Mara's Self-Indulgent Fics

"Either one of you know where the Smithsonian is? I'm here to pick up a fossil." Natasha Romanoff's rich velvety voice wrapped around Sam like smoke in a darkened jazz club hidden deep in the heart of New Orleans, familiar and intoxicating.

Sam took a few steps toward the curb behind Steve Rogers and knelt down to get a better look at her. Ever since he'd first seen her on the news, he'd had a pant-busting crush on the Black Widow.

When Natasha leaned forward in the car, his heart skipped a beat. If she was gorgeous on TV, she was a fucking bombshell in person. Bright red hair, blue eyes sparkling with mischief, and a tiny quirk of soft pink lips that told a story he needed the ending to.

He couldn't help the flirty grin that pulled at the corners of his mouth. A thousand different lines had gone through his head in every fantasy he'd had about meeting her, some clever, some funny. And now that he was face-to-face with her, all that came out was, "How you doin'?"

The grin stayed firmly in place, but he slapped himself mentally. Real smooth, Wilson.

Lucky for him, she took it in stride, that twinkle in her eyes shifting to amusement. "Hey."

One simple word, yet it set every nerve alight with excitement.

All around you, people were laughing and celebrating. It was your first Pride parade as an Avenger, riding the float with them through the streets of New York. Discussing your own sexuality had never been something you'd been comfortable doing, but you couldn't be the only Avenger missing from the parade - there would be questions you just weren't ready to answer.

But looking into the crowd and at the loving faces of your friends, you felt more at-ease than you ever had. Every single person in that crowd representing their true selves was a hell of a lot braver than you, regardless of how many Hydra agents you could take on in a fight.

Love.

Acceptance.

Peace.

Before you could change your mind, you reached into one of the baskets of Pride flag stickers you'd been handing out to the crowd. With a deep breath, you peeled off the back and slapped it on your cheek.

Steve smiled and pulled you up to stand next to him. "You good?"

You nodded shakily.

The parade went on.

Come tomorrow the gossip sites and far-right news would have a fucking field day with it. But none of that mattered.

All around you, people were laughing and celebrating. It was your first Pride parade as an Avenger, riding the float with them through the streets of New York. Discussing your own sexuality had never been something you'd been comfortable doing, but you couldn't be the only Avenger missing from the parade - there would be questions you just weren't ready to answer.

But looking into the crowd and at the loving faces of your friends, you felt more at-ease than you ever had. Every single person in that crowd representing their true selves was a hell of a lot braver than you, regardless of how many Hydra agents you could take on in a fight.

Love.

Acceptance.

Peace.

Before you could change your mind, you reached into one of the baskets of Pride flag stickers you'd been handing out to the crowd. With a deep breath, you peeled off the back and slapped it on your cheek.

Steve smiled and pulled you up to stand next to him. "You good?"

You nodded shakily.

The parade went on.

Come tomorrow the gossip sites and far-right news would have a fucking field day with it. But none of that mattered.

"Either one of you know where the Smithsonian is? I'm here to pick up a fossil." Natasha Romanoff's rich velvety voice wrapped around Sam like smoke in a darkened jazz club hidden deep in the heart of New Orleans, familiar and intoxicating.

Sam took a few steps toward the curb behind Steve Rogers and knelt down to get a better look at her. Ever since he'd first seen her on the news, he'd had a pant-busting crush on the Black Widow.

When Natasha leaned forward in the car, his heart skipped a beat. If she was gorgeous on TV, she was a fucking bombshell in person. Bright red hair, blue eyes sparkling with mischief, and a tiny quirk of soft pink lips that told a story he needed the ending to.

He couldn't help the flirty grin that pulled at the corners of his mouth. A thousand different lines had gone through his head in every fantasy he'd had about meeting her, some clever, some funny. And now that he was face-to-face with her, all that came out was, "How you doin'?"

The grin stayed firmly in place, but he slapped himself mentally. Real smooth, Wilson.

Lucky for him, she took it in stride, that twinkle in her eyes shifting to amusement. "Hey."

One simple word, yet it set every nerve alight with excitement.