“Can I help?” Yelena bounds over to her mother at the stove.
“I think I could use help from my favorite little munchkin,” (Y/n) replies, ruffling Yelena’s (H/c) hair.
. . .
“I love brownies,” Yelena says dreamily, taking a fresh brownie from the pan.
“Oh, believe me,” (Y/n) winks, stealing one from Yelena’s pan. “Brownies are great.”
“Know what?” Yelena asks, nudging her (H/c) haired mother. “I should’ve been worried about you stealing my brownies.”
Natasha chuckles, walking into the kitchen, taking a brownie from her pan.
(Y/n) shrugs, taking another brownie. “That’s fair.”
3rd Person POV
Natasha’s head rests against (Y/n)’s chest, both women’s fronts pressing gently into each other, (Y/n)’s arms draped around the woman.
Natasha just about purrs, overwhelmed by affection, especially when Liho, Ghost, and Marvel were lying on the bed - Frost having taken her place at Yelena’s feet every night.
“Nattie?” (Y/n)’s voice is soft.
Natasha hums, her eyes remaining closed, face pressed into (Y/n)’s chest.
“What if we got a farm?” (Y/n) asks.
Natasha leans back slightly to look up into (Y/n)’s eyes.
“It would be nice for Yelena to grow up with her cousins,” (Y/n) says. “Maybe we could get one near the Bartons’?” she wonders aloud.
(Y/n) feels a little dumb, but then she looks down into Natasha’s bright - yet still sleepy - emerald green gaze.
“It’s a good idea,” Natasha reassures her wife.
(Y/n) smiles, pressing a kiss to the crown of Natasha’s head.
Natasha smiles, stretching slightly before she turns around on the bed, her back pressed flush against (Y/n)’s front.
Frost trots into the room, hopping onto the bed and coming to sniff Natasha curiously.
Natasha glances at the dog questioningly, but then relaxes, (Y/n)’s thumbs gently brushing Natasha’s sides under her shirt.
(Y/n)’s chin rests atop Natasha’s head and the redhead presses into (Y/n), the redhead enjoying the affection.
. . .
Frost had begun acting strange around both (Y/n) and Natasha.
The dog - who usually never barked or growled at anyone - had taken to baring her teeth in a snarl whenever (Y/n) would come near Natasha.
Frost would place her front paws on Natasha’s thighs, and the redhead would almost suffocate in the massive amount of snowy white fur.
. . .
(Y/n), having become slightly worried about the dog’s strange behavior, had taken her to the vet.
The veterinarian examines Frost, a puzzled expression on her face. “There’s nothing wrong with her,” Dr. Thomas tells (Y/n), petting Frost’s head.
(Y/n) blinks slowly. “She’s never growled or barked at anyone in an aggressive manner before,” (Y/n) says, her tone worried. “It was just very sudden,” (Y/n) gazes at the dog.
She reaches her hand out to pet Frost’s head, and is quite surprised when Frost’s tail wags, stretching up to nuzzle her head against (Y/n)’s hand.
“Does Frost get protective of a certain person in your household?” the vet asks.
“My wife,” (Y/n) replies, taking a moment to scratch behind Frost’s ears.
“Well,” Dr. Thomas replies, a smile twitching on her lips. “Everything seems to be alright.”
The veterinarian holds out a treat for the snowy-white dog, and Frost’s tail brushes on the table again, taking the treat.
. . .
As soon as (Y/n) and Frost enter the house, the dog trots over, jumping onto the couch to rest her head in Natasha’s lap.
“The vet said that nothing was wrong with her,” (Y/n) tells Natasha, carefully taking a seat across from Natasha in an armchair.
Natasha hums in reply, running her fingers through the dog’s fur.
Yelena comes down the stairs, her laptop in her arms as she settles herself at the dining room table, Ghost following and jumping up onto a chair.
. . .
That night, (Y/n) had taken a large bowl of water for the cats, leaving it in her and Natasha’s shared bathroom, then closing the door.
Natasha’s expression is soft, leaning against the headboard, waiting for (Y/n) to join her for a cuddle session now that Frost wouldn’t interrupt with her strange protective surge around Natasha.
(Y/n) disappears into the bathroom for a moment, and returns in a pair of black sweatpants and a light gray tank top, accentuating (Y/n)’s well muscled arms.
(Y/n) slides into bed, her arms wrapping around Natasha’s waist and Natasha snuggles into her.
. . .
(Y/n) wakes earlier than Natasha, moving to the kitchen to start breakfast.
“Is Mama okay?” Yelena makes her way into the kitchen, Frost just behind her.
(Y/n) meets Yelena’s gaze, her eyebrows knit with concern. “What?” (Y/n) asks stupidly.
“I think she’s throwing up in the bathroom,” Yelena replies, moving to take the spatula from her mother. “Go,” Yelena nudges her (H/c) haired mother towards the staircase.
(Y/n) takes the stairs three at a time. “Nattie?” (Y/n) sits down beside Natasha, holding her hair back.
Natasha leans back into (Y/n)’s touch, looking into (Y/n)’s worried (E/c) gaze through her long lashes.
(Y/n)’s hand runs gently down Natasha’s back.
“You alright, honey?” (Y/n) asks, her eyebrows furrowed with concern.
Natasha nods uncertainly, still seeking out (Y/n)’s comfort.
Daisy thought she lost her surrogate mother and a chunk of her surrogate father that was inside a demonic alien in the span of like 5 minutes and I honestly just gotta say fuck that
After the attack on New York, Agent Q Proctor is assigned by SHIELD to be Captain America's personal analyst: making sure he's adjusting correctly to the modern world. But when SHIELD is internally attacked by HYDRA, Q's job becomes much more intense than she would've liked...
Garner: I'm the good guy here! And you know that I would never EVER do anything to hurt Daisy! Coulson: What about Lincoln? Garner:.... Garner: That Lincoln is a punk b*tch.
