Writing Blog

Summary: What happens in Vegas...

Words: 601

Warnings: Mentions reader and Lena being naked, uh... getting drunk on Irish beer??? No smut

A/N: Trying to get back in the habit of writing. I'm starting to feel better. It's a work in progress.

-X-

It had started a joke. Or… you think it did? The exacts were a little hazy.

You’d gone with Lena to a tech conference in Las Vegas. It was supposed to be simple. Quick. Two days of you exploring the strip while Lena networked, meeting up with your girlfriend for meals after her meetings ended and making sure you didn’t miss her “TED talks”.

Request: “ you touch her , I kill you ” and “ you act like you’re the bad boy , but you’re not ” with lena

a/n: y’know what this apparently calls for?? PINEY CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS TIME. BECAUSE I’M IN THE MOOD FOR LIKE, the smallest amount of angst and I just wanted to suffer through it. Because like, imagine Lena interacting with someone who has just as much of a guilt complex as she does… HOPELESS.

I was definitely in some sorta mood… really couldn’t tell you why. I shall take this prompt and run with it! It’s a little cute and dumb. I was like, probably at the half-way mark of this before I looked at it all and went wtf are you even talking about? LOL, but I’ve finished it, so I’m definitely happy about it. I figured there’s not enough campy, YA-esque romance stories starring you as the useless protagonist, so I just HAD to do this… there was no other way lol. This one’s a bit of a monster. Hope y’all like it, and I hope the wait was worth it!! Thank you so much for reading :D

- - - - -

Throughout most of your formative years, you were always underestimated. Your teachers would first look at you on the first day of school every year and even at your young age, you could tell they were eyeing you with some level of wariness and suspicion.

You’d always taken great pleasure in proving them wrong, proving to be not the troubled delinquent they thought with unfailing frequency you would surely be, nor no more than the above-average student either.

You simply just were, and for so often in your life you merely drifted through and participated when it was really demanded of you.

As such, your parents and whoever else decided to give a damn whenever they so happened to remember you would comment on your penchant for underachieving, would state their desire for you to do more, to do better, and this was a surefire way to antagonize you more than you’d care to show.

It was the principle of the thing, really - to think they’d know you well at all to make such valuations like that, as if they had any real sway in shaping you into the person you are now; that annoyed you to no end.

The only thing you could say with confidence that any significant person in your life contributed to your personality was your disgruntled irritation at most figures of authority.

You attributed your affinity for letting most things simply wash over you to them as well - you’ve spent a good portion of your life letting half-baked words of love and affection fall on deaf ears, the pressure and expectation of achievement and this sole importance it held with your parents, and their legacy, and the shame that you weren’t as invested in doing good for the family as they wanted you to be was just begging for you to deflect with cynicism.

You wouldn’t say it made you apathetic, you would rather say it made you jaded and pragmatic. If you could achieve things in a way that was the total opposite of your current disposition and act out of the sheer force of spite rather than deflate with self-sabotaging indifference as is your natural reaction, you would certainly have chosen that instead.

All things considered, this surely lent itself to the ever-evolving mystery that was your entire relationship with Lena Luthor, and you always wondered just how it was you landed yourself into a role in her life; even more so, you wondered just how it was you even got to call yourself anything of hers at all.

Summary: Your first mission as an avenger, a changed hydra soldier. Too gentle for your own good. Nat comforts you after the mission didn't go as planned.

Pairing(s): natasha romanoff x exhydra!reader

Warnings: hurt/comfort, kinda fluff ig, not proofread (pls have mercy)

Word Count: ~1.2k

a/n: relationship with nat isn't really specified, but i like to think they're friends on the journey to finding out they both want more.

---

“I would knock but…. This is a tent flap so, hi.” Y/N pokes their head in the tent and gives it a once over before making eye contact with the witch the Legends sought after.

Nora has her senses on alert as something about this stranger screamed “DON’T TRUST ME” and she was right. As soon as the stranger stepped inside, the Time Bureau logo was visibly stitched onto their Bomber Jacket.

The Time Bureau agent sensed the other person’s discomfort and raised their hands up in the air. “Whoa wait, I didn’t come here to detain you for making soup-” they gesture to the steaming pot. Nora didn’t have the heart to tell the agent that the ‘Soup’ was a failed attempt at a potion.

“I came here looking for you because we- I mean the Legends, need your help. I can brief you on the way, but please, don’t have much time.”

The witch took a moment to think. This place surely didn’t believe that she had magic, going back to a life of crime was a big no-no, the legends need her help and she’s shit-outta-luck anyway so this may just turn that situation upside down, and plus, she’s trying to live an honest life now. As honest a life a witch can live anyway.

“Alright, let me grab my bag I came here with and let’s get going- and you can put your hands down now.” Y/N sighed in relief and they didn’t even notice their hands were still up in the air.

A few moments later the two exited the tent and made their way to a secluded spot so Y/N can teleport them to the Waverider. “So I heard the dude say something about a Lusty Witch? What in the Seven Hells was that about?”

Fandom: Legends of Tomorrow

Series: One shot

Pairing/s: Nora Darhk x Reader

Characters: Nora Darhk, Y/N, Gideon

Word Count: super short

Warnings: none

Request:  Prompt 34 Soft moments in bed with Nora Darhk please?

Summary: what better way to wake up than next to someone you love?

“Morning,” you mumbled sleepily, rolling over and rubbing your eyes. The brunette next to you smiled softly, eyes still closed. Her hair was sprawled out across the pillow and you almost wished you hadn’t disturbed her, she looked so peaceful when she slept.

One eye peaked open after a second, noticing you watching her. She leaned forward and planted a light kiss on your lips. The memories of the night came into full focus with that kiss, you’d talked, laughed, ended up sat a little too close on the couch… You’d had feelings for Nora for quite some time now but had always been too afraid to make the first move, but after last night you wished you hadn’t waited so long.

“What time is it?” She asked, blinking in the dim light of the room.

“Only 8,” you checked, “but it feels later given what time we went to sleep,” you reminded her and she laughed, locking eyes with yours.

“No regrets though right?” She made it sound like a joke but you could almost hear a genuine question behind the words, so you laced your fingers with hers.

“Not a single one.” You replied seriously, and she snuggled closer to you. You wrapped your arm around her and stroked her hair.

“Could we just stay like this all day?” She asked hopefully, drawing the covers closer to you both. It was like you were the only people in the world lying here in this bed, everything else just fell away…

“I’d like that, I’d like that a lot.” She positioned herself so she was back looking at you, her face hovering inches from yours, and you stared into her eyes like she really was the only other person in the world. “As long as we don’t get any mission alerts I doubt anyone will even notice we’re not around.” Nora laughed and rolled her eyes, flopping back onto the bed next to you. “What?” You asked, unsure of what you said wrong.

“You’ve jinxed it now, you know that right?” She shook her head and you gave her a little shove.

“Oh come on, are you telling me that the powerful sorceress Nora Darhk herself believes in that sort of thing? I have not jinxed anything,” you argued.

“Actually-” Gideons voice appeared over the intercom and you groaned, “-Captain Lance is requesting everyone on the bridge immediately.”

“See.” Nora said pointedly, stretching and reluctantly pulling herself up from under the covers to grab her clothes.

“That was not my-” you tried but thought better of it, removing yourself from the warmth of your bed, “okay fine, I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you I promise.” 

She gave you a quick kiss. “I’ll hold you to that.” She said in a suggestive tone that made you feel your cheeks go red. 

71  "Help me find my shirt I can't walk out of here half naked."

You and Nora had begun secretly dating a few months ago and while neither one of you wanted to hide your relationship, your team didn't exactly trust Nora yet so the last thing you needed was them scolding you for being involved with a Darhk while Damien was still on the loose. 

The night prior you had snuck her on the ship and she used a spell to soundproof your bedroom so no one could hear the late night activities you were about to get up to. 

After her multiple orgasms she ended up sleeping in later than she had intended to from exhaustion and was now hurrying to get dressed and off the waveriders before the rest of the Legends woke up. 

"Nora come back to bed," you said not wanting to say goodbye yet. 

"You know I can't stay," she sighed, pulling her pants on but unable to locate her shirt,  "now help me find my shirt I can't walk out of here half naked."

"I'd like that," you chuckled finally getting out of bed in just your boxers. 

"I know you would," she laughed. 

You spotted the shirt under your desk and handed it over to her, "found it, looks like you were a little too eager last night and ripped one of the buttons." 

"If I remember correctly you were the one who couldn't wait to get me into bed," she teased putting it on.

She tried to go towards the door but you pulled her back in for a kiss. 

"Y/N," she smiled between kisses, "I really have to go." 

"I know, I know, just trying to get in all the kissing I can before I see you again," you told her. 

She kissed you one last time and successfully made her way to the door. 

When it opened Sara and Nate were standing in the hall waiting for Mick to get out of the bathroom. 

"Really Y/N? Nora Darhk?" Sara glared at you. 

A/N: Well hellooooooo, my dears! Gues who isn’t dead! Yes, that’s mee! so I’m back from these crazy times. As you well know I was down for a while due to covid but thankfully I’m recovered, I’ve been writing for a bit more on Patreon, so if you wanna see what I’m up to these days go to my page, promise I have some good stuff there, but most importantly dont think I’ve forgotten about you. You know how much I love you and I’m gonna try to be more active and of course finish the still long pending list of request I have. But in the meantime, please enjoy this little piece for out Halloween/Day of the Dead Celebration, which as you know, it’s tradition here in my blog. Pls enjoy and let me know what you think!! Love y’all!!

Lena Luthor x Demon!R//Word Count: 674 ——————————————————-

How do you convince someone to sell their soul to the devil? 

It is easy, most of the time. Whatever thing you can offer, people will take it. Fame, fortune, power. Have it all with no questions asked. They don’t care about what they could lose because they believe they have already lost. They only have one life so, what’s wrong with wanting to enjoy it without a worry in the world?

It is hard too, sometimes. Some people don’t want whatever it is you can offer at first try. They are thoughtful about their desires. Fame, fortune, power. They already have it, or they can get enough of that in their own terms. No need to pawn their soul for something so simple.

You Won't Survive

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Smut - gripping

Natasha Romanoff does not get cornered.

She’s survived gods, monsters, men who thought they owned the world—and yet here she is, back pressed lightly to the kitchen counter in the Avengers Tower, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes sharp but wavering. And the reason?

pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

summary: Natasha Romanoff doesn’t fall easily. She plans, deflects, keeps control. You were never part of the plan — just the one moment she didn’t pull away.

tags/warnings: emotional slow burn, teasing / banter, emotionally guarded natasha, falling in love, denial of feelings, angst (?) with a soft ending, emotional vulnerability, internalized trauma (natasha)

author's note: hi 🤍 this fic is about the exact moment when pretending stops working.

i really wanted to explore natasha’s fear of things that rise too fast — of connection, of comfort, of loving someone who stays. this isn’t about a dramatic confession, just about the quiet realization that she’s already in too deep.

this was written based on this request, and honestly, i don’t know if this is exactly what you were expecting, but i hope you like it as much as i enjoyed writing it. (and yes, this was written while listening to Labyrinth on repeat.)

thank you so much for reading. english isn’t my first language, so please be kind. i’d love to know what you think, feel free to leave a comment.

Natasha Romanoff didn’t like surprises.

She liked control. Predictability. Knowing where the exits were before she ever stepped into a room. So when she walked into the briefing room and found someone already sitting in her seat—relaxed, leaning back, like the space belonged to them—her first reaction was irritation.

“You’re in my seat.” she said flatly.

You looked up at her, unhurried, eyes sharp but curious. “Didn’t see your name on it.”

She studied you for a second longer than necessary. New. Confident. Too comfortable.

“It’s implied.” she replied.

You stood without protest, stepping aside easily. No apology. No edge. Just a small, amused smile that lingered a second too long.

“Try not to do it again,” she added coolly as she passed.

She paused just long enough to glance back. “Dollface.”

Not kind. Not playful. A nickname meant to put distance where interest threatened to form.

She expected you to bristle.

You didn’t.

That was the first crack.

You integrated into the team faster than she liked. You were competent, focused in training, sharp on missions, observant without being overeager. And still, somehow, you flirted with her like it wasn’t a risk. Like it was inevitable.

Natasha met you with dry sarcasm and deliberate indifference.

“You always smile like that...” she asked once during sparring, circling you slowly, “or am I getting a special performance?”

You didn’t break eye contact. “You’d hate it if I said yes.”

She smirked. “Correct.”

But she didn’t step away.

That became the rhythm. You flirted forward. She deflected sideways.

A raised brow here. A dry comment there. Standing just a little too close under the excuse of strategy or timing. She told herself it was harmless. That she could stop whenever she wanted.

It only hurts this much right now, was what she told herself the first time she noticed her attention tracking you across a room.

She breathed in. Breathed through. Breathed out.

You never pushed when she shut down. Never mocked her walls. You stayed late, quiet when she needed it, sharp when she didn’t. You didn’t treat her like something fragile. You didn’t expect her to be anything other than what she was.

That scared her more than your confidence ever could.

One night, during a late debrief, you leaned close and muttered something stupid under your breath. Natasha laughed before she could stop herself.

The sound surprised her.

Uh oh, I’m falling in love.

The thought hit her like turbulence—sudden, unwelcome, disorienting.

She pulled back after that. Sharper. Colder.

“Careful, Dollface,” she said one evening, voice flat. “You’re getting bold.”

You studied her for a moment, then smiled faintly. “Funny. I was thinking the same about you.”

She scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But her pulse betrayed her.

Weeks passed. Missions blurred together. And still, you were there. Consistent. Steady. You didn’t demand reassurance. You didn’t disappear when she went distant. You didn’t act like her silence was something to fix.

She hated that part the most.

She hated that everyone always expected her to bounce back. Just like that.

The night the compound finally emptied out, Natasha found herself alone in the kitchen, staring into her glass like it might offer answers. The quiet pressed in around her.

“You’re still up.” you said softly from the doorway.

She didn’t turn. “So are you.”

You joined her at the counter, close but careful. You’d learned how to stay without crowding her. It unsettled her more than persistence ever had.

“You joke when you’re nervous...” you said gently.

She exhaled through her nose. “You talk too much.”

“Yeah,” you replied. “But you keep listening.”

She turned to face you, ready with a sharp remark—and stopped.

You weren’t smiling. Not teasing. Just looking at her like she mattered in a way that had nothing to do with winning.

Her chest tightened.

Oh no, I’m falling in love again.

“Dollface...” she murmured, voice quieter than she meant it to be, “you should stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” you asked.

She swallowed. “Like you’re not going anywhere.”

You stepped closer, slow and deliberate, giving her every chance to pull away. She didn’t.

“I’m not...” you said simply.

Something in her broke open.

Natasha reached for you—not urgent, not sharp. Just sure. Her hand settled at your waist like muscle memory, grounding herself before she tipped over completely. She leaned in until your foreheads touched, breath uneven.

“This is… not smart,” she whispered.

You smiled, warm and soft and devastating. “Since when do you only do smart things?”

That did it.

She kissed you.

Slow. Lingering. Nothing like the sharp, decisive kisses she’d used to shut people up before. This one felt like surrender. Like relief. Her thumb brushed your cheek, tender in a way she didn’t let herself be.

She kissed you again, deeper this time, a little breathless, a little messy—like she was trying to memorize the feeling. Like she was afraid if she pulled away too fast, gravity would take over.

I thought the plane was going down— how’d you turn it right around?

When she finally pulled back, she didn’t go far. Your noses brushed. Her eyes stayed closed for a second longer than necessary.

“This,” she murmured, almost laughing at herself, “is really happening.”

You smiled, brushing your thumb over her knuckles. “You okay?”

She opened her eyes. No sarcasm. No armor. Just her.

“Oh,” she breathed, a helpless smile breaking through. “I’m in so much trouble.”

Oh, I’m falling in love.

Natasha Romanoff X Male Reader (Short & Sweet) (Yup, Like Nat)

You obviously have a thing for Nat, and Almost everyone sees it.

Being the Spirit of Vengeance you held within yourself the devils bounty hunter, making you one of the most powerful begins on earth and a potential Level 10 Threat. Obviously you were scouted by S.H.I.E.L.D and joined their marry band of heroes, the Avengers. And after the little stunt in New York, the rest was history. Mission after mission you slowly grew closer to Natasha. Seasoned Assassin and Spy, she was the first you met due to her doing recon for Nick Fury. Naturally you two grew to be good friends, perhaps, even more.

Anonymous request

There was a lot you and Natasha could bond over. You were a late comer to the Avengers, SHIELD had found you after the whole situation in New York with Loki. But the two of you had a lot in common. Raised to be a certain way and trying to be something different.

It was after a tough mission that the two of you first really talked. You went to her room afterward, not really sure what you were looking for but knowing you needed someone to talk to. Hesitantly, you knocked on her door.

“Come in,” came her voice.

You opened the door and saw her sitting at a desk with papers spread out in front of her and a tablet open with even more information on it.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were working-” you began but she cut you off.

When Y/n’s injuries force him into Natasha’s care, the distance that had once separated them collapses. In the stillness of the infirmary, they discover that some bonds never fade— no matter how hard they tried to break them.

Warnings: Mentions of blood(?). Exes-to-lovers. Second-chance romance. Shield agent! Y/n. Fluff.

Word count: 3343

A/n: This was requested by an anon. Enjoy it!

The quinjet’s hum was a low vibration in the back of Y/n’s skull, but it did little to mask the steady burn of pain that pulsed from his side. His uniform was torn and darkened where shrapnel had carved its way through flesh. He tried to hold still, jaw tight, while the medics worked on him, but every breath felt like it rattled against cracked ribs.

“You’re lucky,” one of them muttered, pressing gauze to the wound. “A few inches deeper and—”

“Yeah, I got it,” Y/n rasped, his voice thinner than he intended. He hated sounding weak.

From the corner of his vision, Natasha stood with her arms crossed, face unreadable. She hadn’t moved since they’d boarded, her green eyes locked on the man like she was memorizing every detail in case he slipped away.

When his gaze caught hers, she didn’t look away.

The quinjet landed at the compound in a rush of metal against concrete, and before the medics could usher him toward surgery, Natasha stepped forward.

“I’ll be there when he’s out,” she said simply, voice low and firm.

The surgeon nodded.

Hours blurred. Painkillers dragged him under, and when Y/n finally stirred, he wasn’t met with sterile silence but the faint sound of pages turning. His eyes cracked open, adjusting to the dim hospital lighting. Natasha sat in the chair beside him, a book balanced in her hands, though her gaze wasn’t on the words.

“Hey,” he croaked.

The book closed gently. “About time,” the woman said, tone cool, but the way her hand gripped the armrest betrayed her relief.

“How bad?”

“You’ll live.” A faint smirk tugged at her lips, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “But you won’t be doing fieldwork for weeks.”

Y/n sighed, sinking back against the pillows. “Figures.”

Silence lingered, heavy but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet only two people who knew each other too well could share.

Finally, he asked, “Why are you here, Nat?”

The question hung in the air, and for a second, Y/n regretted it. But the redhead leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her gaze fixed on him like he was the only person in the world.

“Because,” she said softly, “no matter what happened between us… I still care.”

Her words pressed against old scars Y/n thought he’d buried. The missions, the late nights, the way they’d both walked away before they could burn each other out completely. And yet—here she was.

The man let out a shaky laugh, wincing at the pull in his side. “Guess some things don’t change.”

Natasha stood, reaching for the water on the nightstand, carefully holding it out for him. “Drink.”

Y/n took it, their fingers brushing. It was brief, but the spark was there, undeniable. He saw it in her eyes too, the flicker she quickly tried to smother.

When he handed the cup back, she placed it down with deliberate care.

“You don’t have to stay,” Y/n said quietly. “I know you’ve got missions, the team—”

“I’m staying,” the redhead cut in, firm. “At least until you’re back on your feet. Someone has to make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

The man managed a tired smile. “That’s a full-time job.”

For the first time since the mission, Natasha’s lips curved in something genuine. She settled back into the chair, pulling the blanket higher over him like it was second nature.

And as Y/n’s eyelids grew heavy again, the last thing he saw was Natasha—silent, steady, and unmovable, guarding him in the quiet hours of recovery.

—————————

The days blurred together. Painkillers dulled the sharpest edges, but the aches remained—reminders that he wasn’t invincible. What surprised Y/n most wasn’t the pain, though. It was that Natasha hadn’t left his side.

The redhead made herself part of his recovery in ways he never expected.

The first morning back at the compound, Y/n tried to swing his legs out of bed on his own. Big mistake. His side screamed in protest, and he bit back a groan. Before he could push through the pain, Natasha appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said flatly.

The man tried to play it off. “I just wanted to—”

“Fall on your face?” Natasha’s eyebrow arched, unimpressed. She crossed the room in quick strides, setting the tray down. Scrambled eggs, toast, black coffee. “Sit. Eat.”

“You’re bossier than Fury,” Y/n muttered.

Natasha only smirked. “Someone has to keep you alive.”

The days moved in a strange rhythm. Natasha made sure he didn’t push himself, which was ironic, considering she was the most reckless agent Y/n knew. She’d bring him food, make him walk the halls slowly for exercise, and force him back into bed when he thought he was ready for more.

And then there were the nights.

The compound got quiet after dark. Too quiet. Y/n would lie awake, the dull throb in his ribs keeping him from sleep. More often than not, he’d find Natasha in the chair beside his bed, reading or scrolling through mission reports. Sometimes, she wasn’t doing anything at all—just watching him, as if reassuring herself that he was still breathing.

One night, when the silence felt too heavy, he broke it.

“You don’t have to babysit me, Nat.”

The redhead looked up from her book, eyes sharp but softened by the dim light. “I’m not babysitting.”

“Then what do you call this?” Y/n gestured vaguely between them. “You’ve been here every day. Every night. Since the mission.”

The woman’s jaw tightened. For a moment, Y/n thought she’d deflect like she always did. But instead, she said, quietly, “You scared me.”

That hit harder than the shrapnel.

Y/n swallowed, unsure how to answer. “Nat…”

“I thought I lost you.” Natasha’s voice was low, steady, but he caught the fracture underneath. “And I realized I wasn’t ready for that. Not with the way we left things.”

The weight of her words sat heavy between them. Y/n remembered the way it ended: sharp words, a mission gone wrong, both of them too stubborn to bend. Walking away had been easier than admitting how much they still wanted each other.

Now, seeing her here, taking care of him despite all of it—he felt the ache in his chest shift into something deeper than pain.

Y/n wanted to reach for her, but the stitches pulled when he moved. The redhead noticed anyway, leaning forward, her hand brushing his where it rested on the blanket.

It was careful. Tentative.

For the first time in a long while, Natasha Romanoff let her guard down.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she murmured. “Just… get better.”

Y/n then closed his eyes, holding on to the warmth of her touch.

And for once, the silence between them wasn’t heavy. It was safe.

—————————

Two weeks after surgery, Y/n was finally allowed out of bed. Not that it stopped Natasha from shadowing his every move like a hawk.

“Slowly,” she ordered, one hand hovering near his arm as he eased himself upright.

He shot her a look. “You know, I have been walking since I was two. Pretty sure I remember how.”

“Yeah?” The redhead arched a brow. “And how many stitches did you tear out when you sneezed last week?”

“…Point taken.”

The walk down the hall was an exercise in patience. Every few steps, pain flared along his ribs, but Natasha adjusted her pace without a word, keeping just close enough to catch him if he stumbled. Y/n hated feeling this fragile—but when her hand brushed his back to steady him, he hated it a little less.

Of course, that was when the others found them.

“Look who’s finally upright,” Tony called from the lounge, sprawled across the couch with a tablet in hand. “Thought you were auditioning for Sleeping Beauty there for a while, Y/n.”

“Glad to see you’re alive, man,” Sam added, standing at the counter with a cup of coffee.

Steve turned from where he was reviewing mission files, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “Good to see you on your feet. You gave us a scare.”

“Apparently I gave everyone a scare,” Y/n muttered, glancing at Natasha, who only shrugged like it wasn’t true.

Bruce, ever the calm one, offered gently, “Healing takes time. Don’t rush it.”

Before Y/n could respond, Thor’s booming voice shook the room as he entered. “Brother Y/n! At last, you rise from your slumber! Truly, the healers of Midgard work wonders.”

The Asgardian clapped him on the shoulder in greeting. Or tried to. Natasha intercepted mid-swing, her hand snapping around Thor’s wrist before impact.

“Easy,” she said sharply.

Thor blinked down at the woman, startled. “Ah. Of course.” He lowered his arm sheepishly.

The others exchanged amused looks, but no one said anything.

“See?” Y/n muttered under his breath as Natasha guided him to a chair. “Bodyguard. Told you.”

“Someone has to keep you alive,” she repeated smoothly, lips twitching just enough to count as a smile.

Over the next few days, the compound became a carousel of visits. Sam dragged Y/n into card games. Tony showed up with terrible movies and worse commentary. Steve checked in with quiet concern, always reminding him not to push too hard.

But no matter who came by, Natasha was the constant.

Late at night, when the others were gone, she’d still be there—reminding him to take his meds, walking with him around the compound, sometimes sparring just enough to get his reflexes back. She held back, of course, but Y/n could see the flicker of pride whenever he landed a clean move.

“You’re recovering fast,” the redhead said one evening after a light session in the gym, handing him a water bottle.

Y/n took it, breathless. “Good teacher.”

Their eyes met, lingering longer than they should. For a moment, the air between them felt charged—like a sparring match they hadn’t started yet.

Natasha looked away first, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. “Don’t get sentimental.”

Y/n smiled faintly. “Too late.”

It wasn’t love again. Not yet. But it was something—something steady, rebuilding itself piece by piece in the quiet spaces between pain and healing.

And for the first time since the mission, Y/n wasn’t just thinking about recovering.

He was thinking about her.

—————————

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Steve’s voice carried that quiet edge of command as he looked Y/n over in the briefing room.

Y/n tugged on his vest, ignoring the tight pull across his ribs. “I’ve been cleared.”

“Cleared for light duty,” Bruce corrected, not looking up from the files in his hand.

“Which this is,” Y/n countered, though the small smirk on Natasha’s lips told him she wasn’t buying it either.

“Y/n.” Steve’s tone softened. “We need you. But don’t push yourself harder than you have to.”

Y/n gave a sharp nod. “Understood, Cap.”

Natasha, leaning casually against the wall, finally spoke. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Tony glanced between the two of them and raised a brow. “Oh, that inspires confidence. You’re basically giving the injured guy to the scariest babysitter alive.”

Natasha didn’t even blink. “Exactly.”

The mission itself wasn’t supposed to be complicated: secure intel from a Hydra safehouse, get out before reinforcements arrived—simple extraction.

But nothing about Hydra was ever simple.

Gunfire cracked the night air as the team split—Steve and Sam drawing attention on the north side, while Natasha and Y/n slipped in through the south. The compound loomed ahead, shadows cut by the glow of floodlights.

“You good?” the redhead asked, low and quick, as they pressed against the outer wall.

Y/n adjusted his rifle. “Fine.”

Natasha’s gaze flicked to his side—where she knew the stitches still pulled with every movement—but she didn’t push it. Just nodded once and moved.

They worked like they always had: seamless, silent, each anticipating the other’s next step. Muscle memory filled the spaces that time and distance had tried to erode.

Inside, it all went sideways—a second patrol, heavier than expected. One of them spotted Y/n before he could react, shoving him into the wall. Pain lanced across his ribs as the fight closed in.

Natasha was there instantly—fluid, lethal, her movements a blur as she dropped two men in seconds. But more were coming.

“Go!” she barked, shoving the drive into the man’s hand. “Get the intel out!”

“I’m not leaving you—”

“Y/n, now!”

The crack in her voice froze him. It wasn’t an order. It was fear.

Something inside him burned hotter than the pain from the ripped stitches. Y/n lunged forward, catching the attacker who had slipped past the redhead’s blind spot. They went down hard, his side screaming in protest. But his grip didn’t falter. He wasn’t letting her fight this alone.

By the time the last Hydra agent fell, the room was heavy with silence, both of them breathing hard.

Natasha turned on him, eyes flashing. “You’re supposed to be recovering, not throwing yourself in front of bullets!”

“You think I’m gonna let you take them all yourself?” Y/n shot back, wiping blood from his lip. “Not happening.”

They stood there, chest to chest, the mission temporarily forgotten. For a heartbeat, the old fire between them roared back to life—anger, fear, and something else tangled beneath it.

Natasha’s hand was still trembling when she pressed it against his vest, right over the wound. “You’re impossible.”

Y/n’s voice dropped, softer. “And you still care.”

The redhead froze. Their eyes met, unguarded.

But before either could say more, Steve’s voice crackled in their comms. “Extraction point, now. You two okay?”

Natasha stepped back, walls snapping back into place. “We’re fine.”

Y/n gave her a long look but didn’t argue. Not here. Not yet.

—————————

Later, when the quinjet roared back toward the compound, the others distracted with debriefs, Natasha sat across from him.

She didn’t say anything. Neither did Y/n.

But her hand brushed his under the bench, barely there, just enough to feel the warmth of her skin.

It was the first time since they broke up that she reached for him.

And for Y/n, it was enough to know the fire between them wasn’t gone—it had only been waiting.

The compound was quiet by the time Y/n made it back to his quarters. His ribs ached like hell, but it wasn’t the kind of pain that kept him awake. Not anymore. It was the silence—the weight of the mission still hanging between him and Natasha—that pressed heavier than any wound.

He didn’t expect the knock on his door.

“Come in,” he called, voice rough.

The door slid open and there she was, dressed down in sweats and a fitted black tee, hair loose around her shoulders. Natasha Romanoff rarely looked unarmored, but tonight… she did.

“You should be resting,” Y/n said automatically, though his heart rate spiked for reasons that had nothing to do with his injuries.

“So should you,” the redhead countered, stepping inside. She closed the door with a soft click, her eyes scanning him like she was checking for cracks.

Y/n gestured vaguely to the bed. “Want to sit?”

Instead, the woman leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “You scared me. Again.”

The words hit harder than he expected. Y/n leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” Natasha’s tone softened, but the edge in her gaze didn’t fade. “But you did.”

Silence stretched. They had danced around this for weeks—care, worry, all without addressing the wound that came long before the shrapnel.

Finally, Y/n asked, voice low, “Why did we really end it, Nat?”

The redhead’s arms dropped, her mask slipping. “Because we were too alike. Too stubborn. We fought like hell, and instead of bending, we broke.”

Y/n swallowed, staring at the floor. “And you don’t think we could’ve fixed it?”

Natasha’s footsteps were soft as she moved closer, finally sitting beside the man on the edge of the bed. “At the time? No. We were both running from too many things. It was easier to walk away than admit how much we…” She trailed off, her throat working. “…how much we wanted it.”

The air between them thickened. Y/n turned, catching her profile in the dim light. For the first time in years, Natasha looked uncertain.

He reached out, gently covering her hand with his. “You still want it?”

Natasha’s fingers curled, hesitant, but she didn’t pull away. She finally met Y/n’s eyes, and for a heartbeat, the world fell away—their missions, their scars, everything but the two of them sitting in the silence they’d been avoiding.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But I know I don’t want to lose you again.”

Y/n’s chest tightened, but not from pain this time. He gave a faint, tired smile. “Then let’s start there.”

Natasha didn’t smile back—not exactly. But she let her head rest lightly against his shoulder, her hand still tangled with his.

It wasn’t a reconciliation. Not yet. But it was the closest they’d come to lowering their weapons in years.

And for the first time since their breakup, Y/n let himself hope.

Bonus Chapter:

The rain came down in steady sheets outside the compound, drumming against the windows like a heartbeat. Most of the team had disappeared into their own corners—Tony tinkering in the lab, Steve reading in the library, Thor off somewhere in Asgard.

Y/n’s ribs still ached, but the doctors had cleared him for “light activity,” which apparently meant no more missions and shuffling around the compound like an old man. Tonight, though, he settled into the lounge with a blanket and an old film playing quietly on the screen. Something black-and-white, something familiar.

He didn’t expect Natasha to join him.

“You’re watching Casablanca?” she asked, her voice soft in the dim light.

Y/n looked over his shoulder, startled. The redhead padded barefoot across the carpet, carrying two mugs. “It was on,” he said. “Didn’t feel like flipping through a hundred channels.”

Natasha handed him one of the mugs before settling on the couch beside him. The steam curled up between them, rich with the scent of chamomile.

The man blinked. “You made me tea?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” the woman’s lips curved faintly. “I know you can’t take painkillers before bed.”

Y/n wrapped his hands around the warmth, studying her in the flickering light of the screen. For all her edges, Natasha had always been like this in the quiet moments—thoughtful, attentive in ways that didn’t draw attention.

The film played on, shadows dancing across the room. For a while, they didn’t speak, letting the silence stretch into something softer.

Then Natasha shifted, pulling the blanket off the back of the couch and tossing it across both of them without a word.

“Cold?” Y/n asked.

“Comfortable,” the redhead replied, though her shoulder brushed his as she leaned back.

Minutes ticked by. Y/n found himself stealing glances at the woman’s profile—the way her hair framed her face, the way her eyes softened when she watched the film. He remembered nights like this years ago, when missions hadn’t weighed so heavily and they’d let themselves believe in ordinary things.

“You always picked the old movies,” Natasha murmured suddenly, eyes still on the screen.

“You always fell asleep halfway through,” the man countered.

The redhead’s lips quirked. “Not true.”

“Completely true.” Y/n smirked faintly. “You snored.”

Natasha’s elbow nudged him, gentle but sharp enough to make him wince. Immediately, her eyes flicked to his ribs. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Y/n’s smile softened. “Worth it.”

The rain deepened outside, and for a while, the world was only the storm, the film, and the quiet rhythm of her breathing beside him.

When the credits rolled, Natasha didn’t move. Neither did he.

Finally, she spoke, so quietly the man almost missed it: “I missed this.”

Y/n’s throat tightened, but he didn’t push. Instead, he let his hand rest lightly over hers beneath the blanket, no pressure, just presence.

And Natasha didn’t pull away.

For them, it wasn’t a grand gesture. It was something smaller, steadier—an old rhythm rediscovered in the quiet between storms.

I refuse to accept that Natasha is dead so she's the one training the newbies and she absolutely loves to see her little sister trusting someone.

Thank you in advance if you do it :)

*Billy and Tommy are the future young adult versions* 

There was one person that Yelena trusted and that was Natasha, when her sister told her she should join Kate Bishop and the young avengers she listened. 

Currently the team was made up of Yelena, Kate, Peter Parker, Tommy Shepherd, Billy Kaplan and you. 

There was something about you that Yelena liked, she didn't know what but you were so much calmer than the rest of the team. 

She always felt safe around you and that was a rarity for her. 

Kate and Peter were very hyper active while Tommy and Billy were constantly arguing like brothers do so being around you Yelena was able to just take a breath and relax. 

Sure the others made her laugh, especially their naivety and cheesy fight moves but sometimes she needed a moment of silence.

Maybe you just reminded her of Natasha, she didn't see much of her sister these days due to the amount of time they both spent traveling around the world for missions and was looking for a familiar comfort and found that in you. 

Like Natasha you were dependable, resilient, and level headed, you and Yelena could be sitting across from each other eating tacos and drinking beers in a comfortable silence, it was nice for her. 

Neither you or Yelena were looking for a relationship, you made that very clear to the team when they questioned if you guys were romantically involved but what you did find in each other was a home.

You did little things for each other, Yelena never had to worry about running out of hot sauce, when you saw her bottle close to empty you would go to the store and pick up a replacement without her asking. 

If she was passing by your favorite take out place she would pick you up a meal just because she knew how much you enjoyed it. 

If one of you saw the other asleep on the couch after a long day you'd find a blanket and cover them to up to make sure you stayed warm. 

Clint had once called Yelena to tell her that Natasha had gotten hurt in the field, it was serious but Natasha was stable and sure to make a full recovery. 

Yelena held it together, not wanting the others to see her cry at the thought of possibly losing her sister but you put your hand on her back to show her your support and Yelena instantly turned into your embrace, hugging you tight. 

Tommy was about to say something stupid but Billy punched him in the shoulder and Kate told the team to give you guys a minute. 

On a slow day Peter suggested you guys all do something fun and go see a movie together. 

The last team outing was to play mini golf and you may have had to stop Yelena from destroying the clown castle that stole her ball so a movie seemed like a better option.

Yelena was sat next to you, reaching over everyone's lap to grab their snacks without shame which made you laugh. 

Once the snacks were gone however Yelena had no interest in the movie because of how inaccurate the gun fights were, she ended up falling asleep and using your shoulder as a pillow.