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natsaffection · 38 minutes ago

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story idea or little short thing which ever but i personally image Natasha being a bad flirt when she really means it, like for example she ends up liking a woman who doesn't work for the Avengers or like has something simple like a small librarian or something and because it's unexpected she doesn't know how to react to this sudden feeling and tries to flirt with her but suddenly every bit of seduction she learnt and she used to her advantage vanished and she just stares a lot and maybe asks about the woman's interest as a way of flirting cause i don't know what to do, she's such a cutie patootie in my eyes, i can take her seriously but at the end of the day i just see my shayla like that's just babygirl with a big heart🥲

How she smiles. | N.R

Warnings: None, just fluff

Word count: 3,7k

A/N: Some story’s aren’t just story’s.

The clock on Natasha’s nightstand blinked 5:42 am. but she was already awake.

The room was still, a minimal space lit only by the soft morning gray leaking through the window. A single shelf held a few books. Her combat boots were lined up with surgical precision at the door. A black hoodie was folded on the chair. No clutter. Nothing personal.

Natasha didn’t need much. She liked it that way. She sat up slowly, letting the silence stretch. It was the one time of day she didn’t have to perform. No missions. No teammates. No masks. Just the hum of a world that hadn’t quite started turning yet.

The floor was cold against her feet. She liked that, too, the reminder that she was real. That she existed in the world, not just above it.

By 6:10, she was jogging along the perimeter of the compound. Not for training. Not for show. Just because she needed it. The steady rhythm of breath and pavement was something she could control.

By 7:00, she was in the gym, alone. No music. Just the sound of fists hitting pads. Her technique was flawless, fast, efficient, unrelenting. She didn’t spar to fight. She sparred to stay sharp.

At 8:00, she changed into a fresh black turtleneck and tailored pants. Not because anyone told her to, but because discipline was a habit she never broke. Breakfast was a protein bar and a black coffee she brewed herself. No creamer. No sugar. No softness.

By 8:30, she was already scanning mission logs in the ops room when Steve walked in, muttering about debriefs and red tape.

“You’re late.” she said, not looking up.

“It’s 8:30.”

“I said what I said.”

He chuckled under his breath. She smirked. It was a rhythm now, their banter, safe, familiar. Maria arrived fifteen minutes later, sleek and pressed as always. Natasha greeted her with a glance, a tilt of the head, just enough suggestion to keep Hill on her toes.

It wasn’t about flirting. Not really. It was about reading people, playing the part they expected. Sometimes that part had a smirk and a raised brow. Sometimes it had a knife. Most people couldn’t tell the difference.

By midday, the team had mostly scattered. Thor was off-world. Tony was buried in his lab. Clint was… somewhere. Natasha didn’t ask. She walked the compound in silence, boots echoing in empty hallways, her reflection catching in polished glass. The world outside buzzed with movement, but inside, there was stillness.

Natasha was many things. Spy, assassin, avenger. But in between all of that, she was also a woman used to waiting. Watching. Living on the edges of other people’s stories. She didn’t mind. It was easier that way.

When she finally sat down with Bruce in the lab around 4:00 pm, it wasn’t about conversation. He handed her a tablet with new intel. She passed him a small container of protein gummies, a quiet joke from their last mission.

“Thanks.” he said, with a hint of a smile.

“Don’t get emotional.” she replied.

Later, it was one of those rare nights when no one was injured, the world wasn’t on fire, and no one was being hunted across continents. So Tony did what Tony did best, threw a party.

The tower’s penthouse was transformed into something between a lounge and a battlefield of banter. Stark had cleared out half the bar’s premium stock. Music pulsed low. Everyone had a drink in hand, but the air wasn’t loose. It was precise, a show of ease from people trained to kill.

Natasha stood near the window, her silhouette painted in city lights, sipping whiskey straight. Her dress was black, high-necked but sleeveless, with a slit that whispered danger.

She was talking to Maria, a shoulder angled just so. A too-long glance. A slow smile that hinted at something unsaid.

Steve stood across the room with Sam and Clint, observing with a raised brow.

“You’re staring.” Sam said, following his gaze.

“I’m…watching.” Steve replied, slowly.

“Same thing.”

Clint smirked and leaned over. “He’s just surprised. Nat’s usually ten moves ahead, but with Hill? She lingers.”

“She’s not doing anything wrong.” Steve said, but his tone was too thoughtful to be casual.

“She never is.” Clint added. “Not where anyone can prove it.”

Meanwhile, Natasha had leaned in closer to Maria, brushing her hand lightly over her sleeve as she made a point about… something she definitely wasn’t listening to. She was flushed.

“Relax.” she said quietly, “I don’t bite.”

Maria gave a nervous chuckle. “That’s…debatable.”

She tilted her head, amused. “Maybe.”

Suddenly, the music dropped, and Tony clapped his hands dramatically. “Alright, children of chaos, time for the real entertainment. Who’s up for a little game?”

Natasha turned toward him, intrigued. “What kind of game?” she asked, already knowing she’d say yes.

“Truth or shot,” Tony said. “Classy, right?”

Groans and laughter broke out. Natasha smiled, finishing her whiskey. “Let’s make this interesting.” she said, walking over to the circle that had started forming in the lounge. “Winner gets to make someone else do anything.”

Steve frowned. “Define anything.”

“Come on, Roger’s.” Natasha said, arching a brow. “Live a little.” She was in control. This was her world. These were the spaces she navigated with elegance and heat and sharpness under the surface.

The morning after was crisp, the kind that bit at the skin but promised a clearer mind. Natasha had been restless since sunrise, her body tense with leftover adrenaline and the ghost of too many thoughts. Steve had caught on.

“You need fresh air.” he’d said. “Come on. Walk with me.” So they walked.

They cut through lower Manhattan in silence, boots clicking on damp sidewalks, the city just beginning to hum to life. Steve talked here and there, about a sparring session with Sam, a report Maria wanted, something about a diplomatic issue in Wakanda, and Natasha nodded, half-listening. Not because she wasn’t interested. Just…tired.

Then Steve pointed across the street. “That place is new.” he said. “Wanna try it?”

Natasha followed his gaze to a corner café tucked between a bookstore and a florist. It had wide windows, soft wood framing, and a handwritten chalk sign on the sidewalk that read:

Red Velvet Latte is back — dare you.

Natasha quirked an eyebrow. “Dare accepted.” The bell above the door jingled as they stepped inside, a soft sound against the murmur of the shop’s early patrons and the low jazz playing through the speakers. It smelled like cinnamon and espresso and something warm.

And then, Natasha froze. She hadn’t meant to. It was just a flicker at first, a glance toward the counter, a tilt of her head. But then she saw her.

You.

A young woman behind the espresso machine, long hair tucked perfectly into a clip, sleeves pushed up, a faint smudge of foam on her cheek. She wasn’t doing anything extraordinary, just pouring steamed milk into a mug, but there was something about her. The way the light caught her jawline. The calm on her face. The quiet confidence in the way she moved.

Beautiful.

Not the kind Natasha usually noticed. Not the dangerous, red-lipped kind. This was so much different. And all at once, Natasha Romanoff, assassin, spy, master manipulator, forgot everything. Steve was still talking, saying something about the furniture layout or the smell of nutmeg, but she didn’t hear a word. Her eyes were locked.

She didn’t even realize she’d stopped walking until Steve gently nudged her shoulder. “You good?”

No answer. Then, like the universe wanted to mess with her, the girl looked up..and smiled. It was instinct that brought Natasha to the counter. Not logic. Not curiosity. Just the kind of invisible pull she couldn’t have described even under interrogation.

“Hi there.” The girl said brightly. “What can I get started for you two?”

Her voice was light, smooth, like honey over gravel. And it hit Natasha like a gut punch. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Steve stepped in, amused but polite. “Just a black coffee for me. She’ll have…” He looked at Natasha. “Natasha?”

Natasha blinked. “I- uh…yes. Sorry. Just…”

The girl tilted her head, waiting. Natasha coughed gently, straightening her posture. “Espresso. Double shot. Please.”

The girl smiled again. “Coming right up.”

Natasha tried to mirror the smile, but it felt off. Too wide. She turned to Steve, who was already watching her with a knowing look.

“What?” she asked, too quickly.

He raised both eyebrows. “You’ve interrogated war criminals with more composure.”

“Shut up.”

They moved to a small table by the window, the sunlight catching Natasha’s cheekbone as she stared into the middle distance.

“You gonna tell me what just happened?” Steve asked, lowering himself into the seat.

“Nothing happened.” she muttered, adjusting the sleeves of her jacket. “I’m just tired.”

“Right.” he said, leaning back with a smirk. “Because I’ve definitely seen you speechless before.”

Natasha glared at him, but she didn’t have the energy to deny it. Her heart was still beating oddly fast, her palms still cool with nerves she hadn’t felt since her first mission.

Across the room, the barista worked with ease, laughing softly with a coworker as she pulled another espresso shot. Her voice carried faintly over the counter, low and melodic.

Natasha didn’t even realize she was staring again.

Steve watched her for a long moment, “Well, damn. I think we found your weakness.”

Natasha looked away, eyes narrowed. “She’s not a weakness.” she said, more to herself than to him. But even as she said it, she wasn’t sure she believed it. Not yet.

Their drinks arrived a moment later, and the girl set Natasha’s cup down gently in front of her.

“I hope it’s strong enough.” she said, and for just a moment, her eyes met Natasha’s. It wasn’t flirtatious. Not overt..Just kind.

And it made Natasha’s throat tighten. She barely managed to say “Thank you.” Then the girl turned and walked away, and Natasha watched her go like she’d forgotten how to do anything else.

Two Days later:

Natasha hadn’t meant to come back. At least, that’s what she told herself. She told herself it was just a convenient detour. She happened to be in the area. She just wanted decent espresso. Nothing more.

But as she turned the corner and saw the familiar chalkboard sign outside, Red Velvet Latte is back. You know you want it. She felt something twist in her stomach. It wasn’t nerves, exactly. It was worse. It was anticipation..

She stepped inside. The café was quieter than the day before, a weekday lull, with soft jazz humming through the speakers and the golden morning light catching on the brick walls. There were maybe five other people seated, heads bent over laptops or books.

And then, there you were. Behind the counter again. Your hair was half-up today, a few strands escaping to frame your face. You looked just as natural, just as quietly radiant as before, and maybe it was because Natasha had replayed the moment in her head too many times, but she felt it instantly:

She remembered you.

You turned, spotted Natasha, and smiled. Not politely. Not like you did for every customer. This one was warmer. Real.

“Oh..” you said, walking toward the register. “You’re back.”

Natasha’s mouth felt dry. You didn’t wait for her to speak. You tapped something into the screen and said, “Espresso, right? Double shot.”

Natasha blinked. Normally, she’d have something ready by now, a teasing remark, a flirty comeback, a raised brow and a smile that said you’re fun, but I’m dangerous. It was a routine. A shield. A game she always won.

But now? Now, she stood there like someone had unplugged her brain. “You…remembered?” she managed.

“Of course.” you said with a shrug, a hint of playfulness in your tone. “You don’t forget someone who looks like they walked out of a spy movie.”

It wasn’t flirtatious, not exactly. But it landed. Natasha opened her mouth, say something, say something clever, say literally anything! But her tongue didn’t move the way it was supposed to.

She gave a breath of a laugh, glancing down at the counter like it had answers. “Well…good memory.” That’s all she had..No wink. No comeback. Just a weird little knot in her stomach and a flush creeping under her collar.

You gave her a curious look, not suspicious, just curious. “You want it for here or to go?”

Natasha should have said to go. She had nothing to do here. No reason to stay. But before her brain could catch up, her mouth said,

“For here.”

You nodded. “Take any seat. I’ll bring it to you.”

Natasha nodded and turned away fast, too fast, choosing the corner table by the window, the one that let her sit with her back to the wall. Habit. Safety. Even if she felt completely unsafe in a way she didn’t recognize. She sat there, pretending to scroll her phone, heart beating in this slow, impossible rhythm.

What the hell was wrong with her?

Across the room, you moved like you belonged there, laughing with a coworker, adjusting the cups, brushing hair behind your ear. Everything about you was normal. So normal. And yet it felt like something had shifted in Natasha’s world just from being near you.

A minute later, you appeared beside her with the espresso. “Here you go.” you said, setting it down gently. “Still hot. I pulled it a little slower this time, more flavor that way.”

Natasha looked up, and for a second, she felt breathless again. She nodded. “Thanks.”

You hesitated. “So…spy movie?”

Natasha blinked. “What?”

“You do look like someone out of one.” you said with a grin. “Mysterious. Sharp jawline. Possibly knows forty ways to kill someone with a spoon.”

Natasha stared at you for a heartbeat too long. Normally, she’d laugh. Play along. Maybe lean in, lower her voice, say something like only forty? But her mouth wouldn’t work right, and instead, all she said was:

“I like spoons.”

Silence. You blinked, then gave a soft laugh that made Natasha’s face burn.

“Noted.” you said, lips twitching with amusement. “Well, enjoy your coffee…Spoon Lady.”

And just like that, you turned and walked away, and Natasha let her head fall into her hands with a groan.

She was losing her mind. Spoon lady? Natasha groaned under her breath, dragging a hand over her face.

She’d survived torture. She’d lied her way out of high-security prisons. She’d faced alien armies and bureaucratic meetings with Tony. And somehow, this was her downfall, a coffee shop and a girl with warm eyes and a smudge of cinnamon on her cheek.

The espresso sat in front of her, untouched. She leaned back in her chair, staring at the tiny porcelain cup like it had betrayed her.

Across the room, you were wiping down the counter, smiling at something a coworker said. Occasionally, you glanced toward Natasha, not obvious, but Natasha noticed. She always noticed.

And she hated that it made her stomach flip.

The café had quieted even more, only two other patrons now, both nose-deep in laptops. The music was softer too, some old soul track that felt like honey poured over late morning sunlight.

It was the perfect window.

Natasha picked up her espresso, stood, and walked, with the casual, predator-smooth stride she used in every hallway, every party, every mission, right up to the counter. To smooth over her earlier embarrassment, reclaim a little dignity, maybe throw in a practiced smile, something casual and clever. To prove to herself that she was still her.

But the second you looked up, all that went out the window.

Not because of how you looked, though, God, you did, but because of the way you blinked when your eyes met, as if startled by your own reaction. The way you tucked your hair back too fast. The way you over-corrected your smile like you didn’t trust it to hold.

She’s nervous, Natasha realized. Not scared. Not intimidated. Just…nervous.

It was adorable. And it knocked the breath right out of her.

Natasha had seen it all, seduction, awe, desire, even fear. But this? This quiet fluster of someone trying so hard to play it cool and failing just slightly? It was real in a way she hadn’t touched in years. No performance. No angle. Just a girl with warm hands, pretty eyes, and the worst poker face she’d ever seen.

Natasha leaned a forearm lightly on the wood and took a sip of her drink, stalling, breathing, reminding herself who she was.

“Okay.” she said, softly but clearly. “That was…a terrible first impression.”

You smiled, eyes bright with amusement. “It was kind of charming.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Is that a polite way of saying I sounded like an idiot?”

“Maybe a little..” you teased, laughing. “But in a very mysterious, highly-trained-assassin-who’s-not-great-at-talking-to-baristas kind of way.”

Natasha shook her head, but smiled. Real this time. She exhaled like it let out something she’d been holding for too long.

“I usually do better than that.” she said, eyes fixed gently on you. “I’m…not sure what happened.”

Your expression softened. You wiped your hands on a dish towel and stepped a little closer, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I think you were just surprised.” you said. “Happens more than you’d think.”

Natasha studied your face for a beat, calm, but flushed, a little shy. And the more Natasha noticed it, the worse she got. Because usually, when someone blushed, she’d lean into it, drop her voice, step a little closer, let the silence stretch. She liked the tension. The control.

But with you?

She didn’t want control.

She wanted to know you.

“I’m Natasha.” she said finally, voice quieter now, like she didn’t want anyone else to hear.

You blinked, that kind of blink that meant oh, and then smiled again, slower this time. “I know.”

Natasha tilted her head. “You do?”

“Yeah…” you admitted, cheeks turning pink, “Steve Rogers was with you yesterday. And you…kind of have the presence of someone who doesn’t do boring for a living.”

Natasha laughed, a low, husky sound. “That’s one way of putting it.”

You stuck out your hand over the counter, suddenly brave. “I’m Y/n.”

Natasha looked at your hand, then took it, her fingers brushing yours just a second too long.

“Nice to meet you, Y/n.” she said. And this time, her voice had its usual rhythm again, low, smooth, a little dangerous. But even then, even with every instinct in her clicking back into place, she didn’t push the flirt further. Not yet.

Instead, she asked, “So…how long have you been working here?”

You smiled, still holding Natasha’s gaze like it was easy. Like you weren’t shaking the world off its axis.

“A little over a year.” you said. “Why, are you planning to become a regular?”

And there it was, the invitation, the challenge. Natasha hesitated for half a second. Then she nodded slowly, smirking just a little.

“Maybe I already am.”

You blinked, your smile faltering slightly, not fading, just shifting. Like you felt the change in the air, too.

“Oh?” you asked softly, setting your rag aside. Natasha’s throat went dry. She glanced down at the counter, then back up. Her voice, when it came, was lower than usual.

“I was wondering..” Natasha said, fingers tapping once, nervously, against the wood, “if maybe you’d want to get coffee with me. Somewhere that isn’t here.”

The words hung there, fragile, quiet, terrifying. You didn’t answer right away. Your lips parted slightly, eyes wide. Then you let out a soft breath, a laugh, the kind people make when something inside them exhales.

“Like a date?” you asked, voice breathless.

Natasha nodded once. “Yeah. Like a date.”

You looked down, then back up, your cheeks flushed, but your smile was real and wide and a little stunned.

“You sure you don’t just want more espresso?” you teased, but your voice was trembling in the sweetest way.

Natasha leaned in, just enough. “I think I’ve had enough espresso. I want…something else.”

There it was. Not a line. Not a performance. Just truth. You bit your lip, still smiling. “Okay.” you said quietly. “I’d like that.”

Natasha blinked once, surprised or relieved. Elated in a way she didn’t know how to show.

Then, gently: “After your shift?”

You nodded. “I get off at two.”

Natasha gave a soft smile, and it reached her eyes this time. “I’ll be here.”

She turned to walk away, and for once, didn’t try to control the smile tugging at her lips. Because this..whatever it was, felt like the start of something she didn’t even know she was allowed to want.

And this time? She wanted everything.

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