marvel

The morning sun over Zaofu didn’t burst over the mountains; it spilled slowly, a quiet bleed of pale gold that caught the frosted edges of the estate’s terraced gardens. The air still carried a sharp, biting sting, but the heavy rain from the night before had left the valley smelling entirely of wet stone, damp moss, and clean earth. It was the kind of morning that felt heavy with stillness, where every rustle of the leaves seemed to echo against the silver domes in the distance.

Kuvira stood near a low metallic trellis, a pair of rusted pruning shears held loosely in her right hand. She wasn't actually cutting anything. Her green eyes were fixed entirely on you, completely caught in a quiet, heavy trance that she had no desire to break. You were kneeling a few feet away in the damp soil, your fingers tucked into thick gardening gloves as you carefully cleared away the dead, blackened leaves from a row of sleeping iris bulbs. Every few seconds, you would hum a low, formless tune under your breath a casual, effortless sound, a small piece of a normal life that you carried with you into her gray world.

Looking at you, a familiar, aching warmth bloomed deep inside Kuvira’s chest, a sensation so thick it made her lungs feel tight.

"

'I don't think the world would understand this,' she thought, her fingers tightening around the rough handles of the shears until her knuckles turned a faint white. 'They wouldn't understand why someone like me looks at a person who brought war to this continent and decides to stay.'

For years, Kuvira had believed that everything had a price, that affection was something you earned through absolute utility, strength, or victory. Her parents had traded her away because she was too difficult to deal with. The nation had bent its knee because she was too powerful to resist. But you had completely broken that logic without even trying. You had seen her at her absolute worst. Shivering, screaming, and sobbing on a dirty greenhouse floor, entirely hollowed out by her own anxiety and you hadn't demanded an explanation. You hadn't asked her to apologize for being broken. You had just held her until the cold went away. It was unconditional, a kind of grace she had never known existed, and it made her want to give you every single piece of whatever was left of her soul.

Her gaze tracing the gentle slope of your shoulder as you leaned over the damp earth. 'I’d give up everything I ever built... I just want you to know I'm here.'

"Kuvira?"

Your voice broke through the silence like a stone dropping into a perfectly still pond. You stopped working, sitting back on your heels and wiping the back of your gloved hand across your forehead. A faint smudge of dark earth was left across your cheekbone, and your eyes were bright, crinkling at the corners with that unshakeable warmth that always dismantled her defenses. "You've been staring at that same branch for five minutes. Are you going to trim it, or are you two just having a silent stand off?" You teased lightly, cracking up that smile Kuvira has grown to love.

Kuvira blinked, the sudden transition from her thoughts making her throat instantly dry. A bright, hot prickle of heat flushed up her neck, her serious look completely cracking. Panic flared in her chest, and her fingers twitched nervously, making a sudden, clumsy snip at a perfectly healthy twig. The small branch snapped and tumbled into the dirt.

"I am... I am merely.. looking at the health of the wood," she muttered quickly. She tried to force her voice into its regular, grounded tone, but it came out slightly breathless, a tiny crack revealing just how flustered she was by your sudden attention. She quickly looked down at her boots, suddenly finding the pattern of the dirt incredibly fascinating just to avoid your eyes. "It appears to have suffered some minor damage from the midnight frost. I wanted to ensure it didn't spread to the main root."

You let out a soft, melodic laugh that made her heart do a violent, chaotic flip against her ribs. You stood up, brushing the loose dirt from your knees, and walked over to the trellis. You stopped just inches away from her, your presence instantly blocking out the chilly mountain breeze, enveloping her in the familiar, comforting scent of your cedarwood soap.

"You're a terrible liar, you know that?" you murmured gently, a playful glint in your eyes. You reached out, your fingers lightly catching the cold metal blades of the pruning shears, guiding them down so she would stop taking her nerves out on the garden. "Your mind is somewhere else completely today. You haven't even touched the real overgrowth. Do you want to talk about it?"

Kuvira looked down at your hands. Your gloves were dirty, but the hold you had on the metal was soft, completely non threatening. Her breath hitched, and she swallowed hard, her jaw clenching as she fought down the intense wave of shyness that made her want to drop the shears and bolt back to her residential room. She nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her thumbs tracing the rough iron handles, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

Slowly, reluctantly, her green eyes drifted up to meet yours. There was a raw, heavy intensity beneath her nervousness now, a depth of silent devotion so profound that it felt almost sacred. She didn't dare say the words out loud. The fear of ruining this fragile, beautiful thing you shared was too great, and the weight of her past still lingered that she didn't deserve to claim a piece of your heart. But her eyes spoke for her, wide, glassy, and completely swimming with a quiet promise that she would rather face a firing squad than let anything harm you.

"It's nothing..." Kuvira whispered, her voice dropping into a low, rough cadence that vibrated with a vulnerability she only ever showed to you. She looked away for a split second, a deep crimson blush spreading across her cheeks, before she forced herself to look back at your face. Her hands were visibly trembling now, leaving the shears completely in your grip as she let her arms fall loosely to her sides. "I was just... thinking about how much work is left to do out here. And how much time you spend making sure this place stays intact. For me.."

You tilted your head, your brow furrowing slightly with concern, though your smile remained tender. You didn't push her for a deeper answer. You didn't know the yearning ache Kuvira held for you, a feeling she couldn't express.You just thought she was being her usual, overly conscientious self.

"Hey, it's a team effort," you said softly, handing the shears over to a nearby equipment basket. You reached out and gave her arm a quick, reassuring squeeze through her tunic a brief, casual touch that sent a sharp jolt of electricity straight down Kuvira's spine. "And you don't have to carry the weight of the garden by yourself, either. If you're done intimidating the bushes, you could actually help me with these bulbs. My back is starting to kill me.."

Kuvira watched you move back toward the soil, a tight, relieved exhale escaping her nose as the intense wave of conversational anxiety finally left her frame. Her cheeks were still warm, but the suffocating panic was gone, replaced by a quiet, grounded peace. She didn't confess, and she didn't take that terrifying leap, but as she quietly knelt down in the damp soil right beside you, she intentionally let her shoulder lightly brush against yours.

"Show me what to do," Kuvira said softly, her voice steady now, her green eyes fixed on your hands as you worked.

You smiled, picking up a small, weathered trowel and pointing toward a small trench you had just cleared. "We just need to make sure the roots face downward. Place them gently, like this, and cover them with a few inches of fresh soil. They need to stay insulated until spring."

Kuvira picked up one of the rough iris bulbs. Her fingertips brushed against the dry, papery outer skin of the root, but her internal focus immediately drifted right back to you. She moved deliberately, mimicking your exact posture, matching her breathing to yours. The physical closeness was overwhelming, yet deeply comforting.

Every time your arm moved

every time you reached for the basket

she caught all the subtle movement from the corner of her eye, her pulse leaping in her throat.

'Just to be near you,' she thought, her green eyes softening to a point that felt entirely dangerous. 'Just to watch you tend to things that are buried in the dark, waiting for a chance to grow again. You don't even know what you're doing to me..'

"You're actually really good at this," you noted quietly, looking over at her progress. She had placed three bulbs in perfect precise alignment, the soil smoothed over them with flawless execution. "You have a very gentle touch when you want to."

Kuvira’s hand froze above the dirt. A faint, real blush crept back to her cheekbones, and she kept her eyes firmly on the trowel. "When something is fragile, it requires a precise amount of pressure. Too much force will break the foundation entirely. It is a... a basic principle of handling delicate materials."

"Well, thank you for treating my irises like a foundation," you teased gently, your shoulder shifting to lean slightly back against hers.

Kuvira didn't pull away. She leaned into the light, steady weight of your body against her side, letting the cool wind blow right past them. She didn't say a single word about the chaotic, hopeless adoration swelling inside her chest, and she didn't take the leap to tell you that you were the only thing keeping her standing. But for now, as you both quietly worked through the cold morning, letting your shoulders remain pressed together in the dirt, her silent devotion was more than enough.

The biting wind finally won, sweeping a flurry of strong winds across the land and sending a sharp chill right through your coat. You let out a breath that instantly turned into a thick cloud of white, rubbing your gloved hands together as you looked down at the neatly turned soil. The last of the iris bulbs were safely tucked away, insulated.

"Alright, that's definitely all I can handle for one morning," you said, your voice shaking slightly from the cold as you stood up, stretching your lower back with a soft groan. You looked down at Kuvira, who was already rising to her feet beside you. "If we stay out here any longer, we're both going to turn into ice statues. Let’s head inside."

Kuvira nodded, her expression smoothing back into her usual serious look, though the faint pink tint on her cheeks wasn't entirely from the wind. "Yeah. Your hands are already shaking. Let's go."

She moved with that quiet efficiency you had grown used to, bending down to lift the heavy iron equipment basket before you could even reach for it. You picked up the smaller trowel and the pruning shears, matching her steady pace as the two of you walked up the silver stone steps and through the large sliding glass doors of the residential wing.

The moment the doors hissed shut behind you, the sudden wave of warmth from the estate’s heating system hit you like a physical wall. The air inside smelled of polished silver, burning cedarwood from the central hearth, and the faint, lingering sweetness of morning tea. You let out a long, relieved sigh, immediately dropping the smaller tools into the mudroom bin and pulling off your heavy, soil stained gardening gloves.

Kuvira set the heavy basket down with a quiet clatter, her movements deliberate as she unfastened her outer tunic. Her back was turned to you, but her mind was still spinning with the quiet intensity of her own thoughts, the lingering feeling of your shoulder pressed against hers out in the dirt still humming beneath her skin.

"Gosh, my hands are completely frozen," you muttered, as you tried to warm yourself up by rubbing your hands together. You stepped up to the small copper basin in the corner of the mudroom, turning on the brass tap to let the warm water run over your stiff, knuckles. "I don't think I could even hold a pen right now if I tried."

Kuvira stopped what she was doing. She turned around slowly, her green eyes tracking the way you were leaning over the basin, your shoulders slightly hunched as you tried to catch the heat of the water. The familiar, dizzying shyness flared up in her chest, making her throat tighten, but seeing you look so cold completely overrode her hesitation. She stepped across the small room until she was standing right next to you, her shoulders instantly blocking out the draft from the hallway.

"Move over a bit..." Kuvira murmured softly, her voice dropping into that low, firm tone that still carried a natural weight.

You blinked, turning your head to look up at her in confusion. "What? Kuvira, I'm just warming my—"

"Just move," she repeated, not unkindly, but with a quiet, unyielding authority that made you instinctively take a half step away from the basin.

Before you could argue, Kuvira reached out. Her hands still completely warm despite the hours spent in the frost slid directly under yours, catching your freezing fingers right beneath the stream of warm water. She didn't just let you wash up; she took complete control of it, her fingers sliding over yours, her thumbs smoothing over your knuckles with a heavy, grounding pressure to force the circulation back into your skin.

Kuvira's breath hitched the exact second her skin met yours, a deep crimson blush instantly rushing up her neck and flooding her cheeks. She kept her eyes fiercely locked onto your hands beneath the water, terrified that if she looked at your face, she would completely lose her composure. Her fingers were trembling slightly, but her hold on you remained firm, and protective.

"You really don't look out for yourself," she muttered, her voice carrying a low, gruff vibration that you could feel against your own chest due to how close she was standing. She carefully worked the dirt away from your fingertips, her large palms enveloping yours entirely. "You're always tracking my hours and worrying about me, but you can't even remember to wear warm gear for a morning shift. It's ridiculous."

You stood entirely still, your breath catching in your throat as the heat of her hands and the warmth of the water completely overwhelmed you. Being trapped between Kuvira and the copper basin was intoxicating; she smelled faintly of warm amber with a mix of benzoin, and the sheer, protective dominance of her posture made you feel incredibly small and entirely looked after. You looked up at the sharp line of her jaw, noticing the intense, flustered heat radiating from her face despite her stern words.

"Kuvira..." you whispered, your heart doing a sudden, fluttery flip against her ribs. "You don't have to do this. I can wash my own hands."

"I've got it," Kuvira corrected softly, her jaw clenching as she fought down the massive wave of shyness that made her want to bolt out of the room. She didn't let go. Instead, she turned the tap off, reaching for a clean linen towel with one hand while keeping your fingers securely locked in her other palm. She began to gently, thoroughly dry your hands, her thumbs tracing the skin of your wrists with an immense amount of hidden tenderness. "Go straight to the sitting room. Sit by the fire, and stay there while I find a thick blanket for you. Alright?"

Her words were firm and direct, but the sheer, trembling care behind them was completely undeniable. She was using her natural, authoritative presence to force you to take care of yourself, all while desperately trying to hide how completely infatuated she was by your proximity.

You swallowed hard, your face flushing a soft pink under her heavy, intense green gaze. "..Yeah. I get it, Kuvira."

A quiet, relieved breath escaped her nose. She slowly, reluctantly let your hands go, though she remained standing entirely too close for another long second, her emerald eyes searching yours with a raw, silent devotion before she finally forced herself to step back.

"Good," she murmured, her voice dropping into a low tone as she gestured toward the hallway. "Go on inside. Don't make me come check on you."

She turned on her heel, her stride perfectly rigid and formal as she marched toward the linen closets to fetch the blanket. But the exact millisecond she rounded the corner, completely out of your line of sight, Kuvira tightly closed her eyes and slumped against the silver wall, burying her burning face in her hands with a soft, defeated groan. Her heart was hammering a chaotic, frantic rhythm against her ribs. She was entirely, hopelessly slipping, and she had absolutely no idea how she was going to survive the rest of the day without completely giving herself away.

Meanwhile, the fire crackled softly, its bright orange embers casting long, dancing shadows across the heavy rug and the plush velvet sofa. You sat curled on one end of the couch, your hands tucked into the oversized sleeves of your sweater, your knees pulled up to your chest as you stared into the flames. The warmth was finally beginning to penetrate the lingering ache in your bones, but your mind was entirely stuck on the mudroom, on the heavy, protective weight of Kuvira’s hands enveloping yours beneath the water.

A soft rustle of fabric from the doorway broke your trance.

Kuvira stepped into the room, carrying a thick, heavy green quilt over her arm. Her stride was steady, but there was a visible tension in the way her jaw was set. She stopped a few paces away from the sofa, keeping a very deliberate, comfortable distance between the two of you. Her green eyes scanned you quickly, checking to see if you were still shivering, before she held the blanket out.

"This should warm you up," she said, her voice low and even, aiming for that grounded tone she always used to steady herself.

"Thank you, Kuvira," you said softly, reaching out to take the heavy quilt from her hands.

As you unfolded it and draped it over your shoulders, Kuvira remained standing exactly where she was, her hands loosely clasped behind her back. She looked down at the fire, the orange light reflecting off the sharp angles of her face and catching the slight, nervous tightness around her mouth.

'Just leave,' the anxious voice in her head whispered, a familiar prickle of heat rising up her neck. 'You brought her the blanket. You're done here. If you stay any longer, you're just going to stare. You'll say something completely clumsy, and she'll realize how pathetic you are.'

But as she made a move to turn on her heel, she caught the faint, pale look still lingering on your face, and her feet simply refused to move. The desire to just be near you—to occupy the same quiet pocket of the world as you was something she couldn't break.

"Are you... are you still cold?" Kuvira asked quietly, her voice dropping a fraction, losing any trace of its former rigid edge.

"A little bit," you admitted, shifting slightly on the cushions and giving her a small, hopeful smile. You patted the empty space on the sofa right next to you. "The fire is great, but the draft from the hallway keeps sneaking in. Sit down for a minute, Kuvira. You were out there just as long as I was.."

Kuvira blinked, her heart doing a sudden, violent flip against her ribs. She stared at the empty cushion, her mind instantly entering a state of high alert.

'She’s asking me to sit..don't overthink it—don't overthink it..She’s just being nice.'

With a hesitant, slow movement, Kuvira crossed the rug and sat down on the very opposite end of the long sofa, leaving a space between the two of you.

She sat completely rigid, her hands resting flat on her knees, her eyes fixed entirely on a burning log in the hearth. The silence between you stretched out, heavy and thick with a sudden, unspoken awareness that made the room feel incredibly small.

'This is fine,' Kuvira told herself fiercely, her knuckles twitching against her tunic. 'Just look at the fire—not at her'

But like a magnet pulling on iron, her gaze drifted. From the corner of her eye, she watched the way the firelight caught the soft contours of your profile, the gentle rise and fall of your chest beneath the wool shawl, and the small, relaxed curve of your lips. A wave of profound, unconditional devotion surged through her, so heavy it physically ached. She remembered the midnight storm in the greenhouse, the terrifying certainty that she was nothing but a monster in chains, and the way you had held her hand and told her you chose to stay.

'you didn't have to do that...' she thought, her green eyes softening until they were completely glassy with a raw, hidden longing. '...you could have left me out there in the dark. But you didn't. I don't know how to exist in a world where someone looks at me the way you do, but I never want to lose it.'

"Kuvira?" you said softly, turning your head to look at her.

She snapped her focus back to the hearth so fast her neck popped, a bright crimson blush instantly flooding her cheeks. "Yeah. I'm listening."

"You're all the way over there," you teased gently, letting out a soft laugh that made her pulse leap in her throat. Before she could process what was happening, you shifted over, sliding across the velvet cushions until the distance between you completely vanished. Your shoulder pressed firmly against hers, your arm brushing against the fabric of her training tunic as you pulled a corner of the heavy green quilt out and offered it to her. "Here. Share the blanket. You're still cold too, aren't you?"

Kuvira went entirely rigid, her breath catching in her throat as your warmth completely enveloped her side. Being this close to you inside the house was entirely different from the garden; she could smell the crisp scent of the soil on your clothes, mixed with the sweet, comforting aroma of your soap. Her hands were visibly trembling in her lap, and she had to fiercely clamp her jaw shut to keep from showing just how flustered she was by your proximity.

"I'm fine," she stammered slightly, her voice dropping into a low, rough cadence that vibrated with her nerves. She looked down at the corner of the quilt you were holding out, her emerald eyes wide and timid. "You don't need to share it with me."

"It's a big blanket, Kuvira. Just take it," you murmured, reaching out and gently draping the fabric over her shoulder yourself. Your fingers lightly brushed against her collarbone, and you could feel the intense, radiating heat coming off her skin. "See? Much better."

Kuvira swallowed hard, forcing her hands to stay firmly in her lap so she wouldn't accidentally reach out and slide her fingers between yours. She again didn't take the leap to confess, and she didn't say a single word about the hopeless adoration swelling inside her chest. But as she slowly relaxed her rigid posture, letting her weight settle against yours on the couch, she let out a long, quiet exhale. For now, sitting by the fire in the quiet room, hiding her fierce devotion behind a blushing face and a firm, quiet presence, was everything she needed.

Outside the archway, the soft, rhythmic click of heels echoed down the silver corridor.

Suyin was walking back from her morning meetings, a stack of blueprints cradled in her arm. As she passed the open threshold of the sitting room, her sharp eyes naturally drifted inside. She paused for a fraction of a second, her gaze tracking from the crackling fire to the plush velvet sofa.

There you both were tucked beneath the same heavy blanket, your shoulders firmly pressed together, completely enveloped in the quiet warmth of the room. She noticed the deep, telltale crimson flush still heating Kuvira's neck, and the way the younger woman was fiercely staring at the logs, trying so hard to look disciplined while sitting as close to you as humanly possible.

A soft, knowing expression washed over Su’s face. She didn't call out, and she didn't step inside to interrupt the fragile peace between you two. Instead, she just quietly glanced at the two of you, letting out a faint, entirely fond sigh that dissipated into the hallway air. A small, supportive smile touched her lips as she adjusted the blueprints in her arm, turning on her heel to quietly walk back down the corridor toward her studio, leaving the two of you exactly as you were.

Author's Note

YOOO PART FIVE BABY. This took a while to post, I kept postponing this because I wanted to finish up some requests in my inbox so erm yeah(⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠) BUT it's okay because I do like doing all of your requests and answering questions from y'all so 😋✌️

“No.”

You looked up from your tablet. “No?”

Yelena folded her arms. “No.”

You glanced down at the schedule in front of you. “The interview is in twenty minutes.”

“No.”

“You already agreed to it.”

“I changed my mind.”

“You signed paperwork.”

“I did not read paperwork.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“It becomes your fault when you continue speaking.”

Your smile tightened. Across the conference room, Yelena narrowed her eyes. You had endured three weeks of chasing the most stubborn woman on the planet through hallways, briefing rooms, training facilities and rooftops.

Three weeks of arguments and sarcastic comments delivered with enough confidence to make anyone else retreat. Unfortunately for Yelena, you weren’t anyone else.

“You need to attend.”

“No.”

“You have a contractual obligation.”

“No.”

“You are going.”

“No.”

You sighed. “Fine.”

Yelena looked suspicious. “Fine?”

“Fine.”

Something flickered across her face. Confusion.

You stood, gathering your papers. “I’ll tell Val you refused.”

Immediately, Yelena scowled.

Cowardly satisfaction warmed your chest. There it was, her one weakness, Val. Not fear exactly, something more like annoyance severe enough to qualify as fear.

“You are threatening me.”

“I am reporting back to my employer, which is my job.”

“You enjoy this.”

“Immensely.”

“You are terrible person.”

“You’ll survive.”

Yelena stared at you for several seconds. Then she pushed herself upright. You bit back a smile.

“Good choice.”

“I hate you.”

“See you in twenty minutes.”

The door slammed behind her. You grinned at your tablet. Small victories. Very small victories.

The strange thing was that you genuinely hadn’t expected progress. The first time you’d met Yelena Belova she’d looked at you like you’d personally invented the masses of paperwork she had to be forced to complete. Now she only looked at you like that seventy percent of the time. It was growth, apparently.

The interview went surprisingly well. Mostly because Yelena spent the entire thing glaring at you from across the room while answering every question perfectly. Whenever the presenter asked something awkward, her eyes flicked towards you automatically.

Waiting. Checking. Looking for guidance.

She didn’t seem to realise she was doing it. You definitely noticed, unfortunately. The problem wasn’t that Yelena was attractive. Everybody knew that. The problem was that the more time you spent around her, the harder it became to maintain professional distance. It was difficult to dislike someone properly once you started noticing things.

The way she always made sure everyone got home safely after missions. The way she hovered near Bob whenever he looked overwhelmed. The way she pretended not to care whilst remembering absolutely everything people told her. The way loneliness seemed to settle around her shoulders whenever she thought nobody was looking.

Those moments were worse, much worse, solely because they made her human. Human was dangerous, it made people easy to care about, and you didn’t have time to care about Yelena Belova.

Your job was managing public perception, not whatever this was becoming.

“You’re staring.”

You nearly jumped. Yelena was standing beside you, far too close. The interview had ended. You hadn’t even noticed.

“No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I was thinking.”

“About me?”

“No.” You rolled your eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“Yet you keep following me around.”

“I literally get paid to.”

That made her laugh. Actually laugh. Not a sarcastic huff or a smug little noise, but a real laugh. Your stomach did something silly, and Yelena seemed just as surprised by it.

The moment stretched, then she looked away first.

“You must stop making that face.”

“What face?”

“That face where you think too much.”

You frowned. “I don’t have a face for that.”

“You definitely do.”

She walked away before you could respond, leaving you standing there like an idiot.

The weeks passed. Yelena continued arguing with every instruction you gave, and then Yelena continued following every instruction you gave.

You told her to arrive on time. She complained for ten minutes and showed up five minutes early. You told her not to threaten reporters. She argued about free speech and behaved perfectly. You told her she needed media training. She called it psychological warfare and attended every session.

The worst part was that she started seeking you out.

At first it happened occasionally, then daily, then constantly. You’d look up from your desk and find her sitting there. Sometimes saying nothing. Sometimes stealing snacks. Sometimes complaining about literally everything.

“Why are you here?” you asked one afternoon.

Yelena shrugged. You stared, waiting for something sarcastic or something earnest. Yelena only stared back.

“Staring is not an answer, Yelena.”

“I am just existing.”

“Elsewhere is an option.”

“No.”

“Why?”

Another shrug. Your chest felt strangely warm.

The rest of the team noticed long before either of you admitted anything. Especially Ava.

“You’re doomed.”

You looked up. “Doomed?”

“Doomed.”

Ava pointed across the room. Yelena was kicking a vending machine, a wide grin on her face as chocolate bars fell into Bob’s waiting hands at the bottom.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You never do.”

“There is nothing happening.”

Ava laughed, more amused than you had ever seen her. “You realise she only listens to you, right?”

“That’s not true.”

“Yesterday Bucky asked her to stop throwing her knives at walls indoors.”

You paused. “Okay, and?”

“She ignored him.”

“Reasonable.”

“You asked her the same thing thirty seconds later.” You winced. Ava folded her arms, brows raised. “What happened next?”

“…she stopped.”

“Exactly.”

Your face felt hot. “There is nothing happening.”

“Sure.”

“Nothing.”

“Whatever helps.”

You hated conversations with Ava, mostly because she was usually right.

The thought planted by Ava followed you home that evening. It stayed while you made dinner, while you showered, and while you lay awake staring at the ceiling.

Nothing was happening. Nothing. Nothing at all.

The problem was that you weren’t entirely sure you believed yourself anymore, and somewhere across the city, completely unaware of the crisis she’d caused, Yelena Belova was probably doing exactly the same thing.

Nothing happened all at once. That would have been easier. You could have pointed to a specific moment and blamed it. A mission. A conversation. One particular look.

Instead it happened gradually, slipping beneath your skin so quietly that by the time you realised what was wrong it was already far too late.

Yelena became part of your routine. Morning hot drinks would appear beside your laptop without explanation. She would send text messages arriving at ridiculous hours, about anything and everything, from her childhood to Bucky’s habits.

Most people would’ve found her exhausting, but you found yourself smiling whenever her name appeared on your screen. Which was embarrassing, deeply embarrassing.

The worst realisation arrived on a random Tuesday. Nothing special had happened. You’d spent most of the day dealing with scheduling disasters and a journalist determined to ask invasive questions.

By the time you finished, your head was pounding.

Yelena had been away on a mission. Three days, which was not that long in the grand scheme of things. Yet when you walked into headquarters and realised she wasn’t there, disappointment hit so hard it almost knocked the breath from your lungs.

The feeling stopped you in your tracks. You hated it immediately, not because it hurt, but because it meant something.

People weren’t supposed to become necessary. Especially not people like Yelena. Especially not when she could leave tomorrow and never look back.

The thought lingered. Uncomfortable. Heavy.

By the time she returned two days later, you’d almost convinced yourself you were being ridiculous.

Then she walked through the door, tired and bruised, but alive. Relief crashed into you so violently that your eyes burned.

That was the moment you knew.

Not because she was beautiful. Not because she made you laugh. Not because she occupied every spare corner of your thoughts, but because seeing her safe felt like being able to breathe again.

You were absolutely screwed. The rest of the Thunderbolts noticed too. Whether through gossip with Ava or something else entirely, you weren’t sure.

“Just ask her out.”

You nearly choked on your drink. Across the break room table, Bob looked genuinely confused.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I am not asking anyone out.”

“You stare at each other constantly.”

You glared. Bob remained irritatingly sincere.

“Yesterday she spent twenty minutes looking for you.”

“She needed paperwork.”

“No she didn’t.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Bob smiled, something warm yet mischievous beneath it. You considered throwing something at him.

“You’re all insane.”

“If that’s what helps.”

Everybody had apparently decided gaslighting you was a team-building exercise. Ava smirked whenever Yelena entered a room. Alexei kept asking inappropriate questions. Bucky looked permanently exhausted by the entire situation.

Nothing changed, at least not until the party.

The invitation arrived on a Thursday morning. You hated it immediately. “Tell me we’re not going.”

Val smiled. The expression filled you with dread. “We’re going.”

“Why?”

“Public relations.”

“I am public relations and I’m advising against it.”

Val laughed. You briefly considered quitting.

The event itself was exactly as awful as you’d expected. Every powerful person in New York gathered in one room to pretend they enjoyed each other’s company.

The Thunderbolts looked equally miserable.

You spent the first hour doing your job. Redirecting conversations. Managing interviews. Preventing disasters. The usual. Everything was fine.

Then Kate Bishop arrived. You liked Kate. She was funny and friendly. Easy to talk to. None of this was Kate’s fault, which unfortunately did absolutely nothing to stop the feeling that settled in your chest when Yelena saw her.

The way her entire face lit up. The way she immediately crossed the room. The way Kate launched herself into a hug. The way Yelena laughed.

You’d heard that laugh before, yet somehow hearing it now felt different. Your stomach twisted.

Yelena wasn’t yours, and she never had been. Never would be. The thought hurt more than it should have. So you ignored it. You smiled. You worked. You accepted a drink. Then another. Then another.

By the fourth glass, everything felt pleasantly distant. By the sixth, your emotions had become impossible to ignore.

Across the room, Yelena and Kate were still talking. The sight made your chest ache.

You hated yourself for it. Kate hadn’t done anything wrong. Yelena hadn’t done anything wrong. The problem was entirely yours. Months of feelings you’d never meant to develop. Months of pretending friendship was enough. Months of wanting things you couldn’t have.

You finished another drink. Bad idea. Excellent idea? Impossible to tell anymore.

Eventually someone sat beside you. You didn’t look up.

“You are drunk.” Yelena, because why wouldn’t she be there?

You laughed weakly. “No.”

“You can barely focus eyes.”

“Rude.”

“You are drinking somebody else’s champagne.”

You looked down. Apparently she was right.

“That explains a lot.”

Yelena sighed. The sound was surprisingly fond, and that almost made things worse. Almost.

“Come.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I’m working.”

“You stopped working approximately three drinks ago.”

You frowned. “Maybe four.”

“Definitely six.”

Your dignity was rapidly abandoning ship. “You’re very bossy.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “You taught me.”

Warmth spread through your chest. Dangerous warmth, the sort that made honesty feel tempting.

Yelena crouched beside your chair. Concern softened her expression. “You need go home.”

The tenderness in her voice nearly destroyed you.

You looked away first. “Fine.”

The journey home blurred together, all taxi lights and rain against windows. The only vivid thing was Yelena’s shoulder beside yours. Every time the car turned a corner your arm brushed hers. Each touch lingered far longer than it should have.

By the time you reached your apartment, emotions had tangled themselves into something impossible to contain.

Yelena helped you inside. You hated how much it made your chest hurt.

“Better?”

You stared at her, at the concern in her eyes. Something cracked.

“You like Kate.”

The words escaped before you could stop them.

Yelena frowned. “What?”

“You like her.”

Realisation flickered across her face. Then confusion. Then something else. Something unreadable.

“No.”

You laughed. It sounded awful. “That’s okay.”

“No.”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“Explain what?”

The room tilted slightly. Your throat tightened. Every emotion you’d spent months burying suddenly felt impossible to hold.

“Nothing.”

Yelena moved closer. “Tell me.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Silence, complete silence. Your stomach dropped. You wanted to disappear. Wanted the floor to open beneath you. Wanted anything except the look on Yelena’s face, something hopeful, like she’d spent months wanting to hear those words.

Like they meant something. “Oh.”

You laughed shakily. “Yeah.”

Yelena didn’t move. Neither did you. The space between you suddenly felt microscopic.

Your gaze dropped to her mouth. Then back to her eyes. Something changed. The air itself seemed to shift. You could feel it. The pull. The possibility.

Yelena leaned forward slightly. Your breath caught. So did hers. For one suspended moment it felt inevitable. Then she stopped, her eyes closed briefly.

When she opened them again, there was something heartbreaking in her expression. “No.”

The word barely sounded like her. You stared, confused, hurt, and embarrassed. Every horrible feeling at once.

Yelena’s jaw tightened. “You are drunk.”

The disappointment hit harder than it should have. You looked away, humiliation burning through every inch of you. Yelena stood and took a step back, creating distance where moments earlier there had been none.

“Get some sleep.”

You couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t bear it. The front door clicked shut minutes later, leaving you alone with the worst sinking feeling you’d experienced in years.

What you didn’t see was Yelena standing outside your building in the rain for almost twenty minutes afterwards. Hands shaking. Heart racing. Trying desperately to convince herself she’d done the right thing, and failing completely.

The hangover was unpleasant, but the shame was worse. You woke with fragments and scattered memories of champagne and rain against taxi windows. Then came the memories of Yelena’s voice, brewing a feeling in your chest so intense it still lingered even after consciousness returned.

Every attempt to piece the evening together made your head hurt. The details stayed frustratingly out of reach. You remembered getting drunk. You remembered Yelena taking you home. You remembered crying.

Everything after that dissolved into haze.

By lunchtime you were considering moving countries, or actively considering changing your name.

Then Yelena stopped answering your messages. The first day wasn’t unusual. Sometimes missions happened, or schedules changed. You told yourself not to overthink it.

The second day felt strange. The third day hurt. By the fourth, there was no pretending anymore.

Something had happened. You just didn’t know what.

Every interaction became awkward. Brief. Careful. Whenever you entered a room, Yelena found a reason to leave. Whenever meetings finished, she disappeared before you could speak to her. Whenever your eyes met, hers darted away first.

The rejection settled heavily beneath your ribs.

You couldn’t stop picking at it, couldn’t stop wondering. Had you embarrassed yourself? Had you said something awful? Had you crossed a line?

The uncertainty was almost worse than knowing.

At least certainty would’ve given you something solid to grieve. Instead you found yourself trapped in limbo, unable to move on and unable to understand.

The situation reached its lowest point during a team briefing. You were discussing media appearances. Normally that would’ve meant arguing with Yelena for twenty minutes. This time she barely spoke.

You hated how much you noticed. You hated how much it mattered.

When the meeting ended, everyone stood. Papers shuffled. Chairs scraped. The familiar sounds barely registered.

Yelena left without looking at you. Again.

Something inside you finally cracked.

Not dramatically, not visibly. Just enough. The sort of break that happened quietly. The sort nobody noticed except the person experiencing it.

You gathered your things and left before anyone could speak to you.

Unfortunately, the Thunderbolts had never respected boundaries in their lives.

You made it halfway down the corridor before hearing footsteps.

“Hey.” You kept walking.

“Hey.” Ava. You continued walking. She caught up easily. “You look miserable.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I gathered.”

Ava fell into step beside you. Silence stretched. You knew that look, the one that meant she was thinking. You dreaded it immediately.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

You sighed. “Ava.”

“What happened?” The concern beneath her voice nearly undid you.

You looked away. “She won’t talk to me.”

Understanding flickered across her face. Followed by irritation, though not directed at you. At someone else. Someone very specific.

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

You frowned. “What?”

Ava pinched the bridge of her nose. Then she laughed. A short, disbelieving sound.

“What?”

“She’s an idiot.”

Your stomach twisted. The words landed harder than they should have, because part of you already knew.

If Yelena didn’t feel anything, she wouldn’t be avoiding you.

People only ran from things they cared about.

The thought offered comfort. It also offered absolutely no solutions. By that evening, apparently the entire team had reached the same conclusion. Yelena discovered this the hard way.

The intervention happened without your knowledge, which was probably wise. You would’ve died from embarrassment.

Yelena walked into the communal kitchen expecting coffee. Instead she found five people staring at her.

Alexei smiled. The expression was deeply concerning. “Hello.”

Yelena immediately turned around.

Bucky blocked the doorway. “No.”

“What is this?”

“Intervention.”

“I would rather die.”

Ava pointed at a chair. “Sit down.”

“No.”

“Sit.”

Eventually she sat, muttering something in Russian that probably wasn’t complimentary.

“You’re being stupid,” Ava informed her.

“What else is new?”

“This time it’s affecting other people.”

Yelena’s jaw tightened immediately. Everyone noticed. Bob leaned forward.

“She looks sad.”

“I know.”

The words escaped before Yelena could stop them.

Ava raised an eyebrow. “There it is.”

Yelena groaned. “Please stop talking.”

“No.”

“I hate all of you.”

Alexei looked delighted. “Excellent. We are making progress.”

Yelena considered violence, but, unfortunately, there were too many witnesses.

Bucky folded his arms. “You like her.”

“No.”

“You do.”

“No.”

“You’ve been miserable for days.”

“No.”

“Yelena.”

She closed her eyes. The argument was becoming difficult to maintain. Mostly because it was complete nonsense. The truth sat heavily in her chest. Painfully obvious. Painfully unavoidable. She liked you. She liked your stubbornness, your sarcasm, the way you challenged her, the way you looked at people like they mattered.

The way your happiness had somehow become important. Terrifyingly important. Yelena hated that. Loved it too, which was arguably worse.

“You are all very annoying.”

“That’s not a denial.”

“No.”

Ava sighed dramatically. “Then stop acting like an idiot.”

Yelena stared at the table. Rain tapped softly against the windows. The sound filled the silence.

“You don’t understand.”

Ava’s expression softened immediately, more than enough to make Yelena uncomfortable.

“We do.”

“No.”

“You really think she cried over this because she doesn’t care about you?”

That got her attention. “What?”

Ava froze. Realisation crossed her face. “Oh.”

“What?” Nobody spoke. Yelena stood so quickly her chair nearly tipped over. “What!?”

The answer arrived anyway, visible in every expression around the room. Before anyone could stop her, she was already moving. Out the door, down the corridor, and into the rain.

You were exactly where she expected. The small café two streets from your apartment. The one you visited whenever you needed to think. The one she’d memorised months ago without realising.

Rain poured from the sky, and you stood beneath the awning staring out at the street. Lost in thought. Yelena stopped several feet away, suddenly terrified. For someone who fought monsters and survived impossible situations, this felt absurdly difficult.

You noticed her a second later. The moment your eyes met, your expression shifted. Hope. Confusion. Pain. The sight nearly broke her.

“Hi.”

You swallowed. “Hi.”

Rain hammered against the pavement. Neither of you moved, neither of you looked away. Eventually you laughed softly. The sound carried no real amusement.

“Have I done something?”

The question hurt, because you genuinely didn’t know. You’d spent days blaming yourself.

Yelena felt sick. “No.”

“Then why—”

“I was scared.”

You stared. The answer clearly wasn’t what you’d expected. Yelena took a shaky breath.

“I did not know what to do.”

Your brow furrowed. “What happened?”

The memory returned to Yelena immediately. Your confession, the almost kiss, the look in your eyes. Yelena stepped closer. Rain soaked through her jacket. Neither of you seemed to care.

“You told me you loved me.”

Your face drained of colour. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

“Oh God.”

The horror in your expression would’ve been funny under different circumstances. Yelena couldn’t quite manage laughter.

“I almost kissed you.”

The world seemed to stop. Everything narrowed.

“I was drunk.”

“You were.”

The words sounded painfully final. Your chest tightened. Of course. Of course she’d waited because you were drunk. Of course she’d regretted it afterwards.

The disappointment must’ve shown. Yelena stepped even closer, close enough that you could see raindrops clinging to her eyelashes. Close enough that your pulse became impossible to ignore.

“I wanted to kiss you.” You stopped breathing. Yelena’s voice softened. “I wanted to kiss you before you were drunk.”

Something fragile unfolded inside your chest. Dangerous hope. The kind you’d spent months trying to kill.

“I didn’t remember.”

“I know.”

“I thought you were avoiding me because—”

“I know.”

Her hand found yours, warm despite the rain, steady despite everything. You looked down, and then back up.

Yelena was smiling. “I am very stupid.”

A laugh escaped you. Unexpected. Wet with lingering emotion. “Yeah.”

“I know.”

“You really hurt my feelings.”

Guilt flashed across her face immediately. “I know.”

The sincerity made your chest ache. You squeezed her hand. Yelena squeezed back. Neither of you let go.

“You could’ve just talked to me.”

“I know.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it is true.”

Yelena watched you carefully, like she was still waiting for permission, still waiting for certainty. You solved the problem by stepping closer. Close enough that her breath brushed your skin. Close enough that neither of you could pretend anymore.

The smile that spread across Yelena’s face was beautiful. You’d never seen anything like it.

“You know,” you murmured, “if you wanted to kiss me, you could’ve started with that.”

Yelena laughed. A genuine, bright sound. Then she kissed you, soft at first, even tentative. Almost disbelieving. The moment your lips met, months of tension seemed to unravel all at once, finally becoming something real.

You kissed her back immediately, one hand finding her jacket, and the other settling on her cheek. Rain soaked both of you completely, but neither of you cared.

The world had narrowed to this.

To her. To the way she smiled against your mouth. To the way relief flooded your chest so intensely it almost hurt.

When you finally pulled apart, neither of you moved far. Foreheads touching. Breathless and laughing. Yelena brushed her thumb across your cheek.

“You still have terrible schedules.”

You rolled your eyes. “There she is.”

“There I am.” Then she kissed you again before you could answer.

This time, neither of you stopped.

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She wore a black bikini and dark sunglasses, stretched out beneath the sunlight. One arm rested behind her head while the other draped lazily across her stomach. Relaxed Natasha was rare enough. Relaxed Natasha inviting you to spend the day with her? Was like a diamond in the rough.

Earlier that morning, she’d knocked lightly on your bedroom door before leaning against the frame. “Come sit by the pool with me today,” Simple, casual. But your heart had started racing immediately anyway.

Your pull to Natasha, and her pull right back to you, in a word had been miraculous. You’d been a young friend of Tony’s, something of a little sister to the man. You’d come from a troubled, orphaned past and he’d given you a place to stay. Now, you lived at the compound. You helped where you could, with research, mission support, communications, the less flashy stuff. Something else you’d gotten and you weren’t exactly sure how, was Natasha Romanoff’s attention.

You noticed a stark (no pun intended) difference from the looks she gave her other comrades and the looks she gave you. Soft looks were reserved from you, soft tones even more so. And you can’t remember having ever seen Natasha hug the other Avengers, or squeeze their hand, running her thumb along their knuckles. But that was the treatment that you got.

You’d spent your late nights together when neither of you could sleep, just you and Natasha in the kitchen with decaf coffee and deep conversations. Then came the touches. Natasha’s hand on the small of your back. Her knee bumping hours beneath conference tables. Natasha taking and squeezing your hand when she could sense you were overwhelmed with something.

You weren’t sure when it had shifted into something else. Maybe it was when Natasha started kissing you on the cheek when you ended the night. Maybe things had shifted the night she showed up at your room after a nightmare, and you’d held her close, snuggling up until sunrise. More than likely, it was the tennis court incident. God, the tennis court.

You still thought about it constantly. It happened last month after one of Tony’s parties. Too many people, too much noise. You’d barely gotten two words in with Natasha all evening.

Then suddenly, she’d appeared at your side and muttered, “Come with me,”

No explanation. Just Natasha leading you through the compound at midnight, fingers hooked loosely around your wrist. You’d ended up at the outdoor tennis courts under dim floodlights, warm summer air thick around you.

The second that gate clicked shut behind you, Natasha kissed you. Hard. Like she’d been holding herself back all night. You remembered stumbling backward until your spine hit the fence, Natasha crowding impossibly close while her hands framed your face.

You’d laughed breathlessly against her mouth at one point and whispered, “Nat—“

“I know,” she’d murmured before kissing you again. Like she couldn’t stop. Like she didn’t want to. You remembered hoping the moment never ended. And the way Natasha had rested her forehead against yours afterward, your breaths mingling, made you think she felt the same exact way.

So why did you still feel insane about it half the time? Why did every unanswered text make your stomach twist? Why did every mission leave you wondering if Natasha would come back distant again? Why did you feel so deeply while Natasha remained impossible to read? The thoughts followed you everywhere, even now. Especially now. Here you were, spiraling quietly beside her.

Sure, Natasha had been affectionate today. Softer, seeking you out more often. But your brain kept insisting that it was temporary. That eventually Natasha would realize you cared too much.

You turned another page in your book without processing a single word. A moment later, Natasha shifts beside you. You felt her looking before you actually glanced over. Sure enough, her sunglasses had dipped slightly down her nose so she could peer over the frames. Her smile was sleepy and fond and it made your chest squeeze.

“What?” you ask softly.

“Do you know you furrow your brows when you’re trying really hard to concentrate?” Natasha says.

Heat crawls into your face immediately. “I’m not straining myself or anything. I’m just reading. But it’s hot, so yeah, it’s a little hard to focus.”

Natasha snickers and settles back again. You try again to focus on your book, and fail a second time. Because every few minutes, Natasha would glance over at you. And sometimes she’d smile, and sometimes, she’d just look. Like she was just taking you in, admiring your presence. Which somehow made everything worse. Because if Natasha cared, really cared, wouldn’t things feel more certain than this? Wouldn’t you know what you were to her?

You were so lost in your own thoughts that you almost startled when a shadow suddenly crossed your book.

You look up, and Natasha is stood above your chair now, sunlight outlining her hair in coppery gold. God, she was beautiful.

“Wanna get in the water with me?” Natasha asks.

The answer escapes before you can think too hard about sounding eager. “I’d love to.”

Natasha smiles and holds out her hand. Your pulse skips as you take it. Her fingers curl around yours with familiar ease, and she gently tugs you to your feet. The walk to the pool was short, but Natasha never let go.

The concrete heats the soles of your feet while distant laughter echoes around the yard. Natasha stops at the water’s edge beside you. Blue water gleams beneath the afternoon sun.

For a moment, neither of you speak. Then, Natasha quietly asks, “What’s going on?”

Your stomach drops, but you attempt a smile. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been in your head all day, I can tell.”

Of course she noticed. Natasha noticed everything about you.

“It’s nothing.” You deflect.

Natasha turns fully toward you then. “Hey.” She squeezes your hand once. “Talk to me.”

And maybe it was the heat of the sunlight, or the way she’d looked at you all morning, but suddenly the words were pushing at your throat, too hard to keep inside.

“You ever worry,” you started quietly, staring at the pool water instead of her face, “that maybe you made something bigger in your head than it actually is?”

Your question is met with silence and you immediately regret speaking. Your laugh is nervous and you go for another deflection. “Forget it. That sounds dramatic.”

“Don’t do that.” Natasha says coolly.

You swallow hard. Natasha steps close enough for you to feel her body heat, smell the intoxicating musk of her perfume. “What makes you think this isn’t real to me?”

The question catches you so off guard that you finally look at her. Natasha’s expression had gone soft in that way she only allowed around you. It made your heart stuttered.

“You’re hard to read sometimes,” you admitted.

A flicker of guilt flashes across Natasha’s face and it surprises you. Then, she reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek. The gesture was unbearably tender.

“You know why I brought you to the tennis court that night?” she asks quietly.

Heat floods your face once again. You shake your head.

“Because I’d just spent four hours wanting to kiss you,” Natasha murmurs. “And I couldn’t stand pretending otherwise anymore.”

Your breath caught. Natasha’s thumb traces lightly across your cheekbone. “I invite you into my space constantly,” she continues softly. “You’re the first person I look for when I come home from missions. I sleep better with you beside me,” A tiny smile tugs at her mouth. “You’ve somehow convinced the world’s greatest spy to willingly talk about her feelings.”

A startled laugh escapes you through the emotion clogging your chest. Natasha steps even closer.

“This isn’t one-sided,” she said firmly. “I’m so incredibly fond of you, y/n,”

Every spiraling thought in your brain seemed to stop in that moment. Natasha looked genuinely offended by the thought of you doubting her feelings for you. And suddenly all those tiny moments over the past few months rearranged themselves differently in your head.

Natasha bringing you coffee exactly how you liked without asking. Her hand finding yours beneath blankets during movie nights. The way she always drifted toward you in crowded rooms. The tennis court. This pool.

You look up at her, searching her eyes. “I’m fond of you too, Natasha,” you reply. “So goddamn fond.”

⋆ ⋆ ─ one day at a time yelena became more and more enamored with you. slowly and subtly she began to take control of your day to day life. maybe she started with location sharing. harmlessly being able to keep a live tab on you while you were out for the day or on a mission without her. while out on missions she always made it a personal point to know exactly where you are at all times. it would be enough for her then, but eventually you have a close call- or the comms go out while you’re separated from the team. you reunite with the team safe but the event sends her into some sort of downward spiral. she spends the following days glued by your side, still trying not to seem like she’s clinging.

⋆ ⋆ ─ yelena tries to return to your normals, but she really can’t shake the feeling like she had lost you. you had already been training together, so when she corners bucky to be your regular mission partner, he didn’t have much protest.

⋆ ⋆ ─ instead of sharing garments, yelena took full control with your wardrobe. while getting dressed in the morning or for any planned event, she would offer her opinions on your closet. she’d rummage your drawers and select her favorites. often she’d already be dressed for the day, choosing your set of clothes to compliment her own.

⋆ ⋆ ─ yelena would check your gear before you even got a chance to touch it yourself. She’d let you go through your own safety check, of course. she loved to watch you do anything. her heart would soar over the moon if you even brought a concert to her attention, she loved nothing more than to be the one to ease you worry.

⋆ ⋆ ─ then she moved onto the cooking. some unspoken discussion happened the first time yelena placed a bowl of homemade soup in front of you. “ty yesh.” you eat. without any protest, you picked up the spoon. it continued from there whether at the watchtower or at your shared home space- she began to control your routine.

⋆ ⋆ ─ yelena tracked your nutrition balance. tracked your water intake. medications? she knows the dosage and has all the alarms set. and yes, she absolutely started tracking your menstrual cycle. thought you forgot to buy your preferred sanitary product? she had already been sure she checked your cabinet the moment she was aware your luteal phase began. bled through your panties? she’d tucked an extra pair for you into her bag just in case.

⋆ ⋆ ─ after yelena had spent so many mornings dressing you, somehow you began to remember her favorites. on a day that she isn’t there to chose for you, you relied on the memories of what she had previously chosen for you. she’s always doing so much for you, the least you could do is wear the bra she likes to see you in.

⋆ ⋆ ─ yelena’s favored form of intimacy was caring for you. joint showers became normal. she liked helping you scrub your scalp and the hard to reach places on your back. she would moisturize your skin with her favorite scent before choosing your pajamas and sat you down to brush out your hair. she would also braid it if you had the facilities. when your both ready for bed and you’ve brushed your teeth, she would stand beside you at the bathroom counter with floss in hand. “otkryt.” open. you’d obey, lips parting and jaw opening wide for her and allowing her room to work.

⋆ ⋆ ─ at some point yelena began enforcing a strict bedtime, but she wouldn’t exactly call it that herself. she banned phones after 10PM in the name of sleep disturbances, when actually she just wanted your complete undivided attention. to be the first and the last thing on your mind each day.

⋆ ⋆ ─ while out in public, yelena was always touching you. weather it was holding hands, her arm looped around you or her palm tucked into the back pocket of your jeans. you were no better, purposely finding a seat on her lap whenever it seemed appropriate for you.

⋆ ⋆ ─ nor you or yelena cared what others or even the team thought of the nature of your relationship. you paid no mind to their jests or sarcastic comments. she would only tolerate so much of it, cutting them short with her own attitude when you began to grow upset by the teasing.

⋆ ⋆ ─ of course yelena kew her obsessive dynamic wasn’t a healthy one. you were your own person. you had your own opinions and your own free will. yelena spent her most of her whole life having none of that. the fact that you willingly surrendered it to her was what she craved.

⋆ ⋆ ─ to be continued…

The comms go silent before she hears your scream.

Just the burst of gunfire, the static crackle and then nothing. Not your voice. Not your breath. Not even the sound of you hitting the ground, though she swears she can still feel it.

Yelena runs faster than she ever has. Blood roaring in her ears, fists clenched tight at her sides. Her body moves on instinct, sharp and efficient, but her mind... her mind is chaos.

It can’t end like this. Not before she says it.

By the time she gets to you, the dust hasn’t even settled. You’re on your back, breaths shallow and quick, one hand pressed weakly against your ribs where the dark red spreads fast beneath your suit.

"No, no, no," she mutters, dropping to her knees. "Hey- hey, look at me."

Your eyes flutter open, unfocused, "Yelena?"

"I’m here. I’ve got you," her hands hover, not sure where to touch, where it hurts more or less. You’re pale. Too pale. Her voice cracks. "You’re gonna be okay, alright?"

You try to smile, "you always say that."

She laughs, but it’s short, broken, "because I’m right. Usually."

You blink slowly. She can feel you slipping.

"Don’t," she says firmly. "Don’t do that. Don’t close your eyes. We’re not done." But your eyelids are heavy. The kind of heavy that scares her.

"Shit!" Yelena snaps, one hand flying to her earpiece. "I need someone now! It´s critical, do you hear me? I need a med team here now!"

Static.

Then a voice, "ETA two minutes."

"Too long!" she yells, not caring who hears her panic anymore, "-hurry the fuck up!"

You go still in her arms. And it breaks something.

"NO. No, no, no- hey! Stay with me! Do you hear me?" She’s shaking you now, not violently, just enough to make you stay. "Don’t you dare pull that dramatic shit and leave me. We’re not done." The wind howls around her. "Come on," she begs, voice cracking. "You didn’t even let me say it. You don’t get to leave before I say it."

The world moves forward, but Yelena doesn’t. She’s all sharp edges in the sterile white of the hospital waiting room, pacing, growling at nurses, snapping at everyone who try to ask her about the mission. She doesn't sit. She doesn't breathe properly. When someone tries to offer her coffee, she shoves it away.

"No. I don’t want anything until (Y/N)´s awake. Not a damn thing."

She’d held your hand until they took you from her and even then she’d fought the medics for seconds she didn’t have.

Because the last thing she said to you wasn’t 'I love you.' It wasn’t even close. It was 'don’t you dare leave me.'

When the doctor finally appears in the hallway, she stiffens like a soldier, "they’re stable. But-"

She doesn’t wait for the ´but.´ She’s moving before she’s given permission, storming past nurses and down the hall until she finds the room with your name taped to the door like it doesn’t mean everything.

And when she sees you, eyes open. Breathing. Awake.

It all crashes at once.

She bursts in like a force of nature. "You-" her voice fails. Her chest heaves. "You idiot. You scared the shit out of me."

You blink at her, groggy, "... Lena?"

She’s at your side in two strides, grabbing your hand like she’s afraid you’ll fade again.

"You weren’t supposed to do that," she mutters. "You were supposed to stay awake. You were supposed to let me-" she cuts herself off, jaw clenching.

You squeeze her fingers, weak but steady, "I heard you… before. Sort of."

Yelena blinks, then swallows hard, "what did I say?"

You tilt your head, "you didn’t say it."

She stares at you. And then sighs, "no. I didn’t." She leans in, pressing your hand to her cheek, "so let me fix it."

She looks you straight in the eye this time, "I love you. I should’ve said it before. I was stupid, and scared and slow. But I’m here now. And you’re awake. So I’m saying it."

You give her the softest smile she’s ever seen, "finally," you whisper.

Yelena blinks, "finally? What do you mean finally?"

You blink back at her. Very slowly, "you always looked at me like you wanted to say it," you mumble, words slurring just slightly. "You’d do the stare thing. The intense Russian gaze. And then say nothing. Every time."

She narrows her eyes, "you are so high right now."

You grin, "super high. Like... floaty cloud level."

Yelena exhales through her nose, but her lips twitch at the corners, "they gave you the good drugs."

You nod solemnly, "probably because I died a little bit. That gets you a free upgrade, I think."

She gives your hand a small squeeze, "don´t joke about that."

You squeeze back, "´m sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood."

"You already did," she murmurs, "you woke up."

Your eyes flutter closed for a second, then open again, hazy but full of something warm.

“I love you too," you say, soft and certain. "Even if I´m like 80% drugs right now."

Yelena bites back a laugh, then leans down and presses her forehead gently to yours, "jesus." She stays there, forehead to forehead, hand wrapped around yours.

You blink at her again a little unsure, "you love me, right? You said it. You know you can´t take it back now."

"I did," she whispers. "I do."

"Cool, just checking," you murmur. "We should kiss when I’m less dying."

Yelena lets out a small, shaky laugh and brushes her thumb over your cheek, "I´m in."

so, instead, bob stood in front of his closet pitifully, fingers poking through the hole and inspecting the loose threads. he had another three flannels hung right there, ones that were fully intact and ready to wear. still, he stood mourning the slight loss of this particular flannel. he was forced to tear his eyes away when a knock at his bedroom door startled him, despite knuckles hitting against it gently.

you were stood outside of it, waiting patiently when bob answered. upon laying eyes on you, he realized you had a similar idea. you had a warm, dark brown sweater on to shield you from the cool air outside. his pout was replaced with a small smile at the sight of you. with the flannel twisted in his hands, he lets you in, listening intently to your words.

“everything okay?” you question, eyes carefully trailing his face in attempts to read him properly.

“yeah, yeah, i’m okay,” bob brushes your concern off quickly, eyes narrowing down to the fabric in his hands. “the flannel i was gonna wear had a hole in it, that’s all.”

“thats your favorite one,” you comment quietly.

your bottom lip juts out in a pout much like bobs when you notice, gently grabbing the flannel out of his grasp. you hold it up until you locate the hole, inspecting it for a few moments as you think. your eyes flicker back up to him once you’ve made up your mind.

“i can fix it if you want, it should only take me like 15 minutes.”

“i didn’t know you knew how to sew,” bob whispers. not accusingly, just curiously.

“my grandma taught me years ago,” you say. “i’ve got more than just my beauty, ya know.”

you grasp bobs hand gently, tugging him towards your room after you tease him. he almost mindlessly follows behind you, his fingers linking with yours out of habit.

“of course,” he agrees.

bob sits down on your bed when you find your way inside. he simply watches you as you find your supplies, sitting down next to him on your bed when you’ve got everything. he watches over your shoulder as you slowly walk him through it. even if he doesn’t remember everything you show him, something is better than nothing. besides, he’d watch paint dry if it meant being next to you.

once you were finished, you handed it to bob excitedly for him to try it on. and, while the extra threads you added may not be an exact color match, you’d closed it up perfectly. he hummed appreciatively as he eyed it up in the mirror, another small smile creeping up on his lips. you come up behind him with a smile to match his, looking right into the mirror. instead of staring at the now closed hole, your eyes found him. his shaggy hair, his pretty blue eyes, his charming smile.

when your arms wrapped around his waist, bob’s heart thrummed with something unexpected. this was new. an intense feeling of admiration filled his body, something stronger than just a liking. it was then that he realized he’d fallen in love with you. how could he not? you just fixed his flannel without a second thought, all because he looked a little upset over it.

———

bucky barnes

cw. fluff, established relationships, r being called beautiful | wc. 460

on a normal day, you’d be complaining up a storm over how the tower needs better furniture. the cushions don’t have much give to them, and no matter how you turn, it never quite feels right on your back. this morning, however, you couldn’t care less about how comfortable you are. you were knee deep into the hobbit. there wasn’t much that could stop your flow or interrupt your focus.

a few nights ago, bucky told you in a whisper about all of his favorite books from when he was younger back in the 40’s. he had a whole list he was excited to list off. one that you recognized was the hobbit. you’d never gotten around to reading it before, though you admit you always wanted to give it a go. this seemed like the best time to start it now that you knew he loved it.

that’s how bucky found you that morning, curled up in an awkward position on the couch with the book in hand. he crept up on you at first, silently walking towards you as he eyes you up. the moment he recognizes the title, his face lights up, a content hum releasing from his chest. your eyes snapped up to look at your boyfriend, heartbeat speeding up for only a moment while your brain catches up with your eyes.

“hi beautiful,” bucky greets.

with a careful grasp, he lifts up your feet to sit right where they were just resting, settling them back down after he relaxes against the couch. it wasn’t all that comfortable to him, either, though he wouldn’t dare complain.

“hey buck,” you smile, your focus now entirely on him. you can see his eyes flickering down to your book, and before he could inquire about it, you speak some more.

“oh, yeah, the hobbit. you said it was one of your favorites, so i figured i’d give it a read,” you shrug.

you said it so casually that it nearly startled bucky. he’s so used to others giving him recommendations for modern literature that it didn’t even cross his mind that it could go the other way. not until now, at least. he wasn’t even asking you to read it, he simply just mentioned it. you always found a way to make him feel heard and seen, even if it wasn’t intentional. a lot of the time, you were just being you.

the next thing that startled bucky was the realization he was, in fact, head of heels in love with you. he grasped at your calf in attempts to ground himself in the moment, eyes taking in the perfect sight in front of him. this was real. you were real. the love he had for you was real.

———

john walker

cw. fluff, established relationships, working out/training, r being referred to as pretty | wc. 465

there are many words to describe walker. stubborn, hotheaded, prideful, obnoxious. what shined through that all, at least to you, was his determination and his discipline. he took his training and his responsibilities seriously. he takes orders and executes them well, even if he gets into an argument halfway through it. you admire how hardworking he is. you also strived to be good, to do better. it’s what connected you two the most.

that’s why it wasn’t a surprise to catch walker during a workout early this morning. he was shirtless with his back turned towards you, hair stuck to his neck, sweat clinging to every inch of him. with one last right hook to the punching bag, he turned his head to assess who had joined him so early.

“fancy seeing you here,” you say, dropping your gym bag next to his.

“i could tell you the same thing,” walker quipped. “you’re never up this early.”

“there’s a first time for everything,” you tell him with a shrug.

after slipping on your old beaten up gym shoes, you prance over to walker, eager to join in on his workout. it wasn’t often you got to be down here with him, especially alone like today. you were hoping to get some help and practice on your offense, and he was glad to be of service. he spent nearly 40 minutes going through different tactics and letting you try them out. you’re a quick learner, so it didn’t take long for you to pick up on things and add to it.

and, as trained as walker is, you found yourself a step or two ahead of him occasionally. one of the perks of being with him is knowing his tells. the moment you realized they translated to fighting was the moment you knew you could get the upper hand. that’s how he ended up with a punch to the chest, firm and controlled. he let out a huff of air as your fist lands, jaw clenching slightly.

“i could totally kick your ass if i wanted to,” you chuckle. your hand opened up flat to pat his chest gently, before taking a few steps back.

“i’m going easy on you,” walker defends. “i’m 10x stronger than you.”

“wrong answer,” you shake your head, eyes narrowing at him. “you’re supposed to tell me it’s because i’m too pretty.”

“two things can be true at the same time,” he smirks.

something about the banter you two had going on knocked something loose in his chest. something strong that he hadn’t felt since olivia. even then, this was different. this flirty back and forth was fueling a fire in his body that could only be described as love. walker just wasn’t expecting it to hit him like this.

———

yelena belova

cw. fluff, established relationships, r being referred to as a girlfriend | wc. 569

yelena’s hair was growing out a little awkward. it’d been a long while since she’d cut it properly, and it was beginning to show. her cowlick was more pronounced than before, and strands were constantly in her face. she can only blow out out of her eyes so much before it gets frustrating. she stood in front of her bathroom mirror one morning simply staring at her mess of a hair as she thought.

gel was one of yelena’s options. it’s what she’d been doing for a while now, slicking it back out of her face. after a while, though, it started to become a hassle to deal with. cutting it was another one of her options. she could get it back to where it’s not so much in her face, where it’s easier to manage.

while pushing her hair back out of her eyes, yelena’s bathroom door creaked open further, startling her for just a moment. you peaked in soon afterwards. her features softened at the sight of you, sleep evident in your drooping eyes, your body sluggish. you shuffled behind her, arms wrapping around her waist as you hug her. smiles appeared on your lips in unison. after resting your chin on her shoulder, your eyes gaze into the mirror, taking in the sight of her.

“what’re doin’ up so early?” you mumble, trying not to let your eyes drift shut.

“i promised i’d help bob train this morning,” yelena informs.

you hum out in acknowledgment, nodding slightly against her shoulder. yelena pulls away from your body moments after. before you could protest, she’s wiggling her way around in your grasp, turning to face you properly now. in the process, hair shifts down her forehead and into her eyes. you give her a sleepy smile as you tuck her hair behind her ear.

“i’m thinking about cutting it,” she informs.

“oh yeah?”

“yeah,” yelena hums. “i don’t like it being in my eyes so much, but it’s too short to pull up.”

your fingers start to fiddle with her hair, carding your fingers through the soft strands as you think. you take the chunk that fell into her eyes and pin it back momentarily. biting your lower lip, you take that chunk again and begin to gently braid it, before pinning it once more. you let yelena turn to the mirror, holding it place as she takes a look at your work.

“do it on both sides and pin it back, maybe,” you murmur, eyes scanning her features rather than her hair.

yelena shuffles through one of her drawers until she finds a bobby pin, taking the braid from your grasp and pinning it back on her own. by the looks of it, she seems quite fond of the new look. you move to carefully braid the other side, too, getting all of the loose strands out of her eyes properly. her face lights up at the finished product, smiling at you through the mirror as she admires your work.

“i’ve got a genius for a girlfriend,” yelena confirms.

as much as that was true, it’s not exactly what was going through her mind. it struck her then that she’d undeniably fallen in love with you. something as simple as you helping her with her hair had her heart running amuck. this was new for her, though she didn’t shy away from it. not for a second.

———

ava starr

cw. fluff, established relationships, fake jealousy, r being referred to as “my girl” | wc. 490

you loved spending sundays resting. laying in bed on a day off like this was irresistible. there wasn’t much that could draw you away from the comfort of your bed, and there was a lot less that could drag you away from ava’s. that’s where you were this sunday, tucked under her blankets that smelled just like her.

ava was up showering, despite your many attempts to keep her next to you. she left you with a kiss and a promise to come back to you soon, and you trusted her with that. even if she takes a little while. she was gone long enough for alpine to find her way to her door, pawing at it in a weak attempts to get in. other than ava, alpine was one of the only things that could get you up right now.

she joined you in bed without any hesitation. you tucked yourself back into bed, drawing a hand up to pet her gently. she leaned into your touch happily, purring at the feeling of your nails raking through her fur. there wasn’t a better place for her to be right now, and you were more than glad to give her this attention.

you heard the bathroom door creak open a few minutes after alpine had joined you. you didn’t look up, though, not until you heard ava let out a dramatic gasp at the sight in front of her. you lift your head up hurriedly, eyes scanning over your girlfriends body to try and assess what was going on.

“i was gone for 20 minutes and you’ve already replaced me?” ava questions, shoulders slumping to add to her dramatics.

“can you blame me? look at her!” you exclaim, letting alpine lick at your knuckles.

even through her award-winning pout, you knew she wasn’t truly upset with you. still, you decided to play into it, letting her have her moment. she sulked over to the bed, hair still damp from her shower. you moved alpine enough to give her space to lay down next to you, and she did rather quickly. you brought the hand that wasn’t petting the cat to ava’s face, cupping her cheek gently.

“you know you’re my favorite,” you reassure, running your thumb against her smooth skin.

ava bit back a smile at your words, head moving slightly to kiss your palm. she settled down into bed next to you, letting her blankets engulf her in the warmth you were already basking in.

“you’re my favorite, too,” ava whispers back. “always my girl.”

The first time Yelena heard your voice, it was on a late‑night audio recording intercepted from a tiny local station. You were reading aloud to an invisible audience of children, full of whimsical pacing and an expert way of making impossible things sound inevitable, like flying foxes visiting polar bears on sunny Arctic beaches. Yelena thought it was insane at first. But, there was a sincerity in your voice that made her pause, mid‑murder‑run.

She trawled the archives. There it was again, your name, a beloved children's author with modest fame. You’d read live on radio during local festivals, children sat wide‑eyed in chairs too big for them. You must live in a coastal town, the gentle crash of waves sometimes echoing in the background of your storytellings. Yelena couldn’t stop listening.

Soon she knew your voice better than her own. The places you described, the small details — a favorite plum pie flavor, a secret reading nook in your attic, a stray cat that followed you home. They felt like vulnerabilities. You were soft. Your softness pierced her.

Late at night, sprawled in a warehouse loft in Prague, she laid back, eyes closed, your voice whispering through cheap headphones. She couldn’t imagine you noticing. But she noticed you.

She traveled for work, always just passing through the corners of your world. Missions across Europe gave her proximity, a hotel within your town, the faint glow of a streetlamp-lit cottage. She’d walk past from a distance. Catch glimpses of a laundry line in your yard and that cat, sun-drenched and dozing. She never drew too close.

Part of her wanted to knock on your door. Introduce herself. That’d break the rules of her world, and perhaps yours. But sometimes in the darkness, she'd imagine stepping closer, clearing her throat awkwardly, “Hi. I heard you reading on the radio. I loved it.”

She imagined you blinking at her, maybe smiling. Warm eyes, hair tied back, your house smelling of baked bread or ink. The domestic normalcy was dizzying.

To Yelena, you were pure, real, and undeserved. You were a world away.

One evening, they called her for extraction. She backed off, silent moonlit exit, exile from you once more.

That night changed everything. Her mission took her to your coastal town again. She was briefed on a violent arms drop. She slipped into town under cover of darkness, saw your cottage windows illuminated with a friendly glow. In a moment she tore at her insides, her façade unravelled.

She watched from across the lane, just watched, as if safe in the still of the night. You were inside, reading something beneath the lamplight. For a heartbeat, your gaze flicked to the window’s edge, as if sensing something. But you returned to your book, a gentle glow illuminating aging pages.

It was enough. Yelena slipped closer, as if gravity had finally crumbled. Rain started, light at first, then sprinkles on cold asphalt. She crouched behind a bush, drenched, heart hammering. You turned off the lamp. The cottage fell dark. She considered knocking, but the thought blossomed and died before her.

Instead, she stood, disappearing back into shadows.

Three nights later, she found the courage, impossible and preposterous, but she was tired of waiting, tired of solitude. She stood on your porch. Raincoat drenched, heart in her throat. She raised the hand and knocked.

You opened the door a moment later, barefeet, hair messy, eyes red-rimmed from sleep. But you didn’t look alarmed, there was no panic. Just gentle surprise.

“Hi,” she breathed.

You nodded. “Can I help you?”

“I’m sorry. I know this is bizarre.” Yelena’s voice cracked in a way that spat shame and need at once. She cringed. “I’ve heard you reading. On the radio. It’s strange, I know. I’m—” she stopped, slightly mortified at how utterly pathetic she sounded.

You cocked your head. “You’re…?”

“Yelena.”

You frowned, curiosity brightening. “Yelena. Okay. Um, do you have kids, or…”

“God! No. No, no kids,” she chuckled. She swallowed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I knocked.” Rain dripped from her coat. The dim porch light glowed over your cocooned hearth silhouette.

You looked her up and down, dangerous and fragile, all at once. You said nothing.

Inside, the house smelled like chamomile tea and something warm. You invited her in without words, just a tilt of your head and a little step back. Yelena exhaled, crossing the threshold into safety.

In your living room, you offered her a towel and tea. She wrapped the towel around her shoulders, sipped the tea as it warmed her hands. You sat opposite, curiosity softening. She ended up telling you, her voice low, trembling, why she came. She explained how your voice kept her going. Like a whisper in a warzone. She didn’t expect to make sense.

With every sip, the space between you shrank, her ice-shield melting in your gentle glow.

Over the next days, she stayed. Off the grid. No mission, no contact. Just you and Yelena, with tea and laughter, with your stray cat curled on her lap, the rain pattering against windows. She asked about your books, you asked about her world. She told you about early training sessions, about how silence becomes an ally, how walls are a reflex. You told her about writing picture books, about how children understand loss before they understand logic, how hope can fit between illustrated pages.

You were light and she was darkness, and somehow the two fit. Storms raged in the outside world, but in your home, there was tenderness. You pressed your hand to hers across the coffee table once. She jumped. You squeezed. Yelena was reluctant to let herself fall, because being safe felt more dangerous than the missions she'd survived.

One night, she woke tangled in your sheets, sun‑light drifting through curtains. She watched your chest rise and fall in sleep, soft and real.

Of course, the world came calling. Yelena knew one day the boundaries would tighten again. She’d have to leave. And maybe you’d hate her for it. Maybe you’d curse yourself for letting your heart open. But you didn’t.

When the time came, she packed, silent, heavy. You stood at the door. Rain outside mimicked the night she knocked. She fumbled for words.

“Thank you. For everything,” Yelena said, voice thick with tears she refused to shed.

You stepped forward. Hand on her arm. You pressed a book into her hand, a new manuscript. “For when you're back. I'll read it to you.”

She looked down at the book. It was your latest story, unprinted. She felt tears brim. “You should keep it.”

You shook your head. “I want you to read it.”

She looked into your eyes. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

You pressed your palm to hers. “I’ll wait.”

So she left, back into her world of secrets.

Yelena didn’t feel quite so alone. Not as much as she did before. Part of her was tethered to that cottage by the sea, by your warmth, by hope. She would come back.

Years later, Yelena isn’t an assassin anymore, but these things are never so neat. She trained new agents, helped dismantle weapon networks. But most nights, she’s on a bench overlooking the sea near your house. The wind tangles her hair, there's a book in her lap.

You appear, barefoot, holding two mugs of tea, and that same cat winds around her legs. You brush rain from her face. She takes one mug.

You hand her another book, finished at last, bound and published. It’s something wild with talking mushrooms and sparkling fairies and sarcastic gnomes. With dedication, ‘To Yelena, who found me in the shadows, and chose me anyway’.

“Uh, yes,” you looked away from her. “Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“Of course,” you heard her footsteps walk the short distance to your desk. It seemed impossible, but you kept your eyes trained on your computer. “Do you know why I bring you coffee?” You shook your head. “So I can see your beautiful smile.” An embarrassing squeak left the back of your throat before you could top it.

“Belova,” thankfully, Pepper appeared out of her office. “Are you distracting my employee?” The blonde looked at the CEO with a smile.

“My presence is never a distraction,” she sent you a wink. “But I will take my leave. I will see you later, beautiful,” she waved at you as she walked away. You were stunned into silence, feeling your body heat up from the compliment.

“Unbelievable,” Pepper chuckled. She walked over to your desk. “I can ban her from coming over here.” You shook your head.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you said. “She’s not that bad.” Pepper looked you over, scanning you for any lies, and nodded.

“If that changes, let me know. I sent you some data that needs to be analyzed before my meeting.”

“Of course! Right on it.” This was what you were good at - organizing and analyzing data, taking notes for Pepper in meetings, and prioritizing her attention. You had been working with the CEO as her assistant for two years. With all the time spent together, you forged a relationship with her more than a boss and an employer. She looked out for you, especially when it came to you being so shy and soft spoken. You mostly faded to the background. In a room full of superheroes, you were obsolete. Yet somehow you captured the attention of a Black Widow.

You, a plain girl from the Midwest, applied to this position to escape her small town. You barely had said two words to the other members of the team. Somehow, Yelena saw you, and that scared you. She made your heart flutter, stomach twist into knots, and smile so big. But why you?

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

At the end of the workday, Yelena was waiting for you. It wasn’t uncommon for her to be here after your shift, but it was rare. Her hands were behind her back, and you eyed her suspiciously. “What?”

“Are you free tonight?” Hours spent talking to her in the morning, you began to pick up on her mannerisms. The always confident Black Widow was now nervous. There was a slight difference in her voice, a hitch that wasn’t usually there.

“Depends,” you answered slowly. “What do you want?” She took a few steps to close the distance and pulled her hand from behind her back. A single red tulip was behind her fingers.

“Let me take you out to dinner,” she said. “Tonight.”

“Oh,” you squeaked. You took the flower from her and looked in her eyes. Her green eyes were like leaves with golden sunlight shining through them. Some days, you found it impossible to hear what she was saying because you were distracted by the colors. “Why?” Her smile faltered, and she narrowed her eyes at you.

“I am sorry,” she said. “I do not understand what you asked.” You huffed and looked at your office window.

“Why me?” You asked again. “I am a nobody, just a random assistant.” For the first time, you saw a dark shadow cross her face, and it startled you. As quickly as it came, it disappeared.

“You are someone,” she whispered. “To me, at least, and I wish I could hurt whoever made you believe that.” You chuckled softly and bit your lip. You believed her. She was asking you out because she wanted to, not out of pity or a joke.

“Okay,” you sighed. “I’ll go to dinner with you.” Her face lit up like a Christmas tree, and you hated how cute it was.

“Perfect. I will pick you up at 6:30, okay?” You nodded. “See you tonight, beautiful.” Finally, you were left alone. What a whirlwind. Now you had to get ready for a date.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Your doorbell rang at 6:25. Leave it to Yelena to arrive early. You pressed your hands down your dress to smooth out the wrinkles and opened the door. There stood the blonde in a dark green two-piece pant suit. The top had a V-neck with her arms bare. It was truly unfair how good-looking she was in anything she wore. “You are staring, sweetheart.” You felt your body heat up.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. Behind her back, she brought out a bouquet.

“For you,” she smiled. “Beautiful flowers for a beautiful girl.” You were never going to get used to the compliments that flowed so easily off her tongue.

“Thank you,” you said as you took the flowers from her. “Please come in. I’ll quickly put these in water.” You stepped out of the way for Yelena to enter. Quickly, you made a beeline for the kitchen. You tried to keep your hands busy while Yelena looked around your space. As soon as you got home, you cleaned just in case she would come inside.

“Your home,” you looked at her as you placed the flowers in the center of the island. “It is warm.”

“Oh.” You weren’t expecting that word to describe the place you lived in. When you first moved to the city, you wanted your home to feel safe and lived in. Unlike your old house, where it felt cold. “Thank you.” You hated how your voice shook at the end. But Yelena only smiled at you. “I’m uh ready,” you grabbed your purse from the hook. You triple-checked that it had everything you needed - a cheap stick, wallet, keys, and phone.

“Let’s go.” When your door locked behind you, Yelena grabbed your hand. The feeling was different but not unwelcome. “Is this okay?” She questioned.

“Yeah,” you smiled. It was okay. Butterflies circled in your stomach, and your heart fluttered, but you liked the feeling of her hand in yours.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Yelena walked back to your door. “I had a really good time.” You said once your door was unlocked. Yelena booked a reservation at a small Italian restaurant. It was quiet, warm, and filled your belly with good food. Time was spent listening to Yelena talk about her time as an Avenger. She caught on early that you weren’t one to talk about your family, but you were happy to listen to her.

Her voice had a way of soothing your anxiety, which was rare. Usually, being the center of attention made your skin crawl. With Yelena, you graved it - wanted it more and more. “So did I. Thank you for saying yes.”

“Thank you for asking.” Now you weren’t sure what to do next. Should you invite her inside? When do you say goodbye? Was she expecting more from you? This was why you never went on dates.

“Well, I will see you tomorrow. Same time as always.” She winked before turning to leave down the stairs.

The only person you told that you were moving to New York right after school was your younger sister. She was the closest thing you had to a best friend. Her only advice was to ‘be brave.’ “Yelena,” she stopped and looked over her shoulder. She waited - patience as ever - for you to gather your bearings. Without thinking, you walked over to her. Her green eyes tracked you the entire time. Standing before her, your sister’s words danced in your head.

Be brave. Be brave. Be brave. Smiling, you kissed her cheek softly. “See you tomorrow.” Her eyes went wide as a blush covered her cheeks. The color looked good on her. Her fingers touched the spot that your lips touched.

“Yeah,” she cleared her throat. “See you tomorrow.” You smiled as she descended the stairs.

The following morning, there was a coffee and a muffin at your desk.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Date nights became more common. It was becoming more common to spend nights by yourself than with the blonde. Movie nights, walks in the park, dinners at small family restaurants, and every morning there was a coffee and breakfast on your desk. She treated you like a princess, and it was the happiest you’ve been.

Because of this thing with Yelena, you found yourself around the Avengers more. They were loud, energetic, but welcoming. They respected the fact that you were quiet and liked to stand on the outside of the party. It was why you became close with Bucky. Both you and the super soldier could exist in silence. Still, there were moments you wondered why she picked you. You continued to compare yourself to the heroes around you. But she saw you. No matter who else was in the room, her eyes were on you.

At this point, the voice on the phone was going on and on. It was an important meeting with potential partners, but the man was more interested in hearing himself speak than Pepper. You were there to take notes and send documents to Pepper to support her claims because these men never believed her. You had to give it to her. Pepper was holding her own and not getting frustrated.

You looked up at the sound of footsteps. Even seeing the blonde made you smile, but you held up your finger and pointed to the phone. Yelena understood and sat in the empty chair next to you. Her head rested on your fingers, and you ran your fingers through the loose strands of hair. Yelena smiled and wiggled happily in her chair. The action made you smile, and you focused back on the call.

Finally, it was done. You said your farewells and hung up. “Gods,” you mumbled and rubbed your temples. “I hate white men.” Yelena chuckled. Her breath on your skin tickled. But she moved her head and used her hands to dig into the knots on your shoulders. You melted. The tension left your body. “You have magically hands.”

“They can be magically elsewhere,” you heard the smirk in her voice. “But we have to keep it PG or Pepper will have my head.” Her suggestion was not lost on you. You pushed her away as embarrassment crept up your neck.

“I don’t like you,” you mumbled and rolled further away from her.

“Baby.” You kept your eyes on your screen. “Beautiful.” Yelena’s hands were on your sides. “Sweetheart.” You huffed and looked at her. “Hi.” She smiled. Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help but smile.

“What do you want, Lena?” You asked. “Shouldn’t you be at training?”

“I finished early, so I can come see you,” you raised an eyebrow at her. “And to ask you something.” There it was. “Kate is planning a night out with some of the younger members. They want you to come.” Oh. You weren’t expecting that, especially since clubs and bars weren’t really your scene.

“Do you want me to come?” You questioned.

“I always want you.” You huffed and rolled your eyes. Sometimes you felt small underneath her gaze. “But I understand if you do not want to. I could go for one drink and come see you after.” You frowned. As much as going out filled you with anxiety, it was something the team did regularly. You’ve listened to many stories from Pepper about how she had to save them from their drunken shenanigans. Now that you were dating Yelena, you were part of the traditions. Sighing, you bite your lip.

“I’ll go.”

“Oh. OH!” It was funny to watch Yelena try to school her features, but her excitement was pulsing off of her. “Amazing. We can ride to the bar together,” she stood up and kissed your cheek. “I will go tell Kate. See you later?” She questioned. You nodded.

“Bye, Lena.” The blonde waved goodbye, and she took off. You chuckled and focused back on your work. That Black Widow. She was going to be the death of you.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“Just stay the night,” you told her behind your shoulder as you stepped into your apartment. “It’s late,” you heard the door close as you filled a glass of water. Your throat was dry from the few drinks you had and talking over the music. The night was fun. You spent a large portion of the night sitting at the table with Yelena’s arm wrapped around your waist. You sipped on the drinks that the blonde got for you and watched the members of the team dissolve into chaos. Kate even managed to pull you onto the dance floor. Lucky, Yelena came to save you.

“Are you sure?” Yelena asked. “I do not mind going back.” You smiled.

“I insist,” you said. “I have some clothes that you can wear and an extra toothbrush.” Yelena huffed, and the sound had you rolling your eyes. You placed the glass in the sink to be dealt with in the morning and walked over to her. Maybe you could blame it on the alcohol. But you felt bolder. You placed your hand over her heart. “Don’t overthink it. Just come to bed with me.” Yelena groaned and threw her head back.

“You can not say stuff like that, detka (babe),” you huffed. Before she could make another snarky comment, you grabbed her hand and led her to your bedroom. Your night routine was simple. Change out of the clothes. Wash your face, then brush your teeth. Finally, you lay under the covers as you waited for Yelena.

The mindless scrolling on your phone helped take your mind off the fact that Yelena was a room away and going to sleep next to you. The butterflies swirled in your stomach, but it was curved with excitement.

The bathroom door opened, and you looked at Yelena as you placed your phone on the side table. Her hair was in a loose braid, and she looked softer in the clothes you gave her. With a smile, you pulled the covers back to make space for the Black Widow. Her movement was slow, calculated, like she was giving you every opportunity to change your mind. Finally, she lay down and pulled the blanket over her. She moved to her side and faced you, arm bent at the elbow with her head in her hand. “Have I ever told you?” Yelena whispered. You were resting on your back so you turned your head to look at her. “You are the most beautiful girl in the entire world.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled and rolled your eyes. “You are just saying that because you are in my bed.” Yelena shook her head.

“I am saying it because it is the truth.” With her free hand, she took yours. Her lips gently pressed to the back of your hand. You gave her a shy smile.

“You are very special, Yelena,” you whispered. “Can you maybe hold me?” Her face softened.

“Yeah, of course, baby,” you turned over until your back was to her. Her arm went around your waist and pulled you flush to her. You felt her breath against your neck as goosebumps formed on your skin.

“Good night, Yelena.” Her lips grazed a spot on your shoulder not covered by your shirt.

“Goodnight.” It was the fastest you’ve fallen asleep.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Yelena woke up to a weight on her chest. As her eyes fluttered open to take in her surroundings, she realized she was not in her room at the tower. Before panic could settle in her stomach, the smell of floral body wash invaded her senses. Fast asleep on her chest was you. There was definitely dried drool on your cheek, and soft snores that escaped past your mouth made Yelena smile. This was the most at peace she’s seen you, and that made you ever more gorgeous. While you slept, it appeared you were finally able to let your guard down.

The few months of this ‘thing’, you were slowly becoming more open around her. You were shy; no one would argue against that. But the more time you spent around her, Yelena truly believed you made yourself smaller on purpose. Like you were afraid of the attention. But Yelena saw you when you thought no one was looking.

The smile you wore when you were engrossed in a good book. The way your eyebrows scrunched together while you concentrated on a task that Pepper gave you. On rare occasions, she would catch you laughing, and that sound would replay in her head. So, she began to leave you notes, then breakfast at your desk, and little gifts to see you smile. Finally, she got the courage to ask you out, and you said yes. Even though she was free from the Red Room, she finally felt like she was living when she was with you.

Sighing, she kissed the top of your head. You sighed happily in your sleep and nuzzled closer to her. The action made Yelena’s heart leap. For the longest time, she saw herself as a monster. So much blood soaked her hands that she hated the color red. When she was with you, she felt she was capable of being loved.

The clock on your nightstand read 8:15. It was Saturday morning, and neither of you had any plans. Still, Yelena wanted to surprise you with breakfast and coffee, which meant she had to leave the comfort and warmth of your bed.

With expert precision, she was able to untangle herself from you and slip out of the bedroom. Cooking wasn’t in her wheelhouse of skills, so she ordered food, but she could make coffee. While she waited, she walked around your apartment. Your space was welcoming. The walls were covered by local artwork. Pillows covered your couch, and there were half-used candles around. It was lived in, loved, and Yelena found herself feeling more at home here than she did in her own room.

As she was looking for a lighter to light some of your candles, she found a notebook with the Black Widow logo on it. More specifically, it was colored white against the dark green cover. It felt wrong, but Yelena picked it up and flipped it to the first page. Her stomach flipped. Glued carefully to the center of the page was a note, in her handwriting, that wished for you to have a great day. It was the first note she gave you. Now she was drawn to the contents of what else was hidden in the pages of the journal. Some pages just had a note or a flower she gave you that you pressed and saved. Other pages had little doodles or notes you wrote about your day. Every little thing you kept - down to the sticker of your coffee orders or the wrapping paper your gift was packaged in.

Truthfully, Yelena thought you threw the notes away, but you kept them and took the time and care to create this journal. A knock at your door caused her to jump. Quickly, she put the notebook back and rushed to the door. She thanked the deliveryman with a smile and closed the door with her hip.

There was a pep in her step as she grabbed some plates and poured coffee into mugs. “Did you cook?” Yelena glanced at you from where your voice was heard. You were leaning against the wall, your shirt a little lopsided, and you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes.

“No,” Yelena chuckled. “I ordered, but you were supposed to be in bed when I was done here.” You gave her a soft smile and walked the few steps towards her. “Good morning, beautiful.” Yelena would never get tired of complimenting you. You weren’t used to it. Your nose would crinkle up, and Yelena could see the heat rise to your cheeks. It seemed natural for Yelena to lean forward and capture your lips.

You were addicting. Every time you kissed her, her brain would turn to mush. It wasn’t her intention for the kiss to deepen, but your back was pressed against the counter. You ended it. Cheeks flushed and chest rising up and down as you stared at her. “What was that for?”

So Yelena isn't great with feelings or being vulnerable.

Poor girl has BIG emotions but struggles to express them properly.

For the first few months you thought she hated you because she would hardly talk to you unless it pertained to a mission but it's not because she disliked you, she just didn't trust you yet.

But with time and patience she slowly warmed up to you and started to really enjoy your company and the occasional flirty banter you shared.

She goes out of her way to memorize how you like your coffee or surprise you with random little gifts that made her think of you.

She isn't sure at first why she does it, or why she finds herself spending all her free time with you, or why her heart races when you smile at her but she wants to understand.

Which would often lead to her scowling at you unintentionally anytime the two of you hang out because she's trying to figure it out.

What finally makes her put two and two together is when she realizes that the churning nausea she feels in the pit of her stomach when someone flirts with you is in fact jealousy.

She spends weeks thinking about whether or not she should tell you and every time she tries she chickens out, what if you don't feel the same? What if she makes you uncomfortable? What if this ruins your friendship?

Yelena

Weekly movie nights had quickly become a thing between the two of you when you found out she hasn't seen any of the classics. Currently you're on "Lord of the Rings" which she swore was "going to bore her to death" but now that you're sat down watching it she's laser focused and shushing you anytime you say something, saying she can't hear the dialogue over you. You have to stifle a chuckle when she realizes she's literally on the edge of her seat and readjusts, leaning back and slinging her arm across the back of the couch.

You're halfway through the third movie when your eyes start to feel heavy. You try to stay awake you really do but you're so tired and so comfy curled up under the blankets that within a few minutes your body slumps and you're out. She tenses at first when she feels your body lean right up against hers listlessly but quickly relaxes. Anyone else she'd shove off but being close to you is different, she likes being close to you. When she looks down and sees your relaxed expression and hears your slow breathing she can't help but smile. You just look so cute and peaceful. And that's when she realizes all those feelings she feels towards you are more than just wanting to be your friend.

"Oh damn..."

Bob

You're getting ready for some promotional gala thing Valentina wanted you to go to in order to promote the team and Bob tried not to think anything of it earlier when you asked him to go with you but now as the time draws near he can't help but feel nervous. The two of you hang out all the time, so why does this feel different? When he gets to your door and knocks, flowers in hand, he almost panics and tosses them. Is this too much? It's not like it's a real date right? But before he can dispose of them your door swings open. Your lips immediately quirk into a smile, eyeing him up and down in his little suit and bow-tie.

"Don't you look handsome."

His face flushes and his head dips down as he extends the flowers in your direction, mumbling a quiet "thank you" and "these are for you." Why do you make him so flustered? Why can't he form proper words anytime he's near you? His thoughts are interrupted when you reach for his hand with your free one and interlock your fingers. Nothing has ever felt so right, if he could he'd never let go and that's when he knows he wants to be more than just your friend.

Ava

Ava is the type of person that likes to flirt with her friends for fun so when you joined the team and she found out you were the same way she was ecstatic to find a kindred spirit so to speak. When she tells you how good you look or sneaks in some cheesy pick up line you always have something ready to fire back which is one of the things she likes so much about you. She likes how witty you are, she likes when you tell her she's funny, she likes the way you smile at her and the way your eyes light up when she speaks, but most of all she likes how you're always there for her when she needs you.

Ava was having a rather rough day with her chronic pain which is why she asked for your help with getting ready in the first place. She knew she could trust you, could always rely on you when she needed to. Which is how you ended up the way you are, hand holding her face gently while your other hand carefully fixes her make up. You're so close she can feel your breath fanning her face and the way you're looking at her gives her butterflies. You always look at her like this, like she's the most beautiful girl you've ever seen. Her heart feels like it's going to beat out of her chest when you smile down at her, your finger barely brushing her bottom lip to fix the bit of smeared gloss.

"All done, pretty girl."

Bucky

Honestly he knew the moment he met you that he was going to fall head over heels for you so it really didn't take long before he developed feelings. He did try to brush it off initially because he didn't want to complicate things for the two of you or for the rest of the team, he was hoping that they would go away or at the very least lessen over time but they didn't. The more time that passes, the more time you spend together, the harder he falls for you each and every day. It's the little things you do that leave his heart fluttering, like the way you always look to him when someone says something funny just to see his smile.

He knew he had to tell you eventually, for better or worse you had the right to know and decide what you wanted to do with that information. If you didn't like him back and just wanted to be friends he would be okay with that, what he wouldn't be okay with is not taking that chance. Which is why when you wake up for breakfast and find that it's only him in the kitchen today, he looks more nervous than usual. He pulls a chair out for you before sitting in his own, each with your own plate piled high. You chuckle and ask him what's the occasion when you see he's made your favorite, or at least tried to. You've never seen the man so nervous.

"I'd like to take you on a date, if you'd let me"

John

It's early in the morning when you make your way towards the gym to meet him, same time as always. And like always he's already there warming up, shirt discarded as he hits the punching bag in front of him. The muscles in his back ripple and flex with every twist of his hips, throwing his weight into the blow. What you'd give to admire him longer but soon enough he notices you and turns, nodding his head in your direction to motion you over to start your session.

The two of you have been at it for almost an hour now and you notice the way his lip is curled into that familiar snarl he gets when he's annoyed or frustrated. Despite weeks of training together he still has yet to beat you. Or maybe it's the way you're looking at him that is so frustrating, not because he doesn't like it but because he can't do anything about it. You can't help yourself, he's just so fun to mess with that you give him a sly smile. Despite his frustration he does enjoy your training sessions though, looks forward to them even. He likes that you challenge him. He likes that just when he thinks he's got you, you counter perfectly. He likes the shit eating grin you get that he'd give anything just to kiss off your dumb face. He likes you.

The evening is pretty calm in the compound, Kate is lounging upside down on the couch, her legs over the backrest, scrolling through her phone. Wanda sits cross-legged on the rug with a mug of tea, occasionally flicking her fingers to stir it lazily. Pietro paces near the snack bar, throwing popcorn into the air and catching it or trying to.

Yelena is sunk into a chair, arms crossed, watching them with mild amusement.

"What time is that thing again?" Kate asks, not looking up.

"Seven," Yelena says. "Give or take. You know how Steve gets about punctuality."

Wanda hums, "is (Y/N) coming?"

Yelena casually shrugs, picking at a string on her sleeve, "yeah, I asked her to come."

All three heads whip toward her like synchronized missiles.

Yelena blinks, "what?"

Kate lets out an exaggerated gasp, "wait! you asked her?"

Wanda grins, setting her mug down, "you invited her?"

Pietro smirks, crossing his arms, "finally."

Yelena sits up straighter, eyes darting between them, "what finally?"

"Finally you made a move," Kate says, flopping back dramatically. "We’ve only been watching you two flirt in the medbay like it’s a Netflix slow burn for weeks."

Yelena scowls, "no. I just… I invited her because of Kate. She stitched you up few times, I thought it would be nice for you two to talk."

Pietro lets out a barking laugh. "You invited (Y/N) for Kate as an excuse to bring her with you?"

Yelena glares, "it’s not an excuse."

"That’s the saddest move I’ve ever heard," Pietro says, still laughing. "Gosh, you’re such a loser, Belova."

"I am not a loser!"

Wanda raises a brow, amused, "you are kind of a disaster."

Kate smirks, "we say it with love."

Yelena narrows her eyes at her, "you’re not helping."

But Kate is already gearing up for more. She leans forward dramatically, grinning, "so let me get this straight... you asked (Y/N) to come with you to this Avengers-only event… for me? That’s the most painfully transparent excuse I’ve heard in my life. That’s like-" she gestures wildly, "-saying I brought you this coffee because I thought my roommate might want to smell it.´"

Yelena groans, "I hate you," Pietro nearly chokes laughing, "shut up!" Yelena throws a cushion at him, which he dodges easily, still grinning.

"Top move," Kate adds, leaning back smugly.

Right then. Natasha walks in with Maria Hill at her side, both dressed in casual black and looking mildly suspicious at the volume of laughter.

"What did we walk into?" Natasha asks, eyeing her sister’s expression with a smirk already forming.

Pietro points at Yelena immediately, "your sister is a disaster."

"Can you stop saying that?!" Yelena says and shoots him a death glare.

"She is," Kate confirms, clearly enjoying herself far too much.

Natasha raises an eyebrow, then looks at Yelena, "what did you do now?"

Kate answers before Yelena can even open her mouth. "She invited (Y/N) to the event. But not like invited invited. Oh no. She said it was for me."

Maria raises an amused brow at Natasha, "that’s adorable."

Natasha grins like a cat who just caught a mouse. "Yelena. My sweet little sister."

Yelena gestures wildly, "okay, but how long did it take you to ask Hill on a date?"

Natasha blinks, then smiles tightly, "that’s different."

"Is it?" Wanda muses with a sip of her tea. "I don’t know… I guess you have it in you. Must be a Romanoff/Belova thing. Equal parts terrifying and emotionally constipated."

Maria chuckles, sliding an arm casually around Natasha’s waist. "She did ask me out… eventually."

Kate chuckles, "eventually? that´s like what few years?"

Maria smirks. "She walked into my office two years ago, dropped a classified mission file on my desk, and said, ´If you go to dinner with me, I’ll consider letting you see page four.´"

Everyone bursts out laughing, except Natasha, who shrugs. "It worked."

Yelena buries her face in her hands, "this is the worst day of my life."

Natasha pats her shoulder with mock sympathy, "you’ll survive."

Pietro is still laughing, "you invited (Y/N) for Kate. God, that’s gonna live with me forever."

"Okay enough!" Yelena barks, cheeks burning.

Wanda floats her tea with a little flick of her fingers. "You’ll love us again when she shows up and looks at you like you hung the moon."

Kate leans over with a nudge, "just wear the jacket. You know, that one.” She winks at her.

Yelena groans, fully flopping back into the armchair. "I repeat... worst day of my life."

...

You smooth down your shirt for what feels like the tenth time, standing in front of the mirror in the med bay locker room, when a familiar voice rings out behind you.

"Okay," Dr. Cho says, breezing in with a soft smile and a twinkle in her eye, "can we put the work aside?"

You glance at her with a raised brow, "that’s not what we were doing before?"

She shrugs, grinning, "we were pretending."

You laugh as she swapped her lab coat for a cute casual blazer, and you notice, for once, there’s no clipboard in sight. It’s a miracle.

"So," she says, eyes sparkling, "who are you most excited to see tonight? And be honest. This is a safe zone."

You smirk, "you first."

Without missing a beat, "Thor."

You burst out laughing, "wow. That was quick."

"He’s literally a god," she says with mock seriousness. "Of thunder. With arms like sculpted marble and a smile that could short-circuit your nervous system."

You tease, "so it’s not about his brain?"

She waves it off, "I’m a scientist. I need balance in my life."

You giggle, "I see it. God of thunder and killer cheekbones."

"Exactly," she grins. "So, your turn. Don’t think I haven’t noticed a certain blonde assassin making very regular appearances on your schedule lately."

You feel your face heat up, "Yelena... she’s just been dropping by."

Dr. Cho’s smile widens. "Mm-hmm. And bringing you snacks? Sitting around during your paperwork hours? Definitely sounds like casual assassin behavior."

You shake your head, laughing softly, but then she delivers the kicker.

"Guess we’re both into blondes, huh?"

You snort, covering your mouth as you laugh, "oh my god."

"I’m just saying." She hops down from the counter, smoothing her top. "Mine’s a space viking, yours is a knife-wielding chaos ninja. To each their own."

"She’s not a ninja," you mutter, but the smile playing on your lips gives you away.

"She is, and you like it."

You both dissolve into giggles as the elevator chimes down the hall. You grab your card just in case, and walk side by side toward the Avengers-level access.

"I still can’t believe we’re going to a party with them," you say, glancing at her.

"I know," Dr. Cho says, eyes alight with mischief and nerves. "Now come on... let’s go awkwardly hover near our crushes and pretend it’s casual."

You grin, stepping into the elevator together, "game plan?"

"Act natural," she whispers dramatically.

You both burst into laughter as the elevator doors close, headed straight toward an evening. The elevator doors slide open with a soft ding, revealing the Avengers lounge, now softly lit and buzzing with quiet music, chatter, and the clinking of glasses. Laughter already echoing from the back where someone (probably Sam) is hyping up a game of pool.

Dr. Cho exhales beside you, eyes locking immediately across the room. "Target acquired," she mutters like she’s on a mission, eyes wide with awe.

You follow her gaze... yep. There he is. Thor, in all his golden-haired, thunderous glory, laughing loudly at something Steve said, a drink in hand and charm radiating off him in waves.

You bump her with your elbow and wink, "go get him."

She blushes but grins, "good luck to you." And with that, she disappears into the crowd, cheeks still flushed, fixing her hair on the way. You smooth your palms down your thighs and look around. And that’s when you spot them.

Across the room, Kate Bishop, Wanda Maximoff, and, of course, Yelena, stand gathered near a table of snacks and drinks, mid-conversation. Kate’s sipping something fizzy and sparkling, Wanda is holding a glass of wine like the sophisticated witch she is, and Yelena…

Yelena’s dressed in black jeans, boots, and a green jacket you’ve seen her wear a few times. It suits her, something effortlessly cool and quietly intimidating. But her face? Her face softens the moment she spots you.

Her lips twitch into the beginnings of a smile, but before she can even say anything-

"Oh, thanks to you, my date is here," Kate announces with a wicked smirk, loud enough for Yelena to groan instantly and bury her face in her hands.

"Kathrine," Yelena mutters.

Wanda chuckles beside her, completely unfazed, "you put it on yourself".

Suddenly, a gust of wind rushes by, and before you can blink, Pietro appears beside them, grinning like a devil.

"Good luck, Belova," he says, patting Yelena’s shoulder like she’s about to enter battle. "You’ll need it."

"Pietro!" Wanda scolds, swatting him lightly.

"What? I’m being supportive!" he protests, then zips off again toward the bar, where Clint seems to be pretending he can make a fancy drinks.

You laugh under your breath as you start walking over.

Yelena watches you approach like she’s bracing herself but can’t stop smiling, "you made it."

You nod, "with minimal injuries on the way. Dr. Cho saw Thor and nearly fainted."

That earns a few chuckles from the group.

"Hi, everyone," you add with a warm smile, glancing at Kate, Wanda, and Yelena, who suddenly seems to forget how to use her limbs.

Kate, naturally, jumps in to save the moment, with a grin that promises absolutely zero mercy.

"We’re so glad you’re here," she says brightly, then throws Yelena a sharp look. "Especially after Yelena asked you to come. I mean, for me, obviously. Not because she wanted to spend time with you or anything." Her voice drips with playful sarcasm.

Yelena groans under her breath, muttering something in russian once again.

You laugh, "oh yeah, the ´come see Kate´ invitation."

Kate winks at you, "would you like a drink?"

You glance between them, amused, "uh… sure, yeah."

Before Kate can move, a gust of air whooshes past you and Pietro appears at your side like a mischief tornado. "Allow me! I’m excellent at beverages."

Kate blinks. "No- wait-" but he’s already whisking you off toward the bar.

The second you’re out of earshot, Kate turns and slaps Yelena’s arm, hard. "Ow- what was that for?!" Yelena glares at her.

"Talk to her like a normal person!" Kate hisses. "You look like a terrified puppy who accidentally peed on the rug. She does not like that energy."

"She makes me... ugh- I don’t know, weird!" Yelena huffs.

"You’re already weird," Kate snaps. "But you’re also cool. You throw knives and ride motorcycles and punch people in the face with eyeliner on. Be that person."

Wanda, sipping her tea calmly beside them, adds, "You could also, I don’t know, tell her you like her."

Yelena looks like someone just suggested she propose marriage. "Are you insane?!"

"You’re the one asking her to parties with a Kate-shaped excuse," Wanda mutters, but smiles.

Just then, you return, laughing as Pietro hands you a cup.

Kate raises an eyebrow, "what’d you get?"

You glance down at the cup, "well… Pietro made it, so it’s like… vodka with a little bit of juice? Maybe?"

Kate nods solemnly, "amazing."

Then, with a sudden sparkle in her eye, she gasps and turns to Yelena dramatically. "You know who loves vodka?"

Yelena narrows her eyes, "don’t."

Kate grins wider, "Yelena does! What a coincidence!"

You blink, "oh really?"

Kate doesn’t even wait for an naswer, she’s already grabbing Wanda and Pietro by the arms. "Okay we have to go discuss... uh- super secret archer-witch-speedster things. Like… top secret. Classified. Sorry!"

"Bye!" Pietro chimes, speeding off before Yelena can throw something at him.

You’re left standing beside Yelena, who looks like she’s cycling through five emotions per second: embarrassed, amused, confused, terrified, and a little hopeful.

You sip your drink, then tilt your head toward where the others disappeared, "one would say they’re making worse excuses than you do."

Yelena’s head snaps toward you, eyes widening, "what?"

You grin, sipping again. "You know... the ´I invited you for Kate´ line. Very creative."

Yelena blinks, "you knew?"

"I’m not that oblivious." You pause, looking up at her. "Besides… I was hoping it wasn’t about Kate."

Yelena stares at you for a second too long, lips parting in surprise, before a slow smirk pulls at the corners of her mouth. "You’re bolder outside of the medbay."

You take another casual sip, "it’s still me. Just not in a medic outfit."

Yelena exhales a small laugh, her body relaxing with the ease of someone who’s just had their favorite song come on in the background. "Noted. I like this version too."

Your shoulder brushes hers, just enough to feel the warmth between you. "Careful, Belova. You keep saying things like that, I might start showing up in my usual leather jackets and combat boots."

She looks you over for a beat, then raises her glass. "Now that I would pay to see."

You both laugh, the air between you finally free of awkwardness. Around you, the party buzzes, music humming, chatter rising.

Eventually, Yelena nods toward a couch tucked near the edge of the room, "wanna sit? I promise to not let you get pulled into a sparring match. Or a drinking contest. Unless you want to win."

"Only if you’re on my team."

She chuckles, and the two of you make your way over to the couch. The lights are warm, not too bright, and there’s a hum of life around you that makes the space feel alive but not overwhelming.

As you settle in beside her, you notice Dr. Cho is by the bar, gleefully chatting with Thor, her voice high with delight as she nudges Sam Wilson. "He sparkles, Sam. Look at him. Literal lightning."

Sam is shaking his head, placing a bet on whether she’ll ask for a selfie before or after her second drink.

Clint is trying to shoot a stacked cups on Bucky’s head while he pretends not to care. Wanda and Kate have found karaoke and are warming up with intense, off-key harmonies.

You glance at Yelena beside you. She’s watching it all with a small smile and then turns to look at you.

"So," she says, nudging your leg with hers, "you’re enjoying this?"

You nod, leaning back a little, "I am now."

The warmth of the room sinks in deeper with every minute and maybe also the drink Pietro made, which you’re beginning to realize is deceptively lethal. You swirl what’s left in your cup, frowning slightly.

"Okay, what was in this?" you ask, inspecting it like it might confess under pressure.

Yelena smirks, "He measures vodka by vibes, not science."

"Yeah, I noticed," you mutter, then blink slowly. "I feel fine, though. I mean, relatively. I might be... talking more than usual?"

Yelena rests her elbow on the back of the couch, head tilted toward you, clearly amused. "You’re fine. Slightly chaotic. But fine."

You grin, and then go right into it without missing a beat. "Did you know dehydration is one of the main causes of hangovers? But also, it’s not just that. It’s this whole chain of metabolic disruptions, like how alcohol affects vasopressin secretion and glycogen storage-anyway, my point is, I always pre-load electrolytes and eat right before drinking, so I almost never get hungover."

Yelena raises a brow, laughing softly, "you’re adorable."

You pretend not to hear her and keep going, a little too animated now. "Also, fun fact... people think greasy food helps before drinking, but it’s actually slow-digesting carbs and protein that are better. Plus, I take a B-complex vitamin and drink water with- wait, am I still talking?"

Yelena’s grin widens, "very much."

You wave a hand, flushed now from both the drink and the attention. "Sorry, you’re just… easy to talk to. I never really talk about this stuff unless I’m in the medbay. And I’m always the serious one there. Which is fine. But, like… it’s nice."

Yelena hums, "so the vodka breaks the professional shell. Interesting."

You narrow your eyes playfully, "don’t psychoanalyze me."

"No promises, "she reaches out, fingers brushing your cup as if to check how much you’ve got left. "Don’t you have a shift tomorrow?"

You shake your head. "The benefit of being a medic is knowing exactly what your body needs. I rarely get hangovers. I’ll be fine."

Yelena leans closer, clearly enjoying this version of you, looser, louder, a little nerdy, all heart. "You’re cute when you ramble."

You blink, "that’s the vodka talking."

"No," she says with a crooked smile, "the vodka made you ramble. I’m just telling the truth."

You look at her for a long moment, heart thudding for a completely different reason now. You try to play it cool and sip the rest of your drink, but your lips curl into a quiet, tipsy smile. "Okay... that was smooth."

"I have my moments." She watches you for a beat longer, and then her grin grows slightly. "Go on," she says, voice light but eyes fixed on you. "Keep talking."

Your brain stutters, "what?"

"Keep talking, doc."

Your face heats up faster than any vodka could manage. "Y-Yeah- okay, um… about what?"

Yelena shrugs, leaning forward just a little, "anything."

You blink once. Then twice. And the first thing that bursts out of your mouth is... "well, uh, the heart-"

Yelena’s brows quirk, amused, and you’re already too deep in to stop.

"-the heart rate increases under alcohol, that’s totally normal. It’s a vasodilator, so blood vessels relax, which can lower blood pressure, so your heart compensates by pumping faster to maintain circulation. So technically… elevated pulse under alcohol consumption is-" You pause, blinking hard, "-not something to be worried about unless it’s, like, really high or irregular." You have zero idea why are you talking about this, but it´s like you can´t stop it.

Yelena’s watching you with an expression that should be illegal. Her chin’s propped on her hand, smile utterly smitten, head tilted like she’s watching her favorite movie unfold. It´s total switch from the nervouss girl she was few hours ago and that´s only because of you.

You clear your throat, trying to ignore the heat crawling up your neck. "Of course, there could be other reasons for an elevated heart rate."

She hums, "like?"

Your eyes flick to hers, green, intent, glinting with something captivating. You feel it again, that thrum in your chest, but now it’s not just the vodka or the science.

You offer a small smile, "I don’t know. Maybe someone sitting too close, making direct eye contact and smiling at you like they want to keep you talking forever."

Yelena goes still for a heartbeat. And then, slowly, her lips pull into a grin, sharp and amused but undeniably fond. "Oh?" she murmurs, voice low and teasing. "Is that what it looks like I’m doing?"

You glance at her sidelong, half-lidded from the drink, a little emboldened from the attention, "kind of hard to miss, Belova."

Yelena laughs, the sound is warm and surprised, like she wasn’t expecting you to flirt back this hard but now that you are, she’s absolutely thriving on it. "Well," she says, turning slightly on the couch to face you more, one leg tucked beneath her, elbow resting on the back of the couch behind your shoulder, "you’re not exactly making it easy to look away either."

You raise an eyebrow, pleased and kind of dizzy... maybe from the vodka, maybe from her gaze. "Careful. If you keep saying things like that I might get ideas."

Yelena grins wider, tilting her head, "and what kind of ideas would those be, doctor?"

You blink at her, faux-innocent. "Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that you invited me to this party only for yourself, to have ab it more of me."

She lets out a small, exaggerated gasp, "that’s slander."

You giggle, shoulders brushing, "you’re a terrible liar."

"And you’re a very distracting," she shoots back, eyeing you openly now, gaze lingering a little longer on your smile, the flush on your cheeks. "This isn’t fair, you know. I’m just sitting here trying not to combust."

You smirk, "you seem to be doing fine."

"Oh, I’m dying inside," she says easily, still smiling. "But thank you for noticing."

You smirk, watching the way Yelena shifts closer without really thinking about it. Her knee presses against yours again, this time more intentionally, and you don’t move away. Her fingers brush your arm as she adjusts her position, barely a touch, but enough to make your skin tingle.

"I think," you murmur, your voice quieter now, "you’re doing a lot better than you think."

Her eyes flick to your mouth before meeting your gaze again, "you think?"

"People tend to underestimate themselves..." you state.

"Hm..." she leans closer.

You swallow, the air suddenly feeling warmer.

She just holds your gaze, and her fingers drift down, brushing lightly against yours on the couch cushion between you. Your pinkies touch. Stay there. Across the room, Kate rounds the corner with a drink in hand and stops dead when she sees you both. Her eyes narrow with delight.

"Oh my god," she whispers, immediately spinning around on her heel and practically sprinting down the hallway.

She finds Wanda and Pietro standing near the snack table, casually chatting.

"Hey!" Kate hisses, slapping her hand on the table between them, "where’s my twenty dollars?"

Pietro blinks, "excuse me?"

"I believe we had a wager. You said Yelena would never make a real move."

"She hasn’t!" Pietro scoffs, "they’re just talking!"

"Pinky touching counts!" Kate insists, pointing back toward the living room. "Come see for yourself!"

Wanda raises a brow, amused, "this is ridiculous."

But they follow her anyway, peeking around the corner to where you and Yelena are still on the couch. You’re both leaned in very close now, smiling like the rest of the party has completely faded out. You laugh at something Yelena says, and her hand is now resting over yours.

Pietro stares for a beat.

"Oh." He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled twenty and handing it over with a scowl. "But it’s not a date."

Kate snatches the bill, triumphant, "yet."

Wanda smirks, shaking her head as she sips her drink, "they’re cute."

"Gross," Pietro mutters, "love is gross."

"You´re only saying that because you lost twenty dollars." Wanda says, still looking at you and Yelena, which makes Pietro hums and wave his hand.

The party slowly quiets down, laughter and music fading into softer conversations and clinking glasses. Somewhere along the way, jackets were grabbed, hugs exchanged, and promises made to “do this again soon.”

Now, it’s just the two of you walking side by side under a navy sky scattered with stars, the night air crisp and calm. The compound glows faintly behind you, but ahead, it’s just the way to your apartment.

Yelena has her hands stuffed in her pockets, shoulders just brushing yours every few steps. You’re walking slowly, both like you're in no hurry to let the night end.

She glances at you, voice low, "you sure you don’t want someone to drive you? I could threaten someone into it."

You laugh, bumping her lightly with your shoulder, "it’s twenty minutes. And besides… I like this."

"Walking?"

You nod, "with you."

That earns you a crooked smile, "I like this too... even though next time I would prefer less alcohol" She looks at you, "mostly for you."

You grin up at her, teasing, "well... i learnt my leasson, never take drinks from a guy with fast metabolism."

"Never take a drink from any guy." She corrects you, which makes you giggle. True. Yelena chuckles as well, looking away for a moment like she needs to collect herself. "I was a mess earlier."

You glance sideways, "you? Nah. Just a little terrified and adorable."

She gives you a offended look, "can´t blame me."

The path narrows and she gently reaches for your hand, fingers curling around yours without really asking. It’s warm and steady, and it makes your heart beat in that funny, floaty way again.

You walk in silence for a little while, letting the night wrap around you like a secret.

Eventually, Yelena speaks again, quieter now. "I was scared you’d say no. That you’d come and realize you didn’t actually want to spend time with me."

You squeeze her hand, "I would’ve said yes even if it was just the two of us in the med bay with that awful coffee machine."

She laughs through her nose, "that machine’s a war crime." She meets your eyes again, "what´s up with that face?"

You smile innocently, then tilt your head toward her. "You walked me all this way. We´re alone... soo maybe my whole plan was lurk you here and steal your jacket?”

Yelena stops walking, turns to face you, still holding your hand. "You can´t just say 'I´m cold.'?"

"Well... I wanted to be a little themed."

"Themed?" She tilts her head.

"You´re a spy... you know lurking- oh god forget it." You cringe at yourself, is it the alcohol or just you being a mess?

She laugs, then reaches back and tugs her jacket off, placing it over your shoulders in one smooth motion, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. "Now you have to text me, that´s the rule."

You slip your arms into the sleeves, grinning like an idiot. "Okay, but you have to come with me on more walks like this. That also a rule."

Yelena looks at you for a long moment, her eyes soft and content. "Deal."

As you stop in front of your building, Yelena doesn't let go of your hand right away, and neither do you. It’s not awkward just… quiet. Sweet.

You pull your phone from your pocket and glance at her. "So, I’m assuming this is the part where we pretend we’re not going to text immediately after I close the door?"

Yelena smirks, "I don’t pretend. I fully intend to text you in five minutes."

"Bold."

"I’m learning," she says with a teasing edge, but her eyes stay gentle.

You unlock your phone and hand it to her, and she does the same, fingers brushing as you swap devices to type in your numbers. Once your phones are back in your hands, you linger.

"You’re really gonna wait out here until I go in, aren’t you?" you ask, almost shyly.

Yelena nods without hesitation, "of course. What if a an racoon shows up?”

You squint, "I feel like I could take a raccoon."

"I wouldn’t risk it if I was you, those animals are... tactical."

Your heart does that fluttery thing again, and you swallow a laugh as you step back toward the door. "Okay, well… I’ll let you know if I survive the harrowing journey to my apartment."

She nods solemnly, "I’ll be waiting."

You take one more look at her, smiling. "Goodnight, Yelena."

"Goodnight, (Y/N)"

You don’t even realize you’re smiling until the door clicks shut behind you. Outside, Yelena stares at the door for a few seconds longer than necessary, then exhales through her nose, quiet and happy and turns to head back toward the compound, hands in her pockets, heart full.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket.

[New Message: (Y/N): I made it. No raccoons. 10/10 walk. Would recommend.

She smiles to herself, already typing back as she walks into the night.