BLACK TEE

I have a whump prompt I found on pintrest: "Baths were used as a form of torture against reader. They were forced to sit in icy water for hours on end or they were repeatedly held under until they blacked out. When they get rescued, and then are given a bath, they freak out and try to stay away from the water."

Title: Brackish

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanov/Romanoff

Word Count: 3280

Warnings: Mentions of torture, mentions of mind control, ice baths, abuse, starvation, drowning, panic attacks, imprisonment, vomiting, blackouts, Canon-typical violence, horrible grammar. I stuck with the request, please respect your triggers!!!

Summary: Agent Romanoff is sent into an interrogation room to break the only prisoner they pull from a Hydra compound, but things don't go exactly as planned.

[A/n: God damn, I haven't written about Romanoff in so long, it truly does feel so good to write about her again and it seems like Tumblr is seriously lacking in fics lately! I miss my bby girl!]

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Natasha Romanoff’s eyes were something cold and calculated that reminded you too much of the cell that the unnamed agency had pulled you from twenty-four hours before. They’d seated her across from you in the darkened room, the cold metal chair digging into your spine uncomfortably, but comparatively comfortable compared to the floor you’d slept on for an indiscernible amount of time.

She regarded you with discontent, an icy type of green that you were sure would give way to a critical glare in a matter of moments. Still, you didn’t waver. Something she wasn’t used to. They’d sent her in after the overly-muscled-man with a soft blue stare and another one with a goatee from the early 2000’s and an attitude that matched.

You hadn’t broken for either of them. It was the classic good cop, annoying cop routine. Natasha Romanoff was clearly the bad cop. They hadn’t pulled her at first and you knew it was because of where they had pulled you from. A facility that was filled with nothing but bad cops. Worse than bad cops. Cops that had dissected you, pulled out all of your organs and stitched you back up incorrectly just for the hell of it.

“Do you speak?”

Natahsa’s own voice was raspy from disuse. She’d given up on the silent game now that it had been over an hour. Her manicured fingers had fallen onto the metal table and left rings of warmth on the surface. You watched as the disappeared.

She reached across the length of the table, movements assured. You tracked her with your stare but still flinched when she placed her warm fingers under her chin and lifted it, eyebrows furrowing. “There’s a scar over your larynx. Did they cut deep enough?”

You leveled her with a glare of your own and wrenched away from her touch. Yes, you could talk. They’d spared your vocal chords. You just didn’t want to speak with her. With any of them, for that matter. They’d taken you from one cage and thrown you right into another. Even if this one had heating and a plush bed it was a cage all the same.

A huff left you, instead. You crossed your arms over your chest and sat back in your seat, lifting a sculpted eyebrow. If you looked hard enough you swore that there was the slightest curve of a smile on Natasha’s lips. You wondered if they were interrogating the others that they pulled from the wreckage of the Hydra base, or if they only had eyes on you. If she only had eyes on you.

“Family, then?” She tapped her fingers impatiently. “Anyone we can notify?”

You tilted your head to the side, keeping your expression neutral. Though the subject matter was a sore spot, something raw like sunburn after a long day at the beach, it was something that your brain had forced itself to forget for your own good. Her tactics were useless.

Truthfully, you could feel exhaustion tugging at the back of your eyes. It would be easy to give up now, to slump forward and lay your head on the cool exterior of the table. Would it be so bad to give up to an agency such as this one?

When muscle-man was in here earlier, you could smell the sweetness of coffee on his breath. It was laced with hazelnut, and it was oh so different than the sour stench of alcohol that often joined the spit that coated your face when Hydra agents swished saliva around their mouths and flung the viscus at you.

Goatee was well groomed and slicked his hair back with a beautifully scented hair gel that carried an evergreen odor. It was the closest you had gotten to the outdoors in decades. You had nearly folded then, for the simple fact that you wanted to close your eyes and imagine what it would feel like to brush the tips of your fingers against the sappy needles.

Agent Romanoff flicked her gaze past your unmoving form to the reflective glass behind you. A two-way mirror, you knew. They’d been watching you for ticks this entire time, some indication that you would break and then shatter so they could pick you back up in your moment of need. They were talking to her through an earpiece that was miniscule enough that you couldn’t see it. Impressive.

“Okay,” She leaned back in her own chair, defensive demeanor seeming to soften in the slightest. Her jaw unclenched and her eyebrows unfurrow. There was a beauty to her that was unassuming even in the blaring lights above. This time her voice was lower. “Alright. Well, if you’re going to be stubborn, we might as well clean you up, get some food in you. We can’t have you rotting away in an interrogation room, can we?”

No- you supposed they couldn’t. Hydra would do the exact opposite. They’d haul you into a cell that was soaked with the scent of urine and cold and desolate and scattered with the blood of others. Already, this was an improvement.

You wouldn’t let them know that. You wouldn’t let Agent Romanoff know that.

There were cuffs around your wrists, bound tightly, but not uncomfortably. The metal was heavy, and your arms hung at your front. You allowed yourself to be hauled to your feet with dizzying deftness. Unsteady, nauseous. Natasha smelled nice and clean, and her body was warm just from its proximity to you. Base instincts told you to flinch away. Baser instincts told you to crash into her. You fought both valiantly and allowed her to lead you into a plain looking hallway.

Neither of you spoke and you were thankful for Agent Romanoff letting you set the pace. It was hard to walk. Whitehall would bark out orders and you were often hauled to your feet, dragged with a quickness that would give you no choice but to fight until layers of tissue ripped from your fingers as you fought. And fight you did. Teeth and nails until everything was raw and bloodied.

Now that you were alone, mostly alone, away from the prying eyes of the men behind the two-way glass, you relaxed your shoulders and felt the breath in your lungs leave with a little less tension. Unlabeled rooms were on either sides of the corridor, yellowed light spilling from select ones, your stare tracing the golden color.

Eventually, Natasha stopped at one that looked like all the others. She used a keycard on her belt until a magnetic click sounded. When she pushed it open it reveled something of a hotel room. Windowless, but cozy: a queen-sized bed, a television with a screensaver of a beach with flowing water, a desk and a closet, a bathroom that was larger than the cell Hydra had kept you in for an indefinite amount of time.

 It was a hell of a prison, but the door locking with a mechanical click reminded you that it was a prison all the same, your gaze hardening against the outline of the entrance at the noise. Agent Romanoff watched you carefully. Tenderly. It squeezed at your chest.

“I’m going to take these off now.”

Natasha edged her fingers against the cuffs, pressing the right combinations that released them. Instinctively, you rubbed your hands against the raw skin. They weren’t too tight. Just phantoms of the metal and the freedom that you were craving.  She tossed them on the bed with little regard.

You tracked her as she walked into the bathroom, flicked on the lights. “I’m sure you want some privacy right now. I’ll stay in the room but you have to crack the door. Standard precautions and all that. I’m sure you understand. We can’t leave you alone just yet.”

Natasha turned to you, green eyes still filled with a tepid worry. “Bathtub is just through there, already run. Towels and a fresh set of clothes are set out.”

Your fingers tightened around your stomach with fervor. It was an involuntary motion. The fabric that was stained and crusted in your own blood and sweat crinkled under the motion. It would be noticeable to a blind man and it was certainly noticeable to a trained agent. You must have paled. Must have shown some form of trembling panic. Your façade had cracked in the slightest form that piqued Natasha’s interest.

“I can sit with you, if you’d like.” Natasha sounded out.

No, no, no. That would make it worse. She could easily put her hands on your shoulders and dunk you under the water. The second you let your guard down, nothing was stopping her from holding you against the basin until you lost consciousness.

“Bathtub,” The whimper left you. The first word that you’d said since being taken from the Hydra compound. More of a whispered plea than anything. Your nails were digging so heavy into your ribs that they were drawing blood, such a small pinprick.

“Can’t”

Another punctuated word. Your throat was closing. It felt like it was closing, skin cold. They would use bags upon bags of ice in a metal tub. Whitehall claimed the practice taught patience. That sitting until your lips were blue and your skin was numb kept you vigilant. Unfeeling. Trained well and good.

When you did something against his diligent conditioning, he’d shove you under. Wait until the shock of cold made you black out, steal the air from your lungs and make you choke on the icy cold before pulling you back up and forcing you to sit in your own trembling mess for hours on end, just to start the process all over again. Hours morphing into days.

“Bathtub”

You were clawing at your throat now, trying to force air into it, like your nails would slash into the soft skin of your throat and allow the breath to flow freely. You were cold everywhere, nearly numb in the extremities. The stinging had moved from your sides to your collarbone. You were scratching at yourself. Had to make sure you were real, not submerged. Not drowning.

Agent Romanoff, at some point, had moved closer to you. That clean scent pulled into your lungs frantically. You were breathing, you knew logically that you were. Her warm hands gripped yours and pulled them away from your chest as she pressed your back to the coolness of the wall.

“Hey… Easy, easy”

Your arms were crossed over your chest, Natasha applying pressure to the center of the ‘x’ she had formed naturally. She pressed her whole body close to yours. Warmth. Security. The exact opposite of the ice bath that Whitehall would constantly dunk you into.

Tears streaked down your face, small cries escaping you as you let your head drop back against the wall. Natasha held you steady. Her eyes search your expression. She applies just the right amount of weight to you to help you breathe. You sniff hard. Swallow harder.

Soon it’s just the sound of your breath mingling with hers, of the air pumping into the room through the vent in the corner. You’re thankful that the room is fortified for sound. Much unlike the cells at the Hydra compound. Suddenly, and not for the first time today, you’re thankful for a lot of differences between the place you’d been pulled from the and place you’d been pushed into.

“Don’t suppose you have a room with a shower,” You huffed out.

Agent Romanoff scoffed, let her head fall just above your shoulder with a thump. “Yeah. I think I can figure something out.”

‘Figuring something out’ to Natasha meant taking you from the generic room on the basement level of the Avengers tower and moving you without consequence up to what you assumed was her floor. Something of a penthouse that overlooked the city.

A blanket of stars that rivaled the real nighttime sky. It was dizzying to you. You didn’t want to linger on the gesture for too long. She was being kind and had brought you down from a panic attack with the swiftness of a trained hero. You were sure that they made her take a course in that.

It was decorated smartly and smelled of vanilla. The elevator opened directly into her living area, large and stretching and chrome in a way that was not too garish. Agent Romanoff did not seem guarded about allowing you into her home. This was her home.

She removed her earpiece and set it on the table by the elevator as if it were car keys and not her lifeline to the man with the goatee and the muscle-man. There was an ease to her shoulders that showed she trusted you. Or at the very least, that she could take you.

You followed her like a lost puppy, taking stock of the modern art on the walls as she led you to a bathroom. The primary objective. This time, there was no bathtub, an obvious relief. Just a frosted shower that was as elegant as the rest of the residence.

“I can sit with you.” She offered again, this time, less cautious.

“Please.”

It wasn’t so much as begging as a simple answer to her simple question. Natasha was a gentleman and sat down on the closed lid of the toilet, making a show of clamping her hand over her eyes and crossing her legs at the knee. You scoffed and stripped and closed yourself into the shower before turning on the water, flinching under the cold spray for just a moment.

There was relief there, in the growing warmth of the water and the way the dirt and blood and grime washed down the drain. Your muscles trembled under the heat as they began to loosen. You breathed. You clenched your eyes shut, letting the drops of water fall from the curve of your nose. It felt safe to close your eyes with Agent Romanoff right outside the glass plating.

Her shampoo smelled like her. Clean. Comforting. Soon the water ran clear, and you accepted the clothes that she gave you with gratitude unmatched. Still guarded but less-so. There was a pinkness on Agent Romanoff’s cheeks, as you dressed in a labored silence that you easily attributed to the thick steam the two of you breathed in. It crept silently past the hand that hid her eyes from the world.

Instead of leading you back down to the cell, to the room, she’d taken you to her kitchen. Told you to sit down. Now that you had a change of clothes, a t-shirt that was soft as if it’d been worn a million times before, and a pair of gray sweatpants that you had to cuff at the ankles, you felt better. Well enough not to curl into yourself as much. Less of a stranger in your own body but still a passenger waiting for instructions that Natasha was happy to provide.

“I don’t have much. It’s pretty late, so if you’re willing to forgive microwave pizza, so am I.” She turned from the fridge and you gave her the smallest bit of a nod that she found endearing. “Perfect. I’m afraid I’m no chef.”

You watched her curiously as she loaded up the plate with cold slices of New York style pizza. Even now, the scent hit you and made your mouth water. It was simple, probably a few days old and certainly not as good as it would have been fresh, but your stomach clenched in want all the same.

At the Hydra compound, it had been the same thing when they decided to grant you food. A slathering of white rice and tasteless gravy. Sometimes a chunk of stale white bread to soak up the soupy gruel if you were lucky. You often weren’t but by the time they’d slide the frothy tray through the bottom of the latch in the darkness you were too starved to care.

The first time you’d eaten too quickly to digest it properly and promptly vomited it back up. Whitehall was not pleased. He’d dug his boot into the tenderness of your ribs as a punishment for being ungrateful for what he’d provided you. You weren’t permitted food again for another three days after that.

Natasha slid the plate in front of you now, watched as you shrunk in front of her, lifted your eyes to her own as if waiting for permission to touch the food. Her eyebrows knit together. She attempted to lighten the mood “Lactose intolerant?”  

“No,” You whispered with a laugh, “No, I don’t know. I… why are you doing this?”

The chair creaked as she sat back, a baffled expression on her face. “It’s my job.”

“There’s more than that. You could have left me downstairs to fight off that panic attack on my own, but you didn’t. You walked me through it and then brought me into your own space and let me shower and gave me your own clothes and your own food. I don’t… that’s not part of the job descriptions, I don’t think. I don’t deserve any of it.”

“And who told you that?” Natasha huffed out a breath, lifted her chin towards the plate. “Eat. I know you’re starved.”

She hadn’t answered your question. Not really. But an order was what you needed right now and it was enough to get you to give in to the hunger clawing at the base of your stomach. After the first bite- the first time you had flavor in god knows how long, you gave in and started taking larger portions. The desire for something human swallowed you whole, and happy hums of satisfaction brought a small smile to Agent Romanoff’s face.

Natasha ate slower than you did. With the poise of someone who had once been starved, but had pushed through that haze. When you’d both finished, she moved the plates to the sink, turned to you and rested her palms against the edges of the counter with a question on tip of her tongue.

“I don’t feel comfortable sending you back down there. I have a guest room, more than one, actually. I know that you’ve been through a lot. Too much for any one person to go through in a lifetime. Logically, it’s not safe to have you in my home. I know that and you know that.”

She paused, as if she were waiting for you to object. But you didn’t. She was right. Agent Romanoff was trained. There was good reason to have you locked up downstairs and you were perfectly fit to move back to that room. The idea of the bathtub being just behind a door made your spine stiffen, but it was manageable. It had to be manageable.

You swallowed the dryness in your throat at the thought. Something that the agent again noticed in the quietness of her own home.

“You are the only one we pulled from that compound who was not there willingly, but I assume you know that.” She hugged herself, something subtle. Something grounding. “If you are to stay here… with me. I’d like to know what to call you.”

You squeezed your fingers into the palms of your hands, letting the pressure soothe you for a moment, and then released the hold. A weighted warmth falling heavy on your shoulders, almost as if Agent Romanoff’s body was still pressed against yours like it had been downstairs to quell the anxieties that bubbled up.

“I don’t know,” You shook your head, a small pout forming against your lips. “I don’t think I’m supposed to remember.”  

Redline. (Bonus 3) | N.R

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!Racing!Driver!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), crash, blood, broken bone (detailed), panic attack

Word count: 8,1k

A/N: There’s no tissue emoji, so I’m just using this one instead: 🧻

The first rays of morning light spilled through the sleek, minimalist bedroom, painting the polished surfaces in soft hues of gold. Natasha was already awake, her gaze fixed on her laptop screen as her fingers danced over the keyboard. Notes, timings, strategies, all meticulously checked and double-checked, as she always did on race days. It was her ritual, her way of ensuring everything went flawlessly.

But even while immersed in her work, her eyes flickered toward the bed, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. You were still tangled in the blankets, one arm flung over a pillow, your hair a beautiful mess against the white sheets. The peaceful rise and fall of your chest was one of Natasha’s favorite things to watch.

Natasha pushed away from her desk, stretching slightly before walking over to the bed. She perched on the edge, her fingers delicately sweeping a stray lock of hair from your cheek.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Natasha murmured, her voice a soft blend of fondness and amusement. “It’s almost time to get ready.”

A sleepy groan escaped your lips, your eyes squeezing shut tighter as if to keep the morning at bay. “Five more minutes…” you mumbled, your voice muffled by the pillow.

Natasha chuckled, the sound low and rich. “You say that every morning, and somehow it always ends up being twenty.”

You cracked open one eye, your lips curving into a lazy grin. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Am I?” Natasha quirked a brow. “If you don’t get up soon, you’ll be the one explaining to the fans why their favorite driver was late.”

That got your attention. Your eyes fluttered open fully, the warmth of sleep slowly giving way to the familiar rush of excitement. Today was another race, another chance to prove yourself, not only to the world but to yourself.

“Fine, fine, I’m up.” You sat up, rubbing your eyes before glancing at Natasha with a sleepy smile. “You’re already in boss mode, huh?”

“Someone has to keep you in line.” Natasha replied with a smirk, but the glint in her eyes was nothing but adoring. “Now, I made you coffee. It’s waiting in the kitchen. I’ll get your things ready.”

“Have I mentioned you’re amazing?” You stretched your arms above your head, the early morning light catching your features in a way that made Natasha’s heart skip a beat.

“Once or twice.” Natasha’s voice softened, her hand resting on your shoulder. “But I like hearing it.”

You reached up and captured Natasha’s hand, bringing it to your lips for a gentle kiss. “Well, you are. Absolutely amazing.”

Natasha’s cheeks flushed, but her composure never wavered. “And you’re a dork. Now, get moving. We have a race to win.”

Within thirty minutes, you were showered, dressed, and already buzzing with pre-race energy. Natasha was all precision and efficiency, double-checking every little detail before you left.

The drive to the racetrack was relaxed, filled with quiet conversation and the comfortable silence that only comes from years of understanding. Your fingers laced through Natasha’s as she drove with her usual cool confidence, the city blurring past the windows.

“Ready to meet your fans?” Natasha asked, glancing sideways at you.

A grin spread across your face. “Always.”

The moment you arrived at the paddock, you could hear the hum of excitement from the fans gathered just beyond the barriers. As you stepped out of the car, the familiar chants of your name echoed through the air.

“Y/N! Y/N! Over here!”

You beamed, your nerves melting away under the warmth of the crowd’s enthusiasm. Natasha watched from a few steps behind, arms crossed, her expression softening as she saw you stop to sign autographs, exchange kind words, and take selfies with your adoring fans.

Natasha joined you by the barrier. A few fans squealed, not just for the famous driver but for the woman standing at your side.

“Alright, alright.” Natasha said with a half-smirk, “You’ve had your fun. Let’s get you to the garage before you start signing every piece of merchandise in this city.”

You laughed, but Natasha could see the energy it gave you. You were glowing. And today, Natasha would do everything to make sure your star kept shining.

The energy in the paddock was electric, the kind of buzz that seeped into your veins and made you feel alive. Natasha guided you through the usual pre-race routine like clockwork, her presence as steady as ever. But there was a warmth to her efficiency that only you could feel. A care threaded between every checklist and instruction.

As you made your way to the garage, you glanced over at Natasha, your fingers twitching slightly with pre-race nerves. Natasha caught the movement instantly. “Cold feet?” she asked, one eyebrow arching in concern.

“Just the good kind of nerves..” you replied, offering a crooked smile. “The ‘I’m ready to crush this’ kind.”

“Good.” Natasha nodded, her eyes scanning the garage as you entered. Technicians hustled around you, final checks and adjustments happening in a blur of motion.

The minutes ticked by as you completed your pre-race rituals, your muscles thrumming with the familiar cocktail of nerves and excitement. As the call came for drivers to take their places, Natasha walked alongside you to the car.

You slid into the driver’s seat, your hands instinctively reaching for the steering wheel as you settled in. Natasha leaned over the side of the car, her gaze locking with yours. “Remember, no heroics. Just smooth and clean. You’ve got this.”

“Got it, boss.” You winked, your cheeky grin making Natasha roll her eyes, though her expression softened with pride.

The engines roared to life all around you, but your focus remained on Natasha until the last possible moment, the warmth of her touch lingering long after she stepped away.

The race began with a thunderous surge of power, tires squealing against the track as you pushed your car to its limits.

The race was going perfectly. Almost too perfectly. Your grip on the steering wheel was firm but relaxed, your breathing steady, your focus unshakable. The crowd’s roar was a distant echo, dulled by the padded embrace of your helmet. Lap after lap, the world narrowed to nothing but the track before you and Natasha’s calm, measured voice in your ear.

“Just a few more laps, Y/n. You’re holding the lead beautifully.” Natasha praised, her tone laced with that signature coolness but layered with something deeper. Pride. Relief. Love.

You grinned despite yourself, eyes flickering briefly to the rearview mirror. The pack was behind you, clawing at your shadow, but your speed was unmatchable today. You were flying.

Then, out of nowhere, chaos erupted. A sharp, metallic scream tore through your headset, the sound of metal against metal. Tires shrieking. Engines spluttering into desperate, dying growls.

“Car pileup! Sector 3! Repeat, multiple cars down!” The voice from Race Control was pure panic, barely able to keep its terror in check.

Your stomach twisted. Your eyes snapped to the bend ahead. It was supposed to be an easy maneuver, just a clean sweep around the corner before the long straight. But the corner wasn’t clear.

Smoke billowed, thick and acrid, curling into the sky like dark fingers clawing upward. Amidst the haze, the glint of wreckage shone with a wicked brightness, metal torn and twisted like paper. Two cars tangled together, blocking the track almost completely.

“Oh, shit…” Your voice came out cracked and trembling, your foot already slamming on the brakes. But there was no time.

No way to avoid it.

“Y/n, slow down! Pull to the left!” Natasha’s voice cut through your ear, sharp and desperate, the cool edge of her usual calm utterly shattered. “Y/n, now!”

You tried. God, you tried. The wheel jerked beneath your hands as you swerved left, but another car had already collided with the wreckage, spinning out of control and slamming into your side. The crash happened so fast, it was nothing more than a nightmare stitched from metal and fire.

The sound of steel shrieking against steel filled your ears, your body thrown forward as your car skidded violently against another. Pain flared across your ribs, your shoulder slamming into the frame, your head knocking against the padded helmet hard enough to leave your vision blurred.

Then, just darkness.

The crash happened so fast, it was nothing more than a nightmare stitched from metal and fire. Meanwhile, in the control room, Natasha was frozen. Her fingers dug into the edge of the console, knuckles white, her eyes glued to the live feed that displayed nothing but a burning mess of wreckage and smoke.

Around her, the other team managers were reacting, shouting commands, issuing urgent instructions, some already sprinting toward the exit. But Natasha couldn’t move. She was locked in place by the overwhelming dread that had wrapped itself around her like ice.

“Romanoff! What the hell are you doing just standing there? Move!” A voice snapped her out of the icy paralysis gripping her. A hand on her shoulder was rough, shaking her out of her trance. She could barely see him through the haze of panic clouding her vision, but his eyes were sharp and urgent.

“I-” Natasha choked on her words, her voice cracking. Her mind was torn between the control room’s blinking screens and the burning wreckage outside.

“She’s out there..” she rasped, her voice thick and guttural.

“I know.” The men replied, his jaw clenched. “And so is my driver. We’re going to find them. Now, get in the damn car.”

Natasha barely registered the way Daniel’s fingers curled around her arm, dragging her toward the emergency exit. The world around her was a blur of frantic shouts and blaring alarms. All she could hear was the faint, distorted echo of your last words over the headset.

She felt like she was choking. The memory of your grin, your careless confidence, your unwavering faith in her guidance, all of it tore through her with the cruelty of broken glass.

They reached Daniel’s car, the bright red vehicle roaring to life the moment he turned the key. Natasha threw herself into the passenger seat, her hands trembling uncontrollably.

“Buckle up.” He snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. But Natasha barely heard him. Her thoughts were a tangled mess, each one worse than the last.

What if it’s worse this time? What if your car is nothing but wreckage, your body broken beyond recognition? She swallowed thickly, her nails digging into her own palms until pain flared in her hands. “Drive faster..”

“I’m going as fast as I can without crashing us both..” He shot back, his eyes locked on the road as the car shot down the access lane toward the accident site.

The air between them was electric with urgency, the silence filled with the muffled rumble of engines and the distant screams of the crowd. The crash had spread like wildfire, multiple cars caught in the violent mess of twisted metal and scorched asphalt.

“Natasha.” Daniel’s voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. His eyes flicked toward her, his own panic tightly controlled, channeled into cold determination. “We’ll find them. Y/ns strong. She’s a fighter. You of all people should know that.”

Natasha clenched her jaw, her lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s the problem.” she whispered. “She’s been fighting her whole damn life. And if it’s bad this time…if it’s worse…”

The wreckages came into view, a horrifying sprawl of debris and smoke. Cars were scattered across the track, crumpled like toys thrown aside by an angry child. Marshals were already swarming the area, trying to contain the chaos, but there was nothing contained about the devastation before them.

Daniel slammed the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt. The instant they stopped, Natasha was out of the passenger seat, her feet pounding against the asphalt as she ran toward the destruction.

They split up, their desperation spurring them in opposite directions, both of them scanning the wreckage with feverish intensity.

The smoke was thick, burning her throat, her lungs. She stumbled over a shattered piece of debris, her legs threatening to buckle under her. But she kept going. Because she couldn’t stop. Because you were out here. And Natasha was not going to leave you alone.

Her voice tore from her throat as she called out, her screams swallowed by the chaos around her. Her eyes scanned the mess of broken vehicles and frantic medics, her throat raw from shouting your name. The world was a blur of flashing lights, shouting officials, and the terrifying echo of her own heartbeat.

And then, through the haze of smoke, she saw it. Your car. It was half-crushed against another, the nose twisted, panels ripped apart like some brutal sculpture. But even more incredible was what Natasha saw beside it.

You.

Natasha’s breath seized in her throat as she saw the way your body sagged between the medics’ arms, your head lolling forward like you could barely hold it up. The paramedics were lowering you carefully to the ground, their words a mess of urgent commands and rehearsed reassurances.

She was at your side in an instant, her knees almost buckling with sheer relief and terror all tangled together. “Y/n. Hey. I’m here. I’m right here..”

Your eyes flickered open at the sound of her voice, dazed and unfocused. The dark glass of your helmet’s visor was cracked, splintered lines running through the surface like spiderwebs.

“Natasha..?” Your voice was barely a whisper, your lips chapped and trembling.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m here. You’re okay..” Natasha said, her voice tight and trembling. Her hand wrapped around your gloved fingers, gripping them like a lifeline.

The medics were already circling like vultures, one of them barking orders into a radio while the other started running through the protocol.

“We need to get her helmet off, check her breathing. Possible concussion. Someone get the stretcher ready!”

Natasha’s fingers tightened around your hand, her gaze locked on your face. “Stay with me, okay? You’re doing great. Just stay with me..”

The medic nearest to you was speaking calmly, his gloved hands gentle as he reached for your helmet. “Y/n, I need to take this off, okay? It’s going to hurt a bit, but you’ll be able to breathe better. Just stay still.”

You nodded, though the motion was clumsy, your head barely moving. “’Kay…Just…just don’t leave..” you slurred, your gaze sliding to Natasha’s face with a desperation that nearly broke her.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Natasha promised, her voice hoarse. “I’m right here. I’m not leaving you.”

The helmet came off with a sickening scrape of broken metal against skin. Natasha’s breath hitched as her eyes caught the glistening trail of blood running down your face from a vicious gash torn across your eyebrow. The cut was deep, the blood so dark it looked black against your skin.

Natasha’s gasp was almost a sob. “Oh God… Y/n…”

But your gaze was unfocused, your breathing shallow. “I…I’m fine. Just…just a little dizzy..”

The medic’s gloved hands were already pressing gently against your head, checking for fractures, murmuring reassurances you couldn’t hear. Natasha’s eyes traced every drop of blood, every twitch of pain on your face.

“Y/n, I need you to try and stay awake, alright?” the medic continued, his tone calm and firm. “Can you tell me where it hurts?”

Your voice was sluggish, your words slurred. “Uh…Head…and…foot. Really hurts..”

The medic’s eyes dropped to your leg, and Natasha followed his gaze. Then her stomach dropped to the ground.

Your right foot was twisted at a sickening angle, the racing boot visibly swollen. But worse than that, the thing that almost made Natasha vomit, was the jagged, broken bone protruding just above your ankle, blood pooling against the fabric.

“O-Oh God..” Natasha whispered, her voice barely more than a strangled breath. Her hand squeezed yours so tight she feared she’d break something.

“Dammit, we need to get her stabilized.” the medic barked, his voice now laced with something that sounded far too much like fear. “Get the stretcher over here, now!”

Your head was already turning, your glassy eyes trying to make sense of the panic around you.

“W-What’s… going on?” you slurred, your gaze starting to drop downward, toward the carnage of your own leg.

“Hey, hey.” Natasha’s voice was sharp, her free hand reaching to cup your face, gently turning your head back to meet her eyes. “Look at me. Just look at me, okay? Everything’s fine.”

“But…my foot…” your brows furrowed, your voice fractured by pain and confusion.

“It’s fine.” Natasha lied, her own voice shaking. “You’re going to be fine. Just keep your eyes on me. Don’t look down.”

The stretcher arrived, more hands pressing around you, securing your neck, your broken leg. Natasha hated the way they moved you, the way your face twisted in agony, the little gasps of pain you couldn’t quite suppress.

But even through the horror, your fingers clung to hers, your grip as tight as you could manage.

“N-Nat…?”

“I’m here.” Natasha’s voice was firm now, as solid as steel. “I’m not leaving you. Not for a second.”

They loaded you onto the stretcher, the medics shouting orders Natasha barely registered. Everything was a blur, but her gaze never left your face.

“Talk to her.” one of the medics said to Natasha, his tone harsh with urgency. “Keep her awake. We can’t risk her passing out before we assess the damage.”

“Y/n, sweetheart, listen to me.” Natasha said, her own panic buried deep beneath the surface of her voice. “You’re going to be okay. You’re too damn stubborn not to be, right?”

You tried to laugh, but it came out more like a shuddering gasp. “Y-Yeah…stubborn…that’s me…”

“Damn right.” Natasha’s thumb traced over your knuckles, her own hands slick with blood. “You’re not leaving me, you hear me? You’re staying right here with me.”

“’M not… leaving…” your words were fading, your eyelids drooping as shock and pain clawed away at your consciousness.

Natasha felt her own breathing hitch, her voice breaking. “Good. That’s good..”

As the medics lifted the stretcher and began moving it toward the waiting ambulance, Natasha followed, her hand locked around yours like a lifeline.

Minutes later, the ambulance tore through the streets like it was chasing time itself, sirens wailing into the sky, the city blurring into light and sound. Inside, Natasha sat wedged against the wall, one hand gripping the steel bar, the other never leaving yours.

Your eyes fluttered, trying and failing to stay open. Your skin had gone an ashen shade beneath the streaks of blood, your chest rising and falling in shallow, unsteady rhythm. Every time the medic adjusted your leg, you whimpered, barely a sound, but one that carved itself deep into Natasha’s chest like a knife.

“You’re okay.” Natasha whispered over and over, her voice cracking around the edges. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

The moment they reached the emergency bay, the ambulance doors burst open. Lights flooded in, followed by the blur of movement , gurney wheels on concrete, shouting voices, cold air rushing through the gap before the building swallowed them whole.

“Female, 23, compound fracture to the right foot, deep laceration above the right eye, suspected concussion.” the paramedic rattled off as they passed the threshold of the hospital.

A woman stepped forward, tall, composed, sharp eyes framed by silvering curls tucked behind her ears.

“Get her into Room Five-” she ordered, but the moment her eyes fell on Natasha, her entire posture shifted. Her brows lifted slightly, the recognition instant.

“Get the VIP trauma room prepped now. Clear the hallway. Tell imaging to stand by.”

Natasha stayed right at your side as the gurney wheeled through wide corridors, glass doors flying open before them like water parting.

“Vitals are unstable.” one of the medics said. “BP’s dropping.”

Inside the trauma room, the chaos turned clinical. Machines hummed to life, IVs were connected, and gloves snapped into place.

The nurse stepped up beside and leaned over you with practiced precision. “My name is Helen. I’m going to check you, okay? Can you open your eyes for me?”

You blinked slowly, your gaze unfocused. “Mhmm…”

“Good. Stay with me.” Helen reached up and shone a penlight into your eyes. “Natasha, any known allergies?”

“No. No allergies..”

Helen nodded quickly. “What’s your full name?”

Your lips moved, the sound faint. “Y/n…L/n.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“’M…I was racing…”

“She’s lucid but foggy.” Helen muttered. “Pupils are sluggish. Concussion confirmed.” She gently wiped away blood from your temple, exposing the deep gash beneath. “We’ll stitch this after scans.”

Then a second nurse moved to the foot of the bed, starting to unwrap the temporary support on your leg. The second she shifted it, you jolted violently, a strangled cry escaping your throat.

“Careful!” Natasha snapped, stepping forward, her own panic flaring. “Her foot-”

The nurse paused, her expression grim. “Confirmed compound fracture. Bone’s fully through.”

“Prep for OR.” Helen said calmly.

But that calm shattered the second the word OR hit your ears. Your chest hitched. Your eyes widened. And just like that, the panic flooded in.

“No. No-no no no!” Your voice cracked as your hands reached for anything, the rail, the blanket, Natasha. “Not surgery, not again, please don’t- don’t-”

“She’s panicking..” Helen said immediately, eyes darting to the vitals monitor. The heart rate was skyrocketing.

Natasha, cupping your face. “It’s okay! It’s just a bone, baby. Bones heal, you hear me?”

“It is-” you sobbed, your voice breaking. “It’s happening again..I’m gonna be stuck- I won’t”

“You can, and you will, you hear me?” Natasha said, forcing her voice to be stronger than the tremble in her own heart. “It’s not your spine. It’s not your nerves. It’s one damn bone..”

You were trembling, head jerking side to side as if trying to run from the memory crawling up from your past.

“She has trauma from her last crash..” Natasha said, looking up at Helen. Helen’s jaw clenched, then her expression shifted. “Alright. I’ve got her.” She turned to the nurse by your feet. “Touch her toes.”

The nurse blinked. “What?”

“Touch her toes.” Helen repeated. “Y/n?” She turned back to you, voice soft now. “Can you feel this?”

The nurse pressed gently along the top of your foot, just above the exposed break.

You gasped but nodded. “Y-Yeah…I feel it..”

Helen leaned in, voice low and firm. “That means your nerves are fine. You’re not paralyzed. Your body’s okay. The surgery is to fix something fixable. We are not going to let this become what it was last time.”

Natasha watched as the words landed, saw the slow, shaky exhale leave your lungs. Your hand, still clinging to Natasha’s, loosened just slightly.

Helen stood, her eyes flicking over the vitals. The panic was still too high, pulse, blood pressure, breathing all elevated. Too dangerous for surgery in that state. She turned to Natasha quietly.

“She’s too wound up to go in like this.” Helen said under her breath. “We’re putting her under now. I’ll make the call.”

She gave a small nod to a nearby nurse, a younger man already prepping the IV line. He moved with practiced hands, drawing a small vial from his tray and inserting it into the port.

“It’s going to hit fast.” Helen said. Natasha knelt beside you again, brushing damp hair away from your pale forehead. “Hey, baby. They’re going to give you something to help you sleep now, okay? Just sleep. That’s all.”

You blinked slowly, tears still welling in your lashes. “You’ll be there…when I wake up?”

“I’ll be the first face you see.” Natasha whispered, kissing your temple. “I swear to you. I’m not going anywhere.”

The nurse pushed the medication in, and within seconds, your body began to still. Your breathing evened out slightly, your trembling stopped. Your eyes fluttered. “I love you…” you murmured, barely audible.

Natasha’s throat closed up. “I love you more.”

And then your eyes slipped shut. The panic was gone. Replaced by a terrifying, aching silence. Helen gave Natasha a nod. “You did good. Now let us take care of her.”

The stretcher rolled out, the surgical team falling into step. Natasha followed them to the doors of the OR, only stopping when Helen placed a firm hand on her arm.

“She’s in good hands now.” she said gently. “But you need to breathe. Sit. And wait. And when she wakes up, she’s going to need you.”

Natasha stood frozen as the doors swung closed. The surgical wing was too quiet. Too white. Too sterile. Too full of time that refused to move.

Natasha sat down on a hospital bench just outside the OR, elbows on her knees, fingers tangled in her hair. The double doors to the OR stayed shut, a glowing IN USE light above them. Mocking her.

She had tried to sit still. To breathe. But her leg was bouncing uncontrollably, and every minute that ticked by felt like someone carving another line into her spine. The guilt was crawling up her throat like bile. I promised her I’d protect her. She trusted me with everything.

“Natasha.”

She flinched, eyes snapping up. Yelena stood in front of her, pale and tight-jawed, still in her coat like she’d run straight from her apartment the moment she heard.

“You okay?” Yelena asked softly.

Natasha scoffed, a bitter sound. “She’s in there with a fucking broken foot and a head wound, and you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

Yelena didn’t respond immediately. She just sat down beside her, shoulder brushing Natasha’s, grounding her like an anchor in a storm. Natasha swallowed hard. “It’s my fault.”

“No.” Yelena said firmly. “No, it’s not.”

“I put her back in the car! After everything she went through. After that crash. After her body was wrecked the first time. I pushed her. Because I missed the racer in her.” Her voice cracked. “Because I wanted to win..”

Yelena looked at her, eyes narrowed. “You didn’t force her to drive, Natasha. You believed in her when no one else did. That’s why she came back.”

Natasha looked away, lips pressed into a line. “And now she’s bleeding in an OR again. Screaming. Panicking. Because all I ever do is bring her back to the pain.”

There was a pause. Then Yelena sighed and dug into her coat pocket.

“I wasn’t gonna tell you yet..” she muttered, pulling out her phone. “But…they’re waiting for news. I called them.”

Natasha blinked. “Who?”

Yelena’s lips pressed together. “Her parents. They’re on the line.”

Silence. It was a full second before the weight of the words hit her like a wrecking ball. Natasha’s body went stiff. Her fingers curled in her lap. Her breath froze in her lungs.

Your parents.

“Oh god..” she whispered. “Yelena, what the hell am I supposed to say to them?”

Yelena’s voice softened. “You tell them the truth.”

“No. I- I can’t! I told them I’d keep her safe. I promised them..” Natasha’s voice cracked, her hands shaking again. “They trusted me. After the last time? They didn’t even want her back on the track. I had to fight for her, with them. And now she’s in a damn OR again and I—”

“Natasha.” Yelena turned to her, firm now. “They’re scared out of their minds. They need to hear from the one person Y/n trusts most.”

Natasha looked at the phone in Yelena’s hand like it was a bomb.

“She’s their daughter.”

“And she’s your everything.” Yelena said quietly. “So breathe. And talk to them.”

Natasha reached out with a trembling hand and took the phone. “Hi. This is… this is Natasha.” Her voice was hoarse.

There was a pause on the other end, and then a voice. Soft. Tight with worry. Your mother.

“Where is she? Is she okay? What happened? Natasha, w-what happened to our daughter? P-Please don’t say-”

Natasha’s throat closed up. Her free hand gripped the edge of the bench like she needed to hold on to reality. She tried to answer, but nothing came out at first. Not a word.

Then finally, broken and quiet, she whispered:

“I’m so sorry.”

Natasha’s hand shook as she held the phone to her ear, her voice cracking with every word.

“Yes. She’s in surgery..”

Pause. Natasha swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yes. A broken foot. And a concussion.”

Her gaze kept flicking toward the double doors of the OR, her eyes raw and burning from the unrelenting tears she refused to fully shed. The sterile lights above buzzed with cold indifference.

“She’s alive. The doctors..They’re doing everything they can.”

Her fingers clenched tighter around the phone, knuckles white.

“I-I’ll call you back when I know more, okay? I promise.” She clicked off, the phone slipping from her grip and landing heavily on the floor.

Yelena bent down, picking it up, her own expression unreadable. “I’ll let them know when she’s awake.”

“Thanks..”Natasha rasped. Her voice was shredded, hollow. Her entire body trembled with the effort of holding herself together.

Minutes turned to hours. The cold, merciless kind of waiting where every passing second felt like a punishment. Natasha’s mind kept churning over every horrific possibility. What if the concussion was worse than they thought? What if her leg was so damaged she could never drive again? What if she woke up and decided Natasha had pushed her too far this time? What if she never woke up?

The doors finally swung open with a soft whoosh. Natasha shot to her feet so fast her vision spun. A doctor stepped out, flanked by Helen. Both of them wore weary but steady expressions. Natasha’s stomach twisted. Her nails dug into her palms.

“Miss Romanoff?” the doctor began. His voice was calm, measured. She hated how clinical he sounded.

“Yes. I’m-” Her voice cracked, too sharp, too desperate. “Is she…is she okay?”

“The surgery went smoothly.” the doctor continued. “The bone was successfully reset and secured. The nerve function in her leg is undamaged, which means with proper rest and rehab, she will make a full recovery.”

The words crashed over Natasha like a tidal wave. A violent rush of relief so strong her legs nearly gave out beneath her.

“S-She’s okay?” Natasha breathed, her voice trembling.

“She’s stable.” the doctor confirmed, his gaze sympathetic now. “We’re moving her to recovery. She’ll be groggy when she wakes up, but she’s going to be fine.”

The tears Natasha had been holding back finally broke free, spilling down her cheeks unchecked. Her shoulders shook, her breathing turning into something ragged and uncontrollable.

“Thank you. Oh God, thank you…” Her hands flew to her face, trying and failing to hide the ugly sob that tore its way out of her throat.

Helen reached out and squeezed Natasha’s shoulder. “We’ll make sure no one bothers her while she recovers. I’ve already spoken to security. No paparazzi, no press. And if anyone tries, they’ll have to get through me.”

A wet, broken laugh slipped from Natasha’s lips. “Thank you. You don’t know…you don’t know how much this means.”

Helen’s smile was brief but genuine. “They’ll be bringing her out in a few minutes. She’s going to need rest, but you can be there when she wakes up.”

Natasha’s shoulders sagged with exhaustion. But beneath it, there was hope. Raw and fragile, but alive. She glanced over at Yelena, who had been standing just outside the doctor’s conversation, arms folded tightly across her chest. Their eyes met, and Yelena gave a short nod.

“See? She’s tough as hell.” Yelena said, her voice rough with emotion she wasn’t about to admit. “Just like you.”

Natasha didn’t have words. She just nodded.

When Helen patted her shoulder one last time and turned to leave, Natasha couldn’t help herself. She reached out and threw her arms around the nurse.

Helen stiffened, caught off guard, but only for a moment. Then her arms wrapped around Natasha, gentle and reassuring.

“She’s going to be fine.” Helen whispered, her voice low and steady. “And so are you.”

Natasha pulled back, wiping furiously at her eyes. “I just…thank you. Thank you for everything.”

The walls were a soft cream, the blinds drawn to shield from the press of evening light. The private VIP suite was spacious, silent, and most importantly: protected. No noise. No reporters. No cameras.

Just Natasha.

She sat in the chair beside the bed, elbows resting on her knees, fingers curled into her palms. Her heart still hadn’t stopped racing. The image of you, limp and bloodied on that stretcher, still looped in her mind like a cruel replay she couldn’t turn off.

Now, you lay before her. Wrapped in white hospital blankets, hooked up to monitors, your head gently bandaged. Your leg was elevated and braced in a temporary cast.

But you were breathing.

Natasha didn’t take her eyes off you for a second. A soft beep from the monitor spiked, just slightly. And then a subtle twitch in your fingers.

Natasha shot up from the chair, her heart lurching. “Y/n?” she whispered, stepping closer.

Another twitch, your head shifted faintly, your lips parting as your brows drew together in faint discomfort.

“Hey..” Natasha said softly, her fingers brushing your hand. Your eyes blinked open, slow, uneven. Cloudy from anesthesia. Your gaze was unfocused at first, drifting past Natasha like you weren’t really seeing her.

“Where…?” Your voice was raspy, so soft it was almost inaudible.

“You’re in the hospital..” Natasha murmured, her thumb stroking gently across the back of your hand. “You were in a crash. But you’re okay. You’re out of surgery. You’re safe now.”

You blinked again, your pupils beginning to center, focus returning in slow, heavy waves. You winced, your free hand moving slightly toward your head.

“Easy.” Natasha said quickly, gently taking your wrist. “You’ve got a concussion, and a cut above your eye. But you’re stable. They stitched you up.”

You blinked, your breathing beginning to pick up as awareness started setting in. “My leg…”

“It’s just broken.” Natasha said softly. “But the bone’s set. They fixed it in surgery. The nerves are intact, full feeling. You’re going to walk. Drive. Everything.”

There was a beat of silence, and then your eyes finally locked onto hers , really saw her. And the tears welled almost instantly.

Your fingers tightened weakly around hers. “You didn’t leave..”

“Never.” Natasha breathed. “I held your hand through the whole thing. And I’ll be right here for every step of what’s next.”

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes beginning to close again. “You’re warm…”

Natasha smiled gently, brushing the hair back from your bandaged brow. “That’s the morphine talking, baby..”

A small, dopey grin formed on your lips. “Good… I don’t wanna feel anything right now.”

“You don’t have to.” Natasha murmured. “You just sleep. I’ve got you.”

You blinked once more, and then slipped back into sleep, but this time, it was peaceful.

Natasha sat back down, still holding your hand. She wouldn’t be letting go anytime soon.

The early morning sunlight seeped through the blinds, a soft glow painting the hospital room in warm hues. It was quiet. Peaceful. Almost enough to trick Natasha into believing the nightmare was over.

Almost.

She hadn’t slept. Not really. She’d spent the night in the uncomfortable plastic chair beside your bed, her legs curled up, one hand still clutching yours like a lifeline. Every time you so much as twitched, Natasha’s eyes would snap open, her pulse spiking until the monitor’s steady beeping reassured her you were still okay.

But now, in the calm glow of morning, your eyes fluttered open again. Slowly. Blinking groggily against the light.

“Nat…?” Your voice was raspy, hoarse from disuse and the effects of anesthesia.

Natasha sat up straight, fingers lacing through yours. “I’m here.”

Your gaze slowly focused, your lips twitching into a weak, lopsided smile. “Still here…”

“Always.” Natasha said softly. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck..” Your brow furrowed, your hand drifting toward the bandage on your forehead. “My head feels… foggy.”

“You had a concussion.” Natasha explained, her thumb tracing calming circles on your palm. “You might feel a little fuzzy for a while.”

You nodded, your gaze sliding down the length of your body until it landed on your elevated leg. The bulky cast was awkward and ugly, but Natasha had never been so relieved to see something so damn unappealing.

“Leg’s broken?” you asked, your voice too casual, like you were trying to make the truth sound less real.

“Yeah.” Natasha’s voice was gentle. “Clean break, though. They fixed it up good. The nerves are fine. You’ll be walking in no time.”

You swallowed, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “So…not like last time?”

“Not like last time.” Natasha reassured, her voice steady and strong. “This one’s just a bone. It’ll heal.”

Your eyes glossed over with relief, the shaky exhale escaping your lips almost like a sob. “I really thought…I thought it was all happening again.”

Natasha’s chest tightened. “I know. And you pushed through it. You’re…You’re so damn brave.”

Your fingers tightened around hers. “I was a mess. Crying, panicking…that’s not brave..”

“Want me to argue?” Natasha’s voice cracked with a teary smile. “Because I will. And I’ll win.”

A half-laugh, half-sob slipped from your lips. “God, you’re stubborn.”

“And you love me for it.”

“Yeah. I do.”

Their fingers stayed entwined, the silence between them comfortable for a few precious moments. Natasha watched the way your breathing evened out, your expression softening into something like peace.

But before she could fully relax, the door creaked open. Natasha’s head snapped up, eyes blazing with protective wariness.

Yelena stepped in, her expression neutral but her eyes sharp as always. But she wasn’t alone.

Behind her were two familiar faces. Your parents. Natasha’s stomach clenched, guilt and terror slicing through her chest like a knife. But their eyes weren’t on her. They were on you.

“Y/n?” your mother’s voice cracked, the sound ragged with emotion.

Your eyes widened. “Mom? Dad?”

And then the tears came. From all of you. Natasha started to pull back, to give them space, but your hand tightened around hers, refusing to let her go.

But her gaze drifted to your parents, waiting for them to tell her off. To say this was her fault. That she’d broken you all over again. But instead, your mother walked over, reached out, and hugged Natasha. “Thank you…for being here for her.”

Natasha nearly collapsed from the sheer relief that tore through her. She glanced at Yelena, who gave her a subtle nod of approval. And somehow, that made the world seem just a little bit safer.

Your parents stayed for a while, their voices a soft blur of relief and love as they hugged you, whispered words of comfort, made promises of being there every step of your recovery. Natasha mostly stayed quiet, her fingers still wrapped around yours, never letting go.

Eventually, they slipped out for a much-needed break, some coffee, air, anything to relieve the ache of hours spent in panic. Yelena went with them, promising Natasha a few minutes alone with you.

Now, the room was quiet again. And your eyes found Natasha’s, searching for something unspoken.

“Everyone’s okay, right?” you asked, your voice still rough but stronger now. “The other drivers? From the crash?”

Natasha hesitated for a split second. “Yeah. Everyone made it out. Some got pretty banged up, broken ribs, concussions. But no deaths. They’re all alive.”

You let out a slow, shaky breath. “Thank God. That crash was…”

“Horrific.” Natasha finished for you, her gaze dropping to your hand in hers. “I saw it happen on the monitors. It was like…like a nightmare.”

“It was..” you admitted, your expression darkening. “Everything just…closed in. There was nowhere to go. Just metal and fire.”

Natasha’s thumb traced over your knuckles. “And you still fought your way out. You’re stronger than you think.”

“Not strong enough to keep my cool.” You laughed bitterly, your gaze slipping away. “I was a total wreck. If you hadn’t been there to talk me down, I don’t think I would’ve—”

“Stop.” Natasha’s voice was firm, cutting through the doubt like a knife. “You did everything right. You survived. You held on. And you’re here. That’s all that matters.”

Your eyes softened. “And you’re here.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

A soft knock on the door pulled their attention. It swung open to reveal Helen, clipboard in hand, her expression calm but focused.

“Mind if I do a quick check-up?” Helen asked, her voice gentle. “I just need to make sure everything’s looking good.”

“Yeah, sure..” you mumbled, offering a weak smile.

Helen stepped in, eyes flicking between you and Natasha with that same warm but professional gaze. “Nice to see you looking a little less like roadkill.”

“That’s a real compliment right there..” you replied with a ghost of a grin.

“Hey, in here? That’s high praise.” Helen approached the bed, her eyes scanning the monitors before she leaned over to inspect the bandage on your forehead. “How’s your head feeling? Any dizziness? Nausea?”

“Uh…a little dizzy, but nothing terrible. Just… fuzzy.”

“That’s expected.” Helen said, her fingers carefully pressing around the bandage, checking for swelling. “The cut’s clean and stitched up well. We’ll keep an eye on the concussion, but I think you’re already doing better than most would.”

You managed a wry smile. “I guess I’m not most.”

Helen’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “No, you’re definitely not.”

She continued her examination, clicking her pen against her clipboard before moving toward your elevated leg. Her fingers traced gently along the edges of the cast, checking the exposed skin for circulation.

“Any pain? Tingling? Numbness?” Helen asked, all business now.

“Pain, yeah..” you admitted, your fingers twitching against Natasha’s hand. “But no tingling. I can…I can feel everything. Well, as much as you’d expect, I guess.”

“That’s excellent.” Helen nodded, glancing at the monitors again. “The break was nasty, but they did a damn good job putting you back together. You’ll be out of here sooner than you think.”

Your shoulders relaxed visibly. Natasha felt the tension drain out of her too, her chest loosening with every word Helen spoke.

“So…I’m not gonna be stuck in a bed for months again?” your voice was small, laced with a vulnerability that made Natasha’s heart twist.

Helen’s gaze softened. “No. You’re not. You’re going to heal. And once you’ve done the proper rehab, you’ll be walking again. Racing again, if that’s what you want.”

Your eyes flickered to Natasha’s, an unspoken question hanging between you. Natasha nodded, her grip tightening. “You’ve got this. And I’ll be there every step of the way.”

Helen straightened, tapping her clipboard lightly. “I’ll come back in a few hours for another check. Just get some rest and, for God’s sake, take it easy.”

You smirked, though your eyes still brimmed with exhaustion. “Yes, ma’am.”

Helen headed for the door but paused, looking back at Natasha. “And you. You should rest, too. You look worse than your patient.”

Natasha managed a shaky smile. “Not leaving her.”

“I figured.” Helen said, her own smile gentle. “But the offer stands.” With that, she disappeared down the hallway, leaving you and Natasha alone once more.

Hours later, Natasha’s legs felt heavier than concrete as she wandered through the hospital corridors. The bright lights, sterile air, and endless sea of white walls were all starting to blur together. But she needed to do something other than just sit by your bed and replay every horrific second of the crash over and over.

So she’d gone to fetch food. Something decent, not the bland garbage most hospitals served. Because you deserved better. Always.

The cafeteria was practically empty, just a few staff members drifting like ghosts through the aisles. Natasha grabbed a couple of pre-packaged sandwiches, bottled water, and fruit cups. Nothing glamorous, but it would do.

The walk back to your room was shorter than she expected, but when she turned the corner to the private suite, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Two interns were standing just outside the door, talking in low, excited voices. “Holy shit. That’s really her. Y/n. The Y/n.” The first one whispered, his voice barely restrained from outright squealing.

“I know, right?” The second intern shook her head, eyes practically sparkling. “She’s, like, legendary. After that last accident years ago? And then her comeback? It’s insane. And now she survived this? She’s got to be superhuman or something.”

“I would kill for a chance to talk to her. Even just an autograph.”

“Forget an autograph. Just seeing her — that’s like…damn. It’s like meeting a god.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened. Her eyes narrowed, gaze locking onto the interns like a hawk zeroing in on prey. She took a slow, deliberate step forward.

The interns saw her. And the joy drained from their faces like someone had flicked a switch.

“OO-h..” the male intern whispered, his eyes widening in terror. “That’s Natasha Romanoff…”

“No freaking way…” the girl muttered, her voice trembling.

Natasha’s eyes burned as she approached them. The sandwiches and drinks felt like dead weight in her hands. She didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to. The look on her face was enough.

The interns immediately stammered out awkward apologies and practically sprinted down the hallway. Natasha’s gaze followed them until they disappeared around the corner. Only then did she let herself breathe.

She hated it. How the vultures were already circling. How they saw your pain as some kind of heroic legend instead of a goddamn near-death experience. How they would never understand what it was actually like.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open and stepped into the quiet safety of your room.

Your eyes were half-closed, but the second the door creaked, you blinked awake. And the lazy, knowing smile that spread across your lips nearly undid Natasha entirely.

“What’s got your murder face on?” you murmured, your voice a touch stronger now.

Natasha grumbled something incoherent and kicked the door shut behind her, the metal click a satisfying note of finality. “Just some idiots loitering around like they think this is some kind of theme park.”

“Fans?” you asked, smirking even as your eyelids drooped.

“Interns. But yeah, pretty much.” Natasha muttered, striding over to the bed and placing the plastic tray of food on the bed table. “I swear, they’ve got no boundaries. And if anyone else hovers near your door, I’m personally throwing them out the goddamn window.”

Your grin widened. “I love it when you get all protective. Makes me feel special..”

“Because you are special.” Natasha’s voice softened, and the tension in her shoulders finally eased. “And you’re still not eating this crap alone. I’m not getting scolded by you for making you eat hospital food again.”

“Oh nooo, can’t have that..” you joked, but your eyes shone with warmth.

Natasha slid the table closer to the bed, opening one of the sandwiches before nudging the fruit cup toward you. “Eat. And drink this water. No arguments.”

“Bossy.” you mumbled, but your fingers reached for the cup obediently.

Natasha’s gaze remained locked on you, tracing every detail of your face. The way your eyes still fluttered with fatigue, the way your lips twitched as you fought through the pain. It hurt to watch. But it was better than not seeing you at all.

Once she was convinced you had eaten at least a few bites of the food, Natasha leaned forward and gently tugged the sheets, sliding you slightly over on the mattress.

“What…what’re you doing?” you asked, your brows furrowing in confusion.

“Making room.” Natasha replied bluntly.

She kicked off her shoes, climbed onto the bed beside you, and settled herself down against the pillows. One arm curled protectively around your shoulders, pulling you gently against her own chest.

“You don’t have to-” you started.

“Shut up.” Natasha’s voice was soft, but the underlying force of it silenced you immediately. “You’re not getting rid of me. I’m staying right here. Whether you like it or not.”

You chuckled weakly. “Guess I don’t really have a choice, huh?”

“Nope.”

The warmth of your body against her own was more comforting than Natasha could have imagined. She felt the weight of exhaustion settle over her like a heavy blanket, tugging at her limbs and mind with quiet insistence.

“Nat?”

“Hm?” Natasha’s voice was already thick with sleep, her fingers gently stroking your arm.

“You’re the best.”

The only answer was a soft, barely audible snore. You smiled, your head nestled against Natasha’s shoulder, your own body easing into the kind of rest you hadn’t felt since the crash.

They were okay. Somehow, against all the odds, they were okay.

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A deceitful Valentine's

It's Valentine's Day and Natasha is on a mission. Katya won't let the day pass by without seeing her.

• Natasha Romanoff x Fem!OC (Katya Petrova) • Wordcount: 1.9k • Warnings: sexual talk (they're horny lesbians) •A/N: not proofread because it's 1AM and i'm tired :) Masterlist

Do not repost my work as your own or translate my work!!

''No, I'm not helping you so you can fuck each other's brains out in a hotel room. Or whatever it is that you lesbians do.''

''Wow,'' Katya breathed, an amused smile lingering on her lips as she watched her appalled friend shake his head. ''I thought you were a romantic.''

''Me?'' Clint scoffed, shuffling through the papers on his messy desk. He hadn't been able to look at her since she asked her question, a red tint on his cheeks. Obviously, it made him uncomfortable. Katya loved making men uncomfortable. ''Valentine's Day is a ridiculous product of capitalism, created to make us spend more money on things we don't need.''

Katya hummed knowingly, placing her hands on his desk. ''Is that why you bought Laura that perfume she's been obsessed with for months? And, oh, what is this?'' With a smirk, she plucked a Valentine's card from underneath a stack of papers on his desk. 

Swift like a cobra, Clint snatched it from her hand before she could open it. His cheeks burned as he stashed the red and pink paper deep in a desk drawer, slamming it shut loudly. ''You Russian dickheads need to stay out of my business,'' he grumbled. Natasha had been sitting next to him when he ordered that perfume, and while he thought he'd been sneaky, obviously she saw. And then told Katya.

The brunette had to fight off a malicious laugh, in the depths of her element. ''Hm… Natalia will be thrilled to hear about that card.'' She tilted her head, pursing her lips as she pretended to think hard. ''What did it read on the front, again? 'A man like me has a lot to be thankful for'?'' 

''Okay, okay!'' Clint looked like he was about to scream in frustration, slamming the papers in his hands down. He knew she was completely serious in her threats—she would tell Natasha. But Katya could keep a secret if he helped her out. ''Fine, I'll help with your plan.'' He pointed a warning finger at her. ''But if I face serious consequences because I tempered with an agent's mission, it's your responsibility.''

''Absolutely.'' Katya nodded sternly, her eyebrows knitted together. ''I'll tell them I blackmailed you with a Valentine's Day card.''

Spotting the amused glint in her eyes, Clint shook his head with exasperation. One of these days, either Katya or Natasha was going to cause him a mental breakdown because they were just so good at emotional manipulation. ''You need serious help,'' he muttered, grabbing his laptop.

~~~~

The hotel bar wasn't too busy. Most people were still enjoying their late dinner or were spending the evening with their lover, holed up in a bedroom. Natasha had seen enough of them today; couples. It's the one day of the year where people suddenly seem to remember to show affection to their partners. Dinners, movies, gifts—they were all talking about the same things, all day.

She didn't really care about Valentine's Day as a holiday. Sure, she and Katya bought a little something for each other, and tried to do something together if they got the chance to—not including the evening sex, of course—but she did it because it made Katya happy. Natasha was a moreso a believer of showing her appreciation all year 'round. Leaving a sweet note, taking her out for dinner, planning a movie night with snacks, running Katya a bath, giving her a massage. 

But Natasha would be lying if she said that she didn't miss her a little more today. This mission had been dragging on for three weeks. And while she had hoped to be home tonight, she was sitting in a five star hotel's fancy bar, all dressed up, sipping on her Dirty Martini, because Clint had given her new intel. Seducing a man, of all things, when she had a sexy, attractive woman waiting for her at home, must be the universe's type of karma. 

Lazily, she stirred her drink, seeing the bartender move around in her peripheral vision. The stools beside her were empty, the atmosphere calm; soft, classical music playing in the background. It was boring. Clint didn't say what time her target's ''business associate'' would arrive. She could be sitting there for hours. Her mind wasn't as focused as it should be, her thoughts drifting away from her.

It took her a moment too long to realize that somebody was sitting down on her left, gracefully settling down on the high stool with a quiet rustle. There was a flash of red silk, and then a whiff of a deep, sensual perfume. 

Natasha stiffened, her body already knowing what her mind didn't want to believe yet. Slowly, from the corner of her eye, she looked her neighbor up and down, her gaze lingering on their chest and exposed neck. It was the most elegant, exquisite picture she'd ever seen, the red silk dress draping around her figure like liquid. Most of her back was exposed, a decent amount of cleavage showing while the fabric ran all the way to her ankles in loose waves, accentuating the curves Natasha could draw with her eyes closed. 

This was the type of woman men used to go to war for.

Natasha's heart started to race in her chest. "Fuck," she muttered under her breath as she averted her eyes forward again, fighting to keep her cool. Preferably, she'd rip that dress off her body right here, right now, but she had a mission to run. Although she was starting to get an inkling that she might have been misled. "You're not supposed to be here."

"Would you like something to drink, ma'am?" The bartender had materialized in front of them.

Katya smiled charmingly and placed her clutch on the bar. "A Vodka-Martini, please."

''Coming right up.''

Natasha followed the man with her eyes as he walked off to make her order. Next to her, Katya casually touched up her lipstick. Fuck, it was her favorite. "I'm assuming there's no "business associate" I'm meeting tonight?"

"I thought you'd rather have me instead,'' Katya said, tapping at her lip with her ring finger. Her complete lack of fucks given about interrupting her mission and using Clint to lure her here with a lie was both annoying and amusing. Natasha wanted to be more pissed, but in reality, she was really happy to see her.

"You're not wrong, but I am supposed to be on duty around the clock."

"Screw the mission,'' Katya declared, tossing her lipstick and mirror back in her clutch before turning to face her girlfriend. She tilted her head, a smile on her perfectly kissable lips. ''It's Valentine's Day. We're not supposed to be apart."

Part of Natasha's brain wasn't working correctly. Katya's alluring appearance had hypnotized her. She wasn't sure if she wanted to sculpt her beauty into marble for all eternity to see, or worship her body all night until it was covered in drops of sweat. "So you sabotaged my mission because you missed me too much?" She smirked, finally giving in and turning her body in Katya's direction.

The brunette shrugged, something mischievous flashing across her face. "Maybe I'm just incredibly horny."

Caught off guard by her bold statement, Natasha nearly lost her composure. "Are you?" She mused, ignoring the twitch low in her stomach.

Instead of answering, Katya smirked confidently. "Are you?"

"Definitely." She couldn't lie—or joke—about the impact Katya had on her, her teasing demeanor fading into an intense, lustful one as she took the time to take in Katya's appearance once more. "You look fucking incredible," she muttered, noting how Katya shifted on her stool at the desire in her voice.

In that dress, she was an expensive, rich wine from France and Natasha was the alcoholic who hadn't had a drop in three weeks. It took every ounce of self-control to stay seated. Her throat was dry, her hands were itching. 

Reluctantly tearing her gaze away, Natasha reached for her drink and took a big sip. It didn't fix her burning throat, but the sensation brought her back to Earth. "Maybe I should leave more often so you can interrupt my missions looking like this," she joked.

Katya chuckled, slowly circling the rim of her Martini glass with her finger. "Or, you can take me out to dinner sometime, give me a reason to dress up." Her gaze met Natasha's. "Maybe to one of those posh restaurants where I would actually have to wear underwear to."

Natasha's fingers tightened around her glass, her wide eyes flickering to Katya's hips. "Baby…" Katya had prepared for this night to end one way, and with how she was working her up, Natasha knew it was going to be good. She smiled to herself, excitement flooding her veins. "I'm gonna buy Clint such a big bottle of Vodka when I get back."

"I don't think he's gonna be able to look at us for a while. It's pretty obvious what I was planning when I asked him to help us meet up. At night. In a hotel."

"Oh, yeah?" Natasha smirked.

Katya raised an eyebrow. "If I'm still able to walk out of here by myself tomorrow, I'm gonna make you pay for this dress."

Natasha chuckled, reaching out and slowly trailing her fingertips up Katya's arm. They left a trail of goosebumps in their wake. "How about this: I ruin your pretty makeup, your ability to walk, and I pay for the dress?"

"That better be a promise." Katya's lips held a daring smirk, her body still as Natasha's fingers had reached her collarbone. "My mascara is waterproof."

"Do you doubt me?" Natasha asked, her hand ghosting over Katya's throat. A shiver ran through the brunette's body as her pupils dilated. 

"I know you like to talk big."

Natasha pulled her hand away to place it over her heart. "Katariina, you're breaking my heart."

"I didn't know you had one to break," Katya mused.

"It's a little messed up, but it's yours."

Between all the flirting and sexual tension, this half-hearted, soft joke came out of nowhere. Katya had to take a second to switch around. "Where did you learn to sweet-talk like that?''

Natasha shrugged, turning away to take another sip of her drink. ''A place where I met this girl.''

Katya's smile turned knowingly, warmth swirling in her chest. She loved it whenever Natasha spoke about falling in love with her. ''There's always a girl."

''This one was special. She cared. And nobody had ever cared about me." Their eyes met. Natasha's started to sparkle with a amusement. "Oh, and she had the most beautiful blue eyes.''

Katya fought the urge to roll them. ''She sounds nice.''

''She's more than just nice." Placing a hand on her thigh, Natasha leaned in more with every word, until their faces were only inches apart. Her breath fanned over Katya's chin. "She's brave, and kind, and stunning, and so incredibly smart…''

A low hum fell from Katya's lips, her gaze flickering from the redhead's mouth to her eyes. Her heart raced in her chest. ''You're trying to get in my pants.''

''I thought you weren't wearing any.''

Katya smiled amusedly, her thigh tensing up when Natasha's hand started to creep higher. This was exactly how she hoped this night would go. ''So, how did things end with that girl?''

Her breath hitched when she caught the look on Natasha's face. So lustful. If all of that was going to be released tonight, then her girlfriend would for sure make good on her promise. 

Katya's stomach swirled heavy with anticipation as Natasha brought her mouth to her ear. ''With her underneath me, naked, in a hotel room, her pretty dress on the floor, screaming my name as I make her cum for the sixth time in one night.''

And then they have bed-breaking, wall-shaking, earth-shattering sex

A/N: Please consider reblogging if you liked this fic. It really helps me :)

A Second Listen

Natasha Romanoff x SuperShy!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: Day 4: I've merged a lovely request from a lovely friend with the @taylorswiftmicrofic prompt for the 4th of January, which is 'January'.

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Natasha didn’t look at you twice when you were introduced to the team.

It was one of the most embarrassing moments of your life but it was always going to be. Standing in front of a group of intimidating strangers was your worst nightmare.

You didn’t even have to speak. Agent Hill walked you into a boardroom and all you had to do was stand there and wave. 

Instead, you could barely glance up from the carpeted floor.

They’d been told, you could tell. They’d been told that you were very shy. Everyone looking back at you gave you a polite smile. 

No one seemed to expect anything more from you. 

You wished that they could expect more. That you could be someone more confident. You moved to sit in the nearest seat. 

It was January, the start of a new year. It was the perfect time to become someone new. You didn’t have much hope.

.

‘What’s that noise?’ Natasha asked suddenly. You flushed, trying to be subtle as you turned down the volume on your headphones.

Steve’s head turned obediently as he surveyed the room. 

‘I don’t hear anything.’ 

You pretended to focus on the laptop in front of you, wishing you could sink into the sofa cushions.

‘Y/N?’ Steve called, and your heart sank. ‘Did you hear anything?’ 

You opened your mouth feeling put on the spot. Nerves bubbled up horribly.

Natasha interrupted. 

‘Don’t worry Steve, I must have imagined it.’ 

Her gaze met yours knowingly and you could tell that she had guessed that you were the source of the sound. She gave you an encouraging smile before returning to her plate of pasta. 

You still felt mortified. Your cheeks burned as you turned the song off all together.

.

Natasha could hear a thumping noise. Erratic and varying in volume. It definitely wasn’t music. It didn’t sound dangerous, just strange. 

She followed the noise instinctively, moving along the hallways of the Compound as the strange rhythm continued. 

She stopped in front of your room. You’d left the door wide open. You had your headphones on. Chunky purple ones that made Natasha smile every time she saw you wearing them. Now she was closer, she could hear a small tinny noise that must be the music playing inside them.

That wasn’t the sound that had brought her here.

Natasha watched as you bounced mindlessly from your bed to the ground, twirling and skipping from one end of the room to the other. Your arms moved dramatically in the near silence. Your eyes were scrunched closed and you were mouthing along to your own silent disco. 

Natasha leaned against the doorway with her arms folded. Her head tilted as she watched.

You turned at last towards the doorway, opening your eyes as you mimed the final part of the song. You froze in place. Your eyes widened with panic. You whipped the headphones from your ears, letting them hang around your neck. 

Natasha could hear the music louder now but she still couldn’t figure out the song. 

When you met her eyes, clearly mortified. Natasha gave you a gentle smirk.

‘I loved the performance.’ She promised you. 

You couldn’t think what to say. You never could, not in front of her. 

You covered your face briefly instead, indicating your embarrassment. 

Natasha took a few steps forward, she touched your shoulder and you felt yourself go still with anticipation. 

‘If I leave now.’ She assured, eyes still sparkling with a warmth meant for you. ‘Will you promise not to stop?’

You nodded obediently, wondering if she could hear the sound of your favourite song ending and starting again from around your neck. 

Natasha looked pleased. She gave you a thumbs up just before she left the room. Embarrassingly, mortifyingly, you copied the action. Her small laugh matched her soft smile. 

You waited ten seconds and silently hurried to shut the door. 

Then, you slipped your headphones back on, pressed your forehead against the wood and smiled harder than ever before.

.

The team was celebrating. It was only surviving the scariest missions that earned a group dinner out at a restaurant. Natasha had explained the tradition to you on the quinjet flight back to the Compound.

This time it had been Natasha’s choice. She’d picked a Pho place that the others were excited by. You followed along with your usual quietness, happy just to be included. 

The song was playing. Your song was playing. 

You tried not to smile automatically, instead you kept your head down as you focused on your noodles.

‘Oh god. Is this even music?’ Natasha commented dryly. The group laughed.

You tried not to flinch as a strange hope inside you started to deflate. 

‘Who knows? I never understand modern music.’ Steve added half jokingly. 

You watched Tony roll his eyes. 

‘This isn’t modern music’ He corrected. ‘It’s just modern noise.’

Embarrassingly, you felt your eyes well up with tears. You’d been trying to be braver, more yourself around the others. You felt stupid. You were suddenly grateful that you’d always played your music with headphones. 

You kept your head down, letting the conversation around you move onto other things. 

When you finally had the courage to glance up, Natasha was already looking at you. Her eyes were full of silent apology. 

You dropped your stare back down to your empty plate, filled with miserable embarrassment.

.

Natasha was moving back and forth in the kitchen. This was not her usual style. Her hand rubbed her neck absentmindedly. This wasn’t her style either. 

You paused unsurely and worried if she was okay. 

Typically, you only came into the common areas when you had your headphones on. It had been an easy way to reassure yourself. No one expected you to talk with them on. But, after the meal yesterday, you couldn’t find the courage to put them on. It would be too embarrassing if someone heard the music you liked to play. 

You took a step into the kitchen, hoping to get away with a polite smile and your container from the fridge with leftovers in it. 

Natasha turned immediately as you approached. You froze in place automatically. She smiled brightly at you, nervous but excited. You didn’t know what to do. You waited for her to speak, to give you some kind of direction. 

Natasha’s head tilted and for a moment you could see her thinking. Carefully, with an assessing stare, she tucked her hair behind her ears.

The wireless earpods revealed themselves.

For a moment, you were too distracted by the glittering ear piercings that surrounded them. Natasha noticed your attention and her hand absentmindedly rubbed her neck again. You realised that the gesture was her way of being shy. 

You gave her a small smile and Natasha beamed.

She tilted her head again as she took out one of the earpods. Slowly, she offered it to you on her palm. You picked it up, understanding the silent cue. You held it to your ear and heard your favourite song playing loudly. Your small laugh was automatic. Natasha grinned victoriously. You offered her the earpod back and she took it. 

Then, Natasha nodded her head towards the door. You understood her cue again, following her as she led you out of the main Compound building and into the garage. You watched silently as she unlocked a car that must be hers. 

You observed the vehicle interestedly. It was jet black, sleek and expensive looking. It was intimidating. You glanced over at Natasha with her shining ear piercings and leather jacket. She gave you a soft smile and your heart raced instinctively. She opened her car door and nodded for you to do the same with yours.

You opened the opposite door and slid obediently into the leather seat. Your fingers tangled and untangled themselves in your lap as nervousness overwhelmed you slightly. After a moment, you looked over to Natasha. 

She cleared her throat.

‘I thought maybe we could go somewhere and get lunch?’  She offered simply. 

You bit your lip. Indecision warred on your face and Natasha looked suddenly deflated. You hesitated before you spoke at last.

‘You don’t have to be nice to me. Just because of yesterday. I’m not upset with you.’ 

You tried to smile reassuringly. 

Natasha’s mouth twitched as she hid her own secret smile. It was the first time you'd talked to her directly. She hadn’t realised it at first. You’d been so quiet, trying to fade into the background of every moment. 

She hadn’t realised and then she hadn’t been able to see anything else. 

Even your smallest smiles made your eyes sparkle.

‘I really do want to go to lunch with you.’ Natasha answered you simply. ‘If that’s what you want.’

She watched your fingers untangle themselves decisively. 

‘I do.’ You smiled nervously. Your eyes sparkled.

.

As she drove out of the garage, Natasha half-turned to face you again.

‘I did end up really liking that song, you know.’ She said carefully. ‘After yesterday, it got stuck in my head. It’s been playing on a loop in there ever since.’ You watched her tap her forehead. 

She glanced back to you unsurely. You knew she was still hesitant because of yesterday. You braced yourself automatically.

‘It’s really okay.’ You tried to reassure her again, not quite believing her words.

Natasha’s brow furrowed quickly and she looked like she was thinking hard. She chewed her lower lip and then she looked down to the music system installed in her car. 

Her fingers moved suddenly as she pressed various features on the touchscreen. Your stomach squeezed uncomfortably. You didn’t want her to play it now, just to try and prove a point.

A different song began to play. 

Your mouth twisted in automatic distaste at the sound. 

Natasha laughed. 

‘This is my favourite song.’ She told you, clearly pleased by your expression. You covered your face embarrassedly for a moment and Natasha laughed again.

‘You have to give it a chance.’ She said, her voice deepening slightly as her tone walked the line of playful and serious. ‘Some things get better the more time you give them.’

Your breath hitched and you nodded. Natasha turned to focus properly on the road ahead. You watched her mouth along to the lyrics. 

She was right. By the time the song was nearly over, you were starting to like it. 

You watched Natasha’s fingers move back to the touch screen, ready to switch the music to something else. 

Without thinking, you touched her hand with your own. 

Natasha froze at your touch. 

‘Can I hear it again?’ You asked shyly. 

Natasha beamed. 

.

.

Requests are still very welcome for future January fics. More info in the pinned post if you're interested in requesting. <3

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𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭.

sumary: The last thing Natasha expected was for her one-and-Half-year-old daughter to fall head over heels for the one person on the team who didn’t like kids.

Paring: Natasha Romanoff x fem reader. Natasha Romanoff x platonic!avengers

Word count: 5075

warnings: age gap, light mommy issues if you squirm your eyes, fluffly content, Natasha being the best mom ever, light humor and jokes

Part 2

　 ゛ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓂃𓈒𓏸 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ᥫ᭡ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ༝ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 🍼 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨♡୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ᡣ𐭩 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ꩜　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ✧ 　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ 　　 　˳ 　 　⸝⸝⸝♡　　⁺　　୨୧　　　₊　 　 ˚₊

Natasha had never been the type to hope for softness.

Not for herself, at least.

She’d made her peace with that years ago—on the rooftops of Budapest, in the sterile hallways of S.H.I.E.L.D., in the long silences between missions where guilt and memory left no room for sentiment. And then came Ana. Not by accident. Not by surprise. By choice. Hers. A deliberate, defiant, I want this, spoken with all the clarity of a life finally claimed.

She never regretted a moment of it. Not the injections. Not the procedures. Not the days spent alone, watching her body change, knowing no one was coming but not needing anyone to. Ana was the best thing she’d ever done. Her softness, her quiet, her stubborn spark—that was Natasha’s legacy now. Not blood. Not missions. Her. Anasthasia Irina Romanoff. She’d chosen Irina long before Ana was even born. It wasn’t a family name, or a tribute to anyone in her past—it was a hope. Irina meant peace, and that’s what Ana was. Her stillness after decades of running. Her soft beginning after a life of sharp edges. Natasha had spent so many years living on instinct, choosing danger over safety, solitude over softness. But Ana was different. Ana meant slow mornings. Shared breakfasts. Laughter in the middle of the day for no reason at all. She gave her the name Irina because, for the first time, Natasha wasn’t surviving anymore. She was living. And Ana was the reason why.And maybe that’s why she was so protective of it—why she kept the world at arm’s length and Ana even closer. This calm, this rhythm she’d built, it was fragile in the way that mattered most. So when new variables appeared—new people, new energies—Natasha never let them close enough to shift the balance.

So she didn’t expect anything to come from your arrival.

Not in the way that mattered.

You were Tony’s daughter, and Natasha had always paid attention to the way people spoke about you—with a mixture of respect and restraint, like they weren’t quite sure what to do with someone who carried the Stark name but none of his chaos. She knew you joined S.H.I.E.L.D. when you were barely old enough to be called an adult, that you’d carved your space without leaning on legacy, and that you’d been stationed in England for the last few years—low profile, high results.

She also knew something more personal. Something quieter.

You didn’t like children.

Not in a cold, heartless way. You weren’t cruel. You were respectful—always. Natasha remembered the way you helped Lila Barton when she scraped her knee during a holiday visit, how you’d stayed still and calm while the girl sobbed against your shoulder. But the moment she calmed, you’d set her down gently and disappeared from the room like your presence had been an accident. You didn’t mock them, or treat them like they were less-than. You just… didn’t want them near. Didn’t invite them close. Natasha understood that. Some people didn’t crave the chaos, the unpredictability, the weight of something small depending on you.

That was fine.

That was expected.

Which is why she didn’t even flinch when she brought Ana to the morning briefing.

The meeting was scheduled in one of the larger lounge rooms—bright windows, low coffee tables, plenty of space for Ana to exist without needing constant wrangling. Natasha had done this dozens of times. Her daughter came with her everywhere now. She didn’t leave Ana behind unless she absolutely had to. The team had long since adapted.

You, however, were new.

She entered the room with Ana tucked against her side, one arm looped around the child’s waist with practiced ease. You were already seated—coffee in hand, face unreadable, posture casual but distant. Natasha didn’t expect more than a polite nod, maybe a glance. And that’s what she got. You didn’t tense. You didn’t retreat. You simply acknowledged her presence and turned your eyes back to the screen.

But Ana didn’t.

Ana saw you. And for the first time since Natasha could remember, her daughter paused.

Not in fear. Not in confusion. In recognition.

It started as a slow shift—her little body repositioning against Natasha’s ribs, eyes locked in your direction, curious and alert. Then the squirming began. Not impatient, not fussy—focused. Ana leaned out of her arms, little hand pointing downward.

Natasha frowned. “What’s going on, kotyonok?” she murmured, brushing her lips lightly across Ana’s hair.

“Down,” Ana whispered.

Natasha blinked.

Ana rarely asked to leave her arms during meetings. And never in unfamiliar rooms. She’d been clingy the last few days—teething, off her sleep schedule, adjusting to so many new faces around the compound again. But now, her little legs were kicking softly, hands gripping at Natasha’s shirt in earnest.

“Down,” she repeated.

Natasha hesitated—glanced at you.

You weren’t watching Ana anymore. You were watching her. Confused. Curious. But not annoyed. Not disapproving.

Natasha could read people down to the smallest twitch of a muscle, and in that moment, she read one thing clearly: you didn’t know what was happening either.

So she shifted forward and lowered Ana gently to the carpeted floor.

Ana’s sneakers touched down. She took one look back—brief, instinctive—then turned toward you like she already knew the path.

Natasha’s chest tightened.

One step. Then another.

You looked up.

There was a breath, the room shrinking around it.

Ana stopped at your knees. Her curls were mussed from her mother’s shoulder, her little fox plush dangling from one hand. She tilted her head to look at you properly. She didn’t blink.

And then she lifted both arms toward you.

“Lap.”

You froze.

Not in fear. Not rejection. Natasha saw it—something break quietly across your expression, the way your eyebrows lifted just slightly, like your own body didn’t understand how it was reacting before your brain caught up. There was no mask now. No calm Stark logic, no precise detachment. Just you—and the shock of being chosen by someone so small, so unrelenting, and so certain.

Natasha didn’t move.

She stood where she was, heart pounding quietly behind her ribs, not from fear or worry—but something more intimate. Something that reached the parts of her still holding every shattered version of family she’d ever known. She watched as you stared down at the child who had never, not once, walked into a stranger’s arms. And she waited. Because whatever happened next… would matter.

You didn’t reach for Ana immediately.

Natasha noticed the exact moment your eyes lifted—not to the child now reaching for you with unwavering certainty, but to her. And it wasn’t a question. Not quite. There was no panic in your expression, no discomfort. Just a pause. A stillness that asked without words: Is this alright?

And Natasha, who rarely let anyone past the perimeter of her trust, gave you the smallest, most intentional nod.

You moved like someone reaching into deep water—carefully, gently, aware of the weight of what you were about to hold. Your hands met Ana’s sides, small and secure, and you lifted her with practiced ease, as though this wasn’t the first time, as though her body already knew how to fold against yours. She settled into your lap like it belonged to her.

Like she had always meant to end up there.

Natasha’s breath caught in her throat.

Ana laid her head lightly against your chest, little cheek pressing into the dark fabric of your jacket. One of her hands tucked the fox between your arm and her belly; the other—small, dimpled fingers—reached up to your collarbone and found your hand.

And then she started to play.

Not with toys, not with distractions. Just your hand. Your fingers. One by one she explored them, pressing her thumb into your palm, curling your pinky against her own, dragging the tips along her forehead in idle motion. Her eyes drifted half-closed, calm and curious, while you stayed perfectly still—watching her with that same look Natasha couldn’t read.

It was almost unbearable, the quiet of the moment.

The meeting had technically begun, but Natasha hadn’t registered a single word Steve said. She hadn’t even sat down. She just stood near the door, arms crossed, eyes on the impossible softness blooming in front of her.

Because that’s what it was. Impossible.

You hadn’t flinched. You hadn’t hesitated. You hadn’t done what most people did—smile politely, hand Ana back, or distract her with something shiny so they could pass her off. You were just… there. Entirely present. Letting her settle. Letting her explore. Letting her choose.

And she had chosen you.

The worst part—if she could call it that—was that Natasha wasn’t angry. She wasn’t suspicious. She wasn’t even surprised anymore.

Because looking at you now—back straight, eyes lowered, completely surrendered to the tiny storm nestled in your lap—something made sense in her chest that hadn’t before.

Ana had found something.

Or maybe, someone.

And Natasha wasn’t sure what that meant yet, or how far she would allow it to grow—but for the first time in longer than she could remember, she didn’t feel the need to pull away. She walked slowly to her seat across from you, quiet as a shadow, never breaking the spell. And when she sat down, she didn’t take her eyes off you. The briefing wrapped without fanfare.

Steve’s voice faded into background noise, Bruce gathered his notes, and the others filtered out one by one with practiced efficiency. No one commented on Ana—no one dared. Maybe because they saw the weight of the moment. Maybe because it wasn’t theirs to touch.

The room was almost too quiet now.

Ana had slipped fully into sleep, her tiny hand still curled lazily around your finger, her head rising and falling against your chest like she’d found the safest place in the universe. You hadn’t moved. Not really. Just shifted to make her more comfortable—let her sink deeper into you without hesitation, like her weight belonged there.

Natasha couldn’t look away.

You hadn’t noticed—at least, she thought you hadn’t. You never were one to fidget under attention. But there was something different about you now. Something unguarded beneath all that calm.

“I have to admit,” she said, voice low, “this wasn’t how I pictured our first real conversation going.”

You glanced at her, brow arching just a little. “And how did you picture it?”

Natasha’s lips twitched. “Not with my daughter wrapped around you like a vine.”

You leaned back slightly, careful not to disturb Ana, and gave her that expression—dry, sharp, quietly amused. “You sound jealous.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “Should I be?”

You made a show of glancing down at Ana, then shrugged one shoulder—so subtle it barely moved her. “She’s got good taste.”

The laugh caught in Natasha’s throat before she could stop it. Soft, surprised. God, you were so damn composed, and yet there was something underneath that surface—a spark of something warmer, something playful. She hadn’t expected that. And she was rarely caught off guard.

“I should warn you,” she said, leaning her elbows on the table. “If you let her get used to that lap, you’re going to regret it.”

“I don’t regret much.”

“She’s one and a half. You’ll regret it the next time you try to drink a coffee without someone demanding half of it.”

You smiled—not a smirk, not your usual reserved grin. An actual smile. And Natasha had to look away, just for a moment, because something in her chest pulled taut at the sight.

“And here I thought you brought her to meetings as a distraction tactic,” you said.

She looked back at you with narrowed eyes, playful. “You think I’d use my daughter to throw someone off their game?”

“I think,” you said, gaze darkening just a little, “that if anyone could weaponize a toddler, it’d be you.”

Natasha laughed, this time all the way—low and warm in her chest, real in a way she didn’t usually allow to slip out. She shook her head, leaning back in her chair.

“You’re dangerous,” she muttered.

You tilted your head. “Me? You’re the trained assassin.”

“Exactly.” Her eyes dropped to the sleeping girl between you. “And you’re the one she asked for.”

The silence curled again. Not cold. Not awkward. Just thick with something unnamed.

You looked down at Ana once more, brushing a thumb lightly over her curls where they stuck up against your collar. “Don’t get used to this,” you said, not looking at Natasha. “I’m still not a fan of kids.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” she replied, watching the way you softened around the edges without realizing it.Natasha didn’t argue—she didn’t have to. The proof was already wrapped around your side in cookie-stained pajamas. She just watched you go, a quiet smile tugging at her mouth, the kind that stayed long after you’d left the room.

She knew this wouldn't be a one- time thing. 

A few days later, the morning unfolded differently, slower. Late morning sunlight filtered lazily into the kitchen, warm and indifferent. It fell across the countertops, gleamed off metal handles, and lit the soft chaos that was breakfast—or rather, the battle of breakfast.

Ana was seated in her high chair like a tiny queen in revolt, arms crossed firmly, lips pursed in open rebellion. The oatmeal had gone cold fifteen minutes ago. Natasha had tried coaxing, bribing, even threatening to call Bruce if she didn’t eat. Nothing worked. The spoon sat abandoned in the bowl like a white flag.

“You are so lucky you’re cute,” Natasha muttered, scrubbing a hand down her face. “Other people’s kids don’t get away with this.”

Ana remained unimpressed. She glared past Natasha’s shoulder as if expecting reinforcements.

The door creaked open behind them.

Natasha didn’t turn around right away—she was too focused on pretending she wasn’t about to lose a diplomatic war with a toddler. But she didn’t need to look. She could hear it: the shuffle of slow, dragging footsteps, the soft grunt of someone whose soul was not yet awake. Then came the familiar hiss of the espresso machine, followed by the rustling of a bakery bag.

You’d arrived.

She turned.

You looked… awful.

Delightfully awful.

Hair wild from sleep, hoodie half-zipped, mismatched socks peeking out under flannel pants. You were cradling your coffee mug like a lifeline, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth in a petulant line that said you’d only been conscious for five minutes and deeply regretted that fact.

In your other hand: a cheese croissant, still warm, still flaking. You tore off a corner and bit into it like someone performing life-saving triage.

Ana stared, Hard. So damn hard.

Not at Natasha. Not at the bowl of oatmeal she’d rejected like poison. But at you.

You took another bite, chewed, then finally glanced up—and blinked, slow and heavy.

Your gaze drifted to the high chair. To Ana’s unrelenting eyes. Then to Natasha.

“I take it we’re in the starvation phase of child rearing?”

“She’s being dramatic,” Natasha said.

Ana made a noise like a whimper and kicked her feet, You squinted at her. Then reached forward, broke off a soft piece of croissant, and held it out between your fingers.

Ana took it like it was sacred.

“Traitor,” Natasha muttered under her breath.

You made a sound between a hum and a sigh and dropped into a chair with all the weight of someone being punished by existence itself. “I’ve been up for six minutes,” you mumbled. “I haven’t even looked at another human being yet.”

Ana reached again, You fed her another bite.

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “You know that’s not helping, right?”

“She was clearly starving.”

“I told you—she’s not.”

“She’s got the same face I do when I haven’t eaten,” you said, deadpan. “We understand each other.”

Natasha studied you, the way you slouched, bleary-eyed and nonverbal, croissant in one hand, coffee in the other. She looked at Ana—mirroring your expression almost perfectly, down to the pout and the silent demand for carbs.

She huffed a laugh.

“My God. You’re the same person.”

You gave her a tired glare. “Keep talking. See if I share.”

“You’re both insufferable when hungry.”

“Sounds like someone’s jealous.”

Natasha crossed her arms. “Of what? Your shared standoffish breakfast cult?”

You sipped your coffee slowly, eyes flicking to Ana and back.

“She chose me,” you said, tone flat but triumphant. “I don’t make the rules.”

Ana squeaked with joy, flailing her hands toward the croissant again.

“She betrayed me,” Natasha replied, pointing to the untouched oatmeal. “I gave her life. You gave her cheese.”

You shrugged, already handing Ana another piece. “She’s got good taste.”

Natasha shook her head, lips twitching as she turned away to clean up the bowl of oatmeal. “You’re both ridiculous.”

You yawned, eyes half-lidded as Ana leaned her head dramatically on the edge of the tray, already chewing the last bite like it was a reward for surviving the morning. You were still half-asleep, leaning into your chair like gravity was trying to reclaim you, clinging to that coffee as if it were the only thing standing between you and the grave. You were cranky, antisocial before noon, and notoriously stubborn about food—especially when it was yours.

Which is why Natasha watched with mild astonishment as you rolled your eyes in a perfectly theatrical arc, sighed like a martyr, and wordlessly handed the rest of your croissant to Ana.

She squeaked with joy and took it like treasure, immediately stuffing the larger half into her mouth with both hands.

“Unbelievable,” Natasha muttered, not even bothering to hide her smile.

You ignored her, sipping your coffee in silence like you regretted every decision that had led to this exact moment. Your eyes were dark and tired, but there was no real irritation behind them. Just that quiet resignation you always wore when you knew you were losing a battle you never meant to fight in the first place.

You took another sip, then looked at her across the kitchen—eyes still half-lidded, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Give me the oatmeal.”

Natasha blinked. “What?”

You gestured vaguely toward the abandoned bowl. “She doesn’t want it. And I’m starving.”

A beat of silence stretched between you.

Then, without a word, Natasha reached for the bowl and walked it over, setting it in front of you with a raised eyebrow. You didn’t meet her gaze. You just set your coffee aside and picked up the spoon like someone about to make peace with their fate.

Ana was already chewing noisily beside you, bits of pastry stuck to her cheek.

Natasha crossed her arms, leaning against the counter again. “So let me get this straight,” she said, lips twitching. “You won’t share food with me, but she gets the last of your croissant and your breakfast?”

“She didn’t ask for it,” you said without looking up. “She demanded it with her eyes.”

“Right. So toddler mind control. That’s the explanation we’re going with.”

“She’s persuasive.”

“She’s one and a half.”

You glanced up then, finally, spoon midair. Your expression was blank, deadpan, and yet something in your eyes sparked with mischief.

“So am I,” you said.

And Natasha felt it—that little flicker again. The warmth that was growing far too easily in the quiet spaces between these moments. It settled somewhere under her ribs, soft and persistent.

You looked back down and took a bite of the oatmeal without flinching.

Ana, satisfied and full of croissant, leaned against the side of your arm and let out a sigh so deep it could only have come from the depths of her soul.

Natasha didn’t say anything else.

She just stood there, watching the two of you—both stubborn, both sleepy, both impossible—and thought, this isn’t going to stay simple, is it?

But she didn’t say that either.

She just smiled.And watched you keep pretending like you weren’t already halfway hers.Days passed like that—quiet, unspoken things folding themselves into the rhythm of the compound. You didn’t come looking for Ana, but she kept finding you anyway. And Natasha… well, she kept watching. Kept noticing the way your edges softened more each time.

Then came the briefing.

It had started as a simple mission briefing. Nothing classified, nothing urgent—just a routine strategy session with the new intel team that Natasha absolutely couldn’t reschedule. One hour, tops. Ana would barely notice she was gone.

She was so wrong.

Clint had been her first call. Obvious choice. He knew how to juggle five kids and a mission report without blinking. But the moment Natasha handed Ana over, the girl went stiff in his arms like a statue, then started wailing as if he’d personally betrayed her.

Wanda tried next. Ana let her hold her for a full five seconds before twisting away like a feral cat and screeching “NO!” in a tone that made two agents duck for cover.

Steve, bless him, had approached with his most diplomatic smile and a stuffed bear in hand, only to be met with the full force of toddler disdain. Ana didn’t scream that time—just buried her face in Natasha’s neck and growled.

And Natasha… Natasha was five minutes late to her briefing and dangerously close to losing her mind.

Which is why, when you happened to pass by—coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, clearly heading for the lab and not remotely interested in babysitting—Natasha didn’t think.

She acted.

“Ana, sweetheart?” she whispered, shifting the toddler to her hip. “Do you want to go see her?”

Ana lifted her head.

Wide green eyes blinked once. Then a slow, devilish smile curled across her face.

That was all Natasha needed.

“Catch,” she said dryly.

You turned just in time to fumble and catch the small human now squirming gleefully into your arms like she belonged there.

“Wait—what the—”

“Thanks!” Natasha called over her shoulder, already halfway down the corridor before you could protest.

Ana squealed in delight.

Natasha didn’t look back.

She made it to the meeting just in time. And to her own surprise, she didn’t spend the whole thing worried. Something about knowing Ana was with you—despite the fact you hated children (or said you did)—had her oddly at ease.

By the time she wrapped up and returned to the common floor, it had been almost ninety minutes. The hallway smelled faintly of coffee and cleaning supplies. Bruce’s voice echoed from the open lab door, calm and methodical, talking through some kind of energy recalibration.

And there you were.

One hip leaned against the table, the other supporting Ana, who looked perfectly at home in the crook of your arm.

Your hair was pulled into a haphazard bun, your shirt was half-untucked and absolutely covered in cookie crumbs. Ana’s fingers were dusted with sugar. You were talking to Bruce about vibrational decay patterns in multi-core reactors, as if the weight of a toddler on your hip was completely natural. Your other hand gestured midair, precise, animated, still clutching a small whiteboard marker.

Ana watched your mouth move as if following every word.

Then she gagged—loudly and dramatically.

Not because of anything serious. Just… toddler flair.

You paused mid-sentence, looked down, and sighed. “Rude.”

Bruce snorted. “She takes after you.”

“She has better fashion sense.”

Ana giggled, then burrowed her face into your shoulder.

Natasha stood in the doorway, unnoticed for a second longer, just… watching. The way your body shifted automatically to balance Ana’s weight. The way you wiped her mouth with the edge of your sleeve without looking. The way you didn’t rush to give her back, or seem particularly bothered by the crumbs now stuck to your pants.

She cleared her throat.

You looked up, brows raised. “Hey.”

Natasha raised one eyebrow. “So… is this your new lab assistant?”

You looked at Ana, who blinked at her mother and clung just a little tighter.

“She works for cookies,” you said. “And occasionally heckles my equations.”

Natasha bit back a smile, folding her arms. “Well, she’s my daughter.”

“She’s very opinionated,” you said dryly, adjusting her on your hip. “She gagged at my thesis. I’m considering it a peer review.”

Ana giggled again, tucking her head against your collarbone.

Natasha stared at the two of you for another second, then finally stepped forward, brushing a few crumbs off your shoulder. Her fingers lingered a little longer than they needed to.

“You’re a mess,” she murmured.

You smirked. “I could be Your mess.”

She looked at you. And the words stuck somewhere behind her teeth, She didn’t say them.

Not yet.

Instead, she stepped forward, reaching her arms out gently. “Alright, peanut,” she said softly. “Come here.”

Ana blinked up at her mother, expression unreadable for a split second… then, without protest, reached out. You transferred her easily, and the little girl immediately curled into Natasha’s hold like she’d been waiting for it all along—her thumb going straight to her mouth, her head resting against the curve of her mother’s neck.

Warm.

Quiet.

Home.

Natasha’s hand rubbed small circles against her daughter’s back, and for a second, she just breathed her in. The scent of cookies, and your cologne, and a hint of vanilla shampoo clinging to soft hair.

“She’s full of sugar and attitude,” you said, brushing a crumb off your shirt.

Natasha glanced at you over Ana’s curls. “She’s exactly where she gets it from.”

You tilted your head, already sipping the coffee you’d left to cool. “You sure about that?”

Her smile curved lazily. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Then she walked away—Ana heavy and content in her arms, safe, sleepy, and smiling like someone who had everything she wanted in one place. Natasha had gone to her apartment at the Tower —just late enough for the city to fall into a quieter rhythm, just early enough that Natasha hadn’t had time to put up her usual walls.

Ana was half-asleep on her shoulder, cheek pressed against her collarbone, and Natasha held her like she was made of something finer than glass. There was oatmeal in her hair. Cookie crumbs on her onesie. A smudge of ink on her tiny palm, and no one knew how it got there.

But Natasha had seen it.

She had seen it.

She’d walked into that lab expecting chaos—Bruce hunched over a console, a loose wire sparking somewhere, maybe you arguing with JARVIS about protocols. But instead she found you standing still in the middle of it all, with Ana on your hip and your shirt covered in evidence of breakfast bribery.

You didn’t even pause the conversation with Bruce. You just kept talking about cellular decay patterns, as if you hadn’t realized Ana was happily gnawing on a pencil and gagging every time you used the word “neurotransmitter.”

And that sound you made—that little laugh when she fake-gagged for the third time?

It rewired something in Natasha.

Now she sat at the edge of Ana’s bed, staring down at the little culprit like she’d committed an unforgivable act of treason.

“You traitor,” she whispered.

Ana, half-asleep and blissfully unaware of her crimes, blinked lazily at her mother, thumb already in her mouth.

Natasha sighed, brushing a loose curl from her daughter’s cheek.

“You did this on purpose.”

Ana made a content hum and reached for her blanket.

“Don’t play innocent now,” Natasha murmured, tucking the soft fabric under her chin. “I was fine. You hear me? I had balance. I had boundaries. I had one thing—one tiny, simple rule that I lived by.”

Ana blinked again. Unbothered.

“Don’t fall for anyone.”

Natasha exhaled through her nose, quiet and helpless.

“You were supposed to be the only love of my life, peanut. You. I planned for you. I fought for you. You were the only thing I ever let myself want.”

She leaned down, pressing a kiss to Ana’s hair.

“I walked into that room today and you were hers. Just—completely and shamelessly hers. You were giving her orders like a little general and she was just taking it. And smiling. She never smiles like that.”

Ana giggled softly, maybe in her sleep. Natasha narrowed her eyes.

“Is this part of your long con? Huh? Were you trying to get yourself a stepmama? Because listen—if that’s your endgame, we need to have a serious strategy talk.”

Ana rolled a little, settling deeper into the mattress. Her small hand rested against her chest, and Natasha just… stared.

“She doesn’t even like kids, you know,” she continued, as if trying to justify this to someone who hadn’t been there. “She’s the one who leaves birthday parties early. She practically hisses when Clint brings his brood around. You sneeze near her with a juice box and she’s gone.”

She paused.

“But not with you.”

A slow breath pushed from Natasha’s lungs.

“She picks you up like you weigh nothing. She lets you shove half your breakfast into her mouth and doesn’t even blink. And I saw her yesterday—reading with one hand while you chewed on the other. I don’t even think she noticed.”

Ana’s breathing started to slow again, thumb slipping lazily from her mouth.

“And the worst part?” Natasha whispered. “She makes it look easy. Like maybe… maybe this whole thing isn’t a fluke. Like maybe she could actually stay.”

The confession hung in the dark like a sigh caught midair.

Natasha leaned down, resting her forehead against Ana’s tiny one.

“I didn’t see it coming. I didn’t want to see it coming. But you… You threw her right into the center of our orbit like it was nothing.”

She kissed her daughter again, voice teasing even as her chest ached.

“You couldn’t have picked someone older? Someone predictable? Someone who’s not Tony Stark’s daughter, for god’s sake?”

Ana didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Natasha ran a slow hand down her back, feeling the weight of love settle over her like a soft storm.

“You’re trouble,” she murmured. “But the best kind.”

Then she stood, brushing her fingers one last time across Ana’s cheek.

“You really couldn’t wait for me to fall first, huh?”

She flicked off the light.

Behind her, Ana slept soundly.

And Natasha stayed frozen in the doorway for just a moment longer… shaking her head to herself.

“Keep telling yourself that,” she muttered, her voice low and wry—aimed at the girl down the hall who had no idea what she’d just done.

A Feline Connection Part 2

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha has an unexpected reunion while on a mission.

Part 1 | Part 2

Warnings: light fluff, slight angst, mention of gun

Words: 4703

Natasha sits at a small outdoor table, blending effortlessly with the weekend crowd outside a nondescript café. Dressed casually in a simple jacket, jeans, and sunglasses, she appears to be just another city dweller enjoying a quiet morning coffee.

Beneath the surface, however, her sharp eyes remain focused on the apartment building across the street, subtly monitoring every individual entering or leaving. 

The team had received a tip suggesting that one of the building’s occupants might have ties to the city’s criminal underworld and could possess some information about an upcoming weapons deal they were investigating.

Natasha’s mission is to uncover more, though the lead is vague. They only know that the target supposedly resides in this area, leaving Natasha with little to do but wait and watch for anything suspicious.

Maintaining her undercover guise, Natasha casually lifts her coffee cup to her lips. Just as the rim touches her mouth, she feels a gentle nudge against her leg. 

Startled, she frowns slightly and glances under the table to investigate.

Wide, familiar yellow eyes stare back at her, unblinking.

For a second, Natasha considers the possibility that it’s just a coincidence. 

There must be dozens of black cats in the city, but when her gaze shifts to the sleek gold tag hanging from the cat’s collar, she reads the ironic name engraved on it.

Widow meows, placing her paw on Natasha’s leg and nudging her again, this time with more insistence, as if greeting an old friend.

Natasha can’t help the small smile that tugs at her lips.

“Hey, it’s been a while,” she murmurs, lifting Widow onto her lap. She gently scratches behind the cat’s ears, feeling the soft, familiar fur beneath her fingers. 

“Did she lose you again?” Natasha asks the cat with a slight chuckle.

Before Natasha can react, a soft, amused huff appears near her ear, followed by a low voice.

“Is that really how you think of me?”

Natasha starts slightly, momentarily caught off guard by the fact that she hadn’t sensed your approach. She turns her head to find you standing beside her with an amused smirk, your eyes gleaming with playful mischief.

You reach out and gently push the bridge of her sunglasses up, fully covering her eyes. 

“Does this disguise really fool anyone?” you tease.

Natasha clears her throat, recovering her composure quickly, though she still feels a slight heat on her face caused by your close proximity.

“It works well enough,” she replies smoothly as you move to the other side of the table.

You chuckle, casually resting your hands on the back of the empty chair across from her, raising a brow in question.

“Mind if we join you?” you ask, your voice carrying that familiar blend of ease and flirtation.

Natasha hesitates, her eyes flicking toward the apartment building she’s been watching all morning. She knows she should stay focused on the mission, but the unexpected reunion with you and the cat resting in her lap has thrown her off balance. 

Noticing her hesitation, you lean forward, your voice dropping to a whisper. 

“You know,” you say, glancing around dramatically before locking eyes with her, “it’s a lot less suspicious if you’re sitting with someone.”

Your knowing grin makes Natasha sigh, but still, the corners of her mouth twitch upwards in amusement. She gives a small nod toward the empty chair across from her.

“Alright,” she concedes. “But Widow stays with me.”

The black cat meows as if in agreement, her body brushing more snugly against her lap.

You grin wider, pleased at her acceptance, and pull out the chair to settle in across from her, the faintest glint of fondness softening your gaze at the two of them.

“I wouldn't dare argue with either of you.”

As Widow curls up, her purring reverberates softly in Natasha’s lap as she strokes the cat’s fur. 

After a long morning of heightened vigilance, this unexpected visit brings a strange but welcome sense of calm. The tension in her body unravels as she savors this brief moment of normalcy, an unusual pause in her otherwise relentless routine. 

“So,” you begin, your voice pulling her back from the quiet comfort of the moment, “who are you watching?”

Natasha’s gaze sharpens, but she keeps her tone casual, taking a sip of her coffee before responding, “Who says I’m watching anyone? I’m just here for the coffee.”

You raise a brow, your smile growing. 

“Right. Because the Black Widow spends her weekends blending in with civilians, sipping coffee, and definitely not on a mission.”

“Exactly,” Natasha replies smoothly with a smirk.

Releasing an exaggerated sigh, your expression turns mockingly disappointed as you remark.

“And here I was, thinking you sought me out specifically.” 

Widow lifts her head at your words, releasing a chastising cry in offense. 

“Sorry,” you amend, glancing at the cat with an exaggerated roll of your eyes. “I mean, us.” 

Natasha chuckles at the exchange, allowing herself to indulge in the banter to steer the conversation away from her mission. 

“Isn’t it more likely the other way around? After all, you approached me first,” she counters with a teasing smirk. 

You scoff playfully. “Ah, I see—someone’s pretty confident in herself.”

Raising a brow, Natasha gestures pointedly to the cat nestled comfortably in her lap. 

“I’m just basing it on facts. Why else would you name your cat after me?” 

You narrow your eyes, a playful glint returning.

“Who says she’s named after you?” 

Natasha’s smirk widens as she leans back, clearly enjoying the upper hand. 

“You’re not denying it.”

“And I’m not admitting it either,” you shoot back, leaning forward with a grin, resting your chin on your hand as you meet her eyes.

“It’s alright,” Natasha teases with a nonchalant shrug. “I’ve had my fair share of admirers. There’s no shame in being a fan.” 

With an amused scoff, you gesture toward the apartment building as you reply with a sarcastic tone.

“Yes, you’ve caught me. My apartment is filled with Black Widow merch,” you smirk at her, adopting a playfully serious expression.

Your words make Natasha pause in her playful banter, her brows knitting slightly at the casual mention of your home. She glances briefly at the building she’s been watching, remembering the intel she received.

“You live here?” she asks, her tone more curious than accusatory.

Widow raises her head at her and lets out another indignant meow, clearly displeased by the oversight.

Natasha pets the cat’s head gently, an apology in her touch. 

“Sorry,” she corrects, “the two of you live here?” 

“Yep, third floor,” you answer. “We were just on our way back when Widow spotted you.”

Widow meows again, almost as if confirming the information, nuzzling Natasha’s hand affectionately. 

At the new information, Natasha taps her fingers lightly on the tabletop, humming in thought. She wonders if the intel the team received might have been about you—or perhaps someone from your past. 

Before she can delve deeper into the idea, your hand slips over hers, gently stopping the movement.

“I’m not the one you’re looking for,” you say, your voice serious enough to catch her attention. 

There’s a knowing look in your eyes that Natasha recognizes but can’t fully understand. Yet, instinctively, she feels she can trust you—at least for now.

Natasha’s gaze drops to where your hand covers hers, feeling the warmth of your touch seep through her skin. The contact sends a familiar stirring through her, the same unexpected feeling that often rises whenever you’re near. 

She’s still not sure whether to welcome it or resist it.

Natasha looks back into your eyes, her curiosity piqued, ready to probe deeper with questions.

But before she can speak, you gently turn her hand over in yours, your fingers tracing light, random patterns across her palm.

“At your ten,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha’s pulse quickens, both from the delicate sensation of your touch and the subtle way you’ve pointed out something she missed.

Despite the distracting warmth radiating from your fingers, she discreetly shifts her gaze in the direction you indicated.

Sure enough, a man walks toward the apartment building, his posture tense, clad in a plain jacket and a cap pulled low over his face, clearly trying to avoid attention.

Widow’s body tenses in her lap and her ears flatten against her head as she lets out a low hiss in his direction.

Natasha attempts to soothe the cat’s nerves with gentle strokes.

“He moved in down the hall a few weeks ago,” you continue casually, not looking up, still focused on tracing her palm. “Seems normal enough, but I’ve recognized his type before.”

After calming Widow to the point where her tail is no longer lashing, Natasha’s eyes return to you.

“You’ve been watching him?”

With a faint sigh of exasperation, you reply, “Didn’t have much of a choice. He’s taken an…unwelcome interest in me lately.”

Curious, Natasha glances back at the man, her eyes narrowing as she observes him. As if sensing her attention, he pauses mid-step, his gaze locking onto your table—specifically, onto you.

His body language shifts, stiffening with barely concealed interest and tension.

Before Natasha can react, your fingers slowly and deliberately intertwine with hers. With a playful smirk, you lift her hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss against her skin.

Natasha snaps her attention back to you, eyes widening in surprise at the unexpected gesture.

"Maybe that'll finally give him a hint," you remark nonchalantly, lowering your entwined hands back to the table as though the intimate moment were perfectly ordinary. 

Natasha blinks, momentarily thrown by the shift in dynamic.

A now familiar warmth rises in her cheeks, and she's grateful her sunglasses hide the flustered look creeping across her face.

Natasha clears her throat softly after a beat, regaining her composure. Glancing subtly in the man's direction, she's relieved to have a reason not to meet your gaze.

He’s no longer standing there—storming away instead, his frustration and confusion apparent in the hurried way he vanishes into the building.

Before Natasha can fully process everything that just happened, Widow hops onto the table. Her little paws rest on top of your joined hands as if wanting to be part of the moment. 

That touch settles her as she returns to her previous cool demeanor.

“You were using me,” Natasha accuses, her voice carrying a mix of mock indignation and dry amusement.

You grin, utterly unfazed. 

“And in return, I gave you valuable intel to move your little operation along.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow playfully with a slight huff. 

“You could’ve just told me from the start.”

Your smirk widens, your eyes gleaming with mischief. 

“But where’s the fun in that?”

Natasha shakes her head, her lips twitching upward in a reluctant smile. Despite your methods and actions, you did give her a new lead on her mission. 

Though, now she has to handle this new situation—the tension between you two.

Even though the man is gone, you haven’t released her hand, and she doesn’t pull away either. 

Something else lingers in the air between you, something unspoken but undeniable. 

Widow nudges her head against your hands as if offering her approval of the unfolding moment. 

Natasha’s gaze drifts to the cat before her eyes return to you, her expression softening.

“You two never came by the Compound after that night,” Natasha comments softly, her tone casual but tinged with a hint of disappointment.

You shrug lightly and reply with a sly grin, “I’m sure Stark didn’t appreciate how easily I bypassed his security system.”

Natasha chuckles lightly at the memory. 

“Telling him about that was the best part. You should’ve seen his face.”

You let out a soft laugh, the moment lingering in comfortable silence.

Eventually, you slowly release her hand, your fingers trailing against hers before pulling away completely. 

Standing up, you adjust your jacket with casual ease. 

“Well, now that you know where we live,” you say, nodding toward the building, “feel free to drop by whenever you’re not too busy saving the world.”

You gesture to the little cat, who’s now swatting lightly at Natasha’s coffee cup in a playful manner, adding, “I’m sure Widow wouldn’t mind your company.”

Natasha’s eyes twinkle with amusement, catching the cup before it could fall and giving the cat a tiny scratch on her head before returning her attention to you.

“Just her?” Natasha raises a brow, the question hanging between you with playful intent.

You don’t answer directly, but the slight smile on your face says enough. 

“Good luck with your mission, Miss Black Widow,” you say softly, your tone shifting to something more sincere before turning toward the apartment building. 

Widow gives her a soft meow goodbye before hopping off the table and climbing into your arms.

Natasha watches you walk away, her gaze lingering a little longer than necessary. Eventually, her mind returns to the mission but not without a fleeting thought of you.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha leans against the rooftop's edge, her eyes fixed on the target’s apartment in the building across her. The cool night air brushes against her face, but her focus remains sharp. 

You were right. The man you pointed out is involved with one of the organizations suspected of orchestrating a major weapons deal. His hidden familial ties and shady movements had confirmed it.

After bugging his phone and tracking his movements for days, Natasha discovered that tonight would be crucial—a drop-off containing the specs for some of the weapons in the deal and where they came from. 

She watches patiently as the man opens his door to receive a small package from an unknown figure.

The exchange is brief, and once the door shuts, the man places the package carelessly on his counter.

As Natasha considers a plan to obtain the package, something causes the man to tense, and he cautiously turns back toward the door. 

Her hand instinctively moves toward her own weapon, prepared to intervene when she spots him pull a gun, keeping it hidden behind his back as he cracks the door open again.

The man’s posture relaxes as he realizes who’s on the other side of the door, and he hides his weapon in the back of his waistband.

Natasha observes as his overly confident bravado takes over, and it becomes clear he’s trying to impress someone. 

Natasha’s view of the visitor is blocked, but judging by the man’s lowered guard, she assumes this person doesn’t pose an immediate threat. 

Whoever they are, though, they seem to hold some influence over him.

After a brief conversation that results in the man turning off the lights and slipping out of the apartment, led by the unseen visitor, Natasha seizes the opportunity to retrieve the package before he returns.

With practiced precision, she shoots her grappling hook across the gap between the buildings and swings silently onto the balcony outside the man’s apartment. Carefully picking the lock on the window, she slips inside without making a sound. 

But as she steps into the room, she quickly realizes something is wrong. 

The small package, which had been resting on the counter moments ago, is now gone. 

Natasha scans the area, her eyes darting around the room. 

Had it fallen somewhere?

A faint sound reaches her ears as Natasha walks around the room—movement just behind her.

She whirls around, gun raised, ready to face whatever threat is lurking in the shadows.

But the only thing she’s met with is darkness.

Her eyes narrow as her instincts scream that something is off. She’s sure she heard something.

She focuses on the shadows for a moment longer when a pair of familiar yellow eyes suddenly blink open, glowing softly in the dark. 

Natasha lowers her weapon, momentarily caught off guard by the sight.

Widow emerges from the darkness, its head tilted curiously as she approaches Natasha. The corner of the small package is clutched tightly in her mouth.

Natasha lets out an incredulous huff. 

“Really?” she mutters in disbelief as she kneels and waves the cat closer.

Widow trots over and jumps into Natasha’s arms without hesitation, the package still firmly between her teeth. 

Standing up, Natasha tries to pry the package from the cat’s mouth gently, but each time she reaches for it, Widow swats at her hand and shifts her head, making it impossible to grab.

“You’re not serious,” Natasha sighs, exasperated. 

But Widow only stares up at her with those wide, innocent eyes, completely unfazed by the situation.

Before Natasha can try again, she hears footsteps approaching from the hallway. 

Instantly, she reacts, slipping out of the window with Widow still in her arms, her movements quick and silent. She carefully closes the window behind her, ensuring everything looks untouched, before flattening herself against the outside wall.

The light flickers on inside the apartment, and Natasha hears voices. She listens closely, picking up snippets of conversation.

“Thanks again, I don’t know what I would have done without your help,” your voice floats through the window, laced with exaggerated helplessness.

It’s not like your usual demeanor and tone. You were clearly playing a part. 

“Anytime,” the man responds, his tone gruff, but Natasha can tell he’s trying too hard to sound confident. “You know, if it doesn’t work out with—” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I really have to go!” you interrupt quickly, your voice fading as you move toward the door. “Have a good night!” 

Natasha hears the door close with a soft click, signaling your exit. She waits a moment longer before making her own move, descending silently into the nearby alley below.

Landing with ease, she looks down at Widow, still cradled in her arms.

The cat is now lazily gnawing on the corner of the package, completely unbothered by the chaos of the situation. 

Her claws grip the package tightly, almost possessively.

Natasha shakes her head in disbelief, her lips curving into a small, amused smile despite herself. 

“You two have a lot of explaining to do,” she mutters, glancing at the apartment building.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The moment you open the door, your eyes widen in surprise at the sight of Natasha standing there.

“A bit late for a visit, don’t you think?” you tease with a playful grin, leaning casually against the door frame, trying to mask your surprise.

But Natasha doesn’t return your smile. 

Instead, she tilts her head slightly, one brow arched with an unimpressed expression and pulls her jacket open just enough to reveal the black cat nestled comfortably in her arms. 

Widow is still clinging stubbornly to the small package in her claws. 

Your grin falters immediately, your gaze dropping from Natasha’s face to Widow and the damning evidence she’s holding. 

Realization hits you like a wave, and your once-confident smile dissolves into a look of sheepish acknowledgment.

“Oh,” you murmur, awkwardness settling in as you glance between Natasha's unimpressed stare and Widow's innocent eyes.

“Well,” you sigh, stepping aside to open the door wider, “you might as well come in.”

Natasha steps past you, her eyes sweeping the room in quiet observation. 

Your apartment is neat, save for the scattered cat toys littering the room. Natasha takes it all in quietly, her gaze eventually falling back on you—specifically, your night attire. 

You’re wearing a black oversized t-shirt and shorts, casual and comfortable, but it’s the symbol on the front of the shirt that grabs her attention.

“Nice shirt,” she comments, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

You glance down and immediately realize what she’s referring to—the iconic red hourglass symbol of the Black Widow emblazoned across your chest. Rolling your eyes, you cross your arms defensively over the logo. 

“This doesn’t prove anything,” you remark. “I’ve got shirts with the other Avengers symbols too.”

“Sure you do,” Natasha teases, clearly enjoying the moment before her attention shifts to the cat in her arms. She nods toward Widow, who’s still gripping the package as if it were a prized possession. 

“How do you get her to let go of things?” 

A proud grin spreads across your face at the cat’s actions.

Walking to the kitchen, you rummage through a cabinet, pulling out a small tube of cat treats before returning to Natasha’s side.

Tearing it open, you hand it to her.

Widow’s sharp yellow eyes instantly zero in on the treat. Natasha, intrigued, waves it in front of the stubborn cat. 

“How about a little trade?” she offers. 

The cat’s eyes follow the snack in contemplation. Slowly but surely, her grip on the package loosens, her claws retracting as she reaches a paw toward the treat.

Seeing the opportunity, Natasha quickly snatches the package and shakes out its contents—a USB drive, which she tucks into her jacket.

When Natasha still has not promptly given her reward, Widow yowls in protest, having already upheld her end of the deal.

Natasha huffs lightly at the exaggerated behavior but relents and offers the treat to the eager cat, who devours it with delicate bites.

“I guess that means mission accomplished,” you quip, attempting to bring some levity back into the room. 

But Natasha doesn’t laugh. She glances up at you, her expression shifting as her playful demeanor fades. 

“You said you didn’t do this kind of thing anymore,” she says, her voice edged with accusation. 

You shrug, hands raised in defense.

“Technically, I didn’t,” you reply, though Natasha’s piercing stare cuts through your weak deflection.  

With a tired sigh, you rub the back of your neck before continuing, "Remember that post I asked you to take down?"

Natasha nods slightly, her eyes never leaving yours, silently urging you to continue.

“Well, some of my old associates saw it before you did. And let’s just say…we didn’t part ways on the best of terms.”

Natasha places the finished snack on the table, her fingers moving to absently scratch behind Widow’s ears as she processes the situation. Her eyes narrow, her tone shifting to something more serious as concern creeps into her voice.

“So, they’re forcing you to steal for them?”

You lean back against the counter, exhaling a heavy breath.

“They have leverage,” you reveal cryptically. “If I don’t cooperate...things get complicated.”

Her fingers pause in Widow’s fur, her expression hardening as the situation sinks in. 

“Then why help me? Wouldn’t that put you at risk?”

You manage a wry smile.

“If the Avengers get involved, they can’t hold it against me, right?”

You gesture toward her, adding teasingly, “I mean, what can one simple thief do against Earth’s mightiest heroes?”

Natasha shakes her head, frustration and disbelief mixing in her features.

“That doesn’t guarantee they’ll leave you alone.”

“And like I told you before,” you say, voice soft but resolute, “let me handle it. You’ve played your part. Now go be a hero to someone else.”

Natasha huffs, more in disbelief than anger.

“So you used me. Again.”

Her tone has no malice, but the sting of truth lingers.

You step closer and reach out to adjust the collar of her jacket. Your fingers brush her skin, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

“Like I said,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, “you shouldn’t get involved with someone like me.”

Widow purrs contentedly in the stillness, oblivious to the tension in the room, nuzzling against Natasha’s hand affectionately.

Natasha’s gaze softens slightly at the sight of the cat—remembering what you once said about Widow being a good judge of character. 

If this little creature, with all her instincts, trusts someone with a past like hers, then surely there must be a similar reason she chooses to be with you.

When Natasha looks up, her eyes lock onto yours, steady and unwavering.

“What if I want to be?” she asks quietly, her voice laced with something far more than just concern.

Your breath catches, the vulnerability in her words taking you by surprise. You quickly school your expression, forcing neutrality even as your heart pounds in your chest.

Natasha steps closer, the heat of her body brushing against yours as close as she can, her gaze piercing.

“Do you want me to be?” she asks softly, the challenge clear in her tone.

For a moment, you meet her gaze, steady and unrelenting, but your eyes betray you. They flicker, just briefly, to her lips.

Natasha catches it. Her lips part slightly, and the air between you thickens with tension, both of you standing on the precipice of something neither can quite name.

But you break first.

You step back, clearing your throat as if that could dispel the weight of what just passed between you.

“As tempting as that is,” you say, your voice thick with the emotions you’re trying so hard to suppress, “I can’t let anyone else get caught up in this.”

Natasha doesn’t move, her eyes searching yours for more explanation.

However, you reach for Widow instead, gently lifting the cat from her arms, using the small creature as a shield between you.

“This one’s already enough trouble,” you joke weakly.

Natasha’s gaze lingers, watching you with a mix of exasperation and something deeper—something you refuse to name. She tilts her head, her voice soft.

“You know my job is to help people, right?”

You swallow hard, the playful smirk returning, though it feels hollow.

“And I’ll let you know if I ever need it.”

Natasha narrows her gaze, unconvinced. “Really?”

Rolling your eyes, you offer a small concession. 

“Fine. Check in whenever. You’ve got my number, remember? And I’ll even send you cute pictures of Widow often to keep you from worrying too much.” 

Widow chooses that moment to let out a soft meow, raising her paws beside her face as if on cue.

Natasha’s stern expression falters, a tiny smile tugging at her lips at the sight. But even as she shakes her head in resignation, the tension between you both lingers, unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

With a small sigh, Natasha accepts your decision and steps toward the door. As she reaches for the handle, she pauses, her hand hovering there momentarily before turning to look at you again.

“If you ever decide that you don’t have to handle everything on your own,” she says softly, “you know where to find me.” 

You nod, your mask of indifference slipping back into place.

“You’d be the first one I’ll call,” you promise playfully.

Natasha lingers for a moment longer, her eyes searching yours for something that never comes. She finally opens the door and steps through, pausing briefly before turning back to you.

“Take care of yourself. Both of you,” she whispers before leaving, the door clicking softly behind her. 

The room feels emptier in her absence, the warmth of her presence fading.

Widow stirs in your arms, hopping onto the counter and letting out a soft, sad sound as if sensing the change in the air.

You lean heavily against the counter, exhaling a deep breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Natasha's words replay in your mind, sinking deeper into your heart than you will admit. 

But as always, you push it aside. There’s no room for doubt, no space for second-guessing—not in your world.

Uncurling your fist, the USB falls from your hand—swapped from Natasha’s pocket with another containing misleading data. 

Widow trots over to the item on the counter, nudging it with her paw before turning to you, letting out a sharp meow, almost as if scolding you.

“I know,” you sigh, guilt settling in as you scoop her back into your arms.

You stroke her gently, your hand brushing over a slightly raised patch of fur. The reminder of what's beneath fills you with concern for the little feline and your position.

Widow meows again, tilting her head curiously, oblivious to your worry. You force a reassuring smile, though it never quite reaches your eyes.

As your gaze drifts toward the window, your expression falters. You watch Natasha’s silhouette disappear into the shadows, a heavy sigh escaping your lips.

“She really shouldn’t get involved with someone like me,” you whisper sadly, giving Widow one last scratch behind the ears before turning away.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2

a/n: I have decided to make this into a series. It's probably not going to be like my other one with extensive plotlines and such (I don't think). But maybe leaning more toward light-hearted adventures and interactions between the two (and Widow). Thanks again for reading! I hope you'll enjoy this series too!

Lessons of love - Part 3

Nerd!Natasha x Rogers!F Reader

Wdym I'm writing fic instead of resting 😅 anyway, I just had to finish this to give my brain a break.

Whatever this is, blegh, enjoy it.

Part 1, Part 2

--

Melina’s study was an amplification of her daughter’s room. It was all neatly displayed, wall to wall covered in books, some in other languages that you were sure she was fluent in. 

There was a laptop on her desk, atop it a pair of reading glasses; a gentle reminder that geniuses are human too.

“It’s not what it looks like” Natasha spoke first. You and Melina scoffed at the same time.

“You two look like a couple. So, am I to understand that it’s incorrect, and you’re going around kissing every girl that crosses your path, Natalia?”

Natasha turned to you, her eyes pleading for help. You crossed your arms.

“No, go on. I’d like to hear what you have to say about this” 

“I… uh…” your girlfriend mumbled and you turned to her mother, finally giving Nat a break. 

“Mrs. Romanoff, I’m terribly sorry for the way you found out. Truth is, I’ve been crazy about Natasha for such a long time, but never really thought I had a chance with someone like her. And then, Fury paired us in Chemistry and things just went from there” you turned to look at Natasha for a moment, smiling. “To be fair, we only made it official on Wednesday”

“Natasha, she’s a keeper” Melina said, blown away by your sincerity. Natasha had to agree. You had a way with words that she admired. “Well, congratulations. I know you’re both responsible girls, but there’s not gonna be late night outings during school days. I can’t obviously speak for your parents, Y/N, but I hope Natasha keeps her excellent grades and you both focus on school”

“I agree, of course” you nodded.

“Now, as for safe sex” 

“What?” you jumped, while Natasha stared at the ceiling. She pleaded in Russian, but her mother dismissed her words. “Mrs. Romanoff, we’re not there yet. At all, so don’t worry”

“I’ve had the talk with Natasha, of course” Melina spoke, and it was as if she didn’t listen to you at all. “I know your father is a surgeon, but if he’s not up for helping you with birth control at some point and you need an adult to accompany you, please know I’ll be happy to come with you. You must be responsible when having intercourse”

“Which hasn’t happened yet, Mama!” Natasha intervened.

“Right” you said, though… to be fair, it had crossed your mind. Especially when your girlfriend was towering over you as she opened the car door… or did anything, really.

You might be the horn dog in this relationship.

“I’m just obligated as a parent to mention it. If you have questions, please come to me” she said, reading your flustered expression. Busted.

“Yes, Mrs. Romanoff” you said.

“Very well! Now, please, would you like to join us for dinner tonight? We should go out and celebrate!”

“Yes, of course” you smiled, sensing the hard part was over. Melina clapped excitedly, walking you out of her study. 

“I’m so sorry” Natasha rushed as soon as you were out. You stopped her with a short kiss, smiling against her lips. “Why…?”

“I’m just… happy. That’s all” you said. “It’s ok, baby. Your mom is looking out for you. I don’t mind the talk, or anything else”

“That thing you said… about liking me for a long time. That was just to get her to calm down, right?”

“Oh, Nat” you leaned to kiss her again. “You’re so clueless, my love” 

The girl blushed. She had a hard time deciding which term of endearment made her knees weaker. 

“I have to go, tell my parents and all. Remember we’re going to the movies with the twins, and then dinner with your family, yes?”

“I’ll come with you, we’ll tell your parents together” 

You shook your head no. Natasha was about to protest, when you placed your hand on her chest, letting out a shaky breath.

“I told you, Nat, they’ve been having a hard time with me lately. I’m worried they’ll scare you away”

“They won’t” you gave her a gentle look to remind her how her own mother had made her trip with her words. “Ok, I know. I’m not as good as you when speaking to people. But, whatever they say, it won’t scare me away. If I have to go through a background check or take a test or cure cancer to be with you…”

You cut her off with a kiss that turned frantic as she pulled you closer. 

“Nat?”

“Yeah?” she said against your lips, eyes closed.

“I’ve thought about it… about, you know. That”

“Oh” she looked at you, and you swore her pupils dilated.

“It’s too soon, I’m aware. But… I guess I wanted you to know”

“Ok”

“Ok” you repeated, pecking her lips. “I’ll see you at the movies. Ask Yelena if she wants to come”

“You sure you don’t want a ride home?”

“Yes, darling” you nodded, squeezing her hands. You could use the time to walk and think. “I think I’ll stop by my mom’s gallery. It will be better if she’s the one I talk to first”

Natasha nodded.

“Text me when you’re there? Or if you change your mind. I’ll go pick you up”

“Thank you” you nodded, smiling as she opened the door for you.

“I like it when you call me all those things… baby, love” she confessed on your way out. “Not sure which one I like the most, though”

“Well, then I’ll have to come up with new nicknames to see which one is better. Lucky for you, I’m good with words” 

—

You were hoping to prolong the walk, but in the end, it only took 20 minutes to get to your mother’s gallery. It was a Saturday, which meant Wanda was working until noon. 

“Hey” you greeted your friend at the reception. Wanda looked up from her notebook and smiled at you. You placed your hand on the desk and she gaped at the bruises.

“Holy crap. You weren’t kidding” 

“Trust me, he had it coming”

“Everyone’s asking me about it. Your popularity has gone up a bit” Wanda leaned forward and you frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“Jessica Jones asked me if you’re single. Darcy was similarly interested. I didn’t know if you wanted the rest of the school to know about Natasha so… I just said I had no idea”

You sighed. Considering Natasha’s concerns about hiding your relationship, it was better if everyone knew. You just had to figure out how.

“Well, I’ll fix that later. Right now I have to tell Mom”

“She’s in her office, speaking with a Japanese artist”

You nodded, walking past your friend to the back of the gallery. Knocking with your good hand, you waited for your mother to answer.

“Come on in. Oh, hi sweetheart. I thought you’d be staying home, recovering from yesterday”

“It’s just a bruise, Mom. Nothing to recover from” you took a seat in front of her, looking at the board behind her desk and the Art History books that she kept all over the place. It was an interesting contrast to Melina’s study, the image of order and chaos mirroring their own disciplines. Creative and scientist.

“Well, what are your plans for the day?”

“Uh… going to the movies with the twins and Natasha”

“The Romanoff girl? She’s so nice. Very shy, but sweet” your mother noted, still writing on her notebook.

“Yes, actually… we’ve been lab partners this semester and we’re also kinda… dating” you said the last part while your heart was beating out of control.

You gulped, as your mother put her pen down and looked at you. 

“Please don’t be mad” you begged, but she smiled that comforting smile that let you know she had your back.

“Mad? You’re 16. At your age, I was leaving a trail of broken hearts”

“Mom!”

“Don’t tell your father, though. He was a late bloomer”

“Speaking of Dad… can you be the one to deliver the news to him? He’ll get grumpy and you’re the only one that can handle him” 

“Don’t you worry about him, darling girl. Leave him to me. Now, will you wait for us to finish here so we can go to lunch and you tell me all about Natasha?”

“Of course” you smiled, always happy to know your mother was on your side. “I’m having dinner with her family tonight”

“Well, then she’s having dinner with us tomorrow”

“Yes, Ma’am” you nodded, thinking you’d have to prepare Natasha for meeting Captain Joseph Rogers.

—

Pietro and Wanda picked you up for the movies, the music booming across the street.

“Are you insane?” you leaned over Wanda to lower the volume on the stereo. Pietro laughed, his fingers drumming against the wheel.

“He’s been playing that stupid song since I told him you punched Rumlow”

“Eye of the Tiger is not a stupid song” he protested, finally stopping as he drove you to the movies. “She’s our Rocky Balboa!”

“Dork” Wanda mocked her brother with an affectionate smile and then turned to you. “Why are you dressed so fancy?” 

You had a burgundy cashmere sweater, camel colored pants and boots.

“Well, I’m having dinner with Natasha’s family. Do you think it’s too much?”

“You look amazing” Pietro assured you and you went to hug him  from your place in the back of the car.

“My favorite Maximoff”

“Hey, I called you fancy!” Wanda protested and Pietro laughed. “So, are you nervous?”

“Not really. I’ve spoken to her family, and I always see them when Natasha and I work on Chemistry homework. I’m more concerned about what Captain Rogers will have to say about Natasha”

“I’m sure it will be fine” Wanda said with a soft smile. She knew how hard these past few months had been, with the accident and the fallout between your parents and Steve.

Seeing Natasha eased some of the tension. Yelena was looking around the cinema when you arrived and after making the proper introductions, you moved over to greet your girlfriend.

“Hi” you said, kissing her softly. “Missed you”

Pietro pretended to gag behind you and you elbowed him.

“Wow, that was harsh”

“I’m Rocky, remember?” you winked, taking Natasha by the hand. Pietro insisted on buying popcorn and Yelena followed suit. 

“Don’t spoil your appetite, we’re going out for dinner tonight” Natasha reminded her. Yelena pouted.

“I can eat popcorn and have dinner, Natasha”

The redhead roller her eyes, but was soon distracted by your hand on hers. Either way, Yelena got away with it. Once at the theater, Pietro squeezed his way between Nat and you, saying he’d sit in the middle holding the giant popcorn bucket.

You gave him an angry look that he ignored and you had to play dirty to sit next to Natasha.

“Hey, babe” you called for her, leaning over Pietro so he would listen to everything. “We should go shopping tomorrow. You ripped my last pair of underwear, remember?”

“Ew, no” Pietro moved, allowing you to change seats.

“Ha. Easy” you mocked, leaning against Natasha. 

The movie started and you could tell Yelena and Pietro were hitting it off, making similar comments about the movie. Wanda was no better, pointing out things that the other two had missed.

“Oh, no, if they team against us we’re done, baby” you whispered against her ear. Natasha tried to reply, but moved against the back of her seat, pulling at the fabric of her pants. “What’s wrong?”

“I have a very good imagination” is all she said, trying to cover her crotch.

“Shit, sorry. I was just trying to get Pietro to move. Try to think about… something else”

“I’m trying” she said through her teeth.

“What are you going to say to Selvig tomorrow when we meet him?” you asked, hoping that would do the trick.

“We’re meeting him?” she turned to look at you and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Yeah, why not? If they don’t let us, I’ll use my press badge from the school paper and demand a Q & A session or something. Shutting down a teenager looking to learn more about the universe might be bad press”

Natasha chuckled, relaxing against your side. You could tell she was feeling better and the tension had eased. Just to be safe, you let her approach you first, and she reached for your hand, placing a small kiss at the back of it.

“I can’t wait for Virus XX!” Pietro clapped as you left the theater. 

“There’s gonna be more? We’re gonna be married leaving the kids with the sitter just to watch the next one” you whistled.

“I’m sooo full” Yelena complained.

“I warned you” Natasha said. The sisters began arguing and you waited for Wanda and Pietro.

“Ok, now I’m feeling nervous” you admitted. Wanda placed her arm around your shoulder and Pietro patted your back.

“You’ll do great and they’ll love you. You care about Nat and make her happy, that’s all her family wants” 

“Right” you took a breath, trying to slow your heartbeat. As you reached the exit, you waved goodbye to the twins and walked to Natasha’s car.

Your girlfriend was quiet during the car ride, and Yelena filled the silence with questions about practice and the twins. You were happy that they hit it off. Once at the restaurant, Natasha opened the car door for you while Yelena walked to the entrance. You took her hand, and followed her sister.

“Wait” Natasha asked, pulling you back.

“What’s wrong, Nat?”

“My family is a lot sometimes. They’re just loud and crazy and ask the weirdest questions…. If it’s too much…”

“Natty, it’s fine” you promised, kissing her cheek. “Come on. I’m starving” 

“You look very beautiful, by the way”

“Thank you, I wanted to make a good impression” you blushed.

“They already like you. My mom couldn’t stop talking about how wonderful you are” Natasha commented, pulling the restaurant’s door for you to enter.

“Well, I’m very fond of your family too. But you’re my favorite, sweetheart”

The Italian restaurant had a nice atmosphere, with warm lights and soft music playing in the background. Melina waved at you and you walked towards their table.

“The girls are here, come, have a seat!” she said, excitedly. “I do hope you’re hungry”

“Yelena is starving” Natasha mocked and her sister glared.

“I am, actually” 

“Oh, Alexei, you know Natasha’s girlfriend, right?”

You waved at Alexei and he nodded. 

“Wait, how do you know? Mama just found out today” Yelena said.

“Well, they do homework together and go to the movies. Isn’t that what friends do?” Alexei looked at the two of you.

“No, Papa, they are girlfriends. As in holding hands, kissing and… bleh, other stuff. I don’t want to lose my appetite now that it’s back” 

“Oooh. Our little Natasha, quite the Casanova, eh?” he teased his daughter, laughing when she blushed. “Well, I’m very happy for you two. Tell me, what do young people do for dating now?”

“Well, movies, picnics, the mall. We’re going to the Planetarium tomorrow”

“Oh, we used to go there all the time” the man said, taking his wife’s hand. “And the minute it got dark, Melina would pinch my butt” 

“Ew, why?” Yelena dropped the menu, looking upset. 

“Because your mom is a butt girl, aren’t you, sweetheart?” 

“No, that’s not what I meant, Papa”

“Oh, I see where Natasha gets it from” you joked, unable to help yourself. Your girlfriend looked around the table, turning red.

“I am officially not hungry” Yelena grumbled, making everyone laugh.

—

You focused on some homework during Sunday morning. Since you were meeting Natasha later, you also cleaned your room and got a chance to do your hair and make up, opting for a loose dress and a light jacket.

“Dinner isn’t until 7:30, young lady” your father said as soon as you walked down the stairs. He was wearing a polo shirt and slacks, carrying a book about World War II. His idea of a relaxing Sunday was very different from yours.

“Oh, I’m going out with Natasha”

He groaned, removing his glasses. 

“Yes, your mother mentioned this Romanoff girl”

“So, what do you think?” 

“You’re too young” 

“I’m not marrying her. Yet” 

Your father glared and you had to laugh at his stern expression. So dramatic.

“This isn’t funny”

“Dad, do you know what we’re doing today? Going to a talk about Astrophysics. You really have nothing to worry about.”

“There will be rules”

“I expect nothing less from Captain Rogers”

“And curfews”

“Those are like suggestions to me, but sure, go ahead”

“Young lady” 

Stepping forward, you hugged your father. Guess you can’t really take the military out of the man. But still, he had a soft spot for you and conceded, his arms around you.

“I love you, Pops. And I’m happy. So, just trust me on this one?”

“Ok, sweetheart” he nodded, sighing. “I guess I just refuse to believe you’re growing up”

You broke apart when the doorbell rang. Natasha was waiting at the door, wearing a white shirt with jeans, blue blazer and oxford shoes. 

My God, glasses too. 

“Hi” you greeted, staring. She looked… dashing. “Uh…”

Your dad rolled his eyes, stepping forward and introducing himself.

“Captain Joseph Rogers”

“Natasha Romanoff, sir. A pleasure to meet you” she shook his hand and you were surprised by her confident demeanor. Double fuck, she looked even hotter now.

“Dinner is at 1930” he informed your girlfriend. “No speeding, no texting while driving. You understand me?”

“Yes, sir” Natasha nodded. Your mother shouted from the kitchen, making you snap out of your trance.

“Joe, just let them go and come help me!”

“Thanks, Mom! Bye, Dad” you kissed his cheek, taking Natasha by the hand and pulling her towards the car. “You look… wow”

“Yeah? I thought it would be more formal, considering the event” 

“Handsome” you blurted out, making Natasha blush. Oh, yeah. She liked it a little too much. You played with the lapel of her blazer, feeling hot everywhere. “My father is probably staring out the window but know that if he wasn’t, I’d be all over you right now” 

Natasha groaned, opening the car door for you. Unable to help yourself, you gave her a quick kiss, smiling as she began the drive to the Planetarium. 

During the ride, you went over some basic information about your family that would probably help her with conversation. You mentioned your mother and her time living in Paris while she got her Masters in Art History, your Dad and how he went from Army medic to surgeon at a private practice. You mentioned that Bucky lived with you because his father was working in D.C., and how your father and Colonel Barnes went way back to their days as soldiers.

By the time you reached the Planetarium, Natasha felt she understood where you came from a little bit better. 

“Wow, this is amazing” you admired, looking at the scale models of probes sent to explore space. NASA had collaborated with the museum, sharing materials and information that came first hand from their work. Natasha explained things and concepts that sounded totally foreign to you, but you nodded, appreciating her enthusiasm and admiring the way her eyes lit up every time you came across some fascinating space rock. 

“Please join us at the conference room for Doctor Selvig’s talk” the hostess announced, and you let Natasha guide you to your seats. 

You were fully expecting the talk to be full of science terms and concepts that were above your comprehension, but Doctor Selvig was a great speaker, and the hour went by in the blink of an eye. There was a standing ovation as he delivered his last remark, and before it was over, you pushed Natasha to the side of the stage.

“Let’s say hi to him”

“Why?”

“Because he’s cool and you look like you want to cry from being in the same room as him” you whispered, intercepting him as he walked down the steps. “Doctor Selvig, Y/N Y/L/N with the Daily Shield. My girlfriend Natasha Romanoff is a great fan of your work”

“Hi” Natasha greeted him, starstruck.

“Romanoff? Any relation to Doctor Melina Romanoff?”

“She’s my mother. Do you know her?”

“We met at a conference in Berlin a few years ago. She has some interesting ideas about the composition of minerals we found near meteorite sites”

“Right. Molecular astrophysics. I’d love to study all of that” Natasha said excitedly.

“If you’re half as brilliant as your mother, I’m sure you’ll be very successful” he said, patting her shoulder. “It was a pleasure to meet you both”

“Likewise, Doctor Selvig” you said as he went to greet the people from NASA. “How cool was tha…?”

Natasha kissed you, pulling you by the waist. 

“Thank you” she whispered against your lips.

“No, thank you” you smiled, enjoying her closeness. “We should get going. I just need to use the restroom first”

“Ok” she nodded, kissing you again. God, she made you weak in the knees.

You felt light as a feather as you walked to the bathroom. Everything was coming together so nicely; Natasha’s family liked you and you were sure your girlfriend would manage to turn around your father’s bad mood.

Coming back to the auditorium, you searched for Natasha. To your surprise, she was speaking with a girl that looked ready to pounce on her any minute.

“Hey” you greeted, standing next to Nat. 

“Oh, hi. Ready to go?” Natasha turned to you.

“Aren’t you gonna introduce me?” you eyed the other girl, who smiled and extended her hand.

“Jane Foster”

“Y/N Y/L/N. I’m Natasha’s girlfriend”

“Oh, I had no idea you were dating anyone” the girl commented and you had to resist the urge to punch her. “Natasha and I met last summer at Science Camp. No wonder you stopped texting back, Natty” 

Jane reached out, squeezing Natasha’s arm playfully. Your anger transferred to Natasha when she just stood there and did nothing.

“Yeah, well. We should go, we’re having dinner with my parents” you said, although the last thing you were was hungry. 

“Nice seeing you, let me know if you’re going to the Winter Retreat. We’ll have the best time” Jane said with a wink.

“Nice seeing you too” Natasha said goodbye, while you rolled your eyes, walking to the exit as fast as you could. “Y/N, wait for me. Y/N!” Natasha insisted, chasing after you. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“She was flirting with you” you accused, looking down. Since when were you the jealous type? “And you didn’t tell her you had a girlfriend. What was that about?”

“I just… don’t really think of her as anyone worth talking to?” Natasha admitted. “We spoke for a bit during summer, but that was it. I’m not interested in her”

“It’s just that…” you sighed, kicking the floor. “She’s smart, right? She probably understands everything about this exhibit and more, and could talk to you about all these science things while I’m… just me”

“Stop right there. You’re funny, and beautiful, and smart, kind, caring… I could spend all night listing things that drive me crazy about you”

“Crazy good?” you blushed, taking her hands.

“The best type of crazy” she promised.

“Ok” you nodded, allowing her to pull you closer. “I’m calling a truce because you look too damn good right now”

“Yeah?” Natasha smiled. Unfortunately for her, you spotted her good friend Jane Foster, still looking at you as if she wanted to continue the conversation.

Whatever Natasha was about to say next died on her mouth, because you crashed your lips against hers in a searing kiss, nibbling at her bottom lip until she groaned, allowing you to explore her mouth with your tongue. Her hands slid to your lower back and you scratched the base of her neck, fingers threading through fiery hair.

“Are you hungry now?” you whispered against her mouth, satisfied at the way she chased your lips, whining when you stepped back. 

“Huh?”

“Dinner. We can’t be late” placing a hand on her cheek, you smiled. Natasha nodded, following you to the car, her little friend long forgotten.

Yeah, that’s more like it.

—

During the drive back, you were still thinking about that Foster girl, and Natasha could read you like an open book, holding your hand as she went back to your home.

As usual, she opened the car door for you and allowed you to lead her to your house.

“Want a tour of the place?” you offered, taking her blazer so she’d be more comfortable. You appreciated the way the shirt clung to the muscles in her arms.

“Sure” she nodded, following you and looking at the framed pictures on the walls. Most of them were of Steve and you throughout the years. 

“Living room, that connects to the entertainment room” you pointed to a door where you’d usually have movie nights with the twins. “The pool table is close to the back shed, dining room, kitchen over there… Rooms are upstairs” 

“I guess I never noticed how big your house is”

“My mom has a studio and my dad has his reading room as well. Come on” you walked to the kitchen and got everything to set the table.

“Hi, girls. Did you have fun?” your mom greeted and you nodded.

“Can I help with anything?” Natasha offered and your mother nodded. 

“You can take the potatoes to the table, darling, thank you” 

She admired the way you set different silverware, including glasses and a bottle of wine that you knew your father liked. It all looked extremely fancy.

“We’re foodies here” you explained. “Hope you like greek lamb”

“I’ve never had any” 

“Oh, I do hope you love it” your mom said, carrying the tray with the food, fresh off the oven.

“Food’s ready, chop chop!” you shouted, assuming Steve and Bucky were playing pool. 

“Smells delicious” your father complimented, setting his book down.

“How are you liking Ryan’s book so far?” Natasha asked, sitting next to you. Your father seemed pleasantly surprised that she was interested.

“It’s good. About time I read The Longest Day. Though I still have to finish Churchill’s volumes. I’m stuck on the second half of the third”

“It took me two summers to read it all” Natasha agreed as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“All four volumes?” he said, clearly impressed.

You should have never doubted Natasha’s ability to win over a nerd.

“What did we miss?” Steve walked in, nodding towards Natasha. “Hey, what’s up, Nat”

“Romanoff” Bucky said and you glared. He sure as hell could be nicer, but alas. Boys will be boys.

“Just discussing some interesting books about World War II” your father replied and they both groaned. “Boys, it is an integral part of our history as a nation!”

“Pass the potatoes” Steve said, but your mother stopped him. 

“Guests first”

You poked your tongue out in a mocking gesture, passing the food to Natasha. 

After everyone had their plates ready, you started eating, talking a bit about your day and stuff you’d done during the week. Sundays were the only days you all had dinner together. Sometimes, your father was in the hospital for 24 hour shifts and your mom would stay late working at the gallery. 

“How was the conference?” your mother asked.

“It was fascinating. Did you know asteroids can have rings? And moons? There’s a whole world out there and we know so little” you said, inspired by Selvig’s speech. “Lucky for them, Natasha will put her brilliant mind to work on discovering new things pretty soon” 

“So, I’m guessing you’re going for MIT, Natasha?” your father asked.

“Yes, sir. That would be my first choice. Followed by Harvard and then CalTech”

“All very fine schools, right, Y/N?”

“NYU is also a very fine school” you defended, taking a sip of the wine you were allowed to have with Sunday dinner. Very European of your mother.

“Too many distractions in such a big city” your father complained; sensing the potential of a fight, your mother changed the subject.

“Bucky, still thinking about UCLA?”

“Yeah, some sun would be good for me”

“Next year you’ll both be gone, I can’t wrap my head around it” your mother pondered.

“Maybe we can finally get a dog” you proposed. “He’ll behave a lot better, that’s for sure”

“Very funny” Steve said.

“Not a joke, bro” 

“Natasha, what about your parents?” your father said.

“What about them?” you jumped, eyeing him suspiciously.

“I just want to know what they do”

“Well, my father is a retired football player. Alexei Romanoff. He was with the Patriots for six seasons. And now he’s a coach at school. It’s more of a hobby than anything. My mother is the lead researcher on a project to develop a treatment for Alzheimer’s” 

“Wait, Romanoff as in Doctor Melina?”

“How many Romanoffs do you gather live in Westview” your brother joked.

It was the second time someone mentioned Natasha’s mother and you were honestly impressed.

“I’ve heard about your mother’s work, it is very interesting. Perhaps your family can join us for dinner one day” he proposed and you locked eyes with your brother. That was as good as it was going to get with your father.

“That would be lovely, thank you” 

The conversation kept flowing  and by the time dessert was served, you were full, sleepy and happy to see Natasha relaxed and smiling next to you. You reached for her hand, squeezing it.

“Y/N and Natasha set the table so you’re on cleaning duties, boys” your mother instructed.

You took Natasha to the backyard, walking along the edge of the pool.

“What’s going in that mind of yours?” you asked, seeing her eyes getting lost in the water.

“We’re also going to college in a few years”

“Mhm” you nodded, taking her hands. “And?”

“What will happen to us? I mean, I know it’s too soon, but I hate the idea of not seeing you every day and being away… you’ll probably make so many new friends…”

“Nat…” you said softly, until she looked at you. “I’ve waited for so long to be with you, do you really think being in different cities is gonna stop me?”

“Really?”

You laughed, taking a deep breath.

“If I were a poet, I’d write a haiku; you should know I really like you” you recited.

“How did you… You wrote it” she gaped. 

“It wasn’t my best work, but to be fair, we were 12”

A note that had been left at her locker, on Valentine’s Day. 

Natasha thought it was a prank or a mistake.

“That’s how long I’ve liked you” you nodded, your arms around her waist. “So, we will cross that bridge when we get there, in approximately two years. Ok, love?”

“Sorry, I know I get crazy…”

“Yes, but that’s part of your charm” you smiled, leaning forward to kiss her. As you broke apart you yawned, laughing. “Shit, I’m sorry, baby. It’s the wine”

“It’s ok” she said, kissing your cheek. “I should go, it’s getting late”

“Come on, I’ll walk you out” you said, leading her to the kitchen to say goodbye to your mother. Natasha thanked her and was forced to take back a giant piece of cake. Yelena was going to be extremely happy, that was for sure. 

As you opened the door, your father called for Natasha, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“It was lovely to meet you, young lady. You are always welcomed in our home”

“Thank you, Captain. And thank you for a lovely evening” 

Holy shit, holy shit, you kept saying in your head. And there was Natasha, looking super chill.

“What?” she asked, as you covered your mouth to keep yourself from screaming in pure joy.

“Uhm, that thing he said? He might as well ask you to call him Dad. He likes you, Nat” 

“Really?”

“Really” you nodded. “Can’t blame him one bit. Ok, drive safely, text me when you’re home” 

“Will do” she kissed you. And God, you wanted it to last forever.

You were so in love with her. The realization hit you hard and fast, but you decided to leave it for another time, when you weren’t so dazed by her presence and the little bit of red wine you had with your dinner.

Staring out the window, you watched her drive away.

“That was nice” your mother said and you nodded. The sound of plates crashing against the floor made her sigh tiredly. “Oh, boys” 

By the time you went up to your room, it was almost 10 PM. While you took off your dress, your phone pinged with a text from Natasha, letting you know she was home, and that Yelena had stolen the cake from her hands as soon as she opened the front door.

You laughed, sending heart emojis, as well as a picture of Natasha during the exhibit. She was smiling, looking up, the soft glow of the lights giving her a mysterious aura. 

Y/N: Stunning view

Leaving the phone on your dressing room, you went to the bathroom to wash your teeth, and brush your hair. As you settled in bed, you got a new text.

Natasha: 

each kiss is perfect

your smile is like summer breeze

our world is magic

Counting the syllables, you laughed. Of course Natasha wrote a haiku for you.

Y/N: Show off.

Y/N: I love it.

Boundless Devotion - Part I

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: MedievalAU. Natasha is the eldest princess of the Romanov Kingdom. As the time of her coronation approaches, she is suddenly forced to make a decision – either find herself a partner or her parents will choose one for her.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Warnings: slight angst

Words: 1991

In the training yard of the castle, the sound of clashing steel fills the air as the Captain of the Royal Guard, Steve Rogers, faces off against the eldest princess and heir to the Romanov kingdom, Princess Natasha. 

The sun shines on the area as the two circle each other, carefully watching the other’s movement.

Surrounding them, some of the castle’s staff and the other knights pause in their activities to watch the match with anticipation. 

The captain lunges forward first, his polished sword gleaming in the sunlight. With a swift flourish, he aims a diagonal strike at her midsection.

In response, Natasha sidesteps the attack gracefully, her own blade moving smoothly to parry his sword.

The crowd watches with rapt attention as Steve continues to press forward with additional powerful swings, but the princess evades every strike, stepping as if she were dancing.

On a particularly powerful thrust, Natasha ducks under his attack, extending her arm to him. Then with a twist of her wrist, she expertly hooks her blade around his sword’s hilt and applies pressure. Using his momentum against him, she jerks the sword out of his grasp, sending it spinning through the air. 

The blade lands with a clatter several feet away.

Then in a swift and uninterrupted motion, she hooks her leg around the back of his knee, sweeping it out from under him. 

Her sword points at the captain’s chest in victory, ending the battle, as cheers and applause erupt around them.

With a quick twirl, Natasha holds her sword behind her before extending her hand to the captain. Steve gives her a grateful smile and takes her hand as she pulls him to his feet. 

He dusts himself off before giving her an exasperated look.

“Did you really need to show me up in front of my knights?”

Natasha gives him a smirk, replying.

“Well, I have to keep you humble.” 

Captain Steve Rogers was the one who trained her and her younger sister, Yelena, ever since they were little. Years later, they have both mastered their sword and martial arts skills, becoming one of the best in the kingdom.

Glancing around, Steve gives a stern look to the surrounding knights who rush to resume their training. When he turns back to Natasha, he nods in the distance.

“Looks like you have some guests, your Highness.”

Natasha brushes her hair out of her face, turning to look at the directed area.

At the edge of the training yard, she finds you standing alongside another noble, Lady Kate Bishop. 

Kate waves excitedly at her in greeting, and the golden retriever next to her also jumps in place, matching his owner’s energy.

Visits to the castle from the two of you were not surprising. With both of your noble families having prominent positions in the kingdom, it was natural that the four of you, including Yelena, would end up forming close bonds, having known each other since you were children.

Kate is Yelena’s closest friend while you are hers.

Well, you two used to be close.

However, ever since the incident last year on the night of her birthday, you’ve kept your distance from her, only seeing or talking to her when necessary. 

Even now, Natasha can see that the only thing holding you in place is Kate’s interlocked arm in yours.

Your body is turned towards the castle, and your eyes are looking everywhere else but her.

Natasha sheaths her sword at her side and walks over to the two of you. She is knocked back slightly when the golden retriever leaps at her in greeting, his tail wagging enthusiastically.

Natasha chuckles and pets his head, “Well, hello to you too, Lucky.”

Kate’s excited energy follows, moving closer, which in turn pulls you forward also. 

“That was amazing! You have to teach me that move!”

Natasha releases the dog with a final scratch before letting him return to his owner’s side. 

“I’m sure Yelena can show it to you the next time you two practice,” she tells her.

Kate nods to herself, reminding herself to ask the younger princess about it later.

Natasha turns to you, giving you a hopeful smile.

“How have you been, Y/n?”

You give her a slight bow in acknowledgment, your eyes still averted from hers.

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking, princess.”

Natasha's smile drops slightly at your neutral response. 

So far, her interactions with you have been like this, formal and distant, unlike the usual banter and casual teasing that typically characterizes your friendship.

Before she can ask anything further, Natasha notices a slight movement in your arm as you discreetly tug Kate, trying to get her attention. 

Kate turns to look at you in question and sees your pointed stare as you tilt your head subtly towards the castle.

Her mouth opens in realization, and she turns to Natasha apologetically.

“Oh, that’s right! I’m sorry, Natasha, but we have to get going. Y/n has a meeting with the queen.”

You are practically dragging her away as she finishes talking, offering Natasha a tight smile and a small farewell bow.

Natasha’s shoulders slump in despair as she watches you rush away.

It was disheartening to see her closest friend become almost like a stranger, but she can only blame that incident which caused this rift between the two of you. 

Sighing sadly, she pulls out her sword again and heads back toward the center of the area to resume her training.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha is practically sprinting to the dining hall with how fast she is walking through the hallways.

Guards and maids dodge out of her path as she rushes by, already understanding the need to hurry, judging by the time. 

As she approaches the entrance of the dining room, the guards open the doors for her to enter. Stepping into the room, she is immediately greeted by the queen’s reprimanding voice.

“You’re late, Natasha.”

Her mother, Queen Melina, sits at the head of the table while her father, King Alexei, occupies the opposite side. Yelena is positioned on the table's side facing her, subtly shaking her head in warning as her eyes gesture meaningfully toward their mother.

Natasha thinks back to how she spent the remainder of the day after her encounter with you, destroying the training dummies around the training yard in frustration.

By the time she realized how long she’d been training, the sun had already set. 

Deciding there was no point in making up an excuse, she settled with the truth.

“I lost track of the time,” she replies.

In response, Queen Melina nods at the chair closest to her, indicating for her to have a seat. 

When Natasha sits down, a member of the kitchen staff places a plate of dinner in front of her before stepping away.

In an attempt to break the tension, King Alexei claps his hands together and exclaims joyfully.

“Great, the family’s all here! Let’s eat!”

The members of the royal family start eating their meals, except for Queen Melina, who instead turns her attention to Natasha.

“I heard that you were at the courtyard today, training with the royal guards.”

“I was,” Natasha responds casually.

“What about your studies?”

“I already finished them all.”

“If you had told me earlier, I could have given you the next part of your lessons,” Melina admonishes before continuing her lecture. “You are about to be crowned soon as the next ruler of the kingdom. There’s always more that you can learn.”

A small snicker from Yelena catches Melina’s attention, causing her to direct her lecturing tone to the younger princess.

“And you should not laugh at your sister. At least she finished her studies. I heard that you didn't even show up for your lessons. Where exactly were you all day?”

Yelena shrugs nonchalantly before looking down next to her chair at the Akita dog eating from her bowl.

“Fanny wanted to go out for a run, so we spent the day out in the fields.”

At the sound of her name, the dog looks up attentively.

In response, Yelena gives her a gentle scratch on the head, before turning the dog's face toward her mother.

“You can’t say no to this face,” Yelena coos. 

Melina gives the two of them a deadpan look before shifting her gaze forward to her husband.

Alexei chokes on his food in slight panic when he realizes her attention has now turned to him.

“Our daughters have inherited your adventurous spirit,” Melina remarks accusingly.

“That’s my girls!” Alexei exclaims proudly before he catches the sharp glare from Melina. “I-I mean, girls, your studies and lessons come first. You know how important they are to your mother.”

Melina sighs defeatedly, shaking her head at his poor attempt at scolding. She returns her attention back to her eldest daughter.

“I have scheduled several meetings for you this week, Natasha. They’re with the daughters from some of the noble houses, so be sure not to miss any.”

Furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, Natasha brings her cup up for a drink as she asks for more information.

“What are the meetings for?”

“To find you a partner, of course.”

Natasha spits out her drink in surprise, coughing as she reaches for a napkin.

“Mind your manners, Natasha,” Melina chastises.

Ignoring her mother's reprimand, Natasha exclaims in outrage.

“Why am I looking for a partner?!” 

Unfazed by her tone, Melina answers her question with a serious expression, “Taking on the responsibilities of the kingdom is a lot for one person. You should have someone at your side.” 

Natasha makes a sound of disagreement and gestures at her in accusation.

“A couple of months ago, you told me that I was fully prepared to take over the throne,” she reminds her mother. “You’ve never mentioned that I needed to have someone back then!” 

“Well, that was before I realized that you have obviously made no attempt at looking for a potential partner. So I took the liberty to invite these lovely candidates to help you get started, and you will meet with them.”

Natasha huffs and crosses her arms, shaking her head in disbelief.

Seeing her reluctance, Melina continues, declaring, “If you cannot find someone by the time of your coronation, your father and I will choose one for you.” 

Natasha’s eyes widen, and her mouth hangs open in shock at her words.

This was not fair.

Throughout her life, her parents have never shown interest in her romantic relationships before. Suddenly, they decide that she is not capable of taking over the kingdom unless she has someone by her side. 

As Natasha tries to come up with a way so that she can get herself out of this situation, an idea comes to her mind.

“What if I’m already in a relationship with someone?” Natasha asks.

Three sets of eyes stare at her with varying looks of disbelief on their faces.

Yelena speaks up first, giving her a skeptical look.

“Nat, you’re popular throughout the kingdom, but the truth is, you spend more time with your sword than you do holding a lady's hand.”

Natasha subtly kicks her sister under the table in response to her comment, causing her to curse in pain. 

“Watch your language, Yelena,” Melina reprimands her before resting her clasped hands on the table and focusing on Natasha. “But she’s not wrong. I have not seen you romantically close with anyone,” she points out accusingly.

Without hesitation, Natasha smoothly lies, “We’ve been meeting in secret.”

Melina examines her critically, and she matches her mother's intense stare.

When Natasha’s gaze doesn’t waver, Melina relaxes her posture and relents. 

“Alright then, if you could tell me who you are in a relationship with, I will cancel all of the meetings.” 

The name rolls off naturally on her tongue before Natasha can even stop herself.

“Lady Y/n Dreykov. I’m in a relationship with Y/n.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Series Masterlist : Boundless Devotion

Loving Her Is (Im)possible

masterlist

Natasha Romanoff x Civilian!Reader

description: They say loving the Black Widow is impossible, so what happens when you meet her?

Words: ~2k

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none I think, not proof read tho

I know this is shitty, I wrote this coping with myself lmao.

Next one is promised to be good or at least better again

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡⋆｡°✩｡⋆｡✮ ⋆ ˚｡⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

Loving her is impossible. That's what they say.

Meeting her is easy.

Red hair, brown coat, black boots.

And effortless elegance that held the power to draw everyone's attention but prevent anyone from making eye contact. Or comment on her.

"A large, black coffee please" her voice carried the same unspoken authority her movements displayed.

Rough and soft at the same time, polite but distanced. She layed one hand on the counter while waiting. With the other hand she removed her sunglasses, letting them fall in the pocket of her coat. A few curious glances from the other customers in her direction but most just continued their conversations.

You watched the interaction, studying her. How she glanced over the room. How she corrected her own posture - and you did instinctively too. How she took her cup and took yet another glance over the room but in a seemingly different way. Her eyes locked onto you.

She directed a small, greeting nod to you and you responded with a friendly smile. "That seat doesn't seem taken", the redhead mostly stated, sitting on the chair across your own.

"You can't be sure of that" you replied with a teasing grin. The woman chuckled. A low, soft and intriguingly dangerous sound, sending a shiver down your spine. You tried to save it, lock it in your memory and protect it, the moment you heard it. If you could do something to get to hear it again, you would.

"So you're saying this seat is taken, princess?" a playful glint in her eyes, knowing exactly that it wasn't.

And within a split second your mind surrendered. You weren't sure if it was the nickname or just the way your own teasing backfired but you flushed and glued your eyes to your hands. "No" you mumbled, holding the cup in your hands just a little tighter. A shy smile played around your lips.

"No need to be shy, sweetheart. I'm Natasha"

Meeting her was embarrassing in a way you enjoyed it.

Knowing her is easy.

You knew who she was. Everybody does. The media is flooded with footage of her, everytime something in the world happens. Everybody sees what you could see that day.

Effortless perfectionism. Authority without room for arguments.

She was the Black Widow.

In press conferences the backbone of the avangers.

No one knew her. Behind that perfect mask that would allow her to dominate the whole room, was in reality something different.

Behind that perfect image was a human just as everyone else is. Someone who sometimes feels lonely. Someone who's guarded but also someone who let a few things slip from time to time.

You were aware that everything you saw of her was calculated. A risk she took.

A nightmare she told you she had. Explaining why her day was bad. Asking you what she should cook.

You never got much to grasp on, but to every little detail you held on as if it was sacred.

Nat:

I'm bored

What should I do?

You:

Me [you deleted that as soon as you typed it]

Cinnamon rolls

And just two hours later it'd ring on your door.

"Hey, I brought cinnamon rolls."

You laughed, seeing her physically relax under your careless happiness as you invited her in.

The Black Widow was an open book - someone everybody could know within thirty minutes of amateurish research.

Natasha Romanoff was more than that.

A closed book with a lock, behind bars, behind walls.

She rarely shared something about what she actually did or felt at any given moment. But if she'd let something slip you'd pick it up and cherish it.

Talking to her is easy.

Without even noticing in less than a month your world was upside down.

Checking your phone every ten minutes for notifications, even though you know the screen lits up when you get one.

Smiling when it does.

Denying the small bit of disappointment when the notification doesn't begin with "Nat 💕:".

Going silent on phone calls with others for a moment when you recieved a message from her. Being mentally absent while playing cards, glancing down at the phone beside you, answering whenever it's not your turn.

You:

How was your day?

Nat💕:

{voice message 1:48}

You loved these. You loved listening to her voice, detecting the satisfaction when she told you about a successful mission, hearing the frustration when some recruits didn't listen to her in training and then obviously failed the task at hand. You loved her sighs when she was tired.

Soon you yearned for every interaction you could get. A small chat, a short phone call. Or when you had the time you'd bring her a coffee over.

The first time you did, you weren't sure you'd get out of the building in one piece.

You learned that day that Shield doesn't have visitors. Especially not ordinary people and definitely not one's who come in without an agent.

Your hands were shaking as you held them over your head, in one still the coffee you brought.

"What do you want?" The guy, who asked this just entered the area, motioning for the security to stay in position.

"u-uh visiting? A friend" you added and cringed internally about verbally friendzoning the redhead. But that's the most fitting description. Maybe even exactly what she sees in you. A friend. One she likes to flirt and tease with just to see how it messses with your head.

"And who is that friend?" he walked behind you, taking the coffee from your hand.

"Natasha? Romanoff..." your voice grew quieter realizing how unrealistic that must sound. And just as confirmation he scoffed "Of course. And if that's true, why isn't Agent Romanoff here to get you through security? And further, why is the name on this coffee 'Nathan'?"

Now you scoffed, rolling your eyes "So now it's my fault that coffeeshops can't get names right?? You can't convince me no coffeeshop ever wrote your name wrong" You regretted those word almost as soon as they left your mouth but now it was too late anyway.

But before anyone reacted to that, the clicking of heels cut through the tension. Just as they stopped a familar voice spoke up from behind you "You have some nerves, giving these kind of answers while having two guns directed at you, princess"

Your cheekes flushed at the nickname. You knew she did that on purpose, relishing your involuntary reaction. And it happened every time.

With probably another motion of one of the two behind you the security guys backed down and you turned around with a small smile on your lips. "Well, bold of you to show up so late they almost shoot me"

When you sat down on a couch in what you presumed was her office she took a sip from her coffee and sighed. "Nathan, huh?" A smirk playing around her lips.

You snorted meeting her eyes with a mischievous glint in your own "Maybe I made the barista write down the wrong name intentionally. But a coffee wouldn't be a coffee if they got your name right twice in a row"

It became a little game of yours. Trying to find a new variant or fucked up way to mess with each others name.

These meetings happened more often, you bringing her coffee or lunch. Talking, laughing, joking. You learned that the guy, who questioned you on your first time there was Clint, Natasha's best friend. Soon these lunch breaks became the thing you looked most forward to, by the start of a week.

You got to meet Clint, introducing himself with saying something along being sorry for almost having you shot. And by then all of you could only laugh about that first encounter.

On a random friday she took you to the shooting range after another shared lunch. Handing you one of her pistols she positioned herself behind you. Guiding your legs to stand in the right stance, moving her hands along your arms so you wouldn't hurt yourself. And while you loved learning to shoot, her being pressed against your back made it hard to focus. How her touch burned itself under your skin, how her scent surrounded you. And suddenly you felt like one of the recruits she liked to complain about. Distracted.

Of course Natasha noticed. But she didn't seem mind it, when it was you. She didn't mind having to guide you into the right position another time and maybe even a third. At least she didn't say so. She seemed to enjoy the time you had as much as you did and that alone made your heart skip a bit.

Watching yourself fall for her feels scary. Like the craziest thing you've ever done.

Running away is easy.

Especially when self-doubt is consuming you.

When she's out on missions and you don't get any response to your messages for hours or days.

You start to doubt yourself, if this was right for you.

The redhead tried to push you away only shortly after you met. Telling you that she's too much for you. That her life isn't made for her to fit in your world. You managed go convince her from the opposite.

Now you were the one doubting if that was the right decision.

On the one side fearing how much this is about to hurt if you don't work out, on the other already being too attached to let go now.

Not without trying.

But after just another day of radio silence from her side you feel like ending things would be best for you. Or after another conversation, where you realize that she's not actually telling you what she feels or what's bothering her. Giving only so short answers to your messages that something like a conversation wouldn't even begin - it hurt you probably more than it should.

But you didn't blame her. Or you tried not to. You knew that this was an unsettling kind of jealousy with no one to be jealous of. No one you knew about. But that didn't make it easier. It just drained your energy on these days, killing some of your usually good mood. Every one of those days giving you another reason to leave.

Running away. Not without an explanation, that would be unfair. She deserved to understand. And while you're trying to convince yourself that hurting her by leaving now would be less bad than doing it even later and that it would probably be for the best for both of you, you couldn't shake the feeling that she would've felt used.

And every time you think about that, she texts you, answering your last message and pushing the thought of leaving away immediately - not that she's aware of that but she still does. The start of a conversation, that filled you with a strange sense of happiness. A happiness that kept you from running.

The urge to stay is impossible to ignore. The want to understand every action before calling it unreasonable, taking all reasons to leave and burn them down, you kept only the reasons to stay.

A stupid smile with every message.

An shy and embarrassing flush with every tease.

The commitment to understand her and give her time.

You mentally burned whatever you read about her on the internet. Banning news reports about her, ignoring blogs judging her or her job in any way.

Instead you chose to focus on every single bit that seemed to be real and held on to it. Every soft chuckle, the glint in her eyes when they meet yours, her sighs at the end of a voice message about an overly exhausting day.

Everything that you knew was her. What didn't scream 'ex-assassin and spy'.

You chose to learn and hold on to what you got about Natasha instead of Widow.

You chose to ignore the reasons to leave for now.

Red hair, brown coat, black boots.

And a caring smile in your direction.

Loving her could turn out so easy.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡⋆｡°✩｡⋆｡✮ ⋆ ˚｡⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

·˚ ₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 | natasha romanoff

. ݁₊ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 . it was a new era of her life. she no longer had missions or a team to rely on — only endless free time, and a bunch of thoughts that weren't really helpful. Natasha for once, had time to pick up her phone — something trivial. through the dating app Tony had dared her to install months ago, she meets somebody. finally, her heart was at peace.

. ݁₊ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 . smut! i am not responsible for your content consumption! — a TW for the photo editing thing. this may be a sensitive topic for some. lonely Nat, insecure Nat — she edits a picture of her body, swearing, oral (N receiving). lots of fluffy stuff, too. set after Civil War.

. ݁₊ 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 . english is not my first language (🇧🇷) so i apologize for any spelling errors. this ended up SO MUCH longer than i initially planned. i put a lot of dedication into this so, yeah 🥹

thanks to my lovely @sunswish who helped me with the plot and the proofreading! ♡

The trailer was quiet, except for the faint rustle of the wind through the trees outside. Natasha sat at the small wooden table by the window, her knees pulled up to her chest, a steaming mug of tea resting untouched beside her. The Norwegian countryside was beautiful, vast and unassuming, but the stillness pressed down on her.

Her phone laid on the table, the screen dark. She stared at it for a moment, the faintest flicker of hesitation crossing her face. She’d never been good at this — being still, alone with her thoughts. For years, her life had been one constant motion: missions, battles, briefings, always moving forward because stopping meant thinking, having time to ponder about her life.

Her jaw tightened, and she looked out the window instead. What was she even doing?

She’d fought tooth and nail to become an Avenger, to carve out some sliver of redemption for herself, some sense of belonging in a world she’d spent so long working against. She’d believed in their cause, in their family, even when it meant trusting people with pieces of herself she hadn’t known she was capable of sharing.

And now? The Avengers were gone. Torn apart, like everything else she’d tried to build. She was a fugitive, hunted by the very government she’d once fought to protect. Her friends — her family — were scattered, some in hiding, some in prison. She was left with nothing but her name and a handful of private contractors who worked in the shadows. People she barely trusted, people who barely trusted her. Yet she still needed them for supplies, false documents, and a roof above her head. Funny, she thought.

She reached for her mug, her fingers curling around the warmth of the ceramic, though she didn’t take a sip. She had no mission now, no team to fall back on. No one to call when the silence became too much. She wasn’t sure if she missed the fights or the people more.

A faint vibration against the table snapped her from her thoughts. Her phone. She glanced down, the screen lighting up with a notification — some random email, one of these ‘no reply’ ones, nothing important. She hesitated, then picked it up anyway, her thumb hovering over the screen.

Scrolling through her phone felt… strange. Almost trivial. She opened Instagram, an app she barely used but kept around for the rare moments she wanted to feel tethered to something normal. The feed was full of snapshots of a life she didn’t recognize—vacations, dinners, smiling faces, people celebrating milestones she wouldn't ever have.

And right then, the name ‘Avengers’ didn’t make sense for her anymore. She was supposed to have this. This life where she would have a fun moment and think ‘oh, yes! i should absolutely shoot a pic and add to my stories’. After all, Natasha was just an unavenged girl, woman, human. A picture of a mother celebrating her daughter's birthday wasn't just one more picture showing on her feed. It was her dream.

She scrolled absently, her mind only half-engaged as her thumb flicked upward. Part of her wanted to throw the phone across the room and forget she’d ever picked it up. But another part—the quieter, lonelier part—held onto it like a lifeline.

She then receives another automatic notification. How has your love life been going? It took her a moment to remember what it was, and when she did, she let out a dry, humorless laugh.

The dating app.

She’d installed it months ago as a joke, because Tony had bet her she wouldn’t. She could still hear his voice in her head, teasing her. “Come on, Nat. You might actually meet someone who doesn’t want to kill you for once.” At the time, it was funny. She’d downloaded it, filled out the bare minimum of the profile, like: cat lover, captivating green eyes & martial arts enjoyer and promptly forgotten about it.

Her finger hovered over the icon now, her heart giving a strange, uncomfortable twirl in her chest. The idea of opening it felt absurd. What would she even say to someone? What would they see in her, beyond the scars and the lies and the mess she’d made of her life? That was made of her life? Could she even try and have a relationship? When throughout her life, she didn’t ever have a conversation about feelings? Clint was the closest attempt to that — he knew her past, more than the others, at least. So she spoke to him about things like that before. But he had a wife, kids, a home.

Natasha damned her heart every single day — for wanting a connection with somebody — for wanting to be somebody's, and for not being content with what she already has.

What does she even have?

She sighs deeply as she gathers a little bit of courage (that usually wasn't necessary when one was to open a simple app in their phone) and presses her thumb against the icon. Her eyebrows show a little frown as she realizes the app wasn’t open — she had held the icon for too long, making the options add to home and uninstall pop up on her screen.

“Goddammit,” she mutters to herself. Maybe she had done it on purpose. She considers choosing the second option. But her thumb, once again, hovers over the uninstall word for too long.

She was just confused. In conflict, with something so small. Although, she was braver than that.

“Let's just get over with this.” She mutters to herself as she finally opens the app — SparkMatch, she reads the name, for the first time. She lets out a scoff. Though the feeling of unease didn't take long before coming back to her. The about me section was completely empty, in exception for-

“Captivating green eyes. Cat lover.” she reads the words she had typed, aloud, cursing herself. It was what she had written in order to simply make the Iron Man laugh and leave her alone. “Great job, Romanoff. Truly irresistible.”

Scrolling down her profile, which was named only @Natasha1203— having in mind that her surname wasn't one to be openly shared — she finds the photos she had chosen, months ago, without really thinking much. Her gallery didn't have much cheering stuff. They were as nondescript as possible: a picture of a skyline she had taken while on the run. Her in sunglasses, her most common accessory. And.. a single closeup of her face, that felt too honest for comfort. She doesn’t know why she left that one there, for the world to stare at. Maybe it was the one moment where she caught herself looking like.. well, herself. If somebody squinted their eyes, they could see a small scar on her shoulder. She hoped people wouldn’t do that.

Summing up: the profile was a mess. And that was a perfect reflection of the person behind it. She doesn't make a move to edit any information — before remembering an important detail. It would be nice to change her profile's name, in case anybody (especially Tony, that was aware of this) tried to look for her.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203 was the new username.

Perfect. She does a little ‘tsk’ with her tongue, a little habit she developed when finishing a task.

Flirting was easy. She had been trained for it — trained in the art of seduction, molded into a woman that could slip into any persona, say the right words, touch in the right way, just to get what she needed. But this wasn't one of the spy programs she had access to in SHIELD. This wasn't about manipulation or information extracting. This was trivial. Normal.

Natasha browses through the app for a while. She stops in profiles of strangers that smiled back at her through their pictures — men, women, who were teachers, doctors, engineers. People with families and hobbies. Who had the chance to live a life without looking over their shoulders every second. Yet something about this.. gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling. It was faint, but it was there. Knowing all these little details about random folks, she could find small pieces of herself in each one: some did ballet when they were little. Some had a scar due a kitchen accident. Some did karate simply for liking the sport. Some liked peanut butter sandwiches. She quietly giggles, her previous nervousness replaced by a silly feeling.

Maybe it wasn't that bad. It is not like a random person was gonna crawl out of her phone screen and have a date right then, anyway. And there was another ‘problem’. This app was still american, while she was in a whole new timezone.

What a relief.

She shifts on the small couch of her trailer, now laying down on it, allowing herself to get entertained with SparkMatch. She even found some profiles that were probably deactivated by now, seeing that they were created, like, a decade ago. She purposefully clicked on the small heart on them, meaning Match. She softly laughs.

But the sound is interrupted by herself as she finds a specific user.

It was a minimalist profile — elegant, even. It didn't say much about the person's personality: it said enough. It wasn't extravagant or absurd like some she had found. And it certainly wasn't a mess, like hers.

Y/n. 34. Not good at small talk, but I'm a good listener. A photographer, currently traveling around. Just someone who thinks the world is too big of a place to stay idle for too long. Currently: Norway

It was truly something else, compared to the live, laugh, love bios or the gym rats flashing their abs.

Her curiosity picks up, and soon enough, she sees a picture of them in Oslo.

And it was posted just three days ago.

So they were active in this app. But this wasn't what her mind grasped. Traveling in Norway. International trips usually didn’t last just three days, right? So that meant they were still there. There with her.

Out of all countries in the world, they were there?

She reads the bio again. Currently: Norway.

A strange shiver runs down her spine the more she thinks about the situation she found herself into. She bites on her lip, her stomach twirling almost painfully, like a school girl texting her crush. She was the Black Widow, for God's sake. She didn't get to go on silly dates and receive flowers.

No. This was too much. Without closing the app, she locks the screen of her phone again and drops it to the couch, quickly standing up and running her fingers through her hair. There were many reasons why this wouldn't work, especially when she was a fugitive and could get recognized, even in a small cafe.

Heading to the tiny kitchen, she opens a drawer on the countertop and grabs a bottle opener, opening the fridge and taking a beer out. She removes the cap and downs the bottle with no second thought, the bitter liquid ripping down her throat. Deeply breathing, shakily. Amidst the vast emptiness, not only of the place she was currently settled, but of her heart too, she fought back tears. The glass of the bottle clicks against the marble countertop as she places it down, her hands tightly gripping onto the edge of the furniture, holding herself up. It was a hard decision to make, whether to take this opportunity and keep it safe in her heart, or to let it go and pretend it never happened in the first place.

But she wouldn't be able to rest tonight knowing she simply did nothing about that special person the app charitably put into her hands. So, on this night, the unshatterable Natasha Romanoff did something she never thought she would. Before heading to bed, she picked up her phone again. Gladly, she didn't have to look for the profile once more. She simply had to press onto the small heart next to their picture. And she did.

The screen flashed: It's a match!

Natasha blinked in surprise, almost dumbfounded by this message. But this was meant to happen, right? Now, she could only hope that she would receive something in return by the morning.

It felt.. good. She had something to expect, a little flicker of hope that followed her even in her dreams, that made her feel better than she could ever imagine.

And this was just the start.

♡₊˚ 📱・₊✧

When the next day came, all of Natasha’s thoughts regarding the whirlwind of recent events were replaced by a single thing: that person. That New Yorker who was currently in Norway to take photos for a personal album. She initially wondered if she could really lower her guard like this and not think too much about Secretary Ross — who was still after her — but it was not like she would leave this trailer anytime soon. Thus, she needed a distraction, something to keep her brain entertained until this whole mess was over.

Talking to them was a relief — a solace she had been needing and didn't even know until now.

Talking to you.

Right away you had seen the match notification of SparkMatch, even if it was already one in the morning when it arrived. You sent this woman- Fanny? a message, and waited, but no response came until the next day. You wondered if she had impulsively pressed the match button and ran away from her phone out of nervousness. You actually imagined it, seeing the one picture of herself she published on her feed. Her profile was.. vague, to say at least, but she was incredibly beautiful, and indeed had captivating green eyes, like she boldly described herself. It made you smirk to your phone’s screen. No, genuinely smile.

It was pretty much clear that she wasn't a dating app person. And neither were you! You just had a better sense of organization than her, that's for sure. What if you two could really be a match?

As the day went on, you two engaged into a conversation that was surprisingly enjoyable for both sides. Opening the inbox chat, that could be found:

@Y/n: Good night. Is your real name Fanny Longbottom?

— eight hours later —

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Good morning! The first thing you ask a woman is if her name is real?

@Y/n: It just doesn't suit a beautiful redhead with captivating green eyes.

Natasha groaned to herself at this, laughing. The humor in the text was evident, and she loved that.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Right. It was a joke. You can call me.. Nat.

It was a glimpse of her name. It could be Natasha, Natalia, Natalie.. or all of these.

@Y/n: Nat.. that is better. Yet still very vague. Like your whole profile.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Perhaps my whole account here is a joke.

@Y/n: And we still matched. And sincerely, I'm intrigued. Intrigued and curious.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: That’s a dangerous thing to tell someone you just met.

@Y/n: Personally, I wouldn’t call a cat lover dangerous.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Will you stop mocking me for my irresistible biography or what?

It was an easy playful banter. It felt light. Not like these conversations where you had to directly ask the other person to be nice to you.

@Y/n: You just don’t strike me as someone who spends much time on dating apps. What brings you here?

With that, she debated whether to mention Tony’s dare or not. She could talk about it, but not for now. If she’s sincere, about how much she needed not to be alone anymore, this could lead to something good, more profound.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: I’m just trying something new. What about you? Norway seems kinda away from the rest of the world.

@Y/n: It is. But sometimes you have to go far to find what you’re looking for.

Natasha leaned back, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She didn’t know who you were, or why your words seemed to settle something in her chest, but for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, she felt.. excited.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Have you found it?

@Y/n: Not yet. But I have a feeling I might be in the right place.

She stared at the message, her mind turning over the possibilities. She was already glad that this hadn’t started with “hey, you’re cute” or “what’s up?”, and now? It felt like she was in a dream — to find someone that shared her ideals, or that at least, thankfully, sounded like a mature adult.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Maybe Norway isn’t so bad after all.

@Y/n: So you’re also here!

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: That seems like an excited message to me.

Gladly, her phone’s camera wasn’t capturing anything. Because she swore her eyes were sparkling right now.

@Y/n: Of course I’m excited, Nat. Now I have something else to think about other than shooting pictures.

Natasha stared at the reply, her fingers lightly brushing against the edge of her phone. There was something disarming about your words — direct, yet not forceful. And the way you used her name so casually made her blush.

She hesitated, before typing back.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: What do you shoot? Other than clever replies, apparently.

@Y/n: Street photography. Portraits, mostly. But I’ve been known to dabble in the occasional cat picture. You know, for balance.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Balance is important. What would the world do with no cat pictures?

@Y/n: I shudder to imagine it. Speaking of balance.. would you let me buy you coffee sometime? Or would that be too much?

Her breath caught. You really didn’t waste time, did you? she thought. For a moment, her walls threatened to go up again — she could almost hear that little voice in the back of her mind telling her that this was not a good idea, that it wasn’t smart, safe.

But she silenced it. It was too soon, for sure — but she couldn’t knock it till she tried it.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: That depends. Are you going back to New York in the next few days?

@Y/n: I don’t have a specific date to go back. So I guess it depends on how things go.

Yeah. Now she felt a little pressured. It was a dilemma, she could be the reason you stayed or left. Adrenaline coursed through her veins — that was determination.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: It’s not like I am going anywhere anytime soon, either. But.. I like to play hard to get sometimes. How about we wait and see how things go?

@Y/n: Hard to get, huh? Well, patience is a virtue. Let me know when you feel like stopping the chase.

And you two went on like that — talking about your favorite portraits, sending her some — receiving her compliments, which sounded way too genuine for your liking. It was casual, like talking to a friend. Natasha didn't take long to start feeling comfortable with texting you. If she weren't a spy without a private number, she would've asked for your WhatsApp. Or maybe she was just exaggerating. The thing was: she didn't have to wonder about how to answer you. Your way of having conversations was so nice that she didn't feel forced to text back.

And with these new discoveries, Natasha felt like she could be in this new country without feeling too out of place. She feared that in the end this would be just one momentary experience, one of the many personas she played.

But shockingly, for once, she didn’t feel like paying attention to her overthinking.

♡₊˚ 📱・₊✧

Weeks had passed, and the nightly silence Natasha once dreaded was now filled with something else. Her phone screen, once cold and impersonal, had become an opening to something warmer. A new phase of her life. She never thought she would be so close to a mobile device before. Supersecret agents couldn’t have personal ones other than burner phones, it was risky — they could get hacked, tracked, recognized. She didn’t have a number, or an email with her name, bank accounts, or any sort of thing that could link her to the authorities. She only had TikTok, Instagram, some games like Candy Crush Saga and her newest best friend, SparkMatch.

Everyday, without fail, your conversations flowed effortlessly. You spoke about everything: Norway’s quiet beauty, silly anecdotes, and even the mundane things that somehow became meaningful when shared. She made herself get used to the habit of not thinking much. This wasn’t part of the plan — or rather, there was no plan. This constant connection grounded her in a way she didn’t fully understand.

Having someone willingly care about her, without having to ask, beg for it — she couldn’t understand.

This evening, after eating her exquisite caviar and drinking champagne, she settled onto her couch with a blanket draped over her shoulders. Her phone buzzed, and her mind involuntarily anticipated your witty reply, or question about her day.

Instead, a picture greeted her.

It wasn’t posed or staged — just you. mid-laugh, with a goofy expression that instantly betrayed your attempt to be serious. Your hair was a bit disheveled, and the lighting was off, but the image carried a kind of authenticity Natasha couldn’t let pass. The caption reads:

@Y/n: I don’t usually do selfies, but I figured you deserved to see what you’ve been stuck talking to all this time.

It was caring. You thought about her often enough to send a picture of yourself, doing absolutely nothing important.

Natasha softly blinked at the picture, completely still as her brain worked to process what she was looking at. It wasn’t just a picture. There was trust behind it, a hidden message. She couldn’t tell where you were getting at with this action — actually, she could. She just tried to convince herself of the contrary, afraid of putting her hopes up and screwing up afterwards.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Hi. I wasn’t expecting that.

@Y/n: Hi! How are you right now?

She bites her lip, incredulously chuckling. She was almost certain that this question was supposed to come before the picture.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Better.

She was feeling better, but not just that — she was feeling.. something. Something like.. seen. Like she was remembered by someone, like she existed, for once.

And those feelings stirred something even deeper within her.

The connection was becoming deeper — it was just now that she realized that the flirting which occurred every now and then wasn’t meaningless. It had a deep impact on her, in her soul — as a friend, as a person, and mostly.. as a woman. She needed it. She needed someone to like her, to pay attention to her, to see her — intimately, closely. Even better when this someone wasn’t a superficial person, and actually one who she related to and felt like she could share this dormant part of herself.

So she decides to share a picture, too.

She sits upright on the couch, the blanket falling and pooling around her hips as she opens the camera. She switches from the back camera to the frontal one, and takes a selfie. She was wearing a simple grey tank top, so her shoulders, collarbone and neck were on display. She wasn’t smiling smiling, just briefly, just enough to make a friendly expression. It was soft, tender. Unlike the deadly Black Widow.

Thankfully, for you, she didn’t have to be that.

So she presses send, laying back again and staring at the screen in anticipation — her eyes closely watching as the send mark changed into seen, that then turned into open. It stayed like that for a long while — like you were examining the picture and weren’t ashamed of it.

It gave her goosebumps.

The typing bubble appeared again after what felt like an eternity.

@Y/n: You’re beautiful, Nat.

It was a compliment you had already used on her. But this situation? Oh, it felt so, so different. You were talking about the simplicity, the domesticity of her in this closeup, the softness.

Fueling the fire that started to burn within her on this specific day.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Just a selfie.. don't get carried away. I'm hardly camera ready.

@Y/n: It's more than a selfie for me. It made my day. If that's not camera ready, I wonder how it'll be like when you try.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Would you like to see?

Oops. She didn't think before sending this one.

@Y/n: Hell, yes.

Her mind was immersed, totally consumed by the attention you were giving her — no jokes, no hints, just shameless flirting. Standing from the couch, she walks to her small bedroom, which was already dark, gladly — she closes her door, and slumps on her bed. Seduction was her nature, she couldn't control it. Though it wasn't necessarily a bad thing right now. Reaching her hand out, she turned on her yellow dim lamp, a gentle, warm glow casting her skin, making a better environment for the incoming picture.

She reopened the camera and adjusted herself in a comfortable position — knees pulled up, her left hand resting above her stomach as she held her phone with her right one above herself — taking the photo. There was auburn red hair all over the pillows, some strands framing her face perfectly. There was skin showing — a bit of her thighs, her arms, waist.. the curves of her body leaving room for imagination.

And something that she forgot about for the longest time.

The bullet scar above her left hip.

She stared at the photo on her screen, finger hovering over the "Send" button instinctively. The lighting was perfect, the pose effortless yet captivating. Her expression was soft, relaxed — but her pupils were darkened, a hint of the sinful emotions coursing through her body. But her eyes fell to the scar.

It was unavoidable, cutting through the smooth expanse of her pale skin like a brutal reminder. The bullet scar left by the Winter Soldier, a relic of her past life, stood out glaringly in the image. Her jaw clenched as a familiar wave of self-consciousness surged through her, a feeling she thought she had buried already.

She sighed, leaning her head back against the headboard as her thumb swiped to open the editing tools. It took her less than a minute to brush the scar away, leaving her skin unmarked, untouched. Natasha tilted her head, scrutinizing the result. The photo looked… perfect. Too perfect, perhaps, but she didn’t allow herself to dwell on that.

With a deep breath, she pressed send.

Unlike your other conversations, she felt.. heavy. Like the instinct of having to show her perfect body in order to be liked was speaking louder than her rational side.

The message was delivered almost immediately, but the seconds felt drawn out, agonizingly long. When the "seen" indicator appeared, her heart raced. She bit the inside of her cheek, anticipating your response.

The reply came swiftly:

@Y/n: Wow. I’m speechless.

She smirked (bittersweetly), her thumb hesitating for only a moment before typing back.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: That’s a first. Usually, you always have something to say.

The typing bubble reappeared, and she waited, her heart thudding in her chest.

@Y/n: You make it hard to think, Nat.

Natasha felt warmth flood her cheeks, her fingers trembling slightly as she typed.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Don’t let it go to your head.

@Y/n: I think it's too late for that.

For a moment, she wondered what you would have said if you’d seen the unedited version. Would you have found it ugly? Would you have pitied her? Or would you have admired her for wearing it like the badge of survival it was?

In her dreams, you would have worshiped it.

Before she could send anything else, you decided to take a shot on meeting her in person once again.

@Y/n: I'm sorry, I'll have to suggest. How about this: I'll find the best café within a 10-mile radius, and you can tell me if my photography is as good as my coffee recommendations.

Time passed, and the accusations against Natasha had toned down a bit. Maybe, just maybe, if she's careful enough, she can do this. The first date she'd have in what, a decade?

It was refreshing. And scary. But overall refreshing.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Deal. But I will be the judge in both.

The day and place was decided — it would be in Oslo, downtown — a café, where tons of people would be present. Natasha, growing up, became a master in blending in.

If fate decided to be on her side, this would be one of the best days of her life.

She tossed her phone onto the pillow beside her and laid back, staring at the ceiling. Her fingers brushed the scar again, tracing its jagged edges as if trying to understand its place in this new chapter of her life.

“Not everyone gets to see this side of me,” she murmured to herself.

And for the first time, she wasn’t sure if that was a warning or a promise.

♡₊˚ 📱・₊✧

The café buzzed with the warmth of chatter, the soft clinking of ceramic mugs, and the occasional burst of laughter. It was tucked into a quiet corner of downtown Oslo, a place where the world felt comfortably distant yet close enough for her to disappear if necessary. Hours before, Natasha had dressed herself up — a burgundy dress, black tights, her usual black boots — and her jacket, of course. Her hair was naturally wavy, falling down her shoulders and back — and the makeup was simple. She wasn't a woman for makeup. But this time, she wore red lipstick and the faintest glitter eyeshadow.

She felt like a doll. It was stupid, a thing she liked to imagine how it would feel like back then — in the Red Room, where the girls wore black uniforms — grey sometimes, but always robotic, always calculated. It was a comforting feeling, which made her want to go back in time and tell little Natalia: yes! we are older now, and we are all dolled up for the date of our dreams.

Natasha arrived early — of course she did. She always did. She chose a seat by the window, her back to the wall, a vantage point where she could see everyone coming and going. Her heart wasn’t racing, but there was a slight tension in her chest. She sipped her coffee slowly, the warm bitterness grounding her as she kept an eye on the door. Then, you walked in.

Her doubting thoughts flew away the moment the green eyes landed on you.

She recognized you instantly. Your smile was smaller in person but somewhat warmer, more genuine. You scanned the room briefly before your eyes landed on her, and for a moment, Natasha thought she saw your breath catch. She softly smirks, gaze involuntarily daring.

Come and get me. This? Is all for you.

She shaked that thought away as she watched you approach her table — your clothes, your style, your body language — she scanned it all. The Black Widow wasn't an easy woman to conquer, which made her dump most of the people that tried to hit on her in the past. You were a rare exception, someone who didn't even have to try to make her heart race. It happened in it’s own.

“You made it,” Natasha said, standing to greet you, to give you a quick hug — the subtle press of your body against hers making her skin tingle. Damn it. She adjusted her dress before sitting back down. You did the same, sitting in front of her.

“Of course I did. This date was all I could think about,” you reply, eyes drinking her in, like she was the prettiest woman to exist. She truly was. “No. Let me rephrase. Seeing you was all I could think about.”

Natasha lets out a soft laugh, shifting her gaze towards the floor. She was so pale that the fact that she was blushing was, unfortunately, evident.

“Feels good to finally hear your voice,” she says, resting her chin on her hand as she stares at you. “In person. Not in audio messages or calls.”

After ordering pastries and more coffee for the both of you, the conversation flowed easily, from the usual mundane topics to little jokes that made Natasha chuckle softly. She found herself studying you more and more, the way you gestured when you spoke, the way your eyes lit up when you laughed.

Eventually, the question came.

“So, what’s it like?” you asked, your voice gentle but curious. “Being an Avenger?”

Natasha paused, her fingers brushing the edge of her coffee cup. She had expected this, of course. She knew it would come up. She couldn't simply hide, not when her face had shown up on TV so many times. But if necessary, she would say that this wasn't what she wanted to be anymore. Not with you. She simply wanted to be herself around you, and not the superhero.

She wasn't Natasha who assaulted T'challa. Wasn’t the Sokovia Accords breaker. She hoped you knew by now.

“It’s… complicated,” she said after a moment, her tone measured. “Not as glamorous as it looks on TV, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

You smiled. “I’m sure. But it’s still something, isn’t it? Saving the world, fighting alongside legends.”

A faint, nostalgic smile tugged at her lips. “It was something, yeah. But it wasn’t always about saving the world.” Her gaze softened as she thought back. “There was this time when Tony installed this AI in the kitchen — Friday’s cousin or something — to help us cook. It ended up burning everything it touched. Clint started calling it ‘Flamebot,’ and Steve…” She chuckled, shaking her head. “Steve tried to fix it, of course. Said it was ‘worth saving.’”

You laughed, and Natasha found herself smiling more openly. She was rambling.

“And Thor,” she continued, “he once mistook a microwave for some kind of… magical contraption. He tried to ‘summon its power’ with Mjolnir.”

“Did it work?” you teased.

Natasha smirked. “No, but we had to get a new microwave.”

The nostalgia warmed her, but it also left her feeling melancholic. She missed them. Not the missions or the battles, but the team — the messy, dysfunctional family they had become. You seemed to notice the shift in her mood and didn’t push further. Instead, you leaned in slightly, your voice soft.

“I can tell you miss them,” you said.

Natasha nodded, her walls lowering just a fraction. “Yeah. I do.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, realizing she needed some cheering up. This was supposed to be a happy day, not one to bring up sad memories. So you opened your bag, pulling out of it your camera — which made Natasha's eyes brighten up.

“You brought it!” she exclaims. “I almost forgot that you're a photographer,”

“I thought of the possibility of having to register this moment. And I was absolutely right. You look.. beautiful isn't enough to describe it,” you deeply sigh, as if surrendering to her, to this feeling of being completely in love. “Can I please take a picture of you?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly smile. “A picture of me?” she asked, her tone teasing. “You know that’s dangerous, right? What if you decide to sell it to the tabloids?”

You laughed softly, looking at her like a lovesick puppy, shaking your head. “I’m not interested in fame, Nat. Just in you.”

That made her pause, her smirk faltering for just a second. It wasn’t often she heard something so direct, so sincere. She tilted her head, studying you with those piercing green eyes, as if trying to gauge if you meant it.

“Alright,” she said finally, leaning back in her chair. “But only if it’s a good angle. No pressure.”

You grinned, lifting the camera and adjusting the settings with practiced ease. “No such thing as a bad angle with you.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, but the blush dusting her cheeks just got worse. She straightened up, her posture relaxed yet commanding, exuding that natural grace and power.

“Like this?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, a hint of amusement in her voice.

You brought your chair closer, lowering the camera for a moment. “No. Don’t pose,” you said quietly. “Just be yourself.”

That caught her off guard. Her brow furrowed slightly, and she shifted in her seat, unsure of what to do with herself for once.

“Be myself, huh?” she murmured.

You nodded, lifting the camera again. “Exactly. I don’t need the Black Widow. I want Nat.”

Her lips parted slightly at your words, and for a fleeting moment, the mask she wore every day seemed to slip. Her shoulders relaxed, her head tilted to the side, and a genuine, very shy smile spread across her face. “I-”

Before she could protest, the shutter clicked, capturing her in that rare, unguarded moment. “Perfect,” you murmured, lowering the camera and meeting her gaze.

Natasha shook her head, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Only the good kind,” you replied with a grin, setting the camera down.

She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand again as she studied you. “So, do I get to see it? Or are you keeping me in suspense?”

You turned the camera around, showing her the photo on the screen. Her expression softened as she took it in — the warmth in her eyes, the slight tilt of her head, the way the light framed her face, her rosy cheeks. It wasn’t just a picture. It was a glimpse of who she really was, beyond the layers of secrecy and survival. It was simply her, away from espionage, having coffee with her date.

Her unforgettable trip to Norway.

“It’s… good,” she said quietly, her voice almost hesitant.

“Good?” you ask. “It’s stunning. Just like my model.”

Oh, that…

The way you emphasized the word ‘my’.. the way you were making her feel.. actually precious. She was trapped.

“Alright,” she said, sitting back. “You’ve had your fun. Now tell me, do I at least get a copy?”

You laughed, nodding. “Of course. But only if you promise to go easy on me when I take more later.”

She smirks, her confidence returning. “We’ll see about that.”

As the evening wore, the sky showed a beautiful indigo, stars twinkling just like the sparkles in both of your sets of eyes. Natasha allowed herself to relax. To bask in this kind of normalcy that she never had the chance to experience. She had seen a lot, lived a lot. She knew what people could do in response to fear. She saw war and hatred, she saw coldness and cruelty. But from now on, she could live in a lighter way — like her heart was finally at peace.

“Should we get going?” you asked as the people also started to leave, standing and offering her a hand.

Natasha hesitated for half a second before taking it. Your touch was warm, steady, grounding, and promising. As you stepped outside, the cool air of Oslo wrapped around you. The city lights flickered like stars. Natasha felt a strange sense of calm. When she felt your arm enveloping her shoulders, her breath hitched, but she didn’t let it show — leaning into you gently.

“Where to now?” she asked, glancing at you.

“Well, the hotel, if you’re up for it,” you replied, your tone playful but not pushing.

That playfulness was a disguise for more surprises that awaited her back into the hotel room you were hosted in.

♡₊˚ 📱・₊✧

When you unlocked the door to the hotel you're staying in, Natasha followed you inside, her steps hesitant, as if she wasn’t quite sure what to expect. The space was warm and inviting, even if it wasn't a fixed place — especially after knowing you for a good while now — tons of polaroids laying across the bed, portraits, some funko pops that you bought recently. But what caught her attention almost immediately was the bouquet of flowers resting on the counter, tied together with a simple ribbon.

Her brows furrowed slightly as she turned to you, her lips parting in surprise. She didn't even have time to look around the place. “What’s this?” she asked softly, her voice carrying a mix of curiosity and vulnerability.

You stepped past her, picking up the bouquet and holding it out to her with a smile. “These are for you,” you said.

Natasha blinked, momentarily stunned. Her fingers brushed against yours as she took the bouquet, her touch delicate, as though the flowers were something precious. She examined them quietly — deep purple irises mingled with soft yellow sunflowers and a few sprigs of white heather.

“So you’re a hopeless romantic.. you didn’t take them to the café. What made you so sure I would come back to your place?”

You shrugged, leaning casually against the counter. “I wasn’t sure,” you admitted, meeting her gaze with an honesty that made her pause. “But I hoped you would. And, well, I wanted them to be a surprise. It felt more personal this way.”

Natasha glanced down at the flowers again, her fingers gently brushing over the petals. “You really thought this through, didn’t you?”

“I thought you were worth the effort,” you said simply, the sincerity in your voice making her blink rapidly, as though she was trying to process it.

Natasha smiled as she shook her head lightly, trying to dismiss the overwhelming feeling creeping up on her. “You’re really something, you know that?”

You chuckled, stepping closer. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She tilted her head, her green eyes studying you with a mixture of curiosity and warmth. “It is,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “You didn’t have to-”

“I wanted to,” you interrupted softly, stepping closer. “You deserve something beautiful. Something that shows how incredible you are, even if you can’t always see it yourself.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. The Avenger, the unshakable spy, was speechless.

Natasha turned to face you fully, the bouquet forgotten for a moment as she searched your face. It was almost desperate, how she tried to find reassurance, anything that told her that her past wasn't a problem. “You… you don’t even know the half of it,” she murmured.

“Maybe not,” you admitted. “But I want to. Every part of it, Nat. I want to know you.”

For a long moment, she just stared at you, as if trying to decide whether she could let her walls down one more time. Talking through an app was easier. In person felt way too serious. And then, with a deep, trembling breath, she set the bouquet back on the table and closed the distance between you.

She walked with determination, her chest lightly touching yours as her hands found their way to the back of your neck. Her fingernails softly scratched in between the hair strands. She didn't know what to say — she didn't want to say anything. In this very second, she simply wanted to feel. Feel what she never had the privilege to feel as the years passed, because yes, this felt like a privilege. She stood on her tiptoes to press herself closer, doe green eyes pleading.

They told you everything, and you didn't need to be passed the message twice. Your right hand cupped her cheek as the left one wrapped around her waist, bringing her even closer.

She was an angel. Not a deadly spy. A sweet angel to be taken care of. To have her needs satisfied and tears wiped away.

As Natasha felt you responding, she allowed her eyes to close.. basking in the darkness, wanting to be enveloped by this only one sensation. This soft, intense sensation of your lips against hers, moving in a way that wasn't rushed, but wasn't too deliberate either — your hands gripping her waist and bunching the fabric of her jacket, maneuvering her back against the counter. Holding onto your shoulders, she sat on the countertop, welcoming your body between her legs. The kiss lasted. She softly whimpered as she felt your tongue brushing against her bottom lip, asking for entrance, for more of her. And she allowed it. Her head tilted to the side, moving in sync with you — as your tongues danced, a dance she hadn’t discovered before.

Needing air, you pull away, foreheads resting against one another as you deeply inhale, messily. It was torture to stop kissing her, she was good. But air was necessary. Calming down, your arms circle her waist. A smile makes its way to your lips as you see the state she was in. Flushed. And…

“I think your lipstick is a little smudged,”

Natasha felt that — every nerve of her skin was burning, including the parts with the messy makeup. She lets out a huff of air and clears her throat, trying to find her voice so she could respond.

“That was…” she whispers, her hands cradling your jaw. “Wow,”

“You are ‘wow’,” you whisper, using your thumb to wipe away the red lipstick from the corners of her lips, fixing it. “You are perfect,”

“I'm not that- I'm not,” she nervously giggled, humming as you finished fixing her up. She shifted on the countertop, her legs pressing around your hips, as if afraid of you leaving.

“I wish I could give you my set of eyes,” your hands travel down to her thighs, feeling the slightly rough fabric of her tights, but that didn't make her skin any less smoother to the touch.

Her dress was basically all the way up her hips at this point, something she hadn't paid the necessary attention to, due being too busy making out with you — and in the pit of her stomach, a small flicker of panic started rising. This was reckless, so reckless. It is not like she didn’t think of the possibility of things escalating while coming back to the hotel with you, but in her head, she would have more control over the situation — and with that, manage to keep her secrets uncovered.

But she didn’t. Her body was reacting in its own and her mind was cloudy. She had zero control.

Before you could even touch the zipper of her dress, Natasha froze. Her breathing hitched — barely noticeable if you weren’t paying attention, but you were. Her hands, which had been so confident just moments ago, trembled as they pressed gently against your chest.

“Wait,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, as if it might shatter if spoken any louder. “Just.. give me a second,” she muttered, avoiding your gaze as she detangled from your grasp, getting off the counter and hurrying to the bathroom.

The sound of the door clicking shut echoed through the quiet room. Natasha leaned against the sink, gripping its edges so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her reflection stared back at her — flushed cheeks, wide eyes, red marks staining the corners of her lips.

Why did she have to choose a matte lipstick?

Her fingers brushed against her side, over the spot where the bullet scar lay. She had hidden it from you before, in that photo. It had seemed harmless at the time — a small deception to preserve the image of herself she wanted you to see. But now, in the raw intimacy of this moment, it felt like a betrayal.

She turned on the faucet, splashing cold water onto her face in an attempt to calm the storm raging inside her. She couldn’t lose this moment — not to her own fears, not to a scar that was just one more piece of her long and painful past. But how could she explain it? How could she show you this part of her without ruining everything?

Natasha pressed her hands to her face, inhaling deeply. It’s just a scar, she told herself. It doesn’t define me. It doesn’t change who I am.

Except that it does. And a small tear rolls down her cheek.

You’re not in the Red Room anymore, she reminded herself, gripping the sink harder. And this person… they’re different. They don’t expect you to be perfect. They just want you.

The doubt, the fears that you managed to keep away from her in the past month, came back to her — only a thousand times more painful.

Regardless, Natasha didn't have any more time to think, before she heard the doorknob turning, the damn door she didn't lock opening. She kept her head low, her body stiff as she continued to hold onto the sink. You could see her reflection in the mirror clearly. The fact that she was silently shedding tears.

“You're crying,” you state quietly, taking baby steps towards her.

“And you're bold,” she chuckles, the sound a mixture of tears and sarcasm. She sniffles, using her arm to wipe her nose. “Entering like that.”

“You're crying.” you shake your head, once again standing face to face with her. You reach out your hands and cup her tear stained cheeks. “What's wrong?”

“I…” she debated what to tell you. That she was afraid of physical intimacy since she was young? Or that she hid a crucial thing about her body all this time? “I don't know-”

“You’re hiding something from me and are afraid I’m gonna hate you?” you inquire, voice serious — not mocking, not pressuring.

What?

Her eyes go wide instantly, the tears stopping. You wipe them away from her cheeks, expression softening again as you prepared to explain yourself. “You’re part of a New Yorker superheroes team. There was absolutely nothing that spoke about your personality in SparkMatch, which is expected, Nat. I’m aware that there’s a lot that I don’t know about you. I know where I’m getting myself into.”

“For the longest time, all I wanted was company. Someone to talk to, to listen to me, and that I could listen to them. Someone to see me,” she quietly confesses, leaning her cheeks into your palms. “You did just that. You’re that person.. you filled a huge void in me. You saved me in more ways that you could ever know.”

“I’m so grateful for that.” you lean closer, pressing a lingering kiss against her forehead. She shyly wrapped her arms around your waist, her eyes searching yours once more.

“It’s not just that…” she adds, her breath hitching. She was now determined to continue from where you left off on the entrance counter. “I longed- I long for.. touches, and..”

“And closeness,” you complete, head dipping down and tucking itself into the crook of her neck. “Geez, you smell delicious,”

“It’s… Twilly D’Hermès,” breathless, Natasha speaks, a small hint of pride in her tone as she spoke about her moisturizing cream. “My body lotion,”

It wasn’t cheap, but she liked to spoil herself sometimes. It was also great to deal with the constant bruises and cuts on her skin. Your brows raise in surprise, an incredulous laugh escaping your lips. Natasha could feel the warmth of your breath on her neck, a surge of happiness and ecstasy washing over her.

“That’s.. pretty luxurious, one can say.”

“Can’t a woman spoil herself sometimes?” she retorts — interrupted by a gasp that left her as your lips pressed against her neck. Her eyes flutter shut, her hands holding onto your arms as she did her best to keep talking. “B-Besides, years of bruises and burns require good skincare.”

“I see,” you hum, nuzzling into her, into the spot behind her ear. She felt soft today. Now you knew the reason. After staying like that for a while, you pull back, looking into her eyes with a gaze that showed admiration, respect and concern towards her comfort. “Can I?”

She deeply inhales, feeling you reach for her dress again — only more mindfully now. Shrugging her jacket off her shoulders, she places it next to her on the sink and nods.

She was prepared for the question.

“Okay, hold on.” you kneel down, beginning to untie her boots, catching her by surprise. You remove them and place them aside, before slowly pulling down her tights. “Damn. Why did you have to wear something so complicated?”

“I wanted to feel beautiful,” she quietly chuckles, allowing you to get rid of the excessive fabric on her body.

So, it's time for the dress. You got up to your feet and slid your palm up her spine, holding onto the zipper and then pulling it down. Natasha was expectant, self aware, but mainly, consumed by her desire — finally awake again.

“I'll make you feel beautiful,” you nod, pushing the dress straps off her shoulders and sliding them down her arms.

“You already do.” She breathes.

She doesn't stop you from getting her off the dress. But when it stops below her hips, she tenses up. That's because she sees you freezing. To look at her. It's strange, to have someone look at her body with no apparent emotion. You didn't look at her as if she were a prize to win — an object, or a weapon. Helping her step off the dress, you toss it aside on the floor. Now nothing was disturbing you from taking her in. Her black underwear. Her toned muscles — which you assumed were from years of workout. And her scars. Cuts, a few small keloids, and the bullet scar.

“You didn’t have to hide this from me.” you breathe, dropping to your knees once more as you held her by the hips. She found herself leaning against the sink’s counter, breathing ragged, every nerve of her body buzzing in anticipation. “Makes you even more gorgeous.”

“I—”

“You're fucking gorgeous.” you hiss, kissing above the place that once had a bullet in.

Yup. Her dreams came true.

“Please,” she murmurs, not knowing how to vocalize what she wanted. But the heat pooling between her thighs told you everything.

Your lips make a path from her hip down to her pelvic bone, right hand grabbing her thigh and putting it on your shoulder — coaxing a gasp out of her. Your palm covers her scar, as though it were something precious about herself — making her feel safe, above everything. Natasha, for a moment, almost lost her balance — having to hold her weight with one foot — as your pointer finger hooked around the soaked fabric of her panties, pulling it to the side. You gave her one look. One look before diving in.

You are no longer alone.

She took the message. And her world exploded.

Your tongue working on her — licking past her folds, tasting her — as if committing to memory, and not just using her — her slender fingers tangling into your hair, pulling your head closer to her core, soft moans leaving her mouth as if there was no tomorrow.

“Yes,” She gasps, her hips bucking, seeking more of the kitten licks you showered her clitoris with. “Don't stop.”

None of her sexual experiences had been good in the past — not in the slightest. So having something so good, so pleasuring — it was truly her first.

In the Norwegian hotel, Natasha was more Avenged than she ever was with the Avengers. In the end of the night, she ended up with you on the bed — your clothes making each other company on the floor, as she lost herself — in your body, your scent, your hands on her,

and your love for her.

♡₊˚ 📱・₊✧

You were tucked under the covers when the bathroom's door opened — the hot steam of her recent shower now dispersing and mingling with the air. You sat up, leaning against the headboard as you watched her with a smile.

Natasha walked towards you, the white hotel's towel in her hands, drying her damp hair. She was wearing a t-shirt you lent her, which was probably three times her size. She was smiling. Happily.

Before climbing back onto the bed, she absentmindedly placed the wet towel on an armchair. She gently settled onto your lap, straddling your hips, her head instantly nesting on your shoulder.

“Hi, baby.” you embrace her.

“If I have to leave the country, for any reasons,” she says, her hands tracing random patterns on your back. “Will you come with me?”

“I'll go anywhere with you.” you reply, voice unwavering.

She released the air she didn't know she was holding, and allows herself to relax her sore body. She nuzzled closer as you played with her still damp hair.

Maybe dating apps weren't so bad, after all. If she ever saw her team or Tony again, she would thank him for making her install it.

“Oh, and by the way,”

Natasha whispers, finally. Probably, you were aware. But it was one more thing about her true self she wanted you to know.

“My name is Natalia.”