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

Hunting Prey

Trey walks down the hallway with his hands tucked into his cloak, bare feet silent on the mansion floor. The lights are dim; late evening settles over the compound like a tired sigh. He pauses outside one of the side windows, watching the runes shimmer faintly against the dark sky like a second set of stars.

Nebula is already there, half in shadow, arms folded, cybernetic eye reflecting the faint glow. She doesn't turn when he stops a few feet away.

"You are lurking," Trey says calmly. "That's my thing."

Nebula's mouth twitches, just barely.

"I'm watching the perimeter," she answers. "You can go lurk somewhere else, corpse."

Trey's lips twitch.

"I'm not a corpse," he says. "I am extremely alive. Just... under a very interesting contract."

She finally looks at him, head tilting.

"You serve Death," she says. "You're not on the side of 'alive.'"

"I serve a concept," he corrects gently. "Not an agenda. Besides, if I were strictly on the side of the dead, I wouldn't be here making sure two very loud, very powerful fetuses don't get abducted."

Nebula's gaze drifts toward the ceiling, toward the general direction of Nat and Wanda's nest.

"They are... loud," she agrees. "Even in my head. Like power humming."

"Good humming or bad humming?" Trey asks. "On a scale from 'meditation bowl' to 'Kree war engine?'"

She considers it.

"Something in between," she says. "Unstable. Growing."

Trey hums.

"Babies," he says. "Terrifying tiny apocalypses. Death thinks they're adorable."

Nebula snorts.

"Death thinks everything you two like is adorable," she says dryly. "That's disgusting."

Trey smiles faintly.

"You say that," he says, "but you haven't seen how you look when you watch Gamora sleep."

Her jaw tightens at the name, but she doesn't flare up, doesn't snap. The hurt is there, but she's made friends with it now. It's quieter.

"Gamora is gone," Nebula says. "And your boss is the one who got her in the end."

"She was always going to get Gamora," Trey says softly. "Thanos only chose the date on the calendar. And for what it's worth... she likes your sister. A lot."

Nebula squints.

"Death likes my sister."

"Mm," Trey says. "She has good taste. And she likes you. Which is... rarer. So congratulations, you are officially on the cosmic VIP list."

She stares.

"What does that even mean?" she demands.

"Mostly that she yells at anyone who tries to kill you before your time," Trey answers. "Very irritating for the paperwork."

Nebula shakes her head.

"You are deeply strange," she says. "Even for a Herald."

"Ex-Herald," Trey corrects. "I retired. Got promoted sideways into 'guy Death trusts to keep her favorite chaos gremlins alive.'"