Everyone on the team knew one unspoken truth: you couldn’t tease Natasha Romanoff. She was sharp, quick-witted, and always one step ahead. Whether it was a sarcastic remark or a playful jab, Natasha had a comeback ready – often sharper, often deadlier – or she would just glare at you with those piercing green eyes until the teasing stopped, the silence ringing louder than any words. The kind of silence that made even the bravest think twice before opening their mouths again. Everyone, that is, except Clint Barton... and you.
You’d always been different. Maybe it was your patience, your quiet steadiness, or the way you moved through the compound without demanding attention. Nobody could say exactly when Natasha began to accept your presence as something more than just another teammate. It didn’t happen in one sudden moment, but rather in countless small ways that gradually wove themselves into the fabric of daily life.
There was the way you made her coffee every morning, carefully assembling the drink just the way she liked. Once it was ready, you quietly handed her the steaming mug with a small smile. And when you knew she hadn’t eaten all day, you’d find a snack and leave it on her desk or slide it across the table during brief moments in the common room.
During team movie nights, you found yourself curling into her side on the couch, the noise and light from the screen wrapping around you both. You noticed, over time, how Natasha’s arm would slowly slide around you, first hesitantly, then with quiet confidence. The comfort of those evenings wasn’t just in the films but in the simple, tender warmth of being close without needing words.
Sometimes, you’d show up unexpectedly at the gym, leaning casually against the ropes of the boxing ring while Natasha trained fiercely with Tony or Steve. You always had a water bottle ready, your smile steady and encouraging when you handed it to her. “You’ve got this,” you’d say softly, and she’d nod, a brief flicker of gratitude passing through her eyes before she launched herself back into the fight.
Missions changed everything. On the field, you were sharp and focused, both of you synchronised in a way few others could be. When an operation required an overnight stay in a safe house, you’d creep into Natasha’s room late at night, slipping beneath the covers beside her without a word. You’d curl into her side, your body pressing close. Natasha would soften in the darkness, her expression gentle, bordering on tender, as she watched you sleep, her hand finding yours in the silence between the two of you.
***
You couldn’t say exactly when everything began to shift. It was like waking from a long sleep, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest, as you realised you were catching feelings for your red-headed best friend. Perhaps you’d been too familiar with her all along, too close without naming the growing ache inside you.
That awareness came with a sharp sting, like a bucket of cold water thrown over you. Memories surged through your mind – the long nights spent in her bed, her steady breathing a quiet rhythm next to you. The countless meals you’d prepared when she’d forgotten to eat. The hours spent helping her train, cheering her on quietly from the sidelines. How you’d taken her kitbag after long missions, sending her off to the medbay to get patched up, your hands brushing hers in small exchanges of care.
With this new understanding came a reluctant decision: you needed to pull back. To give yourself space, to protect your heart from breaking silently. So, little by little, you began to retreat.
At first, Natasha didn’t notice. You started spending more time with other team members. Sparring with Steve, feeling the rush of competition. Watching movies with Wanda, the two of you bonding over sitcoms, laughing at silly jokes that filled the air with warmth. Practicing archery with Clint, the familiar twang of the bowstring a welcome distraction from your swirling thoughts.
And then, you made a bigger change. You’d recently bought your first apartment in the city – a quiet sanctuary away from the compound’s bustle. Gradually, you moved out, retreating into your new space on weekends and rest days. You decorated it with care, finding mismatched throw blankets and cushions to cover your sofa. You wandered through markets, picking out plants that now adorned nearly every windowsill, bringing life and colour into your quiet retreat.
It was a small, careful escape from Natasha’s world – a way to protect yourself, to figure out what you wanted. No matter how far you stepped back, a part of you still longed for those moments with her, for the warmth of her presence, and the possibility that maybe, just maybe, she felt it too.
***
It took a few months before you were fully out of the compound. Once you were firmly settled in your apartment, Wanda started coming over. The two of you spent evenings laughing at sitcoms, wine-drunk, sharing cold pizza and filling your space with quiet friendship.
During one of these evenings, the witch turned to you, a glass of wine balanced in her hand. “Y/n, I have to ask you something.”
“Sure,” you replied easily, turning towards her and reaching for your own wine glass. Taking a sip, you glanced at Wanda over the rim.
“What happened with you and Natasha?”
You choked on your drink, hastily setting the glass down and gasping for breath, eyes watering. Longing and lust burned through you at the thought of the other red-headed Avenger. “What do you mean?” you spluttered. “Everything’s fine.”
“You no longer live at the compound and she’s walking around like a bear with a sore head. Nobody’s talking about it but everyone’s talking about it.” Wanda looked at you, equal parts amusement and concern. “Don’t tell me nothing happened.”
“I just think it’s better if I… moved out,” you muttered awkwardly.
“Better for whom?” she said gently. “I’m not reading your mind, y/n, but I can see you’re in pain.”
“I’m fine,” you said quickly. Too quickly.
Wanda decided not to probe further. She could see you were putting walls up and realised that you probably needed a friend right now, not more questions.
***
The following morning, you headed to your local farmers’ market. It was warm and sunny, and the market was bustling. Young families wandered around, examining fresh produce and sampling the range of cuisines in nearby food trucks. Stall holders shouted about their products, mingling cries about cheese and garlic hitting you as you ambled through the stalls.
A tote bag hung off one shoulder, crammed with a variety of things that looked too good to be left. You were hesitating between two different types of ham when it happened.
“There you are.”
Startled, you looked around – straight into the piercing green eyes of your best friend.
Natasha looked unbothered, but you could tell by the worry in her eyes and the tension in her shoulders that everything was not okay. A pair of sunglasses – you realised with a jolt that you’d gifted them to her – were tangled in her vibrant hair. She had an off-white shirt, black jeans and Converse on.
“Natasha, I –” you stuttered, unsure what to say after not seeing her for several weeks. Or was it months?
“Silence always was your forte,” she said dryly. “I didn’t think you’d use it on me though.”
“What – no, I – Nat…” You were fumbling for words, everything you wanted to say bubbling to the surface, but you couldn’t, wouldn’t tell her what had really happened.
“Y/n, it’s me.” She stepped closer, her hand reaching out then falling back to her side. She wanted to reach out for you but couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. In that moment, you missed her touch more than the previous weeks put together. “You can talk to me,” she continued gently. “You could’ve just told me you needed some space.”
Biting your lip, you debated how much to tell her. “I didn’t know how to say it.”
Natasha gave you a long look. She wasn’t angry, she was just tired. “You didn’t think silence would do exactly that?”
Shuffling awkwardly, you looked down at your feet. Bringing one hand to your mouth, you began biting the skin around your fingertips. It was a bad habit – one that Natasha had helped you break, but with her absence, you’d fallen back into it.
Gently, a hand reached out and enclosed your own in hers. You quietly looked up at her, tears appearing in your eyes. “I missed you,” you whispered.
“I miss you too,” she said, voice cracking slightly. She gave you another long look. “I got used to you being there… Maybe more than I should have.”
Hope bloomed in your chest. Was she admitting something you’d never quite dared to hope for? That she maybe, possibly liked you too.
“It wasn’t about space, Nat.” You chewed on your lip. “It was about feelings I didn’t – don’t know what to do with.” Gently pulling your hands from hers, you stepped back and looked at her, your expression tender but serious. “I don’t want a reply. Not yet. I just wanted you to know.”
Turning, you carried on walking through the farmers’ market, eyes blurring with tears. You could feel Natasha’s stare burning a hole in your back, but you didn’t look around.
***
Natasha:
You always did have a flair for dramatic exits.
Are you gonna drop the emotional equivalent of a mic and then ghost me?
Y/n
Come on, it’s me
I know you’re reading these. I can see the read receipts.
Y/n:
I told you I didn’t want a reply.
Natasha:
Yeah well, I don’t take orders.
You should know that by now.
…
Look, y/n, I don’t want to do this over text
Please
Are you free tonight?
…
Are you free right now?
Y/n:
Depends.
Are you gonna make a joke and disappear?
Natasha:
That’s your thing.
…
Sorry
That was mean
And no, to answer your question.
I’ll make a joke. Or 2.
But I’m gonna stay.
Big character development moment for me.
…
Come over
Please
Or I’ll turn up at your door with wine and something that looks like dinner
Y/n:
You’re cooking?
Talk about character development
Natasha:
I said, “looks like dinner,” not “is edible.”
Don’t push it
…
Seriously though. Come over. Let’s talk
No pressure
Just me and you. No markets this time
Y/n:
Okay
Natasha:
That sounds like a yes.
Y/n:
God, woman, let me finish typing
I’ll come over
What time?
Natasha:
7.
Bring whatever was in that tote bag. I’m still thinking about the cheese.
You weren’t the only one in the kitchen. Shutting the fridge door, you jumped as you noticed Wanda leaning against the counter. She wasn’t looking at you; her eyes were focused on the steam swirling from the mug of tea in front of her.
“Wands?” you said softly, not wanting to alarm her.
She looked up, a small smile flitting across her face as she noticed you. “Mm, good evening, y/n.”
“Good evening?! It’s, like, 11pm at night!” you laughed. Setting your bike helmet on the counter, you leant forwards. “Are you okay?”
Nodding, Wanda wrapped her hands around the mug, already starting to walk out of the room. “I’m okay, y/n, don’t worry about me.”
You couldn’t help the concerned expression on your face as she left.
***
The air was cool against your face, and you were glad the roads were clear. Still, you kept your eye out for cops even though the ‘definitely not illegally obtained’ police scanner software updated you about any developments.
Pulling into a 24/7 garage, you quietly filled up with fuel, ignoring the teenage boys who were wolf-whistling from their car, or the truckers who were chatting and drinking coffee before hitting the road again.
Locking your bike, you walked into the garage to pay and to grab some snacks. Your eyes lit up as you noticed a box of Wanda’s favourite candy on the shelf. The cashier was young and appeared intimidated by a female biker in the shop, but you ignored him.
Heading outside, you took a pull from your vape - a bad habit you wanted to try and break - and blew smoke through the gap between your visor and helmet. The boys wolf-whistled again, then revved their engines and sped off down the road, hanging out the window and yelling something incoherent at you. And probably offensive, you sighed.
***
It was late when you returned to the Compound. Parking next to Natasha’s bike, you pulled your helmet off and promptly headed straight to Wanda’s room.
There was no answer when you first knocked. The second time, you heard a faint rustling and then silence. With a sigh, you put the box of candy outside her door and headed down the corridor to your room.
You’d just pulled your boots off and thought longingly of your shower when there was a knock at your door. Padding over, it opened to reveal Wanda on the other side. She was still holding the mug of tea from earlier in one hand and there was a tiredness in her eyes that made your heart ache.
“Hi,” she whispered. She held up the box of candy. “How did you -?”
“You’re Wanda Maximoff,” you replied. “I know. Hey, come on in,” you added, gently reaching and pulling her inside before shutting the door behind her. “Wands, you look exhausted. Are you sleeping?”
Too tired to put up a fight, Wanda shook her head, the mug quivering slightly. Swiftly, you took it from her and placed it on your bedside table. “Okay, you’re sleeping here. Come on, get into bed.”
She lay under the covers, looking small and fragile and it tugged at your heart again, as you looked down at her with a soft smile. “I’m going for a shower, but I’ll be right back.” Turning the lights off, you disappeared into the bathroom, leaving the door open so that a sliver of golden light spilled across the floor.
***
When you re-emerged, Wanda was asleep, her breathing soft and even. You crawled under the covers, laying an arm over her waist and leaning your head into the crook of her neck. She murmured and twisted in her sleep, curling up so that she was tucked flush against you.
Just randomly thinking about y/n having flower tattoos that wrap from their shoulder down to their wrist. Natasha discovers them early on in the relationship and then makes it her mission to mark y/n with hickeys where the flowers are so that there are blooms of red and pinkish skin along y/n's arm.
"Are you having fun with that?" you murmured, half turning your head to see Natasha continuing to create chaos down your arm.
She looked up at you with a mischievous grin. "Detka... you have no idea."
Later that day, you headed into a mission briefing, deliberately wearing a sleeveless hoodie just to mess with the rest of the team.
Steve doesn't notice at first. He was serious, talking about the upcoming mission. "...and then I - um, dear god, what is that on your arm, y/n?"
"Oh, this?" you teased, flexing the muscle so that the tattoos rippled along with the marked skin. "Just a little extra tattoo from my loving girlfriend."
Because yes, you would be as mischievous as Natasha and seeing Steve look uncomfortable and the rest of the team fighting back smiles would absolutely make your day.
Meanwhile, Natasha just sits smugly in her chair, arms loosely folded, watching the chaos unfold. Steve catches her eye and she just shrugs. "What? If my girlfriend is a colouring book... it's my job to fill her in, right?"
Could you write a Maria Hill fic, please?? I like your writing style so much!!. I'd like agent!reader (mainly non-verbal) to come home to their shared apartment after a long ass difficult mission, still covered in muck, and simply plops their head onto the lap of the older woman while she types away.
All I Need
Pairing: agent!reader x Maria Hill
Warnings: mentions of blood and injuries; mentions of guns
Genre: fluff
a/n: thanks for this request! I find Maria challenging to write, but I enjoyed this one!
Your forehead felt tight. Natasha had applied tape in the field, but it was starting to peel by the time you got to the Compound. There was an ache in your bones that was hard to ignore, and you were so tired that you almost decided to sleep at the Compound.
Almost. The thing that stopped you, that made you find your keys and drive to your apartment in the city, was Maria.
Nobody knew that you were dating Maria. The pair of you kept your private life private. People didn’t like tangling with Maria because she invariably came out on top. You’d watched this happen enough times to know that your relationship was private and safe.
It was the thought of your slightly strict, professional, no-nonsense girlfriend that kept you driving along the interstate. Except she was a different person around you. Guarded, but softer.
Your mind flashed through the events of the past few days. It had been a difficult mission, and not one that you wanted to revisit, although Steve was insisting on a debrief. You were dreading it. The enemy had been on you from the minute you arrived, and you and your team found yourselves under heavy gunfire. For hours, you hadn’t been able to move, becoming cramped and stiff.
It only changed when Steve - Captain America - and extra forces had arrived. They’d made quick work of the base, and soon you were able to move closer and rescue several hostages, as well as retrieving valuable intel which you had personally dropped into Nick Fury’s hands.
“Well done, soldier,” was all he’d said.
***
The lights were on. Maria was home. Pulling into the underground garage, you got out your car, feeling like you could hardly move. There was a sharp smell of engine oil hanging in the air; you wrinkled your nose, grabbed your kit bag and headed for the elevator.
Resting your head against the cool metal of the elevator, you ignored an aching pain in your ribs and stared at yourself in the mirror on the opposite wall. Blood. Mud. And beneath it all, the faded black grey of your tactical suit. You looked like Natasha Romanoff if she’d just emerged from a building explosion. Minus the vibrant red hair, of course.
The doors opened and you slowly made your way down the hallway, stopping outside your apartment. Fumbling in an outer pocket of your kit bag, you opened the door.
***
The apartment was quiet, but it was a familiar quiet and not the kind of quiet that sets your nerves on edge and makes you tense as you walk around every corner.
Maria’s own kit bag, along with a bulky black briefcase, were lying just beyond the hallway table, propped up against the wall. She was off on assignment to southern Europe in a few days. For now, though, she was yours.
The faint smell of tomato pasta wafted through from the kitchen, and your stomach growled. You were more interested in finding Maria than eating, though, and poked your head into the utility room that had been converted into an office. The desk was clear, meaning she was in the living room.
Leaning against the doorframe, you took in the sight of your girlfriend, head bent over her laptop, typing intently and occasionally muttering under her breath. A notebook lay beside her, filled with Maria’s neat scrawl.
Finally, she glanced up at you, her usually emotionless face dissolving into a softer, more tender expression. She took in the sight of you, listened the loud thud of your kit bag hitting the floor, and analysed the way you were slightly swaying.
“Come here,” was all she said.
With a grateful sigh, you walked forwards, sank into the sofa, which gave a protesting creak beneath you, and collapsed into Maria’s lap, your head resting on her thighs. She ran a thumb gently over your cheek, planted a kiss to the muddy skin, and then carried on typing, the click-click of her keyboard lulling you into sleep.
Warnings: use of eye drops; suggestive body language; throat grabbing (but she’s not actually choking y/n)
a/n: this idea popped into my head so I had to write it down, and of course it had to be with Nat
Fumbling with the bottle, you stared at yourself in the mirror and groaned. Your eye looked red from your efforts of holding it open, trying to put the eye drops in. Or maybe it was the infection.
Behind you, a stall door opened and Natasha Romanoff emerged. She glanced at you once; embarrassed, you put the dropper back in the bottle and peered closely at your eye again in the mirror.
Natasha ignored you, calmly washing her hands. The hum of the dryer drowned out your chance to explain what you were doing. You knew she was looking at you in the reflection off the dryer and that made you nervous.
“It’s eye drops,” you blurted out as soon as the dryer stopped. “Have you ever used them?”
A beat. Then, “Yes.”
“I - um, can you - do you have any tips for doing this?”
Natasha didn’t move, arms folded across her chest, watching you. “Come here then.”
You walked over, stopping in front of the other woman. She took the bottle from your hands and put it down on the counter.
Natasha reached out, dropper in one hand, and seized your jaw with her other hand. Pushing her fingers against your cheeks, she tilted your head back slightly. You squirmed under her touch and she tugged your head down so that you met her gaze. It was unimpressed.
“If you move,” she said in a low voice, “it’ll hurt so much more. Stay still.”
A whimper escaped your throat and something flashed in Natasha’s eyes at the sound. Once again, she tilted your head back. In one swift movement, her hand left your jaw, stretched your eyelid back and she squirted several drops into your eye.
“Ah!” You winced at the coldness of the liquid hitting the surface of your eye and tried to move your head but she was equal to that.
Grabbing your throat, whether accidental or on purpose, she held your head back. “Now blink.” You did so and felt the coldness in your eye fading. “Okay. Both eyes?”
You nodded and she repeated the process for the other eye. When your hands went up to rub at your eyes, Natasha seized them, holding both your wrists in one of her hands.
“Leave them alone,” she snapped, giving a tug on your wrists. “You’ll make it worse.”Biting your lip, you nodded slowly and she released your hands. “How long for?”
“W-what?”
“How long do you need to take the eye drops for?”
“T-two weeks,” you stuttered. “Um, thanks. I - I know what to do now. I mean, I know how to do it.”
Natasha surveyed you for a long moment, eyes narrowing. Glancing at her smart watch, she looked back at you. “9am every morning in here for two weeks. If I don’t see you… I’ll come and find you.”
“Deal,” you said quietly.
“It’s not a deal, sweetheart. It’s an order.” And with that, she left the room, door clicking shut behind her.
After a long time reading fanfiction, I have a complaint: enough with silly, pretty protagonists with perfect bodies. I want to read about a strong protagonist with strong opinions and an appearance outside of what society expects. I want her to have flaws and be as human as I am, okay? Maybe a little depressed and anxious, Mike, like everyone else in this capitalist world. I also want her to be poor, preferably. You know.
I came across this Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader fic I started but didn’t finish.. I know how it ends, does anyone want me to write it or bin it? Let me know :)
“I just need you to stretch a bit higher for me, Wilma,” you said in a gentle tone to the elderly lady in front of you.
“I don’t think I can, miss y/l/n.” Wilma’s tone was apologetic, as she raised her arms as high as they would go above her shoulders.
“That’s okay, we can leave it there for today. I’m going to print off the exercises I want you to do between now and our next session. Speaking of which, it will be back in the physiotherapy department at the hospital, okay?”
The lady nodded. Slowly and carefully, she sat down, pulling her shoes on. “I wanted to ask you, miss y/l/n, about that redhead you told me about.” There was a twinkle in her eye. “Did you manage to - oh, is this her?”
You both looked up to see Natasha Romanoff entering the room. She was casually dressed in training shorts and a black hoodie, her red hair swept back from her face.
“Hey, gorgeous,” you greeted softly with a smile. “No, Wilma,” you added, biting back a laugh, “I was referring to someone else in that conversation.”
“Hmmm. You two would make for a lovely couple,” Wilma insisted. Natasha looked curiously at you, and you just smiled and shook your head. “I - ooh, where’s my stick got to now?”
It was lying on the floor by Natasha’s feet. You expected her to bend down and pick it up but she merely stepped aside and gestured wordlessly. You eyed her sharply, running your expert gaze over her body. Crossing the room in a few steps, you swiftly picked up the walking stick and handed it to Wilma with a smile. “Here it is.”
“My balance isn’t what it used to be,” Wilma confided to Natasha in a loud whisper, “but of course I don’t tell the gents about that.”
You suppressed a laugh and watched as Wilma left, shooting you a parting smile and a wave to Natasha.
“She’s a character,” Natasha remarked. “I didn’t know you held a public clinic.”
“Just a little community support,” you replied off-handedly, finishing off some final comments on a patient form for Wilma. “I have an agreement with City hospital to help out when they’re crowded. They let me know their busy days and I hold a clinic. Now,” you said, looking up from your laptop, “what’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing. I just dropped by to say hi as I was passing through.”
“Mm-hmm. So why are you suspended from active field duty because of medical complications?” You raised an eyebrow. “I have access to all your files, Nat. Let’s try this again. What’s wrong?” Lowering your tone, you watched her with a concerned gaze.
“Damn,” she muttered softly, “I forgot that Cho might do that.”
“Dr Cho? You’ve had surgery then. Post-surgical physio - why wasn’t I informed?”
“I told them not to,” Natasha blurted out.
“Oh.” Slowly, you closed Natasha’s file and watched her carefully.
“Y/n, it’s not like that. Of course I want you involved if I need physio. It’s just - I didn’t tell Helen that this isn’t…recent,” she ended quietly.
Tapping a pen against your lip, you circled Natasha once, assessing her stance. “It’s your right hip.”
“Wha-? How did you-?”
“I’m a physiotherapist. It’s my job to work out what’s wrong, especially if patients don’t want to tell me.” You gestured to her hip. “Okay, so what’s the problem?”
“I took a bullet. Just above the joint. It healed well but I get these aching pains sometimes when I run. I ignored it for a while but it’s been… bad.”
“Look at you,” you marvelled, “seeking medical advice against your better judgement.”
“Oh shut up,” she snapped, but she was smiling. “I went to Helen, asked if it could be the surgery. She said no, restricted me to desk duty only and sent me to see you.”
You nodded slowly. “Okay. Well, shoes off, let’s have a look.”
***
Natasha was with you for well over an hour. By the time she was leaving, another City hospital patient had arrived. As they were getting settled, Natasha leant towards you. “About that redhead…”
“If you tell anyone, let’s just say, they won’t find your body for years,” you breathed.
She laughed. “Relax, sweetheart, I’m not telling a soul. I meant if you want any help, you can always talk to me.”
“Thanks, Nat. Now,” you turned to the young-ish man standing in front of you, “what’s the problem, Dave? I thought we sorted your wrist.”
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader; Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader (platonic); Tony Stark x fem!reader (platonic)
Genre: angst/ fluff/ slow-burn? friends to lovers
Warnings: Natasha gets shot; y/n gets injured; drinking; y/n gets drunk; kissing - if I’ve missed anything, let me know!
a/n: the slow burn in this was not planned but happened anyway!
Natasha almost trod on you. Uncharacterstically startled, she stepped back and the heel of her boot landed on your fingers. You woke up with a cry somewhere between a yelp and a yawn.
“Morning,” you said, stretching and rubbing your fingers.
“You’re lying on the floor.” She sighed. “What time did you get in last night?”
“Some time around 5,” you grinned. “It was an epic night, Nat. You should’ve come!”
Natasha gave you a slightly disapproving glare. She’d never fully understood what your role with the Avengers was. You had been employed by Tony on a drunken whim, tasked with managing social media accounts for the Avengers Initiative. Along the way, Fury had swayed you to manage SHIELD’s social media as well. It was a big job with a very high clearance yet you acted like some kind of resident party girl.
You were out most nights, hanging out with college kids and the New York nightlife. You posted elaborate videos of long-winded rants about your escapades online which was how you’d caught Tony’s eye. He’d invited you to a Stark Foundation gala and the two of you spent the night brainstorming video and content ideas for the Avengers.
“Don’t look at me like that, Nat,” you grumbled, hauling yourself to your feet and picking up your heels in one hand. “I didn’t break any NDAs.”
“Any more NDAs,” she reminded you and you groaned.
“It was one time and I’ve learnt my lesson now… I got yelled at by the PR team, Tony, Nick Fury… and you.” Sighing, you swiped a bottle of water from the counter. “I’m sorry, okay? It won’t happen - it hasn’t happened again!”
“Yes, how have you managed that?” the spy queried, leaning on the counter. “You’re out every night and yet the social media accounts stay untouched by your drunken adventures.”
With a sly smile, you reached into your bra and pulled out a sleek grey flip phone. You casually tossed it to Natasha. “Second phone. No internet, no damage. I’m not entirely stupid, Nat.”
“I wasn’t saying you were.” She glanced at the screen. “38 new messages and 141 missed calls - how frequently do you give out your number?!”
“That’s for me to know and you to never find out,” you laughed. “At least I don’t drunk dial my mom anymore.”
Natasha’s expression flickered, something unnamed appearing briefly in her eyes before it was gone again. You suddenly felt uneasy but weren’t sure why.
“What is it?” you said quietly, your playful tone replaced by unusual seriousness.
“You may not drunk dial your mom… but you do - did drunk dial me,” she said slowly, pulling her phone out her pocket. “Did you mean what you said last night?”
“H-how do you know it was me?” you laughed, but your voice cracked.
“I have your number. Your second number.”
“How?”
Natasha looked at you. “Answer my question.”
“I - I don’t - what did I say?” you stuttered. Your brain was racing as you tried to work out what could have possibly happened.
Natasha pressed play.
“…Hah. Oh my god. I don’t even know if this is your real number. Is this even your phone? You’re so secretive, you probably have like… ten phones. Spy shit. Anyway. Natashaaa. Nat. Natasha Romanoff. You are so… ugh. So cool. It’s annoying. Like, you’re so cool it makes me mad sometimes. In a hot way. In a - mmm. Nevermind. You do this thing with your eyes? That little squint when you’re thinking about something dangerous? Yeah, I see that. I see everything. You’re so good at pretending you don’t want anyone to care about you but joke’s on you, ‘cause I do. So much. I always have. Since the first time you walked into the room like you owned oxygen. And I just sit there like a dumb little lemon watching you be all deadly and graceful and… God, those arms. I mean, have you seen your arms? I have. A lot. You should charge money for that shit. I always wanted to tell you stuff. Y’know? Like, how I think you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met. Not ‘cause of all the fighty murdery stuff, but… because you stay. You try. You let people love you, even though you’re scared. That’s… brave. I bet you’d taste like expensive danger. Hah. What? Who said that? Anyway. Point is… I think I’m in love with you. Wait, no. I am in love with you. Like, it’s bad. Like, real bad. I see your name and I forget my name. Okay. Julia’s just arrived and she promised me a lot of things but I’ll be thinking about you the whole time, ya sexy thing. I’m gonna go now. Byeeee.”
Silence.
Natasha’s expression was unreadable. You stared at the counter, at her phone, in shock. What had you done? You thought you’d been smart about keeping yourself off the internet but you hadn’t realised what else your drunk, and apparently incredibly horny, brain would do.
“I have to go,” you croaked out and raced out of the room.
***
You left the compound, your entire body burning with shame and embarrassment. You were supposed to be planning a new social media campaign with Tony but you couldn’t face anyone right now. Your rambling drunk voicemail played on a loop in your mind. Why did you have to say so many things?
“Julia,” you groaned, smacking your forehead. She was hot and one of your closest friends but she was straight as a ruler. The two of you never did anything apart from joking about sleeping with each other. It was your kind of banter yet in the voicemail it had come out like you were off to hook up with her.
Heading into your apartment, you sank gratefully into your couch, a cup of takeaway coffee in one hand. It was from a small stall at the end of your street and tasted like engine oil (and unfortunately you knew what that tasted like from one very bold dare and a trip to the emergency room) but it had cured all your hangovers. The stuff was your holy grail for getting back on track after a night of partying.
Opening your laptop - you didn’t dare check your phone - you absentmindedly googled “can you die of embarrassment?” then groaned and slammed your laptop shut.
“What am I doing?” you sighed. Staring at a worn out teddy bear which sat on an armchair by your living room window, you bit your lip anxiously. You talked to the bear when you needed to run through your thoughts. He was called Chuck (named by Julia because you’d thrown up all over a guy’s shoes on a date). “Oh my god Chuck, I told her I loved her. And that she should monetise her arms. I mean, who says that?” Chuck was silent. “Yes, exactly!” you continued, standing up and pacing the room in your agitation. “Maybe I should join a monastery. Or the Peace Corps. Or fake my own death.”
Opening your laptop, you quickly emailed Tony, apologising for your absence and stating that you needed a day or two to recover. “Now I don’t have to go to work,” you explained to Chuck. The bear said nothing. “I mean, it gives me more time to work out what the hell to do about the whole ‘drunk voicemail’ problem.”
***
Two days off work turned into three, then a whole week. You half-heartedly sent some project ideas to Tony but your head was reeling. You were in flat-out panic over the voicemail and confession of love that you’d declared to Natasha without realising you were declaring it.
The missed calls from her were building up in your phone.
Almost 2 1/2 weeks later, it seemed that Natasha had had enough of your silence. You were lying in bed, surrounded by cheap magazines and empty Chinese cartons when the doorbell went.
Groaning, you rolled over and buried your head under a pillow, reeling when you realised your sheets needed changing. You’d barely left your bedroom and it looked and smelt like a warzone.
The doorbell went again. Then the letterbox rattled. “I know you’re home, y/n. Come out here and talk to me.”
You trudged out of bed, a blanket draped around you and stood the other side of the door. Despite wanting to see Natasha, you were hesitant.
“I can see you on the other side of the door. Open it or I’ll break it down.” You couldn’t tell if she was joking. “Five. Four…”
You opened the door.
Natasha stood calmly on your top step, dressed in her trademark leather jacket, black jeans and combat boots. A motorcycle helmet swung from one hand and a carrier bag emanating a wonderful smell was in the other.
“I brought Thai,” she announced, stepping into your apartment, her shoulder brushing yours. Your eyes fluttered briefly shut at the contact.
“I’m not hungry. And I’m busy. Come back another time.”
Natasha ignored you, setting the bag and helmet down in your living room and turning to look at you, hands on her hips. “Shower then eat.”
“You’re not my mom. Please leave, Natasha.”
“No, I’m not. I’m just the woman you leave drunk voicemails for, telling me to monetise my arms.” Her voice gave nothing away but there was a twinkle in her eyes.
“You’re not just anything,” you blurted out then smacked your forehead in annoyance. “Ugh, Nat, please. Just go. Please.”
“Shower then eat,” she repeated but this time her voice was gentle.
***
Natasha had tidied your bedroom and most of your kitchen by the time you decided to emerge from the shower. Patting your damp hair dry with a towel, you halted when you found her in bright pink washing up gloves, scrubbing a frying pan clean.
“You don’t have to do that,” you muttered, embarrassed.
“Food’s still warm, let’s eat.” She removed the gloves and headed into the living room. You slowly trailed after her, watching her plate up pad thai and fried rice.
Shifting uncomfortably, you sat down on the edge of the sofa next to her and ate your food in silence. Natasha seemed unbothered, calmly eating her meal and looking around your apartment with a vague curiosity.
“The bear’s cute,” she said, her eyes landing on Chuck.
“His name’s Chuck.” You bit your lip. “I - my friend Julia named him. After I threw up on a guy’s shoes at the end of a date.”
“Hmm.”
Natasha’s non-answer made you nervous and prompted you to start oversharing. “We’re just friends. Me and Julia, I mean. Nothing’s - what I said - it wasn’t true. It’s just our banter, that’s how we communicate. Um.. she was on a date and I was only there at the end to - to tell her what I thought of the guy. I’d been at Raze, a club, and I threw up on his shoes.”
Natasha was silent, picking through her fried rice calmly, wielding the chopsticks in a way that made your stomach tense. Your eyes kept flicking to her fingers, the way they flexed the chopsticks as she ate. It was both hot and unnerving. “You’re not eating,” was all she said.
You chewed at the inside of your cheek. “I’m not hungry.” Getting up, you readjusted the blanket around you. “I’m going to bed. You can see yourself out. Don’t clean anymore of my flat. Please.”
***
You hadn’t been in bed long - noticing and appreciating the fresh sheets - when Natasha appeared in your bedroom doorway.
Groaning, you rolled over. “Go away, Nat.”
She said nothing, just calmly folded a few clothes and then gently, slowly, sat down on the edge of your bed. “What did I do?”
“W-what?” you stuttered, turning to look at her.
“You’re mad at me and that’s okay but you aren’t giving me a chance. Why don’t you want to hear my answer?”
“Wha- you’re the one who came over here and started cleaning my flat! You’ve pushed yourself onto me, Nat. Why can’t you see I need space?!”
Natasha was silent, thinking. “Shadow boxing, bicep curls, tricep curls, light sparring, battle ropes and a few rounds of push-ups and plank to finish off.”
“What?”
“You asked about my arms. That’s my arm workout. It varies, but that’s usually what I do.” She paused, contemplating. “I came over because you told me I stay. And I try. So… I’m staying. And I’m trying to help you to see that caring about me isn’t something to run from.” Tilting her head slightly, she stared at you with a soft gaze. “Anything I’ve missed?”
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
“For what?”
“For leaving that stupid voicemail in the first place.”
“Sweetheart…” She reached out, brushing your hair softly back from your forehead. You leaned into her touch. “It wasn’t stupid and I’m glad you said it.”
“Glad maybe but you’re not going to say it back.”
“Say what back?”
You stared at Natasha. “C’mon, Nat, you know what I mean. I said something big, revealed something big, and I know that scares you.” Natasha didn’t answer, just pulled away slightly and you felt your heart break. “Will you please just go?” you whispered, your voice cracking.
***
The next day, you went back to work, cheery and chirpy as usual even though you didn’t feel like it. You slowly settled back into your meetings and routines but scheduled another colleague to do any one-to-one content with Natasha.
She noticed. And said nothing.
Neither of you could talk about it with anyone because only the two of you knew about the voicemail. You'd kept your feelings for Natasha to yourself, not expecting her to learn about them.
One afternoon, you were in the compound's kitchen, making yourself a sandwich. You turned around to go to the fridge... and ran into Natasha. "Oh, sorry," you said automatically, "didn't see you there." Then you noticed who it was and bit your lip, falling silent.
"I haven't seen you around in a while."
You stared at Natasha. "We've shared fifteen meetings since your unexpected visit. Don't say you haven't noticed."
"I'm sorry you think my visit was unexpected," she said quietly.
You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. "Look, I'm late for a meeting with Tony. We can do this another time."
"When?"
Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you fidgeted, knowing she was trying to pin you down to an exact date and time. "I don't know, sometime."
"Y/n..."
"Natasha, just move out of the way, for god's sake! I have to go to this meeting."
In silence, she pivoted on her heel and left the room. You were biting your cheek so hard you drew blood; when she'd left the room, you took a deep breath. "What the hell was that?" you whispered.
***
After that, you hardly saw Natasha. You were never in meetings or briefings with her anymore, which stung at first but after a while, you didn't care. Tony was scheduling yet another big gala and you were making an appearance to pitch to some investors who wanted to put shares into SHIELD's media.
If the team noticed the awkwardness between you and Natasha, they chose not to comment on it.
On the day of the gala, you were in back-to-back meetings, making sure everything was lined up for the evening event.
You'd just finished getting ready for the evening. Tony had insisted you use his card to buy yourself an outfit. You'd chosen a sleek black dress, with a small slit up the side and a swooping back, that sat just above the base of your spine.
As you left your room to find Tony, Wanda halted you with a gentle touch on your arm. "I don't know if you've heard, but Natasha's back from her mission. She's in the med-bay."
"Med-bay? What happened?" Despite your current anger and confusion towards the redhead, the thought of Nat in a hospital bed made your heart leap painfully.
"Bullet wound. It's through and through... y/n... where are you going?"
You raced off down the corridor, heading for the medical wing.
The doors to the med-bay burst open as you rushed through them, frantically looking around for Natasha. An intern directed you to her room and you suddenly hesitated. What were you doing here? She didn't want to see you.
Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the door. "Come in."
***
Natasha's head rolled on the pillow to see her visitor. She looked surprised to see you, but it was fleeting and she watched you with an unreadable expression. "Y/n... what are you doing here?"
"You got shot," you said breathlessly. "Are you okay?"
"You look nice," she deflected, her eyes flicking up and down your figure. "Are you going to Tony's gala?"
"You got shot," you repeated. With a jolt of embarrassment, you felt tears threatening to well up in your eyes.
"I got shot," she sighed. "I'm fine. Why are you here?"
Hesitating, you bit your lip. "I just wanted to make sure that you were okay," you whispered.
Natasha gave you a long look, her eyes uncharacteristically gentle towards you. She pushed against her pillows, trying to sit upright a bit more. She reached out. "Come here."
Slowly, you moved and stood beside her bed, still hesitant, still unsure what to do or say. Natasha put her hand over one of yours, stroking the back of your hand gently with her thumb. "I'm okay, sweetheart."
"Okay," you repeated softly.
There was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes which was quickly replaced by confusion. "Who told you I was in the med-bay?"
"...Wanda."
Natasha sighed. "Of course she did," she muttered. She smiled at you. "Anyway, you've got a gala to go to."
"Do you want me to leave?" you whispered.
Natasha didn't respond. "Don't drink too much," was all she said.
You nodded, staring at the floor then turned and walked quietly out of the room. What you didn't see was Natasha's gaze following you all the way to the door, her eyes filled with tears.
***
The gala was noisy, crowded and reeked of too much money. Tony was holding court, trademark glasses perched on his nose, bow-tie slightly askew, Pepper balanced on his arm in a stunning green dress. At the bar, Wanda was quietly talking with Clint, the two of them sharing occasional bursts of laughter at some long-winded story. Steve was hovering at the edge of the room, graciously acknowledging anyone who made direct eye contact and simultaneously trying to keep Sam from becoming too drunk too quickly.
You had spoken to several silver-haired gentlemen who wanted to learn more about SHIELD and social media and were offering large sums of money to procure the highest lines of tech and cameras that money could buy. It was more than you’d bargained for and you soon ran out of business cards.
Halfway through the evening, Tony found you at the bar, downing a martini. “You’ve done well,” he dryly commented.
“Tony!” you shrieked, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “This is fantastic! I’ve even run out of business cards,” you giggled. “They loveeee me,” you continued, slurring slightly.
“How many drinks have you had?”
“Four…teen? I don’t know,” you admitted with another giggle, “I lost count at eight.”
“That’s enough for tonight. We need to impress these people, not scare them away with the partying SHIELD social media exec.”
“Natasha should be here.” You voice was suddenly sombre. “She’d enjoy this.” Tony looked at you incredulously, knowing that Natasha hated his galas, and you both burst out laughing. “Ah well,” you sighed, “I’ll drop in and see her later.”
***
It was close to 2am and many more drinks and pitches to more investors later before you finally made your way down to the med-bay. The wards were quiet, a few doctors and interns shuffling paperwork and managing the night shift.
You opened Natasha’s door and slipped inside, but not before swiping a sick bowl from the hallway. The endless shots were starting to make themselves known and you had to sit down on the floor.
“Y/n? What are you - it’s 2am!” Natasha said, sleepily sitting up and peering at you in the thin sliver of light from the half open door.
“Hi Natty,” you giggled. “How’s your hole?”
“My hole?! Ohmygod, you’re drunk,” she groaned.
“Your hole where the bullet was, silly,” you laughed. “They did take it out, right?”
Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose and debated calling the on-call doctor to remove you from her room.
“You want to remove me?” you said sadly, bottom lip wobbling. “Y-you don’t want me h-h-here?”
Great. She’d said that out loud.
“No, y/n, I didn’t mean that. I just mean that maybe you should be in your room, to lie down. And sleep off the alcohol.”
“I can sleep anywhere,” you said proudly. “I could sleep here.”
“No,” she said emphatically then sighed again in frustration when you started crying quietly. “Y/n just… come here. Please.”
You dragged yourself up off the floor and over to her bed, holding onto the railing at the side of the bed for dear life. The room had started spinning.
Natasha reached out, running a hand gently over your cheeks, wiping away any tears. You leant in to her touch with a soft sigh. “This is… nice. You’re nice. I like you so much, Nat.”
She pulled back sharply, making you look up in surprise and frown at her. “You weren’t supposed to stop.”
“No, I - I need rest and I think you do too.”
With a groan you grabbed the sick bowl from the floor and trudged out the room, pausing at the door. “G’night, Natty.”
“Goodnight, y/n.”
***
You didn’t remember visiting Natasha’s room after the gala. The next morning, you drank your usual cup of engine oil coffee and felt much better.
Tony was energetic and enthusiastic in the morning meeting, eagerly poring over the results from the gala. Several of the investors had already contacted him, wanting to set up meetings.
Afterwards, you decided to visit Natasha in the med-bay. You weren’t sure why you were going and decided to use the gala’s success as a cover story.
However, when you got there, her room was empty, sheets stripped and being prepared for someone else.
You halted an intern in the corridor. “Where’s Agent Romanoff?”
“Who are you?” he queried, looking sceptically at you.
“Someone who’ll make your life very difficult if you don’t tell me where she is.”
He swallowed nervously. “Okay, okay… um, she’s been discharged.”
“She had a bullet wound!”
His eyes darted nervously around, checking the surroundings. “She, um, discharged herself,” he whispered. “I’ve got to go.” He bolted down the corridor.
Without hesitating, you pulled your phone out and called Natasha. She answered on the second ring. “Y/n.”
“You discharged yourself?! You have a bullet wound!”
“I can do the rest of my recovery at home.” There was a short pause. “Why are you in the med-bay?”
“I was coming to tell you about the gala.”
“So, tell me.”
“It went really well.. look, Nat, I think you should come back in. You need medical supervision. You got shot, it’s not just a little cut or something. You can’t put a band-aid over a bullet hole.”
“My hole is fine,” she replied dryly. “I’ll be back at work in no time. Stop worrying.”
“I wasn’t -“ You groaned in frustration when you realised she’d hung up.
***
Less than a week later, Natasha showed up at work. You were surprised to see her back so early but chose not to comment on it and instead went back to ignoring her and sending a colleague to do one-to-one interviews and content.
Natasha found herself focusing upon you more than she usually did. If you walked into a room that she was in, her eyes would flick up, acknowledging you. She’d started training at the same times as you in the gym.
One afternoon, you held a media briefing on managing questions in a press conference. It was about a mission that had gone badly and the world was demanding answers. The Avengers’ social media account was flooded with accusatory comments. When Sam got snippy with a journalist, you stepped in.
You weren’t expecting Natasha to show up. She calmly walked into the room, halfway through, and took a seat at the back. You’d provided folders with information; she picked one up and flicked through it, occasionally glancing up at you.
“…so thanks everyone for coming. I know it’s a pain but if we manage this the way I’ve suggested in the press conference, it should be easy to navigate. Agent Romanoff, could you stay behind please?”
She looked up, acknowledging your request with a nod of her head.
"Ooh, someone's in trouble," Sam teased as he headed out.
"You're one to talk," Steve said with a laugh. "If you hadn't faced up to that journalist, we wouldn't have to have this briefing."
"Oh so it's my fault?" Sam spun around and stared at Steve. "What about all the times we've had briefings over trouble you've caused? Or the times where you and Tony can't keep your egos in check?"
"What about your ego, Falcon?" someone called out.
"Okay, who said that?"
Overlapping voices started to rise, tension increasing in the room as the Avengers faced off against one another.
"Quiet." Natasha looked up slowly from her seat as everyone fell silent at her command. "Do we really want Sokovia part two? ...No. Everyone get yourselves in check and get out of here. I believe I have a meeting with our social media executive."
Everyone sheepishly filed out of the room. Natasha continued scrolling on her phone until you sat down next to her. She slowly put it away and looked at you.
"Thanks for coming," you said quietly. "I didn't think you were gonna show."
"And why would you think that?"
"Well... because of everything," you admitted. "Things are weird between us."
"You're telling me," she replied dryly. "So... this press conference. I don't need to be there."
"And you're doing it again," you muttered before you could stop yourself. Feeling Natasha's gaze on you, you quickly shifted in your seat, staring intently at the floor, flicking through your binder without reading any of the content.
Natasha reached out, putting her hand on the folder, stopping your movements. "What did you say?"
"Nothing," you replied quickly. Too quickly.
"Y/n..." She turned in her seat to face you. "What did you mean by that?"
"I don't know, Nat," you said, putting the folder aside and picking at the loose skin around your fingers. "It's just that there's this weird tension between us and every time I think we're going to talk about it, you shift the conversation."
"I didn't think you wanted to discuss it."
You stared at her. "What gave you that impression?"
"Try every time that you've raced out of the room after we've had a conversation. Or the time you told me to 'just move out of the way, for god's sake.' I believe those were the words you used," she said dryly.
"God..." You buried your face in your hands. "Nat, I - I feel awful. I never meant for any of this to happen, y'know? I just - I guess I'd had too much to drink, or someone had mentioned you or something. I don't know... anyway, for whatever reason, I sent you that voicemail."
"Do you regret it?"
You bit your lip. "I want to say 'yes' but I don't," you admitted. "I think, more than anything, I'm glad it's out there."
"Why?" Her voice was soft; you didn't dare look at her.
"Because it means that the ball's in your court," you whispered. "You have to do something about it now. I don't have to think anymore because - because I said it."
"Y/n." Natasha waited until you were looking at her. Her voice was quiet. "What do you mean by 'it'?"
Feeling nervous, you got to your feet and began anxiously pacing up and down amongst the chairs. "You know what 'it' is," you said, your voice cracking slightly.
"I want to hear you say it," she whispered. "Please."
"Why?" you cried out, suddenly finding strength. "Why do I have to say 'I love you' out loud, to you? I said it in the voicemail, isn't that enough?"
"Do you mean that?" Natasha stood up, her expression serious, and began walking towards you. "That you love me?" She bit her lip. "When you came to see me, you said you liked me, you didn't say you loved me."
"W-what? When I came to - when did I come to see you?" you said, confused.
"I-in the med-bay." Natasha's voice faltered. "After the gala. You don't remember?"
You shook your head and her face fell. Quickly, she schooled her features. "I'd better go, I've got a meeting."
"No, Nat, wait -" But she'd left the room. Quietly, you sat down, tears starting in your eyes. Once again, Natasha had left and you didn't know how much more of the back-and-forth you could take.
***
A few days later, you were in your office cataloguing some metrics from a bunch of new content that had been released when there was a knock on your door.
Glancing up, you smiled as you saw Wanda shyly standing there. “Hey, Wanda. What can I do for you?”
She stepped inside, softly shutting the door behind her and pulled at her sleeves. “It’s probably not my place to say, but is everything alright with you and Natasha?”
“What?” you responded, looking up sharply. “What did she say?”
Wanda sighed. “She hasn’t said anything. I just noticed the tension between you two and the energy around you is weird… it throws me off-balance… look, I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, Wanda, don’t go.” You gestured to the chair in front of your desk. “I can explain.”
“…and then she said that she had a meeting and left. I don’t know what to do about it. She made me say ‘I love you’ to her but won’t give me a reply.”
Wanda nodded slowly, turning over your words in her mind. “From what you’ve told me, and from what I know, Natasha appreciates actions.”
“Actions?” You groaned. “That means I have to do some… gesture to show her I meant what I said, doesn’t it?”
Wanda smiled. “Just don’t do something big and over-the-top. Natasha doesn’t like to draw attention to herself.” She bit her lip thoughtfully. “Maybe don’t start with the gesture either. Start small. Just… show up. Be there, be present. And for god’s sake, do her content and interviews yourself. It’s becoming noticeable - Sam asked me about it the other day.”
“Oh damn. Yeah, good point. Okay, I can do that.” You smiled. “Thanks, Wanda.”
***
That week, you started showing up. You re-wrote the content schedule, assigning a range of team members to the interviews and filming rotas, including yourself, so that you were no longer avoiding Natasha.
When Natasha trained, you went to the gym to film some of it or train yourself, quietly jogging on a treadmill beside her. You kept your headphones in and the conversation to small talk but it seemed to work.
During team movie nights, you joined in with your opinions about the movies that were chosen, chucking popcorn at Steve when he didn’t understand a modern reference.
You added yourself to the dinner rota, so that you cooked for the team on some nights during the week. When you were scheduled to cook, you spent the previous evening in bed, surrounded by cookbooks, finding new and interesting recipes to try.
When Clint and Laura invited some of the team out to their farm for a BBQ, you were invited too. You quietly watched Natasha interact with the Barton children and join in with the grilling, Nathaniel balanced on her hip. She smirked when she caught you staring; you blushed and quickly looked away.
It made your already full schedule even busier, but you were starting to enjoy yourself.
***
One evening, after a particularly noisy game of Monopoly (Tony won by miles, declared himself a “Monopoly Maestro” and got teased mercilessly by Sam and Bucky), Natasha cornered you in the kitchen.
You were making a hot chocolate for yourself and watching the chaos unfold as Tony was pelted with the plastic Monopoly houses and hotels, when you noticed Natasha approaching.
“Hey,” she said, leaning on the counter and rolling her eyes at the others’ antics.
“Hey, Nat,” you answered cautiously.
She looked curiously at you. “Shouldn’t you be out with the city nightlife? I thought you’d be halfway to wasted in some club by now.”
You gave her a gentle smile. “I’ve given it up.”
“The parties?”
“The parties,” you nodded, stirring your drink and adding another spoonful of powder.
“If you’re trying to do ‘death by chocolate’… I think you’ve succeeded.” Natasha peered into the mostly empty powder tub. “So, why did you give up the partying?”
“It - I - I felt I was bossing you all around at work but didn’t really spend that much time with you outside of office hours.”
She stared intently at you. “You mean spending time with the team… right?”
“Right,” you quietly agreed.
“And the real reason?” she pressed softly.
“I wanted to spend time with you,” you whispered.
“Why me?”
“You know why,” you said, staring at her. “I care about you, Nat. I want to be around you.”
She gave you a soft smile. “I care -“
“Natasha, come and help me stop this chaos!” Bucky called with a laugh.
And just like that, the moment was gone. You blinked and sipped your hot chocolate, then slowly trudged out of the room, failing to notice Natasha watching you leave with a longing expression on her face.
***
“What happened?” You looked up to see Natasha walking towards you, looking concerned.
You smiled sheepishly and watched one of the medical team carefully stitch a long cut in your arm. “No comment.”
“No, don’t pull that crap with me,” Natasha replied firmly. “You sent me a message saying you may have ended up in the med-bay. I want to know what happened.”
You shifted in your seat then winced as the slight movement tugged at your stitches. “Don’t move,” the medic cautioned. You nodded then looked back over to Natasha. “I may have attempted a video that went wrong.”
“Go on.”
“I saw this guy’s video where he had a hack for opening cans… without a can opener.”
Natasha groaned. “And of course you thought you’d try it…”
“…and ended up with the can lid in my arm, yeah.” You bit your lip. “Are you mad?”
“Never with you,” she said softly. “Just glad you’re okay.”
“Right,” the medic said, clearing his throat, “don’t get it wet and come back in a week to see about having your stitches removed.” He handed over a slip of paper. “These painkillers should help, just get them at any pharmacy.”
“Thanks.” You hopped off the examination table and headed for the door, Natasha falling into step beside you. “You don’t need to babysit me, Nat, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I was thinking pizza and a movie,” she deadpanned. “Then neither of us has to cook. Or make small talk.”
“I like your small talk,” you said quietly.
A ghost of a smile flashed across Natasha’s face.
***
“Finally,” you said, sinking into your sofa cushions and glancing around your apartment for the TV remote.
“Finally what?” Natasha handed you the remote. “And if you put anything romantic on…”
“…you’ll smash up my TV? Got it.” You grinned at her. “I’m the invalid though, Nat, so really you should let me do whatever I want to help with my recovery.”
“Invalid?!” she exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “You decided to try something on the internet that was clearly unsafe. Invalid, my ass. More like plain stupidity.”
You groaned. “Well… you’re one to talk. You do things that are clearly unsafe all the time.”
“It’s my job,” she responded dryly, getting up as the doorbell went. “That’s the pizzas.”
Moments later she returned with two pizza boxes that were oozing grease.
You raised an eyebrow. “You got more than one,” you pouted. “I thought we were gonna share one.”
“Pineapple on pizza is criminal,” Natasha said flatly. “I’m not sharing that with you.”
“Try one bite. For me,” you added, turning towards her with a pleading expression.
“If that’s meant to be sad puppy eyes… you need to work on it.” But she sighed and relented, taking one bite of your pizza and then immediately pulling a face.
You grinned happily and settled back into the sofa, deciding to pick an action-adventure film which made Natasha’s eyes light up.
As the film played, you shifted closer to Natasha. The empty pizza boxes were discarded on the floor and she pulled a blanket over both of you. During a fight scene, you jumped at a sudden burst of action and instinctively reached for Natasha’s hand, grasping it tight. “Oh! Sorry,” you muttered, and quickly pulled it away.
Except she didn’t let you, searching for your hand and winding her fingers through yours. “You can hang on as long as you want,” she murmured, making you blush.
Feeling brave, you tucked your head into the crook of her neck and cuddled up to her. She quietly stroked the back of your hand with her thumb, eyes fixed on the TV and a small smile playing around her mouth.
***
A couple hours later, you woke up. You were curled up on your sofa, the blanket still spread across you, a cushion under your head.
Natasha wasn’t there.
“Nat?” You sat up, anxiously scanning your apartment. Getting up, you winced as pain shot through your arm. “Ah!”
“What’s wrong?” Natasha appeared in your kitchen doorway, a mug in each hand. She quickly put them down and moved towards you. “You need to take your painkillers.”
Padding through to the kitchen, you took two of the small capsules then headed back to the sofa. Natasha had cleared away the pizza boxes and put two mugs of hot chocolate on the coffee table.
“Did you-?” You hesitated, peering at your mug.
“I added enough powder to make it a controlled substance,” she deadpanned, “don’t worry. I know you’re trying to achieve death by hot chocolate.”
“It’s not that bad,” you grumbled, but you were smiling.
“So.” You looked over at her inquisitively. “Earlier, you said ‘finally’ then never explained what was final. Care to fill me in?”
“I kinda hoped you’d forget about that,” you admitted, burying your face in your hands.
“Hey,” she said gently, “what’s going on?”
“I just meant…” You took a deep breath. “It’s just you and me. No… interruptions. And that maybe you’d finish your sentence that night we played Monopoly?” Your voice ended in a whisper; you were staring intently at your hands, unable to look at her.
She reached over and put two fingers under your chin, tilting your head so that your eyes met hers. There was a half-smile on her face and a tender gaze in her eyes.
“I care about you a lot, y/n.”
There it was. The thing you’d been waiting for her to say to you.
Biting your lip, you couldn’t help blushing at her words. “That… yeah… I-I care about you too, Nat. So much.”
“I know.” Her eyes twinkled. “I’ve got a whole voicemail saying as much.”
“Stop,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands once more.
"I love you too," she teased. “C’mere.” Opening her arms, she pulled you towards her and wrapped her arms around you.
***
The two of you spent the rest of the evening in your apartment, cuddled up together. You’d put another film on and made another batch of hot chocolate by the time Natasha announced she needed to leave.
“I wish you were staying,” you admitted, leaning against your front door and watching her pause on the top step.
“I know, sweetheart. I wish I was too.” She hesitantly looked at you. “Y/n…”
“Yeah?”
“Can I kiss you?”
“Yeah,” you whispered softly.
She leant in close and as your eyes fluttered shut, her lips brushed yours. You deepened the kiss, putting one arm around her waist and cradling the back of her head, fingers tangling through her hair with the other.
“Hmm,” she mused when you finally broke apart, “I could get used to that.”
She was only a few steps away and almost on the street when you blurted, “Natty, will you be my girlfriend?”
Stopping, Natasha turned then jogged back up the steps to your front door, pulling you into a tight hug and kissing your cheek fiercely. “Yes, I want to be your girlfriend.”
“So,” you pleaded, “will you stay over?”
“Did you ask me that just so you could get me to stay over?” she replied, amused.
“Maybe?” You bit your lip. “No, I - I’ve wanted to ask you that for a while,” you shyly admitted.
She smiled and stepped back inside your apartment, closing the door behind her.
Warnings: kissing; fingering; smut; cunnilingus (reader eats Nat out); brief mention of hair pulling; lots of suggestive flirting
a/n: I've never written smut before, this is my first smut fic! I just wanted to write reader and Nat flirting and then it had to progress into something ;)
Her eyes met yours as soon as she walked into the compound’s kitchen. Natasha looked for you in every room she entered – the team teased her for it, but she ignored the jibes and occasional whistle from Bucky and Sam.
Today was no different. You were wolfing down a large portion of spaghetti bolognese before a training session and had just come out of a long mission debrief. Natasha headed over to the counter to pour herself a coffee then easily spun around, sipping it, her eyes meeting yours.
“That looks good,” she nodded at your fast disappearing meal.
“Want some?” You held out a forkful. She leant forwards and ate it slowly off your fork. “Wanda made it. It’s tasty, right?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“God, get a room,” Tony sighed, entering the kitchen area and pouring himself a drink. “Honestly, you say you’re not together but you two sure act like a couple.”
“Back off, Tony,” Natasha responded swiftly.
“I can see it now,” he continued dramatically, ignoring her, “some kind of gala – the entrance. A crier… hmm, we haven’t had one of those in a long time. Anyway, the crier calls out, ‘Now introducing Agent Romanoff and Agent y/n y/l/n.’”
“It would be better if they said, ‘Agent y/n (y/m/n) y/l/n and Natalia Alianovna Romanova,” you mused. “Use our full names. Hmm.” You smirked. “Yeah… it sounds alright.”
Natasha froze. Her expression was unreadable, but her pupils were dilated, betraying her, as she stared at you. The sound of your voice using her Russian name was making heat shoot to her core. “How do you know that?” she said, her voice cracking slightly.
“I read files too, sweetheart,” you grinned. Dropping your empty bowl in the sink, you walked towards her.
“Natalia…” Tony mused. “What was the next bit?”
She spun around, glaring at him. “Nope. I’m Natasha Romanoff to you – Agent Romanoff. Only she,” and she nodded her head towards you, “can call me that. I’ve gotta limit the damage somehow.”
You stopped just short of Natasha. “Are you sure about this… Natalia?” You whispered her name in her ear, letting it come out somewhere between a breath and a moan.
She flinched and you knew she was fighting the urge to respond to your teasing. “Don’t you have a training session to be at?” she snapped, making you grin.
“Ty, dolzhno byt', ochen' sil'no menya khochesh', detka,” you chuckled.
[You must want me really bad, baby.]
“Get out of my sight,” Natasha said, breathing heavily and glaring at you.
“Yes… Natalia.” With a final dig at the rapidly unravelling redhead, you quickly left the room.
“Since when did y/n know Russian?” Tony asked curiously. “I’ve gotta find a translator,” he muttered, “what did she say?”
“I need to go.” Natasha all but dropped her mug in the sink and dashed out of the room.
***
You were leaning against the hangar wall, watching as the Quinjet landed. It was late in the evening, and the sun was casting its long rays across the ground. Quietly, you watched Steve, Tony and Natasha come off the jet, followed by Maria Hill.
Natasha looked beautiful but exhausted. There was a cut on her brow and blood smudged across her cheek, yet she was holding herself upright, pretending that nothing was wrong. You slowly looked her up and down, then casually walked forwards. She met your smile with a glare.
“That little death glare of your is adorable, y’know.” Calmly, you took her kitbag from her and silently offered her your arm.
She rolled her eyes at you, then begrudgingly accepted your offer of help. “You think I haven’t noticed what you’re doing?” she murmured.
“What about me?” Tony called. “Where’s my arm of support?”
“Your ego is doing that just fine, Tony,” you called back, making Natasha bite back a smile. You glanced closely at her. “So… enlighten me. What is it exactly that I’m doing?”
“I’ve interrogated people with more subtlety than you are trying right now. You’re smooth, y/n, but you’re not getting any closer.”
“I’m practically glued to your side,” you shot back. “Could I be any closer, Natalia?”
The emphasis on her Russian name made her knees buckle – her body was betraying her, and she shot you another glare. You laughed and raised an eyebrow. “You gonna shoot me with those eyes or are we finally doing this?”
“Doing what?” she snapped.
You laughed again and Natasha pulled away. You immediately missed her touch but didn’t want to appear clingy. She snatched her kitbag from you and stalked off in the direction of her room. But you weren’t going to let her have the last word.
“What’s the matter, Nat? Scared I might get under that perfect skin of yours?”
Tony whistled under his breath. Natasha stopped then spun around and marched towards you, putting a hand on your chest and forcing you backwards until you hit the wall. Slowly, carefully, you let your eyes trail to her lips then back up to her eyes again. Once again, her pupils were dilated, and she was breathing heavily.
“If you keep pushing me,” she began, her voice low, “well, you know how this ends, right?”
“Oh Natalia, if you want me to stop teasing you, you’ll have to make me.” Ducking under her arm, you sauntered off, knowing she was watching you walk away.
“You’re not as subtle as you think, sweetheart,” she called sarcastically.
You glanced back at her over your shoulder and blew her a kiss then disappeared into your room.
***
The laptop screen was bright as you typed out a long line of code. Groaning, you realised you’d missed out part of it and had to re-type, stopping your program. Reaching for your cup of coffee – a guilty late-night pleasure of yours – you startled as your hand brushed against someone else’s.
Looking up, you found Natasha smirking at you. Rolling your eyes, you swiped your coffee and peered curiously at her over the rim of your cup.
“You’ll be awake all night, drinking that,” she said, nodding at your coffee.
“I could be awake for other reasons,” you mused, putting the cup down.
She chuckled. “God, you never stop, do you?”
“Why would I stop when my target is so alluring?” you replied, your voice dropping at the end of your sentence. It sent a shiver up Natasha’s spine.
She lightly pulled herself up onto the counter and looked down at you with an amused smile. “Your target isn’t gonna let you get in close. What are you going to do about that?”
“Well,” you breathed, stepping closer until you were standing in between her legs, “here’s what I’d do. I’d – “And you launched into a detailed explanation of how exactly you’d make Natasha come apart. It was so explicit that Natasha couldn’t fight the blush on her cheeks. Satisfied, you stepped back, watching her closely. “Yeah… something like that.”
Natasha couldn’t speak. Her mind was racing through what you’d just divulged and the ache between her legs was growing rapidly.
“Relax, Nat – I bite only if asked nicely.”
She let out a breathless laugh. “You’re playing a dangerous game, detka.”
You grinned. “Am I winning?”
Natasha didn’t answer, just hopped down from the counter and placed a light kiss on your cheek. Then she left the room, but not without one last backward glance at you. You groaned, running your hands through your hair. You were so close to breaking her; she just wasn’t letting you close enough. It was going to take something special to get Natasha Romanoff to bend to your wishes…
***
Over the next few days, whenever you were with Natasha or passed her in the corridor, you flirted with her. Some of your flirts were pick-up lines, some were smooth – some were downright cringy. You’d started slipping Russian in at random points in your conversations – the confidence with which you spoke her native language, combined with your stumbles over pronunciation, made Natasha weak.
You were on your way back to the compound after spending a weekend with your parents in New York. As you pulled into the garage, you spotted Natasha cleaning her motorbike. Grinning, you switched your engine off and leant out the window.
“I think you missed a spot.”
She jumped then spun around and glared at you. “Shut up.”
“Make me.” You left your car, slinging your bag over one shoulder, and sauntered over to her.
Natasha rolled her eyes. “It was peaceful here this weekend. Complete silence.” She glared pointedly at you.
“Do you glare at everyone like that or is it saved just for me?”
“I save it for people who make my life more difficult,” Natasha said, heading towards the common room.
You fell into step beside her. “You’re welcome.”
“Hmmm. Don’t do it again.”
“Which part? The flirting or the part where you liked it?” you grinned, acting innocent but your heart was racing.
“Who says I liked it?” Natasha threw over her shoulder as she headed for the kitchen.
You trailed after her, still grinning. “You’re hot when you’re annoyed. Anyone ever told you that?”
“Oh god, they’re back at it,” Tony groaned from one of the sofas. The team had relished the silence without your constant teasing and jabs at Natasha.
“Hello to you too,” you said to Tony, but your eyes flicked back to Natasha as she walked past you, heading for the door. Reaching out, you grabbed her wrist. “Nu-uh. You’re not walking away again. Not until you admit you want this.”
“Oh please, for the love of god, just sleep together already!” Tony said.
“Shut up, Tony,” you both said, simultaneously.
You looked at Natasha, delight dancing in your eyes, and she groaned. “We’re on the same wavelength!”
She stepped closer. “You talk a lot for someone who clearly wants me to shut them up,” she said, her voice dropping.
“So do it,” you replied.
She leant in closer, her lips almost brushing yours. Your breathing was shallow, and your heart was racing. Was she finally going to snap? “No.” She had a mischievous expression on her face as she wriggled free from your grip and walked away.
“Goddammit, Romanoff!” Tony yelled.
***
Later that evening, you stood outside Natasha’s door, a bunch of mission reports in your hand. You needed her to sign off on them, but for the first time in a long time, you felt nervous.
Maybe it was because you’d never been in her room before. Or maybe, you thought that she might actually snap tonight. She’d been pushing back all evening, stepping in close then walking away. Flirting with you. It was a surprise, but you welcomed the challenge.
Taking a deep breath, you knocked on her door. Moments later, she opened it, then rolled her eyes the minute she saw you. “You’re either brave, reckless, or very, very stupid.”
“Or I just need you. And maybe also your signature.” You waved the mission reports at her. “Just give me both and we’ll call it quits.”
“Careful. Keep tempting me and I might start giving in.”
You bit your lip, biting back a grin, as you followed her into her room. She headed for her desk and began thumbing through the reports. You sat down on her bed, then lay back. Her sheets were soft and comfortable, and you were tired.
“Don’t fall asleep.” Your eyes snapped open. “You’re not staying,” she continued.
“Are you trying to intimidate me or turn me on? Either way, it’s working.”
“I’ve resisted worse things than you,” she said, getting to her feet. She stood at the end of her bed and looked down at you. “But not many.”
“How do you stay so calm around me? I’m definitely not making it easy,” you laughed. You propped yourself upright on your elbows and looked intently at the redhead.
Natasha leant down, inches from you, her eyes flicking to your lips then back up. “You’re playing a game I mastered years ago,” she whispered. “You need to be more careful, detka.”
“I’m trying to tip you over the edge,” you whispered back. “I’m done being careful.”
“If I wanted you against that wall,” Natasha said, gesturing to the wall behind her, “you’d already be there.”
You swallowed, eyes sparkling. “Go on then.” Pushing yourself off the bed, you found yourself pressed against Natasha. Her hand came up instinctively to your chest to create some distance between the two of you, but it wasn’t much. “Go on,” you whispered again. She bit her lip, smirking when your eyes immediately travelled to it. “Go on, Nat.” She gave you a light push, so that the back of your legs hit the edge of her bed. “Come on, Nat. If you want me on my knees, all you have to do is ask.”
Natasha snapped.
She surged forward, kissing you with such ferocity it knocked the breath from your lungs. Her mouth met yours in a collision of heat and hunger, lips parting eagerly as her tongue slid past yours – searching, tasting, claiming. It wasn’t neat or practiced; it was raw, fuelled by something deeper than lust.
Your hands found her waist, pushing beneath the hem of her shirt, fingertips grazing the warm skin there. She gasped softly at the contact, her hips pressing into yours as if trying to close the space between you completely.
You slipped a knee between her legs, and her whole body shuddered. She parted her thighs instinctively, grinding down against your thigh with a low, desperate moan that vibrated straight through your chest. You let her take what she needed while your hands wandered – up her sides, along her back, until you were pulling her with you as you fell back onto the bed.
Natasha followed willingly, mouth still on yours, fingers already tugging at your shirt like she needed it gone now or she’d lose her mind. You laughed softly into the kiss, breathless, and pulled back just enough to strip it off yourself, tossing it aside. Her hands were on you instantly – roaming, reverent, hungry.
The way she touched you made you ache.
“Go on,” you murmured, voice low and coaxing. “I’m all yours.”
She froze. Not fully but enough. Her eyes lifted to yours, a flicker of uncertainty behind them. Vulnerability edged into her expression, that familiar fear of being too much – or not enough.
You softened, raising a hand to brush your thumb across her cheek. Then you leaned in and kissed her again – this time slower, with a warmth that told her she was safe. That you weren’t going anywhere. Your lips trailed to her jaw, then down her neck, leaving soft marks behind – silent promises, left in her skin as reminders.
“Natalia…” you whispered. That did it. The name acted like a spark, setting her alight.
She kissed you again, then began her slow descent – her fingers and lips skimming across your ribs, your stomach, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You writhed beneath her, nerves on fire, every inch of you tuned to the sound of her breath and the brush of her mouth.
When she reached the waistband of your trousers, she paused.
“Can I?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
You nodded, breath shallow, heart racing. “Please.”
Her hands moved with purpose now, tugging your trousers down, her mouth following in hot, open kisses across your hips. When her fingers finally dipped into your folds, you whimpered – wet and aching. She teased you once, twice – drawing slow, maddening strokes through your slickness before suddenly plunging two fingers deep inside you.
You cried out, back arching off the mattress. The stretch was sharp, overwhelming – but perfect. Your hands flew to her hair, fingers tangling in crimson strands as she set a pace that was relentless yet steady.
“Come on, detka,” she murmured, her voice like velvet and a command all at once. “You know you want to. Come for me, sweetheart.”
Her thumb found your clit and circled hard and fast, in sync with the rhythm of her fingers. You were shaking now, legs trembling around her as the pressure built and built –
And then it snapped.
You cried out her name as you fell apart, pleasure ripping through your body in waves so intense it left you gasping, your legs going numb. Natasha slowed her touch, coaxing you gently through every pulse and tremor of the aftershocks until you finally collapsed back onto the sheets, breathless and undone.
She hovered above you, face flushed, eyes dark but soft. You reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, and whispered, “See? Told you I was all yours.”
***
Natasha lay quietly beside you, her breathing steady and even. After coming down from your high, you’d coaxed a similar reaction from her, softly eating her out and watching her fall apart on your fingers and tongue. The two of you were quiet now, fingers tangled together, sheets scattered across you, spilling onto the floor.
Turning, you watched her – eyes closed, hair messy, looking beautifully vulnerable. It reminded you of the first time you’d met Natasha. She’d seemed so guarded, distant back then. It had taken weeks of casual conversation – and a tremendous amount of flirting – to reach this point, but now you could lie and look at her.
“You’re staring.”
You bit your lip, smiling, as she slowly opened her eyes to look at you.
“You’re beautiful.”
“Shut up,” she said, closing her eyes again.
“Make me.”
Without hesitation, she rolled over and kissed you softly. It was quieter, more respectable – a big difference from the frenzied, hurried kisses she’d been giving you earlier.
“Do you come with a mute button,” she murmured against your lips, “or do I need to find one?”
You smirked. “You know where it is, if you want to use it.”
Rolling her eyes, Natasha swatted at you weakly. “Do you ever stop talking?”
“Only when I’m staring at you.”
“God.” She couldn’t hide the smile on her face. “Do you ever stop flirting?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” you quipped. You kissed her bare shoulder softly, tongue tracing the outline of your teeth from where you’d bit down earlier. Natasha hissed but didn’t roll away. “Come on, Natalia, let’s get you cleaned up.”
You helped her up from the bed and into her bathroom. Squinting at the light, the two of you stumbled into the shower. Natasha leant into you – warm, soft, safe – and let you wash her hair and her body. Your hands were gentle as you eyed the marks and bruises you’d added to her collection of scars.
“This is nice,” she murmured.
Dry and dressed, you pulled her sheets back onto the bed and watched her crawl under them. You started fumbling around the bedroom for your clothes. You were about to leave, when her hand shot out, fingers curling around your wrist.
“Stay.”
It wasn’t a command; it was an invitation. There was something pleading, questioning in her eyes that made you relent.
Quietly, you slipped under the covers. She instinctively moved closer to you, her arm falling across your stomach, her legs tangling through yours. Content, you leant over, planting a soft kiss to her lips.
“Keep letting me this close,” you whispered, “and I might start thinking you trust me.”
She shushed you, kissing your shoulder softly. “Enough,” she murmured. “Go to sleep. ‘m all yours. And... I do trust you.”
With a smile on your face, you allowed sleep to pull you under, Natasha’s gentle breathing lulling you into a cocoon of safety and security.
Warnings: none - just y/n avoiding her feelings XD
Genre: fluff/ comfort
Everyone had gone to Clint and Laura’s for the weekend. You’d all been through a difficult week with a mission that didn’t go right. Tony and Steve lost their tempers – with each other and everyone else – and Clint offered a weekend at his to smooth things over. As you’d once done some babysitting for Laura, she invited you too. You were surprised but pleased to be included.
The kids were delighted to see you, Wanda pitched in on the cooking, Laura directed Tony to fix the tractor – again, and Steve, Sam and Bucky began chopping wood. Natasha joined in, stacking the wood in a small shed not far from the main house.
“Careful,” Clint warned with a grin, “the latch sticks.”
“And he still hasn’t got around to sorting it!” Laura called from the porch, where she was nursing baby Nate. Natasha gave a small smile and a nod of acknowledgement and propped the door open.
You stared out the window, watching Natasha effortlessly carry loads of wood from the pile the boys were making to the shed. She had a black tank top on and her arms and neck were gleaming with sweat. “Y/n, eyes in here,” Wanda teased. You were supposed to be helping her cook but had quickly become distracted. “That’s way too much nutmeg,” she laughed gently.
“Oh… sorry,” you said absentmindedly, still watching Natasha.
“Why don’t you go and help her?”
“I think she’s managing just fine,” you mumbled, embarrassed to be caught staring. You turned away and began picking up some of Cooper’s LEGO that was strewn across the floor.
Wanda rolled her eyes in fond exasperation and opened the window. “Nat,” she called, “do you need a hand? Y/n’s offering to help.”
“Wanda, what are you doing?” you hissed while Nat replied, “Yeah please, that’d be great.”
“She’s on her way!” Wanda called, laughing at the expression on your face.
Mumbling an assortment of Sokovian and Russian curse words (that you’d picked up from both redheads) you headed outside. Grabbing a spare pair of gloves, you picked up an armful of wood and headed towards the shed. “Watch the door,” Nat warned, walking up behind you, “it sticks.”
“Uh, y-yeah, sure.” You stepped carefully around the open door and deposited your load.
The two of you settled into a smooth rhythm, soon managing to keep up with the frantic rate that the boys were making. Sam was trying to turn it into a race, but neither Steve nor Bucky were budging. Eventually, Sam was persuaded away from wood chopping by a beer that was held out by Clint, who began talking about his expansion plans for the property, making Laura chuckle and roll her eyes. “When you retire,” she laughed, “then maybe.”
On your next trip to the shed, you reached down to drop the logs into the neat stack Natasha had started. When you turned around, she was standing close behind you. Too close. She’d followed you in, carrying another load, and between the both of you, the shed was suddenly smaller than it had any right to be. You flinched, making her step backwards, confused.
She nudged the door and it slammed shut.
You jumped. “Oh shit!”
Natasha shifted past you, trying the handle. She gave it a sharp tug. Nothing. She tried again. Nothing. She sighed, pushing a few strands of sweaty hair out of her face. “Clint wasn’t kidding. It’s stuck.”
You pulled your phone out instinctively, but there were no bars. “No signal.”
“Yeah,” she said, dryly. “Welcome to the Barton black hole.”
For a moment, neither of you said anything. It was quiet, save for the distant sounds of kids laughing and someone yelling about Bucky breaking the axe handle. The shed smelled like sawdust, pine, and something faintly like sunscreen. Natasha was still close. You could feel the heat radiating off her skin.
“So…” you said, swallowing hard. “I guess we’re stuck for a bit.”
Natasha gave the door another yank. It rattled uselessly against the frame. “Well,” she muttered, stepping back. “That’s not going anywhere.”
You crossed your arms, leaning your hip against a wooden shelf. “I mean… there are worse places to be stuck, right? At least there’s a sexy spy in here.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow, slowly turning to look at you. “You think Clint’s in here too? I think it’s a bit small for that. No air vents.”
You sputtered a laugh. “Oh my God – no. I meant –” You stopped, burying your face in your hands. “I meant you. Obviously. Wow. This is going really well.”
Natasha’s lips quirked into a smile, but she didn’t look away. “You always flirt when you’re nervous?”
“I’m not –” You cut yourself off. “Okay, yeah, maybe a little. Just… trapped in a shed. With you. It’s very normal.”
She leaned back against the opposite wall, crossing her arms. “You could’ve stayed inside with Wanda.”
“Yeah,” you said, voice softening a little. “But then I wouldn’t get to hang out with you. And apparently, I use too much nutmeg.”
Natasha’s gaze lingered on you for a second longer than necessary. Her expression unreadable – thoughtful, almost. “You’re cute when you’re flustered,” she said finally.
You blinked. “That’s not helping.”
“I’m not trying to help,” she smirked.
“Uh-huh,” you responded distractedly. You began to pace up and down, but this meant that you were very close to Natasha and soon you stopped, leaning against the half-finished stack of wood and biting anxiously at the inside of your lip, while trying to look anywhere but at the redhead.
You fanned yourself dramatically. “God, it’s hot in here. Is it just the weather or – oh wait, no, it’s you. It’s definitely you.”
Natasha gave a quiet laugh, a low chuckle from the back of her throat. “You’re laying it on pretty thick.” She was watching you with a fond, amused expression that made butterflies soar through your stomach.
“I’m panicking, okay? This is my panic flirting.”
She smirked, grabbing a spare log and sitting down on it like it was a throne. “You should teach a class.”
“I would, but I’d immediately fall in love with the first student who looked vaguely like you, and it’d all go downhill from there.”
Nat leaned forward, elbows on her knees, clearly entertained. “So… redhead, deadly, emotionally repressed?”
“I didn’t say emotionally repressed – you said emotionally repressed.” You bit back a grin and dared to shoot her a glance; she was still watching you with a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
“Mm-hmm. So, you agree.”
“I plead the fifth.”
She grinned again, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah, well, you’re making it worse by looking at me like that,” you whispered.
“Like what?”
“Like you know you’re hot and you’re just waiting for me to combust.”
She tilted her head. “Am I succeeding?”
You groaned and dropped to sit on the floor dramatically. “Natasha Romanoff, I am barely holding it together.”
Nat chuckled again, softer this time. “Don’t worry,” she said, “you’re doing great.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m impressed, actually.”
You peeked up at her. “By what?”
She shrugged. “Most people don’t talk this much when they’re flustered.”
“I’m gifted,” you deadpanned. “It’s a coping mechanism. And a cry for help.”
She reached for a small stick on the floor and tossed it at you gently. “Then consider this an intervention.”
You stood up abruptly, dusting off your jeans. “Alright. No time for interventions. Moving on – we need drastic measures.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow from her log-throne. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” you said, scanning the shed, “I’m going to find something to break one of those tiny windows so we can yell for help.”
Natasha sat up straighter. “You’re not breaking Clint’s window.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’ll make you fix it. And I’ve seen your IKEA shelf.”
“That shelf was cursed, and I stand by that.” You ran a hand through your hair. “Everyone knows that IKEA instructions are pointless – you’re meant to make it up as you go along. As long as it looks something vaguely like the picture, it’ll do.”
Natasha laughed softly, making your stomach flip. “I’ll tell IKEA you said that.”
You found a rusty garden trowel and held it up triumphantly. “This’ll do.”
“Y/n –” she warned, standing now too.
You pointed the trowel at her, as though daring her to step any closer. “Do not try to stop me. I am one second away from fully unravelling. I’ve had three too many feelings in the last hour and I’m dangerously close to saying stupid things.”
Natasha took a slow step forward, hands half-raised in faux surrender. “Okay. You’ve got a weapon. I respect that.”
“Good.”
A pause.
“There’s just one thing,” she added, eyes narrowing with that dangerous kind of amusement, “what exactly are these ‘stupid things’ you’re so scared of saying?”
You froze mid-trowel swing. “W-what?”
“There it is.” She took another step closer, calm and cat-like. “You’ve been rambling this whole time. And now, suddenly, you’ve got secrets.”
“I don’t have secrets,” you said too fast, too loudly. “I’m just very attached to Clint’s shed, and I’m emotionally invested in its windows staying intact.”
Nat crossed her arms, studying you. “What aren’t you saying?”
You swallowed.
“Y/n.”
“Natasha.”
“Y/n.”
Biting your lip, you sighed and swallowed nervously, your voice coming out a lot quieter than you intended. “That… I maybe… like being stuck in here more than I should.”
Her lips twitched.
“And that you look really good carrying firewood, and it’s unfair, and this is all very distracting, and I’m going to drop dead from the tension if you keep looking at me like that.”
Natasha blinked. “Like what?”
“Like you know I’m into you and you’re just waiting for me to say something first.”
She shrugged. “Maybe I am.”
You stared at her, then let go of the trowel like it had personally offended you and sighed, wiping your palms on your jeans. Natasha was still watching you, arms crossed, head tilted slightly like she was reading every line on your face and filing it away for later interrogation.
You cleared your throat. “So. This is fun.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You just tried to commit property damage.”
“That’s not the same as doing it.”
“Mm-hmm.” She took a step closer again. “So… you like being stuck with me?”
You instantly regretted saying it out loud. “I said maybe. You’re supposed to ignore the ‘maybe’ when I say it like that.”
“Oh, sorry,” she said, voice too smooth, too innocent. “Let me try again: you definitely like being stuck in here with me.”
You glared at her. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
There was only a foot of space between you now. The shed suddenly felt hotter again or maybe it was just your face. You shook your head and backed up a step, bumping into the shelf behind you. “God, you’re infuriating.”
Natasha shrugged, entirely unbothered. “I’ve been called worse.”
“You know what’s really unfair?”
“What?”
“That you’re good at this. The whole ‘deadpan sexy spy’ thing. Meanwhile, I flirt like a raccoon with a panic attack.”
She smirked. “It’s endearing.”
“I think I’m dying.”
“Would you like me to perform CPR?”
You choked. Nat tilted her head again, all mock-innocence. “What? I’m certified.”
Panicking, you ran your hands through your hair, trying to calm your racing heartbeat. “Okay. That’s it. I’m sitting down before I do something dumb.”
Nat stepped aside to let you pass, a half-smile on her lips. “You already tried to break a window.”
You dropped down onto the floor with a groan. “And yet somehow, still not the dumbest thing I want to do right now.”
There was a beat of silence. Then Natasha sat down beside you, not quite touching, but close enough that your arms brushed when you shifted. She didn’t say anything and neither did you. The silence grew comfortable, stretched out between you like a thread neither of you was ready to pull.
Just as the silence had started to feel dangerously full of things unspoken, a voice echoed from outside: “Y/N? Nat? You in there?” You both flinched. “Cooper said he saw you go in, and the door’s stuck again,” Clint called. “Hold on, lemme get the latch –”
A loud clunk, a metallic creak, and then the door swung open, flooding the shed with late afternoon light. Clint squinted at the two of you sitting on the floor, arms brushing. He raised an eyebrow. “Well, this is cozy.”
You sprang to your feet. “We were stuck.”
“Uh-huh,” Clint muttered, clearly amused. “Well, you’re free now. Try not to break anything on your way out.”
Natasha stood more slowly, brushing herself off. You didn’t miss the slight smirk on her face or the look she gave you as you practically bolted out into the open air.
***
After some frantic excuses where you’d managed to find reasons not to be within three feet of Natasha for the rest of the evening, you were shepherded into the kitchen by Wanda. She wanted your help in packing up leftovers. Reaching for a dish of mashed potato, you suddenly felt it – that unmistakable presence just behind you. You turned and nearly collided with Natasha, who had appeared without a sound.
You jumped. “Jesus, don’t do that.”
Natasha leaned a shoulder against the counter. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’ve been… actively helping. And contributing. And not avoiding you.” You waved the dish at her. “I can pack you some mashed potato?”
She gave you a long look. “You practically ran into the woods after Clint opened the door… and I’ll take the mashed potato.”
“That was not running, that was… a brisk reset walk.” Silently, you began packaging the remains of the potato into a dish, scrawling ‘Nat’ and a winky face on the label before thrusting it at her.
“A reset walk,” Natasha said slowly, clearly amused. She put the container on the counter.
“Yeah. Very grounding. Lots of nature. You should try it.”
Natasha stepped closer. “Or… we could finish the conversation we almost started.”
“I don’t remember starting a conversation,” you said, opening the fridge unnecessarily. “In fact, I remember a very clear lack of talking.”
She reached around you and gently closed the fridge door. “Y/N.”
You turned, cornered between her and the countertop. She wasn’t touching you, but she didn’t need to. The air between you was already charged again. You tried to deflect. “You know, I think we both had a little heatstroke in that shed. A very common side effect is emotional confusion. It’s science.”
“Emotional confusion?”
“Yup. It happens. You start thinking weird things. Like, ‘Hey, is my teammate ridiculously attractive?’ or ‘Would kissing her be the worst idea ever?’ Totally random, heat-induced stuff.”
Natasha smiled – slow and knowing. “You thought about kissing me?”
You clapped a hand to your forehead. “This is the worst moment of my life.”
“I think it’s the best,” she said, still smiling. “Because now you’ve said something.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You did. Just now. With your mouth.”
You groaned, turning away. “Is there a shed I can crawl back into?”
***
The sun was dipping low, casting long gold shadows over the Barton’s property. You stood by the porch with your bag slung over your shoulder. You were halfway through debating whether to call a car or just stay stranded forever when Natasha appeared at your side, quiet as ever.
“Heading back to the city?” she asked.
You nodded, adjusting the strap of your bag. “Yeah. Thought I’d grab a ride-share.”
Natasha raised a brow. “Or you could just come with me.”
You blinked. “What?”
She tilted her head toward the sleek black SUV parked off to the side of the driveway. “I’ve got room. And… I wouldn’t mind the company.”
For a second, your brain scrambled for something clever or evasive but nothing came. Just her voice, low and calm. Her eyes on yours, steady but not demanding. No teasing this time. You swallowed. “Yeah. Okay. Sure. That’d be… nice.”
Nat’s expression didn’t shift much but something softened around the edges. She nodded once, almost like it was confirmation of something she’d suspected.
“Great,” she said simply. “I’ve got your bag,” she added, pulling it gently off your shoulder and heading towards her car.
You glanced back towards the house; Wanda was staying over. She raised an eyebrow and smirked behind her mug. You mouthed shut up. She just winked.
As you climbed into the passenger seat beside Natasha and buckled your seatbelt, you realized the air between you was different now quieter but charged with something unsaid. Still unspoken… but closer to the surface than ever before.
You glanced at her as she pulled onto the road. “So… no chance we’ll get stuck in a shed again on the way back, huh?”
Natasha smirked, eyes on the road. “Not unless you start throwing yourself at locked doors.”
You grinned and leaned your head back against the seat, heart beating a little too fast. There was a Black Widow car freshener hanging from the rearview mirror – it made you grin wider.
This wasn’t a confession. But it was something.
The sun dipped behind the trees as Natasha pulled out onto the road, and the hum of the engine filled the silence between you. You picked at a loose thread on your sleeve, glancing sideways at her. “You always offer people rides home?”
“Only the ones who almost commit window crimes,” she said dryly.
You laughed under your breath. “So just me, then.”
A beat of quiet. The road curved around a line of pines; the sky streaked with gold and lavender. “Y’know,” you said lightly, “this is a very romantic lighting situation for two people pretending not to be into each other.”
Natasha glanced at you out of the corner of her eye. “Are we still pretending?”
You froze for half a second. “I – what do you mean?”
“I mean,” she said, voice calm but firm, “you’ve been flirting with me since we got stuck in that shed. And avoiding me since we got out of it. You said you didn’t want to say anything… but I think you already did.”
You looked down at your lap. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is,” she said. “You’re just scared.”
You sighed. “Of course I’m scared. You’re you. I’m me. You’re calm and competent and lethal and cool under pressure, and I once got a nosebleed trying to open a jar of pesto.”
Natasha didn’t laugh. She pulled the car over slowly onto the shoulder, flipping the hazard lights on. Your stomach dropped. “Wait, are we breaking down or –”
“No,” she said. “We’re done dancing around it.”
You stared at her, wide-eyed. “Are you seriously pulling over to interrogate me?”
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
“This is so on brand for you, I can’t even be mad.”
She turned toward you fully now, arm draped over the back of her seat. “Just say it.”
You swallowed. “Say what?”
Her eyes were steady. “That you like me.”
You looked at her, at the way the fading sun lit her profile like a halo, sharp and soft at once. “I like you,” you said quietly. “Obviously. Painfully. Stupidly.”
A beat passed. And then her voice, lower, warmer: “Good. Because I like you too. Stupidly.”
You blinked. “You do?”
She smirked. “I let you hold a trowel against me, and you lived to tell the tale. That’s love.”
You laughed, relieved and shaken all at once. Natasha smiled, eyes soft, and shifted the car back into drive. “Come on. Let’s get home.”
***
The sun had fully set by the time you pulled into the compound driveway. The building was mostly dark. Some of the team were still at Clint’s or were already turned in for the night.
Natasha put the car in park, engine idling. You reached for the door handle. But before you could grab it, she leaned across the console, smooth and unhurried. You expected her to unlock the door. Instead, she paused, just inches from your face, eyes on yours.
“Still scared?” she asked softly.
You barely got out, “Yeah,” before she leaned in and kissed you. It was gentle at first – not hesitant, but certain. Like she’d been waiting for the exact right moment. Her hand brushed your cheek, steady and sure, and everything else melted away.
When she pulled back, she whispered, “You don’t have to be.”
You stared at her, breathless, stunned, and smiling. “You really are the cool one.”
She grinned. “Told you.”
You both sat there for another second, neither of you in a rush to move.
Then Natasha finally reached over and popped the door lock. “Okay, now you can get out.”
***
The door clicked softly behind you as Natasha closed it, the dim light from the bedside lamp casting warm shadows across the room. You sank onto the edge of her bed, suddenly aware of how close you still were – the air between you lighter, somehow, but still buzzing.
Natasha flopped down beside you, arms stretched behind her head, eyes on the ceiling. “So,” she said after a beat, voice casual but with that familiar sharp edge, “are we… you know, officially together now? Or is this some weird, undercover ‘mission’?”
You smirked, nudging her arm. “Definitely not undercover. Although, I do feel like I’m on a covert operation. Something like Operation ‘Don’t Screw This Up.’”
She laughed softly, turning her head to look at you. “High stakes.”
“Very.”
You sighed, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. “But seriously… this is real, right? Us?”
Natasha propped herself up on one elbow, eyes locking with yours. “Real as the bruises you’ll get if you keep throwing yourself at doors,” she said with a grin.
You nudged her again. “Good. Because I’m terrible at subtle hints and really, really bad at pretending I don’t like you.”
“Noted.”
You rolled your eyes. “I don’t want to be ‘noted.’ I want to be… with you.”
She reached over, fingers curling around your hand. “Well, then,” she said softly, “we’re together. Whether you’re subtle or not.”
You squeezed her hand back, heart lighter than it had been in ages.
“And if you ever need a reminder,” she added with a teasing smile, “I’m right here.”
You grinned, resting your head on her shoulder. “Best mission ever.”
Summary: Your assigned to make Natasha Romanoff more ‘relatable’. Somewhere along the way you forget your job was to fix her image, not fall in love with it.
A/N: i was supposed to upload this days ago but every time i re-read it, i was unhappy, i still am but here is the third instalment! there will be one more...
Natasha wasn’t looking for trouble.
She was just walking through the training wing, finishing a sparring session with one of the senior agents, wiping sweat from her neck with a towel, already mentally halfway through a black coffee and a five-minute nap.
Then she heard it.
It wasn’t loud but it was clear. Just voices echoing off the hall’s concrete, a few of the younger agents in the corner, tossing back jokes and smirks like they were in some locker room comedy special.
“—PR girl? Damn. I’d sit through a whole press seminar if she was the one giving it.”
“Right? She’s hot and smart. Those are the ones that ruin your life in the best way.”
“I bet she’s got that whole hidden freak vibe. Quiet ones always do.”
And then: “Wonder if she and Romanoff are actually hooking up.”
“I was on nights and they were sparring the other day. Like Natasha was just tossing her around like a rag doll.”
“…Could be a kink thing.”
“I mean, I’d be into it. Wonder if they need a referee…”
That was as far as they got.
Natasha’s boot hit the floor harder than necessary as she stepped into view. The smile she gave them wasn’t a smile. It was a barbed wire snarl wrapped in silk.
“Care to repeat that?” She asked, voice low and lethal.
The agents froze, one of them paling instantly. Another opened his mouth, probably to make a joke but nothing came out.
Natasha stalked forward, hands at her sides but ready. Her whole body spoke threat in that cold, perfect way only she could.
“I didn’t quite hear you.” She said again. “Say it louder.”
One of them actually stepped back.
“You think because she’s kind, she’s an object? Because she does her job with grace and patience, especially with all of you walking PR disasters, you get to talk about her like that?”
“No- I- We-“
“I- I- I-“ Natasha mocked, her voice razor-sharp. “What? You thought nobody would call you out? You thought you could sit there, make your little jokes and it wouldn’t get back to her?”
The group stood frozen, the tension crackling in the air like a storm just about to break.
“She’s twice the person any of you could hope to be.” Natasha continued, stepping forward now, voice steady, low and deadly calm. “And believe me when I say, if you ever speak about her like that again, you won’t just be explaining yourselves to me.”
She let the silence stretch, let them squirm under the weight of her gaze.
Then, almost softly, but with unmistakable steel. “Apologise, now. Then get out of my sight.”
They didn’t hesitate. A chorus of stumbling apologies, averted eyes, and hasty steps followed, leaving Natasha alone with the stillness.
She exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing.
“Idiots.”
“Romanoff.” Came a sharp voice behind her. Maria Hill. “You wanna turn that PR into HR?”
“Please.” Natasha scoffed. “The new agents need a bit of humbling.”
“You’re not wrong.” Maria said carefully. “But not here. If you’re going to bully the recruits, do it out of the training room”
Natasha stood still, still vibrating with fury. Her knuckles were white where she clenched the towel.
Steve, who had appeared not long after Maria, clearly also having overheard the conflict, stepped forward. “Come on. Let’s walk it off.”
“I’m fine.” She snapped.
“You’re not.” Maria said, voice gentle but firm. “You’re cracking that water bottle… So let’s fix that.”
Before she could argue, the elevator chimed.
Pepper and Wanda, walking with a coffee in hand, brows already raised like they’d sensed the tension from three floors up.
Natasha crossed her arms. “Let me guess, you’re here to tell me to calm down too.”
“No.” Wanda said. “But I did sense your mood from upstairs. What happened?”
“Some idiot agents talking shit.”
“Oh.” Pepper blinked. “When has that ever bothered you?”
“It didn’t.” Maria cut in. “Until they started talking about her.”
“Oh. OH.”
Natasha didn’t answer.
“Let’s take a walk.” Not giving the redhead a choice, the two women whisked her away. “Do you want to know why you’re… hulking out?” Pepper didn’t wait for answer. “She gets under your skin because she’s not built like us. Not hardened by missions and violence and trauma. But she’s strong in a different way.”
“She’s just good and you’re not used to that.” Wanda added softly.
Pepper nodded. “She sees people. The real parts. Not the headlines. Not the failures. Just the things worth holding onto. And she makes you want to live up to that.”
That cracked something in Natasha’s chest.
Pepper stepped closer. “I’ve known her quite a while but she doesn’t talk much about herself, not really. But people talk and well… she’s been through things that would’ve broken most people.”
Natasha said nothing.
“And instead of closing off, she got better. Softer. She doesn’t let the past make her cruel.”
“She’s not naive.” Wanda added. “But she still chooses kindness. Not because she has to, because she believes it changes people.”
Natasha was quiet for a long time. Then: “She deserves someone better than me.”
Pepper gave her a long look. “She deserves someone who sees her. And protects her when she’s not looking. I think that might be you.”
Something twisted hard in Natasha’s chest.
Because she’d fought wars. Escaped empires. Dismantled entire networks of evil. But this?
This was terrifying.
Caring for someone who mattered. Caring for someone who could be hurt.
And maybe worst of all, being cared for back.
Natasha Romanoff, legendary spy, killer, child assassin was scared. But not of pain or even of love.
She was scared that someone like you might reach for her one day, with all that light and stubborn hope and she’d be too broken to hold it.
⋆⋆⋆⋆
You knew something was wrong when the third person asked ‘Is she running late or just blowing this off?’.
The event had started almost an hour ago.
The press was already circling like bloodthirsty drones, influencers taking selfies in front of the charity’s golden banner while you stood off to the side in the dress you’d picked carefully, hoping and stupidly that tonight might finally feel like something real.
You kept checking your phone.
Nothing. Not a text. Not a call. Not even a ‘Sorry, can’t make it.’
You tried to hold your smile when reporters asked if Natasha was on her way. “She’s probably just… delayed.”
When someone whispered ‘Guess the soft launch wasn’t real’ loud enough for you to hear, your cheeks flamed hot.
You left before the main speech. Before dessert. Before you had to feel the weight of every turned head and half-sympathetic glance.
By the time the Tower elevator dinged open, you weren’t sad anymore.
You were furious.
⋆⋆⋆⋆
The team was scattered around the couches, Tony and Sam mid-bicker, Clint tossing popcorn at Steve’s head, Wanda trying to read a book but failing miserably through the chaos.
And there she was.
Natasha.
Perfectly calm, sitting on the armrest, sipping a drink, scrolling through her phone like the night hadn’t just imploded around you.
You stormed in and the room went still.
“Where the hell were you?” You snapped, voice sharp enough to cut steel. In the elevator ride, you planned your exact argument, down to the last word. But when you saw her there, nonchalantly on that damn phone that you’d spent the last hour calling and texting, it went out of the window.
Natasha didn’t look up. “I didn’t feel like going.”
You blinked. “You didn’t feel like it?”
She shrugged, indifferent. “Seemed like more of a PR thing than a me thing.”
“Oh my God.” You laughed, a sharp, disbelieving sound. “Are you kidding? You agreed to be there. You confirmed. We planned it, we rehearsed it. I stood there like an idiot while people asked if you were even real.”
She finally looked at you, still unreadable. “They’ll get over it.”
You took a step forward. “What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” She said. Too fast. Too flat. “It wasn’t personal.”
The team had all practically dissolved into the couch at this point, wincing at every word Natasha said and looking everywhere but at you.
“Not personal?!” Your voice cracked, your composure fracturing along with it. “You made me believe I could trust you. That we were building something. You let me in, let me- care about you and then the second it matters, you bail. You don’t even bother to lie about it.”
She said nothing. No apology. No reaction.
You swallowed down the lump in your throat. “You know what? You’re exactly what people say you are. Cold. Closed off. A performance.”
That made her blink but still, she didn’t answer.
So you pressed harder. “Was any of it real? Or were you just bored and thought I’d be fun to play with?”
Her jaw tightened but she kept still and infuriatingly calm.
“I guess that’s my answer.” You whispered, stepping back like you’d been slapped. “I really thought you were different. You’re a coward, Agent Romanoff.”
It wasn’t until Wanda gently touched your arm that you remembered the rest of the team. She was standing beside you now, eyes soft, hand light on your wrist.
“Come on.” She said gently. “Let’s take a walk.”
You didn’t even nod. Just let her guide you toward the elevator, your chest still burning.
You didn’t look back.
If you had, you might’ve seen Natasha’s shoulders fold in on themselves the second the door closed.
But you didn’t.
And she didn’t stop you.
⋆⋆⋆⋆
The night air was cool, heavy with city sounds and the quiet hum of traffic below. Wanda walked beside you, hands in her coat pockets, giving you silence without pressure.
When you finally spoke, it came out hoarse and bitter.
“I know she’s complicated. I know. I didn’t walk into this thinking she was going to knit me a sweater and write me poems.”
Wanda didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.
You shook your head, blinking hard. “But I thought… I thought if I showed up, if I stayed patient, gave her space, gave her me- that maybe, eventually…”
“That she’d meet you there.” Wanda finished quietly.
You nodded, arms crossing tight over your chest. “And tonight wasn’t even about us. It was work. It was something she promised to do. But she just… didn’t.”
You paused. “I stood there like an idiot while people whispered that I was being used. That it was all fake. And she didn’t even bother to text.”
Wanda finally looked over at you, gentle but firm. “That’s not about you.”
You laughed bitterly. “Feels like it is.”
“She’s scared.”
“Of what? Me? I’m not the one who disappears. I’m not the one who shuts down the second someone gets too close.”
“No.” Wanda agreed. “You’re the one who shows up. Every time.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat. “It hurts. It’s not even about the event anymore. I trusted her. I defended her. I let her in. And she made me feel like I was nothing. Like it was all… one-sided.”
“It’s not.” Wanda assures you, almost desperate to tell you what happened but she knows it’s not her place to say.
You looked at her. “Then why does it feel like it is?”
⋆⋆⋆⋆
The second the elevator doors closed behind you and Wanda, silence settled over the common room.
And then… “What the hell was that?” Tony said, no sarcasm for once.
Steve stepped forward, arms crossed. “You left her there, Romanoff.”
Natasha stood by the window, arms folded, expression unreadable but her silence said everything.
“You humiliated her, at her work. The reputation she’d spent so long building you, you nearly ruined it.” Clint added, quiet but firm. “That’s not like you.
“She’ll bounce back,” Natasha muttered, too low to be convincing.
“Bounce back?” Clint scoffed, wanting to throw the remote in his hand at the redhead’s stupidly frustrating head.
That’s not the point.” Sam said. “You’re not a rookie. You know what that kind of public embarrassment does to someone. especially someone whose whole job is to keep you from looking bad.”
Natasha didn’t move.
“She looked gutted.” Bucky said, tone unusually gentle. “I’ve seen you walk away from a hundred things. But her?”
He shook his head. “This wasn’t tactical. This was self-sabotage.”
“I don’t need a team of emotionally unavailable idiots to start playing Cupid with me and her. When did I ask?!”
“We were helping.”
“I didn’t ask!” Natasha almost growled, defensive and angry. “And you guys inserted yourself anyway and now what? You’re mad because you thought you were right. You believed in some fairytale-“
Pepper’s voice cut in, cool and cutting. “She believed in you. Fought for you.”
That one made Natasha flinch. just barely. But it was there.
“I never asked her to.”
“No.” Pepper agreed. “But you let her.”
Another long silence.
Natasha finally spoke. “I thought if I kept her at arm’s length, I wouldn’t… ruin it.”
Tony snorted. “Well, congrats. You managed to ruin it anyway.”
Steve’s voice softened. “You don’t get to do this halfway, Nat. Not with someone like her. If you want out, be honest. But if you’re scared? That’s fine. Just don’t use fear as an excuse to hurt her.”
No one said anything else.
They didn’t need to.
The weight of what she’d done filled the room and this time, Natasha felt it.
She turned back to the window, jaw tight, trying to pretend the sting behind her eyes was nothing.
But for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t sure how to fix what she’d broken. She couldn’t throw a grenade at it and watch it collapse. She couldn’t shoot someone in the name of justice or throw a pair of handcuffs on you and feel a little lighter that she just saved the world of another monster. This was something different, something new entirely and she had no idea.
⋆⋆⋆⋆
You didn’t plan to go back to the Tower the next day.
You were tired. Still bruised from the embarrassment, still sore from the fight, worse than a physical one because the person who’d hurt you knew where to land the blows.
But your laptop had updates syncing through the Tower server and if you didn’t at least check in, the PR team would start sending passive-aggressive gifs.
So you walked through the front doors, bracing for awkward silences, maybe a few pity looks.
What you weren’t expecting was chaos.
The common room lights were dimmed, someone had shoved a ring light into a plant and the Smart TV was looping a series of shaky, self-recorded videos. Natasha’s face filled the screen. She was wearing a hoodie, actually your hoodie you realised and squinting into the camera like she was trying to disable it with her eyes alone.
“Hi.“ She said. “I’m Natasha Romanoff. You may know me from such headlines as ‘Scary in Black’ and ‘Does She Ever Smile?“
You froze.
She took a beat, clearly reading from a barely hidden script.
“I’m here to tell you about-“ She glanced off-screen, “What was it? Oh. Lip gloss. From this… tube.” She held up a pale blue tube like it might detonate. “Apparently, this one’s vegan and has emotional undertones.”
Cut.
The next video appeared, a microphone placed strategically on a table with nothing else around. You almost burst out laughing as suddenly two hands appeared, armed with a knife and some kind of gadget, slowly sharpening it.
You never thought you’d see the day Natasha did ASMR and with weapons no less, it was weirdly hot. Her voice echoed in the bathroom.
“Ok, now I kinda get the appeal. Let’s try guns…”
Cut.
Then she appeared again, this time with the rest of the team. You actually did start laughing now as the redhead lip synced along with the audio ‘…You can pack your things and leave. There’s the door.’
The rest of the team jumped out from various places behind her and pointed as they chorused ‘There’s the door bitch!’
Cut.
You stood there, stunned.
Then her voice came, not from the speakers but from behind you. “I don’t know how to say I’m sorry without it sounding… like strategy. So I figured I’d show you instead. I didn’t forget what you said, about what you like, what makes you laugh, what matters to you. I’m sorry I didn’t show up. But I was listening.”
You blinked fast and turned, there she was. Standing in the soft light, hands in her pockets, looking unsure in a way that was very un-Natasha.
You laughed through your nose, still watery. “You made content.”
She nodded. “I made so much content.”
“I’m being honest when I say I’m not good at this.” She muttered quietly. “But I really wanted you to know that I was paying attention. I just… panicked. I hurt you because I got scared and that’s not fair. It’s not what you deserve.”
You looked at her. “I don’t want perfect.” You shrugged. “I just want honest.”
She stepped closer. “Then I’m terrified. And trying. That’s honest.”
You swallowed hard. “Okay.”
She gestured toward the elevator. “Walk with me?”
You nodded.
⋆⋆⋆⋆
You walked through the city, not speaking for a while. Just existing beside each other. Shoulder to shoulder. Not touching but closer than space really allowed.
Finally, Natasha broke the silence.
“I didn’t think someone like you could be real.”
You glanced at her. “Someone like me?”
“Soft. Not scared of me. Actually the opposite.”
“I’m terrified of you.” You said, dryly. “I’m pretty sure that day I walked in with a binder, you could have killed me with it at least 30 different ways.”
“You don’t act like it.” She huffed a laugh. “But that’s true.”
“That’s because somewhere under the assassin stare and the world’s worst text etiquette, you’ve got a good heart.”
“That’s debatable.”
“Not to me.”
She looked down at her hands for a second. “You really think I can be good?”
You slowed your pace. “I think you already are. You just don’t know what it looks like to share it with another person yet.”
Another long pause.
Then, quietly. “Will you show me?”
Your chest squeezed so tight you could barely breathe.
You nodded. “Yeah. I will.”
She didn’t reach for your hand but her fingers brushed yours.
Just enough that it said I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.
⋆⋆⋆⋆
The walk back to the tower was easy, light and refreshing, which someone would never describe Natasha Romanoff as.
Unless they was you.
You soaked in the quiet, city buzz, breathed in the soft, spring air, tried not to lose your train of thought when her sleeve brushing yours.
You weren’t holding hands but it was close. You smiled, still feeling the ghost of her voice in your chest. Will you show me?
You were just about to say something, something dumb and soft and probably embarrassing, when you heard it.
A click. Then another.
A chorus of camera shutters.
Then voices. “Wait—wait, is that her?”
“Is that Natasha Romanoff?!”
“Oh my God, it’s them! The one from that video and- GET A VIDEO!”
“Are they dating?!”
And just like that, it hit. A wall of people, phone up, shouting and pushing. Some were laughing, some trying to get selfies, others just yelling her name.
“Natasha! Look this way!”
“Smile for us!”
“ARE YOU TOGETHER?!” You stiffened instantly, shrinking back without thinking, trying to block the flashes from your face but it was too late.
A hand shoved too close. A phone nearly hit your cheek. Someone grabbed your arm, not hard but hard enough to make your pulse spike. You barely had time to register it before Natasha moved.
Fast. Fluid. Pure instinct.
She stepped in front of you like a shield, one hand gripping your wrist, the other out in a sharp, commanding gesture. “Back up NOW.”
Her voice cut through the crowd like a blade.
Her eyes were fire and her jaw was tightly locked. The same look she wore before a takedown.
“Move.” She snapped, already steering you through the crush.
You let her. You didn’t have a choice.
Every time someone got too close, she was there, guiding you behind her, using her body to wedge open space. A shoulder turned to block an arm. A hand on your back to keep you close. Her head down, scanning, protecting.
You heard someone yell. “You can’t touch me, I know my rights!”
And then a camera was shoved too close. Too close.
Natasha caught it mid-air and shoved it back, not hard enough to break it but hard enough to make the guy stumble. “Touch her again.” She said, flatly. “And we’ll find out exactly how much training I’m not using right now.”
The crowd didn’t fully disperse but they hesitated, just long enough for her to get you into the Tower’s entryway, where security finally swarmed.
The doors shut.
The noise dropped.
Your breath was ragged.
Natasha was still standing in front of you, chest rising and falling fast, like she was waiting for another threat.
Only when she turned around did you realise her hand was shaking.
You blinked. “Nat…”
Her jaw twitched. She didn’t look at you.
“I shouldn’t have let you walk with me. That was stupid. I wasn’t thinking. They aren’t usually like that, not that bad but I-“
“Hey.” You stepped forward, catching her wrist gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Her eyes flicked to yours, wild and guilt-ridden. Scared, in a way she never let herself be.
“I should’ve known,” she said, voice tight. “They watch everything. I should’ve-“
“You protected me.” Her breath hitched.
You took her hand, slowly. “You protected me. From them. From that. I’ve dealt with paparazzi before and that could have been intense but you-“
“Hey, look! My favourite couple! Did you get caught in that mess?” Tony appeared, all bright-eyed and almost hyped up on the chaos that waited outside. “Sorry about that! Some groupie just told everyone her two year old son is mine so it’s a little crazy. All in a day’s work, right?”
“What?” You breathed, you couldn’t take dealing with a scandal like this.
“Na, don’t worry about it. Happens at least once a month, right Nat?”
“Strangely, yes.”
“See you lovebirds later…” He winked, sliding on his glasses and flocking to the many that waited outside for a picture, a comment or even just a selfie.
“I- Is he always like that?”
“Pretty much.”
⋆⋆⋆⋆
The gala was meant to be a celebration. An Avengers public appearance. A press-heavy fundraiser. Civil, polished, contained. Easy.
The whole team was there, dressed like they’d been told not to bring weapons, even though you knew better. Steve giving careful interviews, Tony charming bored billionaires, Wanda nodding along to some roundtable about ‘moral frameworks’.
You were centre stage, scheduled to moderate the live Q&A. Natasha was seated beside you, perfectly composed, looking ten percent bored and ninety percent hyperaware.
You smiled as you tapped your mic. “Let’s open the floor for some-“
Then the floor shook.
An explosion, not close but loud enough to send panic through the crowd.
People screamed. A glass wall shattered.
Chaos.
You turned just as Tony’s voice came over the comms. “We’ve got incoming. Unknown hostiles. All hands now.” It wasn't unusual for this to happen to the Avengers, some idiot trying their luck with a bunch of groupies but never did you think you'd find yourself in the presence of it.
Natasha was on her feet instantly, pulling you behind the stage. “Stay here. Don’t move.” Her voice was steel.
“But-“
“Stay.”
Then she was gone, vanishing into motion like she was never in heels to begin with.
You peeked through the curtain. The rest of the Avengers were already dispersing, charging into the chaos breaking through the building’s west side.
That’s when it happened.
They came from the other side. Half a dozen of them, knock-off tactical gear but heavy firepower and zero hesitation. While the heroes went west, the real plan entered from the east.
The stage was suddenly theirs.
You didn’t get to run. They spotted you immediately, centre spotlight, mic still warm.
“Her!” One barked. “Take her!”
Several hands grabbed you, yanking you back. You fought. Kicked. Bit someone’s wrist hard enough to make them curse.
A gun cracked across your cheek and everything spun.
You hit the ground hard, blood in your mouth, ears ringing. You heard one of them laughing. “Guess she’s tougher than she looks. They must have taught her well.”
Another shoved you forward, dragging you to the middle of the stage.
And through it all, people were still filming.
Phones up, flashes going. The whole world watching in terror and entertainment.
A voice barked orders. “They’re coming back. When they do, she’s our message.”
They forced you to your knees. One knelt beside you, gun pressed to your head.
You could barely think. Blood was dripping from your temple, running into your left eye, your vision was still a little blurry.
But then somewhere in your haze came a flicker of clarity.
They’re waiting. They want an audience. Buy time.
So you started talking. “You don’t want to do this.”
The man beside you laughed. “Don’t make me sick with some moral high ground bullshit.”
“You want headlines? I’m the headline.” You murmured. “But if you kill me now, they’ll turn you into dust before the article’s even out.”
He raised the gun. “You think I won’t?”
“I think you’re trying really hard to prove something.”
He grabbed your collar. “You’ve got a mouth.”
“Yeah.” You muttered, tasting blood. “So I’ve been told.”
“You won’t have for much longer if you don’t shut the-“
Before he could finish, there was a swooping side then a thud echoed throughout the arena.
He looked confused for exactly half a second.
And then Natasha dropped from above.
No warning.
No sound.
Just a black shape exploding from the ceiling and breaking the first guy’s neck before he even saw her.
Gunfire erupted.
Two more went down before anyone could scream. Blood sprayed, hot, sharp, and too close. You flinched as one of the shooters collapsed behind you, brain matter splattering your shoulder and neck.
Within forty seconds, they were down. All of them.
And you were still on your knees, covered in blood that wasn’t yours, arms shaking as you stared blankly ahead like your brain hadn’t caught up to your body.
“Hey, hey.” Natasha’s voice was suddenly right there, breathless and full of panic she’d never admit.
You blinked.
She was crouched in front of you, hands hovering near your face like she wasn’t sure where she could touch you without hurting you more.
“Don’t. Don’t look at them.” She whispered, reaching out to gently tilt your face away from the bodies. “Look at me.”
Your bottom lip trembled.
She saw it and her heart suddenly shattered.
“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” She murmured, finally pulling you into her arms.
You didn’t even flinch. You just folded into her, arms limp, mind on delay, blood soaking both your clothes as the room lit up with more cameras.
Flashes everywhere.
Security charging in.
Media shouting questions.
But all Natasha could do was hold you tighter, her hand gently cradling the back of your head.
“Don’t look. Don’t move. I’ve got you.”
And for the first time in her life, truly, completely, she didn’t care who was watching.
⋆⋆⋆⋆
They’d tried to get you to go to medical.
You had stubbornly refused. You let Natasha lead you into the Tower instead, silent, pale, still wearing the dress she’d watched you pick that morning, now stained in dried blood and soot.
She didn’t speak. She didn’t ask.
She just walked you to her room.
Straight to her private bathroom, wordless, efficient, careful. On auto pilot, she turned on the shower, tested the temperature and then turned back and started undoing the zipper on your dress like she was defusing a bomb.
You didn’t stop her.
And when she peeled it away when the fabric dropped to the floor and she saw the bruises already forming across your ribs, the cut on your cheek, the blood on your thighs that wasn’t yours, her hands trembled.
She didn’t speak, she didn’t cry.
She just pulled you gently under the stream and followed you in, fully clothed.
You stood in the water, both of you silent, her arms wrapped around you.
She held you as the blood washed away, as your shaking slowed, as the horror finally left your bones.
She didn’t say she was scared.
She didn’t say “I love you.”
But she didn’t have to.
You were alive because she’d come for you.
And now she wasn’t letting go.
⋆⋆⋆⋆
By the time Natasha guided you into the kitchen, it smelled like garlic, rosemary and the kind of comfort you didn’t realize you needed until it wrapped itself around your ribs.
Everyone was there.
Tony in pajama pants and a hoodie he definitely stole from Peter. Steve manning the stove like he wasn’t a genetically enhanced war relic. Clint perched on the counter like a raccoon with snack rights. Wanda and Sam were at the island, quietly chopping vegetables and tossing bread into a pan like it was just another night.
But the second you stepped in, blood gone, skin scrubbed pink, hair damp and clean, something in the air shifted.
No one stared. No one asked.
They just made space.
Natasha’s hand stayed in yours. Not gripping or demanding. Just there, a steady anchor wrapped around your fingers like she was terrified to let go.
She guided you toward a stool at the kitchen island. The seat was still warm.
“Sit.” She said softly.
You did.
A moment later, she placed a plate in front of you. You hadn’t even seen her build it, just that it was perfect. A little pasta. Some grilled chicken. Soft, roasted vegetables. A chunk of warm bread. Light enough that it wasn’t going to make the nauseous in your stomach come out. She set a glass of water down next, watched you until you took a sip.
Your throat felt raw. You didn’t know if it was from crying or not speaking for too long. Maybe both.
But the water helped, so did the food. But what helped more? The way she pulled up a chair beside you, close enough for her knee to brush yours helped more than you could say.
She didn’t push. Didn’t speak unless it was to quietly encourage.
“Eat a little more.”
“You’re doing good.”
“That’s enough for now, if you’re tired.”
She didn’t flinch when your hand trembled against your fork. She just gently covered it with hers and waited until you steadied.
And through it all, the team talked. Not to you. Not at you. Just around you.
Clint was retelling the story of the time he got locked out of a safe house in just a towel and combat boots. Steve was trying not to laugh. Tony kept throwing popcorn at Sam, who was definitely encouraging it.
The volume, the normalcy, it was intentional.
They weren’t pretending nothing had happened.
They were reminding you that you were still here. Still part of this messy, ridiculous family.
You ate enough to quiet the twist in your stomach and Natasha gently tapped your thigh once like permission to move.
You nodded so she led you to the couch, where the rest of the team were settling.
The lights were low now, TV casting a soft glow across the room. Clint had crashed into an armchair. Wanda curled up with a book. The others slowly trickled out, giving you privacy without making a show of it.
Natasha sat first.
Then waited. Like she knew the choice had to be yours.
You didn’t hesitate. You curled into her like you were made to fit there, your knees tucked to the side, body half in her lap, arms circling her waist like she was the only thing holding your bones together.
And she was.
Her arms wrapped around you instantly, not too tight or too tentative. Her hand slid up and down your back, slow and steady, not even really a rhythm, just a presence. Her fingertips brushed over the cut on your side, the bruising forming beneath your ribs. She didn’t flinch. Just pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head then rested her cheek there.
You felt her breathing. The rise and fall of her chest. The soft thrum of her pulse where your face pressed against her.
You could still smell the shampoo from your shared shower, Still feel the echo of gunshots vibrating through your skull.
But here? There was only her. Her heartbeat. Her hands. Her warmth.
The world had turned to static but this was real.
Your fingers curled into the hem of her shirt. Her breath caught. You didn’t speak. You just let yourself go limp. Let yourself trust her to hold you. And she did.
For minutes. Maybe hours. You didn’t know. Time melted into warmth and pressure and breath.
You felt your body sink. Your limbs get heavy. The weight of everything you’d been holding finally released.
You didn’t mean to fall asleep. But you did.
Your face pressed into her neck. Your fingers curled in her shirt like an anchor. Your whole body slumped into her, safe for the first time since you’d stood on that stage and watched the gun swing your way.
And Natasha? She didn’t move. Not when Steve peeked round and saw the two of you. Not when Tony whispered ‘She’s out cold’ and backed out like a cartoon villain sneaking offstage. Not even when your breath hitched in your sleep and your fingers gripped tighter.
She just held you, rocked you a little when you shifted in your unconscious state, whispered something in Russian you didn’t understand but your bones did.
And when she finally rested her chin on your head and let her eyes close, it was the first time she’d slept without her gun within reach in years.
Because you were worth the risk.
⋆⋆⋆⋆
You woke slowly, with warmth and with weight. With the soft, steady rhythm of someone else breathing beneath you.
It took a moment to realize where you were. Curled up in the Tower’s living room, a blanket you didn’t remember being tucked around you, your entire body molded into the side of one Natasha Romanoff.
Her arms were still wrapped around you.
One hand resting lightly on your hip. The other threaded through your hair. She was leaned back into the couch cushions, head tilted, cheek resting on yours.
And she was awake. Barely.
But awake. Her thumb brushed absently over the fabric of your shirt like she’d never stopped touching you all night.
You stirred gently, shifting just enough to look up at her. Her eyes found yours instantly.
“Hey.” You whispered, voice raspy.
Her fingers tightened slightly. “Morning.”
You could hear the relief in her tone, even though she’d been awake for who knows how long, holding you like you’d slip through her arms if she so much as blinked.
You smiled, a little shy, a little raw. “Thank you.”
Her brow furrowed. “For what?”
“For…” You hesitated then leaned your forehead against hers. “All of it. Coming for me. Holding me. Letting me lose it and not making me feel stupid for it.”
“You weren’t stupid.” She said, instantly.
Her voice was steel for a split second, instinctive and protective.
Then she softened again. “You were brave. And you scared the hell out of me.”
You let out a quiet laugh. “I scared myself.”
“You nearly died.”
You opened your eyes. Her face was so close now, too close to hide anything.
“Yeah.” You whispered. “But you made sure I didn’t.”
Her hand came up to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek. “You don’t get to do that again.”
You blinked.
“Run in alone. Put yourself in the line of fire. Be brave like that. Not if I’m not right behind you.”
You nodded slowly. “Deal.”
“Good.” Her voice dropped, husky from too little sleep. “Because next time, I’m bodychecking you to the floor before you can even try it.”
⋆⋆⋆⋆
You made it to the kitchen eventually.
You walked on your own, talked in full sentences, even made a very weak joke. But none of that mattered to Natasha, apparently, who sat right beside you, close enough to supervise your water intake like it was a security clearance.
The team was all around. Chatting, joking, pretending to ignore how Natasha gently nudged your glass toward you every ten minutes.
“Drink.” She ordered.
“I just did.”
“Again.”
You sighed. “You know I’m okay now, right?”
“Mm.” She passed you a forkful of eggs from her plate, held out expectantly. “One more bite.”
You gave her a look.
“I’ll tase you.” She said sweetly.
Clint snorted into his coffee. “You guys gonna go full domestic before lunch or…”
You blushed. Natasha did not.
Instead, she calmly fed you another bite.
Steve raised an eyebrow. “Should we be leaving the room?”
“No.” Wanda said, sipping tea. “This is adorable. This is my show now.”
Natasha didn’t seem to care who was watching anymore. She just rubbed slow, absent circles against your back with one hand while eating toast with the other.
You sighed, leaning your weight against her. “I should probably… do something about the PR fallout. That whole gun to the head on stage thing probably has the internet in flames.”
Tony, from across the kitchen, muttered. “You think?”
But before you could reach for your phone, Clint raised a hand. “Handled.”
You blinked. “Handled what?”
He smirked and slid his phone across the table.
The screen showed a picture.
You.
Asleep.
Curled up impossibly tight against Natasha, half in her lap, cheek pressed to her chest, her arms wrapped around you like she was guarding the last piece of something sacred.
The blanket had slipped halfway down. Her hand was tangled in your hair. The photo wasn’t posed, it was intimate and safe.
He tapped the caption.
They’re both okay. Healing. Alive. Let them rest. ❤️ #PRSPYAGENDA #IDONTHAVEPERMISSIONTOPOSTTHIS #NATWILLKILLMEFORHER #FINDMYBODY
Below it? Hundreds of thousands of likes and comments flooding in.
‘Not me crying at 8am…’
‘Can someone hug me like that???’
‘I will never be over this!’
‘When’s the wedding?’
‘We ride at dawn!’
You blinked hard.
Natasha leaned over your shoulder, reading. “Subtle.” She murmured but she couldn’t hide her smirk.
Clint raised his coffee. “I have range.”
You turned, giving Natasha a look. “So… we’re soft-launched again?”
She brushed her thumb along your cheekbone, looking right at you. “No.” She laughed. “I think the kids call that a hard launch.”
You melted a little.
And when she pulled you back in to rest against her chest again, arms around your waist, lips against your hair, you didn’t fight it.
Wanda squealed from somewhere behind you. “They’re SO ENDGAME!”
Warnings: reader gets upset; touch of angst; fluffy ending
a/n: just something small, a little angsty, a little fluffy! :)
Rolling over with a sleepy sigh, you reached out instinctively, then sighed again as you took in the sight of the empty space next to you. Natasha was still away on a mission but would be back later that day and you couldn’t wait to see her.
There were a few hours for you to kill before her return. Propping yourself upright, you groaned at the sight of the messy room and chaos around you. Clothes and papers were strewn across the floor, books half-open on your desk, with an abandoned highlighter next to them, its lid missing, and a towel hanging precariously off the back of your bathroom door. Natasha was the tidy one – always keeping you in check with apparent minimal effort – but when she was gone, it was like order left with her.
Still waking up, you reached towards your beside table for your engagement ring. The one that Natasha had slipped happily onto your finger just a couple of months ago. You still felt the butterflies every time you thought about the proposal – how she’d perfectly surprised you by getting down on one knee. How she’d asked you to be her wife.
But your hand only met wood and scattered clutter. You frowned, confused.
You patted the surface again, more frantically this time, pushing aside your phone, several lip balms, a mug from two nights ago – no ring. It was a large, oval diamond, set into a gold band with two smaller gems either side of it – and you adored it. A twinge of panic bloomed in your chest.
“No, no, no, no, no,” you whispered, already half-falling out of bed as you dropped to your knees. You shoved aside clothes, books, a pair of Natasha’s old socks, tearing through the mess on the floor, under the bed, under the dresser. It had to be here. You always took it off and left it right there before going to sleep.
Or had you?
Your chest tightened. You thought you’d left it on the nightstand. But maybe you hadn’t. Maybe you'd been distracted. You’d gone swimming yesterday with some of the team – did you take it off in the locker room? Did it fall off in the water?
Hopping around the room on one leg, you quickly pulled your clothes on and tore out of your room, heading for the pool. The compound was silent – most of the team were at a conference or away on missions. Thankfully, the world was silent from any major threats and the Avengers were being drafted in to help with SHIELD initiatives across the globe.
You checked every locker, every bench in the changing rooms, scanning for any glint of gold. Nothing. Swallowing your nerves, you kicked off your clothes and dove into the pool, wincing at the chill of the unheated water. Tony had recently installed a new system that heated the pool – it was extremely costly but he declared it was worth it, muttering something about ‘team morale,’ though you had no idea what he meant by that.
Taking a deep breath, you swam laps underwater, eyes stinging as you searched every inch of the tiled floor, fingers scraping along the bottom in vain.
No ring.
You surfaced with a gasp, blinking away frustrated tears. Your breaths came quick and shallow as you raced through all the possible locations of where it could be. Had it slipped off while you were drying your hands? Fallen behind your dresser? You were usually so careful with it. With a brief twinge of guilt, you wished you’d asked Natasha to keep the box it came in, regretting throwing it out. It would have kept the ring safe, and you wouldn’t have lost track of it so easily.
Dragging yourself out of the water, you slowly redressed and headed back upstairs, heart pounding, tears refusing to fall. It had to be in your room. It had to be somewhere, you thought bitterly. You couldn’t bear to imagine what Natasha would think. What if she believed you didn’t care? What if she – you cut yourself off sharply. No. Don’t go there. Not yet.
But the knots in your stomach only tightened.
A sudden stroke of inspiration came to you. Pulling off your damp garments, you changed into jeans and a hoodie, then pulled on the old biking boots that Natasha had given you. You’d recently re-visited the spot where she’d proposed because it made you feel close to her. Maybe the ring had fallen off there. It was a long shot, but you were willing to try anything.
Grabbing Natasha’s motorcycle helmet and your keys, you raced out the door.
***
The compound was quieter than usual when Natasha returned.
Too quiet.
She’d expected to find you hovering by the hangar doors like you always did when she came home – often barefoot, often yawning, pretending not to have been anxiously refreshing the flight tracker. But today, the corridor outside her room was still, the only sound her own footsteps as she made her way toward your shared space.
Her brow furrowed the moment she opened the door. Her kit bag hit the floor with a dull thud.
The mess hit her first—your side of the room had exploded into chaos. Clothes everywhere, drawers half-open, the bed completely unmade. It looked like a war zone. Not the normal lazy clutter you left when you were missing her, but frantic. Rushed. Desperate.
Something was wrong.
She stepped carefully inside, scanning the floor, the overturned laundry basket, the faint trail of damp footprints leading in from the hallway. There was a pile of damp clothing in the bathroom, dropped haphazardly in the shower tray. She recognised one of her old hoodies which you always wore when she was away. Her stomach twisted with a creeping sense of unease.
“Honey?” she called out softly. No answer.
Her eyes moved to the bedside table – yours, specifically. She glanced at the scattered items on it, then at the bare space where your engagement ring always sat while you slept.
Empty.
That wasn’t unusual – you’d normally be up at this hour, but given the circumstances and the explosion of mess and clutter in your room, Natasha knew that something was off.
Her chest tightened.
She crouched beside the table, fingertips brushing along the floor. Nothing at first. Then – something. A glint. Just barely catching the light.
Natasha reached further, her knuckles grazing the wall as her fingers finally closed around cool metal.
She pulled her hand back slowly.
There it was.
The ring.
Her ring.
The one she'd chosen so carefully. Oval diamond, gold band, the tiny side stones meant to represent your birthstone and hers. It sat in her palm like it had never been lost – like it had been waiting.
Natasha stared at it for a long moment, her jaw tightening. She wasn’t angry, not really. But the thought of you spiralling over this, tearing apart the room in a panic and then vanishing – without so much as a text – made her heart ache. She turned the ring over in her fingers once, then slipped it into her pocket.
She needed to find you.
And when she did, she’d remind you that she didn’t propose because of a ring.
She proposed because she wanted you. All of you – chaos, clutter, and everything in between.
Glancing around the room for a clue to your location, she noticed the absence of her motorcycle helmet at the same time that she heard the familiar roar of her bike outside. Confused and slightly worried, she left the room.
***
You pulled the helmet off, your hair a mess, your eyes red from crying. The ring wasn’t where you hoped it would have been, and you’d broken down crying at the very spot that Natasha proposed. Slipping your keys into your pocket, you leant against her bike, shoulders slumped, exhausted with the pressure of finding it before her return. Your eyes flicked to the landing pad and your heart lurched as you spotted the quinjet.
Natasha was home. And she was probably looking for you.
The shift of a footfall to your left made your head jerk upwards, noticing Natasha moving slowly out of the doorway and towards where you were standing.
“Where have you been?” she asked. Her voice was low – tight – but not angry. Just... tired. Worried. “I came home to an empty hangar and an empty bed. The room looks like a war zone. What’s going on?”
You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Looked down at your feet. “I – I…” You were out of excuses and didn’t know what to say to her to explain the chaos you’d left behind you.
She took a step toward you. “Are you avoiding me?”
You nodded, throat thick.
“Why?” She took another step.
You swallowed hard, blinking fast. “I – I lost the ring.”
She stilled.
Your voice cracked as the words spilled out. “I took it off last night before bed, and this morning it was just... gone. I tore the room apart. I checked the pool. The changing rooms. The laundry room. Everything. And I couldn’t find it. And I thought – thought that…” Your breath hitched. “I thought you’d be mad. That you’d think I didn’t care, or that I wasn’t ready. That I didn’t deserve it.”
You felt your shoulders shaking and wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly so small under her gaze. “I know it was stupid, I just – I panicked, Nat. I didn’t know what else to do.”
Silence.
Then, she stepped closer.
“I’m not mad because you lost a ring,” she said softly. “I’m mad because you were hurting. And you didn’t come to me.”
You looked up at her, lips trembling. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
Natasha’s expression flickered, something vulnerable crossing her face. “You think I proposed because of a ring?” she asked, gently. “I proposed because I want to marry you. Not the version of you who always has it together. Not the tidy one. You. The messy, sleepy, stubborn, overly dramatic you that I fell in love with.”
You gave a shaky laugh, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie. “I’m so sorry.”
She didn’t say anything at first.
Instead, she reached into her pocket and pulled out something small and shining.
Your breath caught.
“Looking for this?” she asked.
You stared.
The ring sat in her palm like a little miracle.
“I found it behind your bedside table,” she said. “Rolled just out of sight. Probably when you put your phone down last night.”
You blinked, stunned. “You – how?”
“I’ve lived with you long enough to know where things usually disappear to.” She gave a soft smile. “And I know when you’re running.”
You laughed again – a disbelieving chuckle. “You found it.”
“I did.” She paused. “But you’re still the best thing I’ve ever found.”
Your heart twisted.
Then she held out her hand.
“Are you ready?”
You blinked. “For what?”
She tucked the ring safely in an inside pocket, then picked up the second motorcycle helmet that you hadn’t noticed she’d been carrying. “I’m taking you somewhere.”
“Where?”
She just smirked. “You’ll see.”
And in that moment, you knew. She wasn’t just giving the ring back. She was going to ask you again.
***
The sea was roaring its slow, unhurried dance when Natasha pulled up by the viewpoint. You could see people heading out for the last surf of the day. They looked like specks against the vastness of the ocean.
Natasha kicked the stand into place and stepped off the bike, holding out her hand to help you dismount. You wrapped your fingers through hers and carefully swung your leg over and out, feeling shaky despite being on solid ground. This time two months ago, you had no idea what was about to happen. Now, it was different, but your body was still swarming with butterflies.
Slowly, she reached out and unbuckled your helmet, pulling it off and staring at you with an intense gaze that made you blush and turn your face away. She smirked knowingly and pulled her own helmet off, running a hand through her short red hair. She’d cut it again recently and you loved how fearless she looked.
“You really didn’t have to bring me all the way out here again…” you quipped, unsure whether you and Natasha were okay after the tumultuous, emotional day you’d just had.
She looked evenly at you. “Yes, I did,” she said, the corners of her mouth lifting in a small smile. “The first time I asked you to marry me, I caught you completely off guard. You were in shock for like… three hours.”
“I wasn’t in shock,” you mused, leaning on the railing and staring at the setting sun. “I was processing. There’s a difference,” you added, turning to look at her.
“Hmm.” Natasha chuckled softly, remembering. “I distinctly remember you saying, “Are you serious?” about four times before you then said yes.”
You bit your lip to prevent a wide smile from spreading across your face. “That was because I couldn’t believe you actually wanted to marry me.”
“I still do,” Natasha said softly, “even more so now. Come on, honey,” she added, reaching out and taking your hand gently in hers. “It’s me.”
You slowly turned to face her fully, winding your fingers through hers and looking down at your joined hands, almost in disbelief. When you glanced up, Natasha was holding the ring between you. No grand gesture this time – just quiet certainty.
“You still manage to catch me off guard,” you whispered, your voice thick and tears prickling at your eyes.
Natasha smiled. “You thought losing this meant you’d lose me.”
“It felt like I didn’t deserve to wear it anymore,” you admitted, scuffing the ground with the toe of your boot and chewing at your lip nervously.
Natasha let go of your hand and reached out, gently tilting your chin up so that you were looking at her. There was something unreadable in her gaze, but the level of vulnerability she was showing you took your breath away. This was your Natasha – no walls, no barriers.
“You don’t wear this ring because you’re perfect,” she said quietly. “You wear it because you’re mine. I want every version of you, honey – messy, anxious, loud, soft. I didn’t choose you because you’d never lose things. I chose you because I never want to lose you.” She gently took your left hand in hers. “So, let me ask you again. No panic, no pressure. It’s just us. Will you marry me?”
You stared at her, tears flowing, heart thumping and nodded furiously. “Yes. Of course, yes. It’s always a yes, Nat.”
With a broad smile, Natasha slipped the ring onto your finger again – slowly but surely, placing it back where it belonged. You sighed in relief at the comfortable weight on your finger. It felt like a missing jigsaw piece had just slotted back into place.
Natasha pulled you into a hug, pressing her forehead to yours and planting a soft kiss on your lips. You tucked your head into the crook of her neck and stared out at the surfers beneath the sunset, holding your hand out to stare happily at the ring on your finger. Natasha ran her finger over it, before slotting her hand into yours, your fingers winding comfortably through hers.
“I’m never taking it off again,” you murmured.
“Good,” your fiancée said, kissing your cheek. “But even if you do… I’ll still find you.”
Warnings: angst; tears; brief mention of previous toxic relationship
Genre: angst/ fluff
a/n: hey guys i'm writing again! not doing too good, my grandad passed away recently so I haven't been writing as much since I found out, but I needed something a bit angsty but with a happy ending so I wrote this :) let me know what you think.
remember, you can always message me or drop ideas in my inbox and I'll get around to them, I can't promise it'll be quick but I'm happy to give them a go (i don't write smut)
“Hey, you. I’ve been looking everywhere for—wait, are you heading out?” Natasha came to a sudden stop in front of you, slightly breathless, her brow glistening from exertion. She was dressed in sleek running gear, her wired earphones bouncing lightly against her chest, one hand gripping her phone as she scanned you with curious eyes.
You shifted your weight, smoothing down the front of your dress with self-conscious fingers. “I, um… I have a date,” you admitted, your voice soft, almost unsure. “Do I—do I look okay?”
Natasha’s expression softened instantly. A smile spread across her face, full of warmth and sincerity. “Honey, you look amazing,” she said, her tone gentle but firm, as if daring you to believe anything less. “They’re lucky to have your time.”
A flutter of gratitude rose in your chest as you gave her a shy half-wave, a small nod of thanks. Natasha flashed you a wink before running off again, her red ponytail swaying behind her in the slight breeze.
A few hours later
You looked up from your book as there was a knock on your bedroom door. “Come in,” you called out, sitting up and using your finger as a marker in the book. Natasha poked her head around your door then came further into your room, shutting the door behind her. She was no longer in running gear, instead dressed casually in a faded henley shirt, jeans and combat boots.
“Hey, Nat,” you smiled, dog-earing the page and putting your book aside. She frowned and you glanced curiously at her, patting the edge of your bed for her to sit down. “What is it?”
“Tell me you didn’t just dog-ear that book.” She put a hand to her chest in mock horror, making you chuckle slightly. “Don’t you have any book markers?” Pulling an old receipt out of her jean pocket, she quickly folded it in two and handed it to you. “Use this until I can get you a better one.”
“Thanks, Nat.” You smoothed the page of your book and stuck Nat’s receipt in the book, before turning to her. “Anyway, what’s up?”
She smiled. “I came to see how the date went.” Noticing the drop in your expression and the way you fiddled with your fingers, her smile faded. “What’s wrong, y/n?”
“Oh, um, they - they didn’t show. Something came up at their work and it got really busy and they couldn’t leave and make it over in time for our date.” You smiled softly. “It’s okay though, we rescheduled for next week.”
“Hmm.” Natasha reached out and gently took your hand in hers. “I’m glad they apologised. I hope it goes well next week. Look, the boys and I are going to watch a movie. Do you want to come and join us?”
“Yeah, that sounds nice.” Natasha smiled and the two of you left your room, her arm loosely around your shoulders as you headed down to the state-of-the-art movie theatre that Tony had installed recently.
The following week
Once again, you were reading in your room, except this time it was a different book with a brand-new book marker that Natasha had given to you. You were so lost in the story that you didn’t hear the knock at your door. “Y/n? Are you there?” Looking up, you smiled, recognising Natasha’s voice. “Hey Nat, come in,” you called, setting your book aside. “What’s - woah, what happened to you?” you said, scrambling to your feet and examining a large bruise on her jaw.
She smiled ruefully. “It’s nothing, just left over from a recent mission. I’m fine,” she said firmly, grabbing your hands in hers and giving them a squeeze. “Now, how did your date go?”
Your face fell and Natasha frowned. “No,” she whispered, “they cancelled again?”
“It wasn’t their fault!” you blurted out. “They lost track of time and when they went to get the bus, they could make it out here to the compound but weren’t going to make it back to the city centre in time and they have work tomorrow.” You shrugged sadly. “It’s okay, Nat, we’ve rescheduled to next week.”
“No.” Natasha guided you to the edge of your bed and gently sat you down. “Y/n, this is not okay and not how someone should behave. You deserve so much better than this,” she whispered, immediately pulling you into a hug when tears appeared in your eyes. “I’ve got you,” she murmured against the top of your head.
“Nat,” you sniffled, “I’m fine. They’re definitely going to make it next week, they said so. Please. I’ve got a good feeling about them. It’s different this time.” You felt Natasha shift as she remembered the previous relationship you’d been in and the heartbreak and hurt you’d had to go through when it fell apart.
“I don’t think you should go through with this,” Natasha said honestly, pulling back and holding you tight by your shoulders.
“Nat, I want to do this,” you whispered. “Please, just let me have one date with them.”
The following week
Biting your lip, you wondered if this was a good idea, but you knew that Natasha would comfort you. Gently, you knocked on her door and stepped back, pushing your wet hair out of your face. The rain had soaked through your clothes, leaving you shivering. Natasha opened her door, took one look at you and pulled you inside, wordlessly reaching for a towel and wrapping it around you.
She didn’t say anything as she let you get changed into an old track suit of hers, and she continued to stay silent as you towelled off your hair and hung your wet clothes on her heated clothing airer. Once you were drier and dressed in warm clothes, she gestured to her bed. Slowly, you sat down and fiddled with the rough skin around your index finger, unable to meet her gaze. She waited, sensing that you wanted to speak first.
“You were right," you whispered. "I shouldn’t have gone through with it." You tried to steady yourself, but the words trembled as they left your lips and then your voice broke, the tears coming before you could stop them—hot, helpless, and full of everything you’d been holding in.
Her eyes softened instantly. “Hey…” she said, already closing the space between you. “Come here.”
She pulled you into her arms, not like a friend offering comfort, but like someone who had been waiting for this moment—to be needed by you, to hold you like this. You sank into her, your body fitting against hers like it belonged there, your face buried in the hollow of her neck.
Her hands moved gently across your back, one sliding up into your hair, the other gripping your waist just tightly enough to let you feel how badly she wanted to keep you close. Her breath was warm against your ear, and when she spoke again, it was soft and low, meant only for you.
“I’ve got you,” she murmured. “You don’t have to pretend with me. Not ever.”
Your heart ached at her closeness, at how safe it felt to fall apart in her arms. And still—there was something more in the way she held you, something unspoken lingering in the space between her lips and your skin.
Then, without thinking, her lips brushed your temple—slow, deliberate, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch. It wasn’t just comfort anymore. It was something deeper, something neither of you had dared name until now.
And in that moment, held tightly against her heart, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—this was what love felt like before it said its name out loud. You stayed there for a while, wrapped in her arms, letting the rhythm of her breathing steady your own. Her fingertips moved slowly through your hair, soothing the storm inside you with each careful pass. The world had gone quiet around you—just the two of you, suspended in the soft hush of something unspoken finally beginning to take shape.
When you finally pulled back, it was only far enough to see her face. Her hands stayed on your waist, grounding you, her thumbs brushing slow, reassuring circles against your sides. You looked into her eyes, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel like you had to hide.
“I just…” you began. “I wanted it to be something good. A date I’d remember for the right reasons, not because it left me feeling worse. And instead, it just—”
She brought a hand up to your cheek, her touch featherlight. “Hey,” she said gently. “It’s not your fault it went that way. But remember, I know you deserve better than that. So much better.”
You gave her a watery smile, your heart aching a little less now. “I just… wish I knew what that looked like.”
She hesitated for only a breath, and then her thumb swept across your cheek, catching the last of your tears. Her eyes searched yours, and something shifted in them—something warm, certain, and just a little vulnerable.
“How about I show you?” she said softly. Your breath caught and she smiled, just a little, her voice barely above a whisper. “Let me take you out. A proper date. No pressure, just so it feels like it’s supposed to.”
Your heart skipped a beat. “You mean it?”
She leaned in, her forehead resting gently against yours. “Every word.”
You let out a small, breathless laugh, eyes fluttering closed as you leaned into her touch. “Okay,” you whispered. “I’d really like that.” And there, with her arms still around you and the quiet promise of something new blooming between you, the weight you’d been carrying began to lift—just enough to let a little light in.
