Pairing : Natasha Romanoff x medicreader
Note : It’s my first time writing, and english isn’t my first language, so i apologise if it isn’t any good, i wanted to try it out :)
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Natasha Romanoff hated medics. She loved the job, -or at least, it was all she’d ever known- but she didn’t like getting hurt. Not because she was scared, or hated pain. She couldn’t care less about that. But she hated being hurt because it made her vulnerable. Made her feel weak. So she tended to her own wounds, and she did it well. Stitches, sutures, bandages… she’d been used to doing it all from a very early age, and hated it when anyone had to do it for her, which, unfortunately, happened more often than she liked.
Usually, she’d hiss at medics. Swear at them just for touching her. She would limp for a week if it meant avoiding a check-up.
But all of that changed one day.
She had just come back from a mission in Japan, which, if you had to guess, hadn’t exactly gone to plan. She’d taken a stab wound to the abdomen, making it impossible for her to walk, or do anything, really. So, with gritted teeth, she accepted being taken to the infirmary. She came in bleeding out, annoyed, limping.
“Hi, Agent Romanoff. Please sit down on the bed, don’t just stand there.”
“Just stitch it up,” she said, like pain wasn’t a thing.
You rolled your eyes. “Just sit down and shut up,” you replied, gathering supplies from the table.
And for the first time ever… Natasha smiled at a medic. At someone who had to touch her skin and help her. Because you had dared to joke with her.
Taken aback, you gave her a small smile in return. You’d only treated her once before, a few months ago, and for no longer than a few minutes. But of course, you’d heard your colleagues talk about her ‘terrifying and mean,’ they said. The rumor was she hated medics, or anyone below her rank. But you’d always preferred to make your own opinions of people, not listen to gossip.
You started treating her wound. “It might sting,” you warned softly, beginning to disinfect the deep, harsh gash.
She didn’t even hiss. You looked up and saw her biting her bottom lip, repressing a sound.
“You’re allowed to make a sound, y’know. If it hurts i mean. You don’t have to hide it. We’re literally in the med bay, only hurt people come here,” you murmured.
You took a few quiet minutes to clean the blood.
“I can do that,” Natasha murmured, unsure why you were doing something she could do herself.
“It’s fine. I like cleaning blood- wait, did that sound weird?” You weren’t sure why you were even engaging with her. After all, you’d heard the stories. But you felt the need to ease the tension. To maybe, just maybe, make her more at ease with getting help.
“A little,” Natasha replied. “But I usually wipe off blood that isn’t mine, which is also weird, if that makes you feel better.”
You both smiled at that. A small connection.
“I didn’t catch your name, by the way?”
“Y/N,” you said with a smile. The silence between you wasn’t tense anymore, something you silently celebrated. You looked up again and saw her suppressing another sound.
“Romanoff, I promise, it’s okay to be in pain. That’s why we’re here, us doctors.”
“Call me Natasha,” she said softly. Then gave you a small smile. “And I usually don’t really like doctors.”
“No way??? I would’ve never guessed!” you gasped in fake surprise.
“Oh, so you’ve heard about me?” A crease formed between her eyebrows.
“Everyone’s heard of the Black Widow. But don’t worry, I don’t care enough to make an opinion based on gossip.”
She smiled again. It surprised you, how much she seemed to be smiling at you. For someone so known to be cold and cruel.
“It’s just… I prefer to do it myself. Stitches and all. I don’t like someone having to do it for me. I don’t like feeling helpless and…” She trailed off, eyes fixed on the floor.
“Vulnerable?” you guessed.
Her eyes met yours. “Yeah,” she sighed.
“Being hurt doesn’t make you weak. Especially in this line of work. It means you fought like hell. Fought for a good purpose, and you were ready to get hurt to make the world better. And given your past… it’s the world that owes you, not the other way around.”
You didn’t know what came over you. But you needed her to know. To feel safe. Here. With you.
Natasha looked slightly shocked too. “Thank you. That… that means a lot,” she whispered, a bigger smile spreading across her lips.
The next few minutes passed in silence. You finished the stitches and wrapped the wound carefully.
“You’re very delicate,” she murmured. Natasha wasn’t used to this kind of gentle touch. Even medics were usually rough with her, scared of her, trying to get it over with as fast as possible.
“Would it-“ Natasha hesitated. “Would it be possible for you to treat me? If I get hurt again, I mean. Can I ask for you in the med bay, if you’re not working on someone else?”
You could see the softness in her eyes. The hesitation.
“Of course,” you said gently, blushing slightly. “And I’ll always make myself free for you. If I can.”
“Good to know,” she smirked.
From then on, Natasha started appearing more often in the med bay, sometimes for a simple scratch. You never said anything, but it made you happy. She felt safe enough now. Safe with you. She teased you, softened around you, and even started bringing you coffee when she had free time, whether she was injured or not.
Still, you told yourself Natasha didn’t feel the same. You were just a medic. A quiet little thing in scrubs.
And she was Natasha. Beautiful. Deadly. Magnetic. Everyone wanted her, she could never like…. you.
So you smiled. You stitched her up. You kept your voice steady and your hands from shaking (mostly). You stayed her friend.
Natasha liked you. She had realized that. She didn’t know how, but she knew why. You were soft. So soft. She liked seeing your smile in the med bay. Liked sitting with you after missions. Liked the way your fingers felt against her skin. She even stopped caring if she hissed in front of you, it didn’t matter. You didn’t judge.
She was used to your presence now. Steady. Calm. Safe.
And god, she hated how safe you made her feel.
Because it was dangerous. So dangerous. She was scared to get attached. But she didn’t know how to stop.
And maybe, maybe she didn’t want to.
One random Thursday, you were called for a ground mission. The Avengers and SHIELD were breaking into an active HYDRA facility. A lot of blood was expected.
You were used to fieldwork, but HYDRA? HYDRA always meant chaos. Always meant bad. And lots of work for you.
You got ready, jumped in the quinjet. Germany. HYDRA facility.
Everything went fast. One moment everyone was loading up, the next they were inside the building. Fighting. Shooting. Avenging.
You stayed on the quinjet. Waiting. Until you were needed.
“A medic! We need a medic, now!”
Clint burst into the jet, carrying someone in his arms. You rushed into action.
“Shot in the abdomen. The bullet’s still in. I have to go back, will you be okay?”
“Of course,” you replied, not even looking up. You grabbed your tools.
“Take care of her, please.”
“Fuck.” Your heart dropped.
It was Natasha. Of course it had to be her.
You rushed to her, grabbing a hoodie from the floor and folding it under her head like a pillow.
“Nat? Nat! Natasha! Can you hear me? Please! say something.”
Panic rose in your chest. You knew she’s had worse, but never like this. Never in front of you.
“Y/N?” Her voice was faint.
“Yes! I’m here. You’re going to be okay, Nat. I need to take the bullet out, okay? It’s going to hurt. I’m sorry.”
“Just do it, please,” she whimpered. A sound you never wanted to hear again.
You worked fast, trying to keep your hands steady. “Take my hand. Squeeze as much as you need.”
Once the bullet was out, you saw how bad it really was. How deep. How much blood she’d lost. She was shaking.
“That… that can’t be good, right?” she whispered.
“Fuck.” Your bottom lip trembled. “It’s going to be okay, Nat. It’s all going to be okay.” You didn’t know if you were trying to reassure her or yourself.
You stitched the wound, as fast as you could.
“Y/N… in case I don’t mak-“
“No, please, listen. I need to say it. I like you. I like you a lot. I think I have for a while. But I was too scared to do anything about it.”
“I heard you the first time, but- what? I’ve always liked you too, Nat. But I thought you’d never feel the same.”
“You do?” Her eyes went wide.
“I really do,” you whispered, squeezing her hand tighter.
“Well… if you get me back to the compound alive, I’m taking you on a date.”
“Once you’re out of bed? Yeah. I’d really love that,” you chuckled, tears streaming down your face, overwhelmed.
You finished the stitches, hooked her up to the blood supply machine, and finally looked at her properly.
“I can’t believe you chose that moment to confess,” you laughed through your tears. “Did you really think you were gonna die?”
“No,” she smirked. “But you needed motivation.”
A few days later, Natasha kept her promise. She prepared a rooftop picnic for the two of you. It went better than either of you expected.
Now, you were walking hand in hand through the compound gardens.
“Is your stomach okay? You really shouldn’t be walking this much, you’re still healing,” you said, concern written all over your face.
“I’m okay, darling, I promise,” she whispered. “But you know what could make me feel even better?”
She stopped and turned to you.
“Mmh?” You tilted your head.
Her smile was small. Almost shy. And she’d never felt like this. So soft. So light.
“I’d really like that,” you whispered back, stepping closer.
And then she kissed you. Gently. Pouring everything she didn’t know how to say yet into the touch. Onto your lips.
You tasted sweet. Maybe from the berries you shared earlier.
You smiled into the kiss.
And Natasha knew, right then, she was never letting you go.
(I really don’t know what to think of it but i tried :))
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