persephvnes-elysivm

natsukashii

| 20 × Sephie |

14 posts

Real Image Of SB Waiting For Nat To Literally Suck 'em Dry As The Sahara

real image of SB waiting for Nat to literally suck 'em dry as the Sahara

Operation: Avalanche

Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Sergeant!Reader

18+ only read at your own risk

Summary: Your first big mission on deployment doesn’t go as planned.

Word count: 3636

AN: Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

This is Part 3 in my Sergeant Beef series. It is the main canon version of this very angsty AU I wrote.

“If we get out of here alive, I’m making Fury pay for my next vacation out of his own pocket!” Sam Wilson shouts, dropping onto his stomach as bullets fly over his head.

“Add me to that list,” you respond, yanking the empty magazine out of your rifle and popping in a fresh one.

“Sergeant, I think we need to retreat!” Peter Parker says in a shaky voice, a few yards away where he cowers behind a boulder.

When you don’t respond, your brain racing to formulate an escape plan, Sam does. “And where are we going to go?” Your team was cornered on the side of a mountain, gunfire raining down from above while the rustling of the bushes below indicated another group were coming up for you.

“Maximoff, did you put out the distress signal?” you ask.

“Already did, Sarge! Air support is three minutes out!”

Three minutes was a long time, especially in a hostile environment where every second of action counted.

BOOM.

A boulder, close to the one Peter was taking cover by, explodes into gravel. Everyone ducks and you watch your soldier slump forward, tangling in the strap of his own rifle, laying on his side motionlessly.

“We need to move!” you command. “Start heading east and stay away from the rocks!”

Sam looks at you like you’re crazy to take everyone out of a position of cover, but it’s not very good cover anymore if it can be used against you. You crawl down to where Peter lies, pressing your fingers to his neck and feeling a weak pulse. Adrenaline fuels you as you pick him up, throwing him over your shoulders, your knees protesting at the significant increase of weight, but you maintain a low center of balance and start running after Sam.

“Keep moving, keep moving!” you urge, your ears dulled to the gunfire around you. Your calves burn, your back straining to stay balanced on the uneven terrain with almost 200 pounds of extra weight on top of you. But you promised General Fury that you would bring home everyone on this mission, even at the cost of your own life.

Sam suddenly drops to his knee in front of you and for a moment you think he’s been hit, until he brings up his gun and fires at the bushes near the base of the mountain.

“Wilson, let’s go,” you pant, more concerned with getting out of the battlefield than trying to hold your own.

“Hold on, Sarge, I got a clear shot–”

Blood suddenly stains the side of Sam’s head. It isn’t until he turns to look at you, his eyes wide, that you realize the blood isn’t his.

It’s yours.

Your right leg completely gives out and a hot pain rips up your thigh, taking your breath away. Blood pools heavily on your fatigues and you know you were hit in a bad spot. Peter’s weight on your shoulders causes you to fall forward and you lose your grip on him as he rolls onto the ground.

“Wilson, Wilson take Parker,” you gasp, patting your vest for a tourniquet.

“I’m not leaving you, Sergeant,” Sam says.

“Get everyone else to safety. Keep moving until the bird comes in,” you say, your hands shaking as you struggle just to undo the velcro of the tourniquet.

“Sarge–”

“That’s an order.” There is no time for arguments.

“Let me help you, at least.” Sam takes the tourniquet and slips it up your leg, cinching it tightly above the wound until you can’t feel anything below the strap. He grabs Peter, placing him in the same fireman’s carry you had him in, and starts running away as you take your rifle out to provide coverage.

You prop yourself against a rock, firing at any movement in the bushes. Your heart hammers against your chest and you force yourself to stay focused and not to look after Sam and the other soldiers making greater and greater distance from you. While you would rather not be alone, bleeding out on foreign soil, you know this is your duty and the responsibility you accepted.

One minute until the rescue helicopter arrived.

You count down your bullets, firing sparingly but feeling like for every person you take down, two more appear. A bullet grazes your cheek and the pain is distracting but welcoming from the fear of death. You aren’t really ready to die, but if today is your day, you will accept it with grace.

You think about Natasha and how you hadn’t seen her in three months. How ferociously she fought your deployment and how devastated she was when General Fury wouldn’t budge on your assignment. The last few nights you two spent together were ones you would never forget, and you hoped you would get the chance to spend one more with her.

You twist around to fire near the mountain tops, unable to take on pressure from both angles. As you struggle to reload, another bullet catches you in the side. The pain is explosive and literally blinding as you fall onto your back, helpless and exposed, gasping for air with a punctured lung. You fight to sit back up, your fingers slippery and wet with blood as you maintain a death grip on your weapon. It feels impossibly heavy in your arms now as you try to lift it, using a rock as a crutch when you realize you’re too weak to hold it on your own.

Blackness threatens the edges of your vision and you’re painfully aware of how agonized your breathing sounds as you struggle to draw in air to stay focused. The trigger of your rifle feels like it weighs 1000 pounds, and every shot you take takes considerable effort.

You hear the whistle before the grenade impacts behind you, sending you flying into the air like a ragdoll. You’re not even sure which way is up when you finally land, breathing in dirt and blood. For some reason, you feel embarrassed that this is how they’re going to find your body, if your team gets to you before the enemies do. All the strength you had ever possessed, all the life you had ever lived, crumpled and crushed into a broken body.

You can’t keep your eyes open anymore, as hard as you try. All the noises surrounding you, the gunfire, the screaming, the explosions, seems to fade away. You think about Natasha again, her arms wrapped around you while you lie on her chest, listening to her strong heartbeat while she tells you about all the plans she has for you two. You’re still waiting for the day she finally says that she loves you, but maybe that wasn’t something you were destined to hear.

Unconsciousness takes you slowly and you finally give in, still hoping that your team escaped harm and that you would reunite with Natasha one day.

***********************************************************************

When you try to open your eyes for the first time, it feels like you have anchors attached to your eyelids. It takes you so much effort you don’t even think it’s worth it, until bright white lights cut through and you feel light-headed as consciousness returns to you.

“Y/N? Hey, Y/N?”

“Someone get the doctor.”

“Vitals are spiking.”

You hear voices but don’t recognize them, suddenly overwhelmed by an intense pain that attacks every bone in your body. You’re completely paralyzed by it, your teeth grinding together while you fight to stay awake, but after a few seconds, the pain starts to dissolve into a manageable numbness and you sigh in relief.

“Sergeant Y/N, if you can hear my voice, can you open your eyes for me?”

You’ve been trying to do that this whole time, but your body is reacting so slowly it’s frustrating.

“How about you move a finger for me?”

You try to heed the instruction, but now you’re so numb you’re not sure if you’re moving anything.

“It’s a lot to ask so soon after surgery. We should wait a little while longer.”

There is the shuffling of footsteps.

“Y/N?”

You recognize Natasha’s voice instantly and your eyes fly open, squinting at the harsh lights. It takes you a few seconds to focus on your surroundings, but you come to realize you’re in a hospital bed, wearing only a flimsy paper gown and the entire right side of your body is covered in casts and gauze.

“Y/N?” Natasha jumps up, holding onto your left hand that you see has a clear plastic tube taped to the veins. “Oh my God, you’re actually awake. How do you feel, baby?”

Your mouth tastes like you swallowed a handful of sand. It takes a second before you have enough saliva in your mouth to speak. “Wheremeye?” you garble out. Natasha grabs a white cup from the nightstand and holds it to your lips so you can take a few sips. “Thanks…” you gasp, surprised at how much saying one word hurts. “Where…Where am I?”

“Fort Sam,” Natasha answers. You notice how she hasn’t let go of your hand once. She’s dressed casually, her hair tied into a messy bun that would not pass even the most generous of uniform inspections. Her eyes are red and irritated, her cheeks dry, like she’s spent the last 24 hours crying.

“S-Sam?” you ask, you mind first going to your teammate.

“Fort Sam in Houston, Texas,” Natasha says. “They brought you here to the medical center after your mission was compromised.”

“Mission?” The memories come back to you in pieces. You remember the ambush, Peter getting knocked out by an explosion, carrying him to safety before taking a bullet yourself, then telling Sam to go on with the rest of the team while you stayed behind and tried to cover them. “My team…Where’s my team?”

“They’re fine,” Natasha says. “Parker had a minor concussion, and the rest had some scrapes and bruises, but everyone is fine.”

“Good, good.” You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if something worse had happened to your teammates, although you’re not exactly thrilled with your current position either.

“Do you remember what happened?” Natasha asks.

“A little bit.” But you’re not ready to talk about it and she can sense that.

“I love you,” Natasha blurts out suddenly.

“Huh?” you say dumbly, although you had heard her perfectly clear.

“I love you so much, and I was so worried when Fury called me and said your team had been ambushed and that you were in critical condition,” she rambles. “I didn’t know if I was going to see you again, and then I thought about how I never told you how I really feel about you…”

“Do you mean it?” you ask, wondering if this confession was just a result of the high emotions. Natasha was an infamously private person, even around you, but she had eventually warmed up to you in a way she hadn’t to anyone else before. Still, this was a level of emotion you had never seen from her before and you wanted to make sure it was real.

“I love you with all my heart,” she says, holding your hand tighter and leaning forward to kiss your cheek gently. “And I can’t imagine my life without you.”

“I love you, too,” you say, with as much passion as you can muster. You want to reach out and wrap her in a hug, hold her tightly and promise her that you’re not going anywhere, but you’re so weak you can’t even squeeze her hand back.

Natasha stays close to your side as the painkillers lull you back into unconsciousness. Her presence is comforting and you know you’ll be safe with her watching over you.

***********************************************************************

You wake up a few hours later, Natasha still next to you, and a doctor comes in to bring you up to speed. Your entire team had been evacuated from the field successfully, with you sustaining the worst injuries with bullets going through your thigh and right lung. You also broke your right arm when you landed wrong on it after being propelled into the air by a grenade explosion. Long story short, your body was a complete mess and it would be a few months before you would be back to your usual self.

Natasha cashed in all her time off to stay with you as long as she could at the Fort Sam base. You were a little surprised but grateful, and having her around kept your mind off the fact that you were stuck in a bed for weeks. You had a lot of visitors, most of them your superiors and co-workers, but you preferred Natasha’s company over any of them.

One day you’re watching workout videos on YouTube, jealously groveling over the fact that by the time the doctors let you out of bed, you probably wouldn’t be able to lift even 5-pound weights without a struggle, Natasha comes in with some plastic basins and a few towels folded under her arms.

“Hello,” you say, closing your laptop to give her your full attention. “What are those for?”

“Your nurse told me it’s your bath day,” Natasha says. “And I figured you might want me to help you over her.”

“Are you jealous?” you tease, as she goes over to the sink and fills one of the bowls with water.

“No,” she says, and you don’t believe her for a second. “I just want to make sure you’re taken care of.”

“Everyone here has been really good to me,” you defend.

“Yeah, but your nurse can’t take care of you the way I can.” She looks over her shoulder at you with a smirk.

“Oh.” Obviously, it had been nearly impossible for you two to be intimate because of your injuries, and with the number of medications you were on and everything else going on, you hadn’t really been in the mood. But when Natasha looks at you with lustful eyes, the blood rushes into your groin and you’re immediately light-headed.

Natasha comes back to your side and assembles all the supplies she needs. You watch quietly, not new to this process, but curious to see if she’s just as competent as your nurse was.

“Do you want me to wash your hair, too?” she asks.

“If it’s not too much.” You hate feeling so helpless and like a burden to others, even if it was their jobs. You still can’t even get out of bed to use the bathroom, and the mental effort it takes to summon the courage to press the call button when you need something is the equivalent of running a marathon.

“I can do that,” Natasha says. It’s rare to see her soft side, but you won’t tease her compassion. You suspect that she’s actually thrilled at this opportunity to take care of you, but again, you won’t comment.

She starts by laying you on your back and propping your head inside an inflatable basin. With surprising proficiency, she rinses your hair and lathers in a foamy shampoo, while you close your eyes and enjoy the massage. She nudges you awake and sits you back up, drying your hair with a loose towel.

“How is that?” she asks.

“It felt really nice,” you say.

“Good.” She’s acting almost strangely professional with you, but you don’t question it. She takes off your gown and wets a washcloth, wiping it over your face and neck, then across your shoulders and down your left arm. You notice her linger along the scar on your bicep and flex your arm experimentally to see her reaction. Luckily, it hasn’t been too long that your muscles have atrophied from the lack of use, but you want to take advantage while you still can. Natasha doesn’t say anything, but you see the corners of her lips lifting in a small grin.

She washes your chest and abs, careful around the gauze pad taped to your side where a bullet had spiraled through your ribs and poked a hole in your lung. When she lifts the gown off your legs, she chuckles at the fact that you’re not wearing any underwear and also ragingly hard.

“Uh, this doesn’t normally happen with my nurse,” you defend, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment, even though you’re certain this is as much of a turn on for her as it is for you.

“It’s okay. I’ll take care of that once I’m done washing the rest of you,” she says with a wink, and you feel yourself throb at the prospect.

She washes your legs and feet, then carefully rolls you onto your side to wash your back and butt. It feels awkward now to have her take care of you like this, for her to see how useless you are that you can’t even wipe your own ass, but she doesn’t say anything until you’re rolled back over.

“Almost done,” she says, grabbing a fresh washcloth and carefully wiping your groin area. “There we go.”

“Thanks, Nat.” You watch her take all the supplies away and wash her hands in the sink, suddenly feeling very sleepy despite the fact that you did literally nothing. You lean back against your pillows and close your eyes. When you open them only seconds later, Natasha is pulled up in a chair by your bedside.

“If you’re tired, you can sleep,” she says.

You shake your head stubbornly. Every second Natasha is with you, you want to take advantage of. Because she won’t be with you forever–literally, since in a few weeks she would have to return to Fort Bragg in North Carolina, and you didn’t know when you’d see her after that. It could be several more months that you were stuck here, working through physical therapy and any subsequent surgeries you needed. Natasha said she would try to relocate to a base closer to you, but she couldn’t make any promises.

You hold out your hand for her to take and squeeze her fingers as tightly as you can.

“I love you,” you say, fearing that you can’t get the point across enough. Your near-brush with death taught you a lot, most importantly how not to take any moments for granted.

“I love you, too,” Natasha responds, and the heart rate monitor embarrassingly outs your excitement when the beeping skyrockets for a few seconds. She laughs. “Well, looks like you can’t hide anything from me anymore,” she says.

“I wasn’t hiding anything,” you say, your eyes darting to between your legs, where you are still very exposed and very hard. “Also, you made this happen and you did promise you'd take of it," you remind her.

“I did.” Natasha reaches over and holds your cock in her warm hand. You try and fail to hide your excitement at her mere touch, glaring at the heart rate monitor in frustration. “Don’t be mad, it’s kind of hot how nervous I make you,” she says.

“I’m not nervous, I’m just happy you’re here,” you explain.

“Oh, I can see you’re very happy.” She starts stroking you slowly and you struggle to sit up so you can watch. Her thumb rubs circles around your tip and you sigh in pleasure. You had been entirely uninterested in getting yourself off when you had been alone, but with Natasha here, it suddenly feels right.

As pre-cum drips out of the head, Natasha wipes it off and rubs it up and down your cock, keeping a tight pressure with her fingers that almost has you moaning if you hadn’t stopped yourself. Your hips try arching off the bed, but the movement causes too much pain in your thigh so you’re forced to stay grounded. The muscles in your abs tense as you breathe heavily, helplessly reaching or the railing of the bed with your good hand to stabilize yourself.

“Fuck, Nat, that feels so good,” you whine when she adds her other hand, but even then your length is so big she can’t cover it all with both hands. Your cock is practically glistening with you own pre-cum now, and you tilt your head back into the pillow with a moan when Natasha rubs the sensitive spot below your tip.

“Don’t make a mess,” she warns, her hands jerking you faster, twisting her wrists in opposite directions. You squirm on the bed, embarrassed at how soon you’re about to cum, but you blame it on the medications and your lack of practice. As your breathing picks up, your side stretches and there is a lightning bolt of pain up your ribs, but you ignore it as the ball of arousal in your stomach tightens.The slick noises your cock makes as Natasha pumps you in and out of her hand are so filthy that your head spins.

“Oh, God. Please, Nat, I think…can I…I’m gonna…” You are completely incoherent as you watch Natasha jerk you off, throbbing in her hands so hard that she can feel your heartbeat. You have no idea how you’re not going to make a mess, unless she stops touching you, but you can’t think of anything you want less right now.

Without saying anything, Natasha leans over and sucks your tip into her mouth. The wetness and warmth of her mouth is too much and you grunt as you release yourself in a few rather weak spurts. She swallows everything you give her, her tongue licking up every drop, before she draws back and smiles at you. Your cock is limp against your leg almost immediately.

“That felt really nice,” you pant, flopping back on the bed, truly spent now. “I’ll return the favor soon, baby. I promise.”

She gives your cock a soft pat. “I know you will.”

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

AN: And all is well again. It was nice seeing Sergeant Romanoff being soft with Sergeant Beef for once. :)

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