#alltimeisnaptime

Found it!

wait what country are you in??

PART 2/2 so I tried to explain that I was trying not to cry in class. I, naturally, started crying as I told her this, then ran from the room to escape my shame. Definitely a low moment.

I’m sorry, alltimeisnaptime I have no idea.

Hey Katie! I think it’s great that you were so inspired to craft and create! I know it’s been hard for me lately to get that kind of creativity, so kudos to you!

As I’ve mentioned in the tutorial and subsequent asks, the idea is not mine! Haha I have linked the original poster in the ask and tutorial, she’s a Russian blogger.

TBH, although I haven’t particularly made this craft per se, I have definitely made a larger variation of the wire flower. I mean, they’re wire flowers, and unless there’s a copyright on it, I don’t see why you can’t sell it?

I mean, it’s up to you, just be aware of these things I guess. IF YOU DO DECIDE TO SELL THEM, I’d love to see them! Send me a link or pic or something! :D

"Natasha, have you seen my purple button down?" Bruce wanders into the common living area to see Natasha spread over the couch, the shirt in question wrapped around a shivering Russian assassin. Bruce sighs and grabs the blanket on the armchair to drape over her. "You’ve got to stop stealing my clothes, Romanoff."

"Only when they’re not comfortable anymore, Banner."

—-

Natasha walks into breakfast one morning, her eyes bloodshot and her nose the same color as her hair. She’s wrapped in a clearly-too-large blue hoodie and the sleeves dangle off the table as she puts her head down.

"Well, there’s the jacket I’ve been looking for. Come on, Nat, I need that." Bruce sighs good-naturedly until Nat looks up at him, mouth slightly open from congestion. "Shit. You feeling okay?" Nat glares at him miserably, then lies back down on the table. He sneaks a hand into the fabric to check her temperature, and then decides he’ll bother her about his jacket later.

—-

"Nat. Nat. Natasha. Romanoff!" He bangs loudly on her door; he has a presentation with Tony in less than an hour and he can’t find his dress shirt.

As he expected, Natasha answered her door in the exact shirt he wanted, sans pants. Her eyes are lined with red, and she sighs when she sees him. 

"Here you go." She mumbles, unbuttoning the shirt and handing it to him, leaving Bruce in front of her door, dumbstruck, as she crawls back into her bed in only her bra and underwear.

"Nat? What’s going on, Romanoff?" He sits on the corner of her bed, unsure of where, exactly, their boundaries were.

"Clint." She mumbles into the pillow. "Three gunshots, they don’t know if he’s gonna make it, and I’m not allowed in." He places a hand on her head, hoping its comforting.

"I’m sorry, Nat." He leaves quietly, but places the blue shirt next to her.

—-

"Natasha, I’m serious, let me in." The redhead answers the door in his green button down, her hair a mess, arms wrapped around her stomach. He immediately feels bad for waking her, but he has a paper talk in half an hour.

"I need that shirt, Nat." She sulks at him. "I mean it. I’ve got a paper talk in thirty minutes. You can have it when I come back." He can feel himself growing angry and tries to push it down.

"C’mon Bruce." She says, leaning against the doorframe for support, and the fact that she feels comfortable asking should make him happy- she’s opening up- but today, he just has to go.

"No, Nat. I really have to go." God, why is he angry? He’s pushing her away and he knows it, but he’s anxious and he needs to go.

"Plea-" The rest of her request is cut off as she coughs, leaning heavily against the door.

"Nat, you have to stop taking my clothes. I have to go, okay!" His voice reaches a shout and she cringes, stepping back.

"They’re not yours! Just- please, just give me my damn shirt." His breathing is labored and she looks scared, and oh god, he hates that he did this.

She slowly takes off the shirt and hands it to him.

He takes a deep breath, tries to calm himself, but that look is still in her eyes.

He walks out of the doorway, hating himself.

—-

A few months later, while having one of their communal dinners, Natasha turns a very peculiar shade of green and excuses herself. Clint and Bruce both get up to follow, but at Clint’s glare, Bruce sits back down.

About ten minutes later, Clint returns, a troubled look on his face.

"Nat’s got food poisoning. Some weird dish she had to eat on a mission." He mumbles.

"I’m going to go check on her." Bruce says softly. He ignores Clint’s look of anger and knocks gently on the bathroom door.

"Nat?"

"Go away, Bruce." He can hear the heaving between her words.

"Nat, I need to make sure you’re okay. Can I come in?"

"Fine."

She is pale, her forehead resting against the toilet seat. She’s sweating, her t-shirt and jeans in a corner of the bathtub.

"What’s going on, Nat?" He kneels next to her and presses a hand to her forehead. No fever, even though she was sweating more than normal.

"Nothing. ‘m fine." She mumbles, turning away from him. He is about to protest when she turns her head downwards again and empties her stomach.

Without a word, Bruce unbuttons his shirt- maroon, this time- and wraps it around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.