Daisy at the start of the show: I'm just a plucky young hacktivist called Skye trying to find my parents :)
Daisy at the end of the show: I'm a superspy and ex wanted vigilante who's theoretically strong enough to destroy a planet and I'm travelling through space with my sister who died eleven years before I was born and my boyfriend who died thirty-three years before I was born
Daisy at the start of the show: I'm just a plucky young hacktivist called Skye trying to find my parents :)
Daisy at the end of the show: I'm a superspy and ex wanted vigilante who's theoretically strong enough to destroy a planet and I'm travelling through space with my sister who died eleven years before I was born and my boyfriend who died thirty-three years before I was born
Inside me there are two wolves. One really really wants to see Daisy & Co in future Marvel projects. The other one is snarling and scratching at the thought of Marvel getting their grubby fingers all over my beloved show
you love sevika and the life you built with her, but there's always a part of you that wished that your mother was also a member of your life. there was always a weak flame glowing in you, hoping that your mother would walk up and put more firewood for the fire to sustain. but she made her stance known when you were crying your feelings out to her, how you still wanted to try working it out with her, that even though what is natural to you might be different from her but you were still her daughter. but she made it clear that she will never see you the same again and wouldn't want to.
from then on you made up your mind that you would never inflict the same pain on your child, that your child would never have to choose between family and their own identity. and when you were graced with the news of carrying a baby, you cried for hours in sevika's arms out of sheer excitement but also fear.
i'm going to be a mother.
i'm going to be a mother.
sevika shared the same fear of failing as a parent. but the intensity of your anxiety and dread over motherhood had her concerned about you. she knew you would never intentionally hurt your child, but your frequent breakdowns, you spiralling down in self loathing and self doubt had her worried that maybe, just maybe, you were not as ready as you thought you were. you never told her about your mother, not in detail that is, and she respected that. she knew that you broke contacts with her over her not accepting who you are. you were always selectively secretive over your family life, seeming that you just weren't ready to open that pandora box just yet.
so when she heard you sniffling the middle of the night, she was damn worried. it wasn't uncommon for you to crave random food and weird combinations in the middle of the night, you would outright just tell her what you wanted and she'd be on her heels to get it for you. but that night you didn't even tell her what you were craving. you just cried out that you were hungry.
"i'm... i'm hungry..."
"tell me what you want, i'll get it for you right now."
"you can't..."
"tell me baby, i can't see you crying so much."
"i want kakara pitha..."
you started crying harder when you saw the confused look on sevika's face because obviously she wouldn't know what that was. kakara pitha wasn't just a food for you, it was the love and time your mother stuffed in the pitha that you miss. and that love and time from your mother was now just something of the past. it was such times that made you feel a tinge of regret for leaving home and moving to a city continents away from your hometown.
"i miss mama... i want my mama..."
sevika stiffened up when those words left your lips. she felt helpless in that moment, not even sure if the thing you were craving was sweet or sour. all she was able to do was pat your back and hope that you fall asleep, only the stars knew how much you needed it given the constant kicks and braxton hicks you've been feeling.
the following morning you were absolutely groggy, not talking, just sighing again and again. sevika wasn't in the kitchen when you entered, which was odd since she always stayed to watch you have your breakfast. but that morning she just put up a sticky note, with a "went to buy sum stuff, have your brekkie." written on it.
it took a while for her to get back home. she entered through the front door and saw you sitting on the couch, mindlessly watching tv and playing with your fingers, she reminded herself to cut your fingernails before you nick yourself accidentally. you had not realised she was home till you heard the loud thud of the groceries being put on the counter.
"sevika you're home..."
"come on baby get up i need your help."
you looked at her confused, how could you help her in anything? you can barely even walk for 5 minutes before feeling exhausted. you weren't even helpful to her when you were not pregnant. how were you useful now when you're bloated and fat and ugl-
"doll it's something only you can do, please get up."
as you sat down on the counter, sevika handed over the ipad with a video playing. more specifically, a recipe video in a language you've not heard in a while.
"huh..."
it was a recipe video for kakara pitha. in odia. in your own mother tongue.
"i felt that a video recipe will help be better to make this but almost all of them are in odia, so i need your help in translating what the woman is saying. i got all the ingredients i could get using google translate, i wanted you up to help with that but you looked so pretty sleeping so i didn't have the heart to wake you up- baby are you crying?"
you hid your face behind your palms while your shoulders shook, trying to minimise the sound of the emotions overflowing you. sevika walked towards you and placed your head against her, patting your back as you held onto her shirt.
"tha-thank you so much, i... i don't know what is happening to me. i just- i can't understand-"
"that's why i'm here for, doll... you're not alone."
author's note : this probably is my biggest fear of diaspora, i can't imagine being away from my culture and my family but as much as i love my family i know that my queer identity will a thorn in the rose for most of them. my odia roots are something i take great pride in even though i can barely write my name in the language but hey it's the thought that matters ig. also i ran out of emotional power to continue this further, thus the abrupt end. still on hiatus cuz my college decided that ending a semester in 3 months is a great idea!! yay!!!
𑣲 you thought you and sophia were in love— the most you two could ever be. until one silent walk expresses truths you weren't ready to hear.
sophia laforteza x fem!reader · angst · breakup · sophia falls out of love · no happy ending · heartbreak · not proofread [mdni]
❛ anyway, don't be a stranger
A/N || this is sooo short but daniela fic coming soon + i need to write 17k words for you guys. kisses, brooklynn.
it had already gone past the time where pulling back was available— an option, a choice. you were unsure how, or when, but you knew somewhere along the way— the tenderness turned fragile and the devotion that took up space had worn out entirely.
along the way, ‘i don’t think i’ll ever leave’ turned into ‘i think i'm losing you’ and you couldn’t do anything about it. like the love that was once infallible had fallen into something of reverence, and you weren't sure how to make sense of something so incomprehensible— opaque enough that it would be vain to even consider it’s worthiness.
sophia finally stopped her step, eyes lifting from cracked and wet concrete to eyes she once used to never be able to look away from— ones she became immersed in all too quickly, very easily became ones she became unaccustomed to.
so you halted your own.
“i went out to lunch with someone today,” she whispered, voice too stable to crack, too remorseful to sound broken.
“yea?” what was once a flow of lighthearted questions was now dimmed into another form of simplicity— perhaps one of silence, just an acknowledgement.
nothing more was needed, you’d learned through weeks of ache that lingered no matter what you tried or what you did. a soreness that stung longer than it should’ve, a weight that cut too deep.
“yea.. she's nice. like, really nice.” the sliver of smile she’d exerted was enough to keep your heart beating in preparation that it was over.
long before it would be announced. a feeling you could unfortunately recognize all too well.
“i bet.” you whispered, biting your tongue to hold back what you wanted to ask instead.
the pause lasted too long after— finality. that’s all it truly was, and had been, for weeks. definitiveness, irrevocability, completion. the same thoughts circling around until you accepted what had happened officially. until you realized that she was never really yours— not really.
not ever.
but there had been a time once, where you knew something had existed— and you were unsure of what but you knew that it was something. you swore of it.
and maybe that was your first mistake, swearing that something real was even there at all, when both of you knew it wasn’t anything more than a casualty.
“so, are you going to see her again..?” you knew the answer— it was cruel to remind yourself. but hearing it directly was what you needed.
“i think so..” you weren't sure what was worse, the way she admitted it so effortlessly, or the way she admitted it at all. her fingers clenched at her oversized sleeves—nervous but not like she regretted it.
because she knew, if she had the choice to pick.
you wouldn’t even be an option.
you had so much to say but little to work with, and it hurt to see her moving on right in front of you.
it sucked so bad.
“okay.” it felt wrong, just to use one word while you felt all of these feelings— 'okay' didn't even sum any of it up.
you weren’t sure what to do, whether to continue for closure or to walk away with empty hands if it meant getting this over with as soon as you possibly could.
sophia blinked, “but it’s not a big deal.” her voice fluctuated, up and down, like she felt bad for you.
like she felt bad for leaving you with nothing.
alone with barely an explanation at all, just some girl who changed her mind like you had.
once.
you stepped forward, “i’m not sure.”
because you weren’t, you weren’t sure if sophia moving on whilst still dating you wasn’t a big deal— because to you, it was the biggest deal on earth.
your world, your everything, it was all coming apart in front of your eyes and you couldn’t do anything about it.
“you're mad, aren't you.”
her words caught you off guard, the flickering of the streetlight slowed down like it was waiting for your response just as much as the black haired girl was.
you stopped, turning to face her, already hesitating, “i’m not.”
“yes, you are.. you seriously never act this way unless you’re mad.. and you know it too, you don’t have to stand here and pretend like everything is okay when to you, it clearly isn’t.”
you bit onto your lip to stop it from quivering, “i’m not! i’m just..” you cut yourself off, looking away because you knew if you looked at her again you wouldn’t be able to just let her go.
sophia sighed, “you're just what?”
that was something you hadn't even considered yourself. what were you?
upset? yes.
devastated? obviously.
but what was new? she already sensed it herself.
“confused?” you shrugged, it all felt so useless. “i don’t know, sophia.” you mumbled, trying your best to regulate complicated feelings— you weren’t doing that good of a job. not really.
but deep somewhere you did know, and she knew that you did as well.
you were losing her.
and she was letting it happen.
a part of you didn’t want to ask, because you knew this would solidify everything that came with it— it would be a clear cut from sophia entirely. “you're breaking up with me, aren't you?”
her lips parted slightly, words haltering for a minute, “i’m— well, no i mean,” she paused, “i didn’t mean for it to happen this way.”
it hurt you more than you thought it would, the way she said it like it wasn’t supposed to, it just happened to.
“so this is it? all of it, just over?” all the times you two shared— those hadn't crossed her mind. not the memories of the love you two once owned, but the memories of the girl who was currently occupying her mind.
it wasn’t you.
not anymore.
sophia shifted on her two feet, “i’m sorry.” you had run out of words, it wasn’t fair, not really. it didn’t matter— it didn’t make sense, and it killed you that it couldn't wrap around your mind.
you turned on your heels, one step away from the girl who once held your heart whole.
sophia waited until you got far enough— not too far to not hear her, but not close enough that you'd walk back.
“don’t be a stranger,” she called out, but you'd already been on your way.
This is my official announcement that I will be going on an indefinite hiatus.
It was once brought up to me that people within the Fandom did care about when someone was getting threats of suicide, they simply weren't aware it was happening and therefore that is why the support didn't reach the victim.
It has now been proven that this is not the case.
I used the platform this account gained to bring attention to such issues---these issues which are both current and horrifically severe.
You all seemingly grew bored of working towards a better community.
This is disappointing.
I don't really care if this isn't a popular opinion.
I can't stand how often and how intensely this Fandom has failed its people.
It's easy to claim to want change and to claim that you'd be the first in line to advocate for it. It's easy to complain about the state of a community.
But all of that talk just to stick to your circles, return to the comfort that is normal---"friendshipgames" and "shipitweek" and "oshiistars"!!---and slowly detach yourself from posts that are actually working to bring these changes?
500 likes on a post about plagiarism, tons of reposts, news spreading like wildfire in support of the person who was stolen from---and yet you draw the line and detach yourself from suicide?
All of you can gather in the hundreds to interact with a fanfic you like, yet not the author behind it? Not the person who might be dead in the next few days? Slowly losing their mind from the consistent and relentless harassment of a random stranger they've never met who they don't even know why hates them and all they feel is isolation and paranoia of the next ask, that one last ask that'll send them over the edge---
And you dare complain about community? Are you serious?
You wish it was the way it used to be because you wish we went back to the time where authors silently deleted these asks and pretended to be okay for the sake of their readers. You miss the time where you could live in blissful ignorance of the pain happening all around you, all at once.
Shame on you all who've remained complacent throughout these terrors.
pairings: natasha romanoff x reader; zora bennett x reader; nat x reader x zora
a/n: what's up. here's my dream eiffel tower, by the way. 6k-ish words oneshot of reader navigating pregnancy life with two sexy women. tried not to make it very descriptive, so if you're icky with the topic, please tread carefully!
warnings: 18+, smut, accidental pregnancy, allusions to unprotected sex (obviously), semi-public sex, jealous nat, smug zora. no angst everybody's happy yay
summary: You probably need to figure out which one of your fuck buddies knocked you up.
Natasha Romanoff. Retired spy. Zora Bennett. Ex-marine. A mercenary.
They’re dangerous. Deadly. Lethal. Their jobs make their character morally ambiguous, but you couldn’t care less. Does it even matter? Probably not. They both claim the baby, and bonus: you fall in love with them, anyway.
The two angry red lines on the stick are staring back at you. It feels mocking, as if judging the choices you have made that led to this day. You exhale in surrender, begrudgingly accepting that your life has taken a turn, forever.
Now, the next step is to figure out which one of your fuck buddies knocked you up.
Which only leads you to two women you’ve been engaging in debauchery with. The women who have been parting your legs like the Red Sea. Once their viridescent eyes had been set on you, you threw all caution to the wind if it meant having your mind blown with heavenly pleasure. And your back, of course.
Natasha Romanoff. Retired spy. Still an assassin, but for hire now. She rarely accepts assignments now, only those that tickle her fancy. Even as her handler, you don’t have an idea what her criteria are. You send her the data, and if she shows up at your apartment, she’ll take it. If not, she sends a ‘No :)’ through text. That’s it.
Zora Bennett. Ex-marine. A mercenary. Zora accepts an assignment as soon as she sees how much her profit would be, so any assignment that has at least 7 digits killing in it, you send her way.
They’re dangerous. Deadly. Lethal. Their jobs make their character morally ambiguous, but you couldn’t care less. Technically, you’re in the same dirty world as them.
You’re entangled with them professionally and physically. So you bite your lip, thinking. How exactly would you break this news? Should you even tell them? They might not want a commitment. At the back of your mind, you know they don’t want it. Commitment is just something that is not part of their vocabulary. That's why this friend(?)-with-benefits situation was set up in the first place.
Natasha knows it first.
Ever the observant redhead, she noticed how your nose scrunched when she opened the Chinese takeout she's brought. You’d normally have your whole face almost buried in the box, but now you'd declined and taken to the kitchen just to avoid the smell.
The next sign was how you're more sensitive than usual.
“You're so sensitive, detka. Haven't even touched you properly yet,” Natasha rasps, her mouth temporarily detaching from your tender breasts. The hand not playing with your breast wanders its way to your soaked cunt.
“Fuck, Nat, want your fingers please. I’m close,” you breathed lightly as you pulled her hair, wanting to get the point across.
Natasha raises her brows. You're already coming undone by just suckling on your nipples. Still, she obliges, her fingers rubbing circles on your clit, and her lips go back to your awaiting buds.
The assassin lets you ride your high, lying down beside you until your breathing goes back to normal. She's silently studying your face and asks the inevitable. Natasha figures there's no better time than now to confirm her hunch.
She tilts your head towards hers; her rough palm firm on your jaw. “Tell me the truth, or not. I’ll still know anyway,” the redhead teases with a smirk. It turns immediately to a frown when she notices the hitch in your breath. “Are you pregnant?”
You burst into tears, sending Natasha into a state of panic. She curses in Russian, suddenly unable to know what to do next. All training and spy tactics are down the drain at this very moment. Her eyes are wide as she watches you sit up with your back against her.
Natasha's lost. Does she offer congratulations? Did you not want the baby, hence the outburst? More importantly…who's the parent?
The bed dips down with your weight, and Natasha snaps out of her momentary daze. She lets out a breath when your tears are reduced to sniffles. Her gaze flits down to your hands.
Looks like a…
A sonogram.
Her heart starts leaping again.
Could this mean…
No, probably not. Natasha knows that she's not the only person warming your bed, as much as she loathes the idea of it.
But it could be, she hasn't been using any protection since your first time together.
Hmm, it couldn't be. You're also on the pill, right?
Right.
But with all the mental gymnastics Natasha Romanoff has currently started within a minute, with all the different possible scenarios and outcomes and answers she made up in her mind…
The woman can't help but get more turned on that she may have made her mark on you.
Your eyes are still a bit blurry from the tears, but you know from Natasha’s gaze that she has it figured out already.
“How far along are you?” Nat asks, uncharacteristically quiet.
“About 3 months.”
Everything clicks in Natasha's head. Sounds about right. “The Denmark assignment.”
You don't answer. She's not asking, anyway.
She moves closer, and you turn the sonogram towards her. Her jade eyes are engrossed by the photograph of your unborn kid. Her kid.
Natasha's steady gaze then turns to you. She has a calm and gentle expression; gone is the inner turmoil in her mind. The assassin takes both your hands in hers, laying the sonogram beside.
“I’ll support whatever decision you’ll make, dorogaya. You know that, right?”
“I know…and I want to keep it, Nat,” you nodded in reply. You're lucky enough to see this side of the notorious spy, the side of her hidden from the world.
“Then you and our baby have me.”
Natasha’s ledger might be dripping red, but the care she has for the people she holds dear is so deep it carves into her soul.
Our baby.
This warm moment with Nat makes you want to cry, but there's still the nagging question at the back of your mind that makes your heart rate pick up once again.
Taking a deep breath, you tell her the thing that might, hopefully not, change everything.
“I… Nat…” she only hums in reply, her eyes still kind. “I’m actually not 100% sure if it's yours. After we- we had sex before Denmark…I had sex with another woman. We, uhm, she doesn't use any condom either, so. It might be hers. I don't know anymore. You two are the only people I have sex with, I promise! I’m just, I’m not sure—”
“Hey, detka, baby. Deep breaths for me,” Natasha lightly hushes your rambling, hands rubbing on your arms. You follow the rise and fall of her chest. “It doesn't change things for me, darling. I’ll still be with you every step of the way. If you'll let me.”
“Really? Even if you might or might not be the mother of the baby?”
What Natasha said is true, and she'll never go back on her word to you. She did feel a little green, however, and the organ in her chest stopped for a bit, hearing you confirm sleeping with this other woman. It's not her business, but still, she's curious.
“Have you told her yet?”
“Z? No, not yet. She's still in France, I think. I’m planning to tell her once she gets back. Or if she contacts me first if she finds out I’m on leave.”
Z.
The redhead racks her brain for a woman named Z. Obviously, she's in the same business, and you're also her handler, if you know her whereabouts. There's only a handful of women within your network of contractors, and she's sure she has encountered many, if not all of them, sometime ago somewhere. It's a small world when you dirty your hands as a profession.
That's when she remembers the blonde ex-marine you've mentioned in passing sometime ago. It was brief, but she didn't forget how your cheeks heated when Natasha asked if your other contacts ever gave you souvenirs from their assignments.
Ex-marine, huh? Well, that narrows it. Natasha's sure she's met her before, or at least has read her file.
An assignment in Europe. The woman tries to remember any mission files she passed that’s based in France…
“France? Is it the intel extraction on some island?” Natasha asks.
“How did you kn– oh, you said no to that. Okay. Yeah, it was. When you passed on that job, I gave it to–”
“Zora Bennett.”
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
Zora receives a ping on her cell. Her eyes track down the nitty-gritty of the job. Another hefty pay. She's about to lock her phone when she notices that your name wasn't on the document.
Huh.
She dials the number, and on the other line is a man.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Bennett? Don't like the pay? Is it too-”
Zora doesn't let her finish; he talks too much anyway. “Where’s-”
The man cuts her off, too. “Indefinite leave. I’ll be your handler for the meantime.”
She drops the call, doubting that this man would know or even tell her why you're out of commission.
You're not sick, are you? She recalls the conversations you’ve had—not that there's much between the two of you. The times you spend together are more moaning, begging, and whimpering than actual meaningful chat.
Zora hesitates to go to your place unannounced. Would it be too intrusive? Too…clingy, for the lack of a better term?
But she also can't just do nothing. She does care about you. Your wellbeing. You’ve been her handler for quite some time now, and this sudden disappearance gnaws on her.
Life sure has its funny way of playing around with your feelings. You should have learned that being complacent gets you nowhere, so here you are, cornered by one annoyingly attractive Zora Bennett in a freaking gas station.
Her audacity to show up looking too sexy in a fitted navy blue suit.
“Honey, you're not that hard to track down,” Zora replies, seduction oozing in her voice. Goddamn this woman and her hand rubbing your thigh.
“I'm driving, Z. Behave.”
Your response only makes her chuckle and do the opposite. Her hand inches closer to your core. You feel suffocated in a good way—though her presence is very, very distracting. That's all it takes until you make a hasty stop at the side of the road.
The blonde makes all of your five senses overwhelmed. Her warm hand burns through your pants you feel heated all over your body; you inhale the hint of rose on her earthy perfume; her voice whispering filthy words you know she'll follow up on; you watch her eye you hungrily, Zora’s pupil blown out in desire, her other hand palming herself to full erection; and you can already taste yourself in your tongue as soon she gets inside you and makes your clean her fingers.
You want to taste her, though. You glance back at the bulge in her pants.
The blonde follows your gaze. “See something you like?”
You rolled your eyes in response, then disconnected your seatbelt. “Get in the back and shut up.”
Zora replied, amused. “What’s gotten into you? Not that I don't like where this is going.”
Once she's in the backseat, you follow her promptly, unable to contain your own arousal. You know you need to talk to her about your pregnancy, but the horniness is clouding your judgment right now—you need her in your mouth.
She makes quick work of her pants and boxers, and the sight of her hard cock and its tip glistening with pre-cum makes you clench your thighs.
Zora’s head leaned back as you stroked her shaft, wet kisses pressed on the head of her cock. Soon enough, your tongue makes contact, her taste bursting on your mouth.
Her thighs twitch as your hand moves to caress her balls, low groans rumbling in the car as you take on her fully in your mouth.
“Yes, baby, just like that,” Zora mumbles. She gathers your hair in her hand and holds your head in place to fuck your throat. “Fuck… missed this mouth, baby. Gonna come in your throat, yeah? Swallow everything I give you?”
You only hum in response, focusing on breathing through your nose as Zora chases her orgasm. The vibration added to the satisfying sensation, and it's not long before she unloads in your tongue.
Zora pants as she slows down from her high, and you start cleaning her come that dribbled down from your mouth. You let her go with a pop, and she looks at your face and takes in the tears that gathered on the corner of your eyes and the mix of cum and saliva on your parted, swollen lips. “Come here.”
She leans in and captures your lips on hers. As she tastes herself on the kiss, her dick twitches. Zora ignores the urge to fuck you in this car, now that the horny fog on her brain has (slightly) dissipated. “I was worried about you,” Zora whispers, green eyes boring into yours. Her hand still rests on your cheeks, not letting you back away. “What happened? Is there anything wrong? Are you o–”
This was bound to happen one way or another, and you have literally done this with Natasha, but it still didn't make it easier. With a deep breath, you say, “I’m pregnant, Z. It… the baby could be yours.”
Zora’s world stopped. Her breath hitched, brows furrowed, her lips parted as she took in your revelation. “I…” she trails off. “Wait. Could? What do you mean, could?”
Here goes nothing.
“You see, uh…I was having sex with Nat- Natasha Romanoff. We’re like, you know, us. Fuck buddies or…something. So…”
You cringe at the way you explained yourself, like the words are scrambled and you don't know how to let it out, at least intelligibly.
Zora finishes your sentences for you, finally catching on. “...So you don't know which one of us knocked you up.”
You bite your lip and wince at her bluntness, and nod anyway. “...Yep.”
It became quiet for a few minutes, and your heart raced waiting for her reaction. At the same time, Zora watches the nervousness reflected in your eyes.
She's thinking ahead, a little mini-you or a mini-her running around a suburban family home. The two of you retired and are free from the covert operations, working on an honest job now that there's a little one involved. Zora, with all her talk of being ‘married to the job’, doesn't deny that there's always going to be a part of her that wants the normal life. After her mom passed, after that dinosaur job, she has been thinking of laying down the guns, and this…is this going to be the opportunity to finally do it?
She sighs and frees your worried bottom lip from your teeth. “Hey, look at me,” voice low as she says your name. “I care about you. You're my friend. I’m gonna be here for you and our child. Okay?”
Zora catches the tear that fell on your cheek as she comforts your apprehension.
The second trimester is relatively easy compared to the first. There's minimal nausea. Once or twice a week, you throw up. You're still averse to the smell and taste of some foods, but your company made sure to avoid those. One thing you do not like is the need to pee every hour or so. Your breasts, lower back, and hips are tender and sensitive. There's also the occasional dizziness and headaches in the mornings, but nothing that's not totally manageable. If it wasn't for the slight belly, you could almost say you're not pregnant.
The ones that make your head throb more than the pregnancy are your…companions. Partners? Friends? Baby daddies? You haven't decided what to call them. Yet.
Zora and Natasha still often take job assignments, but nothing that would make them be away for a long time. They say that it's so they can take care of you and jellybean, but it's actually because they don't want the other being left with you alone.
It's not that they don't trust each other, given the trust that you have in them. It's more of a pissing contest between the two women, and it's stressing you out more than the pregnancy itself. Because of that, you’d have laid down some ground rules since they have decided to live in your apartment for the duration of the pregnancy.
It's just one rule, really. No sex allowed with either of them. You’ve done your research, and sex should be safe during pregnancy, but what you're trying to avoid is being even more attached to them (which led you to this very situation).
They shared a disapproving glance at each other, then at you like you’ve earned a second head, followed by a silent brow raise from Natasha, and an audible groan from Zora.
Eventually, they agreed when you reminded them that with that rule in place, there wouldn't be any playing favorites. But oh, you should have known better. Since they're turning everything into a competition, each woman has taken it as their objective to lure you into the depths of lustfulness, taking advantage of your pregnancy brain.
Zora knows you love that brown tank top on her so much—but much, much more if she's also glistening with sweat—like a fucking glazed donut.
The mercenary had just come home from a morning run when she came up to you in the kitchen. Ponytail slick, baby hairs sticking on her forehead, arms covered in her perspiring glory. She greets you with a side hug, and her scent, earthy cologne that's gotten mixed with sweat, makes you dizzy with want. Heat pools low in your belly, and it's not because of the growing human inside.
Your throat’s suddenly dry. You pull away from her and bee lined to the fridge. You pour yourself a cold glass of water, hoping it's enough to douse the burning between your legs.
“You stink, Z. You need to shower.”
“Well. Wanna join?” she asks, a cocky grin on her lips.
You don't know whether to slap it off of her, or tug her between your thighs.
Zora's eyes are full of mirth as it follows you as you exit wordlessly. One day, she’ll get you back under her (and before Natasha does), she thinks.
In hindsight, the one who placed that rule was the very person who had the least amount of control to follow it.
Plenty of nights spent with either your hand or a vibrator against your needy cunt, mind swirling with how good the two of them fiddle with your body like an instrument they have learned to play for a long time. Familiar, wandering hands as they map each curve and crevice. Wet muscle against the expanse of your skin. Warm, sticky cum dripping from your holes, or in your tongue—wherever they felt like shooting their load.
How infuriating that you could no longer reach that height of orgasm on your own.
And naturally, the timing couldn't be any more torturous than seeing Natasha Romanoff’s half-erected cock barely contained by her underwear. You almost open your mouth to remind her to be decent around the house, but hazel eyes catch your wandering ones. She's so smug about it, too. “Nothing you haven't seen before, malysh.”
That goddamn red happy trail does nothing to help, either.
You don't realize that she's stepped much closer to you, what with your mind in the gutter. Natasha pressed the back of her hand against your neck. “You feel warm, are you okay?”
You pull away from her touch like you’re burned (and in a way, you are). “I- I’m okay. Good night, Nat.”
Natasha shakes her head in amusement. She deems it funny that you let them help you with anything you'd need, just not with that kind of need. But you'll get there.
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When they're not actively out to try to make you lose your composure at home, they actually carry out their promise.
They both make sure to go along with your check-ups, so now you're lying on the exam table for the anatomy scan, and you watch them as they look at the monitor, heavily invested and in awe, which makes the doctor ask: “Who's the mother?”
“Me.”
“I am.”
You almost choked when they answered at the same time, their hands even raised to claim parenthood. Natasha and Zora even have an eager and proud look on their faces before glaring at each other.
“God help me,” you murmur, putting your hands to your face to hide the embarrassment.
Your doctor stares with her mouth open in surprise, eyes darting to you, then to the redhead, then to the blonde. “Oh, uh, okay. So going back…" She clears her throat. The gel’s cold on your skin, and you uncover your eyes to look at your growing baby. She moves the transducer over different spots on your abdomen and points to the screen. “...here’s the baby’s arms and legs. And that one, that's the little fingers. Over here, the toes…”
The appointment is done without any more fuss from them, as they were mostly silent during the doctor’s reminders.
Zora is the designated driver on the way back, much to her dismay. They agreed to switch off the driving assignment every time you all need to go out, but she’d still mumble and scowl at Nat from the rearview mirror.
Natasha, in the backseat with you, is still reeling from the baby’s heartbeat. Her head's on your lap, face turned to your tummy, trying to talk to the baby now that she knows the baby can hear sounds at this point. You play with her hair, a smile on your face, while listening to her. She's mostly speaking in Russian, and you’d catch the endearments that you have heard before.
Even with their competitiveness with each other, that never got in the way of their tireless support for you and the baby. You catch Natasha's hazel eyes, bespeckled with honey gold, on yours. “I think I’ll call the baby dochen’ka,” she says with a soft smile. “It means little daughter.”
Zora protests from her seat. “Daughter? Not that there's nothing wrong with that, but what if he's a boy?”
You roll your eyes at Zora's answer, but she's right. Your kid might be a son. Both of them wanted to know the baby’s gender, but you decided not to learn it yet.
“Ignore her, buddy,” Zora says, also wanting to speak to jellybean. “Listen to me, to mama, ‘kay? Be good to mommy for me.”
You and Natasha gasp at the same time when you feel jellybean kick. “Oh my God, Z!”
“What? What is it?” Zora, to her credit, still calmly parks the car even if she's stupidly excited.
You beckon her over, “Come here and talk to jellybean again.”
Natasha, while thrilled by the baby’s movement, can't help but huff in annoyance at Zora, who now hogs you to herself. She's cramped at the side, making space as Zora resembles her earlier position.
“Ha! Buddy agrees with me, huh? You're our little boy, aren't you? My little champ,” Zora coos as you guide her palm to where the baby kicked earlier.
This time, the blonde woman feels the baby's movement for herself. Tears have now gathered in her eyes, and her heart soars that she can't help but cup your cheeks and capture your lips. You stiffened in surprise, but it doesn't take you long before returning her kiss. It's soft and equally hungry, and dare say… full of love.
The redhead on your side felt her insides twist as she looked away in jealousy.
Natasha, whose jaws are still clenched, clears her throat to snap the two of you out of your little bubble. You have the decency to feel shy as you pull back, lips still tingling from where Zora nipped. “‘m sorry, got uh… carried away.”
On the other hand, Zora has that stupid smirk plastered, winning today's round. She wanted to rub it in Natasha's face, but ultimately decided not to, so she wordlessly went back to the driver's seat.
The drive back is quiet. Zora’s focused on the wheels, while Natasha… you can't decipher what's going on in her pretty head. Her face is impassive. You try to steal a glance at her, but her gaze is glued to the window.
She does help you out of the car once you're home, then excuses herself to her room. You don't hear from her for the rest of the afternoon.
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Natasha’s always been reserved, but her quietness today has you thrown for a loop. You text her to come up to your room so you can talk privately.
She knocks twice and lets herself in when she hears your muffled ‘come in’.
You can tell Nat wants to say something with the way she's standing ramrod straight, and is building the courage to blurt it out. “Come here, Nat. Let me braid your hair?”
Natasha nods meekly, and you sit at the edge of your bed. She sits on the floor between your legs, eyelids fluttering close as you massage her scalp.
You give her time to gather her thoughts, thinking that her nerves might ease a little if you're not looking directly at her.
Not many things make Natasha Romanoff nervous—she has been through the worst of the worst this world can offer—but all of that didn't require her to feel. She does her job mechanically. Detached from sentimentalities, but she's just human. She's bound to feel emotions one way or another.
And you, with your sweet, captivating self, offered the things she was told she's not meant to have. A child. A family to call her own. Love.
When she heard the rhythm of the baby's heart, everything felt more real.
Natasha, brought about by her spy nature, unconsciously has treated this whole thing like she's on a mission, and she needs to play house—and she's decided that she's not going to compartmentalize this time. She's going to permit herself to feel. To sit here and talk to you out loud about what’s been weighing on her chest.
“I want to be a part of the baby’s life, detka.” She reaches for your hand, which makes you pause while doing her braids. She then gets the elastic from her wrist and ties it where you left off. Nat turns around to face you, still kneeling on the floor. “I know I already am, and I’m very, very grateful that you allowed me to be—but what I mean is…I want to be there when she grows up. I want to see her take her first step, hear her first word. I want to be here for all her firsts…” she pauses, takes a deep breath. Natasha holds her hands in yours, heart on her sleeve as she says, “I want to be with you, with our family. Ya tebya lyublyu, milaya. I love you, and I adore you.”
Your breath shudders at her confession, and you don't know if you can really speak right now. Luckily, Nat has graciously reciprocated the grace you’ve offered her earlier.
“You don't have to answer right now, dorogoy.” She stands up and tips your chin to her. Her thumb brushes the pebbled tears on your eyes. “You just let me love you and dochen'ka, hmm?”
Natasha leans down and kisses your temple, but before she can talk herself out of it, the redhead brings her lips against yours.
The kiss is full of tears—from both of you—but Nat kept it brief and gentle, while also still wanting to convey her sincerity.
It's been a while since Natasha left your room, but you still can't quite wrap your head around her admission.
You rub your belly absentmindedly, and you find yourself talking aloud to jellybean.
“What do you think I should do, bub?” you asked with a sigh. “I… I want to be selfish. I like them both, jellybean. I don't think I can choose between the two of them. I don't think I should have to. We can probably do that, right? You’ll have three moms. I think it'll be fun.”
A sudden, sharp pain came from your abdomen. You could only let out a chuckle as you massage the affected area.
“Seems like you agree with mommy, huh?”
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At this point, it was inevitable that Zora wouldn't be able to contain her feelings anymore.
Since the kiss with her, she has been glued to your side. Not that she wasn't before, but this time, she's extra affectionate lately. A kiss on your head every time she passes by you. You're feeling extra sore? She's there with her oils and gives you a massage. A back hug while you're cooking. Zora’s touch is never not on you.
It was a random afternoon when she broke the ice. The TV's just a background noise at this moment, Zora deep in thought on how she's going to profess what she feels for you for the longest time.
She's ruminated on this long and hard, and felt as if she didn't say anything soon, she'd explode. Zora doesn't expect anything in return—she’d be content with co-parenting the baby if you don't feel the same for her.
She reaches for the remote and mutes the TV, which turns your attention to her. Her hand is still rubbing your cramped leg, but her determined eyes are on yours.
“Do you like Natasha?”
You gape at her like a fish out of water, and even when your words failed you, you also kind of answered her question. To Zora, at least.
“Because I… I like you a lot, sweetheart, and I would like you to be mine. I want you and our son in my life. Forever. If that's something you'd be up to. And that's… of course, if you feel the same. If not–” Zora starts to falter. You can't help but smile at how endearing she is. “–then I'm totally chill with it. You and Romanoff can make baby number two, and I’d be godmother—”
Before she can spiral further, you shut Zora up with a peck on her lips. It's humorous to you how she chases you when you pull back, clearly wanting more than a chaste smooch. “You're rambling, Z. Jellybean’s not even out, and you're already talking about baby number two.”
Her eyes are dazed like she's gotten already drunk with that brief taste of you. “Okay, so… does that mean… Can I have one more kiss?”
“I think jellybean wants a salad. Would you make us a salad, please?”
Zora blinks hard, then pouts like you've kicked her puppy. She wants to object, but she also knows how you get when you can't eat the food you want at the moment. She leaves your side reluctantly with a deep exhale.
The three of you are a pack at this point, neither woman refusing to leave your side. You have them at your beck and call, with your belly being the size of a cantaloupe, jellybean heavier now that you're in the final stages of the third trimester, and there are only a couple of weeks before you welcome your bundle of joy to the world.
However, since the kiss with Zora and Natasha's confession, you notice that their competitive streak now extends beyond their self-imposed responsibilities during your pregnancy. So in an unexpected turn of events, the two women are now vying for your affection—not that you didn't before—but specifically, your heart.
The blonde mercenary made it a point to make the redhead assassin admit that they both have a thing for you, going by Natasha's reaction when she stole a kiss.
They were assembling the nursery room for jellybean, Nat sat on the floor setting up the newborn crib, and Zora was finishing touches on the wall paint—well, trying to, if she's not too busy staring at the redhead.
“Hey, Romanoff.”
Nat only hums, eyes squinted on the crib manual from IKEA. “I’m busy.”
Zora ignores her and sits cross-legged beside Natasha. “So I’ve been thinking.”
“Should I be worried?”
“You have a thing for—”
Natasha’s back straightens, and she grabs Zora's wrist. The piece of wood she was holding was now against the blonde’s neck before she even had the chance to finish her sentence. Zora’s taken aback by Nat’s action, but pushes through now that she has Natasha's attention. “Just hear me out for a second,” she lets out an exhale as the redhead retreats from her hold. “Don't bother denying it, Romanoff. Your actions already confirmed it, anyway. You like her,” the blonde pauses, gauging Nat’s expression. Blank, like the great spy she is, is void of any emotion. But Zora knows better. “And I’m pretty sure you know that I like her too… and I want to be a parent to our kid and be a partner to her.”
“And you're telling me this, because…”
“Because as much as I don't want to admit it, I think she likes you too. Don't think I didn’t notice that longing glances you two share when you think the other's not looking. For a spy, your googly eyes are not subtle, Natasha.”
Nat’s eyebrows raise at Zora's use of her name. That's new. “Then for a merc, your attention to detail is shit. She looks at you the same, dumbass. Like you hung the moon or something. She may act like you're a fool—which you are—but she’d always say it with fondness.”
For the past eight months, this is the longest conversation they've had. Now that they think about it… They've been so blindsided by their need to care for you and their own self-deprecation that they failed to notice the glaringly obvious that's been sprouting right under their noses… oh.
Now that they think about it, you may actually want them both. But if the circumstances change and you have to choose, they know that they'll still honor your choice. Whatever it may be.
Zora and Natasha come to a conclusion, and a handshake seals their agreement.
Natasha sits at the uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting area, her stare straight ahead, legs bouncing in anticipation.
Zora paces the hallway, a coffee cup crumpled in her hand. She's been bugging the nurses for the past 30 minutes, and Nat had to send her to the cafeteria just so she won't be kicked out.
It's been an hour or so since they wheeled you to the delivery room, and eight hours since you’ve been in active labor.
They're both restless and excited—so when someone informs them that the delivery went fine and the mother and baby are okay, and they can go ahead and see you—they're in your room in the blink of an eye.
Both pairs of viridian eyes prick with tears when they see you, sighing in relief as they each kiss your temple. You lean into their touch, and their gaze finally turns to the baby you’re holding against your chest.
Each woman stands on either side of the bed, still rendered speechless. You notice Zora’s hands are balled into fists, as if restraining herself from asking to hold the baby.
You wet your lips before finally looking at them.
“I didn't want to choose one over the other. The past nine months should have been one hell of a journey for our baby,” you whisper, voice still hoarse, and with a chest full of warmth as you look down at the fluttering lashes of your newborn kid. “With both of you, everything was easier… and it's also really hard for me not to fall in love with you, Natasha.” You say, glancing at Nat, and then, “and with you, Zora. This baby belongs to all of us. So… I've decided to name her Ingrid Bennett-Romanoff—if that– that's something that you guys would be okay with, because I just thought it could be the three of us… you know? It just makes sense.”
You probably don't, and this is making you more scared than when you were pushing Ingrid out earlier.
“If Romanoff’s cool with it, then I am too,” Zora answers with a shrug, too fixated on brushing the stray hairs away from your face.
“So you–really?”
Natasha nods at you and rolls her eyes at Zora. “Of course, I am,” her hands fly to your free arm and give it a squeeze. “We literally talked about this before, Bennett.”
“You did what?” Wow. Okay. What? You look at Zora for clarification.
“We're okay with whatever you're going to decide. If it's gonna be me, or her, or if you want it to be us three. All that matters to us is to make sure you have a foundation you can lean on while raising Ingrid, and that our daughter grows up with a whole lot of support that we didn't have.”
Your lips quiver as a dam breaks in your eyes. You must have done something very good in your past life to deserve this, having found not just one, but two people to love and share this life with, and you need to make sure that they know it, too. With a trembling voice, you say, finally. “You really conspired behind my back, huh? I fucking love you, fuck. I love you, Zora. I love you, Nat.”
Natasha chuckles tearily, mumbling about how you shouldn't curse with the baby around. “So if you want us, detka, then you have us.”
