Letter Know
Natasha Romanoff x Postal Worker Fem!Reader
Summary: Your quiet suburb route has been traded for one in the city. Manhattan. From cozy moderate homes, to the Avengers Tower. You find yourself falling for the resident redhead. You see her multiple times a week, but you can’t help but wonder: Why is she ordering so much?
Natasha looks around her room where five jellyfish lamps stare at her in judgement. Will she finally gather the courage to ask you out before her living space resembles an aquarium gift shop?
Word count: 9.4k
Tags/Warnings: fluff, yearning, Natasha falls first and harder, puns --- You look up to see the gorgeous skyscraper towering over you, an enormous “A” is displayed proudly on the side, barely visible from below.
You eyes drift back to what’s in front of you. The lobby can be seen through the glass doors, its decor sleek and clearly expensive. The hologram behind the reception desk exhibits scenes from the Battle of New York before ending with, “Welcome to the Avengers Tower”.
You take a deep breath in. Last week you had been delivering mail in the suburbs. Chatting with parents whose kids had just left for school, watching dogs run around front yards, and enjoying the quiet that came with not being in the city.
Now, you’re in the heart of New York. Manhattan. How did I get here? you wonder while exhaling.
Your boss had told you about the route change a few days prior. One of your fellow postal workers was retiring unexpectedly, causing a shift in everyone's routes. Yours just happened to be the most dramatic.
From having a route that mostly consisted of calm residential roads and sleepy avenues, to busy city streets and the honking of cabs every other minute. You were mostly delivering directly to companies now. The security was tight, but nothing like what you were experiencing at the moment.
The blue light of a scanner runs up and down your body before you hear a polite, but robotic voice above you.
“Y/N Y/L/N, you are now in the system as the mail courier. No threat detected from the packages or mail. You are free to continue into the lobby. The front desk is just ahead of you.”
You look around, searching for the source of the voice.
“I am J.A.R.V.I.S. A software created by Mr. Stark.”
You decide not to question it, pressing your bag more securely against you while a package is under your other arm. You start taking steps towards the front desk while looking around the lobby. There’s waiting areas to your left and right with comfortable looking armchairs and couches. A small coffee kiosk can be seen near the front desk, where the barista is making drinks for employees passing through. You can feel the warmth of the sunlight coming through the floor to ceiling windows.
You arrive at the front desk where the receptionist greets you with a smile.
“Hi, I’m here to drop off some mail as well as a package,” you say, smiling back. You place the package on the counter while pulling out a stack of mail and handing it to her.
“Of course,” she responds, reaching for the mail. Her eyes scan the package before pointing to the label. “This package is a restricted delivery and needs to be signed by Mr. Rogers directly. I’ll call him to come down to sign off.”
You hadn’t been expecting to meet one of the Avengers, having forgotten about the restricted delivery in the chaos of the route change.
“He’ll be down in just a moment,” she says kindly before turning to sort the mail.
You pull out your tablet from your bag, finding the necessary documents while you wait for him to arrive.
You look up when you hear the chime of the elevator arriving. Out arrives a nervous looking Steve Rogers.
Taller than he looks on TV, you note casually.
He walks over to the front desk where you’re giving him a little wave.
“Hello, nice to meet you. I have a package that needs your signature before handing it off. I’m going to need to see your ID,” you say with a professional smile.
He looks at you, eyes wide, before pulling out his wallet and handing you his ID.
You give it a once over, glancing down at the photo before looking back at him.
He observes you quietly before saying, “I don’t mean to sound arrogant or anything, but most people would recognize me. I haven’t had someone ask to see my identification since 1943.”
You look up at him before giving him a small smile. “It’s not that I don’t know who you are Mr. Rogers, I just like doing my job well,” you say while handing back his ID.
He looks impressed as you turn your tablet around towards him.
“I’m going to need you to go through these pages and initial and sign where indicated. Also, since whatever you ordered is at a certain value, you’re going to need to sign some additional pages that you can pull up afterwards then press confirm to indicate that the package was handed off to you directly.” You extend the tablet pen to him.
Steve squints at the screen as if that would somehow give him the knowledge of how the technology works. He gives you a shy smile. “Do you mind if I call someone? It’s my first time having ordered something and J.A.R.V.I.S basically did everything for me.”
“Not at all,” you respond good-naturedly.
He turns to the desk to ask the receptionist to call someone that you don’t catch. She agrees enthusiastically while looking him over.
“Did I mention I’ve only been out of the ice for a few years?” he asks, a little embarrassed.
“You didn’t, but the 1943 comment made this unsurprising,” you say with a teasing tone. “No worries Mr. Rogers, I’ve never been frozen but I still don’t understand how bluetooth works,” you say while laughing.
He gives you an appreciative smile before laughing with you. — Natasha steps into the elevator and presses the button for the lobby. She sighs, this wasn’t her first time having to help Steve with technology. After a few moments the elevator doors open to the sunlit lobby. She can hear Steve speaking excitedly to someone.
“I still don’t trust it,” he says.
“I know right? Online banking is kind of crazy if you think about it,” you agree.
Natasha steps into the lobby to see you and Steve mid conversation. You look as sweet as your voice sounds, nodding at something Steve says when you notice her.
The sunlight makes your eyes shimmer as you regard her.
“I think your friend is here,” you say to Steve.
He turns around and smiles at Natasha. “Thanks for coming down, Nat. I can’t quite decipher what I’m supposed to do with this.” He hands her the tablet and pen.
She looks over the pages before responding, “I’m used to this by now you dinosaur, no need to thank me.”
She hears you giggle and feels a flutter in her chest, choosing to ignore it and continue to go through the pages, signing and initialing for Steve before handing it back to you.
You take it back gently. “Thank you for your help,” you say to her appreciatively.
“Problem—I mean, no problem,” she corrects quickly.
Steve gives her a look.
You smile at her before turning to Steve. “It was nice talking to you today Mr. Rogers but I have to go take care of some more deliveries.”
“Please, just call me Steve,” he says before pausing for a moment. “I just realized I never asked for your name.”
“No worries at all. I’m Y/N. I’m taking over this route so we might be seeing each other more often if you order more things to be delivered. Hopefully next time you won’t need backup,” you say teasingly.
“No promises,” he says with a chuckle. “It was nice to meet you, Y/N. Good luck with the rest of the deliveries.”
Natasha watches as you store the tablet back into your bag.
“It was nice to meet you too, Steve.” You turn to Natasha. “Have a great rest of your day, Ms. Romanoff.”
You give her a bright smile and she feels her brain freeze. She watches as you walk to the lobby doors and exit.
“So she did know who I am,” she says to Steve after a moment.
“She knew who I was too. Still checked my ID and everything. I like that she doesn’t treat us any differently,” Steve says thoughtfully before turning to her with a mischievous grin. “So, what was that?”
“What was what?” she responds with a straight face.
“I’ve never heard you stumble over your words in all the time that I’ve known you.”
“Maybe you haven’t known me long enough then.”
“Whatever you say, Romanoff,” Steve responds with a knowing smile.
She doesn’t catch it—eyes looking towards the doors that you just exited from. — It’s a week later when Natasha sees you again. She’s sitting at the kitchen counter with Steve while eating lunch.
“Captain Rogers, you’re needed in the lobby to sign for a package,” says J.A.R.V.I.S through the kitchen speaker.
Her thoughts drift to you. It had been a while since she met someone outside of the team that talked to them like they were just ordinary people. While Steve was welcoming to others, he generally kept a distance. With you, he was talking as though you two had known each other for a long time.
There was something about you that felt so open that was rare to find nowadays. Like you didn’t have anything to hide.
The complete opposite of me, she thinks bitterly.
She hears the scrape of the chair as Steve moves to stand. She stands as well.
“I’ll go with you. Since you don’t know how to use the tablet and all,” she says nonchalantly.
Steve looks at her amused. “I’m sure that’s why,” he says while walking to the elevator with her following closely behind him. He presses the button for the lobby.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks defensively.
“Oh, nothing at all,” Steve says with a teasing lilt. “Couldn’t help but notice the great Black Widow getting flustered while we were talking to Y/N.”
“I did not get flustered.”
“So you’re saying you didn’t fully pause when she told you to have a good day?”
“There may have been a pause but I did not get—” The elevator doors open with a quiet chime.
Her words come to a halt when you come into view. You’re wearing your uniform, a blue collared shirt and grey slacks—something most people wouldn’t look twice at, but in Natasha’s eyes it’s like there’s a spotlight on you.
You’re looking outside at a dog passing by with its owner, a soft smile on your face. Natasha feels the same flutter in her chest that she did when she first heard you giggle. This time, she couldn’t ignore it. The feeling of her heart racing and the warmth she felt in her chest betraying her and forcing her to acknowledge it.
She was enchanted by you. Even after only exchanging a few words.
“Definitely didn’t get flustered,” Steve says with a smirk, walking past her to you.
She follows after him, glaring at his back. She wipes the glare off her face the moment you turn to them, noticing their arrival.
“We meet again,” you say with a charming smile. “I thought you said you wouldn’t need backup the next time, not that that’s a bad thing.”
“Well, I didn’t. She—" Natasha jabs Steve in the back with precision, so quick your eyes don’t catch the action. He hunches over in pain.
“Yeah, unfortunately this antique needs a little more time to get his bearings in this day and age,” she says casually, looking at her nails.
“Clearly. I mean Steve, I know you’re technically like 90 years old but you have the super soldier serum in you. You shouldn’t be having that bad of back pain,” you say with amusement in your eyes. You hand Natasha your tablet and pen. “I assume you’ll be signing for him again?”
She accepts the tablet and pen from you. “Yeah, we’ll have to teach him another day.”
Steve glares at Natasha, but decides to let it go when he sees the way she’s looking at you.
“I’m going to head up because it looks like you’ve got it taken care of. I need to lay down for a bit,” Steve says while rubbing his back.
Natasha shoots him a panicked glance, but he meets her eyes with a steady look that screams ‘You’ve got this’.
You watch the exchange with a clueless smile on your face. “I hope you feel better, Steve. Take care of yourself.”
“Sorry we couldn’t chat today. I’ll see you another time, Y/N,” Steve says while walking to the elevator.
She’s left alone with you. Her heart begins to beat faster as she tries to focus on initialing and signing the documents even with her hand shaking from the nerves.
She notices you watching her hand as she writes. She strives to use her best handwriting, finding the lines come out unsteady regardless. It feels like an eternity before she completes all the pages. You haven’t said a word, just observing as she finishes.
Am I too intimidating? She thinks to herself, disappointed. Maybe you would’ve preferred if Steve had stayed. You seem to have fun talking to him.
You meet her eyes as she hands you the tablet and pen back before looking down again to where your fingertips overlap.
“I hope this doesn’t sound weird, but I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful your hands are. When you write your hand moves so gracefully. It’s really pretty to watch,” you say sincerely, albeit a bit shy. You take the tablet and pen fully into your hand before storing them in your bag.
She looks at you in disbelief. Beautiful?
Bloodstained, maybe. Lethal, always. Her hands had never known any other description.
Did you not know what she’s done with these hands? All the lives she’s taken? She wonders to herself. There’s no way you didn’t. The files were public, everyone had seen them.
You look nervous that you’ve offended her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“No one has ever said that to me before,” she says softly before you can finish your apology. “I don’t think I deserve that compliment, but thank you.”
“Why do you think that?” you ask gently.
Natasha looks down at her hands, unable to meet your eyes. She rubs the callouses on her palm and fingers that she’s gotten from how frequently she handles her handgun. A constant reminder that she’s battle hardened. Far from beautiful.
Her head lifts to meet your eyes. Your gaze is so soft and she can’t find the strength to meet it straight on, choosing to avert her eyes. You’re too kind, too untainted for someone like her to even face.
She lifts her hand, her palm facing you. “You don’t know what I’ve done with these hands,” she pauses. “Well I guess you do, everything is out there,” she says with a resigned smile.
“I do,” you agree softly.
“Then you know these hands aren’t beautiful. They’re covered in the blood of people whose lives I took and that won’t go away no matter how many times I wash them.” She doesn’t know why she’s telling you this, someone she basically just met. Something about you felt safe. Like she could entrust parts of herself that she didn’t want the world to see and you wouldn’t look away.
She feels your hand touch hers, delicately, like you didn’t want to scare her away. Your fingertips trace the callouses and cuts on her hand. She finally meets your eyes, the softness in your expression still remains even after what she had said. Somehow, she felt like you were looking at a version of her that she didn’t see in herself.
“You’re Natasha Romanoff aren’t you?” you ask suddenly.
“Huh?” You manage to catch her off guard. “I mean—well, yes.”
“The same Natasha Romanoff who protected New York and effectively the world?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t—”
“Doesn’t change the past right?” you cut in smoothly. “I know. We can’t change the past. The lives can’t be brought back and the hurt can’t be taken away.”
Her eyes drop, she’s about to lower her hand when she feels you interlock her fingers with yours. You won’t let her run away.
“Everyone says the past doesn’t define you. I agree with that, but that wording makes it seem like it's easy to accept. The past did define you. You sit with what you did and you accept the guilt that comes with it. Saying, 'the past doesn’t define you' after doing something terrible is just a free pass people allow themselves. It’s what you do after your actions that define you” You take a deep breath, bringing your connected hands down and swinging them side to side. It brings her a sense of comfort.
“Did you continue to do what you did in the past? Have the same goals you did when you were in the KGB?”
She shakes her head, unable to speak.
“I won’t act like I know everything, because I don’t. Far from it. The actions that I’ve seen speak volumes about you. Someone who’s brave and selfless enough to protect others who can’t protect themselves.” You stop swinging your hands. She looks up to see you smiling softly at her. “We can do a lot of good, so much that it’s overflowing. It still won’t wash away the bad and that can feel helpless. What we can do though—is forgive ourselves bit by bit everyday and walk, feeling a little lighter in the process.”
She squeezes your hand tightly, feeling transparent in front of you. The heaviness that she’s always carried in her shoulders is still prevalent, but being here with you and hearing your words, she felt a fraction lighter.
She feels your hand loosen, your eyes widening.
“I’m so sorry if I overstepped, Ms. Romanoff. I know I don’t know you personally, I just felt like—”
“No,” she says with a small smile. A genuine one. “I needed that. More than you may realize. Also, just Natasha is fine.”
You release a sigh of relief before smiling back at her. “Well, I’m glad something came out of my ramble.” You let go of her hand, grabbing the package addressed to Steve before handing it to her. “I’m sorry but I have to take care of the rest of the deliveries.”
“I—yeah, of course,” she stumbles out. Why was she about to ask you to stay?
“See you, Natasha,” you say softly, a smile gracing your lips.
“See you,” she responds just as softly. She gazes at your retreating figure until you’re fully out of sight.
She looks down at the package, releasing one of her hands so only one is supporting it. She can still feel the sensation of you swinging her hand side to side and the calm it brought her. She replays your words, each one felt like they were starting the healing process of the wounds buried deep in her heart.
She brings her palm to her lips, pressing them to where your fingertips had touched. She wants to learn the version of herself that you see.
I want to see you again, she thinks while closing her eyes. — Why did I say all that? you think to yourself in horror, hands covering your face. You had just come back to your apartment after finishing all the deliveries. The secondhand embarrassment finally set in from your actions earlier today.
You can feel the heat radiating off your cheeks.
There was something about her expression that drew the words out of you. You couldn’t stand how she looked like she had already given up on herself. That she was irredeemable. That she was still a ruthless killer. When you looked at her, all you could see was the gentleness in her eyes when she met your gaze. Not the cold stare of someone who didn’t care about others.
You meant every word you said, but even though she claimed that it was needed, you couldn’t help but feel like you had intruded.
You release a heavy sigh, dragging your hands down your face. You peer down at your fingertips, the same ones that had traced the cuts and hardened skin of her hand. You still found them beautiful. When you held her hand, you could feel the steady warmth that radiated from it. The hands of someone that fought tooth and nail to survive. How could you not find that beautiful?
You bring your fingertips to your lips, the warmth of them mimicking the warmth you felt from her hand, but not quite as comforting. You don’t know why, but you feel connected to her.
I hope it’s not awkward when we see each other next you think to yourself before turning to make dinner. — Natasha expected to be able to see you in a week or maybe even a few days with how frequently the guys ordered things. It had been two weeks.
She had even resorted to waiting in the lobby for when you would drop off mail, only to have been told by the receptionist that you either just left or had come when she was in training. It was driving her crazy.
She didn’t even know what she wanted to say to you—just that she wanted to see you with that look that made her feel like she was worth something.
Which is what led her to stomping into the common room where Steve, Tony, and Clint are watching a movie together.
Tony looks behind to where she’s standing, arms crossed. “You gonna pay for the floor you’re stomping all over?”
“Why haven’t you guys ordered anything?” she asks, ignoring his question altogether.
Tony and Clint exchange glances of confusion.
“What’s it matter to you?” Clint asks.
“Answer the question.” She stares them both down. Steve stays facing the TV, trying to hide his laughter so he doesn’t face the brunt of her irritation.
“I mean, I don’t know. Just haven’t needed anything recently,” Tony says with a shrug.
“Same here. Usually just get stuff delivered to home,” Clint responds after, squinting at her. He observes her, noticing the pout she’s trying to hide behind the annoyance.
“So, we answered your question. Now answer mine. Why do you care?” Tony raises a brow, waiting for her answer.
“I don’t care,” she tries to say confidently, failing as her voice trails off towards the end.
“Clearly you do,” Tony quips back.
“I said I—”
“Nat,” Steve cuts in, deciding to help her out. “If there's something you need, why don’t you order it?”
Her eyes widen. She had been so sure that one of the guys would order something that it didn't occur to her that she could speed up the process herself.
When it comes to you it feels like her brain turns to mush. Unable to think at the capacity that she normally can.
She looks up to give Steve an appreciative smile. He’s already looking at her with a knowing one. She turns around and heads back to her room.
“Wait, that’s it? You just needed to order something? Even grandpa here can do that!” Tony yells down the hallway.
“Let her be, Tony,” Steve says while patting his shoulder.
Tony grumbles under his breath, turning back to continue the movie.
Clint continues to stare down the hallway to where she had retreated. He had never seen her act so irrationally before.
Something’s up, he thinks before turning to the TV while grabbing a handful of popcorn. — You step into the lobby of the Avengers Tower looking down at the package in your hands.
“Natasha Romanoff”. You’d be seeing her again for the first time since your last conversation two and a half weeks ago.
You cross the distance of the lobby to the front desk, letting the receptionist know to call her down.
The receptionist confirms that she’s on her way and you feel your heart rate pick up. You’re not sure if it’s from nerves or excitement. Maybe something in between.
The elevator arrives at the lobby floor, the doors opening—and there she is. She's wearing black jeans, a white shirt, and a brown leather jacket. And she’s entirely out of breath.
She walks over to you while trying to steady her breathing.
“Did you run a mile to get here?” you joke, noticing your heart rate hasn’t slowed, rather the opposite.
“Something like that,” she says between breaths.
“Are you in a rush? I can see you’re all dressed up. Let me just get the tablet ready so you can—”
“No,” she says, her answer a little too fast and loud. “I’m not in a rush at all. This is my only plan for today.”
You tilt your head, glancing at her outfit. “Are you sure? You look dressed to go somewhere.”
“I ran to change when I heard—” she pauses, eyes widening for a split second. “When I heard that my plans got moved up,” she corrects quickly.
“I thought you said this was your only plan,” you ask, confused by the contradiction.
“I misspoke,” she says, her lips curling into an easy smile that makes it hard to focus.
“Oh, I see. For a moment I thought maybe you dressed up for me,” you say with a grin, tilting your head.
She mutters something, looking momentarily annoyed with herself. Her expression shifts when she meets your eyes. The soft gaze from your last encounter finds its way back onto her face.
“You look cute today,” she says, her voice sounding confident. Though, for a moment, you swear you hear a shake in her voice.
You look down at your outfit. “My work uniform?”
“Yes.”
“Do you say that to all the postal workers?”
“No. Just you,” she says softly. A light dusting of pink on her cheeks.
Maybe you had missed the blush on her cheeks from her rushing earlier.
“That’s the first time I’ve heard that,” you say with a genuine smile. “Thank you, I really needed that.”
You really did. It had been a long day of ignored greetings or curt replies. Talking to Natasha felt like a breath of fresh air.
You take out your tablet and pen, unlocking it before handing them to her. She begins the task of signing and initialing, taking her time, reading over each page twice. You can feel her eyes on you every so often but every time you look to meet them, she’s studying the pages carefully.
Am I imagining things? you wonder to yourself as she finally signs the last page.
She hands you the tablet with the pen on top, you reach to grab it, your fingertips touching hers. You tug gently but she doesn’t let go, looking up in confusion only to find her watching you with soft focus. Captivated.
Your eyes drift to the glimpse of emerald in her eyes as if magnetized, her pupils dilated. The gentle curve of her nose. The fullness of her lips that are curled into a faint smile.
The heavy thud of footsteps in the lobby cuts through the stillness of the moment. She lets go abruptly, startled, as if she were in a trance. You quickly claim the tablet, tucking it into your bag as your heart begins to beat wildly.
“I have to go finish the rest of the deliveries," you say, your voice steadier than you feel.
Her hand twitches. “I understand,” she says quietly, her voice barely a whisper, before meeting your eyes with a bright smile. “See you, Y/N.”
“See you, Natasha.” You give her a small, lingering smile before turning away, heading to the lobby doors.
Once outside, your hand settles over your heart, its rhythm wild but recognizable. When you move your hand to your face, your knuckles graze your cheek—the heat radiating there is unmistakable.
You bite your lower lip trying to suppress the smile threatening to bloom across your face. You realize now that the rush you felt when she stepped out of the elevator wasn’t just a passing feeling. It’s a crush. — Natasha smiles down at the package in her hands as the elevator quietly makes its way up to the common room.
She doesn’t even remember what she ordered, randomly picking items in the decoration section and setting them to expedited shipping. Having Tony’s card definitely had some perks.
The doors slide open to Clint’s scrutinizing face.
“What’d you order that’s got you so happy?”
“Nothing,” she says, expression turning neutral.
“Nothing? Could’ve sworn I just saw you smiling at that,” he says, while pointing to the package.
“Must’ve been mistaken. Might need to get your eyes checked.”
He gives her a deadpan stare. “Yeah, I of all people need to get my eyes checked.”
She ignores him and starts heading towards her room.
“Something’s got you acting weird and I have a feeling it has to do with that,” Clint calls after her, nodding his head at the package. “You know I’m going to figure it out eventually. May as well just tell me now.”
“Nothing to tell,” she responds nonchalantly, pulling the package closer to her chest.
“Whatever you say,” Clint says with a mischievous smirk on his face. He turns, walking the opposite way.
Am I acting differently? she wonders to herself, the door to her room shutting behind her.
She carefully places the package on the floor, tearing through the duct tape with her pocketknife and removing the packing.
She stares down at the object. A neon-blue lamp in the shape of a jellyfish. She looks around the rest of the room which is a paradise of neutral tones.
She reaches for the lamp, ready to discard it but her hand stops. While you didn’t buy it for her, you brought it to her. She continues staring at the lamp that she doesn’t find particularly flattering before making a decision.
She places it on her coffee table, fully in view. Its neon blue stands out in contrast to the grey and beige decor around her room. It’s ridiculous looking, but she finds herself smiling at it. It makes her think of you. — A month passes with her seeing you three to four times a week. Ten to fifteen minute encounters that Natasha treasures every second of. She hasn’t found the courage to ask to see you outside of these package pickups, finding every time she opens her mouth ready to ask, something else entirely comes out.
She recalls her most recent encounter with you when she was about to ask you to grab coffee with her.
“So, what do you do outside of work?” Natasha had asked.
You looked up in thought. “I usually just relax at home, maybe meet friends. How about you?”
“I work out,” she blurted. The words out before she could filter them, trying to sound impressive. She felt her face heat up, realizing how it sounded like she was showing off.
You looked at her with a smirk, eyes glimmering with mischief. “I could tell.”
Her thoughts were stolen away by your smile and she ended up forgetting to ask you.
Now, she looks around her room. Five neon-blue jellyfish lamps sit on her coffee table in a circle, like a neon cult. A lobster corkscrew rests on her kitchen island, its googly eyes looking at her unblinking. Next to it is a white and black shark-shaped bottle opener. An array of marine life magnets with silly puns that she doesn’t even find funny cover the front of her refrigerator,
Her gaze drops to her feet, where a pair of bright orange fish-shaped slippers await her. She doesn’t even like the color orange. She doesn’t even particularly like fish.
She doesn’t dare look past the bedroom door where she knew more useless marine themed decor was.
At this rate her room would look like an aquarium gift shop—all because she couldn’t gather the courage to ask you out for coffee.
It felt like every time you smiled at her, or laughed, or honestly just spoke, she couldn’t think straight. Instead of forming a plan to ask you out, she just kept ordering more things. Clearly in the marine themed decor section that she must’ve selected when she was ordering with one thought in mind—to see you.
She looks around the room once more, the neon-blue glow of the jellyfish lamps reflecting in her eyes, and softly smiles to herself.
She was a fool for you. — You feel a flutter in your chest the moment you enter the lobby. A month ago you couldn’t have imagined having a full conversation with Natasha. In the beginning it was only polite greetings and silent, loaded glances. Now, the two of you talked about everything and nothing at the same time—whatever you could fit into fifteen minutes. Sometimes twenty when she “needed extra time to read the documents” she’d seen at least a dozen times.
You want more time with her. Definitely more than fifteen minutes—but even then you don’t think that would be enough.
Which is what has led you to today where you’ve promised yourself that you’ll ask her to meet outside of these deliveries.
You and the receptionist had become well acquainted, having the smooth routine of greeting one another before she called upstairs. No matter whose name was on the box, Natasha would be the one to show up, having somehow become the authorized agent for all the Avengers.
Today, however, was different.
“Agent Barton will be down in a moment to sign for Agent Romanoff’s package.”
You turn to her, eyes wide. She’s already shifted her attention to sorting through the stack of mail you brought.
You’ve heard about Clint a few times from Natasha. Mostly about him teasing her or playing pranks on her. She always sounded irritated when mentioning him, but you’d caught the glimmer of amusement in her eyes. She never said the words “best friend,” but you knew that’s exactly what he was.
You hear the chime of the elevator signaling his arrival.
You’d seen Clint on TV before, but in person he was magnitudes more intimidating. He was already observing you with a sharp gaze.
He walks towards you with confident steps before stopping in front of you. He looks you up and down, as if sizing you up. You’re mind blanks on what to say.
“So,” Clint says, his voice carrying amusement. “You’re the one who’s been keeping Natasha busy.”
You snap out of it quickly. “I think it’s actually the other way around,” you say with a smile.
He tilts his head, a small, knowing smile gracing his features. You remember Natasha mentioning this smile before, the one that always ticks her off because it's like he knows a secret you’re not aware of.
“Is that so?” he says, eyes glinting. “Funny, because she’s halfway across the world on a mission, and the first message I get from her isn’t ‘I’m okay’ or ‘Target acquired.’ It’s a two-paragraph text stressing the importance of me receiving this package.”
He takes a step closer, his smile widening. “She was very specific, even saying it twice, that I’m supposed to let you know that she really wanted to see you today but the mission came unexpectedly. She’s usually pretty focused on her missions, even cracking a joke gets me a glare. For you, though? She’s distracted.”
You feel the heat creeping up your neck. You understand what Natasha meant by teasing. But then his words sink in. Distracted. On a mission.
You meet his eyes, the embarrassment replaced by worry. “Can you tell her that it’s okay? And that I wanted to see her too? She needs to focus or she might get hurt.”
Clint looks surprised for a moment. He observes you, seeing the genuine concern for Natasha. His smile returns. This time it's soft. Real. “I’ll let her know,” he promises.
You pull out your tablet and pen, pulling up the documents before handing them to him.
He begins the task of signing and initialing, occasionally peering at you with a thoughtful gaze. His expression slowly shifts as he gets closer to completing the pages. He looks as though he’s figured something out.
He hands you back the tablet with the pen on top, exchanging it with the package in your hands.
“It was a pleasure meeting you. Mind if I ask for your name?” Clint asks with a mischievous smile.
“My name is Y/N,“ you answer with a genuine smile. “I already know you’re Clint. Natasha’s best friend.”
Clint looks down, affection flickers across his features before he expertly brushes them away.
“I’ll make sure to tell Natasha what you said—especially the part about you wanting to see her,” Clint says with a playful grin. “Have a good rest of your day, Y/N.”
“You too, Clint. It was really nice to meet you as well,” you say, offering a small wave before he turns and heads towards the elevator with the package under his arm.
You take a deep breath. You hadn’t been expecting to meet someone so important to Natasha, and it surprised you how much his approval mattered to you.
The disappointment of not getting to ask her out today still lingered but was muted by the fact that even though she was halfway across the world, on a mission, she was still thinking of you.
Be safe, you pray silently, stepping outside into the sun. — Clint walks down the hallway to Natasha’s room, grabbing his phone from his back pocket with his free hand. He leans against the wall near her room to type out a quick message to her.
Package secured, he sends.
The reply came in almost an instant. And?
And what? It’s a box, Clint types back. Y/N seems nice, though.
Shut up. Did you tell her what I said? What did she say?
Yes, yes. I told her. She said she wanted to see you too but that you should focus on your mission. She was worried that you being distracted would get you hurt, Clint watches the typing bubbles appear the second he sends the last text.
She said she wanted to see me?
Clint rolls his eyes at the screen. Yes. I’ll leave the package in your room.
He powers off the phone before he can see her reply—a frantic Wait!
He opens the door to her room, him being the only other person authorized to enter. He almost drops the package when he sees her living space. The neon-blue circle of jellyfish lamps serves as a welcome sign, sitting proudly on the coffee table.
“Oh my God, Natasha,” Clint mutters, his exasperation giving way to unbridled laughter at the realization. “You’re a total idiot.” — Natasha sneezes quietly, trying not to blow her position. Either the Siberian chill was finally getting to her or someone was talking about her.
She scopes the outside of the base, noting that there’s only two guards standing at the front.
Simple in and out, she thinks to herself confidently. Should be home by the end of the day.
Her thoughts drift to Clint’s text. You wanted to see her, too. She feels warmth bloom in her chest, a welcome feeling from the snow around her.
She shakes her head, trying to get back into focus. The fastest way to see you again would be completing the mission. She turns the safety off her handgun and begins stealthily making her way towards the base.— So much for a simple in and out, Natasha thinks, her breath ragged.
She’s covered in dust and gun powder, the sleek black of her suit looking grey from debris. Stinging cuts cover her arms and legs—blood trickles down a cut on her cheek that she couldn’t even remember getting.
The mission had gone on for an additional two days, every possible variable coming out of the woodworks. Double the amount of soldiers than reported, the signal jammer breaking, her Widow’s Bites malfunctioning.
She sighs, the sound heavy with exhaustion. She puts the Quinjet into autopilot, seeing that she’d be arriving in New York by noon.
She moves with practiced efficiency to the medkit, rummaging through it to find antiseptic and bandaging before working on her wounds. The time passes by slowly. Only the sound of rushing wind from how fast the Quinjet slices through the sky.
You wanted to see her, too.
She leans her head against the wall, her eyes fluttering shut. She falls asleep—her dreams filled with you smiling, welcoming her back home. — Natasha wakes to the sound of the Quinjet landing. She stretches her limbs, feeling every muscle ache from overexertion.
She gathers her gear before releasing the cargo door, squinting her eyes as the sunlight floods the hangar. It’s a sharp contrast to the dimness of the base in Siberia.
She was finally home.
The hallways are quiet as she enters, finding that the common room is empty as well. The silence feels welcome after how chaotic her past few days had been. She’s just beginning to savor the stillness before she’s startled by a voice.
“Agent Romanoff, you’re needed in the lobby to sign for a package,” J.A.R.V.I.S politely informs her.
She runs. Not caring about how exhausted she feels, the grime on her skin, the cuts stinging with every movement—her thoughts only on you.
She presses the button for the lobby repeatedly, impatient. Her heart starts racing as she watches the floor numbers tick down on the screen at an agonizingly slow pace. Finally, the doors slide open.
You’re already looking at the door as if you were counting the seconds yourself.
Natasha takes several hurried strides towards you, stopping when she sees your expression.
Your face is filled with concern, eyes darting to the different injuries she has while taking in her appearance. You reach forward, hand gently touching her hair that looks muted compared to its normal vibrant red.
Your hand moves to her cheek, fingertips tracing over the edges of the bandage she had placed haphazardly.
She feels her heart skip a beat. This was the first time you had reached for her since your first real conversation—the first time you’ve touched since your fingertips overlapped on the tablet. Your hand cups her face, your eyes scanning, searching for any hidden injuries.
She reaches up, her fingers curling over yours to anchor you to her. She leans her head into your palm, letting out a deep breath that she had been holding since the mission started.
That finally draws your gaze to hers.
“I wanted to see you,” she whispers, her voice raspy from exhaustion.
“I heard,” you whisper back, thumb stroking her cheek. “I didn’t realize how much brighter my days are with you until you weren’t here.”
She feels her breath stutter. Her heart aches with overwhelming adoration, more intense than any injury she had sustained on the mission.
“I heard you wanted to see me, too,” she says quietly, eyes searching yours.
“Clint told you?” you ask. When she confirms with a small nod, you offer a soft smile. “I did. I still do.”
“Even though I’m right here?” she asks, tilting her head in confusion.
“Mhm,” you murmur, stepping closer. “It’s not enough.”
She gazes down at you, eyes softening as she realizes exactly what you mean. The fifteen minutes weren’t enough. She wants hours with you. Days. But even then, she doesn’t think it’d be enough.
Suddenly, her eyes widen. She remembers the letter—the one she’d stayed up all night writing before the mission. She pulls her hand back from over yours, unzipping her pocket to pull out the envelope that was now crumpled and stained from her mission.
She hesitates, looking at the battered envelope. She’s about to put it back, deciding to rewrite the letter, but you reach out, hand covering hers before she has a chance.
“Is that for me?” you ask, eyes dropping to where your name is neatly written at the front of the envelope.
Natasha looks down, embarrassed but not able to turn back now. “Yes,” she murmurs, her voice uncharacteristically shy as she hands it to you.
The envelope is sealed with an octopus sticker, which you carefully unpeel, keeping it intact. You open the crumpled letter, the corners of the paper adorned by starfish.
She watches you nervously as you read the letter, shifting her weight side to side. She had chickened out while writing it, deciding to take you on a tour of the tower next time you came. She wasn’t sure yet if she could keep her composure for over fifteen minutes with you.
She sees your eyes twinkle as you reach the end, gazing up at her. “It’s going to have to be a pretty quick tour you know?”
“Consider it a practice date,” she says smoothly. She gives herself a mental pat on the back.
“Oh?” you say playfully, brow raised. “So, when’s the real one?”
She feels heat creep its way to the tips of her ears. “One thing at a time,” she responds, feigning confidence.
“Oh, of course,” you say with a teasing smile that gives her butterflies.
She watches as you carefully refold the letter, sliding it gingerly back into the envelope before sealing it with the sticker. You tuck it in your bag before grabbing the tablet and pen, unlocking it and handing them to her.
Natasha keeps her head down, trying to calm her racing heart as she goes through the pages.
How was she going to make this tour interesting? she wonders to herself. — As promised, you’re being led by Natasha through the hallways as she speeds through the paperwork on the tablet, the new package secured under her arm.
She’s dressed casually today, jeans and an oversized hoodie— a reminder that you’re in her home. She points out little details here and there but she always looks back at you with a small incredulous smile, like she can’t believe you’re here.
“And this is the floor my room is on,” she says, leading you into the common room. “I told everyone to go away for half an hour. You don’t have to worry about anyone showing up.”
“I wouldn’t have minded,” you say softly while looking around the luxurious room.
“I know,” she says quietly, looking down shyly. “But I would. I just want it to be us.” She hands you the tablet, before contemplating something.
“There isn’t really anything else to see, at least that you’re authorized to. Do you want to see my room?” Her eyes widen when she realizes how that sounds, cheeks flushing. “I mean—nevermind. We can just go back down to the lobby. I know you don’t have much time left.”
You watch her with amusement as she rambles. She finally meets your eyes when she hears you trying and failing not to laugh.
“I’d love to see your room,” you say between breathless laughs.
She gives you a little glare before leading you to her door. Her hand pauses over the handle.
“You know, maybe we should just go back to the lobby.”
“Even though we’re already right here?” you ask with innocent eyes. “Can I please see?”
You’re curious about how she decorates her room and how it matches her personality.
She looks at you wanting to say no, before relenting. Her hand hovers over the doorhandle, before sighing and opening it, she holds the door open for you. You step inside expecting something sleek and minimalist.
Instead, your eyes are drawn to a summoning circle of neon-blue jellyfish lamps. Your gaze naturally drifts to the massive red beanbag in the corner—clearly shaped like a crab. On the kitchen island, a lobster corkscrew lays as if it belongs there, its googly eyes somehow found its way to the door, staring at you.
You take a hesitant step further into the room. Your foot bumps something soft. You look down to see a pair of bright orange fish-shaped slippers.
You look around the room again, finding new marine themed decor on every pass. You turn to Natasha who has been silent, hand still on the door handle, looking like she’s frozen in place.
You can’t help the bright smile that blooms across your face.
It’s adorable—so out of character from the “deadly assassin” that everyone else sees. You can’t help but giggle to yourself when you picture the image of her sitting on the beanbag, wearing her fish slippers.
“It’s very… unique,” you say through your laughter.
“You don’t have to force yourself to compliment it,” she mutters, her face red with embarrassment.
“I’m not!” you exclaim, genuinely charmed. “What did the others think of it?”
“You’re the only other person besides Clint who’s seen it,” she says, finally releasing her hand from the handle and closing the door. “I don’t let people into my space easily.”
The weight of the admission settles between you, but before you can respond, the sound of a ringtone comes from her bedroom.
“I’m sorry, let me answer that real quick. It’s my work phone,” she says regretfully.
“No problem,” you respond with an easy smile.
She walks away to take the call as you continue taking in her living space. You notice the same paper she’d written her letter resting on the kitchen island next to a shark-shaped bottle opener.
You pull out a pen from your bag, scribbling a note for her to find later. You finish just as she returns.
She looks down at her watch, disappointment crossing her features. “Is it time to go?” she asks, her voice small.
“Yeah, unfortunately,” you murmur, feeling the weight of the goodbye looming.
She leads you out of her room, back to the elevators. The doors slide open, and she follows you to the lobby doors as if she’s trying to steal every last second. You turn to give her one last smile before heading out but you feel her fingers curl around your hand before you can take a step.
“See you next time?” she asks, her eyes searching yours.
“Of course,” you respond, feeling your heart swell with affection. You give her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze before she lets go.
You walk out the door, a wide, unstoppable smile stretching across your face. You’re already counting the hours until the next delivery— and for her to read your note. — Natasha walks back into her room with light steps, matching the lightness she feels in her heart. She’s replaying her interactions with you when the letter paper on the kitchen island catches her trained eyes.
That’s not how they were positioned before, she notes. Her tactical instincts come to the surface as she scans the room but sees nothing else out of place.
She takes careful steps forward, seeing the top paper has been written on. She leans over the counter to read it:
Natasha,
I’m shore glad we ended up meeting and that I got to have a glimpse of you outside of these deliveries. You octopi my thoughts all day and I want to spend more time with you. Let minnow when you’d be free for a date next time we see each other.
-Y/N
Natasha lets out a breathless laugh as she lets her forehead drop to the cool marble of the island. She reads the note over and over.
A wave of embarrassment washes over at the realization that you truly think she has a deep passion for marine life—enough to curate her entire room around it. She looks around, taking in the proof of how much she’s become a fool for you, finding the embarrassment dissipates.
Because at least now she knows you feel the same way. She reaches for her pen to write you a response. — The ambiance of the lobby felt familiar to you now. The city that had once felt intimidating and overwhelming was now a place that you felt grateful for.
Because this is where you met her.
It’s been a few days since your “practice date”. The arrival of a package for her finally in your arms. The receptionist catches your eye, nodding at you with a small, knowing smile when you tilt the label towards her.
It’s only a few minutes before you hear the chime of the elevator. Natasha steps out hurriedly, wearing a simple white blouse and loose fitting black pants. It’s simple, elegant, but to you, she’s shining.
She reaches you in a few long strides, and before you can say anything, she places an envelope on top of the box. You tilt your head, freeing one of your hands to take it as she moves the box and places it onto a nearby table to give you her full attention.
She nods at you to read it. You open the envelope, a seahorse sticker guarding it this time, and pull out the letter. You unfold it, taking in her messy handwriting:
Y/N,
Everytime I see you, you make my heart swim a little faster. My life is better with you by my tide and I can’t imagine being without you in the future. I feel like we mermaid for each other. Water you doing next Friday?
-Natasha
P.S. Look up.
You raise your eyes to see her gazing at you with undeniable affection.
“I know I kind of said it in the letter, but I want you to hear it from me personally,” she says, her voice steady and full of determination. “I like you. I think I’ve liked you from the very first moment we met, and I don’t want to waste another second not being with you.”
You bite your lip trying to hide the wide smile threatening to spread across your face. Your eyes filled with joy. “You misspelled something here,” you murmur, voice full of adoration as you point to a spot on the starfish-adorned paper.
Natasha’s confident expression vanishes, transforming into a horrified one. She leans in close, her shoulder brushing yours as her eyes track where your finger is pointing.
“Where?” she asks, her voice frantic. “I checked it so many—”
You turn your head, catching her lips. You feel her stiffen for a split-second before returning the kiss with desperation, melting into you. You pull back an inch, giving her one last peck when her lips chase after you.
“I like you too,” you say breathlessly, forehead resting against hers. “I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a long time.”
“Me too,” she murmurs. “So… about next Friday?”
“I’m free,” you respond. You pull a sticky note from your bag, scribbling your phone number on it and pressing it into her hand. “I’ll see you next Friday.”
You pull her into a deep kiss before finally stepping away and turning towards the glass doors.
You walk out into the New York sun, feeling giddy. Behind you, the best spy in the world stares after you with a dazed, hopeless smile on her face. — The Friday of the date
You and Natasha turn a corner in the aquarium, a massive, glowing jellyfish display coming into view.
“Natasha, look!” you exclaim, expecting her to be excited. Instead, she’s looking at you, completely captivated.
“Natasha,” you say, bumping her with your shoulder. “The jellyfish. They’re right there.”
“Mhm,” she murmurs, barely sparing a glance at them.
You stop, looking at her in confusion. “Aren’t they your favorite? You have like five lamps in the shape of them.”
She stiffens, her eyes widening as if she’s just been caught. “Oh,” she pauses, her voice going up an octave. “Yes. Of course they’re my favorite. Very… jelly-like.”
You squint at her before realization dawns on you, a breathless laugh escaping. “Oh my God. You don’t even like marine life that much, do you? I should’ve known when you barely looked at a single exhibit we passed by.”
Natasha glances at the wall of jellyfish, trying to hide her face that is reddening by the second.
“So… you wanted to see me that bad, huh?” you tease, your voice carrying a playful lilt that is betrayed by the pure, unfiltered adoration in your eyes.
“Please, don't," she groans while covering face with her hands, her red cheeks still peeking between the cracks of her fingers.
“I won’t, I won’t,” you agree with a bright smile.
She sighs, knowing that she’ll be hearing about this for the rest of your lives together but she can’t stop the smile that spreads across her face at the thought. Together.
Because now, you and her were a “shore” thing. ---
Well number 3 down. Was practicing dialogue a bit in this one so, feedback is always appreciated! I learned that you have to use 3 of these "-" suckers in Docs to be an em dash. The more you know 😌
Secret A/N: Y'know when you're in a meeting with all department leaders including C-suites and you decide to take a big sip of water and the initial bit of water goes down the wrong way so you start coughing. But you can't take a big cough that would help clear it from your throat because the remaining water is still in your mouth and you'd spit take it. You also can't swallow it because well, you're coughing. So then you have to just wait for it to pass as your colleagues/friends try to hide their laughs. Just me? aight.
AWWWW THIS IS SO CUTE
