#Nat answers stuff

[blueberryrock]

what does pro ship mean? genuinely curious. still learning internet jargon

The best way I can explain is that being pro ship is when somebody ships a incest ship, dark/toxic ship, or smth along that kinda line you don't send them hate for it! It's literally ship and let ship, let people have their fun/let them explore! You don't have to like those ships/ship it but you're respectful of other people's fun and definitely don't harass people over it!

So I am pro ship cause idc what other people do and sometimes I dabble in an odd ship but yeah I hope that help Anon!!

[cameforstuff]

calypso

Maddie song?

Yes. Sails alone is so good for her story.

Both for vibes and for her listening to it.

She is super into anything to do with the sea and would definitely listen to sea shanties and sail fairing related songs.

[inflatabletoy]

Wanna try this new weed vape I got? It's supposed to like make your head fuzzy and make you swell up a little bit with each hit you take

You should be able to get a great "pump" with a few hits. But be careful to keep track of how many hits you take. Lose track and you might not be able to get out of those clothes...

*takes pen and takes an INSANELY large rip and proceeds to hold it as long as I can**

[zellink]

Hiiii do u have a part of bells that ur most proud of/most looking forward to sharing? I can’t wait til the next chapter 💕

anon i’m so so bad at replying messages—i’m really sorry!

honestly, along the river of (so far) 160k words, there have been many moments where i’ve sat back and went “okay i really like that.” like the last paragraph of Act 1 leading into the first few paragraphs of Act 2. or “Applebough” as a title and the apple/ground imagery in Chapter 14.

but there’s this part that i’m really looking forward to writing the most, and it’s basically the reason why i began writing Bells at all. in september 2023 i was listening to this particular slowed+reverbed Succession soundtrack nonstop and thinking about zelda and link on hateno beach pre-calamity and… somehow the building blocks of the fic started falling into place. i can’t really share much about this part because i haven’t even gotten to it yet (still struggling to finish chapter 17, surprise…) but it’ll be in chapter 18, and it’ll be pretty emotional. it’ll touch a lot on the idea of their fleeting youth, their unspoken love, and the fatalism of it all…

anyways, thank you for sending me such a question, anon! i enjoyed thinking and coming up with the answer. :)

[scriptlgbt]

Are you guys still active/accepting asks?

We're trying our best!

And by that, I mean that I'm kind of the only active-ish mod currently, and I will sort of answer a few asks every now and again and put them in the queue. For transparency, I'm still in touch with a few other mods, it's just hard for some folks to answer as ScriptLGBT is run as a separate Tumblr account, so we need to log in and out of our regular blogs to answer asks. We've looked into seeing if it can be registered as a side blog so we could access it better, but because it was registered as part of a specific account as a Main Blog, Tumblr doesn't let you do that.

We've also thought about just straight up starting afresh and making a new blog to send folks to, one that would be able to be a side blog. The convo didn't really reach a conclusion, and frankly and I'm eager to hear how you folks feel about it, since we'd be redirecting you. There's a lot of years in this blog and a little under 8 thousand followers, with it having been a few thousand when I started around 2016. It's hard to know what would be best to make sure we're getting the information and help people want.

There are also others in the ScriptFamily who I talk with regularly, including sometimes about asks received. So like, even if it looks like it's just me here, I don't feel alone in it, and I do consult others frequently.

All this said, I'm sorry we haven't been able to be as active as we were when Tumblr was a little more lively. I really love writing for this blog and if I could make it a day job, I would.

mod nat

[imnotasuperhero]

Hi! Have you listened to or watched Ariana Grande’s new song, we can’t be friends? If you’re still open to requests, can I pls request a wanda (or nat) x reader based on that song? 🥺 TYSMIA ❤️

Hi, nonnie!!

I'm not a fan of Ariana so I don't really follow her.. but I'll def listen to it and see what I can craft!! Send me your acc in dm's if you wanna know as soon as I post it 😅

Ps. If you get me to come back from my writing hiatus, you'll get a second fic done 😂😂

[star-girl69]

Just wanted to say that u seem super sweet and so nice <3 And the Natalie brain rot is so fucking real, she’s got me making a Pinterest board for her (I love making them but still-)

read this while i was hiding in the back during my shift tbh but THANK YOU SM?!?!?!?! 😭😭 YOURE SO NICE OMG

natalie is taking over my life a little bit like i jump for joy every time i see her name and if i wasn’t either at work or exhausted from work i think i would be writing ultraviolence constantly

send me the pinterest board also when you finish it i’m curious now tysm ily

[blueberryrock]

Here you go, Nat! <3

Are you planning on watching the Superbowl in a couple of weeks, or do you not care? Eagles or Chiefs?

Create a 3-song playlist you would perform at karaoke night with friends.

Favorite MCU character of the moment?

Have a great week! :)

1. Nah im not that much into football unless it's college level, which even than i only root for the Bucks (WHICH WE WON HELL YEAH 💪💪) and Texas but i only watch the games if my mom or someone else is watching it on the tv 😂 but i will say i do like the eagles more just because their mascot is a bird lmao

2. Oh that's sorta easy i would say Hot To Go by Chappell Roan, Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen, and Take on Me by A-ha! I know those 3 by heart lol, wbu?

3. At the moment i would have to say either Magneto or Gambit dont get me started on his accent btw ough, i've been in an X-men kick ever since my brother and i consumed the entire franchise 😂 and also generally Moon Knight is a constant favorite, i plan on rewatching the show soon twas very good!

And i hope you have a good week too!!

[nattheauthor]

Hi! What are you currently working on? Can I have a random fun fact about the world or one of the characters?

I am currently working on a fantasy NA trilogy that I’ve been world building for ten years. It’s very much my brain baby and I’m constantly going between being super excited about the fact I’m writing it finally and wanting to throw up because I’m so nervous about it.

Some fun facts about two of the characters: Ingvir and Marja Suomi are sisters who live in the far northeastern realm of the kingdom of Earunne. Their favorite pastime is diving naked off the glacial cliffs in the winter and swimming in the frozen sea of the fjords. In summer they accompany their father and the other men on the traditional whale hunts of their culture and managed to bring in a narwhal on their own which earned them an unbelievable amount of respect. They also make jewelry and combs from whalebone and sew their own dresses from seal skins. Because of their affinity for the cold and the frozen sea, there’s a myth about the women of their family that they secretly turn into seals when the moon is full so they can swim farther out and dive deeper under the ice. They adhere to the same animistic religion and worship the land like other noble northern families, and their sacred sites are hidden coves and caverns along the coast.

[octastims]

gulpin gifset please.... i beg of u..... both shiny and regular,,, - nat-stimmy

Yippee! Here you go!

💚💙💚

[inkedbybarnes]

none of it was fake

bucky barnes x avenger!fem!reader

summary: you've been undercover with bucky as husband and wife. upon returning, he seems to have forgotten that it was all pretend.

word count: 1.6k+

warnings: two idiots cluelessly pining for each other. fluff. usage of petnames such as sweetheart, doll, and baby. lowercase writing.

note: hi, babies. how's everyone? this is my first fic in ages, so sorry if it's not my best one. i just wanted something cute ++ this is unedited & not proofread, might fix it laterrr. still hope you'll enjoy this one! xo

dividers made by @firefly-graphics!

comments, reblogs, and likes are highly appreciated. thank you! ♡

“i can't believe your first kiss happened during a mission. an undercover mission!”

wanda huffed, still hung up on the mission you had with bucky weeks ago wherein you had to play pretend as a married couple. there had been a kiss or two during that time, and it felt impossible not to tell your best friend about it when you had been crushing over the soldier for ages.

wanda knew what you felt towards bucky. in fact, she was the only one who knew, or at least the one you shared th information with, and she made sure to ask everything about the mission, even if it took days for her to interrogate you.

“excuse me? that was not my first kiss,” you said defensively, reaching for a cup from the cupboard that you had just opened. “and why are we still talking about this? you and nat already squeezed out every information from me for an entire week.”

“i didn't mean your first first kiss!” she exclaimed, following you around the kitchen as you made yourself a cup of coffee. “you've had a crush on the guy for so long, and the first time you two kiss each other is when you're pretending. that's not how i pictured it at all!”

you had to admit, the mission was sort of a blessing in disguise and a curse at the same time. you were glad to be able to spend time with bucky in ways you've dreamt of, but there was also the horrible reminder that none of it was real. with how avoidant bucky was with you, it was impossible for any of it to happen outside of the mission.

“well, maybe you should stop picturing us doing that sort of stuff. you're way more invested in this than i am, wanda. don't you have your own relationship to think about?” you asked. although you knew she was in a happy relationship with vision, you just wanted her to take a break from all the bucky talk. “when is your man home anyway?”

“my relationship is doing great, so i'm good. i don't need to think of it as much since he gives me everything that i need, and i think of yours because you deserve happiness as well.” she smiled fondly, her eyes sparkling with happiness. “and i'm glad that you asked because this reminded me that vision's arriving with bucky soon.”

“already?” your eyes widened at her statement, completely forgetting that bucky, along with steve, clint, and vision, were coming home today from their mission. “why didn't you tell me sooner!?”

after finishing your mission with bucky two weeks ago, he was immediately sent into another mission which specifically needed him. so, today would technically be the first time you're seeing him again since you last called him your “husband,” which was more nerve-wracking than you expected.

“hey, i'm your best friend, not your alarm.” wanda raised her hands up, defending herself. “and why are you so worried? i can feel your anxiety without needing to be in your head.”

“well, we never talked after.. you know,” you replied, taking a big sip out of your cup. “i know none of it meant anything and that we were just doing our job, but it's the first time i'll be with him normally and not as a pretend married couple. it's kinda awkward, wands.”

“you were able to pretend you didn't like the guy for months, you can do it again for another day.” she answered. “unless you finally tell him what you feel?”

“oh, that? yeah, never happening. i'm not going to risk—”

“there you are, sweetheart.”

there was a collective shocked gasp from both you and wanda, recognizing that voice from behind. except the gasps had different reasons.

you were surprised with his arrival.

wanda was surprised that he casually called you sweetheart.

you turn to find bucky already walking towards you with a smile on his face.

this man never smiles unless he was tasked to do so!

“bucky! you're back!” you awkwardly greeted him.

“yeah, didn't they tell you? i was looking for you when we landed.” he said, pulling you close to him before bending to place a soft kiss on your lips like it was something he'd always done. “you okay, baby? you look pale. did you eat?”

i look pale because wanda is right here with us and you just kissed me while acting like we're dating!

“um, yeah, i'm fine. i'm fine,” you answered, gently pulling yourself away from his arms before he could wrap them around you completely. “can we talk? privately?”

he frowned, worry etched on his face, but he nodded and squeezed your arm softly. “of course. where do you wanna talk, doll?”

“anywhere where wanda isn't there.” you said lightheartedly, throwing a sharp glance at wanda who finally understood what you wanted her to do.

“oh! right, right. i'm sorry, you guys can stay here. i have um..” she paused, thinking of a reason to say. “i have to look for vision anyway. we're supposed to watch a movie together. bye!”

and just like that, wanda was gone and you were left alone with bucky in the kitchen.

before you could speak, bucky asked you first. “what's the matter, doll?”

“what's the matter?” you echoed in a higher tone. “what was that all about?”

“what are you talking about?” he asked, seemingly confused.

“you kissed me, bucky, like it was nothing. then you keep calling me these nicknames.” you reminded him. “we're back home, not in los angeles in our fake house that we used as a fake couple.”

bucky took a step back when he realised his actions, now finding it hard to look at you. “i.. i'm sorry. i completely forgot. i just.. i wasn't thinking. i got used to how we were before,” he mumbled, still finding the right words to say. “did i make you uncomfortable?”

“no, but you made me confused,” you replied. “i'm guessing you got used to how we acted as a fake married couple, but you were gone for another mission. how are you still stuck with the old routine we had?”

“because that's all i could think about,” he answered, now staring at you. “while you're back here in the tower, completely done with our mission, i was thrown back into another one, having only you in my head to pull me back up from the fatigue.”

“you're telling me that you kept thinking about us even when you were gone? why?”

“haven't you?”

“is this a trick question?”

“it's a question to find out whether you like me too or not.”

“you.. you like me?” you blinked. “that's impossible.”

“how on earth is that impossible?”

“because you're always so cold and grumpy around me,” you answered. “i think you're just confused with all the acting we've done, bucky. you don't like me.”

“i was supposed to go on that mission with sharon, not you.” he exhaled. “she volunteered to do it, so she was initially picked. i tried getting out of it, but i had advantages that they needed for the mission to go smoothly. so, i agreed, but in one condition.”

“what was it?” you whispered.

“that you should be my partner,” he answered quickly. “ask me why.”

your heart pounded. “why?”

“because i wanted an excuse to act the way i've always wanted to. i wasn't cold or grumpy because i didn't like you, i just didn't want to scare you.” bucky explained, his hand reaching out for yours. “god, doll. figuring out whether you like me or not has got to be the hardest mission i had to deal with. so do me a favour and get me out of this misery.”

once your lungs found a bit of oxygen again, you finally spoke. “what you said.. you mean it?”

bucky nodded. “every word.”

“well, i like you too.” you tried to bite back a huge smile. “for some time now, actually. wanda will eventually tell you all about my obsession with you. i can't believe we were both worrying for the wrong things.”

“your obsession with me, huh?” he asked cockily, a teasing grin plastered on his face.

“really? i said all that and that's what caught your attention?”

“can't help it. i've been obsessed with you for a long time now as well.” his eyes crinkled at the corners, a little smile gracing his lips while his arm slipped around your waist.

your eyes peeked up at him through your lashes. “does this make it real now?”

“do you want it to be?”

“you're really asking me that?” your chest rumbled. “of course i do.”

“then let's make it real.”

bucky watched you intensely for a few seconds as if he wanted to frame this exact moment before licking his lips and leaning down. you suck a breath, eyes closing as you felt his soft lips meet yours.

you never realised how much you've grown familiar with his touch and affection since your time together as a fake couple.

except this time, none of it was fake.

should we see their time in los angeles as an undercover married couple? 👀

if you have any requests for bucky, send them my way! 💌

[jackienautism]

am i lowkey having a crisis over that result? maybe

[pompomexpress]

💗 for the sillies sampo and nat

Send in 💗 for me to use a love meter to check the compatibility of our muses.

"Aaaw, I knew we were made for each other! But, I'm sure we can do better! Wait a sec-"

"See~?"

[natalianovnas]

༄ `. 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏

summary : you couldn't sleep, so you decided to do the most rational thing — visit your favorite assassin in the middle of the night.

genre : avenger!nat x college!student!reader

warnings : fully fluffy.

words count : 0.9k // masterlist

an : a little fic to makeup for my inability to post (it has been in my drafts for a while.) © to obsessedwithNat on c.ai bcs this shot was inspired by it.

After quietly sneaking through the Avengers compound, you found yourself standing in the dark next to Natasha's bed as she was looking at you with a sleepy glare.

"Hi," You greeted in a sweet, cheeky tone, waving happily at the redhead as you royally ignored her glare.

Natasha groaned and sat up. She glanced at the time that read 2:11am. 

Typical you.

"And what are you doing here at this time of the night, hm?"

"I figured I'd pay a visit to my favorite person." You answer with a shrug.

Natasha let out a soft scoff. She couldn't be mad at you for long, even if she tried. She scooted over, giving you enough space to sit on the bed. "At 2am? You know I need my beauty sleep, little girl, or how else would I keep being your favorite assassin?"

You didn't hesitate and slipped under the covers as she scooted over. At her words, your brows raises as you contemplated your thoughts with an adorable frown. "Well, you said I could come over to you whenever I wanted."

"Can't argue with that, I suppose," Natasha chuckled and wrapped a protective arm around you, pulling your body close to her. She let her hand rest on your leg after pulling the covers over you. "I always keep my word. Though, sometimes, you test my patience, little princess."

Your smug smile returned but you didn't say anything.

Natasha rolled her eyes, her hand on your leg slowly sliding up until she got a good grip of your hip, she pulled you closer, your bodies pressed against one another. "You know, you're lucky you're cute or else I would've already kicked you out."

A soft laugh is heard from you. Natasha shook her head, amused. She lets her eyes roam up and down your form. She was very perceptive, and it didn't take her a minute to notice you were wearing her favorite sweater.

"And what's that you're wearing, hmm? Looks awfully familiar.." 

You decide to play coy. "Oh, does it?"

Natasha hummed, a small smirk playing on her lips as her hand on your hip slowly wandered up, sliding under the sweater, her fingers dancing over your sides. "Oh yeah, it looks suspiciously like my favorite sweater, little troublemaker.."

You let out a long exhale, feigning exhaustion just so you could snuggle closer to her. As you speak, your voice ends up sounding slightly muffled as you had buried your face in her neck. "It was the only clean one left.."

Natasha huffed but didn't fight it, she actually found it kind of cute, her arm wrapped over your body, holding you closer to her, sometimes slipping under the sweater. "Out of all of your huge wardrobe, this is the only clean one? Very suspicious if you ask me."

"Too lazy to do laundry," 

 Natasha let out a soft chuckle and ran her fingers through your hair, gently scratching your scalp. She gently pulled you even closer, practically pulling you on top of her, her grip on your body soft but gentle. "Or it's just because you love pissing me off?"

You grinned as she pulled you on top of her, your face still buried in the crook of her neck as you enjoyed the scent of the citrus haze she'd spray at nighttime. You hummed, pretending to think. You actually wore her sweater because you thought about her, not that it wasn't something she didn't knew already. "Hmm? Maybe.."

Natasha smirked and moved her hands lower, resting them on your hips. She gently squeezed them and let her hands slip under her sweater, "You're doing great at keeping my life interesting, I'll give you that. Though, what did I always told you about stealing my stuff?"

"I should always ask before taking.'" You murmured like a scolded child.

Natasha hummed and slowly started caressing your skin, her fingers drawing invisible lines on your back as she smiled softly after hearing your statement. She grabbed your hips and moved you closer. She lowered her hands to the back of your thighs, parting them so you straddled her waist. "You're not even going to deny, you admit you're stealing?"

You quickly pulled you face away from the crook of her neck to look in her eyes and defend yourself. "It's not stealing when you forgot it at my place."

She chuckled with a small smirk on her face. She moved on hand to your jawline, grabbing your chin gently as her thumb caressed your lips, "I guess I can make an exception for you, as always.."

You hummed then laid your head back on her chest, settling comfortably as your thoughts going back to the real reason why you actually came over. "I couldn't sleep so I came."

"I figured as much, darling. I could tell by the look in your eyes," She placed a soft kiss on top of your head, pulling you closer as her fingers played with your hair.

Natasha continued playing with your hair as her hand ran on your back gently in soothing motions. Her eyelids felt heavy and her movements went slower. It was late and even if she enjoyed your visits, she was tired because of your late nights shenanigans.

"Nigh, Natty.." You murmured after a yawn, letting sleep consume you. You had found so much comfort with the redheaded woman that her warmth and presence alone was enough to provide you the sleep you yearned for. 

 "Good night, darling." And a few moments just after that, Her quiet steady breathing told you that she had finally fell asleep.

an : live laugh love soft natty <3

[bingbongsupremacy]

Post-It Notes

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Avenger!Reader

Warning: None that I can think of

Summary: Steve starts leaving Post-It notes around the compound to encourage the Avengers. You’re the only one who writes back.

Neither of you ever mentions it out loud -but deep down, you know the notes mean more than they should. Are you finding love in the middle of your chaotic life... or are you just misreading Steve’s kindness? +Bonus Stuff at The End (Notes, Steve's Reaction, After you're together)

No details of the reader's appearance, race, weight, etc. Reader is however able-bodied.

*Not Proof Read*

It starts because Steve is trying.

Trying to be better. Trying to be enough.

The compound has been heavy lately. Too many missions, too many close calls, too many days where people come back with haunted eyes and blood on their boots. The usual buzz of laughter and noise has calmed into a tense silence.

Steve sees it, the weight pressing down on all of you. So he starts leaving Post-It notes.

Little things. Encouragements. Reminders that somebody sees you.

"You're stronger than yesterday."

"Thanks for having my six today."

"You matter more than you know."

You find one stuck to your laptop after a long mission, and your chest aches so badly you have to pretend you’re just tired.

Because it’s been a long time since anyone said something like that to you-without expecting something in return.

At first, everyone thinks it’s cute.

There’s teasing. Eye-rolls. Laughter.

Clint wears one on his forehead for half a day. Nat rips one in half and deadpans, “Look, now it's a 'half-assed compliment.'” Sam pins one to a dartboard and throws knives at it for practice.

And slowly, quietly, the notes stop appearing for everyone else.

Not because Steve stops writing them. Because no one answers back.

Except you.

You’re the only one who writes him back. You don't even really mean to, at first. It's instinct- this ache in your chest spilling over in ink.

One morning, when he's busy training with Bucky, you tuck a note under the handle of his shield.

"You’re doing a good job too, you know."

The next day, there's a note waiting on your coffee mug:

"I’m trying. Thank you."

After that, it's just you and him.

A secret conversation nobody else knows about, carried out in scribbled handwriting and curling edges of sticky paper. A secret conversation that's built up to mean a lot for the both of you.

Some mornings you wake up to find one on your door.

"Hope today is kinder to you."

You leave one tucked into the crack of the training room door:

"It never is. But you make it bearable."

The notes shift- slow and tender, almost too tender. You two begin to dive into a different area of your relationship, one deeper and softer. Unexplored territory neither of you have dared to enter before. One that shines light on vulnerability from the both of you.

They start to say the things you’re too afraid to say out loud.

The things that weigh on your mind when the halls are too empty and the world feels too big to survive in. Personal things you've never shared before.

The notes feel like a conversation between different versions of yourselves -the braver, softer ones who aren't so afraid to be seen.

In person, you and Steve never talk about them. You don't acknowledge them. You don't elaborate. You just keep moving through life like the conversation never happened.

But you know.

You both know.

Maybe it’s because the notes make it easier. Easier to open up. Easier to say the things you’re too scared to say out loud.

There’s none of the pressure that comes with looking someone in the eye and trying to be brave. None of the fear that they’ll see right through you -see how fragile you really are underneath it all.

Maybe it's because, deep down, you're still terrified of being vulnerable with another person.

And maybe he is too.

Neither of you really knows how to start the conversation. So you don't try.

You just keep writing.

And somehow, that becomes enough.

Weeks pass.

You almost don't notice when you start carrying the notes in your jacket pocket. It's become something so natural and comforting -a way to cope with the harsh world.

You read them over and over when missions go bad, when your hands are shaking too hard to hold a gun steady, when you feel like you don't deserve to be here. You find comfort in them in the middle of the night when the world is silent, but your mind is not.

The words are always simple.

Never elaborate. Never heavy-handed.

Just real.

And they always find you when you need them the most.

You don't realize how much it means until one day, one awful day, there isn't a note.

Not on your laptop. Not on your door. Not anywhere.

Just silence.

The kind of silence that eats at the hollow spaces inside you.

You try not to let it get to you. You fail.

Maybe it was stupid to think this meant anything.

Maybe you were just a charity case to him.

Maybe you’ve been reading too much into scraps of paper and wishful thinking.

But then, just as you're about to crumble under the weight of it all, you find one.

Not neatly placed, not obvious.

Crumpled. Half-shoved under your door. Like it was left in a hurry. Like he almost couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Your hands tremble as you unfold it. Your heart pounds, nervous to see what's inside.

It's just four words.

Scrawled in handwriting you know better than your own name by now:

"Please don't give up."

You sit down hard on the floor, clutching the note like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the earth.

Because he saw you. Even when you thought no one did.

Because somehow, Steve Rogers, the man who carries the whole damn world on his shoulders, still had room to carry you, too.

That night, you leave him a note.

You don't sign it.

You don't have to. You know he'll know it's you.

You stick it to the outside of his door and pray he finds it before anyone else does.

"I wasn't going to... but only because of you. You make me happy. Steve, you mean the world to me."

You don’t sleep that night, too busy tossing and turning as you anxiously wait to see what happens.

You tell yourself you’re not waiting for a reply.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t answer. You're lying.

Morning comes, gray and sluggish, and there's no note waiting for you.

Just a yawning, hollow ache in your chest you can’t quite fill.

You feel disappointed. Maybe you had read the situation wrong. Maybe you shouldn't have exposed your heart so much to the man. It felt right in the moment-natural. But maybe it was too much for the soldier to handle.

You go through the motions anyway. You have to.

Training. Weapon checks. A mission briefing you barely hear.

Oh, the mission debriefing.

You’re sitting across from Steve in the debriefing room, trying to act like nothing’s changed, trying to ignore the way your heart still stutters when you think about the note you left for him. It’s harder than you thought it would be.

He’s sitting there, too -still Steve Rogers, still wearing that perfectly calm, unreadable expression like he’s the last person in the world who could possibly be nervous. You’re probably projecting. He’s probably fine.

You’re not fine.

Your fingers drum softly against the table, your gaze shifting between the notes scattered in front of you, the faces of the other Avengers, the screen showing the mission brief. Anything but him.

It’s been hours since you left the note.

Hours since you put yourself out there, so far out, you almost can’t see the shore.

But here you are, sitting across from him, trying to act like nothing’s changed.

Like, there was no unspoken admission of everything between you in that tiny yellow square of paper.

And he hasn’t said anything.

Neither of you has mentioned it.

You almost wish he would. You almost wish he’d do something, a single glance, a soft laugh, some acknowledgment that the elephant in the room isn’t just suffocating you.

But he doesn’t.

And you’re not sure if that’s worse.

Instead, he’s talking about the mission -mission details, coordinates, all the tactical stuff that’s so second nature to him.

You’re nodding along, your mind only half in the room.

How could it be?

How could you pretend you’re not tangled up in the mess of whatever happened between you two?

You look at Steve -really look at him this time.

He’s focused and determined. Serious.

And yet...

It’s like there’s something in the air between you.

Something that’s heavy, like it’s waiting to fall.

He has to feel it. Right?

But neither of you is going to say anything. Not here. Not now. You don’t know if you’re scared of what it would mean if you did.

Or if he is.

You take a small breath and force your focus back to the mission details. You have to focus. This mission is important, and this is what you do, right? You’re an Avenger. You can compartmentalize, you can handle this. You’ve handled worse. Lives depend on you. You can't fuck up.

That's so much pressure. It's suffocating, stacking on top of the stress with Steve. But there's nothing you can do about it. This is your job.

But it’s harder when the person across from you is Steve Rogers -someone who somehow changed everything with a few quiet notes. Someone who isn’t supposed to make your heart race just by walking into the room. Someone who isn’t supposed to make it feel like the world has stopped just because he didn’t say anything at all.

This is all too much.

A small part of you wonders if you’ve made a mistake. Maybe you shouldn’t have left that note. Maybe you shouldn’t have let yourself be so vulnerable. It was too soon. He's probably weirded out. He probably doesn't feel the same. The friendship is ruined over one little note -a note with big words.

But then the tiniest thing happens.

His hand moves slightly toward the pile of notes in front of him -the ones you left out for the mission brief -and just before he grabs one to make a point, his finger brushes against the corner of your note. You know it’s yours. You can tell by the way the edge is slightly crinkled from being tucked into the pocket of his jacket. The one with your handwriting.

He doesn’t look at it.

He doesn’t acknowledge it.

He just… moves on. Like it's nothing. Like your words were forgettable.

But that small moment? It shatters you.

Because you know, deep down, that he saw it. That he felt it. That the note meant something to him, too. But you’ll never know if it’s the same thing it meant to you.

You bite your lip, trying to keep the flush from creeping up your neck. You can’t look at him. You can’t do this.

But somehow, you do.

Just for a second, your eyes flick to his face. And there it is -just barely visible, a shadow. A flicker. Something in the way his jaw tenses. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe you’re imagining it.

Maybe it's everything.

The words you almost say -the words that almost leave your mouth, they die in your throat, buried by the tightness in your chest. So you keep your gaze low, nodding along with the others, trying to act like the weight of the world isn’t in your heart. Trying to act like everything’s normal, even though it’s not. You know it. He knows it.

And neither of you is brave enough to speak.

Later that afternoon, you're still thinking about it.

And you tell yourself it’s fine. You tell yourself that maybe it meant more to you than it ever did to him. Maybe you made the whole thing up in your head. Maybe—

When you get back to your room, there's a Post-It stuck crookedly to your door.

You stop breathing.

You peel it off with shaking fingers, heart rattling so loud in your ears you almost miss the words.

"Roof. Midnight. — S"

Just that. No smiley face. No little joke.

Just a place and a time, like an order you could disobey but never would.

You almost don't go. You almost convince yourself it’s safer to stay inside, stay in your room, stay tucked away behind all the walls you built around yourself. In here, you can predict what happens next. You'll binge-watch a show and try to drown the pain in your chest with distractions. Out there -on that roof...there's no telling what's next. In here, things are safe.

But the thing is -you don’t want to be safe anymore.

You want him.

You climb the stairs to the roof just before midnight, the compound quiet around you. The sky is clear and sharp above, stars scattered like someone spilled salt across black paint.

He’s already there. Leaning against the railing, looking up at the sky like it’s speaking a language only he understands.

You stop a few feet away. You don’t say anything. Neither does he.

The silence is deafening. And for a second, you think maybe you’ve made a mistake. Maybe he’s here to tell you it was nothing. That you misread everything. Maybe he's here to let you down softly before building up another wall.

You turn the Post-It over and over in your pocket with clammy fingers, wishing you were braver and knew where to start.

But then...he looks at you.

And in that moment, you realize: He’s just as scared as you are. There’s something raw in his eyes. Something almost broken. His face isn't the way it was earlier in the debriefing. His usually calm expression is more tense and nervous.

Slowly, carefully, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a crumpled stack of yellow notes.

Yours.

Every single one. He kept them. He kept all of them.

Your throat burns.

“I didn’t know how to say it,” Steve says finally, voice rough. He looks down at the notes in his hands. His thumb gently caresses the Post-it note on top of the stack, so careful like they're made of glass. “Any of it.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

He huffs a laugh -bitter and soft. “I can fight armies. I can stand in front of bullets. But when it comes to you... I just-I didn’t know how to start.” His eyes meet your gaze.

You take a shaky step closer.

The air between you feels electric, thrumming with everything unsaid.

“I didn’t either,” you whisper. “I still don’t.”

His hand tightens around the notes.

"You made it easy," he says. "You made it feel like... maybe it was okay to be scared. As long as I wasn’t alone in it."

You feel something inside you crack, something old and brittle and terrified -and you step forward again until you're close enough to touch.

You’re shaking.

So is he.

Very carefully, like he’s afraid you might shatter, Steve lifts one hand and brushes a knuckle along your cheek.

“You’re not alone,” he says.

And this time -this time, you believe him.

You surge forward and wrap your arms around him, burying your face against his broad chest. His body radiates warmth and comfort. Immediately, you feel safe.

Steve lets out a soft, broken sound and pulls you in tighter, like he's been waiting forever for this.

Neither of you says anything else.

You don't need to.

Because you both know. You always have.

----

Extra's

The Notes

In The Beginning (Before You Respond)

"You’re doing great. Don’t forget to take care of yourself today. — S"

"Coffee's on me. Kitchen, top shelf. — S"

"That report you turned in? Impressive. Don’t sell yourself short. — S"

"Training room at 4? I’ll save you a punching bag. — S"

When You Begin Replying

"Bad day? You’re stronger than you think. — S"

"Sometimes even heroes need a break. Hope you’re giving yourself one. — S"

"Maybe. Sometimes it feels like I'm barely holding it together.

But it helps, knowing someone thinks I can. — You"

"Working on it. (Still figuring out how to not feel guilty when I take one and how to remember.) Thanks for the reminder. — You"

"The way you handled yourself yesterday… you remind me why I believe in people. — S"

"I don't always believe in myself. It means more than I can say that you do. Thank you. Really. — You"

When Feelings Develop and Vulnerabilities are Shared

"Some nights I wake up gasping. Still stuck in old battles that aren't mine anymore. Hard to remember I’m safe. — S"

"You’re not alone. I still get nightmares too -about mistakes, about people I couldn’t save. It doesn’t mean we’re weak. It means we remember. — You"

"I think the fact you worry about it means you won’t. You care too much. You feel too much. That’s what saves you. — You"

"I worry sometimes that remembering makes me dangerous.

Like I’m just waiting to crack apart. — S"

"I never learned how to ask for help. Old habits die hard, I guess. But lately... I think I'd like to try. — S"

"You don't have to do it alone anymore. You never did. (I'm still learning too. Maybe we can figure it out together.) — You"

"I saw the way you looked out for everyone today. You don’t even realize it -how steady you are. You’re the strongest person I know. — S"

"I'm scared most days that I’ll never be enough. That one day, someone will see through me and realize I’m not who they thought. (Thank you for seeing me anyway.) — You"

"You are more than enough. You’re extraordinary. — S"

The Notes That Made Both of You Wonder if There Could Be More

"You light up a room without even trying. Not sure if you know that. — S"

"You’re more than just your shield, you know. I hope you see that the way the rest of us do. (The way I do.) — You"

"I feel a little less lost when I’m around you. Strange, huh? — S"

"Don’t tell anyone, but... You’re kind of my favorite Avenger. — You"

"I’m starting to think books are better when you’re the one who recommends them. (Or maybe it’s just because they remind me of you.) — S"

"Strength isn’t just muscles and grit. Sometimes it’s quiet and steady and shows up when no one’s watching. That’s the kind of strong you are. — You"

"You make the hard days softer. Just thought you should know. — S"

Steve's Reaction To Your Note:

The hall is quiet when Steve gets back to his floor.

It’s late enough that most of the lights are off, the compound humming softly around him like a sleeping giant. He rubs the back of his neck, exhausted -physically, emotionally. He’s not even sure why he checks his door.

Maybe it’s habit. Maybe it’s hope.

And there it is -a small square of yellow, stuck crookedly against the wood.

He peels it off carefully, thumb brushing over the crumpled corners and familiar handwriting.

"I wasn't going to... but only because of you. You make me happy. Steve, you mean the world to me."

Steve stares at it for a long time. Long enough that the words blur together.

He sinks down against the door, the note clutched tight between his fingers like it might disappear if he lets go. His heart pounds quickly.

He can't believe what he's reading.

His chest feels too small, too tight, like there’s not enough room for everything suddenly crowding inside it.

Because he knows what she’s saying. God -he knows.

It’s not just about the notes. Not just about the inside jokes or the good mornings or the careful, clumsy affection that’s been blooming between them like a secret garden no one else can see.

It’s about her. Her heart. Her hurt. Her hope.

It’s about the way she trusted him enough to say it -even if she couldn't say it out loud.

And Steve...

He feels like he’s been standing at the edge of a cliff for months now, too afraid to jump. Too afraid to fall.

But she jumped first. She jumped for him.

He swallows hard, blinking up at the ceiling like maybe that'll stop the burn behind his eyes. It doesn’t.

Carefully, reverently, he folds the note and tucks it into the inside pocket of his jacket, right over his heart.

Then he pulls out a fresh Post-It, his hands only shaking a little, and scribbles three words:

"Roof. Midnight. — S"

Simple. Plain.

But it’s the start of something he’s been too afraid to reach for. Until now.

Steve's heart pounds louder as he walks closer to her door. When he's finally in front of it, he's so close to pressing the note on it, when fears fill his mind.

What if he's misreading the situation? What if she doesn't like him the way he's thinking she might? What if he ruins everything they've built between them?

Steve's thoughts get the best of him. With the note in his hand, he turns back around to his room. As the distance grows between her room, his heart sinks lower. He's unsure. He's...scared.

Steve makes it to his room, setting the Post-it note on his desk. He sits on his bed, staring down at the small piece of paper with his writing. He'll decide tomorrow if he should leave it for her or not.

Tonight, he'll go through her notes again and make sure he's not reading this wrong.

After They're Together

The Post-Its don't stop after you and Steve finally find your way to each other. If anything, they multiply.

Now they're not hidden anymore. They're not careful or scared. Now they’re everywhere -like tiny, living proof of your love for each other.

You leave some for him. Next to his shield, waiting for him before training.

"The world is lucky to have Captain America. I'm luckier to have you. — You"

On his favorite hair gel, you bought when you noticed he was running low.

"Thinking of you. I hope your day is wonderful, just like you. -You"

Next to the breakfast you make for him.

"I love you more than the moon and the stars. Never forget that. -You"

Inside his pocket before a mission:

"Come back to me. (I believe in you.) — You"

He leaves them for you. On the cup of coffee he sets out for you every morning.

"Love you more than caffeine. (And that's saying something.) — S"

On your dresser, near your mirror.

"You're beautiful, even when you think you're not. Especially then. — S"

Tucked under your pillow on a rough day:

"You don't have to be strong tonight. Let me hold you. — S"

In your sketchbook, slipped between the pages:

"You make the world better just by existing. I hope you know that. — S"

Sometimes you find them in your shoes, or taped to the door, or tucked between the pages of a book he knows you’re reading. Sometimes he finds yours in his wallet, his glove, or the inside of his gym bag. You two leave them everywhere.

They're sloppier now, the handwriting messier, rushed -because there’s no more fear weighing down your hands. You don't have to be perfect for each other. You just have to be.

And when he kisses you goodnight, you swear you can still feel every unsaid word from all those early notes written against your skin.

Still there. Still unfolding. Still yours

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: requested by a very dear reader on wattpad :)

summary: based on the song by justin timberlake; SHIELD agent!reader, iron man 2!nat because i rewatched it recently and goddamn 🤤

warnings: smut (fingering, n receiving), blood, descriptions of injuries

word count: 11.5k

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

Practiced hands adjust seams and smooth over her arms. The fabric doesn't bunch, which is good — it wouldn't be practical during a fight. You tighten the straps around her thighs, making sure they're snug and secure, and then look up.

Natasha smiles at you and cups your jaw. Her thumb brushes along your bottom lip.

"Taking your time?"

"More like stalling."

It's dark in your lab. Machines whir, scanners beep occasionally. You're crouched in front of her, fitting and prepping her suit pre-mission. You've done this dozens of times. It's how everything started between you and her.

Back then, you couldn't believe your luck (you still can't), because who would've thought that being her weapons specialist would lead to what you have now? In hindsight, however, it makes sense.

It's intimate. It's quiet. It builds trust. You know her better than most people around here, which is a privilege. You know her favorite types of knives, how she likes her suit fitted, what exactly she needs to be able to perform at her best.

And then, afterwards, you go home. Other things matter, like her favorite candy (sour patch kids) or the show she's currently watching.

You adjust the suit around her waist, fingers skimming her hips. You secure a few holsters, attach some knives, and then straighten up. You feel her lips against yours before you can even look at her again.

Deep, firm, slow. Savoring it. You cup her face before slowly moving your hands into her hair. The curls are soft between your fingers.

She pulls away, but you can still taste her breath. Her lips curve into a sweet little smirk.

"Stalling, huh?", she mumbles, glancing at your lips. You lick them and taste the lip balm she loves so much.

"Yeah. They take a while. Missions, I mean."

"I'll be back before you know it."

Your hands trail down her sides again. You absently adjust her knives.

"Not soon enough", you say, pecking her lips. "Who's joining you this time?"

Natasha tilts her head. "I'm not telling you."

You frown. Truthfully, it might be for the better that you don't know. Depending on who it is, the answer might end up making you waltz up to said person and show her off just to make a point.

Mine. Seriously. Look, don't touch. Actually, don't even look.

She smiles and steps away. You quickly snake your arm around her waist and tug her back into you.

"I want an answer", you insist. Her hands splay out on your chest, toying with the zipper of your SHIELD vest. "For safety."

"Remember that lie detector test you took?"

You furrow your eyebrows. "What's your point?"

She grasps your bottom lip. "No wonder you failed. You're miserable at it."

"Not necessarily a bad thing."

"Never said that's the case."

She steps away and gathers her stuff — her favorite gun, her backpack, her Widow's Bites that she puts on. You stand there, watching her, arms crossed and mind running in circles.

Hopefully, she's not going with Valerie. What they had was barely a relationship, but the entire organization knows that she's still pining for Natasha.

Or Ward. Nothing happened between them, to be fair, but you heard him call her 'eye candy' once.

Was he wrong? No. Did you mess with his suit anyway, just so it'd smell like something had rotted in it? Possibly.

"Be careful", you mutter, still slightly disgruntled.

"Always am." She shoulders her backpack. "Hands off Ward's stuff."

Your head snaps upward. "What? I didn't-"

"Lie detector test, honey."

You grunt, rubbing the back of your neck. Natasha puts her foot up on a chair to adjust the strap around her thigh. You catch yourself staring.

Behind you, something starts beeping rapidly. You quickly walk back to your and curse quietly. One of the new high tech gadgets you've been tinkering with has started sparking.

Natasha glances at you, trying not to smile. "New?"

"Of course", you mutter, trying to find what the issue is this time. You reach for the pliers and cut one of the wires. "Goddammit."

"Don't burn yourself."

You sigh and put the gadget aside. How unfortunate — you've been putting a lot of time and energy into this little project. It's a small gadget, merely the size of your palm, but its impact would've been huge. It's multifunctional, designed to help agents hack into databases, unlock different kinds of locks, even scan rooms for traps.

Of course, you mainly had Natasha in mind when designing it. She's complained about similar issues a couple times in the past, and the idea struck you when you were lying in bed together.

Whatever. Looks like you'll have to keep working. In the end, it doesn't matter whether you put ten weeks or ten months into it — as long as it'll end up making her life safer and easier.

"You're nerding out again", Natasha says, suddenly behind you, and presses a kiss to your exposed neck. Your cheeks flare up. "I'm leaving."

"A goodbye, maybe?", you say, turning to face her halfway. She pauses, then cups your jaw with one hand and puts the other on the small of your back.

She's not used to this yet. This having-someone-to-say-goodbye-to, tender thing. Having someone who wants that goodbye, and the obligatory kiss that follows. Someone who'll wait in the hangar when she returns. Someone who'll check up on her.

How couldn't you, though? The reason why you're doing it is standing right in front of you. You'd be an idiot not to care like this.

"Don't go all sentimental on me", she mumbles, finally kissing you.

It's softer this time, lingering even after she's already parted from you. You walk her to the jet, where the pilot is waiting already. Another kiss, a bit quicker, then she turns around. You watch her leave, red curls bouncing slightly as she climbs into the jet.

. . .

SHIELD's hallways are never quiet, never silent, never empty. There's always someone wandering about — whether it be security or agents getting from one place to another.

It's not different tonight. You're walking through hallways, boots thudding against concrete floors and your hands tucked into your vest. Comparing you to a dog would be stupid, but you're not too unlike Hachi in that moment.

You round a corner, greet a fellow agent and check the time. 2.40am, so Natasha should be arriving in about ten minutes. You run your hand through your hair and step into the hangar, where Fury is waiting already.

You give him a quick side eye. "Another one of those?"

"Immediate debriefing. Not much time, Y/L/N." He raises his eyebrows. "What're you up for this early?"

"Nat", you say evasively. "I always wait for her."

He nods. It's not that your private relationship isn't known around here. You've been seen kissing, sneaking into each other's workspaces, flirting over lunch and leaving together a bunch of times. But Fury always seems to assume that it just isn't that serious. That it can't be that serious.

You know what he bases that assumption on. It's not fair, or right, but you can't change the mind of a man who's as stubborn as a mule.

He'll always see Natasha as the person he was first introduced to. The girl from the Red Room, who wouldn't let anyone get too close to her. The one with the trauma, the one who built walls too high to climb and too thick to take down.

It's bullshit. You know it is because you've seen the proof. You've held it in your hands, you've seen it in a way no one else is allowed to. Which is exactly why you won't tell him about it, though. There are different ways in which you can protect someone.

You hear the spinning of engine blades, still muffled but slowly increasing in decibel level. As the jet nears the hangar, the sound gets less and less bearable. If it were only slightly louder, it'd cause you pain.

You walk down the stairs as soon as the jet has touched down. The moment Natasha steps out, though, your stomach turns.

Valerie, in all her glory. Straight black hair, a little nose piercing, her hand resting on your girlfriend's lower back and steadying her. She mumbles something and laughs before Natasha can even react properly.

In that moment, you're glad you left your taser in your office. Giving her a quick little shock probably wouldn't sit too well with Fury, and you're pretty sure Natasha wouldn't love it, either.

Thankfully, she spots you before you can say anything stupid. She's next to you in the blink of an eye, smiling softly, secretively, and squeezing your hand. She doesn't dare do much else, but that's fine. Just like that, Hachi is back home.

You wrap your arms around her and kiss the top of her head. Her head rests against your chest, if only briefly.

"How was it?", you mumble, ignoring the fact that the Director is trying to talk to the woman wrapped up in you. She tips her face up, letting your lips brush against her nose.

"Exhausting and painful", she replies, voice soft.

"No Ward?"

"Careful there."

"Can't blame me for asking." You glance in Valerie's direction pointedly. Natasha pinches your side. "What's she doing here?"

Natasha sighs and kisses your cheek. A rare moment of PDA meant to calm you down, but it ends up having the opposite effect. Valerie gives you a look that's entirely too long. You frown and turn back to Natasha again, your arms tightening around her.

Your little moment gets disrupted by none other than Fury. He pats your back with a little too much force, so you let out a long-suffering exhale and let go of her. Right, the debriefing. Another hour spent here, waiting.

You trail through the hallways, following Natasha like a guard dog. The debriefing room is familiar, with its black leather swivel chairs and long table. A fancy high tech screen hanging on the wall, a projector, the shutters closed so that not a single photon can escape.

You sit next to her. Obviously. She raises her eyebrows at you, but truthfully, she should be glad you didn't just say 'screw it' and pull you into her lap.

Fury stares at you like you just shapeshifted into an actual dog. You weren't part of the mission. All you did was prep her gear and fit her suit. You don't belong here. Yet you waltzed in like you do, and no one seems to be complaining.

Grinning faintly, you put your legs up on the table and cross your arms behind your head. You nod lazily.

"Feel free to start, Sir."

Another stare. A sigh, long and loud. He rubs his forehead and finally turns on the projector. A bunch of mission jargon, accompanied by a map and a few pictures, appear on the screen.

An hour turns into two. You leave the debrief room with your arm around her shoulders. You're tired, but she's drained. You know she'd never admit to it — you know she tends to push herself no matter what; even on the brink of death, she'd keep fighting — but you can see the signs.

The blinking, slightly more frequent. The redness in her eyes. The way her voice softens into a mumble.

She barely says anything on the way home. But as soon as you've entered her apartment, she pulls you into the bedroom with her. You're the one who fitted her suit, who made sure it's like a second layer of skin on her. You know every strap and zipper, and you undo them all blindly.

Your vest is shrugged off. It lands on the floor. Boots are toed off and kicked aside. Bodies fall onto the mattress together.

Right as you're kissing down her neck, hands wandering over her body, you feel something that shouldn't be there. A bandage, around her thigh, with dried blood on it.

First, you stare. Then, Natasha puts her fingers under your chin and tips your head up.

"You know what I think about you doing that."

You almost grimace. She hates it when people stare at her wounds and scars. It's not just a pet peeve — it's a deeply rooted insecurity. It's only a small part of what she tends to cover.

In that moment, though, you don't care. Because you know what Valerie was for on this mission. She was there to watch Natasha's back, to make sure she wouldn't get hurt.

"She failed", you say, sitting up. Natasha sighs and rests her upper body on her forearms. "She had one job-"

"And she made a mistake."

"One that could've killed you!"

"Do you really think I'm that easy to kill? Trust me, she's helpful, but she's not the reason the mission was successful."

You snort derisively. Not because of her, but because she thinks she has to remind you. Of course you know all of this. There's a reason as to why Natasha is so feared, why Fury values her so much. But you're looking for things that'll help you win this argument.

It's not really an argument. You're just pissed at her ex.

"I'm aware", you say, fingers brushing against the bandage again. "Still, you know...what's the point of her joining if you end up getting shot at, anyway?”

Natasha raises her eyebrows, silently challenging you. Do you really want to hear this?

"Oh, come on."

"You're ridiculous."

"Okay, maybe I am", you concede. "You're still the one with a bullet wound, though."

She flops backwards onto the mattress. You sigh and crawl on top of her, hands braced next to her head, and kiss her.

She grasps the front of your top, lips pressing against yours firmly, essentially shutting you up.

Well, it shuts you up for exactly five hours. The second you're back at the headquarters in the morning, you drop Natasha off and then make your way to the gym. Boots thud, your steps heavy and determined.

You push open the door with such force that it slams against the wall, but Valerie doesn't bat an eye. She's on the treadmill, warming up, her hair in a sleek ponytail and her clothes tight. There's a band around her wrist that measures her vitals.

She barely glances at you. You stomp to her side and tug the earphones out of her ears. Another glance, slightly annoyed.

"What?”

"What do you mean, 'what'? You're the reason my girlfriend has to take antibiotics!"

She stops the treadmill and leans on one of the handrails. You'd love to wipe that look off her face — smug, unimpressed, almost daring. You used to be naive. You used to believe that no one could be that petty. Natasha's ex managed to prove you wrong.

"She's fine", she says, sounding like she's explaining the concept of love to a toddler. You clench your jaw. "She's not even in med bay. They sent her home."

"'Fine'? She got shot at! You were there to prevent it, and what did you do?"

"I tried", she replies curtly. She straightens back up and turns the treadmill on again, but you slam your fist on the stop-button. "What's with you and those anger issues?"

"You tried? You don't go there to try! You go there to do your fucking job!"

Valerie raises her eyebrows at you. You've never been nice to her, no, but you've never snapped at her like this. Truthfully, she thinks it's ridiculous. It makes her wonder why Natasha bothers being with you, but that's a thought she's not going to voice unless she has to.

"She's alive", she says, leaning back against the other handrail this time. Her arms cross in front of her chest.

"Oh, and that's enough? It's the bare minimum! I need to be able to trust you that you'll protect her!"

"No, you don't", she says. "Nat trusts me, and that's enough."

You almost flip the treadmill she's on, but that'd be overkill, so you lean over the handrail and grip it tightly.

"Not enough, apparently. Otherwise-"

"Agent Y/L/N."

You turn around, blinking. As soon as you see Fury's face, you almost roll your eyes. Of course. Who else would it be but the man who could fire you.

You put some space between you and Valerie to make it seem like you weren't about to chew her out.

"Yes, Director?", you ask, trying your best to seem normal.

"Romanoff's asking for you."

Maybe you should be embarrassed that those few words are enough to make you perk up, but honestly, you don't care. She's asking for you, not Valerie. When she needs to talk, she talks to you. You're jealous, and that's fine, but deep down you know there's no reason to be.

You shoot Valerie a pointed glance, then leave the gym.

. . .

"You're insane", she says, combing her fingers through your hair.

You're in the rec room, which is only empty because almost everyone is at lunch. Natasha, on the other hand, received a sweet little text that made her tug you away from the cafeteria.

She's straddling your lap, hands all over you. In the sweatpants and tank top she's wearing, you can barely focus. Too bad there are security cameras all over this place. The storage room falls flat as well. 'Too dirty', she said. 'So much dust.'

Though, if you hook up at work once, it might affect your performance for the rest of your career.

"She had it coming", you say stubbornly. Natasha raises her eyebrows. "You can't tell me you haven't noticed."

"Noticed what, exactly?"

You shift under her. She clicks her tongue and cups your face. "May as well tell me."

If only it were that easy. You doubt she hasn't noticed how Valerie stares at her, how she still seeks her out, how she wants what's clearly taken. You don't have ownership over her — obviously not, god forbid — but you're selfish. You know you are. If you could keep her to yourself, you would.

"The point is-"

"The point is you're overthinking this", she cuts you off. "Val and I are on good terms..."

(The nickname makes you fume. You bite your tongue.)

"...and I don't need to end up in a spat with a coworker." She pushes her finger into your chest. "And neither do you."

No reply. You stare at her, tongue between your teeth, a million unsaid things on your tongue. You're not sure if she hasn't realized or if she simply doesn't care, but you do have your reasons. Valerie is annoying, and she's petty, and she hovers around Natasha like she has any right to do so.

You don't like this feeling, either — this all-consuming jealousy. It's not something you're used to. But something about that woman just drives you up the wall.

"Fine", you mutter. "Fine, I'll let it go."

"You better."

"I still don't like her."

"Fair. I guess."

Natasha pecks your lips and scoots off your lap. You watch her grab the coffee pot and pour a generous amount. Sugar, no milk. Back to work it is.

You pick her up once you're both done with your shifts. Arm wrapped around her shoulders, you make sure to walk past Valerie's desk on your way out. She doesn't look at you, but her typing on the keyboard speeds up.

"Ha", you mumble.

"What was that?"

You shake your head and kiss her ear. She squirms at the feeling.

"Doesn't matter. I'm happy now, angel."

. . .

"Whose idea was this?"

"Hill", Natasha says, reapplying lipstick. You're in the elevator that leads to the building's top floor, but you're not here for work. It's Fury's birthday, and apparently Maria Hill decided that the grumpy old man deserves a proper celebration.

You're leaning against the wall of the elevator, hands in the pockets of your slacks, an absentminded look in your eyes. A gift is tucked under your arm, your shirt is open at the top, but it's not your reflection that's got you this distracted. It's Natasha, looking at herself in the mirror and gently blotting her lips. Hair freshly curled and dress hugging all her curves, she looks unfairly sinful for an office celebration.

"Doubt he even wants a party", you mumble, eyes trailing lower. You exhale quietly. "That dress is a blessing, you know."

"So dramatic", she says, smiling faintly. "I'm not complaining. I want to see him get drunk. Think that’ll change his grumpy attitude?"

You hum. The elevator dings and comes to a stop, so Natasha links her arm around yours. You step into the hallway, her heels clicking with every step. You can already hear the music and feel the bass thump.

“Nothing could change it”, you say, eyes on her. She tilts her head. “A real Fury the Grouch.”

“Sesame Street?”

“I babysat my niece while you were gone. Don’t ask.”

Natasha laughs, the sound soft and raspy and genuine. She tugs you into an empty corner, hands finding the collar of your shirt, and brings her lips up to yours.

“Good thing you’re not a grouch. And even better that I know exactly how to turn a grumpy you back into a happy you.”

“It’s quite easy”, you affirm. Your hands slide to the curve of her back, keeping her close. “It involves you and the disposal of a dress.”

“Charmer”, she whispers.

Cheeks reddened, you smile. You lean in, slowly, and steal that kiss you’ve been waiting for since you stepped out of your apartment.

She tastes like mint and something entirely hers. Her fingers grasp your collar tightly, her skin is warm under your palms. She nods her head to deepen the kiss, one hand finding the back of your neck.

“Romanoff, Y/L/N! You really have no shame, do you?”

You pull away with a quiet groan and shoot a glare at the offender. Of course it’s Ward, because who else would it be but SHIELD’s most annoying agent.

Natasha doesn't even glance at him. She just smiles at the sight of your mouth, smudged with her lipstick, and swipes her thumb across your lips.

"Not your color", she says thoughtfully.

"Agreed", Ward says, putting a tray of horsd'œuvres down next to you. “You guys hungry? Probably not, since you’re eating each other’s faces. The salmon’s good, though.”

“Can you creep someone else out?”, you mutter.

Natasha smiles at you, which is enough to soften your attitude a little. Ward rolls his eyes.

“I’m just saying, Fury gets uncomfortable when someone holds hands. But keep the girl-on-girl action going, I’m not complaining.”

“I’ll shoot you”, you say, gripping Natasha’s waist.

He lifts his hands. “You can try.”

“That’s enough”, your girlfriend mumbles, patting your side. “Stay here for a moment, hm? I’m getting us something to drink.”

You hum reluctantly, staying in your spot against the wall. With your hands losing the purpose of holding Natasha’s waist, you have no other choice but to tuck them into your pockets.

She’s already halfway to the bar, hips swaying and red curls moving with every step. You sigh quietly and turn your head. The way you scan the crowd isn’t deliberate, but it’s purposeful. It’s you making sure that nobody is staring too hard.

You’re fine with Natasha getting looked at. Somewhat fine, that is. You know she’s gorgeous, and that others can see that too. Humans can’t help it — if something’s beautiful, they stare at it.

Or avert their eyes. Which is what happened when you first met her. But knowing you wouldn’t get anywhere with that attitude, you’d forced yourself to get your shit together. Thankfully, you didn’t make an idiot out of yourself. It worked out.

You still remember it all. First dates, leaning against bars and sipping whiskey. Getting to know her. Sleeping with her. The tingling feeling in your stomach whenever your phone made a sound — a text? A call?

That hasn’t changed. You still hope it’s her behind every phone call, every text.

Natasha leans over the bar and mumbles her order to the bartender. He nods and turns around. Valerie slides closer. Just like that, the mood shifts. It’s like a storm rolled in.

You’re somewhere between making a beeline for the bar and staying right where you are. After what happened last week, you’re sure she wouldn’t appreciate an unwarranted interruption by her girlfriend right now.

They’re talking, that’s it. Just a brief chat. They’re co-workers, after all. Friends. Exes. It’d be selfish of you not to let her have this, right? Even if they’re connected by history.

But Valerie’s getting closer. If you were in Natasha’s spot, you’d probably feel her breath and smell the cigarette she smoked.

You subtly feel for the gun tucked into your belt. It’s always there. Not a moment of peace for you, but you’ve gotten used to it.

Natasha smiles. Valerie tilts her head, scoots closer. Your heart beats faster.

Natasha gets up and turns around. Valerie stares at her, blinking. You quickly push off the wall to meet her halfway.

She wraps her arm around yours neck and holds the glass to your lips, tipping it. Vodka burns in your throat, your eyes water, and you pull away enough to kiss her. She hums, sucking the remaining alcohol off your tongue.

“What was that for?”, you mumble, rubbing her side.

“Thought you needed it. Tried to stop you from breaking her nose.”

“Oh, you…” You huff. “Alright.”

“You’re everything but subtle”, she reveals, putting the empty shot glass aside. “And shooting her really isn’t necessary, baby.”

You roll your eyes. Natasha smirks and tilts her head, nose brushing against your jaw. Her hand cups the side of your face. Your cheek feels warm beneath the pad of her thumb.

“I don’t know why you’re this chill”, you mutter.

“Because I know that Val can be sad and desperate”, she whispers. Her hand moves to your shirt, and she undoes another button. Palm against your chest, she feels your steady heartbeat. “And it’s you who’s taking me home tonight.”

You put your hand on her wrist, holding her hand in place. Your eyes slowly trail back to the bar, to Valerie; and when your eyes meet, she knocks back another shot.

She's looked pissed off before, but never like this. Time to amp up the heat.

"Taking you home, huh?", you mumble, glancing at Natasha's lips. "You're optimistic."

Natasha raises her eyebrows at you. Her hand, still on your chest, slides back up and into your hair. "What're you saying?"

"I'm saying..." You lean in, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth. "I don’t want to wait. Let me touch you."

She exhales. Her head tilts, her eyes search yours. What you’re doing is painfully obvious, but she can’t deny the thrill your words send through her. The idea is risky, but appealing.

You, her. Hidden in a dark hallway. Dress hiked up, lipstick smudged, your hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.

Would you keep her quiet? Or would you try and do the opposite?

Your hand moves down her body and to her backside. You give it a light squeeze, and she gives you another glance.

Her hand grabs yours. You sneak away from the party and into the hallway.

Before you even manage to push her up against the wall, she's already pulling you closer. Your lips crash into hers, desperate and needy, and she clutches your collar. Your hands fumble with her dress, bunching it up around her hips.

The party is still in hearing distance. A pop song is playing instead of whatever techno music was booming earlier. You hear voices, muffled and blending together. Natasha’s lips press against your shoulder, your own trail kisses down her neck.

“Don’t leave a mark”, she warns, breathless, when you suck on her collarbone.

“Why?” You pull away enough to see the hickey blooming on her skin. “Looks good.”

She moans quietly and tugs you back in. Your fingers slide between her thighs, to the lacy underwear she’s got on, and nudge the fabric aside.

Moonlight seeps in through the window. You taste alcohol and mint. Wet heat envelops your fingers, and her back arches. You thrust in deeper, all the way you your knuckles, and kiss her through it. She pulls away, panting into your open mouth.

"Fuck."

"Don't make a sound", you mumble, peppering her jaw with kisses. "You'll get us caught."

A whine. Your free hand grips her thigh, hikes it up. Having better access now, you add a finger. She almost falls apart, and her moans and whines echo in the empty hallway.

A door opens and shuts. You angle your body a little, still fingering her relentlessly.

Butterflies and tingles, legs trembling and breath uneven. You hear footsteps, quiet and muffled. Your hand is drenched, her underwear is sticking to her thighs.

Another whiny moan. You shush her, curling your fingers and pushing them deeper.

"Not a noise, love. Or I'll make you come again. Want to go back in there shaking?"

The footsteps are approaching you. Natasha writhes, and you wrap your arm around her thighs to keep her in place. When she comes, it's loud and barely restrained. You laugh against her neck, breathless, and let her ride out her orgasm.

She slumps against the wall. You pull out and lick the excess moisture off your fingers. She watches you, dazed and spent.

"Back to the party?", you ask, already adjusting her dress with one hand.

"A moment", she mumbles, closing her eyes. "Good luck explaining this to Fury."

"Huh?"

She nods at the ceiling. You look up and huff. Security cameras, of course. Everywhere. Filming and remembering every moment, every gasp, every movement of your hand beneath her dress. You curse quietly.

"Goddammit."

"This was your idea", she says, adjusting her dress and smoothing it out. "Have fun dealing with him."

You roll your eyes and kiss her flushed cheek. Natasha's managed to go from looking wrecked to almost normal. Her lipstick is smudged, her hair a tad more disheveled, her cheeks still got a hint of color in them, but nobody would suspect that it's from anything other than a makeout-session.

Well, except for whoever checks the security cameras. You bite your lip when you realize just how much they'll see.

It's an odd feeling. Yes, they'll see way too much — but they'll also see you with her.

Natasha fixes her lipstick, wipes the smudges off your mouth with a napkin, then you return to the party. Of course, almost nobody noticed. They're too caught up in chatter and alcohol. Fury looks like he's about two minutes away from exploding. You can't blame the poor guy; he's surrounded by a bunch of drunk agents trying to get him to dance the Cha Cha Slide.

Valerie's ignoring you, but in that one way that lets you know she's trying her hardest to do so. She knocks back another shot, her jaw set.

You smile to yourself and let Natasha lead you further into the room. Once you've reached the middle, she wraps her arms around your neck and presses a quick kiss to your swollen lips.

"Round two in my office later?"

"Don't you dare", she murmurs.

"Shame."

The look on her face is unimpressed, but her lips twitch. You hug her closer to your chest, still swaying in spot. You dip your head and kiss her shoulder.

"Let me show you off", you mumble, running your hands over her back. Natasha smiles now, her face buried against your neck.

"You are, dumbass."

You hum. You can't argue, you are showing her off. You pulled her into the center of the room, the center of the universe, and pulled her into a slow dance that probably would've had her running a few years ago.

Her head tilts slightly, resting against your shoulder. She stays silent for a while, lost in everything happening around her.

The party, now a bit more quiet. The music, having changed to a slower rhythm. You, holding her.

The contrast between the thing in the hallway and the dance here is drastic enough to give her whiplash. But she's content, happy, silently and quietly. She's unlike you in that regard — no need to make a big scene of it. Keep things as lowkey as possible. Not everyone needs to know.

(Two days later, you get called into Fury's office because the person checking the security camera footage complained about emotional damage. You get banned from the hallways. Natasha's belief to keep things private is reinforced. All you hear is that your office is still an option.)

. . .

You're on the floor, cross-legged, Natasha's suit on the ground. A lightweight Kevlar blend you designed, adjusting to every movement. You straighten out the fabric and check for damage.

"The side is singed", you comment. "An explosion?"

"You don't want to know."

You shake your head and get up. Natasha unzips her jacket and peels it off, the tight fabric revealing creamy skin you're definitely not supposed to be staring at.

Her pants follow, then her shirt. You crouch in front of her and help her step into the lower half. You tug the fabric over her legs, smoothing it out as you go.

It's been a while since you started doing this. You should be used to it. But your hands brush her calves, her thighs, and your ears burn.

"Cold hands", Natasha comments.

"Stop squirming."

"Can't blame me, your hands are very cold."

You look up, jaw set. "Just...don't move."

She smirks as she lets you help peel the fabric over her arms. You grab the zipper and pull it up, slowly straightening up as you go.

When you're face to face and you've got her all zipped up, you don't let go. Natasha hums, watching you. You hesitate one last time — the quicker you're done, the sooner she's leaving for her mission. Again.

"You're staring", she mumbles. You let go and turn around, leading her into the weapons storage room. Tight quarters, as you barely fit in there together. But you make it work.

"I should be used to this", you admit, scanning the shelves. Natasha reaches over you to grab a gun, her front brushing your back. "But I'm not."

"Neither am I."

You grab her Widow's Bites and a couple blades. You turn around and fit the bracelets with an automatic look. Then you kneel in front of her, slide her belt into place, adjust it accordingly. The thigh straps follow — lord have mercy — and you tuck her weapons in. You tap each of the concealed items: the blades along her ribs, the guns, the taser.

Natasha brushes her fingers through your hair and makes you look up. She crouches, breathing more heavily, her lips right in front of yours. You smell perfume and gunpowder, leather and shampoo, cleaning solvents. Her breath is hot against your lips when she speaks.

"Blades are lighter."

"Shaved an ounce off", you mumble, blinking. "Makes it easier."

"Always thinking about everything", she replies. Her lips meet yours halfway and she kisses you with her fingers tangled in your hair. You grab her waist and keep her close, knees still on the ground, head tipped back slightly. It's warm, slow, enough to make you wish you could cancel the damn mission.

She pulls away. You clear your throat.

"I'm keeping an eye on Valerie."

"Oh no, you're not."

"She doesn't have a clue what she's doing", you say, getting up. Natasha sighs. "You got shot!"

"Her responsibility is to support me as best as she can and focus on the mission. She's not my babysitter, Y/N."

She turns around and picks up a scope. You narrow your eyes, silently trying to both find an argument and figure out whether you designed the gadget she grabbed. It's not the matte black one you handed to her a couple months ago. It's more clunky, less practical, the magnification range is probably less optimal as well.

She turns, the scope in her hands, and looks at you. You raise your eyebrows.

"You're sure that's the one you want?"

Natasha tilts her head, idly toying with the scope she's holding. "What's wrong with this one?"

You frown, irritated, and gesture at it. "Well, first of all, the magnification range is not nearly as good. Its system is also outdated. The reticle doesn't auto-adjust, which means that if the light conditions are less than optimal, you'll suffer from it. The thermal and night vision are also pathetic. I tested it, and it's no good."

"Sounds fine to me", she drawls. You narrow your eyes.

"Babe", you say, already turning around to grab the scope you personally designed from the shelf, "I spent half a year tinkering with this. I burnt my fingertips off twice."

"Appreciate the dedication", she says. You swap the scope out yourself, not breaking eye contact. "And the confidence, too."

"I mean it. This one's better. Ergonomic, biometric lock, the casing is great, and the internal shock buffers? Even Fury was impressed."

"You sound in love."

You bite back an 'I am', because she knows you are. Not with the damn scope, though. The scope is the result of being in love, and she knows it. But that's no reason to make her even more cocky.

You nudge her out of the storage room and lock it behind you. Safety measure — no need for anyone to get into her private stash. Even Fury needs permission, but in a less official way.

Natasha leans against the wall and watches you clean up. You wipe the workbench with a towel, arms flexing in a way that makes her wonder why you aren't joining. You fit in, she knows that already.

Then again, it'd make her job even more terrifying. She'd spent every second worrying about you.

"Five minutes", she reminds you.

"Right", you mumble. "Be careful. Make sure Valerie's doing her job or I'm doing it for her next time."

She wants to argue that you have no idea what it's like on the field. How dangerous it is, how much it differs from what you do every day. But you have been on the field before, years ago, when you were just starting out. Your talent has always been weapons and everything high tech, but when you got injured, you had no choice but to switch to what you're doing now.

You're good at it. Better than at field work. But she knows you sometimes miss it. Specifically those few months you got to spend alongside her, right after you met and before everything turned more intimate.

You can't protect her by being there anymore. But you can design tools that will make her job safer.

"I have your scope", she says, voice softer. "I'll be fine."

You can't help but preen at her words. You've been praised for your inventions many times, but it's only her opinion that really counts. When she says something, she means it.

"Be careful", you say. "The scope's good, but..."

"But it all boils down to the person using it", she finishes, grabbing her duffel bag. "I'll be fine."

"I know."

"Good."

"We'll stay in touch?"

Natasha steps closer to kiss you. It's fleeting, brief, and you know why. Quick goodbyes leave dry eyes. She'll be back soon, but what she does is risky, and you're never not scared that any goodbye could be your last one.

She steps out. You've watch her leave.

. . .

This time, you don't have to wait that long to see her.

Something goes wrong during the mission. Not horribly wrong — there are no accidents, no injuries, which is a relief. But one of the prototypes, a crucial one, malfunctions in the field. It's so tailored that nobody else can fix it, and since you're the one who designed and understands it, you're flown out.

The helicopter touches down in a remote area of the Catskills. You adjust your suit before jumping out and landing on thick grass. The forest is cold, the area foggy. Leaves that were once green have started to turn red. You exhale quietly.

A winding pathway leads to a small cabin. The exterior is hardly impressive, but the inside hides an entire bunker and an underground facility. Clutching your duffel bag, you walk towards the front door.

You're welcomed by a man in his 30s. Hair already graying, jeans, a flannel shirt. He stares at you and you stare at him. You can smell his stupid cologne.

"Want to let me in?"

"Who the fuck-"

"It's Y/N", a familiar voice says. Natasha. You can hear her from somewhere in the cabin. "Let her in."

"Oh", he says, stepping aside. "Right. The girlfriend. They told us you'd come by."

You push past him, not saying another word, and make your way into the cabin. Natasha emerges from downstairs, her hand on the railing. Her hair is curly and tied back, and she's wearing one of your old band hoodies. The sight is enough to let you forget about Mr. Wannabe-Lumberjack.

You meet her halfway. She hesitates, then decides it's worth it and leans in. You reciprocate the kiss and cup her cheek. She tastes like black coffee. It's way too short, but you can't really complain — you feel like you're being watched, whether that's actually true or not.

"Who's the guy?", you ask, following her into the lab.

"Agent Mintz", she says. "Formerly a lieutenant in the US army. Did you bring your little toolbox?"

"Little", you mutter, lifting the toolbox to test its weight. "This thing weighs 30 pounds. Lieutenant, you said?"

She flicks on a light and leads you to a workbench. You haul the toolbox up onto the top and open it. Natasha slides the prototype, a combat neural link, in front of you. You jack a tether into the side port and hook it up to a tablet to diagnose the problem.

"Tried to guess my body fat percentage", she says casually, right as you're running a scan. You pause. "He was off by one percent.”

You exhale, your fingers drumming against the surface of the workbench. "Of course."

"Very observant."

"Mhm", you mutter, looking at the data on the tablet. The prototype is desynced — her muscle memory has been outpacing the link's adaption rate. "Sounds like a great dude."

"He designs tech as well", she says, leaning on the workbench next to you. Her head is turned toward you, her voice softer and more sultry. "You know the GhostSuit?"

You bite your tongue and straighten up to brush Natasha's hair aside. "Hoodie off."

She hums and strips so you can access the link housing. You rearrange the central circuit array with tweezers and a soldering pen. You curse when your hand accidentally jerks.

"Burned your fingers again?"

"Crap", you hiss, shaking your hand. "What's this Mintz dude's issue, anyway?"

"Hm?"

"I mean, your body fat percentage? Is he kidding?"

"Pretty sure he wasn't."

Footsteps, on the staircase behind you. You whip around and glare. You should've expected it to be him — there's nobody else around — but his presence is still an unpleasant reminder that you aren't alone.

Arms crossed and tattoos showing, he leans against the railing and nods at Natasha. "Combat neural link?"

"Very much so."

"I designed it", you mutter, starting to re-upload the stored neural combat data. "Specifically tailored for her."

"Of course", he says, grinning. "Only the best for Ms. Romanoff."

You roll your eyes and plug in a thumb drive. Your hands brush over her shoulders.

"There", you say, ignoring Mintz's presence. "Want to test it a little? Just some quick movements."

Natasha nods, the neural link facing you. It's nothing huge, just a few kicks and balance shifts, but the prototype's lights glow smoothly again.

Agent Mintz raises his eyebrows. He steps closer, inspecting the little device, and almost runs his fingers over it.

You stare at the floor. You're not going to do anything — Natasha will break the guy's wrist if he crosses a line, and you stepping in would be unnecessary. You turn around and start to put your stuff back into the toolbox.

"Impressive", he says. "Doesn't take away from your beauty, either."

An explosion makes them both flinch. You give Natasha an innocent look and gesture at the test grenade that 'accidentally' rolled off the workbench, now on the floor and releasing smoke.

"Oops."

Natasha purses her lips to stop herself from smiling. Mintz just clenches his jaw, clears his throat, and steps aside.

"Alright", he says. "I'll see you later."

He leaves, but you don't turn around. You keep cleaning up, hands moving swiftly, until you feel her mouth right next to your ear.

"What was that?"

"Nothing", you say, closing the toolbox. Natasha's hands sneak under your zip-up hoodie, fingers digging into your abs. "Happy accident or whatever."

"You're not slick."

Your mouth opens and then promptly shuts again. Her lips are against your jaw, the kisses wet and warm. It's only been a couple days, but god, you missed this. Your bed's too empty when she's not around.

Instead of arguing, you let yourself melt. Even if just for a minute, you do. Her body's pressed up against yours, her touch familiar. She smells like your perfume, which confirms your suspicions that she's the one who grabbed it from the shelf in your bathroom.

The tech, the clothes, the perfume — all yours. You wonder if there's a part of her she hasn't claimed as yours yet.

She turns you to face her, her hands staying under your hoodie. Only then does she wrap her arms around your neck and pull you closer to kiss you. You hold her to you, nodding your head to deepen the kiss. Her heart beats faster, and so does yours, but you have a significant advantage — you're not attached to a link with stress-response sensors.

The tablet lights up. You glance at it, briefly pulling away from the kiss, and bite back a smirk. The device logged her rapidly accelerating heartbeat, her changing vitals.

"You know it records this stuff, right?", you mumble. "Heart rate, adrenaline spikes. Practically broadcasting your- ouch."

"Don't."

"You didn't have to twist my ear like that, you know."

Natasha laughs quietly, her lips brushing against yours. She doesn't feel sorry. Not at all. "That's what you get for embarrassing me."

"I'm not the one embarrassing you", you murmur, smiling, and kiss the corner of her mouth. She hums. "The device is."

"And who designed that device?"

You shake your head, but she cups your face and pulls you into another kiss. When the neural link sends another signal, she reaches behind her neck and tugs it off. It gives you enough time to grab her and spin around to set her down on the workbench.

Her thighs wrap around your waist. You mouth at her neck, hands slowly bunching up her hoodie around her torso. Slender fingers tangle in your hair, tug at the strands, and you move your lips back up to hers. She moans into your mouth.

"You do that one purpose", you mumble whenever you take a short break from kissing her stupid. Natasha hums against your lips. "To get a rise out of me."

"It works", she says, using her calves to pull you closer and closer. Your pelvis creates friction between her legs. "I wish I could put one of those neural links in you. See what your body does."

"Cruel", you mutter, pecking her lips. Your hand pushes past the waistband of her sweatpants. Her breathing gets heavier. "You already know what it'd say."

Your fingers find their target. You kiss down her neck, biting and nipping, and slowly thrust into her. Right as her hips buck against your hand, you hear someone hurry down the stairs.

You don't even flinch. You just sigh into her neck, hand still buried in her sweatpants. You're not stopping this unless someone's dying.

"What now?"

Mintz stares at you, frozen in place. He's uncomfortable, so much so that he keeps making himself even more uncomfortable by staring. Natasha bites her lips and grabs your wrist, guiding you out of her pants again.

"There's, uh, movement. We got ten minutes. Suit up."

You sigh and pull away. Natasha slides off the workbench and grabs the neural link again so you can attach it. You work fast, brushing hair aside and attaching it to the link housing again. She turns and reaches for her suit, and you pack your things.

She looks at you and hesitates. The injury, the accident, is still fresh in her mind. It may have been years since that happened, but she can't forget it that easily.

Blood on pavement, in your mouth. Coughs that sounded way too scary. Your hand shaking in hers, your entire body trembling.

You tilt your head. She's thinking, probably so much so that she's lost in whatever train of thought she's following. Natasha shakes her head when she realizes that she's gone quiet.

"It's fine."

You nod and look at Mintz. "Keep an eye on her and the neural link. She shouldn't go out with it untested in live combat, but it's a little late for that."

He shrugs, rubbing his jaw and starting to look for his gear. "Then go with her."

Natasha immediately looks at him. "What?"

"Yeah. Hell, no one knows how to fix that thing. Only she does. If shit goes sideways..."

"It won't", she interrupts him. "She knows what she's doing. The link is fine."

"Nat", you say, making her look at you. She blinks and averts her eyes again. "Hey. I'll be careful. Besides, it might be safer if I join."

"I don't want you out there."

"Well, too late." You walk up to the storage space with the suits and dig through heaps of old clothes. "Better be safe than sorry."

"Trust us", Agent Mintz says. He straps a knife to his thigh and adjusts his suit. Natasha shoots him a glare, her own suit zipped up halfway. "I've got overwatch. But if something happens with the link-"

"Nothing's going to happen", Natasha insists.

You reach for a vest and slip into it. "Don't be stubborn, baby. Doesn't even look good on you."

"This isn't a joke."

"Never said it was." You step closer to zip up her suit. She briefly closes her eyes. "Let me help you suit up. It's basically tradition."

She doesn't say anything as you step away again to swap your shoes for some combat boots. You reach out your hand, the set to her jaw cracks for a split second, and you lead her up the stairs and outside.

. . .

Natasha notices the neural link misfire when she gets out of the van.

Minutes ago, you were adjusting it. You brushed her hair aside, checked the prototype, made sure it's up to date and connected to your tablet. You seemed certain. You were, probably, otherwise you never would've let her out of the vehicle. The mission may be important, but she knows you'd never test her luck like that.

She jumps out of the van and approaches the building. SHIELD's abandoned black site, sitting in the middle of the forest. Not something they thought would be targeted, but ex-HYDRA agents found out about some data drive that was apparently forgotten her, and now they're trying to steal it.

As soon as she sneaks into a corridor, walking close to the wall, she notices an issue. She doesn't tell you anything, but she feels it. She feels it misfire in motion, feels the little glitch. It's not supposed to happen, and she knows it.

Too late now. There's not enough time to be running back to the van and get it fixed.

"You inside?", you ask via comms.

"Corridor on the east side of the building, approaching a staircase. Any news?"

"Copy. Sir Lieutenant is in position. Do they train them in the army for this kind of stuff?"

"No", he suddenly speaks. "We usually just die."

"Oh really? And you're still here?"

"Y/N, I am begging you", Natasha hisses. You shut your mouth. "Focus. Both of you."

"Sorry, babe.”

Your mumbled response would've been enough to make her smile in just about any other situation, but right now, she's too on edge to react. The neural link glitching, the shuffling noises, the fact that you're outside, in a van and basically alone.

She keeps her back pressed against the wall. Mintz mumbles instructions into her ear — go left, down the hallway, go right, down the stairs — and you're checking the neural link's feedback via your tablet.

Someone pops out from behind a staircase. Natasha, not having to think twice, ducks right as he shoots. It's combat, and she knows what shes doing. She's been trained for this. The neural link usually helps, too.

This time, it doesn't. What it does is worse than it not helping.

Right as she's about to kick him and twist the gun out of his hands, her shoulder locks. The neural link misfires, again, lasting only a split second but still long enough to almost get her shot. She curses quietly.

You stare at the tablet, unable to believe your eyes for a moment. You're not sure what happened, but very briefly, everything glitched and you lost signal. Now that it's back, though, Natasha's vitals have spiked.

Which doesn't have to mean the worst, obviously. The vitals spiking is normal, especially during missions. But the glitch? The signal going poof? Bad signs.

"Natasha", you say, already desperately tapping on the screen to see if you can do anything, "what happened?"

"Nothing, don't worry about it. I found the vault."

"Okay", you say, packing your stuff and hopping out of the van. Into the corridor, go left, down the hallway, etc. Thank god you listened to Mintz as he gave her the instructions. "Be careful."

"I said don't worry."

"You said don't worry about it", you mutter. A gun in one hand and your most important tools in the other, you're easy meat. "What do you see?"

"Desks", she says, eyes scanning her surroundings. "Computers. Deposit boxes."

The signal is lost for another short moment, making her voice sound chopped. The feedback displays another glitch. Your heart beats faster and you hurry up.

"Right. Column five, row ten", Mintz adds. "Iris scan, ten digit password and a keycard. You got everything?"

No sound comes through. Then, a grunt. Something breaks, possibly a chair or a table. Whatever it is — it has you speeding up, running, searching for the stupid vault. But you reach it and the door is locked.

You glance at the screen. Bleeding located.

"Nat?", you say, rummaging through your tools. Maybe you have something that'll help you unlock it. "Any updates?"

Again, nothing. You curse and grab a hairpin, but this is SHIELD's abandoned black site. The doors are designed to keep trespassers out.

You end up grabbing the little grenade you packed. It's tiny, usually only enough to take out one person, but it'll have to do. You attach it to the door, active it, and quickly move backwards.

It blinks three times. It explodes, the door bursting open, and you exhale and run into the vault.

Blood, and a lot of it. It's soaked the right side of her shoulder. Right as you move to help her, someone wraps their arm around your neck and squeezes. You gasp, choking, and start clawing at their forearm.

Natasha barely manages to move enough to point her gun and shoot. The pressure on your airways disappears and you fall to the floor, wheezing and gasping for breath. You crawl to her side and put both hands on the bullet wound in her shoulder. Thick blood seeps between your fingers, and you take off your vest to ball it up and use it to stop the bleeding.

"You're okay", you say, voice shaky. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She shakes her head. "Get the data drive."

"No", you say, keeping the vest pressed to her shoulder. You speak into the comms. "Mintz, you there?"

"What happened?"

You swallow, fingers digging into the fabric of the vest. "The neural link, it- it glitched. Misfired. Natasha got shot."

"On my way."

You nod, still putting your entire weight on the wound, still watching her every breath. She seems stable enough, but speaking from experience, it's not a good idea to rely on the hope of something happening.

There are two things you're thinking about.

One: she could die. Right here, right now.

Two: you designed the neural link. You 'fixed' it. If anything happens to her, it's your fault.

Earning her trust seemed to be the biggest honor once. None of your achievements seemed as valuable as getting someone like Natasha to trust you, getting to watch her open up and show you sides nobody else had ever seen. In that moment, however, you curse it. If she'd never trusted you, she wouldn't have worn the neural link. She wouldn't have gotten hurt.

. . .

It's quiet in medbay. Natasha's better now — the wound has been treated, the bleeding has been stopped, she's stable. But the heavy feeling in your gut remains.

She's asleep right now. Her cheeks are rosy instead of pale, her curls have flattened a little. You reach out and brush your fingers against her jaw, then you get up.

The neural link has been in your pocket ever since you got her to medbay. It's sitting there like a mass that's pulling you down, defying the laws of weight.

You reach into your pocket and pull it out. The surface shimmers in the dimmed lights of the room, your initials carved into the side. You ball your hand into a fist, clutching it, then leave the room. Natasha barely stirs.

Your steps are quick and filled with silent anger. Boots thud against vinyl flooring, your throat bobs with every despaired swallow. You push open the door to your lab and slam it shut behind you.

You reach for the hammer before you can think twice. The neural link shatters into tiny pieces, bursting to the sides and falling to the floor. Breathing heavily, you put the hammer aside. Then, the tears come.

They're silent, unthreatening. Rolling down your face in drops, staining your hoodie. You wipe them away with the back of your hand and pause, hand still against your face, when your phone buzzes.

It's the nurse, telling you she woke up and asked for you. You hesitate — do you want to go back there? Does she, despite asking for you, actually want you back there?

It was a mistake. It could've happened to anyone. But when Valerie made a mistake that got her shot, you lost your mind. But who's going to do that to you? Who's going to chew you out?

Nobody. Not even Natasha. You'll get away with it.

Sighing, you make your way out of the lab and back to medbay. It smells clinical, like disinfectant and cleansing chemicals. Metallic, too. You feel nauseous.

When you approach Natasha's room, you see a figure enter and close the door behind themselves. Heart starting to beat faster, you hurry up. You push open the door only to find Valerie standing next to her bed. That's when you lose it.

"Get the fuck out."

She barely even looks at you. "I'm just checking in on her. Making sure she's okay. Heard what happened."

"I said get out."

"Valerie, leave."

Both your and Valerie's heads whip around. Your first instinct is to be petty and make sure she knows it, but Natasha is injured, and you truthfully have other things to worry about.

She exhales sharply, then turns around and leaves. The door shuts loudly.

Natasha looks at you, not saying anything. She's studying you — you can tell that much. It's what she's always done. You shift, then hesitantly sit down on the edge of her bed.

She tilts her head. A soft breath leaves her lips. "Why'd you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You broke the neural link."

You blink a few times. Oh, so that's how observant she truly is. Or maybe she just knows you really well.

"Well, I...", you trail off. "It's useless anyway."

"No", she says, voice quiet. "You spent months working on it. It worked."

"It didn't. It's the reason you almost..." You rub your face. "You could've died, Nat. Because of me."

"That's not true."

"But it is."

"That thing helped me", she insists. "I wore it because I trust you. Because I love you. And you just broke it?"

You stare at the floor, jaw set. There's no way to explain what's going on in your head. All these years, you tried to be the one who protects the one person who claims she doesn't need protection. The one who protects everyone around herself — you, too.

When you got injured all those years ago, it was Natasha who got you out of the battlefield safely. She carried you to the field medics, she went to medbay with you. She stayed until you were better.

You would've kissed her. Neither of you were ready, though. But she was worth the wait.

"I fixed it", you say, glancing at her. She softens. "I tried to fix it. I swear. I don't know what went wrong."

"Accidents happen."

"Not like this", you reply, raking your fingers over your thigh. The denim feels overstimulating against your fingernails. "Not to me. Not when it comes to you. Valerie makes mistakes, and Mintz, and Ward, but-"

"And you're flawless? Perfect?"

You shut your mouth. No, you're neither of those things.

"If I were, you wouldn't have gotten hurt."

Natasha scoffs. You refuse to look at her, so she shifts in bed despite knowing she shouldn't. It's a plan, though — a plan that works. You quickly lift your head.

"Don't even try", you say, already trying to gently nudge her back into bed. She smiles and you know what she's done. "Oh, fuck me."

"Not while I'm injured."

You roll your eyes, but what she's doing seems to work. You smile, one hand still on her waist and thumb rubbing circles into her side. She flops into the pillows again, a tad more dramatic than others would expect her to do it.

"It was supposed to help", you say softly. "I wanted it to be safer for you. Easier. It almost got you killed instead."

Natasha hums. "You're right", she says. "It did. But how many times did it save me?"

"That's not important."

"Oh, but it is. And I'm not just talking about the neural link. You've invented a dozen of these nifty little things, and how many times were those faulty?"

You shift, refusing to answer. You could say it — never. They were never faulty, never malfunctioned so badly. Sure, there were some issues and minor problems every now and then, but Natasha was always able to keep going despite those. This was a one time thing. An unlucky coincidence.

You feel her fingertips trail down your back. You sigh and then smile tentatively. "Alright. Fine. You got me."

She stays silent for a moment, her fingers glued to your back for no specific reason. She's touching you, and that's enough.

"You didn't invent your way into my life, you know."

You look at her, frowning. Those are words you didn't expect. "No?"

"No." Her fingers drum against your spine. "The gadgets are great. Truly. But they're not the main appeal here, and they never were."

"It's just..." You swallow. "You saved me. It's like, I don't know."

"A debt?"

"Maybe."

Natasha doesn't say anything. She just moves her hand, reaching for yours. When you give it to her, she tugs you into her side.

You know she's being serious. She doesn't need the gadgets. You'll keep inventing them, anyway.

. . .

There's a bandage around her shoulder and a tiny bandaid above her eyebrow, but she's still attracting attention from everyone in the room. You know she is. She always does. You pull her into your side and lead her through the hallway.

"They're staring", you mutter, gently squeezing her upper arm.

"I wonder why."

"You're beaten up and they're still staring." You enter your lab and walk right towards the little couch in the corner. Natasha sits down without arguing, which is a miracle. Getting her to do just about anything that'd be beneficial for her injuries is like fighting a very stubborn bear.

She shifts until she's comfortable, her injured arm resting on a pillow you tuck against her side. "So?"

"Nothing", you say evasively, closing the door now. You're pretty sure no one's going to come by anyway, but you're not keen on taking that risk right now. "Need anything? Water, a granola bar?"

"I'm good." She tilts her head. "You gonna keep me locked in here until they stop staring?"

Hand around a water bottle, you pause. You're crouched in front of the mini fridge.

"Well..."

"Oh god."

"I'm kidding."

She laughs and, despite saying no earlier, accepts the water bottle you hand her. "Hey, at least feel sorry Valerie quit."

"Feel sorry?" You snort and step up to your workbench. You grab the new neural link you've been working on and the stack of data necessary to program it so you can get to work. "I don't do that."

"No, of course." She leans back and watches you work. You adjust wires, program the link using your tablet, test it a few times.

It took two days for you to get up and get started on another neural link. You've barely been sleeping, and Natasha knows that's the case, but you're relentless. Having experience with this prototype, creating an updated, better one hasn't been hard. That doesn't make the process less painful, though. You've burnt your fingertips again already.

"I'm relieved, you know", you mumble.

"Mhm?"

"Valerie really was incompetent."

The cap of the water bottle hits you in the back. But she's smiling, trying not to laugh, and you turn around.

"I mean it."

"She's not even here anymore", she says. "Dial down the jealousy."

"It's not jealousy, it's me disliking her."

"And why do you dislike her? Because you're jealous."

You walk up to the couch and sit down. Hands cup her face, fingertips burnt and wrapped into little bandaids so they'd hurt less, and your breath fans against her lips. You lean in and kiss her, but briefly enough to leave you both wanting more.

She sighs, eyes lazily trailing across your face. "That's not an answer."

"I'm not in the mood to argue. I need to work on your new neural link."

"Better not make any mistakes this time."

You give her an unimpressed look like, Really? You know how much that destroyed me. But she just smiles and tugs you closer.

"I told you I trust you", she says. You roll your eyes. "Don't give me that look, or I'll start using someone else's scope."

"Oh, don't even-"

"Kidding", she cuts you off. "Again."

You narrow your eyes at her. But with the bandaid over her eyebrow, and her bandaged shoulder, you can't be too mad. You sigh and press a kiss to her mouth, your hand on her cheek. She smiles against your lips, hand resting on yours, fingers tangling with yours.

"You're beautiful, you know", you mumble, placing another kiss on her mouth. "No wonder they're all staring. Can't blame them."

"Mhm? Beautiful, you say?"

"So so beautiful." You run your hand down her arm and lightly squeeze her wrist. "It's not fair. You're all beaten up and you still look like you escaped some frame in a museum."

Natasha huffs a laugh. Her forehead rests against yours, her thumb brushes against the side of your hand. You scoot closer and the cushion dips slightly beneath you. She rests one leg over your lap.

"Not jealous anymore?"

"Oh, fucking mental", you say, nodding. "But Valerie's gone, so that helps."

"Terrible."

"Honest."

She scoots and ends up fully in your lap, her weight welcome and familiar. You wouldn't be able to guess her body fat percentage (that detail still leaves you stunned whenever you think about it), but you don't need to see or hear her to recognize her.

Your hand trails down her side and slips under her hoodie. She's warm, her body nestled against yours.

She smiles and nods at the workbench. The neural link lays abandoned, at least for the time being.

"You're stalling again."

"No", you mumble, kissing her shoulder. "Just taking my time."