#oh nat

he worries about natasha more often than he ever admits, not because he questions whether she can take care of herself, but because he knows she rarely gives anyone the opportunity to take care of her. somewhere along the way she became so accustomed to carrying everything alone that it almost seems instinctive now, brushing aside concern with a joke, redirecting the conversation before anyone gets too close, convincing everyone around her that she's already handled whatever they're about to ask about. most people let her; steve never really has. strength has never convinced him someone needs less kindness; if anything, he's found the opposite to be true. the people who ask for the least are usually the ones who have gone the longest without expecting anyone to stay.

the kitchen of the safehouse is little more than a place to catch their breath between assignments-- functional cabinets, an aging coffee maker, and a scarred wooden table that has seen years of strategy meetings, exhausted conversations, and teammates trying to convince themselves they were ready for whatever came next. rain traces slow paths across the windows while the city beyond them carries on without either of them, blissfully unaware of how close everything had come to falling apart only hours earlier. steve sits across from her with a mug cradled between both hands, his jacket draped over the back of the chair after finally conceding that the mission was over. there is no report demanding his attention, no briefing waiting downstairs, no one asking captain america to have the right answer. for once, there is only this room, the person sitting across from him, and a conversation neither of them has to rush through.

"i think it's because there aren't as many distractions left," he says, his gaze drifting briefly toward the rain-speckled glass before returning to her. "when everything finally slows down, there's nothing left competing for your attention. whatever you've been carrying all day suddenly... has the chance to catch up."

his thumb idly turns the mug as a faint, understanding smile crosses his face.

👅-Would they rather give or receive oral sex?

   Depends on the overall objective really.

Nat will forever be like “No, Jubilee” “But I wasn’t even planni—” “No, Jubilee. I am not for tasting.” “But I— wtf Nat?”