring it once. “Natalia has never been good at… easy things. Love especially. She’s stubborn. Closed off. She was like that even as a child."
Your heart tugged a little. “She’s still stubborn. But she’s trying.”
Melina looked up at you then. Really looked.
“Then I hope you don’t give up on her when it gets hard.”
You held her gaze. “I won’t.”
A long pause. Then, without hesitation, Melina poured you more tea.
“Good,” she said. “Now, eat more. You’re too skinny.”
"That's the first time I've been told that in my entire life." Maybe you'd enjoy Melina more than you thought.
Melina gave you a knowing look, the corner of her mouth curling upward. "Natalia is not the only one who can use Google."
"I feel like I should be intimidated by you."
"You should."
You laughed, and it felt good. It was nice to have something to laugh about.
"Tell me about her as a kid," you said, sipping your tea.
Melina's eyes lit up, and the stories began.
"Natalia was a little hellion," she explained. "She would do everything and anything to get out of trouble. She was the perfect student, but when she was a teenager, she was a terror."
You snickered. "What kind of trouble?"
"Oh, the usual. Skipping school, staying out past curfew, sneaking girls into the house," she listed off, counting each transgression on her fingers.
"Oh god," you snorted.
"One time, she climbed out of her window and went to a concert with friends. She was only fourteen, but she didn't come home until the next day."
"What happened when she got back?"
"I pretended I didn't know where she was," Melina said, a mischievous gleam in her eye.
"Why?"
Melina smirked into her cup. “Because the guilt would do more damage than any punishment I could give.”
You laughed again, completely charmed. “You’re diabolical.”
“She thought I called the police,” Melina shrugged. “She cried. For hours. Promised she would never sneak out again.”
“And did she?”
Melina gave you a deadpan look. “Of course. But she was smarter about it the next time.”
You shook your head, smiling into your tea. “I knew she had a wild side, but teenage Natasha sounds unhinged.”
“She was passionate,” Melina said with a knowing glint in her eye. “Always has been. Even as a little girl, when she loved something-or someone, she’d fight the whole world for it.
You swallowed softly, her meaning not lost on you.
“She’s still like that.”
Melina nodded once. She didn't need to say more.
The sound of a door opening made both of you turn toward the hallway.
Natasha appeared, smiling.
"Did you two kill each other?"
"Only a little."
"We were bonding over your rebellious past," you grinned.
"God," Natasha groaned."I was a badass teen," she added. "Don't tell her any embarrassing stories."
"It's too late," you told her.
"So when is the wedding?" Melina looked between the two of you.
"September," You answered. "We want a small venue with just a few of us. I would love to have Yelena fly in."
"We would have to see," Natasha said, smiling.
"Have you started planning?"
"Not yet, we've been way too busy."
"Well, I have a lot of old wedding magazines that I think you would love."
"Well, let's see them." You agreed. Melina jumped at the chance to show you her books.
As the two of you browsed through the pages, Natasha took it upon herself to snap strategic photos for memories, of course.
"What do you think, Natasha? Which dress?"
"That's beautiful, but I'd have to see it on her to make sure," She answered.
You rolled your eyes playfully.
"It is the bride's day," Melina said. "What about food? Will it be an open bar?"
"I hope so," you joked.
"We can't have an open bar," Natasha argued.
"Why not?" You asked, glancing at her.
"I don't know," she said. "It's a wedding, not a frat party."
"We could have an open bar and a dance floor."
"Not terrible ideas," Natasha weighed the options. "But we'd need a DJ or a band."
"A band would be fun," you said, flipping through another magazine. "Like the kind you see at old bars with a live music setup."
"I like that," she nodded, agreeing.
"Oh, look at this!" You turned the book around to show her a page with a picture of a small, quaint-looking venue. "Look at the gardens. They're so pretty."
Natasha hummed thoughtfully. "It is. Are you thinking about a church?"
"I don't think so," you admitted. "Maybe just a place like this. Somewhere small and intimate."
"It looks nice," she said.
You nodded, studying the photo. You imagined what it would be like to get married there, surrounded by friends and family, with Natasha waiting for you at the end of the aisle. Or are you waiting for her? Either way worked for you.
"Do you like this one?" Natasha asked, brushing your arm with hers.
"Yes," you said, a little breathless. "I do."
"Good," she smiled, her gaze soft.
Melina watched the two of you silently, her expression inscrutable. She didn’t say much. She sat quietly, sipping her tea, eyes trailing over the two of you as you flipped through venue photos and swapped ideas like this was your hundredth conversation, not your first real day off together in weeks.
You could feel her watching, but it wasn’t sharp or suspicious. It was something else, calm, curious, almost... thoughtful. She could see that you had Natasha wrapped around your finger. She found it endearing, truthfully.
Finally, when the sun started to set and the magazine stack had grown considerably thinner, Natasha decided it was time to leave.
"Thanks, Mom," she said, hugging her.
"For what?"
"For giving Y/N a chance," she whispered, low enough for only the two of them.
"You deserve to be happy," she murmured back. "You picked a good one."
Natasha's lips curved slightly, and she nodded, eyes glistening.
Melina turned her gaze on you, her expression almost kind.
"Drive safe," she told you, her tone softer.
You returned her smile. "Thanks for having me. I'm glad we could finally meet."
"So am I," she agreed.
She hugged Natasha one last time and then offered her embrace to you. You returned the hug without hesitation, touched that she'd allowed it.
"Take care of my daughter," Melina whispered.
"I will," you promised.
And with one final goodbye, the two of you headed out the door and back to the city.
*********
The sizzle of the pan overpowered the sound of Tony’s drumsticks tapping against the counter. It was one of those nights, no interviews, no rehearsals, no label calls. Just the band, the kitchen, and a half-assed promise not to burn anything down.
You and Wanda stood shoulder to shoulder, halfway through a recipe that definitely lied about the prep time. She was seasoning the meat with intense concentration, while you chopped vegetables as if it were a high-stakes competition. Both of you kept glancing at the iPad screen like it might start explaining itself.
“This says ten ingredients, not thirty,” Wanda muttered, tapping the screen again. “I swear this website’s trying to humble me.”
“It’s the fake bloggers,” you nodded. “They all have a tragic backstory before every recipe. ‘My grandmother was born in a thunderstorm and raised by wolves, and this is how she made gnocchi.’”
Wanda snickered.
Tony, meanwhile, had abandoned his kitchen duties and taken up residence on the island, his drumsticks still tapping rhythmically against the granite. He had no interest in cooking, but he liked hanging out.
Across the room, Natasha was on the couch with Steve, guitar in her lap, bouncing lyrics back and forth. Steve had a notepad filled with scribbles and crossed-out lines. Natasha was chewing on a pen cap, which meant she was focused. You could tell she liked whatever they were building together. That half-smirk of hers was creeping in.
“Don’t rhyme fire with desire again,” Steve grumbled.
“I’m not,” Natasha replied, flipping the page. “I’m rhyming it with liar. Keep up.”
Meanwhile, Bucky and Tony were now locked in a heated debate by the kitchen island.
“I’m just saying,” Tony insisted, gesturing wildly with a carrot stick, “if aliens landed today, they’d pick Shrek 2 as the greatest film of all time.”
“You’re deranged,” Bucky shot back. “It’s The Godfather.”
“That’s rich coming from someone who’s only seen two movies since 1942.”
“I’ve seen plenty of movies—”
“Okay, name five that came out after 2010.” Tony teased his bandmate. It was no secret that Bucky was more old-fashioned.
Bucky rolled his eyes. He opened his mouth, paused, then shut it again.
Tony grinned.
"Alright, smartass," he said, crossing his arms. "Name a movie you've seen in the last five years."
"Uh..." Bucky racked his brain. "Pulp Fiction?"
"No way," Tony laughed.
"Well, Isabella was raving about some Wall-E movie," Bucky shrugged. "Maybe I could watch that?"
"It's not 1919," Tony said. "You have to watch something."
"I'll put a list together," You said, stepping into their argument. "Just let me finish dinner first."
Bucky and Tony shared a look.
"What are we making anyway?" Bucky asked.
"Some kind of chicken dish," you shrugged. "It's making my head hurt. We should have ordered a pizza."
"It was your idea to cook," Bucky pointed out.
"That was before I knew how many spices we had to buy," you sighed.
"You'll be a regular Martha Stewart in no time," Tony assured you.
You gave him a sarcastic grin.
"Can someone set the table?" Wanda called. "This thing's gonna be done soon."
Bucky and Tony exchanged another look.
"Dibs not doing it," Bucky said.
"Me either," Tony replied.
You rolled your eyes and shoved the knife into the cutting board with a huff.
"I'll do it," you grumbled.
"No, no, I got it," Steve said, standing.
Natasha stepped over to the fridge to grab another beer. Before she cranked it open, she sidled up behind you, pressing herself into your back.
"Need help?" She purred into your ear.
"You're distracting," you mumbled, leaning back into her touch.
"Am I?" She pressed her lips against the shell of your ear.
"If you're gonna fuck her, take it upstairs," Bucky gagged. "I'm tryna eat."
"Jealous, Buck?"
"No-no, let us see it," Tony waved a drumstick. "All I hear is how good she is in bed. Let's see if Red really has the skill."
"You don't have to see it," Wanda chimed in. "Just share an apartment with her and you'll hear it."
You rolled your eyes playfully and flipped them off.
"Ignore them," Natasha hummed, sliding her hand down your back.
"That's easier said than done," you sighed.
"You get used to it."
"Hey," Wanda interrupted. "Get a room, you two. This is a public space."
"Fine," Natasha smirked. "Come on, babe."
"I have to finish the food," you reminded her.
"Later," she promised.
"You're so annoying," you said, trying not to smile.
"Yeah, well, you're the one marrying me," she reminded you as she pulled you to one of the empty rooms. You could still hear the sizzle of the pan and the banter between her friends. "Are we doing a countdown to our wedding yet?"
"We have a month and a half," you reminded her.
"I know," she said, nipping at your jaw.
"Are you excited?" You asked.
"To marry you? Of course."
"You're so mushy," You laughed, pushing her hands away from your bottom. This time, Natasha was able to hide her look of disappointment. There was a question at the tip of her tongue, but her mouth remained closed. "They're in the next room, and it's one that doesn't have any doors."
"So?"
"So I'm not having sex with you while they're listening."
"Who says I want to have sex?" She said innocently. "I just wanna kiss my fiancée."
You rolled your eyes again but obliged.
"What do you want?" You murmured.
"Just you."
"You can have me," You said against her lips. You meant it.
*******
Everyone was full, stretched out around the living room. Wanda was curled up in one corner of the couch, nursing a second glass of wine. Steve was half-asleep on the floor with a pillow over his face. Tony and Bucky were still arguing about something no one cared about.
You were leaning into Natasha’s side, her arm loosely around your waist, fingers tracing absentminded shapes against your ribs.
“You fit in with them,” she murmured, quiet enough that only you could hear.
You hummed, eyes watching the room. “That’s because I talk a lot of shit.”
She chuckled, turning to kiss your temple. “Still. They love you.”
“Do you?”
Natasha didn’t hesitate. “Always.”
You rested your head against her shoulder. Neither of you said anything for a while. The laughter from across the room softened, and the playlist looped into something slow and soft. You closed your eyes and let the warmth of it all settle in. For now, that was enough.
Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.
note: this is a WIP. I will upload it when I'm halfway finished with the story.
W/c: 20,000+
Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs
Tracks:
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This story and anything pertaining to it will be tagged as: #hotelcaliforniaau
Get to know Velvet Rebellion:
Natasha Romanoff: Lead singer and the soul behind the lyrics.
Steve Rogers: Keys maestro, bringing depth to the tunes.
Tony Stark: Drumming up the beats that keep us moving.
Bucky Barnes: Rhythm guitar, adding grit and groove.
Wanda Maximoff: Second lead and bass, bringing the thunder.
Alright alright alright. I know this series isn’t finished yet but I couldn’t wait to let you know that this is an incredible story!
Like! I already fuck with your stuff, HEAVY! I’m legit re-reading TLH cause I’m fuckin obsessed. So I’m not shocked that this is good. That does not take away from how much I’ve fallen in love with it though!
Isabella is my favorite character. She was shipping Nat x Reader before they were, lol. But I just genuinely love how adorable and real she is. And her relationship with both Nat and Reader is too cute. And she still love her daddy!
Anyway! I’m loving the plot, the details, the story progression. It’s all around just, incredible. I can’t wait for the rest❤️
NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.
Notes: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, fluff, FULL THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS, Happy Ending, mentions of torture, Hydra, cannon typical violence, possible ooc, (Tell me if I miss something I'll add it)
Summary: Your relationship with Yelena has been littered with challenges, but there isn't anything that you can't face together.
An: The summary is shit but I don't want to give too much away. So I implore you to trust me because I swear this delivers. Also its my civic duty to notify the masses that Ao3 is down rn.
Masterlist | Masterlist 2
Yelena had always been the optimist of your relationship. She was a beacon of light that was ever glowing. No matter the trauma she suffered, she held her chin high and kept a smile on her face.
She had pulled you out of the darkness more times than you could remember. Every time you began drowning in your past, she was there to remind you of the present. You were no longer alone, you’d never be alone again, because you had her.
You weren’t prepared for the day when her light was snuffed out. Life had already been so unnecessarily cruel to her, but you had never seen her broken like this. The universe put Natasha in her path for a tenth of a second. It gave her the family that she spent years chasing and then snatched it so ruthlessly.
When the blip happened, you were with her. One minute you were sitting on the counter watching her wash her face and the next she was gone. You were hysterical. The panic was instant, it felt like someone had a death grip on your heart.
The first thing you did was call Natasha. You rambled on the phone, incoherent to most, but Natasha had known why you were calling. How could she not, when she was watching the same thing happen to the people on the battlefield?
She got to you as quickly as she could. You weren’t in good shape when she got to you. In your mind you were ready. You needed to get justice, revenge, something that would fill the hole left by Yelena’s absence.
When what was left of the Avengers killed Thanos, you were there. You had felt how empty the act was. How meaningless it all felt. With your beacon of light gone nothing felt worth it anymore.
You wanted to go off on your own. Maybe just walk into the ocean never to be seen again, but Natasha wouldn’t allow it. She kept you close to her though for a long time you were useless, empty without Yelena in your life. You ached for her. You saw her everywhere you looked. She was on the couch with a bowl of mac and cheese, she was on the counter playing with her knife, she was in bed with her arms open for you to climb into. Then you’d blink and she’d be gone just as quick.
Your past became more haunting without her. You started to think about all of the sins you committed while you were brainwashed by Hydra. They had kidnapped you somewhere in the early 2000’s injecting you with their version of the super soldier serum. You did unthinkable things. Some you could never forgive yourself for. Yelena was the one to free you of the mind control. You’d stuck with her ever since then. She was the only person capable of making you feel like you weren’t a monster. Now she was gone. All your mind did was bounce between memories of her and your brainwashed past. It was a torturous loop that you couldn’t escape.
Natasha let you grieve. She didn’t pressure you to help her with hero work. She didn’t force you to come out of your room to socialize. All she wanted from you was to see you eat at least twice a day. She’d talk and you’d listen, not saying much back.
One day when you came down for dinner you saw her at the table with her head in her hands, a bottle of Russian vodka perched by her elbows. It was nearly half empty.
You sat across from her silently. She lifted her head up to look at you. Her eyes were bloodshot, but you couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or the tears.
“You two are so alike sometimes that it scares me.”
You can see Natasha morphing into her younger sister right before your eyes. There wasn’t a problem that vodka couldn’t outrun. At least that’s what Yelena said on her worst days.
“I miss her too, you know? I had- I just got her back,” more tears well in her eyes. “I found a family with the Avengers and now I have nothing left to show of it. Then right after I found the closest thing to blood relatives I have it gets stolen from me. There’s not a day that goes by that I’m not missing someone.”
You try to find some words of comfort, “I was never good at this, but your sister was. This hopeful glow that you couldn’t help but follow. She’d probably say something about not giving up so easily, it’d be a half-joke. Then she’d probably say something like the world will always need heroes like you. People that continuously sacrifice for the sake of humanity.”
“And are you a hero?”
Natasha shoots the question at you.
You reach for the bottle of vodka, taking a large swig, “I was whatever she needed me to be. Sometimes a hero, sometimes less than that, but never evil.”
“Malicious?”
You shrug, “On occasion.”
She laughs through her tears, “I’m glad she had you when I wasn’t around.”
You shake your head, “It’s the other way around. She taught me how to stay afloat. I leaned on her for support for so many things. Without her, I just feel myself falling into the void. How can anything I do be worth it, if she’s not here?”
She places her hand on top of yours, “I’m not going to give up until she’s back, until they’re all back.”
Natasha meant it. You could tell she believed with her entire being. She had never been an optimist, often grounded in unobjectionable truths. You couldn’t tell if it was desperation or just another way she had become like her sister.
You started being useful that day.
Rather than letting Natasha carry all of the weight and responsibility, you let her give some of it to you. You started thinking like her. You had to see Yelena again, you’d do whatever it took just to see her one more time.
When the opportunity to rewrite history came about, you were vexed that it appeared in the form of Scott Lang. He was annoying, but without him there wasn’t a chance the remaining Avengers would’ve reformed. Natasha had called upon them many times, but they’d only seemed to care about the big one.
“Natasha.”
You have this pit in your stomach that won’t go away. You aren’t fond of this plan, of everyone splitting up. Maybe you’d feel better if you were going with Natasha and Clint, but you weren’t.
“Y/n, I know-"
You don’t let her finish her sentence. You wrap your arms around her. You’re squeezing her tightly with your eyes shut.
“Be safe,” is what you say initially as you let go of her.
“I love you too, kid. If something happens…”
You shake your head, “No. You’re going to come back here, for Yelena.”
Natasha’s smile is bittersweet, “I will do what I can.”
You shake your head once again, “Not good enough. Promise me, promise me you’ll come back. We’re going to do this together. Nat, she has to come home to the both of us.”
She pulls you into her embrace again, she kisses the crown of your head, “I promise.”
She lied.
“Where is she?”
Clint couldn’t look you in the eye. He tossed the stone to Tony and tried to walk away. You grabbed him by the shoulder, so he was face to face with you.
“Clint,” your voice was stern.
You could see the tears welling in his eyes even though he avoided your gaze, “You have to trade a soul for the stone. I tried- I tried, but she was always better than me.”
Your grip on his shoulder only tightened as you felt your knees buckle. You refused to believe him, “She promised.”
Clint tried to hug you, but you shoved him away, “None of you would even be here without her. You all gave up, turned your back on the world. You took your ball and went home and now you’re here and she’s not. This is bullshit. You already owed her so much and she gave her life up for you pieces of shit.”
Bruce threw a bench, “We cared about her too.”
“Funny way of showing it,” you countered him.
The Hulk got in your face, the team tried to step between you two, “You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”
“I thought you were always angry,” you shot back at him.
“Now is not the time for this,” Steve interjected.
You scoffed, “Fuck off Steve. Yelena got blipped right in front of me. I thought I lost everything, but I still had Natasha. Now I don’t have either of them because of this stupid fucking team. I’m alone all over again.”
“We’re going to get Yelena back,” Tony chimed in.
You chuckled bitterly, tears now streaming down your face, “Fantastic, and the first thing I have to tell her is that her sister is gone forever. They had just found each other. Fuck.”
Your legs gave out from underneath you. Any arguments that you had stopped as sobs violently struck you. Your body folded in on itself.
The men stared at you, but Clint was the first one to move again. He wrapped his arms around you, but you didn’t shove him off this time. You allowed him to hold you. The only thing you managed to say was ‘she promised' over and over again.
When you couldn’t cry anymore, his grip didn’t falter.
“She told me that you have to be strong for Yelena like you were strong for her. She couldn’t have done this without you.”
“How can I do this without her?”
He was slow to stand, his hand stretched out, “You do it for her instead. Don’t let her sacrifice be for nothing.”
You took his hand.
In the midst of battle, sweat dripping down your dirt-stained face, you couldn’t help, but wonder if you’d die here. If you’d go out a hero, fighting against a mad titan’s army.
Somewhere between the 9th and 13th enemy you take down, you realize you can’t die. Yelena would come back to no one. Well she’d have Alexei, but would he be able to save her from herself?
When the portals opened, you felt a little relieved. Any help was welcomed in your mind. The people who disappeared were back, and you wondered if she was too.
It was somber when it was all said and done, but you didn’t need to stick around for a reunion.
“I can get you to her,” Stephen Strange offered.
You didn’t ask any questions, instead you gave him a curt nod. He opened a portal and you stepped right through.
The last time you were in this apartment, Natasha was basically dragging you out of it. Your protests fell on deaf ears as you tried to stay here. It wouldn’t have been good for you, surrounded by things that reminded you of Yelena.
You hear the rummaging around before you see her. Your heart thuds in your chest, and you curse your legs for not being able to move.
When she comes charging down the hallway. Your breath catches. Five long years, you’ve waited for this moment.
She almost doesn’t recognize you, pulling out her weapon. When she gets closer, she begins to analyze you.
Older, eyes more tired, new lines across your forehead, different hair. It was hard to tell with all the dirt and debris of battle all over you.
“Yelena.”
She can hear how broken you are. So she doesn’t stop you when you surge forward, holding onto her like she would vanish out of thin air.
You shake in her arms whispering against her skin, the same thing over and over, “I’m sorry.”
She backs away only enough to hold your face in her hands, “What happened?”
You attempt to take a deep breath, but wince. Yelena finds a cut on the side of your suit. Gently she presses it and you groan.
“Tell me after I patch you up.”
She drags you along, trying to pull you into the restroom. You stop outside and shake your head, “Bedroom.”
Yelena furrows her brows, but she grabs the first aid out of the bathroom, before following you to the bedroom.
The cut on your side is nastier than you would’ve thought. It takes her a while to tend to the wound. When she finished the cut is in a better state, but you aren’t. All you can do is stare at her.
She asks you to tell her again. You finally pull your eyes away from her’s, instead focusing on your hands. You tell her everything, from the moment she disappeared until now.
“My sister,” everything else seems of little importance to Yelena.
You can’t look at her, “I’m so sorry.”
She takes your hand, intertwining your fingers, “It’s not your fault.”
Your lip begins to quiver, “Stop.”
“Y/n, look at me.”
“I have to be strong,” you say it more to yourself than her.
“Detka, please,” Yelena pleads with you.
Your teary eyes meet her’s. It breaks you to see her like this. You open your arms, and she leans into your hold. She doesn’t care about the remnants of war all over you.
“We are stronger together.”
Your hands are on her stomach. She places her hands on top of yours, keeping you in place.
There are a million more things that you want to say to her. You want to tell her you missed her, that life without her was dull, that you were sorry you couldn’t save her sister, but you don’t. Instead your lips kiss the top of her head, lingering as you hold her. You hope it translates to something.
When she raises your conjoined hands to her lips to press a delicate kiss to the back of your hand, you know it does.
“I love you,” she says it first.
“I love you too.”
Neither of you attend Tony’s funeral. Instead you find yourselves in a small suburban town. You wish you could say that it was where they grew up, but you knew it wasn’t.
You both stare at her grave. Yelena gets close to the tombstone putting her head against it. She mutters something in Russian. You don’t fully understand it but you pick up a few key words.
She raises her volume for you to hear, “This is where we became sisters.”
“She was always thinking of you. I think it’s half of the reason she took me in when you were gone. The other half was because she was a good person. I think she kept some blonde in her hair for you. Being with her saved my life because sometimes when I looked at her I saw small pieces of you. I hope… I hope that sometimes she felt the same when she looked at me. It was a comfort I think we both needed. I didn’t know how similar you were until I found her nursing a bottle of vodka trying to drink away the pain, just like you do.”
She catches your gaze, locked as tears fall down your face, “I’m sure she did, because you are the best part of me.”
You disagree with her, “ You saved me.”
She stands to cup your face in her hands. You still have a few scrapes from the battle with Thanos. Her hands are cold against the skin of your face. She searches your eyes for something, she doesn’t find it. Her forehead rests against yours. Her breath mingles with yours and for a moment all the tears are forgotten.
“Why can’t you see that you saved me too?”
She kisses you, almost like it would break you. You relax into her, relishing in the way her lips feel against yours. It’s like breathing.
You waited 5 years to experience this again. This is your first kiss since returning. You both were in fragile states. You’d never rush Yelena into anything she didn’t want to do. In truth you could’ve kissed her the second you saw her, but you had too much to tell her then.
Your eyes stay closed even when your lips are no longer touching her’s.
“Sorry to interrupt such a touching moment.”
Your moment is over just like that. Yelena has an unimpressed look on her face as she turns her attention to the woman.
“What do you want Valentina?” Yelena’s voice is gruff as she speaks.
“I have a job for you. The both of you if you’re interested,” she flashes a Hollywood smile as she speaks.
Yelena’s jaw clenches, “How many times do I have to tell you that she doesn’t do this?”
You sigh, “What’s the job?”
Your girlfriend looks at you like you’ve grown a second head, “No.”
“If you think you’re going on your own, you’re mistaken,” you tell her.
She runs a hand through her hair, looking between you and Valentina. The sigh that leaves her lips is heavier than the one that had left yours, “You heard what she said.”
Valentina’s smile stretches even wider than it already was, “Wonderful, a couple of shadow agents.”
That's how you started working for Valentina.
There wasn’t any chance that you’d be letting Yelena out of your sight. Not with everything so fresh. You knew the kind of person she was.
She would throw herself into this work to numb herself from the pain. You couldn’t stop all of the hurt, but you could feel it with her. She’d do the same for you.
“Lena,” you call her name through the hotel you’re currently stationed at. “It took me a few stores, but I’ve got the boxed mac n cheese.”
There’s no answer. You feel a little panic start to set into your bones. You call her a few more times but you don’t get a response. Just when you’re about to start investigating every inch of the apartment, you find her.
She’s leaned against the bathtub, sitting on the floor. Her head hangs down letting you know she’s unconscious. The bottle of vodka in her hand is nearly half empty. There’s another one on the side of her that’s completely gone.
You crouch down to look at her. Your hand reaches to move some of her hair out of her face. She had cut it short since you reunited. You liked it, but that wasn’t surprising. There were minimal things you didn't like about her.
When you attempt to take the bottle from her hand Yelena wakes up. She goes on the offensive immediately trying to trap you against the wall. You slip from her grasp on your shoulders, slinking around her back, so that you can hug her from behind. She thrashes a little until you whisper in her ear.
“Lena, baby.”
She stops her movements. She nearly leans into you until something stops her. She rips herself out of your hold. She doesn’t look at you. The grip on the bottle tightens, “Sorry.”
She starts to march out of the room, but you don’t allow it. Instead of reaching for her, you set your sights on the bottle. She tries to fight you for it, but your grip is unrelenting.
“Let go.”
You take stern tone with her, “You don’t need it.”
“How are you going to tell me what I need?”
“Because I know you Yelena. Now give me the bottle,” you try to yank it from her hands.
“NO!”
She screams at you and throws the bottle in the corner of the bathroom. Glass shatters all over the white tile. Liquid spreads around the floor. Your eyes are wide, as you look at the scene. You look back to Yelena to find similar shock on her face.
She starts running and you chase after her. She books it out of the hotel. You follow her down the steps and out of the front. You can feel your heart pound in your ears as your feet slap against the concrete. You watch as she tries to loose you in the crowd.
Your eyes follow the trail she takes, but your legs carry you a different way. You’re going to cut her off. You push yourself, knowing that the blonde is faster than you.
When you round the corner her body collides with yours. She’s looking back to see if you’re behind her.
Your chest heaves up and down as you try to catch your breath. She doesn’t look at you, the anxiety clear on her face. You take her hand into yours, she flinches, but allows it.
You pull her away from the crowded street, into a private alleyway.
“I love you,” you start. “And nothing is going to change that. Not a thousands shards of glass on the floor and not a river of vodka.”
“I shouldn’t have done that,” she still refuses to look at you.
You nod, your lips briefly folding into your mouth, “You shouldn’t have, but I know you won’t do it again.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“Like I said, I know you. That and… I think we both could benefit from going dry.”
She frowns, “Just because I can’t control myself, doesn’t mean you have to suffer too.”
“Lena you act like you haven’t found me in that same position a thousand times. If not with a bottle, then with a pipe. I know how you feel because I feel it too, but you’re not alone.”
She meets your eyes with a childlike hope burning though them. You can tell you’re getting through to her.
“I’m here. I will always be here,” you hold her gaze.
She crumples into your arms. You support her weight as she clutches onto your top. You can feel the dampness of her tears seeping through your shirt.
“Ya tebya lyublyu,” she whispers into the fabric of your clothing.
“I love you so much Yelena,” you rub soothing circles on her back.
She straightens up a little sniffing and wiping her eyes, “Ok, ok, I feel better now.”
You smile at her, “Good, because we have to go back to the hotel. I have boxed macaroni ready to be cooked.”
“With hot sauce?”
You kiss the side of her temple, “Of course I got the sauce.”
When you get back to the hotel the blonde wordlessly cleans up the mess she made in the bathroom. While she does that you cook the macaroni. By the time she’s done, so are you.
You make dumb jokes as you eat together. Lightening the mood exponentially. It’s something that’s bound to happen when the two of you are together. She’s your light and you’re finally beginning to understand you’re her’s too.
As much as you pressure Valentina to only send jobs that both of you can do, there are times where the woman doesn’t concede. Yelena was sent off to Malaysia, something about a lab. It wasn’t your mission so you didn’t know all of the details.
All you knew was that you had some anxieties about being apart. Things were better now, but there were still hard days.
Recently you could tell that something was bothering Yelena. She was keeping something from you. It only spiked your anxiety about her going on this mission alone. She wasn’t pulling away like she would’ve in the past, but she wasn’t letting you in.
It was a weird place to be in your relationship.
You check the time again, wondering when she would be home. You knew it would be late, but you predicted something earlier than this. It had been a few hours of you sitting on the couch of your home and waiting for her to walk through the door.
You had your fill of television and doom scrolling on the phone. All you want to do is cuddle in bed next to your girlfriend.
When she finally comes through the door, she leans her back against it while it’s closed. She stays there taking a few deep breaths, grounding herself. You watch her curiously, but let her have the moment.
When she opens her eyes, they land on you on the couch.
She smiles at you, “You didn’t have to wait for me dorogoy.”
You nod a few times, “I missed you, wanted to know you were safe.”
You walk over to her, she pulls you in for a chaste kiss, “I missed you too.”
The two of you make your way to the bedroom. You get in the bed while the Russian undresses.
“I thought you'd be home a while ago,” you say to her with no malice.
She freezes up a little, but doesn’t stop changing, “I made a little pit stop before coming home.”
You raise your eyebrow, “A pit stop?”
“You know a little errand before coming home,” she explains, climbing into bed.
“I know what a pit stop is Lena. Where’d you go?”
She mumbles an answer, but you don’t hear her.
“Yelena Fyodorovna Belova.”
She gasps, “Do not call me that.”
You scoff, “It’s your name, isn’t it?”
She squints her eyes, “I told you my middle name in confidence. Not so you could use it as ammunition.”
“Well, if you stop mumbling then I won’t resort to using it,” you counter.
She lets out an exasperated sigh, “Fine. I went to see Alexei.”
“Oh.”
She shakes her head, “This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”
“All I said was oh,” you defend.
“Because you hate my dad,” Yelena says it like it’s a fact.
“I don’t hate your dad.”
She sits up in the bed, crossing her arms, “You don’t?”
“No, I just hate how emotionally constipated and fixated on the past he is."
She throws her hands in the air, “So his whole personality?”
You change the subject, “How was seeing him?”
“I think you’re supposed to ask how he is doing first. If you are so keen about changing the topic.”
You let out a huff of annoyance, “How is he?”
She laughs, pulling you closer to her. Your head lies in her lap. Her fingers get tangled in your hair.
“He’s miserable, he misses being a hero.”
“Shocker,” you mutter under your breath.
“Now who is doing the mumbling?”
You smile up at her, “Sorry. Why’d you go see him anyway? It’s been like a year, hasn’t it?”
You see something in her demeanor change. She looks back down at you, “I was thinking of quitting.”
“Oh.”
She chuckles, “There you go with the ‘oh’ again. What does that even mean?”
You shrug, “Unexpected. I’m assuming he talked you out of it.”
“I asked Valentina for a more front facing role.”
“Oh.”
Yelena groans, “Can you please stop saying that?”
“Front facing like Natasha,” you ask, reaching up to cup her face.
“Yes.”
You trace the line of her jaw with your finger, “I’m proud of you.”
Yelena grabs your hand, placing a kiss on your palm, “Maybe you could join me.”
“Do I need to start powdering my nose? Do people still do that?” You joke.
Yelena rolls her eyes, “Your jokes remind me of my dad. Please stop.”
You pout, “My jokes are better than his.”
She kisses your wrist, “I’m serious though, would you do this with me?”
You move from your lying position to straddle the blonde’s waist. Your arms loosely hang on her shoulders. Her hands are planted on your hips.
You play with the hairs on the base of her neck, “I’d do anything with you, Lena. If you wanted to pull the stars from the sky, then I’d find a way to help you.”
“If I asked you to do that, you need to have me committed. I would be unwell to ask you such a thing.”
You stare at her blankly, “I’m trying to be romantic here.”
Yelena smirks at you, “Skill issue.”
You gasp, feigning offense, “You’ve never complained about my skill level before.”
Her faces scrunches up, “Get your head out of the gutter.”
You wiggle your eyebrows, “Trying to get my head between your-”
You don’t get to finish the sentence as Yelena attempts to toss you to your side of the bed. She doesn’t calculate it quite right and you end up on the floor.
You groan, “Ouch.”
She giggles at you looking over the edge of the bed, “It was an accident.”
You give her a sideways glance, “Sure it was. I can tell by the boisterous laughter.”
She offers you her hand, helping you get back in the bed. Once you’re in, she lays her head on your chest. You sling an arm around her.
“Do you think she'd be proud of me?”
She’s already drifting when she asks.
“More than you'd be able to comprehend,” you say, closing your eyes to follow in her footsteps.
You’re already awake when there’s a harsh banging on your front door. You’re waiting for Yelena to come back from her latest assignment. It was something with a vault and that was as much as you knew.
The banging startles you as it is unstopping. You pull your knife out immediately as you make your way to the door. You check the peephole and let out and irritated sigh. Yanking the door open, you stare at Alexei unimpressed.
He's wearing the red guardian costume.
“Hello Alexei.”
“Yelena is in danger.”
Those four words are all it takes for you to get into his raggedy limo.
You have your gear on, leg bouncing as you wish you would’ve opted on taking your car instead. The limo is big and flashy, easily noticeable. It’s also slow as shit.
Alexei fills you in about what he heard while driving Valentina. Your hands twitch as you picture yourself strangling the women.
“Why didn’t she send me too?”
Alexei’s incessant rambling almost stops in its track. His tone sobers up a bit, “She didn’t think you’d be a problem. If anything happened to Lena, she said you wouldn’t forgive yourself.”
You clench your fist together, “She’s right, but I’d kill her if anything happened to Yelena.”
Alexei lets out a laugh, “I knew I liked you when we first met.”
You roll your eyes, “Less laughing, more driving.”
He straightens up his posture, “We will find her.”
You’re trapped with the man for hours. The night shifts into day as worry starts to take over your system. He has just as much energy as when he was banging on your door.
It takes a minute, but you can notice that there is genuine concern under all of his semantics.
“Why did you come get me first? You could’ve left without me?”
He shook his head, “You are family. You care about her. I would not keep all of this glory for myself, when I know you want to save her as much as I do. That and I think she will be less mad if you are with me.”
His explanation makes you laugh to yourself, “Look who’s learning about their emotions.”
He keeps his attention on the road, “For her, I try.”
Once you’re far into the desert Alexei stops the car without warning. He gets out and starts screaming like a psycho before you even have the chance to stop him.
You hop out of the limo, pushing him in the chest, “Are you trying to let the entire world know that we’re here? What if there are enemies around?”
“Then we fight them. We are super soldiers, we can take them.”
You glare up at him, “Do not call me a super soldier.”
“You have serum in you, you are soldier. I don’t make rules,” he shrugs.
You shove him in the chest, “I’m serious. If you call me that again, I’ll drop you where you stand.”
He laughs in your face, “I like to see you try. I am red guardian, protector of-”
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before you sweep his leg. He tumbles onto the ground with a heavy thud. You stand over him with a twinkle in your eyes.
“Fine, you’re not soldier. Happy now?”
You give him a tight-lipped smile, “Elated.”
You scan your surroundings, when you see three figures headed towards you. Reluctantly you help Alexei to his feet.
“See, you need to have faith in my plans,” he claps you on the back.
He begins to jog over, but you stop him, “I’ll jog. You bring the car.”
You waste no time sprinting in the direction of the figures. As they come more into focus, you pick up your speed.
When you’re in front of the three of them. You disregard the other two going straight for Yelena. You grab her by the face and start looking over her for injuries.
“Are you hurt? I’ll kill her, if you’re hurt.”
She grabs your arms, “I’m fine. How are you here right now?”
“Alexei brought me. He was driving Valentina and overheard her plan.”
You pull her into your embrace, squeezing her tightly. She senses the anxiety in the hug. Even though she would rather not let the other’s see, she keeps holding onto the hug.
“I’m right here,” she whispers so that only you can hear.
“I thought I lost you,” you tell her, freeing her from your hold.
She scoffs, “And leave you with Alexei? Absolutely not.”
“Y/n?”
“You have to be kidding me,” You say turning your attention to the man who called your name.
“Do you know her?” The woman with the Bristish accent asks the white man.
He nods, “All of us super-”
Yelena butts in, “She is not a super soldier. Do not call her that.”
He blinks at her, “Right, right, except she totally is. Winter Soldier level, super soldier created by Hydra. She might even be better than the Winter Soldier.”
“Shut up Walker, before I throw that shield through your head,” you feel your blood boiling.
“If this how you treat all your partners then I feel sorry for your girlfriend.”
You’re about to punch him, when Alexei honks his horn, signaling you all to get in his deathtrap of a limo. Ava drags Walker over first to create space between the two of you.
“You partnered with him?” Yelena asks before you get in.
“Valentina set us up on a few jobs together. That’s all.”
Yelena eyes go wide, “This is the egotistical maniac that you were talking about.”
You get in the limo, “Yep.”
“That makes a lot of sense.”
While you’re in the limo they fill you in about what happened at the vault. When they’re done Alexei fills them in on what he heard Valentina talking about. It’s a lot of information for everyone to process.
“So did Bob die or?”
“We don’t know,” Ava answers honestly.
You frown, “Poor guy.”
Yelena goes to comment, but that’s when she notices the trucks following behind you.
“We have company.”
The group springs into action trying to take out the vehicle, but it’s proving to be damn near indestructible. The back window of the limo gets shot out. Ava is shooting out of the window, but John quickly pulls her in once the fire begins to get too much.
“Doesn’t this thing go any faster?”
“I’m on it,” Alexei calls out, he steps on the gas, but you’re barely up to 55.
It’s then that the cars begin to get disarmed, one by one You’re not entirely relieved when you see who’s responsible for it, but at least Valentina’s guys are off of you.
“It’s Bucky!” John on the other hand is more enthusiastic.
The group starts cheering thinking they evaded, danger, but you know better. Bucky is a complex individual. You’re proven right when he shoots something at the limo causing the back to explode as you all tip up into the air and then crash onto the floor.
You find yourselves tied up on a plane, with the former Winter Soldier turned congressman looking over you. You all try to explain to him what happened, but he doesn’t believe you.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
John drops the pretense, “It means you know me Bucky, so cut the shit and listen to what we’re trying to tell you.”
“Yeah, I know you John, and you made your choices. I know it’s been hard since Olivia left you and took your kid, but it’s still on you.”
John shuts up after that, but you don’t.
“That’s rich coming from you, Bucky. What happened to Steve again? Talk about people leaving, not only did he abandon his team when they needed him the most. He gets to live his happy ending while we all suffer. He gets to relive his glory days while we get relieve our nightmares.”
Your words shake him and you know it, but he just pushes past them.
“You’re all evidence in Valentina’s trial.”
You let out an annoyed groan, “From hydra agent to government puppet, what a change.”
He steps over to you calmly, “And what have you done since being free besides follow her around like a lost dog? Maybe she should collar you and call you Fanny.”
You stand, breaking the restraints he tied you in, “ I was being a goddamn hero. I’m one of the people that helped saved half of the universe. I’ve repented for what I’ve done and I’ve earned the right to my happy ending.”
“Did you earn it or did Natasha hand it to you?”
You push him. Hard.
His back slams against the wall of the plane. The sound echoed in the space. You feel yourself, losing control.
“And who scrubbed your ledger clean Winter Soldier?”
There’s an indent from where his metal arm braced for impact against the plane. He sucks his teeth, “You want to do this?”
“Do you?” You challenge him.
“Let’s go super soldier.”
He charges at you, but you side step his attack.
“Is now really the time for this?” Ava asks the rest of the group.
Walker shrugs, “Don’t know, but I’m rooting for Y/n.”
“Me too,” Alexei nods.
Ava shares a pleading look with Yelena. The blonde huffs in annoyance, “He shouldn’t have brought up my sister.”
“If they break the plane, we will die,” Ava deadpans.
Bucky takes your arm, and twists it behind your back. You throw your head back knocking him square in the nose. He releases the hold and you quickly turn to throw a fury of strikes his way. He dodges most of the punches but when you send a hard kick to his chest he stumbles backwards.
He holds his abdomen and you smirk at him. As he goes for the next attack his phone rings. You let him answer it. You all hear the person on the phone basically reiterate what you were saying.
“Bob?”
“BOB,” you all say in unison.
He looks at you, and then the rest. Before hanging up the phone. He starts with Ava’s restraints. You take initiative and break Yelena’s.
“How come you could break out of yours, I was pulling these with everything I had,” Walker comments when he’s freed.
You shrug, “Ask Hydra.”
Alexei chimes in, “Must be difference between real deal and knock off.”
Bucky rallies the team the best he can, not like they have much of a choice. You aren’t necessarily thrilled, but you do want to get your hands on Valentina. Yelena seems very keen on saving Bob. So that’s the plan. When you’re on the ground, you’re loaded into a van.
Alexei takes shotgun with Bucky, while the rest of you were loaded into the back. It’s quiet for a few minutes before Yelena starts talking about her weapons. Ava pulls out hers next, and then Walker. He asks about his helmet and it gets you to chuckle.
“What about you Y/n?”
“I have widow bites like Lena. Hunter blade, 9inch dagger, throwing knives, retractable knuckle blade,” you show off some of your knives.
“No gun?” Ava comments.
You shake your head, “Don’t need it.”
“And if you did?” Walker questions.
Yelena answers for you, “Then I have an extra for her, but I can guarantee you that she doesn’t need one.”
“Well aren’t you two adorable,” Ava gushes.
You grow bashful at her words.
“How long have you been together?” Walker questions.
You tilt your head to the side a bit, “We met at the tail end of 2016. Got together like beginning of February 2017. Then we’re together until Thanos happens. Lena got blipped. I obviously wasn’t moving on but I can’t say we were together. Then from when the blip was over until now, we’ve been together. So 5 years, but also like 10 years.”
“And no ring?” Ava teases and it makes you blush even harder.
“I- we’ve been busy.”
Yelena takes over, “We've never really talked about marriage. The whole shadow operative thing kind of gets in the way of that.”
John looks at you both incredulously, “Have you ever heard of eloping? What kind of couple is together for 5 years and hasn’t talked about marriage.”
“I knew from the moment we got together, that I’d spend the rest of my life with her. There was nothing to talk about. I’ve never questioned it,” you answer him honestly.
Her hand slides into yours, “Me too. Marriage or no marriage, she is stuck with me.”
John pretends to barf, “Disgustingly cute.”
You lean your head against her shoulder, “She’s my everything.”
Yelena doesn’t shy from the PDA, she kisses the crown of your head. You relishes in the moments, knowing that in just a few short minutes it would be over.
It’s sudden when you feel the van crash into a building. As soon as you hop out, you begin fighting. The group goes to work almost resembling a team as you fight the people in the lobby.
When Valentina’s voice rings out from the intercom the fighting comes to a halt. You all pile into an elevator up to her office. When it dings you are in a very open room. Valentina stands alone, like she had been waiting for you.
Bucky takes the lead. He tells her that it's all over that she has lost. With all of her loose ends in this room, she’d be going away for a long time. Yelena asks her about Bob, but Valentina ignores her.
“Are you still ready for your close up, Yelena?”
“Eat shit Valentina,” she responds unamused.
Bucky gets in her space as she sets her drink down. He goes to grab her, but something stops him.
“I’m not alone,” you can hear the smile in her voice.
Aa blonde man emerges from the stairs. He’s wearing a golden suit with a big ‘S’ on the waist line. A blue cape flows behind him as he makes his descent.
“Hey guys,” he says it casually.
“Bob what happened to you?” Yelena sounds utterly crushed.
Valentina answers for him. She calls him the Sentry and explains that he will be disposing of your little rag tag group. She calls him Earth’s Mightiest hero.
“I’m not going to let you erase them from history,” you step forward.
The Sentry blocks your path, “I don’t want to fight you guys. How about you just turn yourselves in.”
Valentina scoffs, “The Avengers aren’t coming back Y/n. Natasha isn’t coming back. It’s time for you to move on.”
“Enough talking, let’s fight,” Alexei charges the Sentry.
The fight begins. Everyone springs on their own individual attacks on the blonde man, but it doesn’t last. He disarms Ava and Walker first. Then he throws Alexei out of the window before dragging the man back in just to toss him aside.
Meanwhile Yelena is trying to keep the peace. You hold back listening to her pleas. She looks at you, turmoil on her face.
“I’m with you,” you tell her.
She nods before going for Sentry. She gets on his shoulders trying to choke him out. She pleads with him from the position, “Bob, stop.”
He slings her off. You’re going to attack him right then but Bucky puts a hand on your chest. He stares at the blonde, before taking one of his shirts off.
He goes for Bob, activating the part of him that he can’t forget. That same demon that lives inside of you.
Sentry blocks every attempt of contact, eventually grabbing hold of Bucky’s metal arm. While he has his grip on Bucky you move in throwing your strongest punch at his chest.
The force has the Sentry sliding back, taking Bucky’s arm with him. It’s not terribly far back, but it’s something. You don’t get a chance to follow it up, before you feel a vibranium arm knock you across the face. You go sliding with the others.
He tosses Bucky’s arm to the floor. Ava scrambles to grab it an you all pile back into the elevator, retreat the only thing on your minds.
When they get out of the building the arguing starts immediately. There’s a bunch of accusations and finger pointing going around.
All you can focus on is the look on Yelena’s face you reach for her, but she pulls away from you.
“Oh my god stop. There is no us. There is no we. Bob changed into that thing and there’s nothing any of you can do about it.”
Ava goes against her, “And what did you do exactly? I seem to remember you getting your ass beat way more than mine.”
“Yeah, yeah I suck. I’m terrible. We’re all terrible. Ava you’re not a hero, you’re not even a good person,” her arms are moving wildly as she speaks.
“Bitch,” Ava relents.
Alexei intervenes, “Slow down amishka.”
Yelena cuts him off, “Alexei, I am not your amishka. I haven’t heard from you or seen you in a year.”
John tries to de-escalate the situation, “Go easy on him.”
She whips her head around to him, “Oh so you're nice now?”
“It’s my turn?”
“No, you know you’re a piece of trash Walker. So does your family.”
He doesn’t have a comeback, “Jesus.”
She throws her hands up, “We’re all losers and we lost.”
She starts to walk off. The rest of them look at you, expecting you to say something. All you do is sigh, and start to walk after your girl.
Alexei follows after you, “Let me try.”
Against your better judgement, you let him go ahead of you. You keep a steady pace as he runs to catch up with Yelena.
“Oh my god stop. If you cared you would’ve called. I would’ve heard from you.”
He stares at her, with sorrow in his eyes.
Her eyes water and her voice breaks, “I lost my sister again, but forever. And you disappeared.”
“I’m sorry. I don't know how to do this. I’m not good at it,” he steps towards her.
“Papa it’s all just too heavy. All I do is sit and scroll on my phone and think about all of the terrible things that I’ve done. Even with an attentive partner I just feel like a burden. She works like this because I work like this. I can’t handle my drinks, so she doesn't drink. All I do is take up space.”
Alexei looks back at you.
“I didn’t think you needed me,” he answered.
“I did.”
He nods, “I see that. I’m late but I'm here now.”
You walk past Alexei, right up to Yelena. You take both her hands in yours. She doesn’t pull away like she did before.
“I don’t care about the work. I don’t care about the drinking. Yelena the only thing I care about is you. If you feel empty, baby I’ll do whatever it takes, for however long it takes, to make you feel something more. It’ll never be a burden to me because I love you. My love for you is the only thing in my entire life that has never felt like a burden. Not when you were sad, not when you were drunk, not even when you were gone. It keeps me strong, you keep me strong. I like it when you take up space because it means you feel comfortable and I always want that for you.”
You don’t break eye contact. You need her to feel what you’re saying, to believe it.
“Lena, I’m here always.”
That’s all it takes for her to pull you into a kiss. It feels like understanding. The way her lips fit with yours, makes you hopeful that you got through to her. Her forehead rests against yours when it’s over, “I love you.”
You smile, “I love you too.”
Alexei breaks up the moment by engulfing the two of you in a hug.
“Perfect family dynamic. Very healthy and happy,” he boasts.
It’s then that you notice people around you looking into the sky. You step from under the terrace, to see what they’re seeing. There’s a dark shadow floating in the sky. It sort of resembles…
“Bob,” it comes off of her lips as a whisper.
You look around, and people are vanishing out of thin air. The citizens begin to panic, you all spring into action.
Rubble falls from the buildings above when Sentry flings a plane into one. You move to punch through it before it lands on anyone.
Alexei and Yelena are working together to move others out of harms way.
It’s like you’re fighting Thanos again, but this time the field is full of civilians.
You help free a man from his car after the rubble blocks him in. You’re constantly surveying the area looking for to get people off of the streets.
You see Walker struggling to hold the weight of a massive piece of rubble. Your makeshift group attempting to help him. Part of you wants to laugh at their struggles, three super soldiers vs big concrete.
You’re quick to join them, taking a spot next to Yelena. You put one hand on the rubble and give it a little shove. It almost instantly topples over. They all look at you and you fight the urge to flex in front of the crowd.
The citizens around you start to clap. It’s unlike anything you ever experienced. It puts warmth in your chest.
The celebration doesn’t last long as Alexei uses his body to protect a little girl from falling debris. As he checks in with her to tell her she’s safe she vanishes right in front of him.
You don’t hold back your gasps. You feel your heart pounding in your chest, but you don’t have time to panic. The people need to be evacuated from the streets. You can feel the impending horror as you watch more and more people vanish. You’re helping herd people into a building when you realize Yelena is not with you.
Alexei calls out to her, “Yelena!”
That’s when you see her at the edge of the shadows, talking to the Sentry. If she’s heard him you can’t tell. Your legs start carrying you towards her.
“YELENA!” Your voice booms in the empty streets.
She looks back briefly. Her eyes meet yours. It feels like an eternity yet, she takes a step into the void.
You scream, you scream like your heart has been pulled from your chest.
“No, no, no, no, no, no,” you start to blink rapidly, hoping that what you saw was a vision.
There are tears streaming down your face. You could feel people trying to hold you back, when all you want to do is run head first into the darkness.
“I can’t, not again. I can’t,” you’re hysterical, but your feet are planted.
You can’t move back. Last time she disappeared you couldn’t do anything about it. You’d lost 5 years, but this time was different. You could step into that void and chase after her.
“Y/n come on,” Bucky tries but you shrug him off.
You push them all away, “I am not losing her again!”
You stare up at the dark mass floating in the sky. He looks down at you curiously.
“I can make it all go away. All of your pain, all of your suffering.”
“You can’t and I don’t want you to,” you take step closer to the dark edge. “I will save Yelena, but I’m going to save you too Bob.”
You step into the darkness.
“We will continue until you break through the stone.”
You freeze at the voice.
“I can’t it’s too hard,” you recognize your own voice, begging.
“I didn’t ask what you could do. I said you will keep punching until you can break through the stone. Now punch.”
They had pulled you off the streets about a month ago, injected you with the serum. You were around 11. The fact that the serum alone didn’t kill you made it a success.
You knew what would happen next. The younger version of you punched the block of concrete over and over and over again. Even after you broke your hand, the cement barely gave.
When you hear the bones in your hands break, you try to intervene. You place your hand between the younger version of yourself and the target.
“Enough,” you mutter staring at yourself.
“It doesn’t work like that here,” the child's eyes are blank.
She sweeps your leg to take you down and begins to climb on top of you, punching you repeatedly. The broken hand doesn’t stop her.
You grab it and it’s as if the scene resets. You’re on your back watching the younger version of yourself punch the concrete again.
You stand, looking for a way out of the room. You see a metal door bolted shut. Without hesitation you begin slamming your shoulder against it.
The timing begins to line up with the sound of your younger self punch the concrete. You don’t take any solace in knowing that eventually the concrete does break.
With that thought at the front of your mind the steel door falls off its hinges and rush into what you believe to be an open hall.
It’s only when you’re fully inside that you realize it’s not a hallway. It’s a bathroom.
You can tell by the cracks in the porcelain sink that it is the day after Yelena was blipped. Shards of the mirror are scattered inside of it. The younger version of yourself has one hand gripping the sink and another on a gun.
Her head is down and her body is tense.
That day you had slammed your hand against the mirror and instantly felt stupid. You held the sink so hard it cracked. It had been less than 24 hours without her and you were falling apart. You remember the feeling of gun against your skull.
You pulled the trigger, but it wasn’t loaded. You kept pulling it, wishing you could leave all of this behind.
The illusion of you begins to sob as the gun falls from her hand. She crumples onto the floor, head in her hands.
You walk over to pick up the gun. Your hand rests on top of her head, stroking the hair calmly.
“She will come back to us,” you say as you aim the gun at the ceiling.
You shoot and the room moves, allowing you to crawl through the opening.
“Where is she?”
Clint couldn’t look you in the eye. He tossed the stone to Tony and tried to walk away. You grabbed him by the shoulder, so he was face to face with you.
“Clint,” your voice was stern.
You walked past the scene. This is moment in life when you thought you’d never have anything worth loving again. Yelena was gone, Natasha was gone, all you had was your past. All the wrongs you did, all the mistakes you made, all the people you’d kill. You felt hopeless.
That isn’t the case anymore. Yelena is here, you won this war. You got her back not only for yourself, but for Natasha.
You will find Yelena, there is not a doubt in your mind. You are certain, hopeful even. No matter how many traumas you have to go through, seeing her at the end makes it all worth it.
In the glass window of the building, you can see what looks like an old attic. It’s not something from your memories, but you know it doesn’t belong here.
You put your hand into the window first, watching it disappear, then your body follows it. There’s chaos around as furniture flies at you. You are able to dodge the stray pillows that are coming right for your head.
Then it all stops. The rest of the team has found their way here as well. It fills you with relief to know that you don’t have to do this alone.
“What did you see? Are you ok?”
Walker answers first, “Oh I’m fine.
Then Bucky, “I have a great past.”
Then Ava, “Totally fine.”
Yelena turns her attention to you. She’s waiting for you to say something.
“That fucking sucked,” you let out a broken laugh at the end of it.
“Well at least we’re all together now,” Ava finds the silver lining.
“Thanks guys,” Bob says.
You can’t help but size him up a little. He’s different than when you saw him in Valentina’s office. He seems a little shy, buy there’s a kindness that’s clearly on his face. You know that he essentially sacrificed himself to help these strangers escape. He probably saved your girlfriend’s life.
This isn’t the guy in the gold suit with dyed blonde hair, it’s not the dark ominous cloud terrorizing New York, this is Bob. A real man with intense emotions that can sometimes overtake him. He deserves to be saved.
So that’s what you do. You fight through Bob’s most painful memories. From his abusive parents to his drug induced psychosis, all the up to the moment the Void was created.
The Void pins everyone down except for Bob. You’re against the floor with a table pushing down on to your legs. You watch as Bob goes up against the physical embodiment of his darkness. For a moment you think he’s winning, until you see the shadow climb up his pant leg.
“Bob, this is what it wants you have to stop,” you call out to him.
It falls on deaf ears as he throws punch after punch to the Void.
You glance over at Yelena, who is trapped against a door next to Alexei. You use all of the strength that you have to get the table off your legs. Your steps are making dents in floor as you walk over to them.
Alexei tries to create enough space for Yelena to slip out. You extend your hand towards her and she grabs it.
“Trust me,” she says.
You nod, “Always.”
She signals for you to fling her across the room. You do it with no hesitation. You’re not too far behind her, though you feel the Void trying to create distance between Bob and the rest of the team.
Yelena gets to him first, wrapping her arms around the man. You are on the other side of him, squeezing him with all that you have. Soon the rest break free from their confines and join in to make Bob feel less alone.
Then suddenly it’s all over.
You’re back in New York, sprawled out on the floor. You let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding.
You kept close to Bob, partially enjoying the comfort. Yelena’s gets up first, extending her hand towards you. You allow her to pull you up.
She doesn’t get to say anything before you’re kissing her. You hold her face in your hands as your lips move against hers delicately. It’s a fragile kiss, something like the one you first shared.
“I thought I lost you again.”
Her lips touch yours once more, “I will always be here.”
“We still have one last thing to deal with guys,” Bucky says as he gets his eyes on Valentina.
You can’t stop yourself from throwing a small knife in her direction. You miss, but it's on purpose.
“We get to kill her right?” Alexei comments as you all zero in on the woman.
“Alright guys, I know we’re going through a lot of feelings right now. Just give me half second,” Valentina holds her hands up as she backs away.
“Oh I'd like to kill her,” Ava says gleefully.
Bucky shakes his head, “We’re taking her in.”
You see Bob hanging behind a bit. You place your hand on his shoulder, “Come on.”
“Me too?”
You flash him a small smile, “From now on we stick together.”
He returns the gesture, “That’s nice.”
The two of you are the last to walk through the curtain. There’s press everywhere. Cameras flash pictures of all you standing behind Valentina.
Bob stands off to the side with Valentina’s assistant while you stand next to Yelena.
You lean over to whisper in her ear, “What the fuck is she doing?”
“Saving her own ass.”
Valentina turns to look at the group with her arms wide, “Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, meet the new Avengers.”
There are alarms going off in your head as she says that. The press’s cameras flash more frequently, as soon as she makes that announcement.
“Is this real?”
Walker claps a hand down on your shoulder, “Feels pretty real to me."
Your eyes cut over to Yelena, who says something to Valentina before taking a step back. You move to stand next to her.
“Front facing looks good on you,” you smirk at her.
She gives you a once over, “I could say the same about you.”
“So what now?” Ava asks the team.
Bucky speaks up, “You guys like shawarma?”
Alexei laughs happily, “I love shawarma."
“I could eat,” Walker replies.
Bob agrees, “Me too. Kind of starving actually.”
You sling your arm around Yelena’s waist, “I guess we’re getting shawarma then.”
You keep her close as you walk away from the press. The team follows Bucky’s lead and you end up back in a van.
Yelena’s head rests against your shoulder during the car ride. The rest of your companions chatter, filling the silence.
“Do you want to elope?” Yelena say so that only you can hear.
“Your last name is cooler than mine, so I guess it only makes sense,” you reply.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
You roll your eyes, “It’s just a creative way of saying yes. Is fun no longer allowed, because we’re Avengers?”
“You have a weird idea of fun.”
You kiss her forehead, “Yet you still asked me to marry you, checkmate.”
“Whatever,” she buries her head further into your neck.
“I love you,” you say as you begin to rest your eyes, exhaustion finally taking over.
