You can call me Ems ⭐️ I am 19 and from germany, and this is my little writing corner.
I mostly write about Natasha Romanoff, and in the future also other characters. You can always give me some requests, just make sure it’s female characters!
I write Angst, fluff, all the good stuff. sometimes my posts drift into nsfw territory too (always tagged of course), because… well, it’s natasha romanoff, what do you expect? That means:
minors dni
𝒩𝒶𝓋𝒾𝑔𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃
Natasha Romanoff Masterlist
Addison Montgomery Masterlist
🔮🌙🔮🌙🔮🌙🔮🌙🔮🌙🔮🌙🔮🌙🔮🌙
Claimed anons: 🥥,
If you want to join, just send me an ask with an emoji. You are always welcome to say hi and chat about every topic.
Homophobia, racism and every other kind of discrimination is not welcome here.
Natasha Romanoff built her legacy on precision and control, shaping champions with an unforgiving hand and zero tolerance for chaos. She isn’t searching for new skaters until a viral performance full of raw confidence and reckless charm refuses to leave her mind. You don’t skate for judges or podiums, no, you skate for the rush, the eyes on you, the power of owning the ice. When Natasha offers elite training and a chance at Olympic glory, curiosity pulls you into her orbit, where discipline clashes with defiance. Every session becomes a test of will , heated stares, and moments charged with something neither professional nor safe. As attention grows and stakes rise, competition twists into obsession, blurring the line between rivalry and attraction. She wants control. You want the fire. And neither of you plans to lose because Natasha demands perfection and you refuse to be anything less than irresistible.
Older!Coach!Natasha x Younger!Skater!Reader
Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Age gap (N=31, r= 23), heavy smut (details in each chapter) teacher-student relationship, obsession, possession, more in each chapter
A/N: The Olympics and TikTok completely took over my mind. Eteri Tutberidze, the woman she is, inspired this whole series more than I expected. I’m so, so excited to finally share it with you guys…so be ready. ⛸️❄️🧊
Summary: It’s Christmas time and you decide to decorate your apartment
Pairing: Addison Montgomery x reader
Content warning: fluff
Word count: 900
It was the first of December when you decided to decorate yours and Addison’s apartment. Addison was busy at work, saving lives and completely unaware that you had bought a tree and half of IKEA’s Christmas section. That evening, she stepped through the door and froze in the doorway as she took in the scene in front of her—the tree half decorated, your cat Milo tangled in fairy lights, and you kneeling on the floor with tinsel draped over your shoulder. Addison just stared, taking in the domestic mess before finally speaking up with a smirk.
“Jesus” she muttered. “I left for a few hours.”
A beat passes before Addison stepped further inside, already reaching to untangle Milo from where he knotted himself into trouble. The cat immediately wobbled off towards the couch like nothing happened.
You smiled sheepishly and glanced around the mess. “I was bored, so I thought it was time to decorate this place.” You studied your work and let out a frustrated sigh. “It doesn’t look right. I don’t like it.”
Addison plucked a stray piece of tinsel from your hair. “Hey it looks good so far.”
You shook your head. “Good but not perfect. It’s our first Christmas in our new apartment. It needs to be perfect.”
She chuckled, already reaching out for one of the ornaments. “Okay miss perfection. Need an elf to help you?”
“Please.” You said with a hopeful smile.
Together, you decorated the tree, carefully adding ornaments one by one. Addison handed them to you as you reached up, her fingers brushing yours every time. The room slowly filled with quiet laughter and the soft clink of glass ornaments. it felt less like decorating a tree and more like building something that was yours. You wanted to add the fairy lights but you struggled to put them up.
“Move over, let mom handle this.” You rolled your eyes playfully. Addison took over, carefully winding the lights around the tree, her hands working fast and efficient.
“Tada. I am officially the superior Christmas decorator.”
You smiled and wrapped your arm around her waist, leaning into her side as you admired your now shining tree. “My hero.”
“Thats it?” Addison asked with hope of finally sitting on the couch and having you all to herself for the rest of the evening.
You stepped back and grabbed a bag with remaining decor with a grin. She groaned and took the bag. “Alright let’s do this.”
You decorated your entire living room, turning your little safe place into a cozy winter wonderland. Soft lights glowed from every corner, reflecting off ornaments and tinsel. It felt warm and intimate, like the space itself was wrapped in comfort. As final touch, you hung up a mistletoe. When you stepped down from the ladder, Addison smiled and wrapped her arms around her waist from behind. “What a coincidence.”
You giggled and turned around, arms slinging around her in return. “You know what this means.”
Without hesitation, she leaned in. The kiss was slow und unhurried, her lips tasting like tea and cinnamon. Her hands resting on your lower back. When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, her smile soft and content—like this was exactly where she was meant to be.
“Happy early Christmas .” you whispered.
“Happy early Christmas.” She kissed you again.
Your moment was interrupted by a soft, demanding meow. Addie chuckled and picked up Milo. “Hey buddy, do you want affection too?”
You admired your girlfriend cooing to your cat and petting his head. You didn’t even listen to her words. The only thing going through your mind was, how much you loved your little family.
Content warning: medical angst (blood, surgery, near death) fluff, comfort and Addison being too hard on herself
A.N. I am currently doing my internship in the surgical department and I was thinking so much about my favourite fictional surgeon. Live love Addison. 🫶🏼
Word count: 3,2 k
The hospital hallway was quiet in that late-night way. lights dimmed, footsteps echoing, the chaos finally settling. You strolled down the hallway, two cups of coffee in your hands. Your eyes wandered, looking for her. Then you spotted her, standing at the nurses station. Addisons red hair was tied in a bun, eyebrows furrowed in focus as she studied her charts. You couldn’t help but smile. You have been together for only a week. after months of dancing around it, flirting, dating, and pretending you weren’t already halfway in love, you finally made it official. It was complicated at first. Dating your attending wasn’t exactly everyone would accept and understand. But you didn’t care anymore. the new relationship head rush made everything feel magnetic about her. Your legs carry you towards the nurses station, and you stood right beside her, placing the cup of coffee on the desk. Addison perked up, her green eyes meeting yours and her lips tugged into a soft smile.
“I thought you could use another coffee to survive this night shift.”
Addison let out a tired, soft laugh, that kind that only came out when she let her guard down. “Oh god, I needed that. Thank you.”
Her fingers brush against yours as she took the cup from you, and you could swear it wasn’t accidentally.
“I thought so. You look like hell.”
“Oh wow thank you.” She teased.
“Relax, you look adorable when you are exhausted.” Then you added, softer, “But you also look like you need sleep, food, and maybe five more coffees.”
Addison let out another tired little laugh, her eyes warming at your concern.
“Yeah that’s true. I just want to go home already.”
“Home, huh? With me or just your bed?” You raised a brow.
Addison gave you a look—one that answered the question for you.
You were about to keep talking, when her pager suddenly went off. Addison sighed, and glanced down to check it. She immediately shifted into doctor mode.
“Damn. Trauma coming in. Thirty-four weeks, suspected uterine rupture. OB wants me in the pit.”
you nodded and stepped aside to give her room. “Go.”
Before she moved, she gave you a quick and soft kiss on your cheek. “Thanks for the coffee.”
You smiled, squeezing her hand. “Always. Go save someone.”
She exhaled, a tiny smile forming despite the urgency. “I’ll come find you when I’m out.”
“You better.”
She took a last glance at you, before turning around and heading down the hallway, her coat swinging behind her.
Your work hours dragged on and you finally caught a moment of break, so you decided to grab another coffee and head to the gallery to watch Addisons surgery. When you stepped inside, a few other doctors were already engrossed into the surgery. You spotted alex and took a seat next to him.
“You’re here to watch the surgery or to stare at Montgomery like a creep?”
You smirked. “Can’t I do both?”
Alex rolled his eyes. “At least you admit it.”
“How is it going?” You asked, taking a sip of your coffee.
Alex sighed. “Not good.”
“What is happening?”
He nodded toward the field below. “Thirty-four weeks, suspected uterine rupture. But the tear’s worse than they thought—she’s losing blood fast.”
You leaned forward, watching Addison’s movements—still steady, but sharper, quicker.
“Is the baby okay?” you whispered.
“For now,” Alex said, jaw tight. “Montgomery’s trying to get the kid out, but the bleeding’s messing up her field. She can’t see as well as she needs to.”
Down below, Addison barked an order, urgency creeping into her voice. Your chest tightened at the sight of Addisons tense shoulders. You hated seeing her like this, barely having control over the situation. And you knew how much she hated losing control. Alex caught your concerned look.
“Don’t freak out yet, if someone can handle this situation, it’s her.”
But his tone wasn’t fully sure, and that terrified you. You held your breath as the room below shifted into chaos.
“Okay, she is going for the incision.” You murmured.
You watched Addison’s hands move fast, almost too fast for your eyes to follow. Another surgeon suctioned aggressively, blood clouding the field.
“Damn,” Alex muttered. “She’s still bleeding like crazy.”
Addison’s voice snapped through the OR:
“Clamp. Now. I need more exposure—move the retractor, I can’t see.”
A nurse hurried to adjust. You almost thought Addison might lose her cool, but she didn’t. Suddenly, the heartbeat of the baby dropped and so did your stomach. Addison made a precise cut, hands firm and unwavering despite the blood. A beat later, a weak cry echoed through the OR. The whole gallery let out a shaky exhale in relief. But Addison didn’t stop.
“She’s not done,” Alex murmured. “Mom’s still crashing. She has minutes to control that hemorrhage.” Below, Addison’s jaw tightened as she searched for the bleeding vessel, voice low but urgent:
“There—found it. Clamp.”
You leaned back, the tension in your shoulder eased.
“She did it.” You smiled, hoping she would look up and see you’ve been watching her the whole time. And after she stabilised the bleeding and closed the mother up, her head perked up. Your eyes met hers briefly, and something in Addisons stressed face softened. Still, you knew she wasn’t okay. You had to find her after everything.
The surgery was over, and it left everyone on the surgical team drained and quiet—including Addison. The baby had been transferred to the NICU in critical condition. The mother had survived, but she needed multiple transfusions. The baby’s future seemed uncertain, and there was nothing anyone could do right now. Addison disappeared and you tried to find her everywhere - in the doctor’s lounge, on-call rooms, even in the closets. You sent her a message, which said:
“Sweetheart, where are you?”
After what felt like an eternity, she texted back.
“I am outside.”
You changed out of your work clothes—your shift was over anyway—and headed outside. The morning sun was starting to rise, casting a soft glow over the hospital, mixing with the rain. You spotted Addison sitting on a bench, her mascara smudged, and you couldn’t tell if it was from the rain or from her tears. You took a seat next to her.
“Hey… I searched for you everywhere.”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead she took a shaky exhale. “Sorry.”
You wrapped your arm around her shoulder. “No it’s okay. I was just worried. Are you okay?”
Addison was about to speak, to tell you she was okay and keep her guard up. But she decided otherwise and her head shook slowly. “No. I thought I could handle it.” She murmured. “I always handle it.”
“Hey don’t say that. You did handle it.”
She shook her head, jaw tight. “The baby’s barely holding on. The mom almost died on my table. And I—” Her voice cracked, just a little. “I hate when it’s not enough.”
You reached out and gently brushed a wet strand of hair from her face—rain, tears, you couldn’t tell either.
“It isn’t your job to perform miracles,” you said softly. “You are a doctor, a very amazing one, but not god. Their fate is not in your hands. You tried, and thats what matters.”
Addison leaned back against the bench, closing her eyes like she was too tired to keep them open. You slid your hand into hers, waiting for her to pull away. She didn’t.
You kept talking. “A mentor I admired once said to me: never let a case swallow you whole. You do what you can, step back and breathe. And the next morning you try again.”
Addison eyes blinked open, a soft teary chuckle escaped her lips. “That sounds familiar.”
“Like I said, a mentor I admired.” You smiled. affectionately and genuinely. Addison was not only your girlfriend, but also your mentor. And you admired her work and wise words more than anything.
“Maybe I should start following my own lessons.” She admitted with a sad smile.
“You should.” Her fingers tightened around her, and your thumb brushed over her knuckles in silent reassurance. “You did great in the OR. Seriously. You should have seen the impression on everyone’s face. I can’t list many surgeons who can perform such a challenging surgery like you did.”
the tension in her shoulders loosened slowly but surely. Her head moved to rest on your shoulder and your heart rate picked up a bit. “You praise me too much.” But she smiled, finally.
“No, just telling the truth.”
Addison glanced up, her eyes still wet. When you leaned in, it was gentle, barely there at first, more a question than a kiss. Her breath hitched, and then she answered it, pressing her lips to yours like she was finally letting herself exhale. After a few moments you broke the kiss.
“Go home. You deserve a nice breakfast and a long nap.” You said, brushing your hand over her wet cheek. “And dry clothes.”
“Only if you come with me.” She murmured hopefully.
You smiled. “of course.”
She smiled and pushed herself off the bench, swaying for a moment. “Careful.”
You slipped your hand in hers. “Let’s get you out of the rain before you get sick.”
As you walked toward the parking lot, she leaned just a little closer, shoulder brushing yours.
“Thank you,” she said softly, almost swallowed by the sound of the rain. “For… everything tonight.”
“You don’t have to thank me. I am just make sure you don’t faint after this miserable night.” You opened the passengers seat for her and she settled in, while you warmed up the car.
“And you really gonna cook for me?” She teased, her eyes softened.
“You have no idea. You are gonna taste the best meal you’ve ever had, I swear. I could make eggs with bacon or…”
And before you could finish speaking, she leaned forward and kissed you — gentle, rain-cooled, grateful. A moment that felt like both a promise and a release.
When she pulled back, she whispered, “Okay. Let’s go home.”
I’m currently writing a one-shot about… not Natasha this time, but Addison Montgomery. I hope you’ll enjoy it nonetheless. I just wanted to try something different, because Addison is, right after Natasha, my number one. Get ready for the next few days.
I need to talk about something serious that keeps happening on Tumblr, and honestly, it’s terrifying how easy it is to overlook.
There are minors pretending to be adults here, and adults accidentally getting into situations they NEVER would’ve agreed to if they knew the truth. It is happening more than people think.
(And to be clear:
THIS IS NOT ABOUT MY GIRLFRIEND!
My relationship is safe, real, ID-verified, and we’ve met in person, we did everything the right way. LDRs can absolutely work, but only with honesty and proper safety.)
I’m mentioning this now because something like this happened just recently to someone and I’m sharing this with her full permission.
A woman was played by a 16-year-old who pretended to be older, invented an entire fake life, used stolen work stories, and manipulated her into trusting her. She poured real emotions, time, and affection into something she believed was safe and genuine.
When the truth came out, she was left devastated, violated, and disgusted, not because she did anything wrong, but because a crazy teenager lied and dragged her into something she never consented to.
This is the damage a single lie can do. This is the reality of unsafe spaces online.
Here’s the reality:
Anyone can claim to be 18+ here. Anyone can fake their age, their life, their job. Anyone can steal identities, and yes even calling someone does NOT prove their age.
Tumblr has sadly no age verification, yet the platform is full of adult content, smut blogs, flirty chats, private messages, and photo exchanges. People trust each other way too easily here, and it only takes ONE lie for someone to end up hurt, scared, violated, or traumatized, even when they did absolutely nothing wrong.
Please understand: You cannot tell who is behind a screen. You cannot rely on someone’s word about their age. You cannot assume “they sound mature so it’s fine.” Your safety matters. Their safety matters. Everyone’s safety matters.
Before you share private content, flirt, talk intimately, send photos, or plan to meet someone, please, verify who you’re talking to. ID check, social footprint, consistent video calls…anything that ensures you’re not being misled.
This isn’t paranoia. It’s protection. Tumblr desperately needs age verification, and until then: stay alert, stay safe, and NEVER feel bad for asking for proof! If someone makes you feel weird about prioritizing your safety, that’s a red flag.
Spread awareness. Protect each other. This matters more than people realise.
SUMMARY: One night, you’re cuddled up to Natasha in bed, the world feeling just right. The next morning, Natasha is gone without so much as a note or a text. Months later, she comes back, heart aching with regret.
PROMPT: Fearless Prompt List — That’s When: They left without warning, but now they’re back, asking if there’s still a chance.
NAVIGATION | MCU MASTERLIST | KO-FI
Natasha is standing at your door.
Two months. That’s how long it’s been since she vanished. Not a word, not a message, not a trace. Just silence, sudden and absolute, like someone tearing a chapter from the middle of your life. One night you made dinner and she didn't say much, just looked tired and distracted, then the next morning you woke up alone. No note. No call. Her things gone, drawer empty, air thinner than it had been in years.
Now she’s here, and you can’t bring yourself to open the door.
You stand there, just on the other side, barely breathing. Her shadow moves slightly against the frosted glass. Then her voice, quiet, tentative, threaded with something brittle.
“Please.”
You close your eyes. Try to convince yourself you’re still dreaming. That this is some kind of grief-ghost your heart conjured in the middle of another sleepless night. But then you hear it again, your name, this time. Soft. Careful.
You open the door.
She looks smaller than you remember. Not physically, Natasha’s never been anything less than steel and edge and fire, but right now she looks like something weathered down, burnt at the edges. Her shoulders are hunched, her eyes sunken with exhaustion. There’s a faint, healing scar on her cheek you’ve never seen before.
For a long moment, she just stands there. You wonder if she’s waiting for you to slam the door in her face. You don’t.
She exhales like she’s been holding that breath for weeks. You step aside, and she walks in.
It’s silent. Awkward, heavy. She doesn’t touch anything. Doesn’t sit. Just stands there in the entryway like she doesn’t know how to be here anymore.
You watch her as she takes it all in, the new throw pillow you bought in a panic one night just to fill the space, the mug on the counter she left behind. You didn’t wash it for weeks.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d be here,” she says finally, voice low.
You don’t respond. You’re still trying to figure out whether this is real.
“I thought maybe you would’ve moved,” she adds, quieter. “Left.”
She glances at you. You don’t look away.
“I didn’t,” you say. “Because I wasn’t the one who ran.”
There’s a pause. She nods, jaw tight. “I deserve that.”
You cross your arms. There’s so much you want to ask, but all of it sits behind a wall in your throat.
“I shouldn’t have left like that.” Her voice sounds more cracked now, like the words are cutting her on the way out. “I thought it would be easier if I didn’t say anything. Like pulling a Band-Aid off.”
You laugh, short and bitter. “You didn’t pull a Band-Aid, Natasha. You left a hole.”
Her eyes close for a second, and she nods like she’s expecting every hit. Like she wants them. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” she says. “But I was wrong. I should’ve called. I should’ve—” She breaks off. Her voice is thinner now. “You didn’t deserve that.”
“No,” you say quietly, “I didn’t.”
She looks at you again, and this time there’s no mask. No shield. Just bare, aching honesty.
“I didn’t know if I was coming back,” she says. “And I thought… if I didn’t make it, it would be better for you. To hate me.”
You stare at her. Your hands are cold. “So you made that decision for me.”
“I know,” she says quickly, stepping forward. “I know. And I’m not here to justify it. I’m just… I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t know how to be in your life and still be me.”
She looks down. Her voice is quieter now, trembling. “But I wanted to come back. I just didn’t know if I’d still be… welcome.”
Your mouth feels dry. She’s standing there, hands at her sides, not reaching for you. Not assuming anything. Just waiting.
“I missed you,” she says.
You don’t say it back. You move to the kitchen without a word, turning on the kettle. The silence stretches between you, long and almost unbearable. But she stays. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t fill the space with excuses or soft lies.
You hand her a mug without looking. She takes it, fingers brushing yours, a little too long, a little too warm.
She sits at the table while you lean against the counter. You sip your tea. It’s too hot. It burns a little going down. Somehow, you prefer it that way.
“I’ve had to do a lot of things I’m not proud of,” she says after a long silence. “But this… leaving you like that… it’s at the top of the list.”
You stare at her. You remember the way her laugh used to sound in the morning, raspy and low. The way she’d steal your socks and forget to give them back. The way she’d look at you like you were a map she’d finally learned how to read.
Now she looks lost again.
“I kept waiting to stop being angry,” you say, and your voice shakes in a way that surprises you. “But I never did. I just got tired. Of missing you. Of waking up and checking the door. Of wondering what I did wrong.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she says, eyes wide, almost desperate. “This was never about you not being enough. It was about me not knowing how to deserve you.”
You feel your chest twist. You shake your head. “You don’t get to come back and say things like that.”
“I know,” she whispers.
You’re both quiet for a long time. Then, softly, you murmur, “Why now?”
Natasha exhales, long and slow. “Because I realised something. After everything that’s happened with the Accords, the team, the fugitive status, after all of it, the only thing I regret is leaving you.”
Her hands tremble slightly as she sets the mug down. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t expect anything. I just had to see you again. I had to know if there was still a chance.”
You look at her, really look, and it’s like staring into the storm that tore you apart and the calm that once made you believe in peace, all at once.
“I don’t know,” you say, honestly. “I don’t know if I can trust you again.”
Her eyes glisten. But she doesn’t cry. “I’ll wait,” she says. “As long as it takes.”
You nod. You don’t reach for her. But you don’t ask her to leave, either. She stays.
Later, when the moonlight filters through the blinds and she falls asleep on the far edge of the couch, arms wrapped tightly around herself, you watch her chest rise and fall. You remember how it felt to fall asleep next to her, warm and safe and so stupidly in love.
You wonder if it's possible to fall in love again with someone who already shattered you.
