#fluffyjulydaytwo

[wlw-imagines]

Candlelight - Natasha Romanoff x Reader (Marvel)

unchecked unedited because it is late and i am tired, if it doesn't make sense then don't think and just pretend it does!!!

Day 2, @fluffyjuly: natasha romanoff - candlelight, 'you kept this?'

summary: When a mission goes wrong, you and Natasha Romanoff are stranded alone in a rundown safe house, where injuries, candlelight, and terrible wooden animal carvings slowly chip away at Natasha’s walls.

Falling hurt.

Something about gravity dragging you towards earth at what felt like the speed of light was deeply aggravating to the human body.

And maybe speed of light was dramatic, but it definitely felt that fast as you plummeted toward the ground.

And maybe aggravating wasn’t dramatic enough either, because the second your body slammed into the dirt, it felt like your entire skeleton shattered on impact.

You let out a low growl as you forced your palms against the ground, trying very hard not to move too fast and accidentally discover three new broken bones. Every muscle screamed in protest as you pushed yourself into something vaguely resembling a sitting position. As you pulled your leg around, or tried to, you could help let a sharp gasp of breath out.

The pain in your thigh was bright. A sharp, dazzling pain that you were hoping would quickly disappear if you tried really hard to ignore it.

It wasn’t working yet.

You winced, thinking about how spectacularly the mission had gone sideways... from the aircraft malfunction, to the whole being-shot-out-of-the-sky situation, and finally to parachuting into the middle of nowhere.

"Fuck." You heard Natasha's voice mutter from somwhere close by, quickly followed by some crashing and snapping of branches.

"Natasha?" you called, every muscle tensing despite the pain. For a moment, you kept as still as you could, ready to defend yourself if this was some elaborate trick but then she emerged through the bushes to your left.

Alive (thank god). Although she looked pissed.

Natasha held up what remained of the parachute, sunlight streaming through several very obvious bullet holes.

"Tony could really do with working on bulletproof parachutes," she muttered darkly. "What’s the point of this thing if it has three holes in it?"

You grimaced, "It was my fault they got a clear shot-"

"It’s not your fault." She dropped the parachute and clambered through the roots to your side.

"I’m sorry."

She raised an eyebrow, "You’re sorry it wasn’t your fault?" A small smirk lifted the corner of her cheek.

You huffed a weak laugh, "No, I- I just feel bad."

"I’ve seen missions go worse." She shrugged.

"That’s a relief, I guess?"

"Well," she said, slipping back into mission mode, "as long as there are no serious injuries, we find the nearest safe house and sit tight. Couple of days, max. The team will track us."

"Yeah, okay." You nodded, shifting your body slightly to prepare to move. You suppressed the urge to wince.

Nevertheless, her gaze snapped to you, "You're not hurt, right?"

"Yeah, no, it’s all good." You affirmed, shifting your weight again, hoping you weren’t grimacing as obviously as you feared. You’d already felt like you’d fucked the mission in one major way, you didn’t want to be the problem again by creating dead weight.

Natasha paused a second and then just nodded and, with a last quick glance over you, turned around. "Okay. This way. I’m pretty sure we have a safe house somewhere near us. No more than ten miles," She said, adjusting her bag over one shoulder and securing the strap across her waist. "Hopefully it’s warm. If we can stay dry, we’ll be fine for a few days.

You wonkily stood to your feet, balancing yourself and keeping yourself steady, "A few days?" You repeated and Natasha glanced back.

"What? You want out already, princess?"

You quickly shook your head, "No, I'm good, it's fine. It'll be an adventure." She snorted.

"God, you sound like a girl scout. Is that where we're recruiting from nowadays?" She paused a moment longer, shook her head and set off.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

You made it maybe half a mile before your body gave up on pretending.

At first it was manageable. You survived the limping, shifting your weight to the good leg, keeping half a step behind Natasha so she wouldn’t notice the way your breath kept catching. But soon the trees blurred together as dusk settled heavier around you and every step sent another bright pulse through your thigh.

You could definitely do half a mile further.

You could for sure survive another ten steps.

Another five steps would be fine.

Another- Your foot caught on a gnarky tree root and your world suddenly tilted. "Shit!"

Before you hit the ground, a hand caught your arm. Natasha spun fast, steadying you, but the second her grip tightened around your side, the pain shot through your leg so violently that you let a small cry out.

Natasha froze, her eyes narrowing. "What happened?" She snapped out.

You steadied your breath, in through your nose and out through your mouth, before shaking your head, "Nothing." She just stared so you tried again, "Just tripped."

"Sit." She nodded to a felled tree nearby.

You began to protest, "Nat-"

"Sit."

You hadn't known Natasha long but you did know that there was no arguing with that tone. She lowered you carefully against the fallen log and crouched in front of you. Her hands were surprisingly gentle as they moved to your leg, pausing at the torn fabric of your trousers.

"You said you weren't hurt."

"I'm fine."

She pulled the fabric aside and both of you went quiet.

Blood had soaked through almost the entire upper thigh. Not catastrophic but it was enough to make your stomach turn.

Natasha’s jaw tightened. "Bullet grazed you here," she muttered, her hand hovering over your skin, "It's deep."

"It's not too bad." You shrugged, wiping a bead of sweat from your forehead.

"Well, it's bad enough."

You swallowed, "I just didn't want to slow us down."

She sighed, frustrated but also concerned, "Yeah, well, you passing out in the woods would slow me down more."

"That’s… fair." You winced, either at her reaction or from the pain, who really knows?

She exhaled through her nose and from her bag she pulled a med kit, a tiny bottle and a roll of bandages. "This is going to hurt."

"Great," You steadied yourself, prepared yourself. And then the antiseptic hit. "Fuck- Natasha!"

"I warned you." She gritted her teeth, ploughing on with the first aid fiasco she'd found herself in.

You swore under your breath and muttered out, "Sadist."

Her hand pressed firmly above the wound to steady your leg. "Hold still."

You clenched your fists, breathing hard while she worked. You could barely watch as she was cleaning, checking depth, wrapping a pressure bandage around your thigh, all with efficient movements.

Eventually, she patted your knee, "All done."

You looked down. "That was your quick fix?"

"We do the proper patch-up at the safe house."

You nodded, embarrassed, "Sorry... again."

"What are you sorry for this time?" Natasha tied off the bandage and started re-packing her bag with a small smile.

"For lying."

Natasha tightened the straps on the bag, clicking the clips closed and finally looked up at you. For a second, all sarcasm disappeared. "Next time," she said quietly, "you tell me."

Then she stood and offered her hand. When you took it, her grip tightened and, even though you were standing again and stable, she didn't immediately let go.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The safe house turned out to be less of a safe house and more of an abandoned shack. You weren't going to be racing to book a stay here again any time soon. It was one room, it had a leaky roof and a rusted stove that absolutely did not work.

There was a dusty cupboard with six candles, stale crackers, canned beans, and something that might once have been soup.

Natasha looked around once and sighed, "Well..."

You lowered yourself onto the rickety cot. "Five stars."

"Be grateful. It has walls."

"And mould."

"That’s insulation." She dropped her bag and crouched down by what looked like the remnants of a firepit.

The first night was mostly silence. Rain tapped against the roof while candlelight threw soft shadows across the walls. Natasha sat on the floor cleaning weapons with mechanical focus, the gun in her hand glinting every few seconds.

You watched for a while, glad to see a different version of Natasha. A new version that you could store away in your head.

Then your eyes landed on a small pile of firewood near the stove and it sparked an idea - a memory of being younger, sitting in your grandad's lap as he whistled a tune and whittled little figurines for you to play with.

You reached for one of the smaller pieces and your knife. Natasha noticed immediately, "What are you doing?"

"Just passing time." She raised an eyebrow but didn't question any further, not yet anyway. You shaved off a tiny sliver of wood.

An hour later, wood shavings were covering your lap and you proudly held up something vaguely animal-shaped. Natasha stared and stayed silent for long enough that you started to feel a little self-conscious.

"What is that?"

"It’s a fox."

She quirked up an eyebrow and deadpanned, "It looks like a potato with legs."

You gasped. "You just don't see it."

"I have eyes."

The next day you made another and another. Each one just as bad as the last. All the while, Natasha pretended not to care, but every time you started whittling, you caught her watching.

Sometimes when she thought you weren’t looking, the corner of her mouth twitched.

And by the second night, she’d started talking more. It was small things at first, like how she hated canned beans. Or how Tony overengineered everything except the useful things. And then about how Clint somehow survived exclusively on coffee and bad decisions.

You sometimes offered stories back or childhood memories and embarrassing training mishaps.

At some point, without either of you noticing, the silence stopped feeling tense and fragile. Instead, it started feeling comfortable, like you could wrap yourself in a blanket and actually enjoy it.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

"The latest masterpiece, huh?" Natasha hums, taking the little carving into her hands and rolling it over and over deftly.

"Hmm," You respond, slightly wary of her comments the past few days. "It's a-"

"Well, it’s a donkey, obviously." She shrugs, putting it back down and going back to shovelling more food into her mouth.

You sigh, your shoulders deflating slightly, "It’s meant to be raccoon." Natasha drops her spoon with a clank and looks back up to you before dropping her bowl to the side. She slowly reaches across, stretching to get the little carving back into her hands, a small smile lighting up her face.

"A ra- what?! What’s going on with the ears, they’re massive!" She strokes a gentle finger over the 'ears'.

"I thought you were going to be nice!" You protest, wishing you had stopped with the whittling approximately 2 and a half days ago, roughly when you had first realised it was not one of your many talents - and probably never would be.

"I am being nice! It’s just... got long ears. That’s all." She lets her grin grow wider, and glances over at you, looking softer than she has been with you before. You can see as she shrugs it off, letting the grin fall slightly as she clears her throat, "Maybe just get better at it." Nat places the carving back down, this time delicately ensuring it stays on it's little wooden feet.

"I think you still need to work on being nice, just get better at that, you know?"

"I’m nice." She protested, weakly.

"You’re alright, I guess." You caught her eye, sending her a little smile. She smiled and cleared her throat, nodding her head towards you.

"How’s the injury?"

You shrug, still a little ashamed about how you had behaved earlier in the mission, it had been reckless really, "I- yeah, fine."

"If I’m bad at being nice, you’re awful at lying." She rolls her eyes a little, but makes you feel less small now and more like you're in on her joke, "Here let me have a look." She pushes forward, closer to you.

"You don’t need to do that, Nat, just-" Her hands push at the bottom of your sheets, hitching them up to your hip, "Jeez, ask a girl out first."

Natasha's hands paused on the fabric, "We’ve had a candlelit dinner three nights in a row now, I think I’m good." For a second, neither of you moved, and then she looked up.

That dry, teasing expression was still there but her eyes had changed over the last three days. It was kinder, included you more than it excluded you. It was something you could get used to.

She carefully peeled back the bandage. Her fingers were light against your skin now, much gentler than during the first patch-up.

You tried not to react (and failed).

"Still hurts?"

"No... yes. But it's survivable."

Natasha examined the wound, expression focused. "Healing well. No infection."

You nodded along to all the good parts, "That sounds good."

"It is." She nodded. Her fingers brushed the inside of your thigh as she reached for clean gauze.

Your breath caught and she paused, keeping her hand there for half a second too long.

Then a whole second.

Then- she looked up. You were suddenly very aware of how close she was. You could feel the warmth of her body and see the way her hair had fallen loose around her face. You sensed her eyes and how they kept dropping to your lips before snapping back.

"Nat?"

Her thumb brushed once against your skin and then she finished wrapping the bandage and leaned back, breaking the moment. Mostly, "I'm done," she murmured.

You swallowed and nodded, "Thanks." She gathered the supplies, but before she could fully move away, you reached out and touched her wrist. She stopped moving, "Natasha?" She turned, "You really are alright."

She gave you a soft look and a shake of the head, "Don’t ruin it."

You smiled and, for once, Natasha didn’t pull away from your touch. She simply turned her hand and threaded her fingers through yours, just for a moment. Long enough to make your heart trip over itself slightly.

Then, footsteps and voices sounded outside and both of you snapped around to look towards the door. Natasha was already reaching for a weapon.

"Friendly extraction!" a voice called. Tony.

Natasha let out a deep exhale. You just stared at the door, then down at your now-empty hand.

You had been saved.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It had been a week since you’d been hauled out of the forest and rushed straight to the infirmary.

A week of being on bed rest and of being forced to stay as still as possible, meaning no sparring. A week of physical therapy, painkillers, and endless lectures about 'taking recovery seriously.' just in case.

And, unfortunately, a week of noticing something else. Noticing how Natasha was avoiding you.

At first, you thought maybe you were imagining it and that she was probably just busy, working through some backlogs of mission paperwork.

Maybe you were reading too much into things because your brain had spent three straight days trapped in a tiny shack with her.

When the rescue had come, it had been a grab-and-go situation. There was no time for any kind of chat or goodbye. No lingering beside the mouldy couch and no packing up the last disgusting tins of mystery food.

Just extraction and you were home. You had found yourself warm and safe again. Yet, you were still somehow missing something. Or someone. So when you finally caught Natasha alone near her room, you decided enough was enough.

"Hey, Nat,"

"Miraculous recovery?" Nat grunts in your direction, meeting your eye for a fleeting moment before ducking her head.

"Yeah, I’ll be back to kicking your ass again soon." You let a half-hearted grin spread on your face.

"Sure thing." She hummed.

You let the silence linger for a moment before ploughing on, "I wanted to talk… about the mission."

She dipped her head, avoiding your eye, and cleared her throat, "Well, I should probably be heading to the gym, so-"

"It’ll be quick." You moved to stop her in her tracks, her avoidance tracks.

"I’m busy today, maybe tomorrow?"

You huffed a little, "Are you avoiding me?"

"I- no." She vehemently shook her head before looking in your eyes and softening slightly, "I’m not avoiding you. I’m right here."

You took that information in for a moment, unsure how to respond. She was right (technically), but it didn't sit well with you. You let out a small sigh, letting your eyes travel across her room, anywhere but on her. Otherwise you were in danger of reading into things too far, trying to convince yourself that maybe she still may feel some way or- your eyes caught sight of something on her shelf.

"You kept this?" Your train of thought was interrupted by the sight of a miniature carving.

"Your raccoon donkey? Yeah, it’s a memento, right? A way to remember the mission."

"You don’t strike me as the sentimental type." You murmured, rolling it around between your fingers.

She shrugged, "I like it."

Something warm, and somewhat painful, bloomed in your chest.

You carefully placed it back where it had been, "So we'll talk tomorrow?"

She hesitated, then said, "Or maybe I can do dinner, tonight?" Natasha shrugged and you just blinked for a moment.

"Tonight?" You frowned, "I- okay, yeah. Tonight."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Dinner turned out to be… confusingly nice.

Not confusing because of the restaurant. Tony had overheard some vague plans and apparently insisted on sending you somewhere 'that serves actual food and not the sad boiled chicken you two probably lived off in that shack,' which had earned an eye-roll from Natasha and a laugh from you.

No, it was confusing because Natasha was being… different.

Not wildly so. She was still herself, she was dry, sharp and effortlessly unreadable to anyone who didn’t know her but you felt that you knew her a little better now.

You noticed the things other people probably missed.

"You’re staring again," Natasha said, cutting neatly into her food.

You blinked, pulling yourself out of your own thoughts, "I’m not." She lifted a single brow and you sighed. "Okay, maybe a little."

Conversation came weirdly easily after that, it was like being back in your own little bubble. Apart from one little thing because you talked about everything except the thing sitting between you.

You covered conversations like Clint’s terrible jokes, Bruce’s increasingly passive-aggressive lab notes, Tony’s inability to respect a budget, the new recruits and even managing a little chat on training.

You managed to talk about anything but the mission, really. Anything but the shack or the way her hand had felt in yours.

However, dessert came and went (delicious by the way), the restaurant had emptied around you but still, neither of you moved to leave.

Eventually Natasha set her fork down and took a deep breath, "You wanted to talk."

There it was.

Your pulse jumped and you cleared your throat a little bit, leaning forward slightly in your chair, "Yeah." and she waited. You looked down at your hands, "When we got back… you pulled away."

There was a long moment of silence and you pushed forward before your courage could leave the restaurant.

"In the safe house, things felt…" You swallowed. "Different."

Natasha tilited her head slightly, a small nod, "They were."

You looked up at her and Natasha wasn’t avoiding your gaze anymore.

"Different how?" you asked quietly.

"It felt... simple." She let out a small sigh and you frowned. She leaned back slightly, considering her words. "In the field, there’s no noise. No meetings. No missions. No people watching. No expectations." Her voice lowered. "It's just about instincts and survival."

"And me?"

A flash of a smile, "And you." Your heart stuttered and she continued, quieter now, "You make things complicated."

That stung a little more than you expected, "Oh."

Natasha’s expression changed instantly, slightly mortified, "No." She shook her head. "Not bad complicated."

You let out a breath as she rubbed her thumb against the side of her glass, "I’m not good at this."

"At dinner?" Youasked, aiming for a little cheeky but her frown just deepened slightly.

"At…" she exhaled, almost frustrated with herself, "this." She motioned between the two of you.

Your lips curved despite yourself, appreciating the honesty but also at your current predicament. Her shoulders relaxed a fraction.

"In the safe house, I forgot to keep distance," Natasha held your gaze now. Your breath caught and she continued, "I didn’t want to forget." She held your gaze, "But I also didn’t want to come back here and realize it was just proximity or stress.... adrenaline."

You stared, "And?" It wasn't going to end just like that, was it?

Natasha reached inside her pocket, pulling out your whittled monstrosity, she gently placed it on the table, "And then I went and kept your ridiculous raccoon donkey on my shelf."

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it and she smiled.

"And every time I looked at it," she said, "I wanted to see you."

A week ago, falling out of the sky had felt like the worst thing that could happen to you.

But now?

Maybe falling wasn’t so bad after all.

Especially if Natasha Romanoff was there to catch you.