#widow asks

Personally I find it depends on who I’m having dinner with, but my go to favorites are as follows:

5. Coq Au Vin

You can’t go wrong with wine and chicken. It may look daunting at first, but it’s so simple to make once you’ve got the hang of it!

4. Steak with Drunken Mushrooms & Roasted Blue Cheese Potatoes

Arthur’s favorite. Mushrooms sautéed in dark beer, carmelized onions, a good hearty cut of steak, and fingerling potatoes roasted with blue cheese. It doesn’t take a long time to make and tastes absolutely divine.

3. Baked Mac n Cheese

The kids used to love this when I made it for them. Salt, black pepper, paprika, sharp cheddar, gruyère, parmesan, breadcrumbs, and some elbow macaroni.

If it’s good enough for my kids, it’s good enough for royalty. Comfort food is always a pleasure to make and to eat.

2. Carbonara with Pan-Seared Scallops

My personal favorite. The Italians may hate the addition of bacon and garlic to Carbonara, but I’m all for bastardizing Italian foods. My only advice is to serve this as fresh as possible— this one doesn’t make great leftovers.

1. A Big Breakfast

The only thing I skip on the linked recipe is the baked beans. I usually would give my portion of those to Arthur.

Hoo boy, I’m definitely doing 73. (“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”)   with Natasha! No warnings, but there’s heavily implied NSFW.

The apartment smells like cheap IKEA furniture and fresh paint, and it hits you right on the nose as you enter and drop your duffle bag on the floor, kicking your boots off. You’ve only been gone for two and a half weeks on your mission, but Natasha had already tackled most of the unpacked boxes. She even started decorating, hanging a few pictures of you and her with different people - Fury, Clint, Steve, even Tony, surprisingly, though you make a mental note to negotiate the central placement of that picture later with your girlfriend.

No, not girlfriend. Not anymore. Fiancee.

Remnants of a leftover Chinese takeaway, sticky notes on the fridge, cutouts from a wedding magazine, opened but unpacked boxes, your commandeered sweater strewn across the sofa. It feels like home, yet you’ve barely spent a few days in your new place. Every corner, every floorboard and furniture sings stories of Natasha’s presence between these clean white walls, and she makes it feel like home for you. She is your home.

It’s late, and you move quietly through the rooms until you reach the bedroom - the telltale sign of a dim light spilling out from underneath the door. You peer inside, wishing you would catch her off guard doing something mundane like reading a book with her hair up in a messy bun or scrolling through her phone in her PJs; instead she’s more than ready for you. Her soft skin flashes out from underneath the covers, showing just enough to imply her nakedness, and she gives you a shameless smile which tells you everything you need to know. She’s prepared. Keen. Waiting. You can’t just take a master spy by surprise. 

“Hey, baby. Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?” You lean against the doorframe. Poorly concealed excitement. And she sees right through you.

“If you come a little closer, I’m sure I can give you a very good reason,” she purrs, pushing herself up on her elbows as you sit on the edge of the bed. Tilting her chin up, you kiss those plush lips and gradually melt into her as she tugs your coat and top off. Her skin on yours is a welcome feeling - it’s a familiar burning sensation that drives you so crazy for Natasha. She whispers, soft raspy voice barely audible, as her wet mouth lingers over your ear.

@fourthlegionnaire the new guy has a fully stocked saloon. as wonderful as fine wine is, sometimes a bitch just needs some whiskey and cigars, shared with an eligible bachelor and potential victim

Granted, it would be easier to secure permanent access to the saloon if Mr Quinn had a sense of humor, but I suppose womanly wiles will have to suffice for now.

♣ = discovering them crying

The meat-packing plant is as cold and unwelcoming as it is during trials. The pale lights flicker in time to the clicking of the Widow’s heels against the cement flooring. The sound announces her presence a little too late– the sniffling that had echoed through the room wasn’t stifled fast enough for the Widow to miss it.

Esme pulls over a stray chair and takes a seat across from Amanda, reaching into her blazer pocket and retrieving an embroidered handkerchief. She holds out the fabric for Amanda to take.

“Dry your eyes, darling.” She says softly. “Speak if you will, but I won’t force you to share. I’m here as long as you need me to be.”

Esme’s hands are cold but her eyes are warm. Her frown is slight— concerned, but not disappointed or irked. Simply worried.

Better and better, my darling boy. I bore witness to what Mr Visconti believes to be fashionable today, and my entertainment level has absolutely skyrocketed. 

Name: Amanda 🐷

Picture: 

Ringtone: spiderpig. i forgot this joke existed its so old