- natasha would overall be emotional throughout the whole pregnancy, birth and time afterwards, but as we all know - she is a super spy. if she doesn’t want you to know what she feels, you won’t.
- when the pregnancy was coming to an end, and the brith was only a few months away, she was growing restless. felt useless. here you were doing all the heavy lifting, and she couldn’t really do anything.
- these were her own words, you obvisouly knew she was doing more than enough.
- she helped you out of bed, when you had trouble and had to pee during the night. she laid awake with you when you couldn’t sleep because of the uncomfortable stomach and the hormones and overall suckyness of carrying so much weight on the front.
- she helped you keep somewhat active, and though you were furious during the “work out” - it was more you just walking back and forth - you were thankful later.
- when your water broke, you had been calm and collected. your bags were packed and your doctor was expecting you any day now.
- natasha on the other hand… u_u
- she was a m e s s.
- she ran around - you had never seen the super spy in such a chaotic state. she was always calm. always knew what to do.
- you stood by the door, just observing her uh… current state.
- when at the hospital, she did a complete 180. she was super calm, barely the hint of emotion on her face.
- truth was, she was terrified. who could blame her? she had lived her life thinking she wouldn’t get a family and now this child, this gift, was so close.
- the birth went great, there were no complications.
- a healthy little boy.
- natasha was frozen. for the first time in her life, she was so shocked she couldn’t even put up a front. she watched as the child was handed to you, silent tears running down her cheeks.
- after a while, you were left alone with your child, yet nat was still in the corner, terrified of this little creature that now held so much power over her. this tiny being.
- you had to call her names several times for her to snap out of it, and come over to you.
- once she saw the baby, once she held him… her eyes told you everything. she had fallen head over heels for the child, and you knew then and there that there was no doubt she would be a good mother.
- the first few weeks were quiet and new. everything was new. you had to feed and take care of a life, and that life demanded a lot of attention.
- you woke up one night at the sound of the baby crying. you looked over towards nat, but she wasn’t there. curious, you sneeked out into the livingroom.
- in front of the window, in the darkness, lit up only by the moon - nat sat in the rocking chair, baby bundle in her arms. her eyes were glued to the boy, soft tunes of nursery rhymes you had never heard slipping past her lips.
- you watched with a warm smile at her, and knew she still had a hard time coming to terms with her being a mother, but from what you saw, you knew it was all in her head.
- this child was going to be safe and sound, and you were going to raise it together for a completely normal and happy life.
James slags home from campus, feeling as though he’s pushing the car instead of driving it. Steve’s outdated sedan is reliable, but today the front wheel drive is bumpy over the layers of ice and grit on the streets, and he isn’t a fan of the number it’s doing on his aching stomach.
Aching. Every part of him is aching. The hand of his prosthesis is clamped stiffly around the ten-o-clock side of the steering wheel, sending pins and needles up into what remains of his shoulder. His head throbs every time he pauses at a red light, then hits the gas again. James tries to tap the pedals slowly, carefully, but he speeds a little in his eagerness to get home.
He parks crookedly, but doesn’t care. James slings his bag over his good arm, wincing as it thumps against his back with a decidedly unsympathetic and entirely too heavy pat. “Hmph,” he exhales, swallowing frantically lest he lose control of his insides right there in the parking lot. James supposes it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world; they already have the reputation of being the apartment with those damned coeds. Being the one who left an unsavory gift beside a sloppily angled car isn’t much worse. Plus, it would probably freeze overnight.
Still, the bathroom is better. James runs his tongue along the backs of his teeth, scraping away the thick, slightly bilious saliva. He spits, snuffs, and takes off at what he hopes is a reasonable pace toward the gate and the stairs.
James takes them two at a time until his legs start to shake. Then he slows and sticks a little closer to the railing. He’s watching his sneakers ascend the steps, kicking them out slightly to remove the snow sticking to the toes, when suddenly a door opens two inches from his nose.
James stiffens, and his mind immediately goes blank. Fight or flight takes over. Even sick, he can dredge up the energy to crush whatever opponent has the gall to take him on.
A laundry basket precedes the dark figure, and James goes for that first. It’s probably meant to be a distraction, potentially containing some sort of device. Maybe an explosive. Or maybe it’s just a decoy.
Socks and blue scrubs go tumbling, and someone loudly shouts, “Hey!”
James grinds his teeth. He isn’t sure if he says something or not. If he does, it probably starts with “Fuck.”
He goes for the head next. James’s knuckles come into contact with the jaw, and something wet drips down his fingers. Spit, probably. Maybe blood.
“Hey, man,” the opponent says through his fat lip, “I didn’t do it, ok?” He backs up as far as he can. The laundry room door has swung shut, and he plasters himself against it, his hands held roughly at the level of his ears.
“What?” James realizes he’s out of breath. This guy’s a civilian? Is he a suicide bomber? James looks him up and down as best he can in the tight space. The man is slender and dressed in running tights and an equally close-fitting top. No backpack, nowhere to put an explosive. The laundry basket was probably the best bet for a hidden threat, but it seems clear. Since it’s all toppled halfway down a flight of stairs, James doubts there’s a bomb tied up in a pair of boxer briefs.
“Yeah. I didn’t do it.” The guy gives James an impressive side eye. “What’s got up your crawl, man?”
“I, um,” James stutters. He wants to apologize, to explain, but he needs to get out of there. He opens his mouth again to say something, maybe something about the war, the PTSD, but all that comes out is a nauseous hiccup.
“You ok?” The man James just socked in the jaw now leans in closer, offering what looks like it’s about to be a comforting pat on the arm.
“No, I, I,” James looks wildly around. “I’m really sorry,” he mutters, then he turns on his heel and takes off.
Speed comes easily again, but only for the next half-flight of steps. James has just enough time to register the unfairness of it, the fact that he can see their front door from where he’s forced to stop and brace against the wall as what feels like every ounce of strength, as well as several gallons of liquefied snot, exit his body through his open mouth.
“Jesus fuck.” James drags his fist across his lips, but he just bows forward and vomits again. Strings of mucous drip down his chin, and the sourness of bile in his throat makes his eyes water. Tear tracks burn their way across his cheeks before becoming lost in his stubble.
James swears again, watching his sick flow from one stair to the one below it. It’s slow, like lava, and, as he thought before, will probably freeze over before the night is through. Then at least it won’t smell. And he’s a floor and a half above the mystery neighbor’s spilled laundry.
James moves away from the mess as quickly as he can, dashing up the last few steps and tinkering with the doorknob. He’s too shaky to handle keys, but it doesn’t matter. The door’s unlocked.
That means Tasha must be home. Now that she’s free of self-bolting dorm doors, she rarely locks up. James usually gives her a lecture when he comes tome to an easily penetrable front door, but today he’s ready to write her a thank-you note. As soon as he stops trembling head to toe, that is.
James drops his bag as soon as he’s inside and starts in the direction of the bathroom.
“Jamie?” Tasha sits curled in the recliner, the lamp on like a spotlight over her head, making her auburn curls glow red-gold. Her brow wrinkles as she focuses in on him. “What’s wrong with you?”
James wants to say ‘nothing.’ ‘Mind your own business.’ ‘Do your homework,’ or something similarly big brotherly that will get her to lave him alone. When he opens his mouth, though, he practically feels his Adam’s apple bob straight up into his mouth, bouncing off the uvula and bringing with it a rush of more guck. Instead, he makes a guttural noise and shakes his head.
He fully expects Tasha to shrug and go back to her whatever-she-does when she sits alone in the apartment. Read. Meditate. But instead, she hops to her feet and rushes at him. At least that’s how it feels to James, who is so barely on his feet that he may as well be moving backward.
“Huh?” he groans.
“I said, what’s wrong with you?” Tasha grabs him by the shoulders.
James flinches slightly. Tasha loosens her grip and moves to gently massage the angry skin at the edge of the prosthesis. It barely makes a ridge under his clothing, but she knows exactly where to find it.
“Pfft,” James makes a negligible sound whilst trying to clear some of the awful taste growing again at the back of his mouth. “Just,” he sniffs. “Sick. Shook up.” He slowly lets his forehead come to rest on Tasha’s shoulder, her ear a warm comfort pressing against the top of his head.
“Nothing.” James swallows a gag.
“Jamie.” He knows Tasha’s giving him a look.
“Got shook up,” he admits through tight lips. “Then got sick.”
“Going to again.”
“No,” James protests, though by now he’s sucking down bile.
“Wasn’t a question.” Tasha walks him sideways toward the bathroom, expertly negotiating them through the doorway like a pair of ballroom dancers at Blackpool.
She throws him down in front of the toilet with the same amount of gentle grace, then hooks her arms through his to unzip his jacket and help him get comfortable.
James sets his cheek on the toilet seat and looks up at her with glassy eyes.
“Gonna be in here for a long night?” Tasha asks, using a washcloth to sponge a dribble of vomit from the front of his coat.
“Hope not,” James says into the toilet bowl. “But probably.”
“What spooked you?”
James sighs and gives in to a heave before he answers. He doesn’t want to talk about it, but she deserves an answer. A few words, at least.
“Somebody coming out a door too fast. In my face.” James hacks and gags himself accidentally. “Hit a little, uh, too close to, well, uh…”
“Far away from home?” Tasha finishes
James drags his wrist across his lips and gives her a tremulous smile. “You don’t have to stay, you know. Go do your…whatever you were doing. Steve’ll be home soon.”
“Nah, I’m good.” Tasha settles on the side of the bathtub. “Somebody’s gotta make sure you don’t aspirate on your own puke.”
“Nah, it’s only you who do that,” James pokes at her before he leans over the toilet for another wave.
“Only when I drink!” Tasha protests. “Give me some credit, here.”
“Ok, ok. You’re a fine nurse.” James sits back on his heels and flushes the toilet. “And not always a horrible patient.”
Tasha grins. “Feeling better?”
James smiles weakly back. “A little. Still bad, but the edge is gone. I think I need to sleep the rest off.”
“Let me re-diagnose you in the morning? Find out if it’s cold or flu?” Tasha offers.
“Sure. You and Steve can tag-team it, if you want.”
James shakes his head at Tasha’s evil expression and heads to the bedroom for clean clothes and warm blankets. Nothing is solved, by any means, but like he told Tasha, he feels a little better.
And all it takes is a little sister.
Queen of Thieves: Takes place just after the MC breaks up with Nikolai.
Avengers: Takes place during The Winter Soldier, but with additional characters.
Unknown!Nick Fury x reader, (previous) Nikolai Stirling x reader, platonic!Natasha Romanoff x reader, (eventual) Steve Rogers x reader.
1. Anything that’s spoken in another language will be in bold and English. Saves bad translations.
2. Any text messages will be in block capitals and bold.
Summary: The Poppy have finally found out where Y/N is. But do they finally see her after over a month of searching? Meanwhile, Y/N is making progress with Bucky into coming to grips with reality and having control of himself once again after almost 50 years of brainwashing. Natasha is beginning to get suspicious of the girl that has caught the attention of Captain Rogers.
It had been over a month since they landed in New York, but the Poppy had yet to figure out where Y/N was. Apart from the two sightings in some random coffee shop, she had been off the grid. They still didn’t know who had taken her, but Nikolai wasn’t going to lose hope yet just yet. The Thief Lord was determined to find her as was the rest of them, he just had more reasons why. The turmoil was building up inside of him, his regret, the pain of their breakup. It was a cliche, the saying; you don’t know what you have until you lose it. How true could that be right now. Nikolai loved Y/N and he was done denying it. Once he found her he was going to apologise profusely about not letting her in.
A knock wrapped onto his door. Jett poked his head through the gap. “Hey, we know where she is living.” Slamming down his papers onto his desk he ran out of the door there wasn’t a moment to waste when it came to Y/N. All Niko wanted was to talk to her, find out how he can bring her back home. Though, with how most of her background was hidden courtesy of Fury, he never caught on that he never knew the real Y/N.
- of course, sorry for the extreme delay. <3
- when nat found out you were pregnant, she thought you were joking. it wasn’t supposed to be possible, yet here you were - about to have a child together.
- she was protective, but not only physically, though I’ll get back to that part later.
- vitamins? check. cravings? done. snuggles? snuggled.
- she was on you every minute of the day, until you had to tell her that you loved her, but she was suffocating you.
- “nat, honey, I’m pregnant, not dying.”
- after realizing she was being a bit much, she slowed down, letting you tell her what you needed help with.
- she would sit by you every night she wasn’t out on a job, and rub your growing stomach, while whispering sweet secrets. some she spoke in english, some in russian while looking at you with a playful smile.
- you had a huge craving for green, sour apples during your first few months, and she was out, running to the store the second you opened your mouth.
- one night, you woke up and found the bed empty. you found her in the living room of your shared apartment, sitting by the window, looking out.
- “how can I be a parent?” she asked you, her voice a mere whisper. you had felt tears well in your eyes, the sad reality of her past making you emotional.
- “you are no less capable than others, nat,” you had whispered, a gentle hand stroking her back.
- “this is no life for a child,” she muttered and you sat next to her, letting her went to you, while you stroked her back, reasurring her that she would do great.
- now, when you were outside of your apartment… miss natasha romanoff was a hawk. her eyes were on every corner, every edge of a counter, every curb and every shoulder you passed by.
- if you stopped to as much as lift your foot higher than an inch, she was by your side, holding you as you did so. you could only roll your eyes with a smile as you were happy to have someone who cared and wanted to make sure you were alright.
- if anyone looked at you a bit funny, she had a snarky remark ready to shoot.
- your favorite moments were when she would tire herself out from the extensive mixing of ‘pregnancy smoothies to make the pregnancy easier’, and she would fall asleep, head on your shoulder, finally getting some well-deserved rest.
- you would almost cry at it, your pregnant hormones going haywire at the sweet sight.
- all in all, you probably couldn’t get a more protected and safe pregnancy than with nat by your side.
Summary: She notices a lot of things about you. In the aftermath of the Snap and the Blip, you and Natasha find your way back to each other.
Features: Fluff and smut
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff/Reader
Notes: This is a request fill! It’s set after Endgame, but they live. This can be read as an AU companion to ‘Ocean’ and ‘Living with Goodbye’ where Natasha lives after the events of Endgame; Vaguely inspired by Thomas Rhett’s ‘Notice’
Request: Natasha Smut
You had walked in the room and her eyes zeroed in on you. Whatever Tony had been talking to her and Bruce about faded into the background. The dress you had chosen complimented your figure and the color you had settled on looked incredible. As much as she enjoyed it on you, she couldn’t help but think about what it would look like on her floor, with you on her bed.
The pair of you had been together for some time, but lately things had hit a rough patch and she wasn’t sure where they were heading. You had asked for space, and space she gave you in spades. You had told her you felt like she was phoning it in, like she was pulling away. Hearing that had hurt. Natasha never wanted you to feel like you were anything other than the center of her world, someone she would do anything for, give anything to protect.
❤️❤️❤️ Oooooooh, I have feelings about this one!!! Star Trek was my first fandom, so it’s near and dear to my heart in many ways! Thanks for posing this question! ❤️❤️❤️
- I think it would be most interesting if looked at from the framework of a Voyager-type situation.
Not just because it’s my favorite butbecause the “well, we’ve accidentally been thrown 70,000 lightyears from home, so we better get over all our petty squabbling if we wanna make it home before we die” situation mirrors the first movie’s “we’re either gonna be besties or we’re gonna MURDER each other, whichever comes first” aesthetic.
- Pepper would be the Janeway stand-in. The efficient, no-nonsense captain who cares deeply about her crew of idiots and does her best to make sure they make fewer dumb decisions, don’t get themselves killed doing questionable edge-of-the-universe Science™, and don’t cause
anytoo many intergalactic incidents along the way.
- Tony would draw a bit from Tom Paris in that he’s Too Cool for Starfleet™, his dad’s legacy, and the rules, in that order. As a hotshot engineer, he would’ve been along on the journey as a consultant, possibly babysitting some delicate new tech or the like. But, one ill-fated trip later, and suddenly he’s the chief engineer of a ship alone at the end of the galaxy, captained by the most incredible woman he’s ever met.
- Steve would be the unshakeable rebel leader that the ship was tasked to track down in the first place, the freedom fighter who’s always written his own rules according to his own moral compass, but who suddenly has to get used to working with his own opposition in Tony and Pepper when his crew is forced to join up with Pepper’s for survival.
- Bruce would the harried research biologist who is hastily reassigned to Chief Medical Officer because the actual medical doctor who was meant to be along is killed in the accident, so someone’s gotta take over sickbay and—even if he isn’t that kind of doctor—Bruce is the best option they’ve got.
- Thor is the first friendly alien they meet on the other end of the galaxy, the first to take in an interest in their plight that doesn’t involve shooting or looting or any of the other unpleasant things that come to a ship alone. Mostly because Thor—who is also alone in the Delta quadrant—knows the feeling. He joins the crew without hesitation, all smiles and booming laughter as he steps into the role of morale officer with no hesitation.
- Peter is the Harry Kim of the crew. The baby. The freshly graduated (two years early, no less) ensign assigned to his very first starship for his very first mission. It’s just Parker luck that this happens to be the one ship flung so far across the stars that he may never get home to his aunt.
- Natasha is the double agent, the Starfleet spy who played both sides, only to join Steve’s cause in the end. She steps seamlessly back into the role of security chief when the crews merge because no one can ever deny her competence, but trust takes some time to build in a situation like that.
- Clint is a package deal with Nat, in part because he’s the old friend who won her over to Steve’s side of the argument and in part because he’s among the best security/tactical officers in the business, so an assignment there makes sense. He knows his job, and he does it well, even if he’d much rather be at home on Earth with the family he’s been torn away from.
There are definitely roles for the extended Avengers cast to fill, but this is getting long and I’m not at 100% today, so I’m closing this installment here. I may need to add on to this later, though! I kinda want to write it now that I’ve thought about it, actually…Thanks for that, Anon Friend! ❤️❤️❤️
Officiant: Repeat after me, “I, Anthony, take Virginia Potts to be my wife.”
Tony: I, Tony, take Bucky Barnes-
Bucky: Get me a fucking dress!
8 years ago.
Why not, again crossover ship are bot really my thing. But sorry I really think I prefer it as a BrOTP. But your arguments are really interesting and I get why you ship it.
Bisexual Natasha or lesbian Natasha? Asking for a fic…
She’s moving fast, hands on your shoulders and lips on your neck, kissing and nipping while you try to control your breathing. A cramped little closet after a risky mission, she pulled you in and pressed you up against some shelves full of- well, you didn’t care enough to pay attention. Not when her mouth is on you and her hands are searching your body like that.
“Nat, baby, lover, fuck, do that again?” You whine softly as she reattaches her lips to the spot just under your ear, sucking a harsh mark.
“I swear to go if you ever throw yourself in front of me like that again, I’ll kill you.” She huffs.
“If it gets you on me like this, I’m doing it every time…” You laugh, cupping her face and bringing her attention back to you. She kisses hard, biting at your bottom lip as a punishment for disobeying her orders on the field.
“You piss me the fuck off.” She groans into your mouth, making you smirk.
“I also turn you on, don’t I?” You hum, slipping your hands down to squeeze at her hips.
She sucks in a breath and wraps a hand around your throat, using it to pull you in and kiss you hard, “I’ll break you tonight.
“Can I get that on paper?”
She pushes away, standing on the other side of the tiny supply closet, and watches you carefully. She’s mad now, she’ll be mad later as you squirm under her, but after she brings you to tears, she’ll thank you. For protecting her, for loving her, for trusting her. For needing her.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that, we have a debrief in 10, can you just kiss me again?”
She, for possibly the first time in her life, listens to you.
“You know… I’m dangerous, right?” She says softly, not wanting to ruin the moment but needing you to understand what you’re getting yourself into.
“I know. I read your file, I know exactly who you are.” Her brows pinch for a second before she looks down at your lips, nervous in a way she hasn’t been in years.
God, she wanted you. She wanted to hold your hand and make you laugh and take you for ice cream, do all of the cute couple things with you… but she wasn’t normal.
“Hey, hey, look at me.” You say softly, thumbing at her cheekbone, “Don’t think too hard, baby… I know you and I want you. I want this. Are you going to kiss me or do I have to ask nicely?”
Her lips pressed to yours before you even finished. A simple peck of the lips, barely there but still searing in your brain. This was good. This is the first step to Natasha allowing herself to be happy.
“There’s my girl…” You smile fondly, resting your forehead against hers. It’s all so new to her, being with a woman, letting herself feel anything other than paranoid and anger.
“Hi dangerous, I’m going to kiss you again now.” You don’t wait for her reaction, kissing her gently and earnestly, pouring as much affection into it as you can. She’s been hurting for so long, abused by so many, all you want is to wrap her up and take care of her. Hopefully, she’ll let you.
for @sourpatchspinster … who requested Steve, Bucky, or Nat, and I thought why only one? :^) So here is Reader/Steve/Bucky/Nat in a hot lovesquare.
Greedy hearts, some might say. Unfaithful or capricious or too wild, but you know better. You know that all the missing pieces from your jigsaw puzzle life can finally fall into place with them around.
It’s the same kind of song with different verses and four voices harmonizing in refrain. It’s all private and all open and there aren’t questions asked. It’s filthy and raw and so, so sweet.
When your throat opens at night to swallow down the scents of them—warm vanilla and fresh pine, cinnamon sugar and musk, your heart sings loudly enough to drown out the rest of the world.
Let’s do a gay night, mlm and wlw requests?
Aka: I’m really into black widow rn and I wanna write about it
Taskmaster: I’m going to destroy your happiness, whatever the cost!
Natasha: My happiness?
Natasha (to Yelena): I’m happy?