Babygirl There Is Something Obviously Wrong With Your Brain

Own My Heart

Summary: It’s a simple arrangement; except you’re in love with Natasha. Will seeing you with someone else make her take the leap?

Natasha x Fem!Reader

A/N: So this is less fluffy, but I had to get the idea out of my head to write other stuff. It’s a bit short and rushed. Enjoy either way.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, mentions of sexual themes without being very explicit.

“You were so good” the words are whispered against your ear and you whine. Natasha smirks. “You wanna keep being good for me?”

Ten minutes ago, you were giving a presentation in front of potential investors, C-suite members and some of Earth’s mightiest heroes.

Natasha has reduced you to a blubbering mess with her touch.

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she only plays minecraft and spore

title: ovary action

summary:

You squint at her. “You know, just because you, personally, don’t get your period doesn’t mean you can’t show a bit of sympathy.”

“Go ahead, bring up my traumatic forced sterilisation.”

notes: sfw mediocre gfs fluff where ur on ur period and nats, for once, an above average gf

inspired by conversations with @ataraxyaz

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Wings - n.r

Word count: 2565

Genre: comfort/hurt

Request: yes

Warnings: self harm (kinda. like it's with wings but read at your own discretion)

A/n: It's been a hot min since I wrote anything 😬 Might make this into a lil AU. I kinda wanna explore more of Natasha and angel!r's relationship. Like meeting R's parents etc. WE WILL SEE THO XD Also, I changed it slightlyyyyyy I hope that's okay!

Pride wasn't something your species lacked. With wingspans that are easily double your height and reflexes that would make a panther jealous, there was next to nothing that could harm you. The pride each of you had wasn't cockiness but the natural confidence that comes with the knowledge that you are the top of the food chain. Being the apex predator meant you possessed both the deadly ability of a lion and the brain that would rival even the smartest of humans. If charming your way out of a situation was looking increasingly unlikely, then throats would be slit. Despite what people may think, your culture was not one of savages. It was rich and detailed and varied from clan to clan. There was one common tradition that everyone partook in and that was The Leaving. Once a youngling's feathers lose their fluff and gain their silky perfection, they are to leave their family and seek out new blood; be it territory, foods, cultures or people.

You were expected to leave and come back bloodied with victories and new territories to show for it. Each clan had a balance of specialties that were dictated by what your parents did. While a few were lucky enough to have a choice between two paths if their parents had differing roles, most didn't have a choice. You had never been close with your parents although this was a common occurrence. It was the grandparents who raised the young while the parents were off traveling the world to find the resources they needed. How were parents expected to contribute towards the clan's survival if they had to stop to raise children? It made much more sense for those whose wings could no longer carry them the great distances needed to look after the young.

Your parents had reached that age. Their wings were now nothing more than brilliant decorations, marked with each one of their victories. Unfortunately, this meant they now lived vicariously through you. When your beautifully glossy wings reached maturity, your parents all but shoved you from the comfort of your own home, eager for you to make your mark on the world and come back with grandchildren for them to mould.

Something you parents hadn't accounted for was that the world was vastly more populated than it was when they had set out. You could no longer just fly down, intimidate or charm the locals, and claim their land as yours. The weapons had become more developed and they had seen too many otherworldly creatures to fall for the usual tactics. This may have looked like a problem, but for your opportunistic ass, this was the dream.

You were finally free to eat as much as you wanted, drink as much as you wanted and lay with as many people as you wanted.

~~~~~

Your binge of freedom lasted a day.

You were promptly captured by some kind of new technology you absolutely had to bring back with you.

"You thought we didn't notice you?" A man called Fury, asked.

"I thought you were too feeble minded to realise."

"We keep tags on all life not from this planet."

You let out a short bark of laughter. "If you were here first then why are we all over your history? Hell we predate your history." Your large wings bristled, managing to overpower the technology just briefly "I have to ask, where on earth did you manage to get this?"

"Get what?"

"The contraption keeping me here?"

"I am not a contraption." A third voice entered the conversation, thick with an accent that didn't match Fury's.

The woman moved in front of you, her eyes glowing a shade of red you had only seen one other time. The time your grandmother died.

"Want to see some real magic sweetheart? Come with me and I'll show you everything."

You couldn't tell if the red flush on her face was from anger, exertion of keeping you there, or lust. Turns out you never got to find out as a sharp bolt of electricity knocked you out.

That was three years ago and since then you had fought with the Avengers and even become one of them. Your favourite battle was with Thanos. It was positively delicious to rip his slimy little arm off before Thor swung his axe through his head.

There was no real reason for you to stay other than you liked their company. Your parents were eager for you to come back and begin mating so you could head back out again but you had grown to like the humans you called your family. You had learnt many things while being here such as your wings were in fact retractable. Well, they weren't completely retractable but they could almost slide in on themselves, making them a practical size for walking around hallways and sleeping on beds. The downside however, was that you weren't very good at remembering to keep them in. That, and when certain people made you flustered, they just popped right back out again.

Your time with the Avengers had also changed you a little. You had a nickname - something the old you would have cut tongues out of mouths if she had been given one. It was created when Tony Stark had seen you smuggle an interesting looking spoon into your sleeve.

"Damn magpie, anything else of mine you want?"

You didn't know how to react at first. You didn't know he was talking to you and you certainly didn't know how you were anything like the pitiful creatures. Tony then explained the similarities and from that day, the nickname stuck.

~~~~~

"Want to go on a date?" The words left your mouth quickly, the confidence leaving you as you stood in front of the redhead who had tasered you all those years ago.

"What took you so long to ask?" Natasha leant against her doorframe.

You looked at her sheepishly. "Well... in my culture we ask people out a little differently..."

"Wait... is that what all those feathers were for?"

You felt your face heat up with something you would later discover was embarrassment. "Yes"

Natasha's grin put you at ease, "I'm driving but you're paying."

By the time the date rolled around, you were a little less of a mess and feeling more like yourself. Your dress hugged your figure perfectly and complemented your complexion. Turns out, it was probably a good idea that Natasha was driving because one look at her made you weak at the knees. You brushed the lust off as quickly as it came and by the time you had reached the restaurant, your confident persona had slipped back into place.

Your date was going great until Natasha decided to run her foot up the inside of your calf. Your wings sprang out in shock, causing a waiter to spill soup all over the neighbouring table. The string of apologies that left your mouth did nothing to cover the embarrassment you felt. The two of you left pretty quickly after that but not without hearing the annoyed tuts and sharp sighs that left the restaurant-goers mouths.

"Shit I'm sorry Y/n" Natasha said as you both walked back to her car. She was tense. You really hoped it wasn't because you and your wings had embarrassed her.

"It's okay. And as long as you're not too embarrassed to be seen with me maybe we could go on a second date? I'm definitely picking next time though. Just to avoid any soup related accidents." You watched as the tension drained from Natasha's face, her shoulders relaxing just a little.

"Promises, promises."

The flurry of dates after that went well. The lack of dates in crowded spaces hadn't gone unnoticed by you but you couldn't bring yourself to mind. Soon, date night Saturdays were a regular thing and before you knew it, you were in a committed relationship.

~~~~~

One Saturday, you and Natasha decided to stay in with the rest of the team. It was Steve's birthday and you were all having a team movie night to celebrate. Everyone was settled comfortably on the couches littered across the room and you winced when you realised there wasn't going to be enough space for you to comfortably sit. You passed the popcorn bowls around, loud groans left some of the team members as your wings got in the way of the screen.

"Sorry guys." you crouched lower as you made your way to the sofa where Natasha and Wanda were sitting. You sat down on the floor in front of them, causing Natasha to scowl.

"Lyubov, get your ass up here." She and Wanda shuffled so there was room for you in the middle. You smiled at your girlfriend and best friend but shook your head, the rest of the team hushing them as the movie had started.

You felt Wanda reposition and tried to get your wings to shrink even further. You didn't understand the shame you were feeling. Shame wasn't something your species ever felt. Perhaps it was time to go back. Perhaps being here had changed you too much.

~~~~~

You were naturally proud creatures, so why was it that when the team banned you from watching horror movies with them, you felt so damn small.

"Y/n, we think it's best if you don't watch any more horror's with us." Vision led you from the living room, away from the TV.

"Oh."

It had been Bruce's idea for you to watch their weekly horror movie with them while you waited for Natasha, Steve and Wanda to come back from a mission.

"It's not that we don't want you to-"

You cut vision off "It's just that it's inconvenient right?"

Turns out, while horror movies were great fun, they were a little less fun when Sam got covered in fizzy drinks not once but twice because of your wings.

He at least had the politeness to look a little guilty. "Well..."

"It's okay Vis. I get it."

You walked back to your's and Natasha's shared room, thoughts spiralling as you remembered each and every time your wings caused inconveniences like this.

You were taught that you should be treated like gods - that the humans worshiped you - that your species was where the modern idea of angels came from. So why did Vision's words hurt so much?

~~~~~

Natasha had just come back from a mission and you had missed her like crazy. It was late when she came back but you didn't care. You tucked both of you into bed, making Natasha promise she'd tell you all about her mission in the morning. That night, you had a vivid, horrific nightmare. The kind of nightmare that makes you cry out in the night. When you awoke drenched in sweat, you wondered what had woken you. You looked at your girlfriend and that's when the realisation hit you. You had broken her nose. It was her shout of discomfort that had woken you up.

You decided that this was it.

It was fine when your wings bumped into people, or when they knocked over glasses, or bowls of food but hitting your girlfriend in the face so hard it broke her nose was the last straw.

They were coming off and that was final.

You stood up and left the room, not hearing bone snap back into place, not hearing Natasha call out to you in an attempt to get you to come back. You left the compound quickly and efficiently. As soon as you had left, you were beating your wings as hard as you could. You flew up and up, wondering that if you managed to get high enough, whether or not they would freeze off.

They didn't.

You then dove deep into the sea, rationalising that if you did it quickly enough, they would rip right from you. When that didn't work, you snuck into a florists, grabbing the shears that were left on the counter.

You walked aimlessly for miles. The blood from Natasha's nose had dried and made you want to vomit. You weren't meant to be here and you certainly weren't meant to be with a human. Your feet came to a stop and you realised you had walked all the way to the tree where you and Natasha had your first kiss. It took everything in you not to break down and cry right then and there. You were a terrible girlfriend and your body had decided to take you to the one place you didn't want to be.

You gritted your teeth and began to hack away at the wings you and your ancestors were once so proud of. The wings that made you sick every time you saw them.

"Y/n please put them down." Natasha's broken voice bounced and echoed its way around the clearing.

Shame flooded you as she caught you attempting to get rid of the wings she loved so much.

"But they need to go." Tears raced down your face, your eyes unable to stop them no matter how much they wanted to.

"Y/n, your wings are perfect."

You snorted at that, cutting her short "If they were so perfect then why wont they stay in huh?" The bitterness in your voice let slip just how long these thoughts had been festering.

"Because they're not meant to be kept in all the time. I know you've been pinning them back more." Natasha's voice was steady as she moved closer to you, reaching out gently to try and grab the shears.

You took a weary half step backwards, not quite ready for her to touch you. You were an animal backed into a corner and right now, you couldn't see clearly.

"Y/n, baby, please. Your wings are what make you you. Without them you wouldn't be complete." Natasha's hand twitched. "I love every part of you and I know you think your wings hurt me but it's not like I haven't hurt you. Remember when you woke up with me holding a knife to your throat?"

You let out a wet laugh "It was three months into our relationship. The first time you relaxed properly when sleeping with me. You were having a bad dream."

"Exactly. A bad dream. And did you blame me?"

"Of course not." You lowered the shears.

"No. because that's dumb right?"

"Obviously."

"So why do you think I wouldn't act in the exact same way you did when you comforted me that night." Natasha took the shears from your hand.

"But I could really hurt you."

"And I could really hurt you. You forget - I'm a trained assassin."

Your bottom lip wobbled as your eyes filled with fresh tears again. Natasha dropped the shears and tugged you into her. You both sank to the floor as you held Natasha close, your back hitting the tree. Once you finished crying, Natasha wiped away the last of your tears.

"See, if you didn't have your wings, then how are we supposed to have secret conversations?" She smiled cheekily at you as she lifted them both up and wrapped them around you both.

"The damn things heal too quickly for me to cut them off myself. Besides, I'm pretty sure they grow back after a month."

Natasha hit you "Don't even joke."

A Case of You

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 2.5K

A/N: A soft angst kinda one shot. Reader used to date Natasha and gets a call from her during the night. Mentions alcohol and toxic past relationships.

She called you in the night. You answered. You always answered, but it felt dirty. 

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📖📖 with Nat?

Honey Pots and Feathers.

Child!Natasha Romanoff & Pooh Bear!Reader (I can't believe I wrote this either)

Word Count: 1.2K

A/N: I chose Winnie the Pooh AU. The headcanon is that Natasha watches a Winnie the Pooh Cartoon as part of her Red Room conditioning and The Hundred Acre Woods becomes her safe place.

This is either ridiculous or it's lowkey angst, who knows. References to Red Room abuse.

Days were hard to remember sometimes. Pooh liked to think that the days when he ate the most honey were the Very Best of Days. Piglet disagreed, he said that the days when he found fresh acorns were always the Very Best of Days. He said it was nice to have one less worry.

Pooh politely told Piglet that when he found fresh honey he would eat it that very day.

That night, Pooh found he couldn’t sleep. He felt sorry for Piglet. Pooh decided he wouldn’t be in a hurry to eat acorns either. He planned to suggest a new rissupay to Piglet.

Natasha had told them all about rissupays the last time she had visited. Natasha had been hungry and her stomach had rumbled. Piglet had offered her an acorn, but she declined. Natasha told them that she didn’t know any rissupays for acorns.

Pooh asked about rissupays because his tummy was always growling and he liked the idea of turning acorns into something nicer. Like honey, perhaps.

Natasha had led them along the path to Eeyore’s as she explained about rissupays. She said it was like magic. Add a little bit of thisandthat and suddenly food became much nicer. Pooh didn’t know where one could find thisandthat, but he had started keeping an eye out just in case.

-------------

The next morning, Pooh decided he would indulge in a little honey for his breakfast. He got his paws quite sticky, but he didn’t let it phase him. Tigger bounced in just as the jar of honey was getting much lighter.

“The news is that Natasha will be coming to see us soon.” Tigger told Pooh with an extra bounce.

‘Oh, that’s wonderful news.” Pooh patted his tummy with delight. Everyone loved Natasha. She was clever and funny and often said the nicest things.

Tigger bounced away just when Piglet arrived.

‘Good morning Pooh.’ Piglet said. ‘Did you hear the good news?’

Pooh informed Piglet that he had. Piglet told Pooh that he was going to give Natasha a gift when she got here. Natasha didn’t have as many things as other children. She told them that she didn’t mind though. Natasha was happy to have such good friends.

Pooh liked that he was one of her friends. He decided Piglet had had a Very Good Idea. He decided that he would give Natasha a jar of honey.

Pooh thought that honey might be very important for Natasha’s rissupays.

-----------------

That afternoon, after a spot of lunchtime honey, Pooh and Piglet wandered along the path to Rabbit’s House.

When they got there, Natasha was already sitting on her tree stump. There was an assortment of gifts at her feet.

When she saw Pooh, Natasha waved. Pooh waved back. His paw got stuck to his fur and he realised that he hadn’t Cleaned Up Properly after lunch. But, that was okay because Natasha wouldn’t mind.

Natasha was sitting with Kanga and Roo. Natasha had a bruise on her face and Kanga was telling her about how brave she was.

Pooh and Piglet sat next to Natasha on the tree stump. Pooh listened respectfully and patiently because being brave was very important.

Natasha gave Pooh and Piglet one of her Big Bright Smiles. She showed them the feather that was resting behind her ear. Natasha’s hair was red and she liked to keep it braided. Sometimes, when she could visit for a little while, Natasha would braid Eeyore’s hair too.

Eeyore didn’t usually like anything, but he liked Natasha's braids. Natasha was very talented and smart. That was why she was sometimes too busy to visit.

Piglet gave her his special present. He’d made her an acorn necklace. Natasha said it was the prettiest joolery that she had ever been allowed to wear.

Pooh stayed quiet. He was thinking now that he had brought quite a big jar of honey. He wondered if so much honey might actually make Natasha feel ill.

Tigger bounced into the clearing then. Rabbit rolled his eyes. Tigger told them all that he’d thought of a song on his travels. Natasha was very excited to hear it.

So was Pooh, although he wasn’t very good at remembering songs. Neither was Tigger unfortunately. All he could remember was that it had been about Natasha and the scary Heffalumps.

Natasha had been very brave the last time she had visited. Pooh had told her about the scary Heffalumps that lived in the darkest part of the forest. Natasha had found a sharp stick and walked into the forest all by herself.

She told them that Heffalumps were not as scary as the Big Bad Man. Piglet had started trembling. He’d asked if they also lived in the darkest part of the forest.

Natasha said that the Big Bad Man was only scary for her. That was when Piglet had offered her some of his acorns.

Pooh remembered this and he asked Natasha about the Big Bad Man. He asked if she’d tried a sharp stick.

Natasha started to cry and Pooh felt very sad. Natasha said that it felt a little bit good to cry because it wasn’t something she normally got to do. She told them the Big Bad Man was still there and that she was still scared of him. The Hundred Acre Woods became very silent all of a sudden.

Natasha said that there were other Big Bad Adults too. Kanga held Natasha’s hand when she talked about it and that made Natasha cry again. Pooh tried not to feel too sad because he knew that Natasha wanted to cry a little bit.

Natasha said that the Big Bad Adults wanted every day to be a Very Good Day. But, sometimes, that was very hard for Natasha to do.

Piglet asked if she had to find acorns for them.

Natasha shook her head. She said she had lots of Rissponzebillytees. No one knew what that word meant, except Owl.

Owl said that it meant that Natasha had little problems that she carried around in her pocket. Natasha said that was close enough.

Natasha said that it was hard because sometimes when she didn’t have a Very Good Day, she had to have a Very Bad Day.

Pooh asked worriedly if Very Bad Days meant hardly any honey.

Natasha looked even sadder then, and Pooh thought she looked like Eeyore when he’d had his surprise party. She said that Very Bad Days meant no food at all.

Suddenly, Pooh felt very sorry for keeping his present to himself.

He gave the big jar of honey to Natasha. Natasha gave him a big hug in return. She told him that he was the Best Bear in the Whole World.

Pooh didn’t know how big the Whole World was, but he knew it was much bigger than the Hundred Acre Woods.

Pooh told Natasha that she was very brave. He told her that every day he got to spend with Natasha was one of his Very Best Days.

Natasha told them all that she was very happy to have them as friends. She gave Kanga a special smile because Kanga had made her feel brave again.

She opened the jar of honey and tried a little piece.

Pooh asked if she thought it was the best honey. He was quite sure that it was. For the first time ever, Pooh didn’t wish that he was having a morsel of it too.

Natasha shook her head after a moment.

‘No.’ She told them sadly. ‘Pretend food doesn't taste the same.’

Headcanon Asks

Tagging:

@lostandsearching​ @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo@xxromanoffxx​ @b-5by5​  @peggycarter-steverogers​ @iblameitonclint​  @natasha-danvers​ @reminiscingtonight​ @magicallymaximoff​ @mindofwesley​ @blackxwidowsxwife @wouldirunofftheworldsomeday​ @marvels-writings @wandaromanova​ @wandavixen​ @peabrain112​ @theperfectlovestory​ @wellsayhelloaagin​ @owloftheshadows @ahn-dee​ @wickedmuses​ @rhagana-doomslayer​​ @strangegardentaco @hallecarey1

how bout nat and reader being best freinds who get dared to kiss at a party and they fuck when its over

warnings: older!bestfriend!nat x younger!petite!reader, size difference, slight angst, and nipple play.

Your eyes go wide and your lips part as the attention turns to you. With the silence of their impending thoughts, you can’t help but flush at the idea of kissing your best friend in front of everyone else.

No matter how in love you were with the redhead, the idea of such an intimate moment being shared with people like the team made you shake in embarrassment.

“Well?” Tony gave you a look and between that and those of your friends and colleagues, you turned to Natasha with doubt.

You were only met with quite the opposite; her brows were raised, and her lips were twitched into a grin.

“You trust me?” Her voice was a mere whisper intended only for you.

Your eyes travels from those of your friends to that of your best friend. Her emerald eyes staring at you with vigour and empathy.

It was soft. Making you warm with comfort.

So you nod, smiling soft before she returns the gesture with her wicked grin. She mumbles something incoherent to you before cupping your face towards her with passion.

Before you knew it, her lips were stuck on yours. Gentle, arousing, and swelter at all times, Natasha kissed you like it were her last.

There was devotion and fervour in her touch. The press of her plump lips against yours made you nearly forget about the prying eyes of both your friends and colleagues. The only reminder of their presence was the sound of their cheers before you pulled away with a heaving chest.

Natasha grinned and smiled but you were teary with tears that made you rush out of the room in embarrassment. The silence of the room returned once your presence departed.

...

The bathroom welled with your sobs as you palmed your face. With your lonely presence separated from your colleagues and best friend, you couldn’t help but wallow in the sad reality that Natasha would never feel the same.

Of course why would she? She was this sophisticated older woman with merely more experience than your own; yet, it was already baffling that she found enough trust and comfort in being your best friend despite the age gap.

You were simply too lost in your own thoughts to even have heard the rapping knock on the door. It was when she called your name out of concern that you realize her ever mending presence.

“Let me in, honey. It’s just me.”

Your hand wavered as you reached for the door knob. When the door swung open and you were met with a worried sick redhead, there was no hesitation as she stepped in and crowded your space.

“I know.”

You looked at her, confused.

“I feel the same.” She tells you. “I know it’s wrong, I felt bad because you were this young girl and I-I... You’re supposed to be my best friend, my everything but all I want is you. All I see is you and I-I didn’t know...”

You curled your hands with her own. The look in her eyes wide and lustful despite the somber words that fell from her plump lips.

The silence returned and within a blink, her lips were on yours and your back was pressed against the wall. A loud boom echoes through the room but neither you or her could care as her lips kissed you with less resistance.

With no Tony nor Steve to watch, the redhead slipped a hand under the cropped shirt you were wearing. Cold and inkling fingers touched the plains of your stomach and over the ribbed skin of your ribs. You shivered in response and gladly, welcomed her fingers as they circled your nipples to arousal.

“Natty,” your voice was meek in call for her. She didn’t care, she only adored how small you sounded under her. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” her reassurance brought you millennia worth of comfort. However, it was the way she peeled off your shirt and her own and rubbed both bare chest against each other that made you melt.

With pebbled nipples chafing against your own, you were overrun with stimulation as Natasha slipped a wandering hand under your lounge shorts. The frail knitwear brought you no comfort in knowing how far you had drenched your underwear that there was even an evident spot between your shorts that was dark grey.

“I’ve wanted you like this for so long,” she confessed between heavy breathes. “I needed you. Couldn’t keep my eyes off from the way you moved.”

You flushed under her confession. You didn’t realize how much the two of you were alike until now. She had been pinning over you the way you had. The only barrier was the age gap and no matter how much your friends reassured that you and her age gap was no feat for any type of relationship, it felt wrong seeing your best friend that way - let alone an older woman.

“So small,” she whispered against your ear. “Always so sweet for me, honey.”

You pulled away from her touch with lustful eyes. The coil in your stomach making your whole body vibrated with need and arousal.

“Take me home, Natty.”

She’s Everything

Soft!Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 2K

A/N: Based on a lovely request. Please enjoy some fluff. Based on song of the same name.

Not all secrets are intentional. 

It hadn’t made sense to tell the others when you’d started dating Natasha. Things felt tentative anyway. 

There was a softness with Natasha that you’d only guessed at before. 

She was hesitant before every date.

————-

She knocked on your door before the first one. 

You were going to the cinema, Natasha had invited you over text. It was more than friendship, but you weren’t quite sure what else it could be yet.

Natasha met your gaze when you opened your door. She smiled nervously and you realised that this was the side of her that she didn’t normally share.

Her hands were buried deep in her jacket’s pockets and, when you told her that she looked great, she glanced shyly at the ground.

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Triple Threat

Summary: Three friends, one bet and two idiots in love. What could go wrong?

Natasha Romanoff x Super Soldier Fem Reader

Word Count: 5K

A/N: My first NatxReader fic ever. Hope you enjoy <3 

“Do you think she’s single?”

The girls look in your direction, not even bothering to pretend they’re actually working out at the Tower’s gym. Oblivious to their conversation and with your headphones in place, you keep the pace on the treadmill, pushing yourself to the limit.

“Don’t know, Minds. I just want her to use me for a night”, the blonde interjects.

“Keeping it classy, Lindsay” 

“I don’t think she’s dating anyone. We would have heard by now”, another girl comes behind them and the three share a conspiratory look. “Honestly, I almost asked her out when we were shooting that promo video for the animal shelter. Watching her hold a puppy made me ovulate”

“You should have” Lindsay says. “You missed your chance and now I’m gonna do it”

“Nu-uh, I called dibs”

“No one did, Kate” Mindy rolls her eyes.

“Alright, let’s all ask her out, see who gets a date”

“What if she says yes to all of us?”

“I don’t mind sharing” Lindsay winks at her friends. “Now, rock paper scissors to decide which one goes first”

Too engrossed in their argument, the friends never noticed Natasha Romanoff. The spy threw a hard kick at the punching bag and left the gym, deciding that if she had to endure another second listening to that stupid conversation she was gonna kill all three of them.

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Luck

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

Pairing: ace!Reader x Bucky Barnes x Yelena Belova

Word Count: ~7.3k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just have to tell me what you need. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

The relationship worked. 

That was all that mattered. 

~

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

It confused people. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She stiffens. 

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

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

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

“Clearly you’re attracted to them-,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sex didn’t make a relationship complete. 

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

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

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

Bucky because he’s warm and protective and gentle. 

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

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

Certainly she has a type, she smiles to herself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So then you’re bisexual.” 

The word almost sounds dirty coming out of her mouth. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it had, and it does. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did she push people away? 

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

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

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

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

~

The apartment is dark. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Should we make mimosas too?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A foot kicks at her ankle under the table. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Prove it,” she snips back.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

They match and she does not. 

In so many ways, she does not belong. 

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

Have they ever? Was she that oblivious to everything? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

Yelena relaxes at that. 

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

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

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

She didn’t feel jealous. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But she can’t chase those stupid words away. 

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

She nods and Yelena nods back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We can walk.” 

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

That she would never be enough, for anyone. 

Maybe for a time, but never for forever.

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

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

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

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

Bucky nods but looks worried.

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

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

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

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

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

Yelena says her name. 

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

“Are you leaving?

The question is asked so gently, softly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yelena scoffs, “You will tell me who.” 

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

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

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

“Yes-,”

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

“Of course not-,”

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

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

And she knows that’s true. 

Yelena rarely brought sex up. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We know, solntse.” 

“I’m sorry,” she says. 

“We know that too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was Lisa wasn’t it?”

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

“Like I need a knife.” 

“Don’t kill her.” 

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