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agent99galanzo · 5 months ago

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DO ME A FAVOR PLEASE PLAY STRANGE by celeste on Spotify while reading this

Sniper (Part 4) - Natasha x Female reader

warnings: slight violence, smut

word count: 6759

The rooftop was silent except for the distant hum of the city below. You stayed there for a moment longer, gripping the edge of the railing as if holding on could somehow bring her back. But it couldn’t.

Your breath came out in uneven bursts, the adrenaline starting to wane, leaving only the ache of her absence. Again. The memory of her red hair streaking through the wind seared into your mind.

Then her words echoed back, sharp and unrelenting: Things change.

A rush of determination surged through you. This wasn’t over. Natasha didn’t leave loose ends, and she certainly didn’t come to that rooftop tonight just to disappear.

No, she wanted you to follow her. You pushed yourself away from the edge and adjusted the strap of your gear. Whatever game she was playing, you were done hesitating. If Natasha wanted to draw you into her web, you’d follow - but on your terms.

As you descended the stairs of the building, the familiar tension in your chest began to harden into resolve. You replayed every word, every movement, searching for clues. The gala rooftop wasn’t random. It was deliberate. There had to be a reason she chose this place to confront you - and to vanish.

By the time you reached the street, the cool night air had sharpened your focus. You didn’t have much to go on, but you knew Natasha.

You tightened your coat around you and set off into the city. One step closer to finding her. As you walked through the streets, your mind raced with possibilities. Where would she go? Then, like a lightning strike, it hit you - the safehouse.

It was a relic from a time when trust had been implicit between you, before everything unraveled. The small, nondescript apartment on the edge of the city had been your shared sanctuary, hidden from prying eyes. Neither SHIELD nor anyone else knew about it, and for a while, it had felt like the only place in the world where the two of you could truly breathe.

Your pace quickened as the memory came flooding back: the mismatched furniture, the faint smell of coffee that lingered in the air, and the way Natasha would sit cross-legged on the floor, absentmindedly dismantling and reassembling weapons while you tried to convince her to take a break.

You hadn’t thought about the safehouse in years, but now it seemed like the only place that made sense. If she was leading you anywhere, it had to be there.

You returned to your apartment first. You couldn’t go to her empty-handed - not this time. If Natasha had taught you anything, it was to be prepared, to think two steps ahead.

The room was silent when you entered, the faint hum of the city outside barely registering. Your eyes swept over the space as you moved with purpose toward the hidden compartment beneath your bed. You hadn’t opened it in years, but you knew exactly what was inside.

Sliding the compartment open, you reached in and pulled out a small, unassuming black case. Inside was the device. It was SHIELD tech, highly experimental, designed specifically to counteract enhanced abilities or nullify even the most skilled opponents. It worked like an EMP, but instead of disrupting electronics, it disrupted neural pathways temporarily, effectively incapacitating the target.

Natasha wouldn’t see it coming.

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers brushing over the smooth surface of the device. This was now about finding the person in her that you used to know. You slid the device into your jacket pocket, its presence a weight.

As you stood, your gaze flicked to the corner of your desk, where an old photo frame sat. It was one of the few things you hadn’t thrown away - a picture of the two of you from years ago, back when things had been simpler.

You picked it up, studying her face. The smile, the way her eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. The Natasha in this photo was a world apart from the woman you’d faced tonight. Sliding the photo out of the frame, you tucked it into your other pocket. Not for her - no, this was for you. A reminder of what was at stake. With a steadying breath, you grabbed your gear and headed out the door, your mind already focused.

By the time you reached the outskirts of the city, the dim glow from the morning sun started to appear. The streets grew quieter as you neared the old building. The safehouse was tucked away on the third floor, its faded brick exterior blending seamlessly into the neighbourhood. You hesitated at the entrance, your hand hovering over the doorframe as you steeled yourself.

The lock was newer than you remembered, a subtle sign that someone had been here recently. Natasha. Of course, she’d updated it. You pulled out your tools, your hands steady despite the adrenaline surging through you. The lock gave way with a quiet click, and you pushed the door open cautiously.

The interior was dimly lit, the curtains drawn tight. It smelled faintly of dust, mixed with something sharper - gun oil, maybe. The layout was almost exactly as you remembered it: the small kitchen to the left, the couch you’d both hated but never replaced, and the table where countless plans had been scribbled onto napkins and scraps of paper.

But it wasn’t just the memory of the place that hit you - it was the realisation that she had been here, recently. A half-empty glass of water sat on the counter. The faintest imprint of her boots on the dusty floor. And then you saw it: the box.

Sitting on the table, a plain wooden box, its lid slightly ajar. Your stomach tightened as you approached it, your hands brushing against the smooth surface. Inside were photos - pictures of the two of you. Moments you’d thought were long buried.

She’d taken them. Not stolen, but preserved. Why?

You flipped through them, your throat tightening with each one. The two of you at the safehouse, her leaning on your shoulder, you laughing at something she’d said. Another from a mission, her smirk caught perfectly in the frame.

Beneath the photos was a slip of paper. You unfolded it, the words scrawled in her unmistakable handwriting:

"Not yet. You’ll know when."

The message left you reeling. You clenched the note in your fist, your resolve hardening. If she wanted to keep pulling you into her game, you’d follow her lead. But this time, you wouldn’t hesitate.

The safehouse felt oppressive now, its familiarity twisted into something unsettling. You turned, scanning the room for anything else she might have left behind. Your gaze landed on the couch, and for a moment, you could almost see her sitting there, legs tucked beneath her, a knowing smirk on her lips as if she had predicted your every move.

You paced to the window, pulling back the heavy curtain just enough to peer out into the quiet street below. The faint glow of dawn had given way to full daylight, the city starting to stir. Natasha was out there somewhere.

Was she trying to test your loyalty, your resolve, or was there some part of her that still wanted you to understand? To see the reasons behind her actions?

You turned back to the table, your eyes falling on the box again. The photos were a stark contrast to the woman you faced now. They showed moments of vulnerability, of trust, of something real.

The weight of the device in your pocket brought you back to the present. It was a contingency plan, a last resort. But even as you’d taken it, you knew you didn’t want to use it - not unless there was no other choice.

With one last glance around the safehouse, you moved to the door. You’d learned all you could here. The note was clear enough: Natasha wasn’t done with you yet, and she wanted you to keep looking. But if you were going to find her, you’d need to anticipating her next move before she made it. If there was a part of Natasha still worth saving, you had to believe she was leading you to it.

You stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind you. The quiet click of the lock felt like you were leaving the past behind - again. But this time, you weren’t chasing memories; you were chasing her.

And you wouldn’t stop until you caught up.

You exited the building, stepping onto the quiet street as the sun crept higher into the sky. The city was waking up, the hum of traffic and distant chatter pulling you back into the present. You pulled your coat tighter, both reassuringly and suffocatingly.

You moved with purpose, blending into the crowd as you retraced steps you hadn’t walked in years. Natasha’s note had been vague, but her choice of location wasn’t random. If she wanted you to find her, she’d leave a trail.

The first stop wasn’t the obvious one. It was the nearby café where the two of you used to meet during missions, a quiet corner of the city where secrets were exchanged over bitter coffee. The thought was almost laughable now - how many times had she teased you for always ordering the same thing?

The café hadn’t changed much. The smell of freshly brewed coffee greeted you as you stepped inside, and the faint hum of conversation filled the air. You scanned the room, your heart skipping a beat when your eyes landed on the corner table. It was empty now, but the memory of her sitting there, her red hair catching the light as she leaned in close to whisper something only for you, was vivid.

You approached the table, your eyes darting to the small notepad left for customers to write reviews or messages. It was a long shot, but Natasha had a flair for theatrics. Flipping through the pages, you found nothing out of the ordinary - until you reached the very last page.

Scrawled in the corner was a simple line: "Close, but not quite."

Your grip tightened on the edge of the notepad as frustration bubbled up. She was toying with you, but at least you were on the right track.

You left the café, your mind working furiously. If she’d been here, she couldn’t have gone far. Natasha was deliberate in everything she did. The safehouse, the note, the café - they weren’t just breadcrumbs.

Your next destination was clear: the alley behind the café, where you used to slip away unnoticed. It was a spot you both knew well, a place where conversations had been had in hushed tones.

As you stepped into the alley, the air grew colder, the shadows stretching long against the brick walls. The faint scent of cigarette smoke lingered, though you knew Natasha didn’t smoke. Your eyes scanned the area, every nerve on edge. Then, tucked into the crevice of a windowsill, you saw it: a small, folded piece of paper.

You unfolded it carefully, the faint imprint of her handwriting making your heart clench.

"You’re getting warmer."

The cryptic message struck a chord. You could almost hear her voice in the words, playfully laced with a smirk.

You folded the note and slipped it into your pocket. With determination, you made your way through the city streets. It was almost instinctual now, the way you moved, the way you searched for where she’d be.

You had been there before, a small, forgotten alley hidden behind a set of old warehouses on the outskirts of the city. The perfect spot for her to challenge you.

The alley was quiet, the air thick with the scent of old machinery and smoke. You walked further in, scanning your surroundings. At first, nothing seemed out of place—until you noticed the torn edge of a scrap of paper caught in the corner of a rusted fence. You grabbed it quickly, unfolding it with urgency.

"Come on... obviously I wouldn't make it this easy."

The note sent a surge of irritation through you. You gritted your teeth, crumpling the piece of paper in your fist. It angered you that the plan she had for you to follow her was working. You forced yourself to take a deep breath, trying to clear your mind. She'd want you to be angry, to let your emotions guide you. That's why the notes were so carefully crafted, an intricate mix of challenge and mockery. Natasha's smugness practically dripped from the words.

You stood there for a moment, your pulse still running high from the chase, but a wave of exhaustion slowly started to settle over you. Your feet felt heavier as you turned back, the alley stretching ahead of you in the growing dark. The distant sounds of the city, once a comfort, now felt more like an oppressive weight. You weren't sure if you were ready to keep going, if you even could.

As you walked, the light of the fading day grew dimmer, the air cooler, and the streets less crowded. The more you thought about finding hr, the more you realised how little you had left to go on.

Eventually, your pace slowed, and the anger you’d felt earlier was replaced with something quieter. The irritation began to bleed out of you, and what replaced it was a sense of helplessness.

By the time you reached the familiar bridge that led home, you realised you were done for the night. The streetlights flickered on, casting long shadows on the pavement. You tugged your collar up against the evening chill, your thoughts scattered, and continued forward, the hum of the city now distant enough that you could hear the sound of your own breath.

And then, a small sound - a rock skittering across the ground.

You stopped in your tracks, heart skipping a beat. Slowly, you turned, the sudden shift in the air making your senses sharpen. There, standing a few feet away in the half-light, was Natasha. Her presence was unmistakable, like she’d been waiting for you.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The space between you felt heavy. Finally, she spoke, her voice low, almost quiet. "Is that it then, Y/N?"

Her eyes met yours, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. You could feel the challenge crackling between you.

You didn’t answer right away. What was there to say? Instead, you took a breath and let the silence hang for just a moment longer.

"Where are we going with this?" you asked, your voice steady despite the way your pulse was quickening. "What do you want, Natasha?"

She didn’t answer immediately, just stared at you for a long beat. Then, her lips curved into that same small, knowing smile. "Maybe I want you to figure it out."

Her words lingered in the cool night air. You stared at her.

"You always did like making things complicated," you said, your voice sharp, betraying the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "Why now? You could’ve ended it all already."

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, as if savouring the tension. "Maybe I didn’t want it to end," she replied softly, taking a step closer. "Maybe I wanted to see how far you'd go. You always did surprise me."

The distance between you shrank with each step she took, and yet, it felt like she was miles away. You stayed rooted to the spot, not letting her be the only one to move.

"I could’ve walked away," you said, your tone low. "But I didn’t. So what now, Natasha?"

She came to a stop, just inches from you. Her eyes never left yours. “This isn’t a game, Y/N. Never has been.”

"Then what are we doing?" you asked. For a moment, she didn’t answer. Her gaze flicked from your eyes to your lips, and for just a second, you thought she might say something, but she didn’t.

Instead, she stepped closer, her voice barely a whisper. "You’ll know soon enough."

Then, without waiting for a response, she took a step back, her gaze still steady on you, leaving you standing there.

"Why now?" you asked, breaking the silence, your voice more vulnerable than you intended.

Her lips curled, but there was no humour in it. "Because you’re here," she said simply, the answer almost too casual for the weight of the moment. "And you always follow the trail."

Your chest tightened, the sharp sting of realization hitting you. She was right. You had been following, hadn’t you? Every note, every cryptic word—this whole chase—it had all been because you couldn’t stop yourself from trying to understand her. Even when you knew you shouldn’t.

"You never make things easy," you muttered, mostly to yourself.

Natasha’s gaze softened for a fraction of a second, like a glimpse of something more familiar, something closer to the woman you once knew. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that cool, unreadable mask.

"It's not supposed to be," she said, her voice low. "That’s how it works."

You looked at her, the questions swirling in your mind, but you didn’t ask. Not yet. Instead, you took a breath, trying to ground yourself.

"Where do we go from here?" you finally asked.

Her gaze flicked to the city skyline in the distance, and for a moment, she seemed far away. "We keep moving forward," she said softly, the words heavy with some unspoken meaning. "Because I have no other choice, Y/N."

And then she turned, her silhouette disappearing into the shadows of the night.

The night seemed colder now. The tension from just moments ago had dissipated, but the uncertainty remained, gnawing at you like an unhealed wound.

You wanted to chase after her, to demand answers, to understand what the hell she meant by everything. But something inside you held back - an old instinct, the same one that had warned you before.

Some days had passed, many spent wallowing in your apartment trying to decode everything she had ever done or said to you. The walk back to your apartment on this day felt longer than ever, every person reminding her of you - you had stopped by the café to experience your warm memories again. Maybe for the last time.

The sound of your footsteps echoed in the still night. It was then that you heard it - a low hum, the unmistakable sound of a vehicle pulling up behind you.

You turned instinctively, but before you could react, the car came into view, its headlights cutting through the darkness.

The car stopped in front of you, the engine dying with a soft sputter. The door opened, and there she was - Natasha, her figure illuminated by the faint glow of the car screen. Her eyes met yours across the distance, unreadable, calm.

"Did you really think I was done with you?" she asked, her voice quiet.

You didn’t answer right away. You couldn’t. Instead, you just watched her, trying to read her expression. Her body language was relaxed, but you knew better than to trust that. Natasha never let her guard down fully.

"Where are we going, Natasha?" you finally asked, your voice steady despite the way your pulse had quickened.

She stepped forward, the car door still ajar behind her. "You’ll see," she replied, her lips curling into that familiar, enigmatic smile. You stepped forward, toward her, knowing that walking away now wasn’t an option.

The interior of the car smelled faintly of leather and gun oil, a subtle reminder of the world you and Natasha both inhabited. As you slid into the passenger seat, she moved with practiced ease, shutting the door behind her and taking the wheel.

The engine roared to life, and she pulled the car onto the road without a word. The silence between you was heavy, filled with the weight of questions you couldn’t ask and answers you weren’t ready to hear. The glow of the city lights streaked across her face, accentuating the sharp angles and the shadows that seemed to cling to her.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, you broke it. "This feels familiar," you said, your voice cutting through the hum of the engine.

Natasha’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles. "Some things don’t change," she replied, her tone almost amused.

You turned to face her, studying her profile. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened for just a fraction of a second, a movement so small you might have missed it if you weren’t watching her so closely. "Not everything has to," she said after a moment.

She was always like this - just enough honesty to keep you hooked, but never enough to give you clarity.

The car slowed as she pulled into a desolate stretch of road, flanked by crumbling warehouses and overgrown lots. The city’s glow faded behind you, replaced by the stark stillness of the outskirts.

She parked the car and turned off the engine, leaving you both in the silence of the night. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then she turned to face you, her eyes piercing in the dim light.

"Do you remember the first time we were here?" she asked, her voice softer now, almost vulnerable.

You frowned, glancing around. The place looked vaguely familiar, but the memory eluded you. Natasha chuckled, noticing your confusion. "Relax," she said, a hint of the old familiarity creeping back into her tone. She nodded towards the glove compartment, gesturing for you to open it. You obliged, the old leather creaking under your fingers as you flipped up the lid. Inside was the familiar sight of a sleek handgun, resting atop a stack of old maps. But beneath the map, your eyes caught sight of something else: a faded photo.

You pulled it out carefully, your fingers tracing the edges as you studied the picture. The photo showed the two of you, younger and carefree. The backdrop was a familiar city alley, the old brick wall still standing in the same spot. Neither of you were looking at the camera; instead, you were leaning close to each other, each wearing a cocky smirk.

It had been taken years ago during your time in SHIELD. You remembered that day clearly; the mission to infiltrate a rival organization's headquarters had gone smoothly, but the adrenaline from the success had led to a moment of carelessness. You remembered standing in the abandoned alleyway, the thrill of success still coursing through your veins. It was then that Natasha had pulled out her phone and snapped the shot.

Memories came flooding back as you stared at the image. You could feel the rough texture of the brick wall against your back, the cold night air on your skin. And there was Natasha, her arm slung casually around your shoulders as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

You turned to look at her, seeing the subtle change in her expression. Her eyes were fixed on the photo, a mixture of nostalgia and something softer flitting across her features.

Without looking away, she spoke. "We had it all mapped out back then, didn't we?" she mused.

You looked back down at the photo, not saying anything. Natasha studied your face for a moment, the silence stretching between you like a taut rope. Finally, she spoke again.

"We were reckless," she said, almost more to herself than to you. Her gaze drifted back to the photo, a faint smile pulling at the corners of her lips. "Always pushing boundaries. You remember that time we decided to go deep undercover in that mob hangout without any backup?"

Her tone was casual, but there was a spark in her eyes that betrayed her memory of that night. You remained silent for a while, running your thumb across the photo, "We're still reckless, Nat."

Natasha's expression dropped momentarily before saying, "There's things that have to be done, Y/N." She turned away from the photo, looking down at the cuts on her hands. In the dim light of the car, Natasha's face looked almost gaunt, etched with lines that hadn't been there before.

You studied her in the silence, seeing hints of the woman you used to know beneath the mask she now wore. But there was also a coldness in her eyes.

"They don't have to be done like this, Nat." That use of her name made her eyes dilate ever so slightly. She didn't look at you, but you saw the stiffening of her shoulders. Neither of you spoke for several moments, the words hanging heavy in the air. She was the first to break the quiet.

"You always were too soft." Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. She placed her hands on the wheel, turning her head at you, "How should they be done then, Y/N?"

There was a challenge in her gaze, as if she was daring you to answer.

"There's always another way." You kept your voice soft. Natasha let out a dry laugh, the sound harsh in the quiet car, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the wheel. She drove the car further towards the warehouse before suddenly stopping outside its large gate. She stepped out of the car, leaning down to peer into the car.

"You know that's not true," she said, "there's no room for 'another way' in our line of work, Y/N."

You followed her lead, stepping out of the car into the cold night air. The old warehouse loomed before you, its shadowy form a stark contrast against the faded glow of the city lights. You knew she was right, you'd both seen the darker side of the world.

The wind bit at your skin as you closed the car door behind you, the sound echoing faintly in the stillness. Natasha was already walking toward the warehouse, each step crunching softly on the gravel beneath her boots. You hesitated for a moment, staring at her back, before following.

"You say there's no room," you called after her, your voice cutting through the quiet. "But you’re here, Natasha. So what does that mean?"

She stopped just short of the warehouse's rusted door, her hand hovering over the handle. For a moment, you thought she wouldn’t answer, that she’d let the silence be her reply. But then, without turning, she spoke.

"It means I wanted to see if you’d follow." Her tone was even.

You stepped closer, the chill of the night forgotten. "And what if I hadn’t?"

She glanced over her shoulder, a faint smirk tugging at her lips, but her eyes betrayed no humour. "Then I’d have my answer."

The implication stung more than it should have. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet her gaze. "And now that you do?"

Natasha turned fully to face you, her expression unreadable. "Now we find out if you’re ready for what comes next."

She pushed the door open with a loud groan, the sound echoing into the dark expanse beyond. The warehouse was dimly lit by flickering overhead lights, casting long, distorted shadows on the concrete floor. Inside, the air was thick with dust and the faint tang of rust.

You followed her inside, your footsteps echoing softly. "You’ve always been good at the cryptic act," you said, your voice low but sharp. You stopped, the echo of your boots ceasing. "I’m tired of guessing, Natasha. What’s this really about?"

She stopped in the centre of the room, her arms crossed as she regarded you. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, just let the silence stretch. Then, finally, she spoke.

"It’s about us, Y/N," she said, her voice softer now. "It’s about what we’ve done. How we've both changed."

The weight of her words settled over you, heavy and inescapable. "And what’s your solution?" you asked, keeping your tone even. "We walk in and make peace with it all?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she looked away. "No," she said quietly. "We decide if it’s worth fighting for."

You stared at her, trying to reconcile the woman in front of you with the one you thought you knew. "And what if it is?"

Her gaze snapped back to yours, sharp and searching. "Then you’ll have to prove it," she said, a challenge laced in her tone.

Silence fell between you again, the only sound the steady drip of water somewhere in the shadows. She looked away, her eyes fixed on the dust-covered machinery that had once been in operation. Finally, you spoke again.

"How do I prove it?"

Her head tilted slightly at the question, her gaze flickering back to you. She seemed almost amused by your directness. "Impatient as always," she mused.

She moved, circling a stack of metal crates in the corner, her footsteps echoing off the bare concrete walls. There was a pause as she traced her fingers along the rusted surface, as if she were deep in memory. You waited, the silence stretching around you. Then she spoke, still facing away from you.

"We start with one question," she said, her tone measured. "Do you trust me?"

You used to. But the years of secrets you had shared had built a barrier between the two of you that felt like miles in the dark. She turned to face you, her eyes locking on yours across the room. The distance felt even longer under her stare, her face still a mask of neutrality no matter how much her hands betrayed her.

You dropped your head, unsure of how to respond. She scoffed at your silence, shaking her head.

“That’s what I thought,” she said. There was a hardness in her voice that you’d rarely heard before.

She moved again, pacing in a small circle around you. You stayed still, every nerve in your body on edge. She stopped, her face just inches away from yours. You could see each individual freckle on her skin under the dim warehouse lights, every line on her face as she studied you.

Natasha was so close you could feel her breath on your cheek, could see every flicker of thought behind her cool exterior. Then, in a voice barely more than a whisper, she asked,

"Do you trust me?"

The question hung in the air, each syllable almost painfully loud in your ears. You looked into her eyes, seeing the challenge there. She was asking for more than just an answer.

You opened your mouth to say something, but the words lodged in your throat. You wanted to say yes. She continued to stare at you, waiting for your answer.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you whispered, "Why should I?"

Her gaze hardened for a moment, a spark of annoyance flashing across her face. "Because that's what partners do," she said, her voice a bit sharper than before.

You could see the frustration build in the set of her shoulders, the way her muscles tensed and relaxed under the light of the warehouse bulb. She wanted you to say yes. "We haven't been partners for a long time, Nat," you warily replied.

Her face was blank, expressionless as she processed your words. But you knew her well enough to see the tension in the way she held herself.

For a moment, she said nothing, just stared at you with her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her jacket. Finally, her lips curled up into a bitter smile. "Fine," she said, her voice flat. "Then what are we?"

You took a step towards her, unable to keep yourself from closing the distance. Her eyes didn’t move from yours, but she stiffened at your approach. You studied her face, the hard lines and angles that were all too familiar. "We were colleagues once," you said, the words so soft you weren’t sure if she heard you as you took a step closer. "Then friends, then…" your voice drifted off, suddenly realising the pain you had felt at losing her.

"Then what, Y/N?" Natasha's expression looked more solemn now.

You swallowed, unsure of how to continue. But before you could speak, she spoke again, her voice so quiet it was almost lost in the silence of the warehouse.

"We were a lot of things... weren't we." Her gaze met yours, that forest green burning into you. "We were good, Y/N." She took a step towards you, grabbing your hands to trace her thumb over the ridges of your knuckles. You shivered at the touch, feeling the rough callouses from years of fighting brush against your skin. For a moment, neither of you spoke, just held each other's gaze as your hands remained in her warm hold. She didn't let go of your hands, simply continued to stare at them as if she could read something from the lines on your palm.

Eventually, she spoke, still tracing your knuckles. "Are you scared of me?"

Her voice was quiet but steady, her gaze flickering to your face for a moment before returning to your hands. You swallowed, "Never." She released your hands but didn't step back, still standing close enough that you felt the faint heat of her body.

Her eyes bore into yours, searching, assessing, as if she were trying to figure you out all over again. "You're lying," she said simply.

"I don't lie, Nat." You grabbed her face, crashing your lips into hers. She responded immediately, her hands clutching at your hips, pulling you flush against her body. You stumbled back towards a stack of crates, knocking a loose tool off the rusted metal as you went. She pushed you back into the corner, pinning you against the wall.

Her hands were everywhere, skimming under your shirt and across your skin, her mouth burning hot against your skin as she found the sensitive spot beneath your ear. You arched into her touch, a soft moan slipping out before you could stop it. She was relentless, fingers tracing down your side and leaving shivers in their wake.

You gasped as her mouth continued to burn across your throat, her teeth nipping at your skin. She hummed against your collarbone, the sound sending a wave of electricity down your spine. "You always did have a hard time keeping quiet," she murmured into your shoulder, her hands still moving restlessly over your body.

You grabbed her by the neck, spinning her around, "Just shut the fuck up for a minute, Nat." She let out a sharp exhale as you shoved her backwards against the crates, her hands clutching at your wrists in surprise. A sly smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as her back hit the metal. She chuckled, low and breathless. "There's the fire I remember."

You pressed into her, closing any distance between you. Your fingers tightened on her neck, feeling her pulse pounding against your palm.

"You don't get to do that," you whispered against her skin, every word a hot promise against the hollow of her throat. Her eyes fluttered shut, a soft gasp escaping her lips as you pressed yourself harder against her. She didn't respond, just tilted her head back to give you better access to her neck.

You nipped at her jawline, feeling her body shudder against your lips. She groaned, her hands gripping your hips. Then, her voice cut through the haze of desire.

"It's my turn."

Her words were like a switch. A low growl slipped through your lips as your body responded, your grip on her neck tightening. She took advantage of the moment, shifting against you and suddenly reversing your positions. Your back hit the crates with a thud, her body pressed against yours, her hands pinning yours above your head.

Her eyes locked with yours, a victorious glint in her gaze as she held you there. You struggled against her grip, but she didn't budge, her body keeping you firmly pinned in place. "Always fighting me," she murmured, her breath hot against your ear. Her grip on your wrists was steel, her nails digging into your skin as she pressed even closer.

Her lips traced the shell of your ear as she shifted her weight, pressing even harder against you, her thigh suddenly between your legs. An unsteady breath left your lips as you felt her hand slip past your waistline. Her touch was feather-light, slowly moving up your inner thigh. Her fingers traced the edge of your underwear, a teasing touch that sent a wave of heat through your body. Her breath was hot on your neck, her body still pressed tightly against yours.

You tried to arch into her touch, but her grip tightened on your wrists, pinning you even more firmly in place. Her hand continued its torturous journey down your thigh, every nerve ending on edge, waiting for her to go just a little lower. You let out a strangled gasp, your body quivering with need and frustration. She chuckled darkly at your reaction, her hand still continuing its maddening motion, her fingers tracing small patterns on the thin fabric between your legs.

"So needy," she whispered, her breath hot on your neck. She shifted against you, her thigh pressing firmly against your centre, adding a delicious friction to the heat that pooled between you. Her fingers dipped into your underwear.

"So wet." You whimpered at the sudden touch, your body arching off the metal beneath you. The air filled with the sounds of your gasped breaths as she finally, finally, touched you where you wanted her most. Her fingers slid through your slick folds, circling slowly but never quite giving you what you needed. She took her sweet time, moving at an infuriatingly slow pace as she teased every sensitive spot with knowing precision.

You bucked against her touch, begging without words for more. Your hips straining against her thigh, seeking the relief she was holding just out of reach. She held you there, pinned with her weight and her hands, as she continued her slow torment. Her thumb brushed lightly over your clit, just a brief, almost accidental touch, but it sent a jolt of pleasure straight through you, making your body jerk against her in response. She chuckled again, the sound low and sultry. Her breath was hot against your ear.

"So responsive," she murmured against your neck. Her fingers teased again, one slipping just inside before withdrawing again. You let out a strangled moan, your hips trying to follow her retreating touch. She continued her slow, torturous rhythm, her fingers circling and brushing over you, bringing you close to the edge but never letting you quite reach it.

You bit down hard on your lip, trying to muffle the gasps that escaped with each movement of her touch. Your body was writhing beneath hers, desperate for release, desperate for just a little bit more. For the final time, she brought you closer than ever before. You felt that familiar feeling building again, "Please, Natasha…" you let out breathily. She quickened her pace, making you groan loudly. "Please, don't stop." She then withdrew her hand, licking her fingers clean with an exacting smirk on her face.

You let out a frustrated groan, your body still trembling from the sudden loss of contact. She chuckled, enjoying the sight of you so helpless in her hands.

"So close," she murmured, leaning back to look at your flushed face. "Better luck next time." She chuckled. You groaned in frustration, your body still trembling from the denied release. You tried to pull your hands free from her grip, wanting to reach out and touch her, but she held firm.

She brought her other hand to your face, grabbing you by the chin, "You sit tight, Y/N." She firmly threw your pinned hands down, "I'll be back before you know it," she walked away from you with a wink.

"Where the fuck are you going?" you yelled after her.

She called back over her shoulder, her smirk evident in her voice. "Just taking care of business." And with that, she was gone, her footsteps echoing faintly through the empty warehouse.

You were left there, alone, panting and unsatisfied, her sudden departure leaving you feeling cold and empty. You brought your hand to your head, wiping the sweat off.

What the fuck did you get yourself into.

a/n: hope that was not too long for you guys, part 5??? ;))

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