Maybe could we get a Natasha x reader where the team doesn’t know you are together (you are not on the team but know them) and you come home late one middle of night and call her asking if you can come over to hers because don’t want to be alone even though you know she just got back from a mission that afternoon. - gn reader would be great
Only You’d Answer
Natasha Romanoff x gn!reader
A/N: I tried to keep this as accurate to your request as possible, also- I love this whole kind of secret lovers thing, I think it’s so cute.
Word Count: 1.2k
TW: There is none, pure fluff. Which is rare for me.
Men and Minors DNI
It was nearing 2 a.m. when you gave up pretending to sleep.
The rain was still falling — slow and steady, like a lullaby from a world you weren’t invited into tonight. It should’ve been calming, but your flat felt empty in the kind of way that echoed. Quiet wasn’t peaceful. It was loud. Deafening. Crawling up the walls, under your skin. You hadn’t been able to settle since the sun went down.
Your phone screen glowed too bright as you stared down at the one contact you’d been hovering over all night: Nat.
No emojis. No last name. Just those three letters. You’d learned not to label things when it came to her.
You knew she’d just gotten back from a mission. You knew she was probably dead on her feet, bruised and sore and fading into sleep for the first time in god knows how long. You knew calling her — asking to come over — would be selfish.
But you also knew she’d answer.
And so, at 2:07 a.m., with your stomach in knots and your jumper still damp from the rain that clung to the air like ghosts, you hit call.
It rang twice.
“…Hey.”
Her voice was rough, like gravel and warmth all at once.
You swallowed, suddenly unsure. “Did I wake you?”
A pause.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Nat—”
“You okay?” she asked, sharp now. Alert. Still half in mission-mode.
You let out a shaky breath. “I… I couldn’t sleep. I know you’re exhausted, I just… I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then: “Where are you?”
“Home. Just—” You paused, gripping the hem of your sleeve. “Could I come over? Just for a bit?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Door’ll be open.”
You could’ve cried.
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By the time you got there, the building was quiet. Stark had bought it for the team — tucked away, low-key, far enough from the Compound to feel private but close enough for emergency calls. You’d only been here a handful of times, and never like this.
The door creaked open at your touch. She’d left it unlocked just like she said. Your heart gave a stupid little lurch at that — trust like that from a woman like her meant something.
Her place was dark, save for the low amber glow from the lamp in the corner of the living room. The TV was paused on some black-and-white classic you’d seen her watch before, probably something to help her pretend she wasn’t waiting for sleep.
She was sitting curled on the sofa in an old tee and grey joggers, hair damp from a post-mission shower, a bruised patch blooming faintly beneath her collarbone. You clocked the ice pack on her knee and the blanket tossed beside her.
And then she looked up at you — tired, sure, but her expression softened in that quiet way it always did just for you. The smallest of smiles pulled at her mouth.
“Hey,” she murmured.
“Hey,” you whispered back.
You stood awkwardly in the doorway for a second before she wordlessly held the blanket out. You crossed the room faster than you meant to, shedding your coat and dropping your bag to the floor as you climbed beside her.
The warmth of her body next to yours was grounding. She pulled the blanket over you both, tugging you into her side like it was second nature. You settled against her chest, feeling the soft thrum of her heartbeat under your cheek.
Neither of you spoke for a while.
You traced idle patterns over the hem of her shirt, your hand brushing the faint line of a healing cut on her ribs. She didn’t flinch. Just let you touch, let you feel that she was whole.
It was only when your breathing slowed that she broke the silence.
“Bad day?” she asked softly, voice like silk laced with concern.
You nodded against her shoulder. “Felt off. Like the walls were closing in or something. Just… everything was too loud and too quiet at the same time.”
She hummed low in her throat, the sound vibrating through your skin. “I get that.”
“Didn’t wanna burden you, though. I know you’ve been through hell this week.”
Her fingers found yours beneath the blanket, lacing together easily.
“You’re never a burden,” she said. No fluff, no drama. Just the truth.
You looked up at her then, searching her face.
“We don’t… really do this, do we?” you said. “The showing up in the middle of the night part.”
Natasha’s lips twitched. “No. We do the secret glances and short texts and pretending like you don’t know what’s in my bedside drawer.”
You gave a weak laugh. “I think the drawer is mutual at this point.”
Her hand came up, fingers brushing your hair back gently. “You could’ve called any of them. Wanda. Sam. Even Barton.”
“None of them would’ve picked up at 2 a.m.”
“I always will.”
You blinked hard at the sudden sting in your eyes. Natasha didn’t say things unless she meant them. She didn’t need to.
“Is this what it’s like?” you asked, voice hoarse.
“What?”
“Being with someone. Really being with them.”
Natasha was quiet for a moment. Her thumb stroked yours under the blanket.
“Maybe,” she murmured. “Or maybe it’s just you.”
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You must’ve dozed off like that. When you woke, the rain had stopped and the light was dim, sunrise not far off. Natasha was still holding you — both arms now, one around your waist, the other cradling your head. Her breathing was slow. Steady. Peaceful.
You shifted slightly to look at her.
God, she looked young when she slept. Not in the helpless way people romanticised, but in the free way. Like someone who hadn’t carried half the world’s blood on her back. Like someone who deserved this quiet, this stillness. You knew how rare it was for her. You knew how rare it was for you, too.
Still, as much as you wanted to stay like this forever, the world was waiting.
You reached for your phone to check the time, and—
“Leaving already?” came her groggy voice.
You froze, then relaxed a little as she blinked at you through heavy lashes.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t.” She yawned, rubbing her eyes. “I just missed the part where you were gonna sneak out on me.”
“I wasn’t— okay, maybe I was.”
She gave you a Look.
“I thought you’d want your space,” you mumbled. “After the mission. After me showing up like a stray cat.”
Natasha tilted her head.
“Maybe I like stray cats,” she said dryly. “Especially the ones who know where the tea is and don’t ask me to talk about body counts.”
You smiled faintly. “I know you’re not a morning person.”
“I’m barely a night person.”
“But still,” you whispered, leaning in slightly. “Thanks for picking up. For letting me in.”
Her hand cupped your jaw then, gentle, grounding.
“You’re not something I ‘let in,’ detka,” she said. “You’re already here.”
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You left around sunrise, slipping out quietly with a soft kiss to her temple and one of her hoodies that she very pointedly pretended not to notice was missing.
The team would never know.
Not today. Maybe not for a long time.
But in the quiet hours of the morning, when it was just you and her and the hum of a city that hadn’t started yet — you didn’t need anyone else to know.
Because she knew.
And that was enough.
Masterlist