Marvel's Reaper ( Male reader x Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff )

Post Infinity War

Y/N stood in the eerie, desolate wasteland of Zakaryx's hell dimension, his green Onyx Force aura radiating fiercely, illuminating the crimson-tinted sky. Jagged rocks jutted out from the cracked ground, lava streams flowing like veins through the prison that had once held Zakaryx. The oppressive heat and darkness seemed to press against Y/N's chest, but his focus was singular—Zakaryx.

Zakaryx floated a few feet above the ground, his dark armor gleaming with an infernal glow, tendrils of energy whipping around him. His eyes burned red with fury, his massive claws clenched into fists.

"You dragged me back here!" Zakaryx snarled, his voice booming through the empty prison. "You think you can trap me again?!"

Y/N's eyes narrowed, his aura flaring brighter. "Fuck you, bitch!!"

With a deafening roar, Zakaryx charged forward, the ground trembling beneath his steps. Y/N exploded forward as well, the Onyx Force surging through his veins, green trails of energy following him.

But just as their fists were about to collide, everything shifted.

The hellish dimension around Y/N shattered like glass, fragments floating into a black void. A pulling sensation yanked at his core, and before he could react, he found himself standing in a completely different place.

The air here was cold, heavy with an ancient energy that sent chills through his spine. Y/N stood in the center of a vast, dimly lit room, the space so massive it felt like it stretched endlessly. The floor beneath him was smooth obsidian, reflecting a faint, haunting glow. In the center of the room sat an enormous bed, large enough to fit giants, draped in flowing black sheets that shimmered like liquid shadows. It was the only thing in the room besides him.

"Where the hell...?" Y/N muttered, spinning on his heel.

And then he saw her.

Death.

She sat elegantly in her floating, skeletal throne, legs crossed gracefully, her dark gown cascading like flowing ink. Her flawless skin seemed to glow with an ethereal light, contrasting with the pure blackness of her eyes—bottomless voids that gazed into the soul. She looked like Anna de Armas, if someone had sculpted her from the very essence of beauty and death itself.

Her dark lips curled into a soft, amused smile. "Hello again, Y/N."

Y/N exhaled sharply, his hands tightening into fists as the tension in his chest grew heavier. "Death," he greeted flatly, though there was a slight edge of familiarity in his voice. "Where am I?"

She tilted her head, resting her chin against her knuckles. "My dimension, of course. I couldn't let you stay trapped with Zakaryx. That would've been... messy."

Y/N's aura flickered, his frustration mounting. "You pulled me out mid-fight. I could've finished it."

Death chuckled softly, the sound like a haunting melody. "Could you, though? You may have spirit, my love, but Zakaryx is beyond even your strength."

Y/N's jaw tensed. "I didn't need saving."

Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "I didn't do it to save you. I did it because I can't have you killed. Not yet. You're far too good for business." She floated closer, her throne gliding silently across the dark space.

Y/N sighed deeply, the weight of everything sinking in. "So, what now? You planning to keep me here?"

Death's smile grew wider, but there was a flicker of something softer in her gaze. "You already are. You're trapped here, Y/N. Forever."