natasha romanoff x fem!reader one-shots

𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 💋

part of the Short n' Sweet AU, as you can tell by the little kiss emoji; this is your reminder to follow me on tumblr if you haven't already, since i post a bunch of stuff about this AU there that i don't here (like headcanons and drabbles). my user: thesvnandthemooon

a/n: (request) nat being grossed out by pregnancy + baby-related things. called it 'eyes wide open' bc i'm trying to stay in theme with the sabrina songs and i couldn't find one that fits better lol

fair warning: this one's very random and not as detailed as the other one-shots i've posted, mainly because it doesn't have much of a plot

also, this entire thing makes sns nat seem like the biggest idiot alive. i promise that's not the case, these are just some of her worst moments lol 😭

warnings: gagging/spitting, smut (brief, part of the plot ig?), childbirth, mentions of blood and bodily fluids

Eyes wide open, Natasha stares at the creation on the plate you just carried into the living room.

She lowers the PlayStation controller and clears her throat. Oblivious, you shift on the couch and stretch out your legs. She pokes your thigh.

"Yeah?", you ask, looking away from the tv screen. She raises her eyebrows pointedly.

"What the fuck is that."

"Oh." You tilt the plate a little to show it to her. She immediately grimaces. "Pickles in fruit roll-ups with some whipped cream on the side!"

"Dear god", she mumbles, trying her hardest not to judge. You're pregnant, after all, but those pregnancy cravings aren't for the weak. "You sound excited, too. Jesus Christ."

You hum, already grabbing one of the rolls and taking a bite. Pickle juice leaks, dripping down your finger and onto the big dollop of whipped cream. Natasha gags quietly.

"You're exaggerating", you say through a mouthful of the sour-sweet-fatty concoction. "Try it!"

"Over my dead body", she says, jumping up from the couch and abandoning her video game. You raise your eyebrows, wiggling a pickle-roll. "Quit that."

"Just one bite", you say. "I'm literally carrying your kid. May as well see what they like."

Natasha points a finger at you. "Don't blame this on them. This is on you."

You frown, taking another deliberately slow bite and savoring it. The oh-so-tough athlete almost loses it.

"It's good", you insist. You get up — a difficult task, thanks to the basketball-sized bump you're carrying around. Yes, Natasha measured it. It's basketball-sized.

She jumps backwards and bumps into a potted plant. You hear your mom's voice from upstairs.

"What are you kids doing?"

"Nothing", you call. You hold out your newest craving and tilt your head, plush glossy lips forming a pout. "One little bite. Just a tiny one."

Natasha stares at it, hesitating. The Red 40 roll-up. The pickle, still oozing juice. The poor whipped cream, now dissolving into a white puddle.

Forget any basketball-injury she's ever had. She's pretty sure this might be the thing that ends her career.

Your eyes light up when she leans in. Teeth first bite down on something soft yet firm. Then, something crunchy. It's sweet and sour and rich and so absolutely vile she reaches for the potted plant.

"Not in there!"

Natasha shakes her head and gags, almost spitting everything out. "You trying to kill me?!"