#natasharomanoff

Okoye also looked around. She went upstairs to check on the situation and found a hand sticking out from under the other piece of metal.

Injured hands, wrapped in torn black cloth.

Just as Natasha started to mutter Elliot's name once more, Okoye shouted from upstairs.

“Everyone get over here now! There is a body trapped under the vibranium block!”

Everyone immediately headed upstairs. Thor and Steve stepped forward to lift the metal chunk. Natasha, standing at the back, stopped in her tracks when she saw the familiar black cloth.

Steve and Thor managed to lift the chunk of vibranium, their eyes widening when they saw who was underneath. Okoye covered her mouth, Bruce and Rhodey exclaimed in disbelief, and Rocket grimaced at the kid’s condition.

And time seemed to stop for Natasha.

At first, she didn't move, but as soon as her eyes burned and her chest ached and heaved, she ran and knelt on the floor. Her slightly trembling hands reached for Elliot's burned face. The nano-band Elliot wore on her forehead was broken, emitting small sparks of electricity. Elliot's right glove, still folded over her chest, was shattered, and the screen on her watch was dead.

Natasha cradled Elliot's drooping head in her arms and rested her forehead against hers.

"El," Natasha called softly, her voice hoarse, her breath hitching.

“Ellie,” she called again, louder this time, “Elliot! Wake up, talk to me…”

Steve closed his eyes and let out a heavy breath. Bruce was no longer able to say anything else. Rhodey looked away, feeling a tightness in his chest. Thor wasn't sure who this kid was, but seeing his friends treat him like she was so important made him feel like she was important to him too.

Okoye scans Elliot's body with the beads on her bracelet, finding that Elliot still has a heartbeat. Even though it was very faint.

“This child is still alive, her heart is still beating,” Okoye said, interrupting the Avengers’ grief.

Bruce immediately exclaimed, “What are we waiting for then? We need to take her to the hospital!”

...

More on:

... YES I wanted to see how Natasha is being a mother figure. YES I miss her so bad AND I KNOW A LOT OF PEOPLE TOO. So kindly try and read my story? :D

Also available on AO3! But I kinda have a problem for uploading images so if you wanna see Elliot (My OC)'s character sheet I recommend reading on wattpad OR visit my tumblr profile :D

https://archiveofourown.org/works/83497416

This post in my tumblr

-=- First time

It started innocently enough. We'd just come back from a short mission, adrenaline still buzzing. I pulled her into our room, hands already sliding under her shirt, fingers tracing the toned lines of her abs. "Missed you out there, Romanoff," I murmured, voice low and teasing, pressing her back against the wall. She growled softly, that sound that always went straight between my legs, and flipped us so I was the one pinned. Her mouth crashed into mine, hungry, demanding. We shed clothes fast, my tank top hitting the floor, her sports bra following. I wrapped my legs around her waist as she carried me to the bed, her cock already hard and pressing against me through her pants.

She freed herself, thick and throbbing, and pushed into me in one smooth thrust. I gasped, nails digging into her shoulders. God, she felt perfect, stretching me just right, hitting that spot that made stars explode behind my eyes. We moved together, her hips snapping forward, my body arching to meet every thrust, sweat slicked our skin. Her breath came in hot pants against my neck as she murmured praises in Russian. I was close already, but I wanted her closer.

Right as she started to lose rhythm, her cock swelling inside me, I gripped her arms "Stop."

She froze instantly, buried deep, muscles trembling with the effort. Those green eyes snapped to mine, confused but instantly concerned "YN? What’s wrong, detka?" Her voice was rough, strained, but she pulled out carefully, rolling off me even though I could see the frustration flickering across her face. She checked me over, hands gentle on my cheeks. "Talk to me. Did I hurt you?"

I faked a yawn, "Just... tired. Long day. Sorry, Nat." The lie tasted sweet. She nodded, kissing my forehead softly, even though her cock was still rock-hard and leaking against her thigh. She pulled me into her arms instead, holding me close. "It's okay. Get some rest." I snuggled against her chest, hiding my smirk.

-=- Second time

The next day I teased her on purpose. During training, I "accidentally" brushed against her while sparring, whispering how much I wanted her inside me later. In the common area, I sat on her lap during a team meeting, shifting just enough to feel her harden beneath me. By evening, she was pent up, eyes dark with need every time she looked at me.

 Perfect.

We barely made it to the bedroom. I dropped to my knees the second the door closed, yanking her pants down. Her cock sprang free, heavy and flushed, veins standing out. "Fuck, Yn," she groaned as I took her into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the head, sucking hard. I worked her with my hand and lips, hollowing my cheeks, taking her deeper until she hit the back of my throat. Her fingers tangled in my hair. Her hips bucked, breath ragged. She was close, so close, thighs tensing.

I pulled off with a wet pop, wiping my mouth. "Actually... I don't feel like it anymore." I stood up, shrugging casually, even as my own arousal throbbed.

Natasha stared at me, chest heaving, cock twitching in the air, denied right at the edge. Frustration burned in her eyes, jaw tight. "Yn. What the hell?" But she didn't push, she never did, she respected me too much. She just exhaled sharply, ran a hand through her hair, and muttered something about a cold shower. I felt a twinge of guilt, but the power rush was addictive.

-=- Third time

She tried again two nights later, thinking maybe I'd gotten over whatever mood I was in. We were in the shower, water cascading over us. Her hands roamed my body, soapy and insistent. She lifted me against the tiles, strong arms holding me up as she slid into me again, deep and relentless. The angle was insane, every thrust ground against my clit, her cock filling me completely. I moaned loudly, biting her shoulder. She was pounding into me, grunting with effort, so close to losing it.

Halfway through I gasped, realising I nearly forgot; Right as her pace turned desperate "Stop, Nat."

She slammed her hand against the tile beside my head, breathing hard, but she stopped, pulled out, set me down gently even though her whole body shook with restrained need. Anger flashed in her eyes now,real anger. "This again? Yn, what game are you playing?" Her voice was low, dangerous. But she still wrapped a towel around me first, then herself, before storming out to the bathroom. 

-=- Fourth time

By now she knew. She watched me warily the next evening when I initiated, but desire won out. We didn't even make it past foreplay properly before I had her on her back, stroking her cock slowly, teasing the head with my thumb while kissing her neck. She was leaking, hips jerking up into my hand. When I straddled her and sank down, taking every inch, she groaned my name like a prayer.

I did it again. "Stop."

This time she was properly pissed. She pulled out immediately, sitting up and glaring. "Damn it, Stark. If you don't want this, stop starting it." She got up, pacing the room naked, tension radiating off her. But she respected the word, I almost felt bad, almost.

-=- The fifth time

A few nights after that, I could tell she was done with my shit. I tried to make up for it, crawling into bed in nothing but one of her old shirts, pressing against her back, hand sliding down her stomach towards her cock. "C'mon, Nat. I've been an ass. Let me fix it."

She caught my wrist, firm but not painful. "No. I'm sick of your jokes, Yn. Not tonight." Her voice was flat. She turned away, facing the wall. I felt a pang of real regret then. My own damn fault. I curled up on my side, back facing her, pretending to fall asleep even though my mind raced. The room was quiet except for the low hum of the city outside.

Hours passed. The clock on the nightstand glowed 3:17 AM when I felt the bed shift. Warm breath brushed my neck.

Natasha pressed in close behind me, her body radiating heat. She stayed there for a long moment, breathing ragged, her thick cock hard and throbbing insistently against my ass. Her hand rested on my hip, fingers flexing with clear frustration, but she held back.

“Yn…” Her voice was low and strained. “You awake?” I hummed, looking at her and smiled at her state. “If you’re going to say stop again, tell me now. Please.” She said desperate.

I reached back, guiding her hand between my thighs so she could feel how soaked I was. “Don’t stop tonight,”

The second the words left my mouth, Natasha flipped me onto my back with a growl. She shoved the shirt up roughly, spread my legs wide, and thrust into me in one hard stroke, burying herself deep. I gasped at the sudden stretch as she started fucking me immediately, fast and relentless and going all the way in.

“Fuck… finally,” she panted against my neck, hips snapping “Let me finish inside you.”

She drove into me harder, desperate and messy, days of holding back, her cock throbbing with every thrust. Broken “please”’s spilled from her lips between moans as she chased her release, trembling with need. It didn’t take long before her rhythm faltered. She slammed in deep one last time and came hard, pulsing hot inside me with a wrecked groan, her whole body shaking.

When she finally collapsed on top of me, sweaty and tired, she pressed a soft kiss to my shoulder.

“Never again,” she murmured, voice hoarse. “Or I won’t be this nice next time.”

You didn’t feel anything about that. You weren’t nervous and weren’t excited. It was just like any other place you’ve stayed at before. 

You stared at the building, mapping every entrance, camera angle, and weak point in the architecture, every reflective surface that could expose movement behind you. Hydra had taught you to notice those things before anything else, and SHIELD had simply sharpened the instinct into something permanent.

The automatic doors slid open with a quiet mechanical sound, warm light spilling into the cold evening air. Inside, the compound was almost painfully clean, polished floors reflecting soft overhead lighting, the faint scent of coffee and expensive disinfectant lingering somewhere in the background. Everything looked too open, a building adapted to be lived in, instead of worked at. That alone made you distrust it slightly.

“Hey.”

You looked up immediately at the voice.

Wanda Maximoff stood near the reception area with her arms loosely folded over a dark burgundy sweater, the sleeves slightly too long and covering part of her hands. Beside her stood Bucky Barnes, taller, broader, dressed in a dark shirt and gray sweatpants that looked worn in. His metal arm reflected dim silver beneath the lights when he shifted slightly.

Neither of them looked entirely relaxed.

“We’re Wanda and Bucky” Wanda said gently after a small pause, offering a slight smile that didn’t fully reach her eyes yet. “The weather’s awful tonight.”

You nodded once.

Bucky’s gaze lingered on you a little longer than Wanda’s did. Not necessarily rude. Like he was trying to place something he couldn’t fully remember yet.

“Fury said you’d already worked missions before,” he finally said, voice rough from disuse more than aggression. “Just not with a team.”

“Yes.”

Your answer was short enough that silence followed it for a moment.

“I usually work solo,” yousay after some time. 

“Well,” Wanda said, pushing herself away from the counter lightly, “we’ll show you around before dinner. Most people are still busy downstairs or in meetings.”

You followed them through the compound without speaking much, your footsteps quieter than theirs. Wanda kept attempting conversation every few minutes in a careful, patient way, asking if the drive had been long, whether you needed anything for your room, whether Fury had at least warned you how chaotic the compound could get.

You answered briefly but politely, just enough to avoid being rude without offering anything meaningful.

The hallways grew more residential the deeper inside the compound you went. There was softer lighting, less steel, hoodies abandoned over couches, empty mugs sitting outside doors, a pair of arrows stuck into a wall corner with a handwritten sticky note beneath them reading Clint stop practicing indoors.

Wanda noticed your eyes lingering there. “That was actually Kate,” she admitted quietly with the slightest smile. “But Clint encouraged it.”. You hummed once in acknowledgment.

Bucky, who had stayed mostly silent the entire walk, suddenly glanced sideways toward you. “You’ve been to Hydra facilities in Siberia before.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, but he definitely expected an answer. Your gaze shifted to him carefully. “Yes.”

“You remember them pretty well?” He asked. “Yes.” Neither of you said anything, just stared at each other.  Wanda’s eyes moved subtly between both of you now.

Bucky rubbed his thumb absentmindedly against the fingers of his metal hand before speaking slower this time. “I think I saw you there once.”

You looked ahead again instead of at him. “Probably.” Bucky didn’t push further after that.

By the time they brought you to your room, the rain outside had become heavier, droplets streaking down the enormous windows lining the corridor beside the living quarters. Your room itself was larger than expected. Minimalist but warm in a way SHIELD accommodations never were. Dark wooden floors, a queen-sized bed with neatly folded gray blankets, a desk positioned beside the window, a private bathroom. Small details meant for comfort rather than efficiency.

Someone had even placed a plant near the bookshelf. You stared at it for a moment.

“We usually eat around seven,” Wanda explained while lingering near the doorway. “Kitchen downstairs, on floor 3, you can ask Jarvis for the way,”  “If you need anything,” Bucky added after a short hesitation, “just ask.”

You set your duffel bag down beside the bed. “I’ll be there.”

Wanda nodded softly, giving you one last small smile before stepping back into the hallway. Bucky followed after her, just before leaving completely, he glanced back once more, brows pulling together slightly like the memory still bothered him.Then the door closed.

The silence afterward felt immediate.

You crouched beside your bags and unzipped them methodically, removing clothes folded with precision, weapons immediately locked away inside the biometric drawer Fury had apparently already approved for your room, toiletries arranged within minutes. There wasn’t much. 

At exactly seven o’clock, you walked into the dining area. 

The long dining table was crowded enough that for a split second it almost looked like chaos rather than a team. Tony Stark sat slouched sideways in his chair with a coffee mug in one hand despite the late hour, speaking over nearly everybody while Sam Wilson argued back without sounding genuinely annoyed. Thor laughed loudly at something nobody else seemed to find equally funny, one massive hand nearly knocking over a glass beside him. Peter Parker was speaking too quickly about something science-related to Bruce Banner, who looked simultaneously interested and overwhelmed.

The room quieted slightly when they noticed you.

“Ah,” Tony said first, leaning back farther in his chair while looking you over openly. “There is our new member. Fury’s little favourite. Took you long enough”

“Tony,” Steve warned immediately.

Steve Rogers stood up halfway from his seat instead, expression much warmer than the others’. “Ignore him. Welcome to the compound.”

You nodded once toward him.

“Thank you.”

Natasha Romanoff sat farther down the table beside Yelena Belova, one elbow resting against the table while she watched you silently. Unlike the others, she didn’t immediately speak, nor did she smile. Her expression remained unreadable in a way that instantly reminded you of trained operatives rather than superheroes.

Yelena, meanwhile, looked openly curious. “So,” she said while pointing her fork vaguely in your direction, “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“Yelena,” Natasha muttered without looking away from you.

“What? It’s true.”

You sat in the only empty chair available.

Dinner continued around you after that, conversation flowing naturally between everyone else while they occasionally attempted to include you in it. Kate asked whether you preferred swords or guns before immediately rambling into a story about trick arrows. Peter tried asking what kind of missions you specialized in before apologizing halfway through because apparently the question sounded invasive once he said it out loud. Thor offered you another serving of food three separate times. 

You answered when necessary, distant enough that eventually the conversations continued without you again.

Only Natasha kept occasionally looking at you.Not always, but enough that every time your eyes accidentally lifted from your plate, you found her already watching. Like she was trying to figure you out completely just by looking.

By the end of dinner, the others had relaxed into movie discussions and mission stories while you quietly stood from the table, placing your untouched glass beside your plate.

“I’m going to my room.” You said standing up. Steve looked up first. “You sure? We usually hang around downstairs for a while.”

“Yes.” You left while conversation slowly resumed behind you, though quieter now, several people subtly watching you disappear down the hallway.

The moment you were fully gone, Yelena leaned back dramatically in her chair.

“She seems bored to sit with us”

“She’s shy,” Wanda corrected softly.

“No,” Tony replied immediately. “She definitely did not want to be here. She wasn’t nervous at all”

The compound became quieter after midnight in a way that almost didn’t seem possible considering how loud it usually was during the day. The endless movement through hallways stopped first, then the distant conversations disappeared one by one behind closed doors, until eventually only the low mechanical hum of ventilation systems and the faint buzzing of electronics remained. Outside, the rain had finally stopped somewhere around one in the morning, leaving the enormous windows dark and slick with water streaks that reflected pieces of the compound lights back into the corridors.

You still weren’t asleep, which wasn’t unusual.

Sleep had always felt more like a necessary bodily function than rest. Hydra had made sure of that long before SHIELD ever got their hands on your file. Even now, years later, your body never fully relaxed enough for real exhaustion to overtake awareness completely. Every sound remained noticeable, every shift in air pressure, every footstep somewhere down another hallway.

By 2:30am, you had given up pretending otherwise.

You changed silently into training clothes, dark gray compression fabric hugging tightly enough to avoid restricting movement, black wraps secured around your hands with efficient familiarity. The compound lighting was dimmed this late, turning the hallways colder somehow, the polished floors reflecting pale strips of artificial light beneath your boots as you walked toward the lower training levels.

Far above the training floor,  Natasha Romanoff stood barefoot in her room with one hand wrapped around a mug of coffee she wasn’t really drinking. She had changed out of her training clothes hours ago, now wearing loose black sweatpants and a dark tank top beneath an unzipped hoodie, though the exhaustion visible beneath her eyes suggested she hadn’t rested at all either.

Insomnia wasn’t rare for her, the sound of footsteps outside her room wasn’t rare either, but unfamiliar footsteps were.

She noticed yours immediately, they were measured, quiet and controlled enough that most people probably wouldn’t even hear them.

She waited until the footsteps faded to open her door, just as another door farther down opened too.

Bucky stepped out first, one hand dragging tiredly over his face before he noticed her standing there. “You hear that?” Natasha nodded. “New girl?” “Probably.”

Neither of them sounded particularly alarmed, but caution still settled naturally between them anyway. Fury trusting someone blindly usually worried Natasha more than reassured her. Without another word, they both moved down the hallway.

The training room lights were already on by the time they reached the observation level above it. Below them, you were moving so fast that for a moment neither of them spoke at all.

The heavy punching bag hanging from the center rig swung violently every time your fists connected with it, chains groaning overhead beneath the force. Your movements weren’t flashy. There was nothing performative about them. No unnecessary spinning or dramatic techniques. Everything was brutally efficient, sharp enough to look almost mechanical sometimes. Punches landing hard enough to split knuckles through wraps. Elbows. Knees. Fast pivots across the mat. Recovery positions immediately reset before most people would even finish reacting.

Sweat darkened the fabric clinging to your spine, damp strands of hair sticking to your forehead while your breathing remained controlled despite the intensity.

Natasha leaned slightly closer to the glass. “She does this every night?” Bucky’s jaw tightened faintly while watching you below. “Wouldn’t surprise me.”

Natasha glanced sideways toward him. “You know her?” “Not really.” he answered slowly.

“She was younger when I saw her,” he continued after several seconds, eyes never fully leaving you. “Hydra used to move people around constantly, different facilities, different handlers, but I remember her face vaguely.”

Natasha stayed quiet because Bucky rarely spoke about Hydra voluntarily. “She was good even back then,” he muttered finally. “Too good for a kid.” Natasha hummed, knowing what that was like. 

Below them, your fist connected with the bag hard enough to split the outer seam slightly.

For a while they just watched.

You trained for another hour without slowing much, until eventually your movements started losing precision from physical exhaustion rather than lack of discipline. Only then did you finally stop, chest rising heavier now while sweat rolled slowly down your throat and disappeared beneath your shirt collar.

Natasha should’ve gone back upstairs twenty minutes ago. Instead, she stayed leaning against the observation window, arms folded loosely while she watched you slow your breathing again.

Most people trained  more for the performance, to show others what they can do, to boost their ego a little. You didn’t do any of those things.

Everything about you felt controlled so tightly it looked exhausting. Natasha understood that a little too well.

The next morning at breakfast, nobody mentioned seeing you downstairs.

The pattern repeated, again and again.

Some nights Natasha heard your door open at two in the morning. Other nights closer to four. Sometimes she’d catch glimpses of you returning upstairs exhausted enough that your shoulders finally slumped slightly beneath the weight of fatigue, though never enough to actually look vulnerable.

Within a week, she realized you barely slept more than a few hours total.

One night, after another failed attempt at sleeping herself, Natasha finally shoved her blankets aside with visible irritation and headed downstairs.

You were already there.

The training room lights cast pale reflections across the floor while music played quietly through overhead speakers, low enough to blend into the sound of your breathing and movement. 

You noticed Natasha entering immediately, your movements stopped immediately.

Natasha crossed her arms loosely over her chest. “Could hear you halfway down the corridor.” You reached for a towel beside the bench. “Sorry.”

“You don’t sound sorry.” She said, and you wiped sweat from your jaw slowly. “I’m not.”

Something almost amused flickered briefly across Natasha’s face before disappearing again.Then she walked farther into the room. “Fight me.”

You looked at her properly for the first time since she entered.“No.” One eyebrow lifted instantly. “No?” “I’m training.” You said. 

“So am I.”

You tossed the towel back onto the bench harder than necessary. “You’ll will, you’re better than me.”

Natasha actually laughed quietly at that, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “I saw you train, you’re good.” “I’m not.”

“Well let’s find out.”

Natasha noticed immediately that you still weren’t fully agreeing. Your posture remained controlled, cautious in a way that almost looked reluctant rather than defensive.

The fight started light.

Testing movements first, small exchanges. Natasha immediately realized how skilled you actually were the moment your forearm redirected one of her strikes before she could fully commit to it. Fast, technical, precise enough that she had to genuinely focus.

But something was wrong, you were holding back, and not for any strategic reasons

Every strike redirected away at the last second. Every opening you created was abandoned before impact landed. Natasha swept your legs once and pinned you briefly against the mat before you escaped almost immediately, but even then she could feel hesitation in your movements.

“You do this with everyone?” she snapped after blocking another softened hit.  You stepped backward again. “Do what?” “Fight like you’re scared of touching me.” Your jaw tightened slightly. “I’m not.”

“Bullshit.”

Natasha lunged again this time harder, driving enough force behind her movements that you finally had to properly defend yourself instead of avoiding contact entirely. She pinned you once more, this time harsher, your shoulder blades hitting the mat hard enough to echo faintly through the room.

Still you held back. You kept redirecting and refused to fully hit her.

And now Natasha was genuinely getting angry, it felt pretty insulting if she had to be honest. 

Because she had spent years proving herself against people who underestimated her physically. But you clearly respected her skill enough to defend seriously but not enough to attack seriously.

“Fight me properly,” she hissed after shoving herself back upright. “I am.” You hissed back. “No, you’re not.”

You said nothing.

Natasha stared at you for several seconds, chest rising faster now from exertion and frustration both. Then suddenly she stepped back entirely, wiping sweat angrily from her forehead.

“Forget it.” You frowned slightly. “Romanoff” “No.” Her voice cut sharper this time. “Whatever your problem is, figure it out yourself.”

Then she left.

The door slammed harder than necessary behind her. You stood motionless in the center of the training mat long after she disappeared upstairs.

Dinner the following evening felt different immediately, the others probably wouldn’t have noticed. But Natasha barely looked at you.

She sat across the table tonight instead of beside Clint, one hand lazily spinning a fork between her fingers while Steve discussed mission schedules beside her. Every few minutes her gaze flicked toward you again, narrowed slightly like she was trying to peel apart layers you refused to explain.

You ignored it for almost fifteen minutes. Then finally your eyes lifted toward hers. “What?” The conversations around the table quieted slightly. Natasha leaned back in her chair slowly. “You tell me.”

Tony looked between both of you immediately. “Oh good, dinner was getting boring.” “Tony,” Steve sighed. “No, no, let me enjoy this.”

You looked back down at your plate instead of answering. That somehow annoyed Natasha even more. 

After dinner she went directly to Fury’s office at SHIELD. The argument started barely two minutes after she entered. 

“You sent someone unstable into the compound without telling us her history,” Natasha said sharply while Fury remained seated behind his desk looking significantly less concerned than she expected.

“She’s stable.” He said dismissively.

“She barely sleeps.” Natasha snapped back. “So do you.” he responded  “That’s not the point.”

Fury leaned back slightly. “You questioning my judgment, Romanoff?”

“I’m questioning why she acts like hurting someone would kill her.”

For the first time, Fury’s expression shifted slightly. Maybe a little surprised  because it was a little unusual but still understandable. 

“You know what her file says about collateral damage during missions?” he asked instead.Natasha crossed her arms tighter. “Zero,” Fury continued. “Five years active under SHIELD. Hundreds of operations. Zero unnecessary casualties, zero civilian injuries, zero friendly fire incidents.”

“That doesn’t explain-” “It explains enough.” Fury’s voice hardened now and Natasha stayed quiet.

Fury looked back down toward paperwork already dismissing the conversation. “She’s not your problem to solve.” Natasha left unconvinced anyway.

Natasha hated that sentence more than she should have. Because Fury was right. You weren’t her responsibility. So why had she spent the entire week watching for your footsteps at night?

9 days later it was your first mission with the team.

Undercover infiltration with no firearms and minimal tech.

You, Natasha, Yelena, and Bucky entered separately through different access points before regrouping inside the facility itself, a heavily guarded intelligence broker operation hidden beneath a luxury corporate building in Los angeles.

The mission went smoothly at first. Then one of the guards recognized Bucky from the news.

By the time you and Natasha reached the eastern corridor leading toward the server room, Natasha already had blood running slowly down one side of her ribs beneath her tactical suit from an earlier fight.

“You’re hurt,” you muttered quietly while checking the hallway corner. “I noticed.”

Footsteps approached immediately afterward. You saw 3 guards approaching, 4 following those a bit further away. 

The first one lunged toward Natasha directly. You intercepted him instantly, slamming him hard enough into the wall that unconsciousness hit before his body even fully collapsed. Another guard grabbed your shoulder from behind only for your elbow to connect with his throat seconds later.

But Natasha was slower now. She was injured and it was definitely noticeable. You noticed every imbalance in her footing immediately, every slight hesitation from pain.

So when another attacker moved toward her blindside, you reacted before she even saw him. Your arm hooked around his wrist before twisting sharply enough that the sound of the dislocation echoed through the corridor. Another hit followed immediately after, dropping him.

Natasha stared. You were less violent from earlier, more careful. 

Constantly repositioning yourself between threats and her injured side. Taking hits you could’ve avoided if it meant redirecting force away from her body. It unsettled Natasha slightly, how automatic it seemed for you to shield other people before yourself .Like your body made the decision before your brain even caught up.

And so she thought she understood, that maybe you weren’t underestimating her. Maybe you just didn’t want to hurt people that weren’t a threat. 

The realization hit Natasha so hard she nearly missed another incoming strike herself.

After the mission, she stopped looking at you with suspicion, she trusted you more and respected you for that. 

A week later, Natasha walked into the training room expecting a quiet session before breakfast.

Instead she froze near the doorway.

You and Steve were sparring violently. Not reckless but enough to leave some bruises for sure.

Your fist collided with Steve’s jaw hard enough to snap his head sideways before he countered with a shove that nearly launched you halfway across the mat. You recovered instantly, ducking beneath another strike before landing two more hits directly into his ribs.

There was no hesitation or restraint visible in your movements. 

Natasha’s expression darkened immediately.

Steve noticed her first. “Morning.” You turned too late, natasha was already coldly staring directly at you.

“You hit him.” She snaps. 

You frowned slightly, still breathing hard from the fight. “Yes? That’s kind of the point”

“You don’t hold back with Rogers.” She said, stepping forward, Steve wisely stepped backward. “Oh,” he muttered quietly, “I should probably-” “Yes,” Natasha interrupted sharply. “You should.” Steve left immediately.

The second the door shut, Natasha stepped closer. “So what? You think I can’t handle it?” You blinked once “What?”. “You refuse to fight me properly for weeks but apparently Rogers gets your full effort?”

“He has super soldier serum.” You explained, clearly getting uncomfortable. “And I’m Natasha Romanoff.” Your jaw tightened instantly. “I know who you are.” You replied. “Then why treat me like I’m fragile?” “I don’t.” You said too fast.  “You absolutely do.”

The irritation building beneath your skin finally snapped slightly. “Why are you so obsessed with this?”

“Because I hate people underestimating me.” She said angrily, to which you quickly replied “I wasn’t underestimating you.” But she wasn’t backing down. “Then explain it.” You looked away.

“You are unbelievable,” she scoffed.

Something sharp flashed across your expression: anger or embarrassment, maybe both if you looked closely enough. “Fine,” you muttered finally, stepping back onto the mat fully. “You want a real fight? Stop complaining afterward.”

Natasha smirked immediately. “Took you long enough”

This fight felt entirely different from the first second. None of your strikes were soft and held back like before. 

Natasha barely blocked your kick in time before retaliating instantly, both of you moving across the mat with enough force now that the impact sounds echoed through the room. Punches landed, legs swept, and breathing turned harsher faster.

Natasha realized almost immediately this had been a mistake. Not because you weren’t good, but bow she had to focus on you properly.

Your hair was damp already, breathing uneven from the fight, irritation sharpening every movement you made across the mat.

Natasha blocked another strike barely in time and hated how distracting she suddenly found you.

Then Natasha pinned you hard enough that both of you lost balance slightly on impact.

Your back hit the mat while she held your wrists above your head, both of you breathing heavily now, sweat dampening loose strands of red hair around her face.

Your eyes flickered downward briefly. Natasha followed the movement automatically and suddenly became very aware of how soaked her shirt had become.

The realization spread across your face immediately afterward.Natasha felt warmth creep up her own neck before she could stop it.

Your eyes flickered downward once more. Your cheeks are turning a light shade of pink while you try to avoid eye contact. 

Natasha stared at you for a full second before suddenly smirking. “Well,” she murmured softly, still pinning you beneath her. “That explains a lot.”

Your expression turned horrified instantly. Natasha laughed quietly under her breath before finally pushing herself upright. You sat up immediately afterward looking deeply annoyed with both yourself and her. The corner of Natasha’s mouth twitched like she was trying very hard not to look pleased with herself.

The next few days were somehow worse. Natasha kept making fun of you nonstop, and your frustration slowly grew. 

Movie night started in the common room, and you already regretted coming. Not because of the movie. You barely even registered what was playing on the massive screen across the room. 

But because Natasha had somehow ended up sitting beside you again, stretched lazily into the corner of the couch like she belonged there, one arm resting along the back cushion behind you.

At first it was manageable, but then she started: little comments spoken quietly enough that only you could hear them, her knee brushing yours every few minutes like it happened accidentally, smirking every single time you looked at her for longer than half a second.

It was getting irritating now, it wasn’t cut nor were you getting flustered or whatever. It was just annoying.

Because in your mind, there was absolutely no reason for her to keep doing this unless she was just entertaining herself at your expense. And you were starting to feel stupid for reacting to it.

Natasha honestly hadn’t meant to keep pushing.But every time you reacted, shoulders tightening slightly whenever she leaned closer, eyes flickering away too late, she kept doing it again anyway. Maybe because getting reactions out of you had become strangely addictive..

Mostly because you actually reacted to her. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at her like that without wanting something from her.

She leaned slightly closer during some loud scene in the movie. “You’re tense again.” You stared forward at the screen. You exhaled sharply through your nose. Beside you, she shifted again, shoulder brushing yours this time. “You know,” she murmured, “you blush every time I touch you.”

That was it.

You turned toward her so suddenly she actually looked surprised for the first time all evening. “What exactly is your problem?” you snapped quietly. Natasha blinked once “What?”. “You keep doing this.” “Doing what?” “This.” You gestured vaguely between you both, visibly frustrated now. “The flirting or teasing or whatever this is supposed to be.”

Natasha’s brows pulled together slightly now.

“You figured out I got distracted during sparring and suddenly you won’t leave me alone about it.” Your voice stayed low, but irritation was bleeding through every word now. “Yes, I looked at your chest. Congratulations. Can we move on?”

From the other couch, Clint slowly lowered his popcorn bowl.

Natasha stared at you. Yous stood up, ready to leave and kept going before she could answer. “If you’re not actually interested then stop doing this constantly because it’s getting really childish.”

Now the room had gone almost completely silent. Even Thor stopped talking.

Natasha looked genuinely caught off guard now, more confused than offended. “You think I’m making fun of you?” You crossed your arms tightly. “What else would this be?” For a second Natasha just looked at you.

Then suddenly she laughed once in disbelief, dragging a hand over her face. “Oh my god.”

“That’s not helping.” You said, staring at her confused. 

“No, hold on,” Natasha said, still looking stunned. “You seriously think I’ve been flirting with you for days as a joke?” 

“You literally smirk every time I speak.”

“Wait,” she said, the teasing in her expression faded. “You actually thought I was making fun of you?” You looked away immediately, before responding “What else was I supposed to think?”.

Natasha stared at you for another second before laughing softly under her breath. “God, you’re impossible.” And then quieter she added “I’m flirting with you because I like you.”

The silence afterward was loud.

Tony looked delighted. Yelena whispered something in Russian that sounded aggressively smug.

Your expression shifted slowly from irritation into something far more horrified. Natasha was still staring at you like she couldn’t believe this misunderstanding had somehow happened.

“You are unbelievably bad at this,” she muttered. “I thought you were messing with me.” Y/n responded

Natasha dragged a hand over her face again, still looking vaguely horrified with herself now. “I cannot believe my flirting is apparently this bad.”

“That’s worse.” You responded and Natasha laughed again, quieter this time, before leaning back into the couch cushions. “Come sit down before you make this more painful for both of us.”

You stood there for another second before reluctantly sitting back down beside her.

Immediately, Natasha reached over and took your hand. This time she didn’t tease you about reacting to it. She just held it tightly.

From across the room, Tony sighed heavily. “Thank god. That was painful to watch.”