imagine tasha being a total human (and not a super-spy) in her everyday life, and imagine that one day she's just sitting on the kitchen counter making toast and falling off the counter is surprise/shock when the toast pops
By the time Natasha recovers, there are tears leaking from Steve’s eyes, he’s laughing so hard. She stalks over and gives him a smack; he retaliates by ruffling a hand through her hair.
“I wasn’t ready, okay?”
Steve wipes his face and tries to pull his mouth into a straight line. “Sure, sure. I get it. Just don’t make that sound on missions. You’ll blow our cover.”
She grabs her toast, nose tipped up in disdain. “That would never happen.”
"Right. Hey, you think JARVIS might have that recorded?”
Imagine Nat being really ill over christmas and Clint cheering her up
Clint shows up on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, letting himself into Nat’s apartment while she stares listlessly at the television. She only just has enough energy to stick her hand under the pillow for her gun, but then Clint calls out and she relaxes again.
“I’d have been here yesterday, but Fury had me on a mission,” Clint says as he puts a bag of takeout on the coffee table. It smells like Chinese food. He brushes snow from his hair and walks over to her, picking up her head and pillow and taking a seat before settling her back in his lap. “How are you feeling?”
She shrugs a shoulder, her hand curling over his knee. “Mmuh,” she says, her voice thick and burred with her blocked sinuses and the scratch in her throat.
Chuckling, Clint reaches over her to the paper bag. “Good thing I brought you hot and sour soup, huh?” He digs around a bit before pulling out the soup and a Chinese spoon. “C’mon, sit up.”
Natasha groans but does as she’s told, wavering only for a second before reaching out for the plastic bowl that Clint’s unlidding. He pulls out his own noodle dish, and for several minutes they eat in silence, the Jim Carey version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas playing on low volume on the TV.
Finally, Natasha shuffles a bit closer to Clint so that their sides are pressed against one another. “Thanks,” she says quietly.
Clint rubs the backs of his fingertips against her thigh. “Merry Christmas, Tasha.”
Today was the day. Today she would be induced, and would welcome her little son or daughter into the world.
For so long, it had been impossible. The Red Room had sterilized her as a child, and she had never been able to picture herself as a mother, as much as she had wanted a child. She had never made anything except destruction and chaos, how could she ever create something as innocent as baby?
But, with the miracles of modern medicine and a healthy doses of supersperm from her husband, it was finally happening. The only things that steadied her right now was first, that as much as he tried to hide it, Steve was easily more terrified of this than she was, which was an amusing way to distract herself from her worries. The other was the soft nudges inside her from her baby. They had decreased as he or she grew, and was now so tightly packed in that the poor thing could hardly move.
She rubbed her belly tentatively. ‘Soon, little one’ she thought at it.
Steve caught the motion. “Natasha, are you alright? It is the baby? Are you hungry? Do you need anything? We could go in early, I’ll call the doctors, they could come here. No, they can’t, what if you need surgery or something? I’ll carry you to the car, are you ok?!” he asked, increasing in volume and frantic energy as his questions progressed despite his best efforts.
Natasha hid a smile. “Don’t worry, Steve. We’re both ok.”
Several hours later, she was ready to amend that statement. She desperately wanted this child, but bozhe moi, labor was painful! The doctor said that she was progressing well, which was of little comfort as another contraction racked her body.
At least Steve was slightly more useful here. If she’d married a normal man, she’d probably have broken his hands by now. And it was unlikely he would have been able to dodge the hospital room detritus she threw at him whenever a particularly strong contraction began. He was also much quicker on his errands for ice chips, blankets, or any other thing she sent him for.
And while it didn’t stop the pain, a back rub from a supersoldier was good for getting some of the cramps to loosen.
After just over twenty-eight hours of labor (for which she firmly blamed Steve, the child obviously hadn’t gotten his size from HER), Natasha finally had her son in her arms.
He was so ugly-wrinkly, swollen in places, covered in blood and screaming his lungs off. He was the most beautiful and perfect thing she had ever seen.
As he opened his eyes for the first time and met hers, she was overwhelmed by the feelings rushing through her. She had always privately thought the way other mothers described their feelings for their newborns were overstated, or (her greatest fear) that it wouldn’t happen to someone like her. But there was no other way for her to describe it.
The world shifted around her, and everything was suddenly redefined around her tiny son. She would move heaven and earth for him. Kill a thousand enemies to protect him and never lose a moment of sleep. At that moment, it felt like the stars aligned, and her entire purpose in life was to protect this helpless child. He was hers, hers and Steve’s, and they would always take care of him.
She turned to Steve, who was gently stroking across the crown of his son’s head, and saw the same feelings reflected in his face. He turned to face her as well, kissing her between words with tears falling down his face. “Tasha…he’s so beautiful. You did so good. I love you so much. Thank you…thank you.”
Natasha smiled as she cuddled her son closer, initial fierce emotions dimming slightly, but they were replaced by the warmest, purest glow of love she had ever felt.
She carefully wrapped her baby up tighter and his wails started to subside as he snuggled close to his mother, and for a moment, Natasha was totally at peace. Her husband and son, the family of her own she had so longed for, was finally in her arms. She was not surprised to feel tears of joy spilling down her cheeks as well. As Steve wrapped himself around her and their newborn son, Natasha closed her eyes, willing time to stop, or at least slow down. She didn’t want to lose a single moment of this.
imagine nat supporting feminist and pro-choice movements
After what was being termed as #SHIELDinfodump, all of her information, everything that had ever happened to her, was now public knowledge, including her sterilization as a child. And besides being a violation of her privacy, tended to lead even the average reporter believing that they knew more about her than they actually did.
“You should understand what we’re saying, Black Widow. You CAN’T have a child, there’s no way you can support other women not giving life to their own,” the prolife journalist shouted, pushing their recorder into Natasha’s space.
Natasha sighed. Goddammit, all she wanted was to get some coffee, not answer overly personal political questions. “No comment.” she snipped, pushing past the nosy reporter.
She shook her head as she walked back to the tower. As much as Natasha wanted a baby, she had had her bodily autonomy violated too many times for her to not understand another person’s need to control what happened to theirs. While she would never have an abortion herself, if it were even possible to her to get pregnant, she would never speak for what someone else wanted to do with their body.
She would have given anything to have the choice to have a baby, but someone took it away from her. She would willing never do anything to take away anyone else’s choices from them.
Imagine Natasha coming back from a top secret mission and just slipping in bed with Steve when she comes back. He doesn't ask what happened, where she was or anything. He just holds her and when Bucky comes back to bed, he keeps silent too, making sure she feels okay and safe in between them.
Steve stirs a little, murmuring sleepily, as Natasha picks up his arm and gets under it. Immediately, he pulls her close, presses a kiss into her hair. “Good?” he asks.
She hums in response.
it’s almost an hour later when Bucky returns, following Nat’s lead and slipping into bed wearing little except a pair of boxers. Steve’s and Nat’s arms open to him, and soon enough he’s settled in.
Imagine Natasha finding little things to cheer the other Avengers up when they feel down. But always behind the scenes so no one knows its her who is making all of them feel better.
Nobody ever asks why Nick Fury has a collection of small shiny buttons, Halloween-sized chocolate bars, and several tiny scraps of paper (and nobody knows what they even say) in his pockets. But he does.
Nobody asks where any of it comes from, either, and would people be surprised to know that it’s Natasha? That every time she walks past him she sneaks something else into a pocket: an action figure she found in an antique store, a heart-shaped eraser, a Hershey’s kiss or two. It’s often hours before he notices, by which point he’s sometimes got handfuls of stuff.
Nobody asks, so he can’t tell anyone how much he loves it. How much it means that Natasha thinks of him so frequently.
Sometimes, he even manages to slip her something back. He counts it as a triumph that she wears that arrow necklace so much.
Imagine Natasha being forced to marry Clint while undercover. Only they come back to find Fury has taken it seriously and updated all of their paperwork
~~~~~~~~~~~
“What the hell, Nick,” Natasha demanded, bursting into his office, Clint hot on her heels.
The director carefully smoothed his face into an impassive mask before he turned around in his chair.
“Well, if it isn’t the Bartons,” he said, allowing a small smirk to slip though his mask. “Please let me be the first to offer my congratulations on your happy nupitals.”
Clint immediately started sputtering with rage, only quieting down when Natasha put a hand on his shoulder.
“This. Isn’t. Funny.” Natasha hissed. “That wedding was STRICTLY for the mission, as you damn well know. Why did you make it official on SHIELD paperwork!?!”
Nick shrugged. “Consider it a present for your years of service to SHIELD. You two are at your best when you’re together, I just nudged it along a little.”
“But-that’s not…even for you, this is…” Clint started, only to be cut off.
“My second present to the two of you is three weeks vacation on beautiful Hawaii for your honeymoon.” He slid a packet of tickets, hotel reservations, and brochures for local sights across his desk which Clint reflexively caught.
Natasha had fallen silent, but now she spoke. “Nick, this is. I don’t know if. Clint and I are…we’re just-”
“Nat,” Clint said quietly . “Maybe…this can be a good thing. A new start.” Hesitantly, he took her hand. “The plane leaves in an hour,” he commented, looking at the tickets. “I promise I’ll only make three jokes about how you can’t pull off a bikini with your scar the whole trip. Promise.”
Natasha finally gave a slight nod, and met Clint halfway for a chaste kiss. He smiled, and drew her closer for a moment before pulling her out of the room. Natasha hung back for a moment, pushing Clint on ahead.
“Nick…” she started.
“Agent Barton, please. Don’t thank me. Just enjoy your honeymoon and be ready for work when you come back in.”
Natasha rolled her eyes and strode after Clint, but paused in the doorway.
“Nick? While I won’t pretend to understand your motives for doing this, if you don’t officially change my name back to Romanov by the time I get back, I will call you ‘Nicky’ for the rest of your natural life, do you understand me?”
Fury threw her a mocking salute. “Anything you ask for, Agent Romanov.”
Imagine Tasha visiting an elderly Dottie Underwood.
The last lights in the main facility shut down. Now only the night nurse and a very bored security guard remained on the premises.
A shadowy figure easily bypassed their stations and quietly slipped into one of the rooms.
She stood silently for a moment, just staring down at the old woman in the bed, then moved closer and sat down.
“Hi, Dottie,” she said quietly. “They say that you don’t have much longer. They say you can’t hear me either, for that matter. But they don’t know the Red Room girls, do they?"
Dottie did not respond, and once again the only sound in the room was her labored breathing.
Natasha stayed for a few more hours, counting down the spaces between each of Dottie’s breaths.
When they finally stopped, Natasha carefully stood and gently shut her eyes.
Imagine Natasha is furious at all the truly horrific "ballet poses" that people post to be "artsy"
Natasha slumped down in front of her computer, and looked up her stand-by ‘artsy’ blogs to give herself a pick-me-up.
The first picture was a winner
“Yeah, why don’t you call me in five years when you no longer have feeling below the neck. Because you fell and broke it from contorting into that ridiculous pose. Oh, 503 likes? That’s worth a full body cast.”
Mood slightly elevated, she moved on.
“Cool video. Wonder why it cuts out so suddenly? Maybe because the next second you fracture your ankle because of this little thing called torque? But you’re right. It’s totally worth it for the aesthetic.”
With a sigh, she clicked to the next picture and scoffed.
“That is NOT the right way to go on pointe. Someone’s working really hard to cause nerve damage. Why don’t you go stomp on rocks. It’d be less effort, and probably less painful in the long run.”
By now she was smiling despite herself. She tried to avoid mocking the blogs of people who enjoyed ballet, even if it would never be more than a hobby for them. But for the people who were just after some sort of aesthetic or did it in order to appear ‘artsy’…ugh. She got to let out her innermost sarcastic side and maybe, sometimes…get a few ideas for moves she wanted to try to work into her own routine.
I know that I announced this a little earlier this week, but I feel like I should be a little bit more formal about it, so...
Hi! My name is Carmen. I am the new head mod here at imaginetasha. You may also know me from imaginesteverogerss or harrypotterhousequotes. I have also taken over imaginehawkguys. (In case you’re wondering, you can find my personal blog here. There are links there to my AO3 and my other work.)
In the next little while, there will be some changes here. Most of it will be behind the scenes, but please bear with us as we complete these changes.
Some of our older asks (dealing with a Jewish and Transwoman Natasha) were being filled by guest posters, as our normal writers did not feel that they could fill these honestly.
We’ve lost touch with our fillers (Leia and Quinn respectively), and so we’re looking for them to either contact us again to fill the post :) or to open the asks to any Jewish or Trans fan who feels that they can write the prompts from their lived experience.
We’re still looking for people to fill these, please contact us if you can fill either. You can submit a post through our submission, or we can post your content anonymously if you would prefer.
So, we have the Jewish Natasha filled, thank you very much, submitter! :)
But we still are looking for our Trans woman Natasha to be filled. This is the third time we’re putting out a call for this particular prompt, so unless it’s taken, I’m sorry anon who asked for it, but I don’t think we’ll be able to fill this one. :(
That said, this will still be an ‘open’ prompt, and if it is submitted at any time in the future, we would we very grateful!
Imagine Natasha joking with Steve about him drawing her like a French girl (Titanic reference), and he proceeds to actually draw her that way.
“Oh, so when the Smithsonian said you were an artist before the war, they really meant it, huh?”
Steve startled up out of his drawing, turning over his shoulder to come face to face with Natasha, who was staring avidly at what he was sketching.
“Um, yeah, I guess. I used to do portraits of people for a dime to make money when I lost a job because I was sick,” he explained. “It wasn’t a steady income or anything, but, it was something I enjoyed and I could meet all kinds of interesting people.”
Natasha laughed. “A whole dime? Wowza, Steve. You’re like Leonardo DiCaprio, a dime for a portrait sketch.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Steve laughed too. “But for the record, I’m better than Jack Dawson ever was.”
“Really? Alright then…” Natasha flipped around until she was in Steve’s lap, and fished in her pocket for change, which she held out to him. “I want you to draw me like one of French girls. Wearing this,” she twisted her finger around her arrow necklace. “…and only this.”
Steve’s arms tightened around her, and his eyes darkened as he gently took the nickel she offered him. “I can do that. But miss,” and here his voice slipped into his Brooklyn accent, “my price is a dime, not a nickel. You’re a little short.”
Natasha grinned, happy he was going along with her game. “Well,” she breathed, leaning into him, “I’m sure we can work something out to…make up the cost.”
A slow smile spread across Steve’s face. “I’m sure we can,” he said, stroking his fingers up her side from where he held her waist.
Steve stood up suddenly, holding firmly onto Natasha with one arm even as he swung the couch around into better light. Once he was satisfied with the set up of the room, he gently set Natasha on her feet in front of him.
Natasha caught his eyes and held them as her fingers slowed moved along the buttons of her shirt until they were all undone, and his hands rose up to help her remove it as she started to work on her pants. A moment longer, and she let the last of her clothes puddle on the floor, leaving her in only her necklace.
Feeling powerful in her skin, and in the way his eyes followed her every movement, Natasha stepped up to Steve, and pressed the nickel into his hand as she pressed a kiss to his lips.
Steve’s hand came up involuntarily to touch her neck before he pulled away gently and gestured for her to lay out on the couch as he pulled his previously abandoned notebook over his lap carefully.
He cleared his throat. “Just, move your arm, yeah, like that. Now hold still.” So saying, he took a breath, and started sketching quickly, loose flowing lines.
Natasha stayed still, her experience as a spy working to her advantage here. Heat flared in her belly every time she caught his blue eyes looking at her, and she drank him in in return.
Steve caught her looking and although he didn’t pause in his work, heat suffused his cheeks.
“I believe you are blushing, Mr. Big Artiste. I can't imagine Monsieur Monet blushing,” Natasha teased.
Steve cocked an eyebrow at her, but finished the line dutifully. “He does landscapes.”
As talented as Steve was it was only a few more minutes before he had a beautiful sketch of Natasha done, and signed it with a flourish as the subject came over to inspect his work.
“Not bad for a nickel,” she remarked, casting a critical but approving eye over the piece.
Steve grinned widely. “Like I keep telling you, miss. My fee is a dime. And now, what was that you were saying about making up the difference?”
With a laugh, Natasha started working on Steve’s clothes, tugging on his belt to lead him to their bedroom.
I don't like the new "?" mouse icon thing on the new layout. Why did you change the layout for the page?
Hi friend!
That has now been fixed. Sorry! It didn’t appear that way on my computer, so I’m not sure what that was about.
Anyway, the layout has been changed because the blog has changed ownership. I was going to wait until the weekend to announce it, but I might as well do it here.
My name is Carmen, I’m the new head mod here at imaginetasha. I also run imaginesteverogerss. Since I run things a bit differently from how Kales ran things, I decided I ought to change some stuff, make myself at home, etc.
If there are any other problems with the theme, please let us know!
