#black13

Natasha’s life has been made of running. She has always run in her life, either away or towards. 

So it doesn’t surprise her that once SHIELD tells her that they’ll stop monitoring her apartment to make sure she’s not going to leave in the dead of night, she starts a morning run routine. 

She gets up at four, puts on her shoes, and starts to run. The only thing she’s thinking about is the scene ahead of her and where her feet are being placed on the ground. 

Natasha runs for a long time. Her stamina isn’t regular, and so she runs until it’s about five-twenty, when she decides she has to make breakfast for herself before going into work at seven. 

Breakfast is scrambled eggs, a bowl of fruit, one cup of tea, and water. The occasional sausage or bacon is prepared, but usually only if Clint decided he was too tired and slept over. 

Being an agent of SHIELD isn’t nearly as exciting for her as everyone seems to think it is. 

Most of the time, she’s not going to any cool country or saving someone’s life. It doesn’t happen nearly as often as many people think. Or it does, but SHIELD isn’t really called in until it’s a “last resort” decision. So she has a lot of downtime.

In using this downtime, Natasha has decided to look at what other agents are doing. 

Most of it is boring. She finds out the occasional gossip from some of the them on the breakroom floor. 

im someone who's really guilty of this (mainly cuz im just not a big fan of a lot of female marvel characters and how they're written, but also cuz im not super comfortable writing f/f) but i would like to try and correct it so:

please send me your f/f ships and prompts so i can try and work on them!!

this can include:

canon ships

canon female f/f ships

rule 63 genderbent f/f ships

Hey! This is the blog for any event NatSharon!

I will be also creating some events and I hope you all can participate!!!

Sharon: What does claustrophobic mean?

Wanda: I think it means she’s afraid of Santa Claus.

Natasha: No it doesn’t!

Sharon: Ho ho ho!

It is one of those summer days that has a perfect breeze, bicycle riding is the best activity, and the day has been perfect. 

Sharon and Nat have enjoyed a lot of things today. Waking up tangled together with a breeze blowing through the window was a good thing. When Nat made breakfast and they had fresh fruit and juice, that was even better. 

Sharon dug out the bikes and told Nat they were going riding. 

“Any place in particular?” Natasha asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Nope. But today is going to be a good day, I just know it.” 

They bring their backpacks and start pedaling. 

The first stop is a cute bookstore, and Natasha falls in love with all of the nooks and crannies that she could hide in. Sharon traces over the secondhand spines, reading the little messages inscribed on the inside covers. 

The woman that owns it asks if they need help, and they do not, but the woman manages to convince Natasha to buy a book of poetry. They read over it and they point out their favorites. 

The next stop is to a record shop. Sharon loves records, always has. She buys a few that were in the dollar bin, the ones that Aunt Peggy would always play after school was done and Sharon was done with homework. 

Sharon and Nat then bike to a food truck and get gyros, and they have fun discussing music and what kind of songs from genres are their favorite. Natasha steals some of Sharon’s soda, and she steals some of her onion rings. It’s nice. 

They bike around neighborhoods, pointing out their favorite houses. 

“I want to plant a flower garden,” Natasha says. “A big one, with lots of wild roses and lilacs. Enough to make the neighbors mad.”

Sharon thinks that her girlfriend is absolutely beautiful. 

She kisses her as they bike on. 

By this point, the sun is getting low and dinner will be late. 

Sharon has one more stop to make. 

There is a tree outside their house, an old one. 

“Let’s carve our initials,” Sharon says. “We’ll know.” 

“Like in those cheesy movies?” Natasha asks teasingly. 

She has a knife in her backpack. Because Natasha Romanoff is always prepared. 

Natasha carves her initials, and then gives the knife to Sharon. 

“So we’ll always have a reminder,” Sharon says, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Love you babe.” 

“I love you too.” 

Dinner is light, with fruit, hummus, and a bag of mixed nuts from the back of the pantry. 

They fall asleep together, and sleep soundly. 

Sharon Carter doesn’t fraternize with anybody. It’s too much of a risk when you’re related to someone like Peggy Carter, who was a great agent but also one of the most dangerous women in the world. 

She goes by Agent Thirteen. All anyone knows of her is that she has a white jumpsuit, brings her own coffeemaker and coffee to her office, and will not mention anything about her personal life besides that she lives in town. Which isn’t helpful. 

Natasha Romanoff is brought in when Agent Thirteen isn’t as well known, but certainly talked about. 

“Who the fuck wears white?” Agent Higgins asks, looking at her training. “Why did it get passed?” 

“Not after Labor Day yet,” Clint answers easily, finishing off his pudding cup. “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed, Hig. Not like it’s your problem or anything.” 

A white jumpsuit is rather troubling, all things considered. White shows more than black, and you cannot blend into the night or the day. No one wears that much white besides a crazy person or someone who knows too much about what they’re doing. 

But she won’t say anything. 

Black Widow gets assigned on a mission with her, one of those that requires a hotel room for a night, and there’s no read on her. She brings a generic toothbrush, a new tube of toothpaste, and uses the hotel shampoo and conditioner. (Which Nat can’t even bring herself to do, and she’s done a lot.) 

It takes a while before Natasha starts picking up on the little expressions. Everyone has a tell. Even someone as mysterious as Thirteen. 

She doesn’t like white sauce on pasta. She wrinkles her nose for a moment when they’re having a catered dinner courtesy of a grateful higher-up somewhere in the world. 

Agent Thirteen hums along to old novelty songs from the fifties that older agents will play from the offices. Natasha pretends like she hasn’t noticed it, but Thirteen is better than that. People forget that Black Widow has learned skills exceptionally well, but everyone else can do the same. 

But most die before that. 

Most. 

Thirteen prefers simplistic jewelry. The kind that’s easy to lose, easy to accessorize with. Probably because it’s not as easy to grab onto, all things considered. But the simplicity of it suits her. 

She hates the cold. A lot. She wears heavy coats, gets snappish, and is wearing bright, neon yellow fuzzy socks. 

“Really Thirteen?” Clint asks. “You get your fashion advice from me?” 

“Fuck off, I’m cold,” Thirteen snaps, no real heat behind it. “I hate how damn cold it gets.” 

Natasha hates it too. So she brings the fancy hot chocolate that she wastes part of her paycheck on each winter, and fixes two mugs. When it’s a late night and it’s been rough, Natasha fixes hot cocoa. 

“I know you’re trying to butter me up,” Thirteen says. “It’s not going to work.” 

"I know you’re strong,” Natasha says. “So me buttering you up is pointless. Besides, the cocoa mix doesn’t even have butter in it, genius.” 

Thirteen laughs. 

They talk, surprisingly enough. Thirteen mentions a song that’s stuck in her head, and Natasha nods and says she’s never listened to it. 

And then she goes home and finds new genres of music that she likes. Like she finds that alternative pop is really good, she hates piano music, and Thirteen has interesting music choices. She likes classic rock, mostly AC/DC and Motley Crue. Even though she doesn’t actually like the last band, they’re just so annoying that she’ll do whatever she needs to and then stop the music. 

Natasha thinks she’s in love, honestly. Because she wants to go see Thirteen, find out more. And not just to pick apart the weaknesses. In fact, that’s at negative two on her priorities list. 

But she wants to see what Thirteen is like on a date, how she actually laughs at a funny joke instead of turning or retorting something witty. How she smiles at the small moments that are going to happen, like sitting in front of the fireplace after they get stuck in a surprise downpour or getting flowers for the other. 

It’s not until a mission goes sideways that she realizes how deep her feelings go. How much she loves her, how much she actually cares for. 

Natasha never solved the answer as to why Thirteen had a white jumpsuit on. Whether she was too focused on finding out if she could figure out her name or why she has a thigh holster on always, the meaning of white got lost. She supposes that it did that for everyone; it just became a part of who Thirteen was. 

Thirteen’s a number. When you get exposed to numbers enough, sometimes they lose meaning. 

But not to Natasha Romanov. She knows what it’s like to lose meaning, to hide behind a moniker and have people judge you for that, for skill alone. Sometimes it’s refreshing. 

Not this time. Never this time. 

Natasha was cornered, surrounded by three men who were more skilled than she thought. 

You notice white a hell of a lot more than you do anything else when you’re on the field. 

White shows a hell of a lot more. And it shows where the bullets hit, where they strike. Natasha doesn’t think her heart can leap into her throat. 

It can. 

“No,” Natasha says softly. Thirteen is lying down, hissing in pain. 

“Fucking shit, this hurts.” 

Of course she says this. Natasha looks out for others, sees no one, and sends a panicked text for Maria. Well, panicked for her. 

Thirteen stays in the hospital. Natasha visits with flowers and candy, such as licorice (but not Red Vines, those are the worst) and the strawberry candies that you can’t find anywhere. (Clint knows a guy who knows a guy.) 

“You’re persistent,” Sharon says, wincing as she gets up. 

“Don’t get up, you need rest.” 

“Bite me.” 

Natasha laughs and rolled her eyes. 

“You nerd.” 

Thirteen walks out of the hospital with Nat, the latter driving. 

“Thanks, Nat.” 

“No prob, Thirteen.” 

“Sharon.” 

Natasha’s head turns. 

“My name is Sharon. If you use it at SHIELD, I’m cutting your head off.” 

Natasha laughs, shaking her head. 

“I’m the master of keeping secrets, Sharon.” 

“Oh really?” Sharon asks, eyebrows raised. “Then that’s how Fury found out about the secret stash of Halloween candy we all pooled money in for.” 

“If I didn’t get Almond Joys, no one would,” Natasha defends. 

Sharon laughs, shaking her head. 

“Nah, honey. Nah.” 

It’s the start to a complicated thing, a thing that takes a lot of work and turns into a relationship. They spend holidays together, and Natasha learns that Sharon loves fun socks and shops for records.