waayoutofline

[waayoutofline]

Murder On The Dance Floor (epilogue) (from the When the Cat and the Mouse Go For a Midnight Dance series) | Part 1 | Part 2| Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | -->Marvel Masterlist

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Prompt: Vigilante!Reader x Agent!Natasha

Summary: Natasha isn't having the best of luck in trying to bring one of the ex Hydras general down. You however may be able to assist her. Will you two be able to cooperate? Or is it your fate to always stand on opposite teams?

Warnings: Angst but a little bit of hope.

WORD COUNT: 5,1k

A/N: Hii! So I didnt forget about this story, I actually had it in my drafts for some time now--only that tumblr is totally screwing me up and all my links suddenly dont work anymore for some reaseon! But oh well. Anyways, this is the last part of this series :) For now I'll start focusing on other fandoms mainly, but that doesn't mean I wont write some drabbles here and there of the mcu girls or for this universe. Just trying to expand my horizons and creativity! I hope you enjoy it and have a nice day <3

**

“Oh yeah, absolutely not,” you deadpanned as soon as you saw Natasha’s means of transportation. You hugged yourself tightly, the shirt you had thrown on earlier doing little to keep you warm. Natasha looked at you in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I’m not getting on your bat–…widow bike. That’s literally a death trap.” Your eyes wandered to the street the two of you were on. There was still traffic streaming through, even at this late hour, and you were sure you could hail a taxi or something.

She huffed. “Bat what? You literally crossed half the city on a makeshift path of ice, but a bike is where you draw the line?”

Rolling your eyes, you felt the tip of your nose growing colder and your cheeks heating up in contrast. Okay, when she put it like that, it did sound a bit ridiculous.

“That’s different! I was in control of the ice,” you protested.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Natasha shot back, her tone sharp enough to make you flinch. A flicker of regret crossed her face as she realized it. She sighed, reaching for the secondary helmet.

“Listen,” she began, voice softening slightly. “This is our fastest way to Horvat. All the other vehicles are escorting his van right now. You’ll just have to…” Her voice faltered as she hesitated over what she was going to say. Finally, she sighed and finished, “Hold on.”

She swung one leg over the bike and settled into the seat, hands gripping the handles firmly. You couldn’t help but notice how her fingers flexed and tensed against the worn leather of the grips, almost like a nervous fidget.

Reluctantly, you trailed toward the bike. She had pursued you all over town and still managed to catch up. Heart thrumming slightly, you followed her lead and mounted the bike. The next step—actually holding on—was done with even more hesitation.

Trying to regain your usual confidence, you finally reached out and grabbed onto Natasha, leaning closer to her for better support. “You know,” you said, your voice dripping with mock bravado, “if you wanted an excuse to get me all over you, you could’ve just said.”

She scoffed. “Just make sure to not take us both down.” Her reply was causal enough to resemble your typical interactions. You basked on the familiar mess of all, wondering if this night has changed it all for good.

“I’ll try.” Your mutter got muffled by the roatrign force of the chassis.

***

“Oh God,” you sputtered, dismounting the killing machine without even a fraction of the driver’s grace. Natasha watched in disbelief as you practically threw the helmet at her, your face pale as you fought off the dizziness.

“You good over there?” she asked, a hint of amusement lacing her voice as she stashed the helmets in the compartment. Gripping your stomach, you did your best to keep your last meal from making a reappearance.

“Good? I’m not good! You’re a maniac!”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha laughed for herself, spinning the keys in her hand. “So dramatic.”

When she turned her back, you stuck out your tongue in mock defiance. Once you finally regained your equilibrium, you reluctantly trailed behind her. If someone had told you that you would voluntarily set foot in a S.H.I.E.L.D. building, you’d have laughed in their face—or shot them, depending on your mood.

The location wasn’t particularly large, but it sufficed. The security system was in plain sight, cameras ominously displayed at every corner, leaving no blind spots. Yep, Fury was definitely a paranoid man. Shoving your hands into your pockets, you quickened your pace.

The halls were mostly deserted, save for a couple of lower-ranking agents handling assignments. They gave you confused or disgusted glances, which you returned with a cheeky wink. You knew you had a reputation around here.

After touching her comms, Natasha turned slightly, gesturing for you to head left. “Horvat is already waiting.”

Your hands fidgeted nervously. “Perfect,” you muttered as the two of you finally reached the interrogation rooms. Some held lower-class criminals, but your attention was caught by the familiar sight of slick red hair. You perked up, the reflective glass allowing you to peer into the room.

“So…” you started, breaking the silence. “What’s our strategy?”

Natasha glanced at you as she retrieved the identification card. “For now, just follow my lead.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

Before you could move, Natasha caught your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“I mean it. No funny business.” Her eyes shifted, the green hardening with traces of steel. That’s when you knew she wasn’t playing around.

But neither were you. Pulling your wrist free with a quick tug, you said nothing. For now, your silence seemed to suffice as she stepped into the interrogation room.

Natasha’s shift in demeanor was almost immediate. She stood tall, commanding, her face impassive—devoid of even a flicker of emotion. The transformation was unsettling, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Miss Black Widow, glad to see you made it out okay,” Horvat huffed amusedly, his tone dripping with mockery. He lounged back in the chair with overconfidence, his smug gaze flicking over to you only briefly. “And you’ve brought company. Never thought a hero like you would associate with the likes of them.”

Your fist clenched at his words. How dare he lump you and Natasha into the same box? You took a step forward, ready to retaliate, but Natasha cut you off with a sharp glance. Begrudgingly, you relented, crossing your arms and leaning against the wall, though your glare didn’t falter.

“We’re not here to talk about us,” Natasha said smoothly, ignoring his jab. She flipped carelessly through the file in her hands, her movements calm but deliberate. “We’re here to talk about you.”

Horvat scoffed, his confidence unshaken. “You seem to be wasting your time then. I’m a very busy man, Romanoff. Much more important than whatever vendetta you’re chasing.”

Natasha chuckled softly, though the sound carried no warmth. “Busy indeed,” she mused, her eyes scanning the pages. “Arms deals, smuggling operations, money laundering… You’ve got quite the résumé, Mr. Horvat.”

Horvat shrugged, the corners of his lips twitching into a smirk. “Business is business. You of all people should understand that.”

From your vantage point, you could see the tension in Natasha’s posture, though her face betrayed nothing. The air in the room grew heavier as she set the file down and leaned forward, her green eyes locking onto his.

“Business,” she repeated, her voice dropping a note. “Is that what you call shipping weapons to rogue states and endangering innocent lives? Just business?”

Horvat’s smirk faltered, just slightly, but he quickly masked it with a scoff. “You can’t pin anything on me. I know how this works. You’ve got nothing.”

Natasha tilted her head, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “That’s what you think.”

Her calm demeanor was unnerving, even to you. Horvat shifted slightly in his chair, the faintest crack in his façade. This wasn’t going to be a short conversation, but you could tell Natasha already had the upper hand.

And from your spot against the wall, you couldn’t help but smirk. You’d seen many things in your line of work, but watching Natasha Romanoff dismantle someone’s ego piece by piece was quickly becoming one of your favorites.

**

For all his bravado, it didn’t take long for him to crumble under Natasha’s overwhelming pressure. She knew exactly which buttons to push, the precise words to make his ego shrink. His once-neat hair was disheveled, his perfectly tailored suit rumpled, and his breathing slightly erratic. Suffice it to say, she got the intel rather quickly.

“This is all I have,” he muttered.

You scoffed at his pathetic state, your eyes sizing him up. After he finished writing down the name, you stepped forward, making your presence known again.

“Ah, ah, ah, not so fast. Now it’s my turn.”

Rounding the table, you stepped into the dim light, moving closer to the agent. When his tired eyes landed on you, the same lack of recognition dulled his gaze, igniting a subtle fury inside you.

“And what business do you and I have?” he asked.

Mimicking Natasha’s move from before, you slammed both hands onto the table, leaning in. “Oh, are you really going to sit here and tell me you don’t remember?”

He genuinely seems to try, but no reaction is sown into his expression. You huff, frustration prickling under your skin.

“Alright then, what about this, hm?”

With methodical precision, you tug down the neckline of your sweatshirt, ensuring Natasha doesn’t have a clear view. It’s like striking a match—terror instantly flares across his face, consuming the blank facade.

“No… you—you’re supposed to be dead,” he sputters, his voice trembling.

You chuckle darkly, the sound devoid of humor.

“Aren’t we all?” Straightening your clothes, you fix him with a piercing stare.

“Where is she?”

“…W-Who?”

You slam your fist against the table, the sharp sound reverberating through the room.

“Don’t play this game with me, Horvat. Where is she?”

“I-I don’t— The warehouse was ambushed! Everything got destroyed! We couldn’t recover anything or a-anyone—”

He looks as if he’s seen a ghost—one that haunts his every waking thought and denies him sleep at night.

”Raven…” Nathasa warned.

“Don’t lie to me!”

Fire courses through your veins, anger igniting every nerve as your hands lash out. With a swift motion, you flip the table aside, the screech of metal tearing through the tense air.

Before either Natasha or Horvat can react, you grab him by the lapels of his suit, yanking him upwards. You slam him against the concrete wall, the sickening thud of his skull hitting the surface only fueling your fury.

“Do you think I’m a fool? You were their weapon supplier, their lifeline for arms. “You knew their routes and cargo. Do you really want to test my patience?” you growled, hands trembling with barely restrained fury.

Unconsciously, the temperature in the room began to climb—hotter and hotter… and so did your hands. A sharp, agonized shriek erupted from him as his neck started to burn under your grip.

“Y/N! Enough!”

Natasha lunged forward to stop you, but the instant her hand touched your arm, a sharp pain shot through her. She recoiled with a hiss. Your body temperature had risen so high, you were practically sizzling.

Confusion and hurt flashed across her face. She knew about your water powers—she’d seen them in action countless times. But this… this was something else entirely.

Her pained yelp broke through the fog clouding your mind. You blinked, realization crashing down as you registered the scene around you. The man dangled limply in your grasp, coughing and gasping as the searing heat faded. Your grip slackened, and he collapsed to the floor, trembling.

But you didn’t even look at him. Instead, you turned toward Natasha.

Your mouth opened to speak, to explain, but the words caught in your throat when your gaze fell on her reddened, burned hand.

Shame and regret hit you square in the chest like a sledgehammer. Your hands dropped to your sides as your breath hitched. For the first time in a long while, you were utterly lost for words.

So she spoke for you.

“Out.”

One single word. One you were about to refuse.

“Out. Now.” she repeated, more firmly this time. Her stance straightened, harsh and commanding—the high-level agent in her taking charge. Defeated, you had no choice but to comply.

Once outside, she turned to face you, her sharp eyes sizing you up.

“What the hell was that?”

It sounded like a question, but there was no room for anything but an answer. Still shaken, you sighed, running a frustrated hand through your hair.

“I—I don’t know, okay? I might have… gone a bit overboard before, but—”

She scoffed, cutting you off.

“A little?” she exclaimed, disbelief dripping from every word. “That man has second-degree burns at the very least, and you’re telling me you just lost a bit of control? You weren’t in control at all!”

You opened your mouth to answer, but she wasn’t finished.

“No. You shut up right now,” she growled, stepping closer. “I’m sticking my neck out for you by bringing you here. Quite literally, I put my hand above the fire for you.”

The reminder hit hard, and your gaze dropped to the ground, guilt gnawing at you. But this wasn’t the time to shrink away.

“Well, I didn’t ask you to do that, now did I?” you shot back, your voice sharp.

Her brows furrowed at your defiance, but you pressed on. “We had a deal, Romanoff. I help you get him, and then I ask him what I want to know.”

Taking a moment to collect yourself, you inhaled deeply, willing the heat coursing through your body to subside. Slowly, you exhaled, trying to calm the storm inside you.

“Is it a woman?” she asked, her tone softer, though the weight of her words struck harder. She already knew the answer. “And what did he mean when he said you were supposed to be dead?”

Great. Now you were the one being interrogated.

“That has nothing to do with this,” you said, brushing the question aside.

“It has everything to do with this!” she snapped, stepping closer. “If this is personal, I can’t let you back in with him.”

Her words struck a nerve, making you bristle.

“That is not what we agreed on,” you said firmly, holding her gaze.

“Because you didn’t tell me anything from the start,” she countered, frustration lacing her voice. “If this is about someone you’re looking for, I can help you. I want to help you.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but she raised a hand to stop you.

“But you can’t just walk in there and attack him like that. Not again.”

Her words were laced with sincerity, and for a brief moment, you let them sink in. You knew she meant it—knew that if you asked, she would help you.

But to let her in would mean revealing everything. Your past. The truth you had buried so deeply, it still haunted your nights. No. Some things were better left untouched.

“You’re right, okay? I lost control. But it won’t happen again,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside. “Let me go back in. I know what kind of man he is, and while you’re standing there with me, he won’t take me seriously.”

She watched you, disbelief etched across her face. “There is no way I’m letting you go in there alone. You clearly have a personal grudge against him.”

“But I—”

“No. But nothing,” she cut you off firmly. “As hard as it is for you to believe, I’m doing this for you. I promised you a truce, but if you actually harm a captive here—in a SHIELD building—my superior won’t care for it.”

You scoff. “Oh please. You don't trust me enough, just say it.” Hesitancy makes it to her eyes, but she seems to push it far back her mind. Instead, she put her foot down.

”You are going in with me, or you aren’t going at all. And that is final.”

Your jaw clenched in frustration, head rolling back slightly. You wanted to push back, to argue —be your stubborn self— but you knew Natasha was at her limit. And a part of you still felt guilty about hurting her.

Yet, that same nagging voice reminded you of the truth—that no matter her words from before, she didn’t think you were capable. But what other choice did you seem to have?

“Fine,” you spat, the word dripping with bitterness, probably making you sound like a petulant child.

“Great,” she replied coolly, gesturing toward the door. “Now that we understand each other, let’s go back in there.”

As you moved past her, she reached out and caught your wrist. The suddenness of the gesture made you stop. For a moment, you blinked in surprise. After what had happened mere moments ago, you hadn’t expected her to touch you again so easily.

“Look,” she began, her voice quieter this time, a trace of something almost soft slipping through her usual composure. “I don’t know the details, but if that person you care for is in danger, I’ll help you get them back. Just…don’t try anything reckless.”

You let out a shaky breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The weight of her words settled over you like a blanket, the unexpected emptathy catching you off guard.

The fluorescent lights above cast a strange hue over the room, and for a fleeting second, you noticed how her green eyes seemed to shift. There wasn’t a hint of hesitation in them, which confused you even more. She’d been burned by you, and yet…

You smirked, the familiar expression helping to conceal your true emotions. “You can’t seem to keep your hands off me lately, Agent. Should I be flattered—?”

Carefully, you grasped her wrist with your free hand, gently removing her grip and turning her palm upward. Her reddened skin was exposed, and you studied it closely. Thankfully, the rest of your body didn’t seem as hot as your hands had been earlier, and there didn’t appear to be any permanent damage. You exhaled in relief.

Focus. You needed to focus. If you were going to generate water, your mind had to be clear.

You closed your eyes briefly, conjuring the image of soft waves caressing the shore, retreating only to return again with gentle, soft motions. Slowly, a clean barrier of water formed around your hand. Redirecting it, you guided the water to her palm. It wasn’t freezing cold, just cool enough to alleviate the swelling and soothe the burn.

Her eyes followed your movements with almost childlike wonder, trailing the water as it enveloped her hand.

Then, something unexpected happened. The water began to shimmer, sparkling with an otherworldly green fluorescence. Surprise flickered across both your faces as you watched the redness of her skin fade, leaving behind its natural, pale hue.

Huh. You’d never done that before.

You’d always thought of your abilities as a curse, something meant to harm. But now, you were healing, and the revelation churned a storm of emotions within you. Turmoil, confusion, and maybe—just maybe—a flicker of hope.

Your hands lingered on hers, roughened by years of work but still soft beneath your touch. “...Or should I be worried?” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Finally, you released her hand, stepping back and turning to face the door. Natasha seemed to hesitate, as if searching for the right words. She always looked like that—guarded, calculating. But this time, there was something else. Something like before, when you two were in that destroyed shop.

She’ll see you for what you are later than sooner anyways. Better for you both to avoid disappointment.

Eventually, she moved to stand beside you, wordlessly pulling the door open for you to enter. You chuckled softly, the tension breaking just enough for a hint of playfulness to seep through.

“Such a gentlewoman,” you teased as you stepped inside, hands sliding into your pockets.

Horvat’s reaction was immediate. He threw himself against the wall like a cornered rat, his eyes wide with fear.

“Th-this can’t be serious! Are you seriously bringing this—this freak back in here? Look at my fucking neck—”

Before Natasha could respond, the door slammed shut with a loud, jarring sound. The piercing wail of an alarm echoed through the halls, red lights flashing on and off in rapid succession.

Startled, you jumped, spinning toward Natasha, who looked just as shocked.

“What—Natasha?” you demanded, your voice rising as you tried to unlock the door from the inside. It was no use. The door was sealed tight.

“Natasha, what the hell is going on?!”

She was already at the control panel, her jaw set, her movements quick. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath, the curse being muffled by the alarm. “The protocol’s engaged. There must’ve been a breach.”

You huffed indignantly, your frustration boiling over. “We had a truce! I swear to God, if this is some kind of trick, I—”

“Just calm down!” Natasha snapped, cutting you off as her hand moved to her comms. She nodded to herself, listening intently as someone on the other end spoke, then turned back to you.

“How is that possible? The location is supposed to be encrypted!” she demanded, her tone sharp with frustration. Whatever response she received must have been far from satisfactory, judging by the way her expression tightened.

“Fine,” she said curtly, exhaling in exasperation. “Just get into formation—I’m heading down.”

“…Someone hacked the system,” she explained, composed but tense. “They’ve triggered the lockdown protocol. Everything’s sealed.” Her hands flew across the control panel, trying to override the locks, but she froze when Horvat’s sudden laughter broke through the chaos.

“I knew it,” he said, grinning like a madman. “They just can’t let someone like me be captured. I sure hope you have enough manpower for what’s about to happen.”

Natasha gave up on the panel and turned to you, her expression grim. “It’s no use. I have to go check it out.”

“One minute ago, you wouldn’t let me go in alone, and now you’re leaving me here?!” You protested, hands against the window.

Reloading her gun, Natasha muttered commands into her comms, directing others to secure the gates. She looked back at you with a fleeting softness in her eyes.

“Yeah, well, that was before we could actually open the door, couldn’t we?” she said. Then, after a pause, she added, “ Stay here, and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Talking as if I had a choice…” you muttered, kicking the door as she exited, leaving you alone with Horvat and the unsettling tension in the room.

“He better be alive when I come back!” Natasha called over her shoulder as she disappeared down the corridor, catching sight of two agents rushing toward the north entrance.

“Has anyone assessed the threat?” she barked.

The younger agent, Katherine—Natasha thought that was her name—shook her head. “No, ma’am. But all the footage and electricity has been cut off. We have light thanks to the secondary generators.”

Sighing in frustration, Natasha finally arrived at the central control hub just outside the gates. The room was in chaos. A couple of ech analysts and security personnel were scrambling, screens flashing error messages. The main display read in stark, bold letters: SYSTEM OVERRIDE DETECTED.

“What’s the status?” Natasha demanded, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.

One of the tech analysts turned to her, sweat beading on his forehead. “We’re completely locked out, ma’am. Someone’s bypassed the encrypted firewalls and overridden the mainframe. The entire system is under external control.”

“That shouldn’t be possible,” Natasha said, her eyes narrowing.

“It shouldn’t,” the analyst agreed, “but it is. They somehow installed an external backdoor into the system—and still seem to maintain remote control.”

Natasha’s mind raced. Backdoors weren’t simple. Whoever did this was an expert. Her gaze fell on one of the screens that still flickered faintly with fragments of activity. “Well, can’t you trace it to the controlling device?”

Nervously, the man nodded, throwing himself into a rolling chair and furiously typing as he tried to make one of the laptops work. He mumbled something Natasha didn’t catch.

“What is it?” she asked, her tone sharp.

Hesitation flashed across his face as he glanced at her. “…This doesn’t make sense. The signal—it’s coming from inside the building.”

Natasha’s gaze shifted to one of the distorted screens, her sharp eyes catching something buried in the fragmented data: a black, feathered emblem embedded in the system’s override signature.

A cold realization swept over her.

“Raven,” she muttered under her breath.

“Just try to remove the block. Prioritize retaining the system’s stability,” Natasha ordered, her voice sharp over the comms.

Getting out of the central control room, she sprinted down the hall, rushing toward the interrogation room. What awaited her was nothing short of disappointing.

“Seriously, Natasha. It can’t be that easy to fool you!” you said, laughing as you held an unconscious Horvat in one hand and a remote in the other—another one of your clever gadgets. “You just fall for it, every time. Hm, perhaps I should have persuade theater.”

Before she could react, you pressed the button on the remote. The spot on the wall, which had appeared to be some kind of reinforced gel, detonated with a loud bang, leaving a sizeable hole for your escape.

“Raven! Don’t you dare!” she growled, trying to unlock the door, but it was no use. It was completely frozen.

“Hey, this isn’t easy for me either, alright? I mean, fuck, he’s heavy,” you grunted, opting to create more ice on the ground so you could drag him more easily by the lapel of his suit.

“We had a deal,” she tried, her voice edged with frustration.

“Yeah, well, sometimes deals just get rewritten,” you replied coldly, your eyes steely as the ice on the walls.

Natasha didn’t give up. She stepped closer to the reinforced door, her tone softening. “Don’t do this, Raven. You can still do the right thing—”

“She’s too important, Natasha!” you finally snapped, your voice rising with raw emotion. “I can’t just wait around for him to talk through psychological tricks. Every second I spend here, she’s in danger…” You paused, your voice breaking slightly. “Maybe she’s already dead, for all I know.”

The weight of your words hung in the air, your desperation and determination written all over your face as you glanced back at Natasha. And yet, a hint of sadness crosses you eyes.

“I am sorry, Natalia, truly. But you and I…we are worlds apart. So stop trying, okay?” Your voice is gentle now, as if trying to tune her down without really meaning to hurt.

Natasha’s expression softened. “You don’t have to carry this alone,” she whispered, her words barely audible as she reached out, but you turned away.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, more to yourself than to her, as you pulled your prisoner through the hole. You werent supposed ot feel bad. You have done this more times that you could cont! So why were you so affected now.

You know why.

Your gaze softened as you took a breath, the bitterness still lingering as fresh air hit you. “The world already has too many heroes. So let me be the villain.”

You disappeared into the night, leaving Natasha staring helplessly at the jagged hole in the wall, her thoughts racing. Anger and frustration hit her square on the chest. Both her pride and ego were defensively brushed off by how you managed to fool her—again.

And yet, for all the frustration, she didn’t feel anger towards you—not really. Instead, your last words to her left her with something she couldn’t quite place. You had a way of making her feel that way.

She exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to her comms. “Alert all units. Subject Raven has escaped with Horvat. Lockdown override was an internal breach. Sweep the perimeter immediately.”

“Ma'am,” came the reply. “We have a unit near her position. Do we engage?”

She hesitated, her gaze fixed on the hole in the wall as if you might come back through it. She saw your face in her mind—the glint of defiance, the flicker of vulnerability you’d tried so hard to hide. The need painted in your eyes that tugged at her heart.

“No,” she said firmly. “Do not engage. I’ll get her next time.”

The ring of her work phone broke her out of her focus, putting the safety on the gun and leaving it at the range. She didn’t even need to see the target to know she got a perfect score.

“Romanoff.”

“We found the Hydra general—beaten but alive. And a note. From her.”

A sight she didn’t know she held made her feel lighter, tension leaving her shoulders. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. Now she had one thing to do.

An hour later, she found herself doing something she didn’t know she’d ever do. Convince her team to bring you on their side.

She met their skeptical stares. “You know what she’s capable of. She’s not just a threat; she could be an ally. We need to bring her in. She’s perfectly capable and a huge help if we do it right.”

Steve crossed his arms. “Are you sure about this? She’s unpredictable, Nat. She isn’t afraid to… get her hands dirty.”

“Yes, but she has a code—a morality. I’m not saying it won’t be complicated at first to make her change her ways, but we should at least give her the chance. Despite her methods, she truly wants to do good.”

Clint nodded, but still doubted. He remembered Natasha’s endless complaints about you and your attitude. “This feels personal. You sure this isn’t a mistake?”

Natasha’s jaw tightened, and she looked them both in the eye. “She’s the call I didn’t take,” she said firmly, her voice thick with meaning. “Just like Clint didn’t take me out when he had the chance. And you know how that turned out.”

Tony smirked, breaking the tension. “Well, if your ‘friend’ is joining us, I’m having a very long conversation about how she hacked FRIDAY.”

“Focus,” Natasha snapped. “This isn’t about FRIDAY. It’s about doing what’s right. Are you with me or not?”

“Did Fury greenlight this?” Bruce asked.

“Yes.”

“Oh, of course. There’s nothing that old man loves more than to add another member to his little dysfunctional family—“ Tony cracked, but Natasha’s gaze silenced him.

Silence filled the room, but one by one, the team nodded. Natasha slipped the note into her pocket, her resolve as solid as ever. Whatever came next, she would see it through.

Afterwards, Natasha went to the balcony, the sight of the city familiar yet intriguing in its own way. Checking around to make sure she was alone, she exhaled as she opened the paper you left her.

Dear Natalia,

Don’t misinterpret this. I’m not going soft or anything, but I do feel bad about… well, humiliating you in front of your buddies. It wasn’t my intention, really. But, I did find my friend, and you did help me—even if I betrayed you in the end.

Consider this a token of appreciation, a little something for letting me go (which I know you did). Sometimes, this game of ours is the only thing that keeps me going, y’know? And besides—you weren’t a bad dance partner. You’ve got moves, Romanoff. I guess that’s part of your charm.

Always your favourite archenemy,

Raven

[waayoutofline]

4 times you surprised Abby + Bonus

Pairing: Abby Anderson x F!Reader

Prompts: Fluff with a sprinkle of hurt/comfort, past toxic relationships, Cook! Reader, vulnerable Abby.

Summary: Four times you surprise Abby in your relationship.

WC: 2,8K

Warnings: None.

Abby hasn’t had a long dating history, which isn’t surprising in a world as broken as theirs. Survival didn’t leave much room for things like love. She’s had her flings, moments of stolen intimacy, but they never lasted. People came and went, and she’d learned to accept it. Relationships, if they even could be called that, weren’t always kind or healthy—but they were what they were. What she was used to.

So when you and Abby finally started dating—after months of stolen glances, shy smiles, and a tension that buzzed between you like an incoming storm—she couldn’t help but be surprised. What was it about you that made her hope for something more?

1. Talking About Her to Your Friends

Abby didn’t mean to eavesdrop, really. She was on her way to the gym when she remembered she’d left her bag in your room. She knew you were with your friends, so she decided to sneak in quietly.

But as she approached the door, she heard her name.

“So, how’s life with your lover girl?” one of your friends teased, and Abby froze.

Her pulse quickened, a mixture of curiosity and anxiety rooting her in place. She shouldn’t listen, but she couldn’t stop herself. She braced for your answer, her heart sinking as she prepared to hear the usual: She’s strong. She’s built. She’s hot. A bit stubborn. Overwhelming at times.

And sure, she was those things. Her body was a testament to her survival, her strength, and her discipline . She worked for it and was proud of it. But deep down, she longed to be seen as more than that. And her character was strong and she has been told about how troublesome it could be alongside her dry humor and sarcasm.

“Well…” Your voice was hesitant, shy. She could almost picture the way your cheeks would flush. “Gosh, she’s amazing. She’s so intelligent and kind—she talks about literature in a way that astonishes me every time.”

Abby’s breath caught in her throat.

“She’s gentle, in this really soft way. You should see her with dogs. It makes me want to get her one.”

Her chest tightened, warmth blooming in a place she hadn’t let anyone touch in years.

“Don’t forget attractive,” one of your friends chimed in, grinning.

You laughed, your voice flustered. “Well, of course. She’s gorgeous.”

“Look at you, all smitten,” someone teased, and your laugh grew quieter, softer, as if you didn’t mind being called out.

Abby’s heart was pounding now, but it wasn’t from nerves. She felt her legs move before she realized it, retreating back down the hall with her bag in hand, her cheeks hot, her lips curling into a smile she couldn’t fight.

Manny didn’t let her hear the end of it when he caught her grinning like a lovestruck fool all day.

2. Meeting the Family

Holiday time was around the corner. Usually, it didnt really mean much for everyone, but for the sake of trying to live in this forsaken world, some did their best to try and regain some normalcy.

Even Isaac, workaholic and not really an empathetic, allowed some of the recruits and workers to go out of their shifts earlier to spend some time with their remaining families.

It could be great. If you actually had one.

Abby usually just stayed at the gym, pushing herself. The burn of her muscles being preferable at the though of how alone she really was.

But she really wasnt anymore. No, you were with her now.

One night, out of nowhere, you asked her to have dinner with you and your mom. Abby blinked, caught off guard.

“What?” she asked, towel in hand as she dried her hair.

“My mom and I usually do something this time of year. I think she’s tired of me rambling about you and wants to officially meet you,” you said, your tone light and teasing, as if it wasn’t a big deal.

But it was a big deal. No one had ever invited her to meet their family before. No one had ever seen her as someone worth bringing home. Too conscious of her own lack of family.

“No pressure,” you added quickly, though your eyes softened in that way that made her heart ache. “If you don’t want to, it’s okay. But I think she’d really like you.”

“I… I’d like that too,” Abby said at last, her voice almost too quiet to hear. “What should I bring?”

You smiled, stepping closer and gently tugging the towel from her hands to help dry her hair. “Just you, beautiful.”

Abby let out a shaky laugh at your cheeky grin, rolling her eyes to hide the way her cheeks blushed. “Flatterer.”

Dinner was warm in a way Abby hadn’t experienced in years. Your mom fussed over her like she’d known Abby forever, asking about her favorite foods and piling extra servings onto her plate.

It was strange and wonderful—this sense of care. Abby couldn’t remember the last time someone had made her feel this… domestic. Cared for. Hers died at a young age after all, she didn’t remember any kind of motherly care.

And when your mom pulled out the box of polaroids, Abby couldn’t stop laughing. Even as you protested in the background, trying to snatch the photos away, she soaked in every story your mom told—every glimpse of you as a child, every memory that shaped the person she was falling for more deeply than she thought possible.

3) The little things

Abby has always been independent. She prided herself on it—her ability to handle things, resolve problems, and shoulder her burdens without leaning on anyone. It wasn’t always easy, and yes, sometimes it felt lonely. But that loneliness was a price she was willing to pay. Dependence, to her, was a weakness, and she had no room for that.

But then you came along. And somehow, without even trying, you chipped away at her walls.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t about grand gestures, no flashy declarations. It was the little things—the quiet moments and unnoticed details—that left her feeling undone.

Like the time you took her gym towels, washed them, and neatly packed them back into her bag. She’d blinked in surprise, holding them in her hands, wondering how you’d known she’d forgotten. You hadn’t even mentioned it, just smiled when she realized.

Or the way, after a grueling patrol, she’d find a sticky note on her makeshift fridge. Your familiar handwriting scrawled something simple—a heart, her name, a quiet reminder to eat. Beside it, there was always a container of her favorite dish. She’d sit there and eat it, alone but feeling more cared for than she ever had before.

Then there were her hair ties. She’d spent half a morning cursing under her breath, looking for the ones that always seemed to vanish. When you finally spoke up, you’d said, “I put them in the little box on your nightstand so you don’t keep loosing them.”

And at times, when she didn’t really have it in her to face the morning, you gently encouraged her to push forward. You’d quietly ask if you could braid her hair. Abby usually was adamant to let anyone touch it, but there was something about the way your delicate hands moved through her hair that left her in a trance.

Your fingers worked carefully, threading through her scalp with a tenderness that eased the weight she carried. She found herself humming softly as you worked, the tension in her shoulders melting away with each gentle stroke.

It was so small, so simple, but she’d stared at you for a moment, the words catching in her throat.

It amazed her how you always seemed to notice the things she needed before she did. You didn’t make a show of it, didn’t ask for thanks or praise. Taking care of her came as naturally to you as breathing.

Afterward, life seems all that brighter. Easier to breath, knowing that she could count on you.

4) Getting her vulnerability

The anniversary of her dad’s death was closing in like a shadow. Abby felt it in the air, in her nightmares, in the way her body refused to let her rest.

Night after night, she woke up shaking, clutching at her chest, and every time, you were there—soft whispers, steady hands, holding her like she wasn’t coming apart at the seams.

But she hated herself for it. Hated waking you, hated seeing the concern in your eyes, hated the thought of you realizing just how much of a mess she really was. People had left for less.

And maybe you would, too.

Many people, both lovers and friends, had been uncomfortable with the ghosts of her past—her dad, her losses, the weight she carried. They either tiptoed around it or distanced themselves when it became too much. She didn’t exactly blame them.

But you faced it with her. You didn’t try to fix her or tell her to “move on.” You just stayed, listened, and made her feel like she wasn’t broken.

You stood by her, with no pressure, no expectation, no need to “make her better.”

“You don’t always have to be the strong one,” you told her one night, after she tried so hard to stop her body from shaking after one particularly harsh dream.

It was something no one had ever said to her before, and it stuck with her. It gave her the strength to turn around and look at you while tears started down her cheeks, the darkness not managing to conceal them entirely. But it was alright.

You were there.

“Was it about your dad?” you whispered, not pushing but encouraging. Silence filled the space the question left.

“No.” She finally answered, her voice unsteady in a way that she loathed. “We…we were on a patrol, and when I came back everything was destroyed. Burned to the ground. And you were….” Her words stuck, her lower lip trembling ever so slightly. “You were gone. You were…g-god, you were—“

Almost immediately, you hugged her, cradling her head to your chest. You were soft and warm, the steady beating of your heart thumping under her ear. It was almost scary, how comfortable it was.

“I’m right here,” you murmured softly, your hand gently running through her hair. “Hear my heart. Focus on my breaths. We’re together, Abby. We’re okay.”

The words settled over her like a balm, though the ache in her chest didn’t fully ease. The images from her nightmare still lingered—haunting, visceral, unshakable. But your presence, your warmth, gave her something solid to cling to. A light in the darkness.

“I hate it,” she finally whispered, voice raw. “I hate that I can’t protect everyone. That everyone seems to just…go eventually. And that I can’t do anything about it.”

You pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, your eyes soft as you wiped away her tears. Your touch was gentle, your expression firm but kind.

“Abby, you don’t have to carry the world on your shoulders.”

She shook her head, her brow furrowing in frustration. “But what if I lose you? What if I can’t stop it?”

“You won’t lose me,” you said firmly, your hands cupping her face. “And even if the worst happens, it’s not because you failed. It’s because the world is cruel sometimes. But no matter what, I need you to know that you’re not alone in this.”

Her lips quivered, another tear slipping down her cheek, but she didn’t look away. For once, she let herself be seen—completely, raw and exposed.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time, Abs.” You patiently reminded. “It’s okay to let someone else carry the weight sometimes.”

You continued, your voice steady. “You have me.”

Abby let out a shuddering breath, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to truly let go. She melted into your embrace, burying her face in your neck as the last of her resistance crumbled.

You stayed like that, holding her through the quiet sobs, through the silence that followed. When she finally spoke again, her voice was soft, almost a whisper.

“Thank you,” she said. “For staying.”

You pressed a kiss to her temple, your hand still running soothingly through her hair. “Always,” you replied. “I’ll always stay, Abby.”

BONUS

+) Not minding her overprotective nature

Everyone knows Abby is a deeply loyal person. She wants her loved ones to be safe more than anything, and she is willing to do anything for them. That usually manifested as her being slightly overprotective at times.

With you, it happened more often than not. She would step in at the slightest sign of you having any issue. Usually, she did it through small gestures that were partly unconscious to her. Like knowing your schedule by heart and accompanying you to your room late at night with a secure hand on your lower back. Happily listening to your rambling while still keeping an eye out.

Watching over you in every room came naturally to her.

She was particularly tense when you, as the executive chef, asked for permission to assist in a supply run and gather some materials. Abby always insisted that you only go when she was available. She didn’t trust anyone else to keep you safe like she did.

The most dramatic displays of her protectiveness came when you were confronted by recruits making greedy demands.

“Back off,” she practically growled, appearing behind you like a shadow. The person usually stammered, probably not conscious of who your girlfriend was until her imposing frame stood threateningly in front of them.

Afterward, she turned to you, all the aggression melting away as she gave you soft eyes. “You good?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, I’m good.”

And you meant it—being with Abby made you feel safe in a way you never had before.

You weren’t exactly “on the frontlines” material. You arrived at the WLF when you were pretty young, and after going through everything, even the sight of a gun left you uneasy. So when Isaac saw your cooking abilities, he allowed you to stay at the base under the title of side-line cook. You eventually rose through the ranks, and that was that.

You preferred dealing with narcissistic soldiers over facing those vicious creatures. In a way, you grew accustomed to being pushed around, even though you knew how to defend yourself. But that all changed when you met Abby.

Standing at 5’9 and with a build that seemed crafted by the gods themselves, it was safe to say people left you alone after associating with her. So, even if you knew how to stand your ground, you enjoyed being protected by her.

You didn’t mind when she walked ahead of you during runs, her broad shoulders shielding you from any threat that could come your way. When she insisted on carrying the heavier bag or checking your gun a couple of times before leaving—just in case.

Not even when she glared at anyone who looked at you for more than five seconds in a way she deemed unacceptable.

You didn’t mind any of it because you knew it came from a strong sense of caring. That’s who she was. She cared deeply.

So, whenever she hovered near as you collected some herbs just a little outside the perimeter of the stadium (an area kept clear of infected), her eyes following your every move, you didn’t roll your eyes or brush her off. Instead, you smiled softly, glancing up at her as she leaned against a tree, arms crossed.

“You don’t have to watch me like a hawk, you know,” you teased lightly. “This is a pretty safe zone.”

She shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna keep an eye out.”

Setting the basket down, you stood and moved next to her, gently nudging her to sit. She understood your intentions—she always did—and with her back against the trunk of the tree, she made space for you to settle between her legs, resting against her.

“I know,” you said, leaning into her warmth. “And I appreciate it.”

Abby’s expression softened, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “You don’t think I’m… too much?”

“Not at all,” you said, glancing back at her and managing to place a soft kiss on the side of her jaw. “You make me feel safe. That’s never too much.”

She didn’t say anything, just looked at you with that quiet, steady gaze that always made you feel like you were the center of her world.

And when she reached out to embrace you, resting her head in the crook of your neck, her touch so gentle, you knew you wouldn’t trade her protectiveness for anything.

[waayoutofline]

[waayoutofline]

@lovinglynny is onto something👀…should i do it😈

🎀time traveler reader x knight abby🎀

I'm not writing this so feel free to steal the idea😽💗

(TAG ME IN IT THOUGH I WANNA READ THAT😼)

[waayoutofline]

Avoiding every mistletoe (Until I know It’s true love)

Marvel Masterlist

PROMPTS: Shy Natasha Romanoff and Lab Assitant!Reader

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Tags: Fluff, awkward and clumsy Nat, Tony's lab asistant reader, christmas fun! ( posting this during actual christmas), meddeling avengers, a sprinkle of hurt/comfort.

Summary —> Ever since Natasha met you, Tony's new brilliant assistant, she has been down bad. But her sudden lack of confidence around you banishes every hope for her to make a move. Christmas is around the corner, and the team knows about your superstitious nature. There seems to be a clear answer: Mistletoes.

WC: 5473

Warnings: Descriptions of making out, but not explicit sexual content.

***

November was in full swing at the Avengers Tower, which meant sophisticated red, green, and gold decorations adorned every surface, Christmas songs played on an endless loop through the speakers, and the unmistakable aroma of gingerbread wafted (somehow) through the air.

As was classic Tony Stark fashion, a lineup of extravagant holiday parties had already been scheduled and meticulously planned for execution. Natasha Romanoff though was already dreading it.

Hoping to avoid any unnecessary interaction, she quietly sneaked into the communal kitchen, intent on grabbing a couple of waffles Wanda had made earlier. But as soon as she stepped in, she felt the weight of several pairs of eyes on her back.

“Ah, Miss Romanoff, there you are!” Tony’s voice rang out, cheerful and full of purpose. He was already decked out in one of his newest suits—sharp, festive, and annoyingly ostentatious.

Sighing, Natasha turned around, realizing it was too late to make a run for it. She was greeted by the sight of her team sprawled across the couches and armchairs in the lounge, each of them absorbed in their own activity, but now casually watching Tony’s sudden commotion with mild interest.

“Morning,” Natasha grunted, reluctantly moving to join them, plate in hand.

“Just the person I was looking for!” Tony said, flashing a shit-eating grin as he patted the empty space beside him on the couch.

Instead of humoring him, Natasha settled herself on the fluffy rug in front of the coffee table, placing her plate down without a word.

“You are officially invited to the pre-Christmas party hosted by moi,” Tony declared dramatically.

“Tony, you literally held us hostage at one last week. I still have a hangover,” she deadpanned, recalling flashes of the chaos where even she had gone overboard with the alcohol, thanks to Sam Wilson’s stupid drinking games.

“Oh, come on! This one’s different. It’s intimate—just for us heroes and co,” Tony countered, undeterred. Then, leaning back smugly, he added, “I even got the space lady to come. How awesome is that?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Oh don’t be boring. Where’s the wild Natasha Romanoff we all love?” Tony teased, grinning as if to provoke her.

“Easy. She doesn’t exist,” Natasha replied flatly, cutting into her first waffle. She let out a satisfied hum at the sweet taste.

“These are amazing, Wanda,” she said, looking over at the young witch.

Wanda, sitting comfortably on a loveseat, smiled warmly at the compliment. “Thanks, Nat.”

“Is it a new recipe?” Natasha asked, curious.

“Yes, actually. I added a bit of cinnamon and—”

“Okay, okay!” Tony interrupted, baffled by the lack of attention he was receiving, looking bewildered between them two. “Let’s get back to the main thing here. Are you coming?”

At Natasha’s reluctant silence, Steve stepped in with a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Natasha. I’ll make sure he’s on his best behavior.”

“Ugh, boring—” Tony groaned, dragging the word out in sing-song. But under Steve’s hardened stare, he sighed in defeat. “Fine. It’ll be a cozy hangout. No traces of fun or whatever,” he relented, raising his hands in mock surrender.

Taking another bite of her waffles, she carfulkly took a sip of her coffe, trying to hide her smirk as she sees Tony waiting in anticipation fo her response. “Fine.”

Tony threw a punch onto the air, clapping in victory. “Carol is coming you said?”

He nodded proudly. “Yeah I managed to rope her and her little sidekick in. There is also the kid, Clint and his family…”

”Dont forget Strange.” Bruce, who just entered the living room reminded. Tony grumbled a bit at that. 

“Yeah, Houdini too. Scary lady and Patch eye…god were those hard to convince— Oh and my lab assistant too.” Nathasa choked at that.

”Assistant? She practically takes over your lab.” Bruce chuckled. 

Tony rolled his eyes, but there was no hint of malice. If anything, a spark of pride made his eyes a bit brighter. “Yeah well, I taught her well. Did you knowl that last week she-“

 Nathan’s brain disconnected at a scary speed after those words. Images of you hit her hard, and she could already start to feel her heart race a bit. 

Y/N Y/L/N was Tony Stark’s most recent lab and tech assistant, and to say he was impressed would be an understatement. After reviewing your résumé, Tony had practically declared you a godsend. You were one of the rare people who could keep up with his eccentricities, effortlessly managing the stream of tasks he threw your way. It didn’t take long for you to earn a permanent spot at the Avengers Tower.

Natasha remembered the first time she saw you as if it were yesterday. She had been on her way to ask Tony for a replacement for her gauntlets after a particularly rough mission. When she stepped into the lab, though, she was surprised to find someone else hunched over the workbench.

Frowning, Natasha set her hand on the fingerprint scanner, the door sliding open with a soft whoosh. At the sound, the stranger turned around, and Natasha froze in place.

For her, the world seemed to stop spinning, settling into an almost unnatural silence. You were… ethereal. 

In her life, Natasha had faced aliens, wizards, and even sentient robots. So how far-fetched was it to assume she was now standing face to face with an angel?

Even though you didn’t know her, a gentle smile settled on your lips, your gorgeous eyes peering at her with almost childlike curiosity. Natasha stood there, frozen in place, unable to move. It wasn’t until something shifted in the silence that she remembered to breathe again.

Startled, she realized she hadn’t moved from the doorway. The door had automatically closed where she stood, trapping her. Embarrassed, she quickly stepped forward, pushing herself to snap out of it.

And, of course, she had to stumble. The gauntlets she was holding slipped from her grip and fell to the floor with an unforgivable thud. Cringing, she immediately knelt down to retrieve them. What she didn't expect was for you to do the same, even if your movement were more calm. 

She flustered when she dared to look up, finding your own awaiting gaze. “Well, if they weren't broken before, they sure are now.” You joked with a smile, tone teasing but not judging. 

Blinking, Natasha started sputtering, not really knowing what to say. Or how. “Yes.” 

“Yes” is what her stupid brain decided to go for. Even thinking about it even now, her face scrunch with self embarrassment. What was even happening? Taking a breath, she redirected her eyes to the ground. Right, the gauntlets. They are broken. Need them fixed.

Finally standing up, she forced her body not to fidget. As if sensing this, you offered a hand to her. “Y/N Y/L/N, Mr.Starks new hire here in the lab.” 

Tentatively, she accepted the shake. Her mind hanging on how your hand seemed to fit into hers. “Natasha Romanoff. Um, avenger.” 

God what’s wrong with her? You giggle at that, and the sound is enough to get her out of her head. Of course that the sound is also beautiful. Was there anything about you that wasn’t? Why is she even think that?

 “I know. Pleasure to meet you, Ms.Romanoff. So…may I help you with those?” You ask, your hand still being held by hers. Noticing this, Natasha removed her grip as if you were burning. 

“Please.” She ended up saying, utterly embarrassed by her behaviour. Still, you gave no sense of judgment, only nodding and taking her over the workbench. 

She stayed with you all that evening. And most of the next ones after that. 

***

Her infatuation with you only seemed to grow since that first meeting, and the others quickly picked up on it. They saw it in the way Natasha—the most grounded person they knew—started sputtering and flustering whenever she talked to you. The unshakable confidence she was known for seemed to melt under the warmth of your sunshine smile and the twinkle of mischief in your eyes.

And as much as they insisted for her to make an actual move, Natasha refused. 

“Uh-oh, I know that look.” Wanda sang, like a high school girl teasing her friend in high school when they listened the name of their crush. Rolling her eyes, Natasha scoffed.

”There is no look.”

”Oh, but there is.” Clint, who was watching Sam and a struggling Bucky play Mortal Combat added, not even looking away from the screen. “Your pupils practically shape into hearts— likes a lovesick puppy. It’s almost painful to watch.

”Shut it Barton.” 

You were too good for her, Natasha decided on her own. You were like the sun, kind and warm, gentle in a way that it was entirely selfless. Natasha's life was one of dangers and precautions, she didn’t want to expose you to any of the threats that surrounded her lifestyle. 

Even if she ached to be close to you, call you her own. 

“Now it’s the time to make a move. Who knows? Maybe you will find each other under the mistletoe.” He adds with a wink.

Tony hummed. “Hm, that’s actually a good idea.” 

Her head whipped toward him. “Don’t even think about it, Stark. Besides, that’s a stupid tradition. How do you even know that Y/N would willingly kiss someone just because a stupid parasitic plant is above her?”

They all laughed at that.

“Our Y/N? Please. She practically had a mental breakdown when I broke a mirror in the lab the other day,” Tony quipped, grinning.

Wanda nodded in agreement, casually flipping through the pages of her book. “Yeah, once she made me search the entire tower for something made of wood to touch, just so I wouldn’t jinx the next mission after I mentioned a hypothetical worst-case scenario. Still don’t get that one.”

Natasha’s face went pale at that, remembering a conversation she’d once had with you. You had mentioned that, while you didn’t fully believe in superstitions yourself, your family did, and it had resulted in some strange and unshakable habits for you. “Better safe than sorry,” you had said with a shrug.

A cold sweat made her tremble slightly, worsening by all of a sudden interested and sneaky grins on her friends faces. 

Whatever, she still can not go.

***

She still had to go.

When you confirmed your attendance, you clapped excitedly, rambling about how fun it would be to spend your first Christmas together. You even brought it up when she bought you lunch—a frequent occurrence, since you often got so engrossed in your work that you forgot to eat. Natasha would be lying if she said your words didn’t tug relentlessly at her heart.

And so, there she was, surrounded by the thrumming chaos of an all-together gathering, overwhelming decorations, and overly festive arrangements at every turn. Anxiety prickled at her as she glanced toward the newly decorated attic. They couldn’t possibly have infested the entire place with mistletoe, right?

Wrong.

They were everywhere.

On every doorway, on the stairs, in the high columns and ceilings, even on top of the Christmas tree, scattered around—everywhere she looked, there it was. Mistletoe.

Trying to shake it off, Natasha focused her attention on the ground, her sharp gaze scanning for the culprit behind this festive ambush.

“Tony!” she half-yelled, her steps quick and deliberate as she marched toward the eccentric billionaire, who was in the middle of a conversation with Pepper.

His head whipped toward her, a flicker of fear flashing across his face before his usual smug smirk returned.

“Care to explain?” she demanded.

“Explain what, exactly? My fantastical abilities to host, or…?” he drawled, his tone dripping with amusement.

She glared furiously. “Aw, c’mon, don’t look so grumpy, Grinch! This is a time of tradition, joy—”

“And manipulation?” she interrupted through gritted teeth. “This is way too much.”

Despite her glare and the unmistakable edge in her voice, Tony remained unfazed. If anything, his amusement only grew. He glanced over her shoulder, his expression brightening as he perked up.

“Well, complaints are non-refundable. Sorry, it’s the new policy. If you’ll excuse me, Pepper needs me to sign some super high-confidence document, right, dear?”

Pepper frowned. “What are you talking ab—”

Before she could finish, Tony gently grabbed her hand and began steering her away, the two trailing off into the crowd.

Natasha was about to follow and press him further, but a voice behind her made her freeze.

“Nat, hey!”

She turned around, and suddenly, everything seemed to slow down for her. There you were, wearing a comfy red sweater, black jeans, and a pair of Mary Janes. Your hair, usually tied back for work, was flowing freely, framing your face. It was a simple, casual look, but Natasha felt her face heat up at the sight of you.

As you got closer, alarm bells blared in her mind. Her eyes darted upward, and her stomach dropped. One of those dreaded mistletoe clusters hung right above where you were heading.

Panicking, she practically sprinted toward you, desperate to avoid both of you standing under it. But she miscalculated her speed, and before she knew it, she was barrelling straight into you.

You let out a startled huff as her momentum almost knocked you over, but her quick reflexes kicked in, and she steadied you before you could stumble.

“Geez, Romanoff,” you joked, brushing yourself off as you smiled up at her. “We just saw each other this morning. Did you miss me that much?”

Your teasing tone and warm voice snapped her out of her panic, but the damage was done. Natasha’s heart was hammering in her chest, her senses overloaded as she became acutely aware of how close you were. The soft warmth of your body pressed lightly against hers, the delicate scent of cocoa beans, coconut, and something distinctly you filling the air around her.

Her cheeks burned as her mind scrambled for something—anything—to say as she looked down at you, mortified. Luckily for her, your attention diverged when someone from the staff (who even brings staff in closed up parties?) bough a chocolate fountain in a rolling chair. “No. Way.— I thought he was kidding!” 

And just like that you went off excitedly, a silhouette of dust being the only trace of you left. Sighing, Natasha brought her hand to her racing heart, trying to figure out a way to survive this evening. 

Her eyes opened again in determination, she was going to take off these damned things, starting with the one right on top of her. 

***

This task, however, grew increasingly difficult as the evening wore on. Between being roped into endless conversations, you constantly looking out for her (and her desperately trying to avoid you), and the absurd number of mistletoes everywhere, Natasha felt like she was fighting a losing battle. It was as if they were multiplying before her very eyes.

Her frustration peaked during a particularly embarrassing moment—one where, of course, you were the witness.

After listening to Peter and Kamala endlessly gossip about high school drama, Natasha had collapsed onto the sofa, her patience hanging by a thread. As her gaze wandered across the room, her eyes landed on the ceiling—and there it was. Another  mistletoe. This one was perched slightly higher than the others, hanging right above the beanbag chair where you often sat. Of course.

Those strategic bastards.

Taking advantage of everyone being distracted in the kitchen, she sprang into action. With no ladder in sight, she grabbed a nearby chair and carefully climbed onto it. Still too short to reach, she braced herself against the shelves, stretching precariously as she balanced. Every slight wobble of the chair made her heart lurch, but she pressed on, determined to remove the offending decoration before anyone noticed.

But of course, that was the moment you walked in, calling for her.

“Nat? Aren’t you hungry? I saved you some of those little pies you like so much—”

Your voice startled her, and she immediately looks down at you. Her grip slipped briefly, the chair wobbling dangerously beneath her.

“Y/N! Shit—” she hissed, her heart leaping into her throat. Scrambling to steady herself, she clung to the edge of the shelf and managed to avoid completely losing her balance. She froze, her cheeks heating as she realized you were staring at her, bewildered.

“What… are you doing?” you asked, the corners of your lips quirking up in confusion and slight amusement.

Blushing furiously, Natasha’s mind scrambled for a reasonable explanation. “Um… I was just… looking for Clint? You know how much he loves to hide up here.” she said with a nervous laugh, trying to sound nonchalant.

Before you could respond, someone brushed past you, momentarily breaking the tension.

It was Clint, holding a bottle of rosé wine, with the kids trailing behind him. “No alcohol until you’re 21,” he announced, his tone firm but playful.

“But I am 22!” Kate argued.

Clint snorted. “Sure you are.”

As they disappeared into the kitchen, you turned your attention back to Natasha. Arching an eyebrow, you crossed your arms, your curiosity clearly not satisfied.

“Oh, great! There he is!” Natasha blurted, clinging to her flimsy excuse. She waved awkwardly in Clint’s general direction, desperate to change the subject. “Let me just—”

But as she began stepping down, her foot slipped on the edge of the chair. She let out a startled gasp as she lost her footing entirely.

”Oh my- Natasha!”

***

She even tried to gain support in enemy territory.

“Steve!” she called out. The man looked over at her and clearly tried to sneak off, but it was too late. “Just how many are there?” she asked, her desperation evident. So far, she’d removed eight mistletoes and had endured three risky situations where she’d practically had to run away from you.

“Of what?” Steve replied, taking a sip of his drink, feigning ignorance.

Natasha huffed, crossing her arms. “Please, let’s skip the act. I know you also took part in this.”

Steve remained silent, his expression unreadable but gullible. Natasha sighed in exasperation. “Come on, Steve, you’re the most reasonable one out of all of them. Just tell me where the rest of the mistletoes are!”

She could see the guilt on his face—he was clearly uncomfortable. Steve Rogers wasn’t a man who lied easily. As he opened his mouth, clearly about to crack, Sam and Wanda swooped in.

“What are we talking about?” Sam asked with a goofy smile, casually draping his arm around Steve’s shoulders as if shielding him from her interrogation.

Natasha’s left eye twitched. “You know exactly what, Wilson.”

“Hmm, do I?” Sam teased, his grin widening.

Natasha ignored him, focusing on her second-best shot, since it was clear Steve wouldn’t be of much use now.

“Wanda,” she said, turning to the witch, “how many mistletoes are there?”

Wanda shrugged, playing innocent.

“If you tell me…,” Natasha added, her voice turning sly, “I’ll lend you those boots of mine you like so much.”

Wanda hesitated at that, her composure faltering slightly. “… The ones with the metal buckles?”

“The ones with the metal buckles.”

Wanda’s eyes glinted with temptation as she weighed her options. But after a brief internal debate, she furrowed her brow and firmly shook her head and crossed her arms. “No. We’re doing this for your own good, Natasha.”

Natasha laughed forcefully, her expression taut with frustration. “For my own good? I’m losing my sanity over here, Wands.” Her tone was sharp, but her forced smile remained plastered on her face.

Just then, a voice cut through the air, making Natasha freeze.

“Have you guys seen Natasha? I swear I just keep losing track of her today,” you said, your voice light-hearted as you spoke to Bruce and Tony.

The group perked up at your words, and Natasha’s head snapped toward the sound of your voice. There you were, standing across the room, looking as radiant as ever as you chatted with the two men.

As Tony and Bruce were about to point in her direction, Natasha didn’t waste another second—she quickly ducked behind the rolling chocolate fountain cart, slipping out of sight just in the nick of time.

***

It all came down to the climax of the party. Most of the children were asleep by now, and only the closest circle remained. Natasha was exhausted but relieved. She had finally managed to get rid of all the mistletoes, even if, in doing so, she had humiliated herself in ways she hadn’t thought possible.

Now, she could finally relax and hang out with you. Or at least, that’s what she thought. A wolf whistle and cheers erupted from her friends, who had formed a circle outside on the terrace. Curious, she approached, only to regret it immediately as she was squashed between Steve and Bucky.

Her face went pale as she saw the final mistletoe, hanging right above you and a smug Carol Danvers. In her frantic pursuit of avoiding standing under a mistletoe with you, someone else had managed to get there before her. This outcome was far worse, and dread filled her as she watched the scene unfold.

She couldn’t stand it. The way Carol got closer with bravado and you, with a smile (it was more polite and friendly than anything, but at that moment she didn’t see it like that), made her heart drop.

The world once again slowed down, but this time it was for her and you. And she just couldn’t stand it. Shattering the slow-motion moment, her mouth and body moved faster than her mind.

“Wait! You’re supposed to kiss under the mistletoe, not near it! I mean—look at that angle, it’s tilted and all wrong. Besides, is it me or are the leaves…wait, let me just scoot over here—” she muttered, pushing her way through the onlookers to get to the mistletoe. Everyone went quiet in surprise as she reached it and caressed the leaves. You just stared at her, but she seemed to pay no mind. “Ah, as I thought! These leaves are all dried. How about we replace it? Here, I know where we can find a suitable one. Will you come with me, Y/N?”

Without thinking, she took your hand and practically dragged you away, turning back toward the group. “We’ll be right back.”

Everyone remained quiet as they watched the two of you disappear.

***

“Here, let me just…” Natasha started, trying to find her card in her pockets. “Where did I—ah, here.”

With quick motions, she attempted to swipe the card to unlock her room. You stood behind her, watching her increasingly desperate attempts to open the door.

“Nat…” you started softly.

Chuckling awkwardly, she waited for the green light, but it still wasn’t processing for some reason. “These are so annoying. I keep insisting to Tony that he should just put in a code, but he doesn’t listen—”

“Nat.”

“Typical of him, I know. Let’s try again.” Waiting for the red light to turn off, she swiped again, and this time the light turned green. “There, finally.”

You tried calling her again, but she interrupted. “Sorry for the wait. There are some left in my room, let’s just pick one and…” She said, turning the handle and opening the door, knowing that all the stolen mistletoes were in the corner.

“Natasha!” You finally yelled, making her turn around with wild eyes. Uh oh, you almost  called her Natasha.

Your face held no negative feelings, only the patience you were known for. “Nat.” Slowly, you grabbed her trembling hand and got a bit closer. Your worry made her squirm.

“What’s going on?” you started softly, as if trying not to scare her. The consideration and gentleness in your voice made her almost burst into tears. “You’ve been behaving… strange this entire party. Running around all over the place… avoiding me.” You whispered the last words, clearly pained, and her heart shattered.

The last thing she wanted was to make you feel bad. “Did I do something wrong?”

Your question was so raw, your expression vulnerable, and Natasha wanted nothing more than to wrap you in her arms, kiss you gently, and reassure you that you didn’t—couldn’t—do anything to upset her. But she couldn’t, and the knowledge of it broke a little bit more.

“No, no, of course not. It’s just—” She started, her words getting stuck in her throat, unsure of how to put them together. “The others decided to put the place swarming with mistletoes.”

You looked at her in confusion. “Okay…why?”

Refusing eye contact, Natasha took a deep breath, her heart pounding so loudly that she thought you could hear it. Without dropping your hand, she stepped a little closer, her legs slightly trembling. She figured the best thing to do was to just say it and get it over with. She had already been making a fool of herself the entire day. But saying it was harder than she thought it would be. The fear of rejection was suffocating her.

“Because…” Finally daring to look at you, her neck reddening all up to the point of her ears, being suddenly conscious of the warmth radiating. “Because they know how serious you are about superstitions. And that if we got caught under one, then I… then I would finally dare to kiss you.”

The admission came as a whisper, shame and embarrassment hitting her like never before. It was as if she was going to combust from the inside. A pause hung between the two of you, each second of it feeling like a stab straight to her chest.

She couldn’t even begin to imagine losing you. You had become so close this year, and to think that just a couple of silly words could ruin everything was killing her. Her eyes closed tightly, waiting for the worst—a rejection, disgust, or just pity. Any of these would shatter her.

But it never came. Instead, she felt warmth—a gentle caress on her cheek, you softly urging her to open her eyes and look at you. Your face was far from the rejecting one that Natasha’s brain had conjured. Instead, it was a reassuring one, with a bright smile like the one you first gave her the day you met, your eyes soft and bright under the lights.

She blinked, as if the soft touch had pulled her back from her darkest places. Her heart seemed to stop, no longer beating out of fear but for hope. Because as she studied you, she saw nothing but kindness and happiness.

“You… you’re not upset?” she asked, as if it were too good to be true.

Your smile widened, laughing softly under your breath at her surprise. “Nat, how could I ever be upset? I—” This time it was you who searched for the right words, your cheeks flushed with a lovely rosy color that Natasha couldn’t help but find fascinating. “How could I, when I’ve been waiting for you to do this for quite some time?”

Your admission hung in the air, like a symphony. Natasha could feel the weight of the world lift from her shoulders. “You have?”

“Of course I have.” You confessed, as if the question were ridiculous to even ask. “You’ve been everything my heart has been yearning for, Natasha.”

Natasha sure wasn’t a poet, but right now she was seeing the world as one. The way in which your words embraced her, your slightly dilated eyes looking at her as if she was the only one on your mind.

Was this what the others saw? The look she has been too oblivious to see?

She wanted to hit her head in frustration, all the time wasted because of her doubts. But she was free of them now, having you as her savior.

Getting closer, she dared to pull you closer by your waist, marveling at how it felt in tandem with her movements, as if you two had done this a thousand times before, in different lives, before this one.

“So… you’re telling me I made that champagne pyramid fall all over Fury for nothing?” she asked, as if it were a secret.

You laughed loudly at that, remembering the moment when Natasha stumbled all over the table later on in the evening. Everything seemed to make sense now.

“You know…” you started, the laughter dying down as you softly tucked a piece of Natasha’s hair behind her ear, your touch lingering on her jaw. “For someone so intelligent and charismatic, you sure are clumsy at times.”

Natasha huffed, rolling her eyes with an affectionate smile. “Only because you…” she started, but caught herself, her eyes slightly widening.

You arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Only because of that? Do I make you nervous, Romanoff?” You grinned, adoring the way she seemed lost for words.

Sputtering, she tried to defend herself, but someone beat her to it.

“Very much so!” Tony yelled.

Your eyes snapped toward him, only to see the team huddled up behind the corner.

You snickered, Natasha flustered. “What are you…? Go away!” She hesitated.

Tony smirked. “Not so fast, Romanoff! You have to kiss.”

Confused, she followed his hand motion, only to see a mistletoe floating with surrounding red magic.

“Damn it, Wanda…” she muttered, but you just laughed at your friend’s antics, hiding your face in her shoulder.

Natasha’s attention shifted back to you, her smile filled with adoration. Finally, you peered up at her.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to…” she started shyly, not wanting to pressure you into doing anything. But you only got closer to her.

“I don’t know, I think you do owe me a kiss,” you replied with a grin. “You know, to balance the universe.”

“Yeah…” she muttered, eyes lowering. “To balance the universe.” She reaffirmed, leaning down. But before her lips touched yours, she gripped you and dragged you both into her room, slamming the door shut. She ignored the muffled complaints heard from the hallway as she pinned you against it, wanting to have you all to herself.

Connecting her eyes with yours, she searched for any trace of doubt, but found nothing but darkened irises. Hesitation left her once and for all as she leaned in, her lips meeting yours. She sighed, and everything else seemed to fade into the distance.

The kiss was slow at first, gentle and tentative, giving you both time to discover each other. But the passion, held back for so long by insecurities and “what ifs,” broke free like a dam, intensifying everything tenfold. Her hand gripped your waist slightly harder, while one of your hands trailed up to her hair, tugging it just enough to make her shudder. Urgently, she pulled you even closer, as if afraid you might disappear.

Her breath quickened as she felt your body pressed against hers. The kiss deepened, turning frantic with all the pent-up desire. Suddenly, you tugged at her bottom lip, almost provocatively, as you looked up at her through your eyelashes. Natasha groaned, her heart racing. It was like seeing a whole new side of you, and she just couldn’t get enough.

Licking into your mouth, she hummed as your knees seemed to buckle, holding your hips to make sure you didn't fall.  No, you weren’t going anywhere. Not when she finally had you in her arms.

You could feel the tension in her body as you traced her shoulders and back, her muscles tensing with every movement. It was as if she couldn’t get enough of you, kissing you—consuming you with everything she had.

It left you breathless. If anything, air became the only obstacle, the only force capable of separating you. Both gasping for breath, you didn’t dare to say anything for a moment, just taking in the overwhelming sensation of being so close, so lost in each other. 

“You know, technically…” you started slowly, a playful smirk on your lips. “Technically, you interrupted my kiss with Carol before.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, her grip on you tightened, a small growl escaping her at the thought of anyone else getting the chance to do what you had just done. But you quickly calmed her, softly cupping the side of her face. “So, you owe me another kiss.”

She looked at you with darkened eyes, a mix of desire and challenge in her gaze. “I guess you’re right… We wouldn’t want to have bad luck.”

“Of course not,” you repeated, your lips brushing against hers as you gently guided her closer. “You know how superstitious I am.”

“Yes, I do,” she whispered, a teasing smile crossing her face as she closed the distance.

[waayoutofline]

Murder On The Dance Floor (part 5)

(from the When the Cat and the Mouse Go For a Midnight Dance series) | Part 1 | Part 2| Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Marvel Masterlist

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Prompt: Vigilante!Reader x Agent!Natasha

Summary: Natasha isn’t having the best of luck in trying to bring one of the ex Hydras general down. You however may be able to assist her. Will you two be able to cooperate? Or is it your fate to always stand on opposite teams?

Warnings: More angst (i'm sorry)

WORD COUNT: 2978

A / N: Me posting without a two-week gap?? Whaaaat?? I'm fine, don't worry. I was hit by the divinity of inspiration and got ahead of my messy schedule. So here's ep5! I must say, I'm proud of this one. I'm still trying to figure out their whole dynamic complexity, but I think this is a right step on their journey! Anyway, I've already started on the last episode, which I'll probably publish this Sunday tops. Yes, last one, I swear!

Also..! Natasha in this universe, like in the comics, has (a variant) super soldier serum.

Thanks for reading and have a great day <3

**

If anyone knew Natasha’s fighting skill, it was definitely you. After years of being on opposing sides of heroism—her leaning more toward the ethical path, while you were focused on taking down bad people without the pesky limitations of the law—the two of you had shared your fair share of nasty, brutal fights.

You were all too familiar with her enhanced strength and reflexes, the evidence of her unforgiving grip often leaving lasting marks and ugly bruises. It reminded you of the arachnid symbols she always carried. Her movements were swift and relentless, trapping you like an unknowing prey with complicated manoeuvres that left you immobilized long enough for her to inflict serious damage.

Her toned arms and legs weren’t just for show; they were clearly the result of delivering powerful strikes and breathless chokeholds. She had the intelligence, strength, and agility to take anyone down—of that, you were always certain.

But right now, watching her take down guard after guard, there’s a new aspect that leaves your eyes widening. She wasn’t just dangerous; she was brutal.

Her technique was clearly superior, and she applied it with unforgiving force. You even felt a pang of pity for them. It was like witnessing an entirely new side of her as the sounds of bodies hitting the ground with resounding thuds, grunts, and yelps filled the dark, empty alley—a twisted symphony of chaos.

Something stirred inside you. You recognized her moves, but not this… aggressiveness. For as much as the two of you had fought, she had never been this violent in her style. She moved like a machine programmed for maximum efficiency, eliminating her targets with practically clinical precision. 

It was then that you realized. Your fights felt almost like child’s play compared to this.

That stirring in your chest quickly transformed into boiling anger. Has she been holding back during your fights? The mere sight of seeing her like this was now making your blood simmer. To even consider the possibility that she had always been holding back like this was infuriating. You had always believed the two of you were evenly matched, but now that belief was being shattered—just like the jaws of Horvat’s men.

You had always given her your best. But was she not giving you hers? Had she been playing with you all this time? Did she see you so…so weak that you weren’t even worth her full effort? The thought alone was enough to ignite your fury.

It was humiliating.

If you were asked about it later, you might admit that your next course of action could be perceived as… well, nothing short of pity. But the indignation was so overwhelming that you couldn’t even think straight. It was too much—so raw that it prickled at your eyes, manifesting as a wave of ashamed embarrassment.

As Natasha effortlessly dealt with the guards on her own, you slipped into the shadows. Perhaps the darkness could help soothe the ugly resentment crawling up your throat.

You had been a team player all evening, but now, under the light of the moon, you were back to your solitary game. And in this game, Horvat was the one you were going to hunt. Untethering yourself from the limitations imposed by the heroes, you swiftly made your way to the emergency lift on the side of the flat building next to you.

Rising through the levels, you were granted a panoramic view of the district, your eyes scanning intently for Horvat’s getaway car. Retrieving the tech-enhanced glasses from your trousers pocket, you adjusted them and searched for the dark blue sedan. It didn’t take long to spot it.

Sighing, you focused your magic. With a wave of your arm, you conjured ice, forming a crystalline path strong enough to carry you. You modified the soles of your shoes to adapt, gaining incredible speed as you skied across the continuously growing trail of ice. The path allowed you to glide effortlessly over buildings and bypass entire streets, cutting directly toward Horvat’s moving vehicle.

It may have looked effortless, but each time you created a new solid ice structure, a sharp headache pierced your skull. Your chest heaved as you struggled to maintain the pace, each breath growing more laboured.

These…abilities weren’t exactly something you had mastered. In fact, you hadn’t used them enough to build a solid foundation of control. Years of torture and clinical experimentation designed to force you to have and use them had left their mark. The trauma lingered, resurfacing every time you dared wield them.

They were additionally deeply tied to your emotions, making them volatile at best. And on a night like this, after everything that had happened with Natasha, they felt even more unstable.

You were also aware of SHIELD’s persistent interest in capturing you because of them, likely to place you under custody. After all, SHIELD didn’t take kindly to superhuman abilities existing outside their jurisdiction. That thought alone fuelled your defiance. You hadn’t escaped one controlling organization just to fall under the grip of another. No, this time, you were playing solo—defying every group that claimed to do “good” while operating under their own brand of morality.

And right now, as you practically flew across the New York night, the feeling of freedom was exhilarating. Besides, the end of the chase would be that much sweeter. Your mind was reeling with the thought of finally catching the bastard, of making him talk.

After weaving through a few more blocks, you finally found yourself right behind the car. The driver was clearly aware of your presence, speeding up through traffic in a desperate attempt to escape. But you weren’t going to let him get away. Propelling yourself forward with icy air, you surged after them. You were so focused—so consumed with the goal of getting your hands on that car—that you didn’t hear the familiar hum of an airy engine trailing behind you.

Leaping into the air, you were about to launch yourself forward again when something barrelled into you from the side, slamming you off course and throwing you away from the street. Using the last of your strength, you managed to create a messy aspheric ice barrier around you, stopping yourself from crashing directly into the display window of a shop.

Your lungs burned as you lay there, the harsh motion having knocked the air clean out of you. Your limbs ached from the rough landing, muscles that you didn’t even know you had burning.

Trying to shake off the terrible disorientation that slamming through a window could cause, you didn’t feel the sharp glass shards or the solid concrete beneath you. No, you were pressed against something warm and soft, the faint scent of sand wool and forest causing your eyebrows to furrow. And since when did the ground breathe… wait… breathe?

Startled, you pulled yourself slightly upright, only to be greeted by red hair and half opened green eyes. Of course, you were sure she would be one of the few people in the world daring enough to tackle you in mid-air.

However, your confusion quickly turned into something else when you saw the predicament of your position. She had clearly shielded your head from making contact with the ground, turning both of your bodies so that hers was between you and the floor. Her arms remained firmly around your waist, clearly having adjusted her grip from the initial takedown to ensure you both survived the impact.

“Well,” she muttered, her voice dry but strained, “that went well.”

The protective nature of the action turned your confusion into fury. “Let go of me,” you managed to mutter through gritted teeth. Natasha, still recovering, scrunched her face in confusion but didn’t move. “Let go of me,” you repeated, harsher and more impatient. Her touch, her smell, her mere presence felt suffocating.

“Wh-what… hold on, wait—” She started muttering, trying to make sense of your sudden struggle to get away. She seemed to come to her senses when you began to push harder against her chest, trying to create some distance between you. Ugh, stupid super soldier serum.

She must have thought your desperation was to get back to chasing Horvat. But at that moment, the ex-Hydra general was the last thing on your mind.

You two started wrestling in a way that felt more like a pathetic high school fight. The humiliation you had felt before doubled as you struggled to break free.

“Get off!” You almost screeched in desperation, making the agent startle as she managed to pin you down. She had never seen you like this—desperate and so… out of control. You were worlds away from the mischievous vigilante who always got under her skin.

“Okay! Okay, just… stop! Stop, stay down.” With those words, your fight seemed to disappear all at once, your body going limp. This only made Natasha worry even more as she slowly loosened her grip and moved off of you.

She remained tense, half-expecting you to bolt. But you stayed there, trying to catch your breath. She would be lying if she said that didn’t worry her even more. The worst part? You went quiet. No remarks, no snark—just silence, alongside the sounds of gunshots, alarms, and the street’s chaotic noise.

She opened her mouth to ask if you were okay, but closed it. Right now, this wasn’t the time for that. “What were you thinking?” she demanded, finally standing up. “We’re on a mission; you can’t just take off like that—”

“Well, you didn’t seem like you needed my help,” you scoffed, grunting at the pain of your abdomen when you incorporated slowly.

“So you decided to go off the grid?” Frustration built up in her voice, her tone condescending. As if you two were partners. 

That was far from the truth, and she seemed to have forgotten it. “See, this attitude of yours is what pisses me off. Doing whatever you want, whenever you want—consequences be damned, as long as you get your way!”

Standing up as fast as you could, you faced her defensively. “I’m not one of your incompetent low ranked subordinates that you boss around. And yes, while you were putting Horvat’s men to an early grave, I decided to chase after Horvat, who, by the way…” You laughed in fake amusement. “Is getting away as we chat. You just couldn’t stand that it was me who was about to finally catch him, could you?”

Natasha’s eyes widened at the accusation. “What are you even talking about? Do you see this as some kind of sick competition? Have you looked outside?”

Confusion crossed your face. Shaking off the remaining crystals and dust, Natasha started walking away from the now-destroyed shop, gesturing for you to follow her. Reluctantly, you swallowed your anger and fell in behind her. When getting out, your eyes widened. Traces of ice were covering the street, no doubt being left behind your trace. Some of them took the shape of sharp shards that were encrusted on the pavement, alongside swerved cars with frozen bumpers. 

You didn’t even notice.

An ugly feeling made you swallow as you saw a family getting out of a partly smashed car, the tires completely covered in ice. “I… I didn’t—”

You stared helplessly, afraid of what could have happened because of your fault. “It was an accident… it-it wasn’t— fuck.” You turned around, closing your eyes while trying to regain some sense of control.

You did that. You lost control. And someone got hurt because of it. Again.

“…I guess I get it now. Why are you holding yourself back.” Letting out a single cackle, your eyes trailed down to your hands as if they weren’t your own. They are still terrible cold.

“I’m not following,” the agent confessed. There it was again, that ugly sense of incompetence hitting you square on your ego. You turned around aggressively; the least she could do was say it to your face.

“Please. This just been an annoying game for you? Hasn’t it?” You finally exclaimed, hoping your eyes weren’t betraying the humiliation you felt. “We’re supposed to be enemies, Natalia. We fight, we… I thought you at least respected that.”

Her eyes widened ever so slightly. “But all this time, you haven’t given me your true potential. In each encounter we’ve had, I’ve had the decency to at least outdo you. Am I so god-damn weak to you that you have to pull back in such a way?”

Finally, she seemed to understand what you were trying to say, and her reaction was anything but subdued. She took a few angry steps closer, her presence suffocating and electrifying all at once. “Are you telling me this tantrum has been all because I didn’t treat you like some Horvat soldier?”

You remained quiet, giving her an answer she clearly didn’t like. “If it weren’t for me, you’d probably be in the RAFT by now. Is that what you want?”

Your jaw dropped at her audacity, as if, all of a sudden, she could have caught you from the very first day you opposed her. “So what? Are you telling me I should thank you for that? Please.” You laughed, “You haven’t even come close. If you could have caught me all this time, then why haven’t you?” You snapped.

Clenching her jaw, she stopped until she was face-to-face with you. You could feel her usual controlled storm turning into a wild hurricane. You didn’t back down. “If I haven’t brought out all of SHIELD’s operatives and the rest of the Avengers to take you down, it’s because of this.”

You didn’t even have time to react as her hand reached for your face, slightly flinching as she deliberately took her time, her movements measured and slow. Your eyes widened just a little as her soft fingertips brushed away the betraying tears sliding down your cheeks, catching one and wiping it away.

“Because despite all this ‘I don’t give a damn’ attitude of yours, you do. I can feel your pain, your regret over hurting the innocents you’re trying to protect… your self-hatred,” she said, her voice steady, but it carried a weight that almost made it seem like those feelings were affecting her too.

She paused, trying to choose her next words carefully. “Even if your methods are over-the-line insane, underneath it all, there’s someone who genuinely wants to do good. Even if the only way you know how is by going to a dark place that consumes you every single time.”

Her hand trailed down until she gently pushed your chest with a single finger. “The only reason I haven’t caught you by now—besides the fact that you’re frighteningly cunning and intelligent, and somehow manage to get under my skin or read me like a book…” She trailed off, her voice lowering, her eyes dropping. The slight praise made your heart flutter. You almost immediately hated it.

You didn’t dare to breathe as she tried to find her words. 

“It’s because I believe you can be so much more,” she finished quietly. 

When her gaze meets yours again, this time is softer, as if returning from somewhere. “I was like you once. Someone was supposed to stop me for good, too. But they made a different call.” The resolve in her voice is unmistakable. “Now, I’m the one making that call.”

For a moment that seemed to stretch on in the distance, neither of you dared to move. Her words seem to echo though the air, manifesting again and again in your head. You wanted to say something, anything. But what were you supposed to answer?

She was clearly giving you a white flag, a truce. But accepting would change everything. And you didn’t know if you were ready for that. Clenching your hands against your sides, you couldn’t stand the shimmering hope reflecting on the dark pools of sea foam. 

“I am not meant to be a hero, Nat.” You answered delicately, feeling like you owned her at least. 

Natasha didn’t flinch. Instead, she stood there, her silence louder than anything she could have said. You braced yourself, praying that she didn't make this more difficult than it was supposed to be.

But before she could speak, static crackled from her comms.

“We got him,” Yelena’s voice cut through the tension. “Horvat is in custody, Natasha. It’s done.”

Natasha’s shoulders went down, just slightly. You could see the shift in her expression—relief, professionalism. Her hand moved up to press her earpiece, her sharp green eyes still locked onto you.

“…Understood,” she replied, her tone steady but clipped. For a moment, it was as she answered both of you. You didn't say anything as she finally stepped back, the silence defining. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “When I was chasing you I installed a tracker on his car, my unit did the rest.”

You wanted to laugh because, of course, despite everything that happened her multitasking was unmatched. She started to walk away but paused when you didn’t immediately follow. You just stood there, watching, wondering how she always managed to build a wall between her emotions and professionalism. As if she hadn’t just disrupted your entire chemical balance mere seconds ago.

“Are you coming?” she asked, her tone casual, as though the weight of her earlier words hadn’t just cracked something open inside you.

Your reluctance was answer enough.

“The truce will stand, even in SHIELD’s jurisdiction, I promise,” she added, her voice firm but not unkind. “Besides, we’re processing him to a secondary location first.”

Normally, you’d call bullshit. You knew how much SHIELD hated your vigilante methods—how relentless they were in their attempts to bring you in. And yet, despite all of that, you found yourself taking a step forward, then another, until you were following Natasha.

[waayoutofline]

Murder On The Dance Floor (part 4)

(from the When the Cat and the Mouse Go For a Midnight Dance series) | Part 1 | Part 2| Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Marvel Masterlist

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Prompt: Vigilante!Reader x Agent!Natasha

Summary: Natasha isn’t having the best of luck in trying to bring one of the ex Hydras general down. You however may be able to assist her. Will you two be able to cooperate? Or is it your fate to always stand on opposite teams?

Warnings: Angst

WORD COUNT: 2560

A / N: I'm sorry for being so late with this update, uni is beating the shit out of me :´) I had a bit of difficulty in trying to piece the last parts of this sorry, as I didn't expect for it to be longer than three eps-- oops. However, we are near the end! I'll do my best to try to post the next part by next weekend :) Thanks for reading and have a nice day <3

***

It wasn't complicated with white, rich, narcissistic men. You could see it in the way their eyes draped over you—a glint of overconfidence merging with a sick sense of entitlement. It never failed to make your stomach churn in disgust.

You had once been under the control of disgustingly self-assured men like Ashford. Treated as a mere object designed for their sick interests. Still, overpowering them with their own foolishness came naturally, and a part of you found joy in trapping them.

It thrilled you, especially to see their terrified expressions morph into desperation just before their downfall.

But that familiar thrill didn’t come this time. Instead, a pressure on your chest weighed you down, an unfamiliar sensation that made your stomach twist uncomfortably. The exchange with Natasha had shaken you. It’s ridiculous, you thought. Since when did you feel bad for doing what you did best?

“I couldn’t help but notice your eyes back there,” you started, carefully positioning yourself in a way that exuded naivety. Your arms rested delicately in front of you, drawing his gaze to your exposed skin. You mentally huffed at his complete lack of subtlety in ogling you. “Is everything alright?”

Your voice was remarkably soft, contrasting with the heavy bass vibrating through the air. Each word was pronounced slowly, deliberately, with a hint of a slur as though you’d had one too many drinks.

“Oh, nothing bad, I assure you.” He replied, his grin oozing overbearing confidence. But that’s exactly how you preferred it—unsuspecting and malleable. “Quite the contrary.”

You giggled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m glad. I actually was…” You paused with overdone hesitance, fingers fiddling nervously with the edge of the tablecloth. “Never mind, I—”

“What is it, darling?” he interrupted, leaning forward as though entranced by your feigned shyness.

As if baffled by his encouragement, you stammered. “No, I… It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

His greyish eyebrows shot up, his body leaning closer, practically dangling on the hook you’d set for him. Got him. “Well, you’ve come so far. Might as well say it.”

“…Well, if you insist. I um fear I made a few mistakes when I felt your eyes on me. I just couldn’t help it! I’m such an admirer of yours.” you finally spat out, letting your expression shift into that of a star-struck teenager meeting their idol for the first time.

“An admirer, you say?” he teased further.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, instead nodding shyly and lowering your gaze in mock embarrassment.

“Yes, Mr. Ashford. Your reputation precedes you. I may or may not have gone to some of your… um…” You paused, letting the silence stretch just enough to make his eagerness blatantly obvious. You cut the distance slightly while looking around a bit. “Clubs. Just to see if I could catch a glimpse of you there.”

Your voice dropped lower as you spoke, but he still caught every word. You saw it in the way his grin widened, his ego practically swelling before your eyes. His expression darkened slightly when you mentioned his extracurricular activities.

“I appreciate a young woman like you taking an interest in my… enterprises,” he said, his tone thick with self-satisfaction. “But tell me, what do you expect to gain from this conversation, girl?”

He spat the last word as if asserting his dominance, but you didn’t flinch. Instead, you paused, biting your lip in what appeared to be reluctance. Letting him think he was in control of this interaction would ensure that you’d get exactly what you wanted.

“I don’t want to come off as too forward, but… I was wondering if maybe…” Your hand moved closer to his sleeve, your fingertips just barely grazing his wrist. Your fingers twitched, as if you were anxious to tug at his sleeve. “You could help me. You’re a man of experience. The guys my age just don’t… command attention the way you do. I could always learn from that. If you’d agree, you could give me my first—” You paused deliberately, smirking as you looked up at him through your lashes. “Lesson, after this?”

He chuckled, his grin widening, his eyes darkening with a twisted kind of amusement. “Ah, I do admire your boldness. But I hope you understand that if we were to have these… lessons, they’d require a certain level of discretion. And, well, closeness.”

He reached out, his hand catching your wrist. His grip was authoritative, disgustingly possessive, as though he already thought of you as his property.

“Let’s do this,” he said, his voice low. “How about you keep dancing with that little friend of yours for now, hmm? I’ll be attending the VIP party after this. Who knows…” He leaned closer, his grin widening. “Perhaps we’ll see each other there.”

You forced a bashful smile, nodding demurely as if flattered by his attention. Inside, you were seething, but you let none of it show.

“Oh, I’d love that,” you murmured, your tone soft and eager.

His grip on your wrist finally released, and you clenched your jaw to avoid pulling your hand away as if you had been burned. Smiling delicately on cue, you swiftly moved away, merging into the crowd. Your pulse quickened, but you tried to ignore the racing thoughts swirling in your head.

You would usually be more thrilled, knowing you had achieved your objective—a step closer to bringing down another disgusting individual for good. But the satisfaction was dampened by the heavy shadow of Natasha’s worried expression.

Funny. Usually, you would have felt euphoric at finally coaxing real emotion from her firm, steel demeanour. But this wasn’t as gratifying as you thought it would be.

Whatever this was—this ache enclosing your chest—it had to go away. You couldn’t afford to let it linger. After all, she depended on you.

The music resumed its usual rhythm, signalling that the final round was about to begin. Shaking off the nerves crawling over your skin like ants, you let out a sigh. But a presence behind you made it harder to settle yourself.

“Guess who just skyrocketed our chances to win.”  

Finally daring to turn around, you were met with her reluctant green eyes. She said nothing else, her silence cutting deeper than any snappy remark could. Flattening your smirk slightly, you accepted her offered hand and moved back into position.

The air swirled around you both, heavy with tension. Not your usual kind—the teasing dynamic you’d come to expect—but something sharper, almost suffocating. Trying to distract yourself from the unease, you focused on sneaking glances at Ashford over Natasha’s shoulder.

Even when he sent you a sly wink after speaking with Cole, the unrelenting heaviness didn’t lift. Natasha remained silent, offering no biting commentary or judgment. Her quietness made the unease sharper, more difficult to ignore.

But what her mouth didn’t say, her body did. Her movements were now sharp and constrained, a stark contrast to the almost goofy rhythm you’d shared earlier in the evening. Her expression was unreadable, her jaw set. Whatever flicker of worry or emotion she’d shown before had dissolved into a mask of cold professionalism.

“Natasha, I—” You started, the words clumsy and uncertain, unsure if you even should say something.

She cut you off before you could find your footing. “Let’s just get this over with,” she said finally, her voice not unkind but detached.

The words stung more than you wanted to admit. It's unfair, you thought. Ten minutes ago she was practically begging for you not to talk to him with utter worry in her eyes and now she was behaving as if none of that happen. If she didn’t want to care, then why dare to say nothing at all? Why mess with the dynamic you two had?

Fine. If she was playing this game, you decided, then you would too.

“The mission is the priority, right?”

You forced a smile, matching her tone.”Of course, Agent Romanoff.”

Her grip on your waist faltered slightly, her eyes lingering on yours for a brief second, but then she steadied herself, pulling you back into the flow of the dance.

After that, it didn’t take much. The last competitors, exhausted, crumbled under the pressure, their flashy styles dulled by fatigue. With Ashford’s support behind you, their disqualification came swiftly.

Honestly, you barely remember being called to the podium. The crowd clapped enthusiastically as Cole placed a tiara on your head and handed Natasha a large bouquet of flowers. A photographer called for a group photo, and you barely registered Ashford’s presence sneaking up beside you. The deliberate way he moved closer left no doubt about his intentions.

Your body tensed ever so slightly—a reaction you thought would go unnoticed. But this was Natasha, after all, and she wasn’t just anyone.

With a long stride, Natasha placed herself squarely between you and Ashford, leaving his eager hand grasping at nothing but air. Her body was as warm as ever as she pressed against your left side, her arm resting—almost protectively—on your shoulder. The sudden intimacy of the gesture stole your breath.

You could feel the heat radiating from her, the soft brush of her remaining perfume teasing your senses and making it nearly impossible to think of anything else. The weight of her arm was grounding, an unspoken claim that demanded attention without a single word.

It caught you completely off guard. Given her disapproval of your recent… choices, you’d assumed she would leave you to deal with Ashford on your own. But instead, she was here, firmly stepping in and ensuring the middle-aged man didn’t get any closer.

Some of the tightness in your chest loosened at her intervention, though the flutter of nerves in your stomach was an entirely different problem.

Shortly after, the dreaded VIP card was finally thrust into your hands—the culmination of the first part of the mission. At least it was over. You sighed softly, glancing toward Natasha.

Her eyes met yours for the briefest moment, something unreadable passing between you before she broke away. With a shared understanding, you both headed off in separate directions to change into something more casual.

The mission wasn’t over yet. There was still the after-party to survive.

***

“Got eyes on him,” Yelena muttered through both your comms, finally returning. You were confused by her disappearance, thinking that Natasha wouldn’t allow you to go unnoticed for even a moment. Still, you said nothing. “South entrance, on the balcony.”

Twirling your margarita, you subtly glanced in the direction. Hmph, for being so wanted, he sure was… rather disappointing to look at. His red hair was slicked back with what seemed like an entire bottle of hair gel, his eyes reddened (clearly affected by the unrelenting smoke surrounding him), his beard slightly unkempt, and his suit was overdone. He wasn’t very tall either—Natasha was easily a head taller than him.

So, he wasn’t the charismatic type of renowned criminal. You could work with that.

“Oh, I see him alright…” you answered, your mind already racing with all the tactics you’d need to make him talk. As if on cue, Natasha’s voice cut through.

“Raven, for the love of God, stand down. We must proceed carefully.” She reminded you, making you huff in annoyance.

“Yeah, I know, careful. Got it.I can be that” You swore you could feel Natasha arching brow rising at that. Still, you did managed to follow their plan. Rather boring if they asked you, but effective.

The two of you had to eliminate his guard team without causing any commotion, using Yelena’s assistance. Afterward, Yelena would cut all the electricity, and that’s when you would swoop in, distance him from the crowd, and take him into custody.

The first step wasn’t really complicated. Perhaps it was from the years of fighting alongside each other, but Natasha and you moved as fluidly as you did on the dance floor while incapacitating Horvat’s security team. One of you would divert attention, and the other would take someone down. It was almost like a dance of sorts, the two of you working in perfect tandem.

With a flick of your wrist, you spilled the drinks on the last two men at the bar, making them more susceptible to Natasha’s sneaky spider bite. You almost flinched when they were hit, remembering the sting of them too well. The two of you caught them just before they hit the ground, casually draping them over your shoulders as if they were just two random drunks who’d had too much to drink.

Natasha said nothing as you positioned them suggestively, one on top of the other. At her inquiring gaze, you just shrugged with a mischievous smile. “What? Look around! People are both making out and passing out.”

Before you knew it, the area had mostly cleared, which should make it easier to get to the former Hydra general without much resistance. It was almost going to good when the light and the music were shut down, Natasha slipping to Horvat’s side and pretending to be one of his guards to take him to “safety” in between the slightly panicked crowd. You meanwhile parted the way, opening one of the backdoor exits so the three of you could slip away though the stairs.

Maybe it was the exhaustion from dancing all night that caught you both off guard, or maybe it was the eerie silence in the absence of Yelena’s usual sarcastic commentary after she cut the electricity. Whatever the reason, neither of you expected to be ambushed by a full squad of heavily armed men just as you reached the exit.

The cold night air bit sharply as you and Natasha froze in place, her grip on Horvat reluctantly loosening. He laughed, unsteady and throaty.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize my own guards?” Horvat rasped, his almost unbearable, scratchy voice grating as he stepped into view. Glancing over his shoulder, he sneered, “It’s going to take more than this flimsy plan to take me down, Black Widow.”

You managed to hold back a scoff. Excuse him? You were here too!

“Dispose of them,” he barked, gesturing to his guards. Then, catching the rising guns next to him, he added, “Jesus, do it quietly you morons! The last thing I need is the entire Avengers team on my back. Just do enough damage to teach them a lesson.”

With that, he turned and was escorted away, leaving you and Natasha surrounded. Your eyes met hers, a mutual understanding passing between you as you positioned yourselves back-to-back almost immediately.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” you said, amused, as the guards advanced with electric gauntlets and other shiny gadgets. “Black Widow and Raven fighting side by side? Please.” You snickered, shifting into a defensive stance.

Natasha hummed in response, her tone cool but slightly teasing. “Just try to keep up.”

You smiled faintly as the familiar spark of your usual banter flickered back to life. Perhaps not everything was ruined after all.

“Oh, you’ve got it twisted, Widow,” you shot back with a smirk, echoing her words from earlier that evening. “You’ll be the one trying to keep up with me.”

It could have been the wind, but you swore you heard her chuckle.

Time for the second dance of the night. 

[waayoutofline]

Me: Alright, let's write a short series Brain: Sure! ...But I don't know, it seems a bit empty. Me: No, it's fine. It's supposed to be casual. Brain: I mean yeah sure, but what if we add this on the side? Me: I guess did always want to write about this prompt...-Aaand it's already +10k. Great. What now? Brain: Uuuh I don't know. It wasn't supposed to be this long. *proceeds to go into a writer's block* Me: Aaah, fu-...

[waayoutofline]

Murder On The Dance Floor (part 3)

(from the When the Cat and the Mouse Go For a Midnight Dance series) | Part 1 | Part 2| Part 3 | Part 4 | Marvel Masterlist

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Prompt: Vigilante!Reader x Agent!Natasha

Summary: Natasha isn’t having the best of luck in trying to bring one of the ex Hydras general down. You however may be able to assist her. Will you two be able to cooperate? Or is it your fate to always stand on opposite teams?

Warnings: Nothing too explicit. Just angst-

WORD COUNT: 3849

A / N: Helloo! So, this is a lengthy one. Remember when I said that this was a trilogy? Well, clearly not-There will be at least one more xd Thank you all for reading and interacting <3

***

When it came to Agent Natasha Romanoff, the word easy was never in your vocabulary. If anything, your dynamic was the opposite. Between the two — both so different, so stubborn and set in your own ways—peace never had a chance to take root.

But as you two glided onto the dance floor with a scary synchronization, an old ‘70s song playing softly, that elusive word was the only one that came close to describing the moment.

It was staggeringly, painfully easy.

The redhead took the lead almost instantly, with a grace and serenity that seemed worlds away from her usual strict persona. The lights cast errant glimmers of gold and silver over her, making her pale skin seem to glow. The faint scent of her perfume left a trace in the air that you couldn’t help to notice.

In these fleeting instances, the woman you’d been at odds with for years seemed subtly, strangely changed.

As if swaying to the beat, guiding you effortlessly through each step, was something she was born to do—like reuniting with an old friend from the past.

You might’ve been confident in your own skill, but you were briefly relieved that Natasha clearly knew what she was doing. If you hadn’t known her better, you might have mistaken her for any of the prestigious dancers here.

Struck by the unfamiliarity of the moment, you were startled back by the countdown of Ethan Cole.

“One, two, three, one!” With that, the music changed to a more upbeat song, and everyone sprung into action. 

With a firm grip on your waist, Natasha pulled you closer to her, her lips lightly gracing your ear. You could feel the warmth of her body contrasting against your usually chilled skin. 

”So, what now?” She blurts out, straight to the point. You create some just enough distance to blink up at her innocently. 

“Oh, whatever do you mean?” You asked sweetly. The redhead didn’t even blink as she stared you down with an unimpressed look.

”Please, we both know you're not planning on winning this with the honour of sportsmanship, so let's cut down the chase.” You couldn’t help but laugh at that. Oh, perhaps she did know you. 

“But that’s my favourite part!” You practically whined. 

She was right, of course. You weren’t stupid enough to let season veterans surpass you so easily. “You wound me, Natasha. I can play nice, y’know.” You defy, but she merely looks at you. 

“Perhaps. But you don't really want to, do you?” She mutters, lowly enough to almost get engulfed by the base notes of the song. But you hear it loud and clear, the words sending a pang of excitement which further increases as you see the tiniest of smiles graze her lips. “So, who is it going to be first? The Barbie and Ken you have been eying up since we first arrived? Or perhaps that one couple who just came out from a 70s disco ball special magazine? 

Your smirk went into a full-blown grin. ”Ah, perhaps some of my mischievousness has rubbed off on you.” You taunted defiantly. 

“You wish” She scoffed, now with a small smirk of her own. This was no different from your usual banter, but instead of the underlying aggressiveness, there was just harmless playfulness. It felt familiar but strange all the same. 

“Just…-“

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you interrupted, rolling your eyes with a playful huff. “Don’t worry. It’ll be a… bloodless murder on the dance floor. Just try not to kill the groove, and we’ll get that pass.”

Natasha arched an eyebrow at your quip, a glint of challenge in her eye. Before you could process it, she pulled you in close, spinning you around with a swift, practised move. In an instant, you found yourself pressed against her, her hand settling confidently on your hips.

Heat flushed your cheeks as her face leaned in close to your ear, her breath warm against your skin. You could practically feel the overconfidence radiate off of her when she whispered, “Oh you got it twisted Raven. You will be the one trying to keep up with me.”

You gulped, not really knowing how to react to this sudden shift in her attitude. No, you were the one who usually teased her, not the other way around. It was throwing you slightly off balance. 

After another beat, she spun you around again, bringing you face to face. You pray to the high heavens that she doesn’t notice the slight pink on your cheeks. 

As if on cue, a call of ‘The all together’ rang out. In the blink of an eye, the dancers fell into a line formation, their bodies synchronized, down to the stomps on the ground. Arms raised in a clap, performing a series of dramatic moves in perfect unison.

You seized the brief moment of distance from your peers to gather your thoughts. This wasn’t the time to lose focus. No, you were here for a reason. This time there was something higher at stake.

Natasha distracting you shouldn’t even be a factor! But ever since stepping onto the floor, it was as though she had done a complete 180 on you.

The intensity rose, some couples are already being disqualified, but there were still too many people left, you realized. Shaking your head, you took a deep breath. Concentrate, Raven.

Graciously, Natasha seemed to float above the air as she reached for you again. Once you two were together again, you scanned the other participants' positions, trying to find an opening.

A sigh escapes you, thinking how easy it could have all this been if Natasha didn’t force you to play nice. 

As the two of you engaged in some movements, you eyes landed on the various couples. Some were already moving with  impressive confidence, reaching cockiness. 

You cursed softly under your breath. This just barely started and you already have seen someone being spun through the air like a helicopter. 

But if they think they are going to get away with victory, you are going to prove them wrong.

”Move us to the right.” You mutter in her ear as she pulls you in close after yet another crossed movement. Surprisingly enough, the redhead complies, easily moving you around to where you desired. 

Rolling away, you “accidentally” flex your leg, just in the nick of time to make a woman trip and fall on her backside. 

There was a commotion as the girl’s partner stumbled, desperately trying to catch her up, but it was too late. One of the judges noticed the mistake and promptly disqualified the two. 

The girl, red-faced with fury and indignation, started throwing accusations in your direction, her words growing more frantic as she was pulled away by her partner—and eventually by Cole himself, who seemed to have none of it. Her protests were muffled by the booming call of the “All Together.”

Natasha stepped up beside you, gawking. 

“What?” you said, shrugging and refusing to look her way. “It got the job done, didn’t it?

Her lack of answer was enough for you.

Your attention shifted to an obnoxiously coordinated trio of men directly in front of you. You rolled your eyes, already setting your sights on them. Before you could make your move, Natasha’s hands found their way to your hips, effortlessly guiding your body to the rhythm. 

Her movements were fluid, her touch steady, and your coordination fell perfectly in line as though you two have been practising this for weeks. Was there anything she wasn’t good at? You asked yourself in a mix of confusion and subtle admiration. Not that you would ever confess the last one of course.

As she extended both your arms outward, her free hand brushed over your shoulder in a deliberate motion. Your breath hitched, your eyes fluttering slightly at the unexpected gentleness. You weren’t used to this—weren’t used to her like this.

“I know that glint,” she muttered near your ear, her voice knowing. “Got another victim in your sights, don’t you?”

You hummed in confirmation as you guided her with your eyes to the next person to sabotage, not trusting your voice to sound steady. Natasha caught on to your plan as you slipped from her grasp, gracefully executing a cross-body turn. 

She was quick to guide you back into rhythm as you swooped in, swiftly grabbing the thin strap of one of the competitors’ dresses. With a tug, the whole dress fell, pooling at the woman’s feet.

A gasp escaped the blonde as she scrambled to cover herself, fleeing in panic with her partner chasing after her.

“That was mean,” Natasha admonished, though the laugh she barely stifled betrayed her. The corners of her lips twitched upward, and for a moment, the guarded edge that so often was present in your exchanges softened under the shimmering light of the mirror ball.

“Oh? Is Agent Romanoff actually having fun?” you teased, unable to hide your delight at the rare shift in her demeanour.

Natasha huffed, but the faintest trace of a smile lingered on her lips, betraying her amusement.

It caught you off guard. The usual tension and harshness that defined your… relationship, seemed to dissolve in the glimmering light. For once, there was no mission, no stakes—just the two of you, sharing a laugh in a moment that felt painfully human. Having a nice, casual moment

A voice laughed mockingly in your head at that. 

This went on for a while to the point where even less people remained. The only issue was that the quality of them was also notoriously good.

Through the speakers, one judge announce a small break time. The competitors were expected to keep a bit of a groove going, but it was also a chance to grab some refreshments. It did give you an idea.

“If you’ll excuse me,” you said softly, stepping away from Natasha. Before she could ask what you were about to do, you managed to slip through the crowd, your movements fluid enough to blend in with the rhythm of the room.

Spotting the drinks table ahead, you made your way toward it, gliding with purpose. You glanced around, making sure the coast was clear, then discreetly twisted the hidden compartment on your ring, revealing a small amount of white powder. Just as you were about to mix it into the lemonade, a familiar presence stopped you.

Natasha.

This time, she succeeded in intercepting you, catching your wrist. Her grip was firm but not rough. 

“Raven—” She started, with doubt. It wasnt as accusatory as usual, but it had enough distrust.

“Natasha,” you interrupted, mimicking her tone, though the seriousness on her face made you falter slightly. 

The playfulness from earlier was briefly diminished, replaced with a slightly sharper gaze that meant business. 

Of course. You were briefly enchanted by your timed truce. Natasha’s trust in you still remained as fragile as always.

You sighed, deciding to drop the act. “Geez relax, I’m not poisoning anyone. It’s just laxatives,” you admitted with a chuckle. “Lame, I know, but effective.”

Her eyes narrowed as she studied you, searching for any sign of deceit. But you held her gaze steadily, unflinching. After a tense moment, she finally released your arm.  “Thank you,” you said while forcing a grin, stepping past her toward the table.

 You didn’t know why her distrust stung, it wasn’t like the two of you were friends.

“Now shoo—you’ll scare off the boys.” You winked with an overexaggerated enthusiastic expression before turning back to your task, feeling her eyes linger on you for a moment longer before she moved away. Quickly putting in the powder, you stirred the drinks, stood pretty and waited. 

Quickly enough, the trio of men from before approached you, each one wearing what they likely thought were “million-dollar” smiles. You greeted them warmly enough, keeping your expression as unassuming as possible.

“Hey there. Saved some drinks for us?” one asked cockily.

Feigning shyness, you nodded and held out the drinks.

“I’ve been watching you,” another added, his voice dripping with confidence. “Quite the pretty thing with some decent moves, aren’t ya?” His eyes gave you a once-over, and you fought the urge to roll your own. Oh, you’d been watching them too, alright.

You accepted the compliment with a small, bashful smile as they eagerly grabbed their drinks, clearly parched.

They didn’t hesitate, drinking quickly. It didn’t take long for discomfort to show on their faces. Their grins faltered, replaced by pained grimaces, and just as quickly as they had arrived, they were stumbling away, clutching their stomachs.

You finished your own drink with a satisfied grin, which you quickly replaced with one of feigned confusion.

However, your moment of triumph didn’t last long. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Montgomery’s sharp gaze locked onto you. 

You froze briefly, then scanned the dance floor for Natasha, only to realize that she had noticed too. When her eyes met yours across the room, an unspoken understanding seemed to pass between you.

Before you could process what was happening, Natasha moved swiftly. Taking advantage of the distraction caused by the participants crowding the drink table, she slipped out of sight, disappearing behind the curtains. A moment later, you caught a glimpse of her grabbing Montgomery—the older woman’s face twisting in surprise—before they both vanished from the floor entirely.

You blinked, momentarily stunned.

Huh. You didn’t think she had it in her to play along with your games. 

She soon enough came out of the shadows, moving towards you as if nothing happened, just in time for the dance to resume. Guiding you yet again to the dance floor, you couldn’t help but so sneaker. She huffs while moving to position. 

“That was reckless.” She comments. You shrug, hands returning to your rightful place. 

“What’s life without a little risk? Besides, now we only have two judges to care for.” She doesn’t look necessarily pleased with your justification, but relentless nonetheless. 

“Spin me around.”  You muttered, subtly patting your chest with your free hand. Always observant, Natasha caught the motion, her curiosity piqued as her eyes followed the movement. When she didn’t respond, you felt slightly put off.

“Natasha?” you called again, your tone playfully insistent.

When her gaze finally locked with yours, you seized the moment, winking with a knowing smirk and raising your eyebrow, questioning.

It could have been the rising temperature or the suffocating heat of the lights, but you were certain the blush that crept up to her ears was very real. Ah, got caught.

She was embarrassed, you realized. It felt a bit nice, seeing for once the imperfect and human person under the secretive superspy. Not that she would ever really show you willingly, you thought. 

Finally, she lifted both your arms with deliberate ease, guiding you into a smooth spin. With flawless timing, you used the momentum to grab the butter packet you snatched from the snack table, flicking it right under the heel of a currently spinning dancer.

Grinning with satisfaction, you watched as the pair stumbled when she slipped and lost their footing, resulting in yet another immediate disqualification.

This pattern continued throughout the night. Your personal favourite moment came when you managed to slip one of your lacy thongs into the pocket of an unsuspecting male dancer. The garment was just visible enough for his partner to spot it, her face twisting in fury before she slapped him hard across the cheek.

Hiding in Natasha’s arms, you parted away from her chest as if startled by the scene, gasping dramatically.

“Wasn’t that one too far?” Natasha murmured, her tone low, brushing past playful. “I think you just broke a relationship.”

You shrugged, your smirk teasing as you feigned innocence. “Hey, I paid the price,” you said with a light-hearted tone, but then your grin turned sharper, your eyes glinting with mischief. You leaned in as if to share a secret.  “I looked really, really good in those.”

Your voice dipped just enough to charge the air, and as you pulled back, you met Natasha’s gaze through your lashes, your head tilted ever so slightly in a challenge.

You didn’t miss the way her breath hitched. The mask of her usual composure faltered, her eyes darkening ever so slightly as her grip on your waist tightened. For a fraction of a second, you felt her fingers curl against you, her control slipping.

“Careful,” she said finally, her voice low and rough, almost a warning.

She knew what you were doing. You were using the same techniques that seemed to be engraved in you. The seductiveness, the calculated teasing. A mechanism. 

It was one thing that set her off, not knowing when the real you started or ended. 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m just practising.” This made Natasha’s eyebrows furrow, a characteristic wrinkle appearing right above her nose bridge when she was confused. You always noticed it because, well, it was probably the expression you made her feel the most.

“The slick brunette seems to hold Harper’s attention. I’m going to redirect it to me,” you said with confidence. But before you could head to the judge’s table, something tugged at you. 

Ugh, Natasha couldn’t seem to let you go. If it were any other circumstance, you’d be flattered, really.

You turned around again, fully expecting a judging look and a disapproving frown. Or even something you were all too familiar with in your life—people who looked at you as if you were a nuisance, always glancing down at you from above their shoulders.

But no, what you encountered was… worry. A strange, almost foreign expression in Natasha’s repertoire that she had reserved for you, and one you’d never seen directed at you. 

But there was no mistaking it. Her eyes seemed to glimmer, her lips tugging downward in clear displeasure. Her mouth opened slightly, but only a shaky breath escaped for a few seconds before she seemed to regain her composure.

You had never seen this kind of worry on her face, not when it came to you.

Finally, Natasha straightened, her body language shifting into something calmer, almost careful, as she stepped toward you. 

“There’s no need for that.” she said, her voice soft, as if she were trying not to scare you away.

Still confused by the sudden change, you tilted your head up to meet her gaze. “It’s nothing I haven’t done before,” you replied, trying to sound casual.

Her expression, however, didn’t relent. The weight of her concern hung heavy in the air, and you hated it. You hated the shift in the atmosphere, the way her focus seemed entirely locked on you, unyielding. It was making you restless.

This just didn’t happen between you two. It couldn’t.

Your dynamic was never like this, and for a fleeting moment, you felt a spark of resentment at her sudden change. 

You’d bantered, teased, and danced around each other almost two years now. You couldn’t allow her to start caring—not like this.

“But you don’t have to.” she shot back firmly, as if sensing your inner turmoil. “I just…we have an actual shot at winning now. Let’s just keep doing what we’ve been doing until now.”

You huffed, glancing around as if to find some excuse to shake this off. “Natasha, look around. We’re down to the final six. Any trick we pull won’t go unnoticed now.” You tried to sound exasperated, but there was a small tremor in your voice. “C’mon, it’s not like I’m going to sleep with him,” you added, trying to inject your usual teasing tone, but it came out with a shaken breath of desperation.

Desperate for her to return to normal. Desperate for her to stop caring so suddenly and openly. Desperate for things to go back to the way they were. You couldn’t stand this.

Your banter with Agent Romanoff was one of the few steady things in your life. It was entertaining yet distant, predictable yet invigorating—like a perfectly choreographed dance. It was something you relied on, something easy and familiar. Something you desperately needed. 

“Don't say that just— I know that you can, but why do it just now? I…we—are going to find another way that doesn’t involve you seducing the pig.” She insisted. As if also, somehow, begging. You didn’t need to hear the words between the lines to understand. You could see it in her.

You both knew it. Not only that, but you were both trained for it—trained to wield your bodies like mere tools for any ends, stripped of your identities for however long it was necessary to get the job done. But the weight of that knowledge, the sheer detachment it demanded, always gnawed at your soul, voracious and unrelenting.

You two fought. She clearly disliked you. So why was she acting like she worried?

It wasn’t meant to be like this. You both weren’t meant to be like this. Frustration starts to build at her sudden change. How dare she take this away from the briefest of moments?

But this wasn’t Natasha, you realized as you dared to meet her gaze again. Her stormy sea-green eyes had shifted into something softer, something more vibrant—a glimmering jade.

No, this wasn’t Natasha Romanoff.

This was a rough sketch of Natalia Alianova Romanova.

A mystery you hadn’t unravelled.

For the first time since meeting her, you felt your blood drum faster, your chest tightening with a nervousness you hadn’t experienced in years. You had always known how to handle the ruthless, unflinching Agent Romanoff. But standing before Natalia?

You were at a loss.

And you were too weak to handle it. 

Releasing an exasperated breath, you broke the now unbearable eye contact and drew in a steadying breath. This was going too far—you wouldn’t, couldn’t, let it. So, when you opened your eyes again, any trace of Y/N Y/L/N faded into the recesses of your mind, locked away and chained.

When you spoke to her again, it wasn’t you any more, not quite—it was Raven. Every grin, every flicker of movement, every perfectly placed mannerism was calculated, deliberate, practised.

You saw the realization hit her, the weight of it sinking like an anchor in the sea-green depths of Natasha’s irises. Her expression barely shifted, but you could feel it. The tension, the shift, the subtle acknowledgment that you had drawn a line between you both, a barrier she wasn’t meant to cross. But she did. 

”Don’t worry, Agent. I’ll get us those passes.” You smirk, overconfident, but even you could feel the detachment in your own voice.

Slipping away, you managed to avoid her brief disappointment. Finally being able to just breathe normally, you shook your head.

Something between you and Natasha had shifted. You felt it in the erratic thrumming of your heart, like a bird desperate to escape its cage, and the faint tremble in your knees that betrayed your composure. You didn’t know how to handle it—weren’t even sure if you could.

At the table, your hands quivered, a crack in the carefully constructed mask you wore. With a subtle clench of your fists and a steadying breath, you forced the tremor away, slipping into the practised ease of a smile. Whatever had just passed between you and Natasha—it couldn’t matter.

Not now. Maybe not ever.

[waayoutofline]

Murder on the Dance Floor (part 2)

(from the When the Cat and the Mouse Go For a Midnight Dance series)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Marvel Masterlist

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Prompt: Vigilante!Reader x Agent!Natasha

Summary: Natasha isn’t having the best of luck in trying to bring one of the ex Hydras general down. You however may be able to assist her. Will you two be able to cooperate? Or is it your fate to always stand on opposite teams?

Warnings: A tiny bit suggestive.

WORD COUNT: 2724

The pulsing beat of the music could be heard from outside the dimly lit street, matching Natasha’s tense state. She was usually calm, collected when handling missions, but this was the exception—because this time, she was working with you. Just the thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Honestly, if someone had told her a year ago that she’d agree to cooperate with you of all people, she would have laughed right to their face. But that didn’t matter now. She needed to get her hands on Horvat, and, unfortunately, you were her best—if only—shot at it.

Adjusting her earpiece, Natasha willed herself forward, slipping past security and flashing one of her fake IDs to the bouncer. After a quick nod, she was finally able to sweep her gaze over the crowd moving around the dance floor. In her earpiece, Yelena’s voice crackled. “See her yet?”

“No,” Natasha muttered, keeping her tone low as she moved toward a secluded spot by the bar. “She’s late. And honestly, I’m not even surprised.”

The blonde hummed thoughtfully. “Hmm. She seems…”

“Irresponsible? Selfish? A brat?” Natasha interrupted, her words sharp as she shrugged off her vest and left it on the stool beside her. “Those are just on top my head.”

“I was going for interesting. I have never seen anyone getting under your skin the way she does.” The redhead rolled her eyes, tapping her feet on the ground as she was searching between the participants.

”This is just unprofessional. I mean, who even isn’t on time for their own plan?” She sighs. “I should've known she’d pull something like this.”

Natasha remembers perfectly your encounter a few hours ago. 

The two of you ended up meeting in a neutral spot to, as you put it, “chat things up.” It was weird for the two of you to just… talk. You were as teasing as ever when you explained that the way for you both to gain access to the Hydra operative was to do something as ridiculous as joining a dance competition.

“You are joking.” Natasha repeated, baffled. But you made no move to correct yourself. 

“It is what it is, Agent Romanoff. Seems our friend is one of those eccentric types—loves all forms of art, but dance is his favourite. The competition is being held here by him.” You handed her a slip of paper with a hastily scribbled address and a list of pairs. “These are the couples registered.”

Natasha scanned it, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Wait—some of these couples, I know them. They’re actual professionals, Raven,” she noted, using your codename. Not like she was sure that the name you’d given her was even your real one.

“Oh, calm down agent. You’ve got me on your dream team now,” you answered with a wink that did nothing to reassure her. “And it’s not like we have other options. The winners get a super-duper exclusive VIP card that grants access to the elite party Horvat is hosting.”

Natasha’s reluctance must’ve been clear because you sighed in exasperation at the clear lack of enthusiasm. “Look, it’s the best I could do given your strict rules, alright?”

“I wouldn’t say that not murdering or maiming anyone counts as strict rules,” she replied, unimpressed. 

“Oh, come on. Where’s your sense of adventure? Aren’t you the fearless Black Widow?” you teased, your voice low, just loud enough for her to hear. You leaned in, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “And here thought you were this fearless superspy. But See, I have a different perspective. To these people, we’re just amateurs. That’s our advantage.”

“Is it?” Natasha raised an eyebrow, her gaze sharp, but something about the way you were looking at her made her uneasy.

You grinned, stepping closer, your breath warm against her ear as you leaned in conspiratorially. “Absolutely. They won’t even see it coming when I take them down one by one…”

The intensity in your voice caught her off guard. There was something almost dangerous in your tone, that manic glint in your eyes that she couldn’t quite ignore. Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she put distance and shot you a warning glare.

You slightly raised your hands in mock surrender, but there was still something in your smile that made her pulse quicken. “Alright, alright, no need for that. I promise, no murder on the dance floor. Besides, I’m not here to show off.”

Her gaze never left you, knowing better than to believe that. You thrived on chaos, on the twisted thrill of it all. And she hated how it seemed to pull her in each time, how close you were making her feel to something she couldn’t quite control.

“This is the plan,” you continued, your voice soft but insistent. “We get through a few rounds, win that VIP pass, and make it into Horvat’s inner circle. Nice and easy.”

You closed the distance even more, your face just inches from hers. Without hesitation, you pulled a card from your pocket, letting it slip between your fingers with a practised ease. “Here’s the address. Dress to impress. Preferably black and burgundy?” you murmured, your hand brushing against her chest as you slipped it into the pocket of her vest, your fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. “The color really suits your eyes.” You purred. 

Natasha could feel the heat of your touch, every movement too intimate for comfort, and yet, she couldn’t look away. You had a way of getting close—too close—and she watched every movement, every subtle shift of your body, all while her heart beat a little faster than she wanted to admit. It was like every single nerve on her body screaming in conflict whenever you acted this dangerously. 

She is only bought out of her stupor when she notices a shift in between the crowd. For an instant, she thinks that the contest already started, but that thought quickly goes away when she saw the true reason for the multitude to part like melted butter.

There you are, walking as if you owned the place with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. Seemingly ignoring all the eyes landing on you like dominoes and yet preening under the attention like a lazy cat basking under the sun. Your smile was deceivingly innocent, gentle yet cocky in the subtlest of ways. 

Her eyes couldn’t help to take you in. 

The dark red dress you wore hugged your body perfectly, like a second skin, as if melting with each of your movements. The dress was seamless, held up only by thin straps that dipped into a daring neckline, exposing just enough to make anyone want more. The shimmering sequins embroidered along the curve of your hips glinted teasingly under the retro disco ball, casting a mesmerizing array of shimmering reds. The lacy fringe of the hem stopped just shy of your mid-thigh, blending with the flowery skirt that revealed both your legs in tantalizing glimpses.

As embarrassing as it was, she was just another victim that couldn’t seem to take her eyes away. Try to regain composure, she did her best to maintain a bit of her dignity, not wanting to give you any leash for you to tug on. 

Taking a steadying breath, Natasha forced herself to fold her arms, straighten her spine, and lift her chin, trying to cloak herself in her usual calm and untouchable persona. But her eyes had a mind of their own, betraying her as they lingered on you, watching every movement despite herself.

When you finally reached her, your gaze met hers, and Natasha had the unsettling feeling that you saw right through every barrier she’d put up. That awareness sent a chill of discomfort down her spine. Stepping closer, you set your purse down on the stool beside her with slow, deliberate movements that she couldn’t help but follow. Without breaking eye contact, you smirked.

“Enjoying the view, Agent Romanoff?” you purred, each word slipping from your lips as if laced with honey. But Natasha knew that the sweetness could be someone’s poison just as easily.

She scoffed. “Your arrogance is staggering.”

Feigning a pout, you tilted your head, feigning hurt. “Is it so wrong to give a lady a compliment once in a while?” Then, with a playful glint in your eyes, you leaned in, letting your gaze trace over her in a way that was unmistakably bold, yet foolishly innocent. “Well, I’m not scared to admit that you look gorgeous.”

You complimented while taking her in. 

Her hair was pinned up into a tight braid that left her neck exposed. The dark red shirt she wore clung to her perfectly, the satin fabric being comfortable and hinting at the lines of muscle and curves beneath. Sleeveless, it exposed her toned arms. The neckline went straight into a tight V, just enough for showing the delicate, pale skin of her sternum. Opting for practically, she paired it with paired with sleek, tailored trousers in a matching deep red—almost black in the low light (not that she had in mind your previous recommendation when choosing this of course). A polished belt cinched her waist, the silver buckle slightly off centred.  There was no doubt in your mind that she wore a strapped in blade attached to her ankle, ready and waiting. 

The thought did nothing but send a rush of excitement up your spine.

A blur at the corner of your vision catches your attention, and the teasing persona you reserve for Natasha vanishes abruptly. As much as you enjoyed being the cause of her losing her composure, you had a job to do—and you’d be damned if you failed.

Without giving Natasha a chance to react, you catch her shoulders and pull her against you, manoeuvring both of you closer to the bar. Natasha flinches slightly at the sudden movement, instinctively placing one arm around your waist and the other on the counter to steady herself. Her eyes widen as she meets your gaze up close, the rich scent of vanilla filling her senses.

Your cool hand resting on her bare shoulder makes her breath catch in her throat. “What do you think you’re doing?” she manages to say, intending it to sound like a reprimand, but the words come out soft and breathless, betraying her surprise.

“Just trying to avoid starting at a disadvantage,” you replied smoothly, as if the lack of distance between you two wasn’t affecting you in the slightest. Natasha hated that—hated how unbothered you seemed. If anything, you leaned in even closer, your lips hovering just shy of her ear. Natasha heard a muted complaint of disgust, followed by her sister saying something about “This is worse than Papa and Mama.Cutting off now.” She wasn’t really paying attention.

“Over my shoulder. One of the three judges,” you murmured, voice low and soft against her skin. “They’re not just ranking our dancing skills, but the… chemistry between partners. So if you want this to go smoothly, I’d suggest pretending you don’t hate my guts for a while.”

The last sentence dripped with a teasing mockery, and Natasha clenched her jaw, willing herself not to react. The word "hate" echoed in her mind, though, twisting uncomfortably as if not really settling in. Hate wasn’t exactly the word she’d use to describe her…complex feelings about you. Sure, you were frustrating, irritating, and always knew how to push her buttons with an infuriating ease. 

But did she really hate you?

She shook her head. This was exactly what she couldn’t stand about you—the way you made her doubt herself, fall into chaos in her own mind. She couldn’t afford to debate what she really thought about you now. Closing her eyes briefly, she exhaled, letting her professional persona handle her next movements. This was a mission like any other. And Natasha Romanoff always succeeded in her missions.

Just as she was about to locate the judge you’d told her about, her eyes fell on three men across the dance floor, next to the snack table. There was no mistaking the way their eyes draped all over you, watching you with no shame as their mouths likely ran with sick and degrading comments about what they would do with someone like you.

A tightening feeling in her chest struck her, taking root until the infection controlled her next actions. Strengthening her grip on your waist, Natasha pressed further into you, subtly spinning your bodies so that her taller frame shielded you from predatory eyes. Noticing the change in her demeanour and the way she glared at something behind you, you tilted your head slightly but decided to not comment on it. As much as you liked to keep her on her toes, you knew when to refrain yourself. 

“I assume you got the judge’s backgrounds?” she muttered, leaning in closer, taking a page from your book. Her hand slid over your waist, caressing your side while maintaining a firm, almost possessive grip. Lost at the moment, you opened your mouth to answer, but hesitated, caught off guard by the soft, deliberate touch. You couldn’t decide whether to feel relieved that she was listening to you or startled by how her fingers seemed to burn against your covered skin.

Natasha’s eyes glinted as they dropped onto you, a flicker of satisfaction crossing her features at the rare sight of you losing your so well maintained composure. You never stuttered, always remaining a step ahead, but for once, it was you who was caught off guard. If only for a fleeting moment, Natasha couldn’t help but take the moment in, greedily absorbing your hesitation. Is this what you felt when you got under her skin?

For anybody who glared at you two, it would seem like an intimate couple, flirting and rendering each other speechless with seductive flirtation and close touch. If that's what you demanded of her, then that’s what Natasha will deliver. 

Sensing this shift, you cleared your throat and did your best to regain control. To return to your sleek persona that you always maintained. “You assume well. The first one is Ethan Cole, a dance professor on a wealthy university. Had big dreams for Hollywood, but his addiction to gambling and alcohol closed those doors for him. Owes Horvat some numbers.”

Deliberately, you moved your hand to her jaw, redirecting her face to the right, then leaned in as if you were whispering something inappropriate in her ear. “The grey-haired man, Richard Harper. A self-declared “man of the arts,” you stated dramatically. “More like a man of perversion. He owns several sex clubs, most of which don’t follow safety regulations and serve as covers for prostitution rings.” Natasha clenched her jaw ever so slightly, the feeling of it under your fingertips making you sigh in satisfaction.

“Perhaps when we’re done with this I ought to pay him a visit,” you taunted, making Natasha turn to face you with a warning glare. Before she had time to respond, you silenced her with a gentle but firm motion.

“Right behind me, just a few stools away. The woman with glasses and uptight lips. Leah Montgomery. Our biggest threat to win the competition. She was in competitive figure skating, pretty good, too. Until tragedy struck and she ruptured her ACL. Clearly, she hasn’t got over it yet as she now spends her days tormenting her pupils, “encouraging” them in partaking into illegal substances to win her titles.” 

Just as you finished, the low bass music cut off, a call for all the participants to gather on the dance floor resonating through the walls. As everyone started to move toward the centre, Natasha eventually released her grip around you. Just as you were about to tease her about the reluctance, she placed her hand on your lower back, guiding you through the crowd.

Surprised, but not wanting to reveal your true feeling, you hummed pleasantly, masking the unexpected stir in your chest. Finally reaching your spot, Natasha extended her hand to you. Her eyes look down on you, the green of her irises going a few shades of green darker. But this time, you can't find the anger. No…it was something else that you haven’t quite seen before. 

Accepting her offering, you place your hand into hers. 

This will be interesting. 

[waayoutofline]

Murder On The Dance Floor (part 1)

(from the When the Cat and the Mouse Go For a Midnight Dance series) | Part 1 | Part 2| Marvel Masterlist

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Prompt: Vigilante!Reader x Agent!Natasha

Summary: Natasha isn’t having the best of luck in trying to bring one of the ex Hydras general down. You however may be able to assist her. Will you two be able to cooperate? Or is it your fate to always stand on opposite teams?

Warnings: None in this chapter.

WORD COUNT: 2510 (give or take)

A/N: Hello!! So, this is heavily inspired by the song Murder on the Dance Floor (duh). I think it really suits the dynamic between Agent Natasha and Vigilante!Reader, and I thought, okay, let’s actually write it instead of just thinking about it and eventually forgetting. There are a few changes from the canon universe. In this AU, the Avengers didn’t separate after the Sokovia Accords (I’m a child of divorce, okay), so they’re a real family here. Peter is also part of the team and was never forgotten by every single human except, well Hulk (he deserves better). Natasha is alive and well, along with Yelena.And finally (last thing, I promise), this will be part of a mini-series. Maybe with three parts.That’s about it. Enjoy, and thanks for reading! :)

//

It was too late to do this. Natasha rubbed off the tiredness of her eyes for what must be the fifth time in the last fifteen minutes. This was getting ridiculous.

”…What if-“

“For the last Yelena, we are not committing arson.” The blonde grunted at the quick dismissal, sliding down the synthetic, black leather chair. Crossing her arms with a tired pout, she didnt look much to different from the six year old girl Natahsa remembered. The clock in the conference room is getting more obnoxious by the second, as if teasing them to not having an answer yet.

Across the room, the sulked eyes of Benjamin Horvat were looking right back at her. His picture was poorly pinned, hanging unconventionally by a small blade (courtesy of Yelena) on the board. Steve wont be happy when he sees it.

”It would be a small one! It wouldn’t be that hard, just some small fires around some of his clubs, see if there is any luck and make him come out. Quick and subtle.”

”There is nothing subtle in that plan Yelena.” Natahsa turns down again dryly.

It’s been six hours since Yelena payed a visit to the renovated compound, bringing her 5 month old puppy Fanny (which is currently being spoiled by Wanda and Peter). She came in with new dirt onto a possible Hydra ex-officer, one of a depressing long list that the team has yet to tackle down. Most of them ran when SHIELD fell down.

The two of them plus Steve and Bucky, managed to get intel on Benjamin’s Horvat. He was currently involved is some kind of shady precious gem business, along owning some expensive clubs that served as covers for the mafia. At first glance, you’d say that he was just another second class criminal. But that as far as aparences went. Because people like him were worth something, he was heavily guarded.

His intel was precious enough to make him valuable and well-protected. Access to him seemed almost impossible.

The worst part was that he didn’t even bother using conventional transport. Even after combing through all national surveillance, he didn’t appear on any of the cameras. Not even Redwing, Sam’s beloved drone, had managed to get a clear visual of him. It was almost as if he’d gone underground (which he hadn’t—Natasha checked). And despite his love for nightlife, the clubs he owned and frequented were highly exclusive, each with multiple layers of security clearance.

After a long evening, both Steve and Bucky called it a night, but the two sisters were too stubborn to let it go. They were both running out of ideas—or, in Yelena’s case, running through a list of increasingly dangerous, borderline illegal suggestions. Eventually, exhaustion began to take over, and the blonde started dozing off, her head slipping forward as sleep crept up on her. Natasha wasn’t far behind, her eyelids drooping as the hours dragged on.

But then—a sharp, static crackle echoed through the speakers, jolting both women awake. Instinctively, they snapped into defensive stances, eyes darting to the screens around the room as they flickered in a disorienting pattern of black and white, struggling to stabilize.

Finally, the screens gave a clear image, revealing a shadowy figure cloaked in darkness.

“Night, ladies! Glad to see you’re still awake,” a teasing, lilting voice echoed through the speakers. “Huh, take out from Luigi’s huh? Their pizza rolls are to die for.”

Natasha’s eyes widened, a flicker of recognition sparking across her face. Her posture shifted, shoulders squaring as an unconscious surge of energy overtook her weariness. It can’t be.

“I’d prefer pizza bites. Who are you?” Yelena asked, mirroring Natasha as she stood up. She’d clearly sensed the change in Natasha’s demeanor.

The redhead grabbed the tablet on the table next to her, attempting to trace the breach, but the system was completely overridden. Whoever this was shouldn’t have been able to slip past their security. She called for FRIDAY, but the AI didn’t respond.

“Aw, come on, not even a hello? Do you know how long I spent trying to surpass that stupid robot of yours?” the voice continued playfully. “It’s been a while, Natty. I thought you’d be glad to see me—or, well, hear me.”

Natasha’s face remained painfully stoic, but her white-knuckled grip on the tablet betrayed her turmoil. She knew this person loved theatrics, but even for them, this was going too far. “How many times have I told you not to call me that.” Natasha grunts in annoyance, a headache already starting to set in. There is a brief silence. She can practically see your pout from here.

“Geez, so grumpy.”

Yelena watches the exchange with curiosity, somehow not detecting a real threat. “I sense some... history here.”

“There is!”

“There is not!”

Both women snapped at Yelena, making her eyes widen as she instinctively stepped back, lifting her hands in mock surrender. “Ha, when you say that, it usually means there is…” she stated, amused.But the sentence died under Natasha’s withering stare. “Alright, just an observation. Geez, you are grumpy.” she muttered under her breath. Catching Natasha’s warning look, Yelena slid back into the chair, still grinning despite herself.

“Can we focus?” Natasha said, voice clipped.

Yelena just shrugged, casting a glance between the two of you.

“Oh, come on, don’t get shy on me, Agent Romanoff. Is it because we haven’t had our little “I run, you go after me” sessions recently?” You teased. “I promise, you’re the only one I let chase after me.”

It’s true that its been a while since you have gone under the radar. Even if you weren’t out committing your little revendouz vigilantes acts, Natasha still couldn’t help to keep an eye out for you. It wouldn’t be the first time that you took a mini sabbatical and returned with more messes for her to clean up.

Finally, from the shadows, a woman stepped a young woman, posture relaxed, radiating an air of practiced confidence. You wore your typical casual clothes, a fitted jacket and a crop under it. Your face was partially obscured by the lighting, but Natasha could see a few loose strands of hair escaping, catching faintly in the room’s dim light. Chest rising up and down rather fastly. It’s like you just returned from somewhere.

Your eyes, bright yet focused, lingered on Natasha with an amused glint. The faintest smirk played at the corner of your mouth, an expression that made Natasha feel strangely restless. There was something in that permanent look of yours that always kept her on edge.

“Who are you?” Yelena blurted out.

You gasped dramatically, resting a hand on your chest as if genuinely wounded. “Why, you hurt me, Agent! Didn’t you tell her anything about me? And here I was, starting to think that I meant something to you.”

Natasha sighed in exasperation, her gaze still scanning for any sign of how you managed to break in. But it was as if you’d been authorized from the inside. She knew you were good, hidden behind that playful demeanor, but it was exhausting how you always seemed one step ahead. “There’s nothing to tell,” Natasha replied curtly, “besides the fact that you’re a pain.”

You huffed in false offender , crossing your arms. “Archenemies would have sufficed. Besides, that is no way to greet someone who can help you with Horvat.”

Both of them froze at the name. Giving up, the redhead throws the device on the table, getting slightly closer to the TV and crossing her arms. If this was going where she thought it was, caution was very much need. Especially with you.

“A little…birdie, told me that we have, for once, a common enemy. Excluding each other of course.” You smiled at the last sentence, but your eyes were bright with a dangerous spark.

“He’s not as unreachable as you may think. I guess that by now you have figured that he frequents the nightclubs in the Lower East Side. He is supposed to assist to an event tomorrow at night. Just our luck, right?”

Natasha’s brows furrowed. “Our? What, exactly, do you want with Horvat? Did he make it onto your little blacklist?” She scowled, still irritated by the last man you’d managed to eliminate right under her nose.

As if reading her thoughts, you let out a light, teasing laugh. “Ah, well, I wouldn’t exactly call it little,” you said, an amused glint in your eye.

Natasha huffed under her breath, visibly displeased with your evasiveness. “What’s in it for you?”

Your smile faded just slightly, and for a moment, a flicker of real purpose showed through the facade. “Let’s just say he has something I need. Something personal.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, her suspicion unwavering. “And how in the world would you ever entertain the thought of me agreeing to work together?”

“Because you’re stuck,” you shot back, your voice sharper than usual. “Let’s be real, Romanoff—if I could do this alone, I wouldn’t be here. But not even you can’t get to him on your own. And…neither can I.” You admitted through your teeth. The playful glint softened, replaced by an intensity Natasha hadn’t quite seen from you before.

“I need someone who won’t mess it up if I’m going to get to him,” you continued, the amused mask slipping just a bit more. “That’s where you come in. I mean, who better to handle some undercover work than the Black Widow herself?” The slight provocation didn’t go unnoticed, but Natasha’s mind was already racing with possibilities.

The room fell into silence, the ticking clock on the wall seeming louder than ever as Natasha’s eyes bore into yours, as if trying to see every hidden motive. Perhaps she should just go fetch Wanda. Still, she held herself steady, determined to avoid letting any trace of intrigue slip. It only took a spark for you to create a fire.

Yelena, sensing the tension between the two of you growing sharper by the second, finally cut in, a note of exasperation in her voice. “So… how could you get us in—”

“Yelena, no.” Natasha cut her off sharply, her posture rigid and unyielding. “We are not entertaining this. And I’m certainly not working with her,” she added, the cold in her tone unmistakable. She turned her gaze back to you, her expression filled with deep distrust. “She does nothing but trick and deceive, and I’m not about to let her pull us into a mess.”

You held her gaze steadily, a flicker of hurt passing through your eyes—brief enough for Natasha to notice. She shook her head sturborling, she couldn’t afford to feel any remorse for you. But as quickly as the emotion came, it vanished, and you rolled your eyes playfully. That was something that sparked Natasha’s curiosity. Just like herself in the past (maybe still now at times) it seemed as if you had a mask. She didn’t know exactly how genuine that unserious facade, the one you always seemed to hide behind, truly was.

“So distrustful and uptight as always, I see. Tell me, has she always been this way?” you asked, looking at the blonde. Yelena shrugged, starting to answer but clamping her mouth shut as Natasha arched an eyebrow in warning.

“Look, I’m not thrilled about this either. But it’s the only way. Believe me, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think so,” you said, your tone uncharacteristically steady. “I’ll even compromise and act like one of your ‘goody-two-shoes’ heroes.” You almost gagged on the words. “Swear I’ll play by your rules, as long as it gets us to him. If there’s one thing about me, it’s that I don’t lie. Have I ever lied to you, Natasha?”

There was no mockery in your voice this time, just an unexpected sincerity. Natasha paused, caught off guard. Had you deceived her? Absolutely. Tricked her? Too many times to count, wounding her pride each time. But lied, outright and blankly, right to her face? As shocking as it was, she couldn’t recall a single instance. No matter the game, you’d always been blunt about what you were going to do.

Yelena, noticing Natasha’s hesitation, leaned in. “сестра (sister), maybe… maybe she has a point. We’re no closer to him on our own. And if she can get us in…”

Natasha looked at her, seeing the reason in her words, though every fiber of her instinct fought against trusting you. After a long pause, she rubbed her temples, exhaling heavily. As sad as it was, there wasn’t any better option. But to admit that she had no other option than to work with you, of all people, was burning her pride.

“Fine.”

Yelena gave a small fist pump of victory, relief lighting her face after the hours they’d spent trying to come up with a solid plan. Meanwhile, you grinned, satisfaction gleaming in your eyes.

“But—” Natasha cut in, fixing you with a hard look. “No tricks, no double-crossing. As you said before, do this by my rules, is that clear?”

You raised an eyebrow, a glimmer of your usual defiance flashing in your expression. “Well, I mean… it is my plan so technically—”

“My. Rules.” Natasha repeated, her voice dropping to a dangerously low tone that left little room for argument. Her stare bore into you, unyielding, and the confidence in your face faltered just a bit. “Understood?”

You swallowed, any spark of rebellion snuffed out under the intimidating weight of her gaze. “Understood,” you muttered, a hint of surprising, begrudging compliance in your tone.

“Oooh, scary mean glare,” Yelena muttered under her breath, clearly entertained as she watched you two bickering. A mischievous glint in her eye, she leaned back, curious to see how will play out between you two. Perhaps she should pay visits more often.

“Enlighten us, then. What in the world does this great plan, legal plan of yours involve?” Natasha inquires dryly. Another cheeky grin on your face was enough for her to know that she won't like it in the slightest. It was almost sinister, how much you enjoyed to push her bottons.

”Well…that answer can vary. How are your dance moves, Agent Romanoff?

Clearly baffled, she didnt have time to answer when someone blasted through the door, startling all three of you. “You! Are you the one you hacked FRIDAY?” demanded a frantic Tony Stark, dressed in Iron Man-themed pajamas, bags under his eyes and a steaming coffee pot in hand labeled “#1 Best Hero” (a gift from Peter). Honestly, Natahsa is a firm believer that he bought it himself but whatever.

You giggled almost manically. “Oops, that’s my cue! Talk to you later to get into details, Agent.” You practically purred, teasingly waving goodbye before cutting the connection in one swift motion. Natasha was met with her reflection on the now dark screen, your last words hanging heavily on the air.

Natasha drops on the chair heavily, grunting and rubbing her temples while looking at the roof in despair. How does she always end up in these situations?

[waayoutofline]

When The Cat and The Mouse Go For a Midnight Dance (part 2)

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Prompt: Vigilante!Reader x Agent!Natahsa.

Summary: Natasha finds you. Again. If you didn’t know better, you'd say she was obsessed with you. Still, you have a job to do. Will you two ever see eyes to eye?

Warnings: A bit of violence and foul language. Sexual connotations but not smut.

WORD COUNT: 2832

AN: I published it a couple weeks ago (I think?) but I couldn't put it on the master list and it was getting on my nerve soo.— Anyways, this is a part two but I dont know if I'll make a series. More like little stories here and there. Enjoy :)

The air was sharp, puncturing your lungs every time you dared to take a breath. For a second, you regret abandoning the warmth of your flat. But a job is a job, and besides, true evil never fully rests. Not your kind of evil, but the more corrupt, shameless kind. A thud was the only sound that could be heard on the terrace of none other than Wallace Ashford on a rainy night—one of the worst chief prosecutors this city could hope to have. You had your eye on him for a while now, and everything pointed to his involvement in all types of negligence concerning the underground criminal organization. Hundreds, or even thousands, of people were endangered because of his vanity.

You usually weren’t one to go after dirty politicians, but every now and then, an exception appeared. Unfortunately for Ashford, he was one. After months of tracking him, you found out that he had finally returned to the estate after a “vacation,” where only the high deities know what he was up to. He was well-guarded by a team of professionals, but that wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle after a cup or two of wine. He did, however, make you climb all the way to one of his penthouses to avoid his security systems.

Carefully, you took out the small interrupter in your pocket to check for hidden cameras or security systems. “A paranoid man, aren’t you?”

Managing to deactivate them momentarily, you pull yourself up to the banister. A soft grunt escaped you as your feet touched the ground, joints stiff from the cold and rain. Let’s just get this over with.

You made your way into the apartment—if you could even call it that. You’d seen mall floors smaller than this. High ceilings and marble floors greeted you, along with open rooms that displayed nothing but a lack of attachment, painted in neutral tones and lit by intricate chandeliers. There were no family photos or personal decor. If it weren’t for the well-maintained furniture, it would seem as though no one lived here. Despite having a wife and two unfortunate children, there was no sign of family life. Not that it could thrive here, given the fact that Wallace was nothing but a distant and neglectful husband and father, spending his days in his office, making deals with the devil and indulging in adulterous escapades.

Sighing, you finally reached what you knew to be his office, spotting his heat signature through your special lenses. Grabbing the silenced pistol holstered at your side, you carefully opened the wooden doors. A resounding click echoed through the apartment as the door opened two inches—until something screamed at your nerves. Goosebumps rose on your neck, your muscles coming to a sudden, rigid stop. After a brief moment of absolute silence, a grin spread across your face.

“Are you stalking me, Agent Romanoff?”

From the shadows, a familiar figure seemed to seep out of the darkness, revealing none other than Natasha Romanoff. She wore a tactical suit and her usual annoyed scowl, which always seemed to deepen in your presence. Her features were slightly obscured in the dim hallway light.

“Don’t flatter yourself. Do you ever take a break?” Slowly, you stepped away from the door, and she moved perfectly in sync, keeping your movements in check. Returning your gun to its holster, you smiled.

“How could I? If I did, I wouldn’t get to enjoy these lovely chats with you.” Her scowl deepened, her patience visibly fading from her green eyes. “How’d you find me this time?”

“I’m not here to answer your questions.”

A sigh escaped you. To Natasha, it sounded like that of a petulant child. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re here to detain me, blah, blah, blah…” Huffing, you crossed your arms. “I, however, have a job that needs attention. So, can we do this later?”

A shocked scoff escaped her. “You must be more insane than I gave you credit for. I’m not letting you murder that man.”

”Why not?” You whined. “If anything, I'm doing you a favor. Believe me, Wallace Ashford isn’t the type of man that you want to protect.” The atmosphere seemed to shift with your last world, and by Natasha's sudden defensive stance she noticed too. As much as you two seemed to have this unserious conversation, she knew perfectly of what you were capable of.

“That doesn’t give you the right to kill him.” She answers back.

Annoyance starts to bubble within you, the playfulness of meeting the The redhead’s patience was slowly fading away. “Well, someone has to get their hands dirty.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, her body tense, bracing for the inevitable. Still, you noticed the slight hesitation in her fingertips as she reached for her gun. She stepped closer, but you didn’t move. “That’s not your call to make.”

You released a frustrated breath. “And whose is it, hm?” you taunted darkly. “I know you’ve researched him. You have to know what kind of man he is—the things he’s done and that will continue to do. People like him are the reason we get hurt, and yet you’ll continue to let him. But I’m the one who needs to be taken down?”

Natasha seemed to weigh your words carefully, taking them in. It was one of the things you secretly admired about her—the way she processed everything before rendering judgment. Something, however, told you her decision wouldn’t be in your favor. “The system isn’t perfect; it has its flaws. But killing him won’t solve anything. It won’t bring justice or comfort to the people he’s hurt. If you stand down, I promise I’ll make sure he faces the consequences he deserves.”

She stepped even closer, as though trying to soothe a rabid beast. But you weren’t one. No, your mind was cold and sharp, fully aware of what needed to be done. A soft sigh escaped your lips. “Oh, Natasha…”

You paused, standing directly in front of her, mere inches away. Her scent was clean, tinged with traces of rain and gunpowder. Her eyes dropped slightly, as though they were trying to pierce your soul. Tilting your head up defiantly, your eyes glinted under the dim light. You sighed, trailing your index finger along her jaw. Surprisingly, she let it happen, as if lost in thought.

“I never pegged you for being this naive. The system isn’t just flawed—it’s useless,” you snarled, and just like that, the aggression surged back, like an oncoming storm. “No, this corruption needs to be cut out at the root. Good thing I have a very sharp blade.”

And with that, all hell broke loose.

You fished a hidden knife from your side, expertly flipping it around to grip the handle before slashing outward. But as if expecting your every move, Natasha caught your wrist midair, using the momentum to twist your arm painfully behind your back in one swift motion. For a second, you were pinned, her breath hot against the back of your neck. But this was far from over. You brought your head down, then snapped it back with force, cracking into her face. The impact reverberated through you, and she grunted in pain, her grip loosening just enough.

You dropped low, crouching for a second before sweeping your leg around in a wide arc, sending her tumbling to the floor. Victory however only lasted a brief second before, with surprising agility, she grabbed your ankle and yanked hard, pulling you down with her. The two of you rolled across the cold marble floor, grappling for dominance, hands slipping, muscles straining. Finally, you managed to pin her, practically sitting on top of her, your hands pressing against her shoulders as you clumsily lost your balance. You could feel the rise and fall of her breath beneath you, her body tense.

Taking a moment to catch your breath, you looked down at her and huffed. Of course, her damn braid stayed perfectly in place, not a strand out of order. Her eyes flickered, a shade darker now—more gray than green. Anger, you realized. A dangerous, calm fury radiated from her. Natasha Romanoff never loses her composure, a lesson you learned on the very first day of this endless game between the two of you. Blood trickled down from her now slightly crooked nose, and you couldn’t resist commenting.

“Hm. Red really does suit you,” you teased, a dark smile curling at the corners of your mouth. Her eyes narrowed.

“Do you ever shut up?” she grunted, before her legs shot up, twisting with surprising force to reverse your positions. Now, she had the advantage, her frame pinning your wrists to the floor. “You’re starting to get on my nerves.”

A breath caught in your throat as you processed what just happened. You weren’t exactly proud to admit this, but something about an enraged, furious Agent Natasha Romanoff straddling you, snarling, did something to you. Heat surged through your skin, a blush rising from your collarbone to the tips of your ears. It was ridiculous, you thought. She was literally trying to kill you.

As if reminded of the danger you were in, you tried to regain control—both mentally and physically. Concentrating, you focused on the faint stirrings of the elements around you. A slow smile curled across your lips as you found what you were looking for. “Not really,” you said, your voice thick with amusement, “but I know you secretly enjoy it.”

Natasha’s eyes flashed with a mixture of disbelief and fury, her expression hardening as she leaned closer, her voice a low growl. “Why can’t you ever just admit defeat?” Her hand pressed harder on your wrist, pinning you even more firmly to the cold floor beneath her.

You winced slightly but couldn’t resist pushing her buttons one last time. “Big talk for someone who’s about to get very, very wet.”

She frowned, clearly thrown by the comment. “What are you—” But before she could finish, you glanced upwards. She followed your gaze, and you grinned. With a faint hiss and the creaking of pipes, the sprinkler system above finally responded to your command. A perfectly controlled jet of water blasted down, drenching Natasha straight in the face.

Her reaction was immediate. “Ugh!” she sputtered, hands instinctively flying up to shield her eyes as the water poured over her, soaking her tactical suit and sending droplets flying in every direction. You seized the moment, using her split-second distraction to twist out from under her grip. With a swift movement, you rolled to your feet, slicking your hair back as you stood, watching her attempt to recover.

“Really? Using your powers now?” she grunted, trying to wipe enough water from her face to clear her vision.

“Well, it wouldn’t be fair for only you to stay dry.” You winked, hands fidgeting behind your back.

Natasha finally cleared her eyes enough to glare at you, her expression a mix of frustration and grudging resignation. “You always have to make a mess, don’t you?” she muttered, straightening up, though her tactical suit was now drenched.

“I mean, it is kind of my thing,” you said, taking a step back, turning your focus back to the reason you were here in the first place.

“Just give it up, will you? He’s no longer in the building.”

You froze mid-step, your hand just inches from the door. There were no signs of Wallace. Natasha, regaining her footing, stood tall. “He’s been evacuated while we had this sorry excuse for a fight. It’s over. You failed.”

Only the last drops of water falling from the ceiling could be heard. You stood there, unmoving. Slightly out of character for her usual calm demeanor, Natasha started to approach you. But then, a sudden, silent laugh escaped your lips, sending chills down her spine—more chilling than the cold water still pooling at your feet.

“Oh, Natasha.” You glanced over your shoulder at her, eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “Do you think I’m a fool?” A sinister smirk parted your lips. “I knew you’d pull one of these stunts because, whether you like it or not, I know you.”

You turned fully, a deadly glint in your eyes. “I also sent a friend of mine to lend a hand.”

Your hands moved behind you, reaching for the vials strapped to your back. “You’re familiar with them, actually.” You walked slowly toward her, holding up the vials so she could see them clearly. Natasha’s eyes widened in recognition. One vial contained a sleek black widow spider, its abdomen adorned with the same red emblem as her suit. The other vial was empty.

“Huh, funny. By sending him away, you didn’t just send him to his death—you might’ve put the whole extraction team in danger. What’s to stop me from giving the chemical signal for my little friend here to bite your companions?” You paused, letting the weight of your words settle in with a crazed smile. “Oh right—nothing! By now, he’s already dead, and your team’s not far behind.”

Natasha’s face paled as she reached for her intercom to contact the agents tasked with retrieving Wallace. Static greeted her. No answer.

Her blood ran cold, but she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “No,” she whispered, her voice resolute. “If there’s anything stable about you, it’s that you don’t harm innocent people.” Her confidence in her own words was surprising. On some level, she understood you. And, for once, she was right. You were a killer, but not a mindless one.

You let out a sigh. “Hmm, you’re right about that. I don’t.” With that, you pulled out another vial, this one containing a light pink liquid. “Here’s the antidote.” Before she had a chance to grab it, you pulled it back, smirking as you held it just out of her reach. This left her stepping closer, the space between you almost nonexistent. Baby hairs stuck around her face, but she still managed to look hauntingly beautiful.

“I should advise you, though: no shenanigans. I assure you, if you try to use it on Ashford, his body will violently reject it. I made sure of that.” The conflict in her eyes was so clear you could practically hear the gears turning in her head. You could see all her possible outcomes, and she knew it too.

“Your friends or a chance to detain me? The ball’s in your court, Agent Romanoff. What’s it going to be?”

She stared you down, as if trying to see right through you. “How do I know you aren’t playing me?” she challenged. “For all I know, that spider of yours never got close to my team, and this is just a way for you to get away.”

“That’s for you to decide.”

Your eyes locked once again, engaging in a silent battle of wills. Natasha’s heart raced, the weight of lives at stake heavy on her conscience, and by the glint in your eyes, she knew you understood that. She cursed herself for being so transparent, as if you could read her like an open book. Finally, her shoulders tensed, then loosened.

Unexpectedly, she grabbed the neck of your suit, yanking you toward her. Sensing no real threat, you allowed it.

“You’re going to regret this little stunt,” she warned, her voice low and dangerous. Still, you stood your ground, feeling the adrenaline course through your veins, making your words drip like honey.

“Getting under your skin, am I?” you whispered, the teasing lilt in your voice unmistakable.

Her jaw clenched, and you could see the battle raging in her mind. A part of her—how big, you couldn’t tell—was torn between wrestling you into submission or doing what she was expected to: saving the team under her command. She leaned in closer, her lips hovering just above your ear. “If you think for one second I’m going to let you win, you’re more delusional than I ever thought.”

Her warning, as sharp and assertive as it was, sent a chill down your spine. The warmth of her breath against your skin only fueled the fire coursing through you.

“If you’re lying, and anything happens to them because of this… I’ll have no compassion — no understanding left. I’ll hunt you down to the ends of the earth.”

You tilted your head back just enough to meet her eyes, your gaze steady and unwavering. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. Now go, be the hero you are, and save your friends,” you answered softly.

For a brief moment, the air crackled with tension. She hesitated for just a heartbeat, weighing her choices. With one last, piercing look, she leapt from the railing, disappearing into the darkness. Moments later, the hum of the Quinjet rising into the air echoed in the distance. With a deep, satisfied breath, you turned away from the balcony, knowing the game was far from over.

Would it ever be? You hoped not.

[waayoutofline]

Like Seeing A Ghost.

Marvel Masterlist

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Prompt: Married life and family core.

Summary: Your teenage daughter changed styles, and you cant help but be remained of a certain someone.

Warnings: None. Just love and fluff.

WORD COUNT: 1489

AN: I wrote this under the wonderful influence of sleep depravation. I just corrected it grammatically. It’s the first time I have written a family related prompt, so sorry but it’ll probably be a bit cringey :´). YDN stands for: Your daughters name btw—

It was a quiet day in the Maximoff household, a rare sense of calm settling over the space. Humming softly, you switched off the vacuum and put it away, satisfied with the tidiness of the room. The peaceful silence was soon interrupted by the doorbell, drawing your attention with mild curiosity. “I’ve got it!” you called, making your way to the door. You didn’t need to check the peephole, you already knew who it was. “Darling, finally! Your mother is almost finished with—oh dear gods.”

You froze as your 16-year-old daughter stepped inside. Taking in her appearance, your eyes widened in surprise. She shifted uncomfortably under your gaze, clearly bracing herself for the reaction that didn’t come as quickly as she expected.

Gone were her typical morning clothes, replaced by a more alternative look. She wore an oversized black t-shirt featuring an old rock band, her arms covered in fishnet sleeves, fingers adorned with silver rings and chains. Her makeup, though still a work-in-progress, was heavy with black eyeliner and smudged dark red eyeshadow. A silver cross dangled from her freshly pierced ear. She completed the outfit with a mid-length skirt and red Converse sneakers. If it weren’t for her eyes—the same color as yours—you might not have recognized her at first. But even then, the look wasn’t unfamiliar. She resembled someone else you knew all too well.

“It’s… it’s—” you began, voice faltering. Your daughter braced herself even more, her posture defiant, though you could see flickers of uncertainty in her expression. That defiant stance finally broke your composure.

“It’s like seeing a ghost! Oh, my beautiful girl,” you exclaimed, bursting into delighted laughter. “It’s like going back in time. Wanda come here please!” you called out, grinning at the uncanny resemblance.

Your heart swelled with nostalgia and amusement. You never thought you’d see such a familiar look on your own child, yet here she was, carrying a piece of the past into the present.

“What is it, love? Is it Y/D/N? I made her favorite,” Wanda called, wiping her hands with a kitchen towel before stopping abruptly. “Oh wow. This is… definitely a surprise.”

Your daughter, tired of the mixed reactions from both of you, crossed her arms defensively. “Before you say anything—no, I didn’t get any piercings or tattoos. But this is how I want to dress from now on. And if you have any issues with it, then…”

Your eyes softened at the sight of her defiance fading into vulnerability. You glanced at Wanda, who nodded. “Honey, you don’t owe us any explanations,” she said gently.

“I… don’t?” Y/D/N repeated, tentatively. You took a step forward, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Of course not. You know your mom and I want you to discover who you are. All we care about is that you don’t hurt yourself in the process. Why would you think we’d be upset?”

Your daughter’s shoulders relaxed as the tension eased. “A… friend of mine dresses like this, and her parents didn’t take it well. They told her if she didn’t dress ‘normal,’ they’d send her to some creepy summer camp.”

Wanda frowned. “Well, they’re idiots.” Your daughter smiled at that. “They are! Like your mom said, we’ll never judge you for who you are. All we want is for you to be safe and happy.”

With that, she smiled and pulled you both into a hug. “Thanks for being such cool parents.” You exchanged a glance with Wanda and hugged her back.

“I mean… if we weren’t, we’d be total hypocrites.” Your daughter tilted her head in curiosity, prompting a laugh from you as you moved toward the living room.

Wanda scoffed. “Oh, don’t you dare, Y/N,” she warned playfully, following close behind, already anticipating your next move. Before she could stop you, you pulled out the family photo album. Your daughter plopped down next to you on the couch, while Wanda took her place on the armrest, wearing a mock pout.

Flipping through the pages, you found what you were looking for. “Why haven’t I seen this before?” Y/D/N asked, eyes wide with interest.

“These are from years before you were born,” you explained softly, turning the album’s pages with care. “Most were taken when your mother and I first met. We kept them hidden… because she was a little shy about them.”

Wanda playfully nudged your arm, her smile a little bashful. “Do you really have to show them? I’d like for our daughter to still respect me, you know.”

You grinned, glancing at your daughter. “Of course, I do! I mean, just look at her. You two are practically twins—it’s adorable.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, though her blush deepened. “You’re having too much fun with this.”

As you flipped another page, your daughter gasped, eyes widening in disbelief. Wanda’s face turned a deep shade of red as she quickly covered her face with her hands, her embarrassment palpable. You, however, couldn’t stop the grin spreading across your face. “Mom, why didn’t you tell me you were so cool?” Y/D/N exclaimed, her excitement bubbling over as she snatched the album from you, flipping through the pictures like a child on Christmas morning.

“What do you mean “were”?” Wanda huffed in mock offense. “I’m still cool!”

A brief silence followed, punctuated only by Wanda’s playful exasperation. You reached out, squeezing her hand, the warmth of her skin grounding both of you. The resemblance between mother and daughter was striking, as if time had folded in on itself. “That picture,” you said, pointing to a particular one, “was taken around the time I first met your mom. She was this emo, tough, and incredibly intimidating girl—” You started dramatically, glancing at Wanda, who shot you a half-hearted glare.

“Okay, okay, no need to humiliate me further,” Wanda cut in, trying to maintain some shred of dignity.

“Humiliate?” You softened your voice, your eyes meeting hers. “That was the version of you I fell in love with.” You turned another page, your tone warm and nostalgic. “I mean, the whole ‘bad girl’ thing really worked for me.”

“Mom, gross!” Y/D/N laughed, wrinkling her nose in mock disgust.

You nudged her playfully. “Oh, hush. What I’m trying to say is… I fell in love with that Wanda, and every version after her.”

With each page you turned, years passed in the photographs. Different styles, changing haircuts, moments of growth captured in still images. But one thing remained constant—your love.

“…and the next,” you continued quietly. “Because that’s what love is. It’s not about how someone dresses or looks. It’s about loving them for who they are, through every version, and with how they express themselves to the world.”

You closed the album gently and reached for your daughter’s hands, holding them tenderly. “That’s why no matter how you choose to present yourself, it will never change how we feel about you. You are our daughter, and we will always love you—no matter what.” Y/D/N smiled, her eyes bright with relief and understanding. Wanda, still blushing from your words, looked at both of you with so much love that it was almost overwhelming. A sudden thought crossed her mind, her lips curving into a small, playful smile.

“You know,” Wanda began, her voice light, “if you’re interested, I still have some of those clothes.”

Your daughter’s eyes lit up. “No way.”

“Oh yes, way. Why don’t you start by heading up to the attic? I’ll join you in a sec.”

In an instant, your daughter gave Wanda a quick, excited hug before practically running towards the stairs. You and Wanda exchanged a glance, bursting into quiet laughter. As you stood up, Wanda caught you by the waist, pulling you close, her eyes filled with nothing but love. For a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you. She leaned in and kissed you, slow and tender.

“Mama! Do you still have that red jacket?” your daughter called from upstairs, breaking the moment. Wanda sighed, chuckling under her breath as she pulled away.

“I do!” Wanda called back, her voice filled with affection. “In fact, that jacket I stole from Auntie Nat!”

Another excited shriek echoed down the stairs, and you both shared a fond look.

“I better go before she tears down the attic,” Wanda said with a small smile, taking a step back.

You nodded, watching her as she began to leave, but she paused at the doorway and turned back, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Hey,” she whispered, “I am cool, right?”

A full, hearty laugh escaped you, the sound filling the room with warmth. “Yeah, Wanda. You’re the coolest.”

Wanda grinned, the playful tension melting away as she disappeared up the stairs, leaving you with a heart full of love and a smile that lingered long after she was gone.

[waayoutofline]

your honour, she's GAY

if why not wlw...why wlw shaped?

[waayoutofline]

am i about to write about natasha’s cat liho in a new one shot in doing? yes. have i ever owned a cat? no. but it’s my life goal and I have an imaginary cat named taylor SO.

[waayoutofline]

When the Cat and the Mouse go for a midnight dance.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Tags: Agent Natasha x Criminal // Antihero Reader, violence, blood, murder and death, questionable moral reader, romantic insinuation (but not smut). Basically reader being a little shit and Natasha being tired of it. Fun and violent times :)

Summary —> Natasha has been chasing you, a fugitive and self claimed vigilante, for a while. One night, your paths cross again and you can’t help but to tease her a bit.

Part 1 | Part 2

WORD COUNT: 2025

The sun’s warmth has faded, yielding to dense shadows that engulf the streets. Amid dark corners and treacherous alleys, fear triggers instincts, the sympathetic system heightening defenses and hijacking paranoia. Adrenaline kicks in, heart racing, body preparing for any kind of danger looming around the corners.

And yet, you’ve always found a sense of comfort in it.

“Nah, I’m telling you, man, forget him. I’m not going back; that place is a hellhole.” a slightly drunk voice slurs, echoing against brick walls as rats scurry from dumpsters. A lighter crackles, followed by smoke drifting in the chilled breeze.

”Oh yeah? So, when are you telling him that?” Another scrawny voice asks with amusement. A silence, followed by a dry chuckle. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Smoke drifts slightly with the breeze, temperature drooping slightly.

“Shit, it's freezing out here.” One of the two complains.

The darkness the night brings…It allows you to hide. Yourself, your actions. From praying eyes. From the world. Perhaps even God if you are a believer.

“We’ve been safeguarding the warehouse for ages. What’s in there that he cares so much about?” he asks, taking another drag of his cigarette. For his voice, it was easy to guess he has had the nasty habit of smoking for years.

“Who knows. Drugs, guns, people…his usual shit.” His friend answers. “Honestly, I rather not know.”

You take the shot on your hand, leaving it on the trail before shaking your hair messily. A sigh scapes your lips as your hands pull down on your uncomfortably short dress.

“Whatever. I don’t give a damn as long as the money keeps flowing. Maybe he could throw in one of those spare companions of his.” The smile in his tone is evident.

“What? Want his sloppy seconds?”

“Oh fuck off.”

It allows you to either be the prey…or the hunter.

With practiced, seemingly haphazard steps, you maneuver your way toward one of the two men outside, their head turning immediately. “Woah there, sweetheart,” the one who catches you slurs, his hands immediately on your waist. His eyes darkening as he stares at you. “We wouldn’t want a sweet thing like you to hurt herself now, would we?” His breath reeks of bourbon and tobacco, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes at how effortlessly this is playing out.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Your voice is sweet, innocent—a trap. “I’m so clumsy.” He laughs, revealing yellowed and crooked teeth.

“That’s alright, glad I was here.” A silly giggle, another stumble.

“Got lost?” His friend asks, currently behind you. “You shouldn’t be. There are dangerous people out here.”

At least he got that part right.

The shorter one of the two steps closer. “I was just looking for something. Think you can help?” you say, looking up with doe eyes. He appears foolish as he stares with a blurry gaze.

A whistle. “Sure thing.” You find yourself almost trapped between the two.

“Great, thanks.” Your voice returns to normal, and in a matter of seconds, you punch the one in front of you in the throat. His dirty, clammy fingers release you in panic to clutch his throat, emitting a pathetic choking sound.

“What the fu-” As his friend reacts, you swiftly turn around and knee him in the groin. He howls and crumples to the floor with a cry.

“You bitch-“ Douchebg A says as he swings, movement sloppy. You easily dodge, making him tip and fall over his buddie, the two grunting. With a sigh, you grab the collar of his jacket and drag him to the vent of the rooftop, slamming him extra hard for good measure.

He is about to strand up, but you punch him on his nose with all your strength, one, two, three times until blood drips all over his gray shirt. As his back drags down the wall behind him, you kick him full force on the face.Between the pain and the alcohol on his system, he remains seated.

Just as Douchebag B gets on all fours, you walk towards him and kick him on the stomach, making him drop to the floor once again. He rolls around, trying to get away but you grab his hair and slam him downwards.

Making sure both of them are now unmoving, your hands catch the dagger strapped on your thigh and the map. Douchebag B is still wheezing, with a concussion probably. Crouching, you shove the map on his face. “Alright. So, about that help. Point to me where the warehouse is.”

He grunts. “Like hell I’ll tell you.” He spits. A sigh escapes your lips.

”It’s never easy with you people, is it?” Flipping your dagger, you stab in the side of his lower thigh, making him yelp. “I’m not asking nicely again. Point it or I’ll take this out and you’ll bleed out in a few minutes.”

He sputters, shaking his head. You dig deeper and he lets out another cry. Dragging it down, blood starts to spurt, skin and muscle ripping. “Fuck okay, okay! Here, i-its here…S-shit.” His shaky hands marks a street, leaving a smear of blood.

You turn to watch Douchebag A. “Now, you are going to say the address. I hope for both your sakes that it matches.” He mutters it. A pause as your eyes scans the map.

You fold it, a satisfied little smile on your face and then you pull the knife out, getting away just in time to avoid a spurt of blood. “Uh, messy.”

His friends curses. You can see how his face gets pale, breaths becoming shallower as a pool of blood starts to surround him. “What the fuc- He told you! W-we told you!”

Wiping the knife with the soon-to-be dead man on the ground, you put it back in place and walk towards him. A pipe on the ground lifts as you step on it and you grab it.You pout mockingly. “Yeah, I guess you did. Don’t worry, I believe you.”

“Y-you sick bit-..:”

A swing. Two. A sickening sound of broken bones and then nothing.

The silence returns once again, only slightly disturbed by your soft humming as you go back on your steps, closing the rooftop door and returning to the dim hallways of the club. As you advance, the thrumming of the loud music beat alongside your racing heart, a mass of drunken bodies not giving a single fuck at the suspicious now maroon spot on your midnight blue dress.

Entering the bathroom, you swiftly change into your standard attire, concealed within a hidden backpack. Black jeans, a wine crop top, and a dark blue denim jacket replace the compromised ensemble. Glancing in the mirror, you prepare to rejoin the dance floor with a specific goal in mind—the bar.

Where a cute, striking bartender is apparently engrossed in serving drinks. You say apparently because you know that in reality, she is too busy searching for you. Opting to spare her the pursuit, you lock eyes, and your heart quickens for an entirely different reason.

Forest green eyes fixate solely on you, creating a euphoria-like sensation despite your sobriety. A subtle smirk materializes under the focused gaze, and with a gentle sway of your hips, you approach her slowly, almost teasingly. On your way, you accidentally get in the way of a woman, who ends up backing away on a body next to her. ”Oh, so sorry!” You call out with an easy smile, still not changing directions.

“What? Not using the “what is such a beautiful lady like yourself doing here out of all places” line?” You tease, sitting on the stool, resting your chin on your right hand. She scoffs.

”Oh please, we both know that the lady is fully aware of what she is doing.” Her voice is deep, a bit raspy. Her words are calculated and you just want for her to lose her composure.

With a playful tone, you note. “Hm, you didn’t deny the “beautiful”. Do you fancy me, Agent Romanoff?”

“Hm, perhaps. If only you weren’t a worldwide fugitive.” Natasha answers back, tone dripping with mockery.

”I’l take that as a yes.” She wipes a glass, your eyes tracking the simple yet effective movements. “So, tell me. How many to the party did you bring today? For your sake, I hope they aren’t rookies.”

Natasha scoffs. “The building is surrounded. If you come willingly now, it all would go more…easy. For both of us.”

A snort. ”Aw, and cut short this cute Tom and Jerry little game we have? Please. We both know you enjoy it just as much as me, Natalia.” Her name comes out in almost a whisper as you get slightly closer. Your words hang in the air, charged with tension. “Don't tell me you don’t reveal on the thrill of the chase.”

She chuckles, the sound rich and low. “You and your flair for the dramatic. But let's not forget the reality of our situation. You are a criminal, and I’m tasked with bringing you in.”

It’s funny, really. The way in which this banter is maybe the only thing that makes adrenaline rush into your veins, well that besides your job of course. Still, you can't help but feel amused by it. “Yeah, sure, because your buddies are going to stop me. Let’s see, then!”

Clapping with your hands happily, you turn around slightly to look at the crowd. “Who will it be? PDA couplet over there?”

Natasha follows your pointing thumb, frowning when she sees the girl you shoved “accidentally”, now passionately making out with a tall, brunette dude. “The ones who guarded the exits which are currently tied up in the janitors closet?…Or perhaps the one who will tell you about my little handywork?”

Just in time, a slight buzzing tingles in the Russian agent’s ear. “Agent Romanoff, we found two gang members on the roof. One is already dead, several blunt trauma, and the other is about to bleed out. I’d say he has a few minutes tops.”

Her veiny hand grips the counter, knuckles turning white. A low whistle escapes you at the sight. “I mean, you could try and stop me yourself. Let me say, I’m not opposed to you putting me in handcuffs.” You tease with a dangerous glint in your eyes, your fingers tracing her left wrist up to her bicep. If she is bothered because of your touch, she doesn’t show it. But you see how her grip relaxes ever so slightly. Hm, interesting. “...or you could go, get the information from that dying bastard before it’s too late and you find yourself being stuck in a dead-end. Again.”

The wheels in her head are practically visible. Her eyes darken, and her jaw tenses. Oh, how you love to see her all worked up, knowing that you are one of the few who can break her cold composure. You mouth a tick-tock and with a hard downing of the bottle on her hand to the counter.

”This isn’t over. I’ll get my hands on you eventually.”

A pout. “Promise?” With a last scowl, she flies off.

Rushing through the stairs, the cold air hits Natasha on the face, her eyes adjusting to the poor light. “How is he?” Her eyes fall on the weapons you used, hand grabbing the now blooded pipe.

“I already cover the wound, but the blood…he's loosing too much. He won't make it to the medbay.” Crouching next to him, Natasha see the sickly pale tone of his face, eyes practically close and hears the shallow, broken breaths. Her eyes inspect the now covered deadly wound and grunts in frustration. “Hey, can you hear me?”

No response. He is dead. Out of frustration, she punches the vent next to him. “Um, ma’am? You should see this.”

A brick wall, right next to the door, with a message written in blood. “When you stop scowling, give me a call dear. Swear I’ll play nice.”

Grunting in frustration, Natasha throws the pipe against the wall, fuming. Looking over the street, she doesn’t see you anywhere. You are gone, even if something tells her you are giggling under the shadows.

[waayoutofline]

MRS.CLAUS AND HER HELPER

PROMPTS: “This is just pointless” and “Fine, I’ll just do it myself then.”

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Tags: Grumpy x Sunshine, fluff, awkward Nat, resident sunshine reader, christmas fun! (yes, I’m aware is actually eastern but idc).

Summary —> Natasha has feelings for you. Feelings that make her feel grumpy whenever you are near. Unfortunately, she has no opportunity to avoid you as she is assigned to a holidays mission with you.

WORD COUNT: 2927

“Miss Y/L/N, you are being requested in the conference room,” Friday announced through the speakers, causing you to halt in your tracks, the dummy of practice finally getting a break. Wiping the sweat off your forehead, you stretched your limbs before grabbing a towel. It’s only been three days since you returned from your last mission, so it catches you off guard to be called in already.

After quickly hitting the showers, you head to the lift, pressing the button while humming. But just as the mechanical doors are about to shut, a hand slips in between. “Hey, sorr-…Oh, it’s you,” a rather dry voice comments.

A smile spreads across your lips in a matter of seconds, your eyes following the figure of Natasha Romanoff slipping almost in resignation. “Good morning, Nat!” you greet her cheerfully.

“Morning,” she grumbles. “Where are you going?”

“Conference room,” her eyes widened, enough for you to connect the dots. “Oh, you too? That’s great! Perhaps they assigned us a new mission.”

Natasha, usually a morning person, grumbled. “Oh, yeah… joy,” she says, her tone lacking enthusiasm.

You might think that the red-headed spy isn’t too fond of you. Most would believe she really didn’t like you. She’s always scoffing, complaining, and even whining when forced to be in the same space as you.

But quite the contrary. She is fond of you. That’s the problem.

These fuzzy feelings did nothing but anger her. She has always been in control. She’s supposed to be. She’s a trained assassin, cold and ruthless. And yet, there’s something about you that makes her nerves betray her.

It’s her secret. Well, she is convinced that it’s a secret. The truth is that the whole team is aware. They know how Natasha Romanoff has a soft spot for the resident sunshine. Tony even has a pool going around for when she is going to actually do something about it.

Not that either two of you are aware of this fact.

You seem to be clueless. Unaware of the way Natasha’s ears turn pink whenever you smile at her. Of how her heart aches when you do as little as laugh, the sound so clear and joyful. Of the way she silently but deadly threatens anyone who dares to even tease you. Once, the team, except Wanda and Natasha, devoured your stash of sweets, not aware that they belonged to you. Unfortunately, that day you were particularly sensitive and a few tears slipped away before you could mutter, “It’s fine, don’t worry.”

And unfortunately for the boys, Natasha’s darkened eyes watched silently as the tears caressed your cheeks. The following events that happened are not to be mentioned. Just know that the next day, they all bought bags and bags of your favorite goods, besides apologizing like crazy. Confused, you accepted everything with a “Thanks?”

You aren’t aware of any of that.

She just disconnects as you happily chat away, talking about how excited you were about the incoming Christmas festivities. Plans about decorating the whole tower and baking cookies and brownies and watching Christmas movies with the team and….The ding sound in the air as Natasha practically throws herself out of the lift. You giggle softly, “Where’s the fire at, Nat?” You tease, walking calmly in different ways to her wide, fast-paced steps. Natasha curses to herself, cheeks blazing. It should be illegal to be this cute at such hours.

“I just don’t want to be late,” she snaps. You shrug, not affected by her harshness. That’s another thing that baffled her. Usually, she intimidates even the senior agents with her direct personality and ironic comments and yet, you never seem to be hesitant or scared at all to approach her. It’s like you are immune to it.

Is she losing her touch? She feels like she is losing her touch.

Her hands go to the handle, opening it before doing a painfully awkward gesture for you to go in first. You smile in gratitude when passing next to her, the familiar scent of vanilla making her hold her breath.

“Y/L/N, Romanoff,” Nick greets, dramatically turning around. You say a cheery hello, Natasha just nods. Let’s get this over with. “I know you both just been on a mission, but we need your assistance on this.”

Natasha feels her stomach drop. Taking a seat, the director gives you both two copies of a report. Skimming through it, Natasha’s eyes widen. “Oh no, absolutely not.”

“I knew she was going to say that,” Tony chimes in.

“Don’t give her more reason to not do it, Tony,” Steve sighs.

“Are we sure it’s them?” You ask dubiously, eyes still on the paper. Fury nods.

“Yes. We have had surveillance on them for the last month, all points that they have they must have their next exchange somewhere in this mall. They are using the upcoming festivities to go more unnoticed.”

Natasha sighs. “So what, are we supposed to go and possibly catch them in broad daylight?” Fury shakes his head.

“Not exactly. We need you two to go undercover, keep a low profile and watch out for more suspicious activity. A few boxes of cargo isn’t enough to take the entire operation down. While we know they maybe are dealers on the area we don’t exactly know if it’s a full on operation. ”

The Russian’s eyebrows furrow. “Why not send an agent then? Have them confirm.”

“This is too delicate. A couple of rookies are less likely to draw attention. I need your eyes, subtlety, and Y/N’s enhanced hearing,” Fury explained.

Natasha sighed in frustration, pushing the folder away. “So, you want us to go into a mall full of late Christmas shoppers and look for suspicious drug trade that you’re not even sure is happening there?” she summarized.

Fury nodded. “Aren’t you perceptive, Agent Romanoff.”

Natasha opened her mouth to protest further, but Fury beat her to it. “Now, how do you two feel about Santa?”

***

“Oh no, absolutely not,” Natasha huffs indignantly. The sounds of the rushing people are muffled by the door, the lights already making Natasha dizzy. You turn your head to look at her over the shoulder.

”Oh. Do you want to be the elf, then? I don’t mind-“ She cuts you off with a grunt.

”No, I don’t want to be anything. This is absolutely ridiculous. Just wait until we return to the tower, Fury is going to hear it.” A laugh escapes you at the scowl on her face. She sends you the mean look, but you don’t even flinch.

“It’s not that bad. Think of it as a Christmas spirit operation.” You try to cheer up, not really finding the zipper of the disguise. A scoff.

“We’ve been following this narcotic clan for months now, all leading us into dead ends. Perhaps we should start to consider the fact that they aren’t even in America anymore. This is just pointless.”

You shrugged your shoulders, putting the green suit on your shoulder and going to the changing room. “Fine, I’ll just do it myself then.” The spy’s arms, which were crossed, almost get out of their place as she grabs your arm. Gentle enough to not hurt, but firm enough to stop you.

You look up at her and she feels like she is about to faint. “What- no. What if they are here—…”

“You just said they may not even be here, so there’s nothing to worry about.” The reassurance doesn’t seem to calm her, but you keep walking away. Your legs are barely out of the storage room when she calls you to stop.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine! Fine. Just…” She stops you, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Let’s get this over with.” You clap in excitement and face lighting like a christmas tree, spinning happily. A satisfied grin on your face that she doesn’t get to see. “Great! See you in five minutes, Mrs. Claus!” You sing as you finally exit. Natasha almost hits her head on the wall at how easily she just gave in.

She has definitely lost her touch.

***

“Mommy, why is Mrs. Claus looking so grumpy?” a little kid asks her mom as they pass by, the woman giving you two a disapproving look. You nudge Natasha’s side with your elbow.

“Yeah, Mrs. Claus… light it up a little, will you?” You mutter with a tight smile. “And also, don’t sit like that.” Natasha huffs, but changes position on the tall, red velvet-covered chair.

“Shut it, elf, or I’ll have you sent to the North Pole in no time,” she answers snarkily, but you were too distracted relocating the wall of fake gift boxes to have a better view.

Still, you look at her with an eyebrow raised. “What was that?”

A gulp. “Nothing.”

For as sweet as you were, you did know how to throw a mean glare. Was Natasha into it? Absolutely not.

“That’s what I thought.” The cheers of children echo, Natasha’s face paling as they all line up. Before she can say something about it, you put a hand on her shoulder. “Now, smile bright and be nice to the kids.”

”Bet you wouldn’t be so happy about having small people sit on your lap.” Faking a pout, you bend slightly to look her in the eyes.

”Aw, does that mean I won’t have a turn later?” You tease. And suddenly, all the remarks that the redhead had disappeared into thin air, never to be found again. You giggle. “Careful, your face is matching with your disguise.”

She is still sputtering indignantly by the time you redirect your attention to the crowd, a big bright grin on your face. The fact that she finds you cute even in the ridiculous elf suit you’re wearing speaks volumes.

“Merry Christmas everyone!” You greet happily, dramatically doing a reverence. “See, Santa has got a bit too many sweets before going to sleep situation.” Everyone cheers sadly. “But lucky for us, someone came all the way here all the way form the North Pole to save the day, give a big applause everyone for…Mrs.Claus!” Everyone claps excitedly as Natasha does a big, strained smile and salutes everyone to the public. The children (and even the parents) cheer loudly.

“Marry christmas. Who is ready to sit on my lap?” Natasha asks in exaggerated happiness, flushing some more when you give her a sneaky wink. What did she do to deserve this?

***

Ten or so children go by, all asking for their gifts. You want to think that everything is going well so far, no sign of any undercover trafficking, and everyone seems to be having a great time. Even Natasha.

“What do you want, kiddo?” The little boy grins toothlessly.

“I want a pink pony with fire breath and Pegasus wings!” The redhead hesitates.

“Well, those are rare… Anything else that you want?” The kid stops and thinks for a bit.

“Mmm, oh yeah! I want for mom and dad to bring their adult friends home instead of hiding them from each other. That way we can have a party!” Natasha’s eyes widened, choking on air. Your hand flies to your mouth in surprise as Natasha looks at you in panic. You send her a look that screams “You better fix this.”

“A pink flying, fire-breathing pony it is then!”

Besides that one, of course.

As fewer and fewer kids are in the waiting line, you feel yourself relax. If anything were to happen, at least there won’t be people who will get hurt. Natasha stretches lightly on the chair. When looking at the next kid, a little smile appears on her face. “Would you look at that? You look exactly like a smaller version of someone I know,” she mentions as she pulls the kid onto her lap.

The girl smiles, and you get an idea of who she reminded her of. “Really? From the North Pole? Is she magical?” Natasha makes an exaggerated thinking face while you scoff lightly.

“Well, she is a little bit of a troublemaker at times…” Natasha says dramatically, making the girl laugh. “But yeah… you could very well say she is magical.” Her voice is soft, sincere. You can’t help but blush a little.

***

“Ugh, I’m sweating. Why is this thing so hot?” Natasha complained as you two walked side by side, finally being able to catch a break. You nodded absentmindedly, your eyes wandering until you suddenly froze. Still wrestling with the disguise, Natasha didn’t notice. “I’m suffocating. This can’t be legal…”

“Natasha,” a couple of men scurried into a door next to the bathroom stalls. You recognized the characteristic tattoo of a crossed couple of spears on their necks until they both disappeared.

“It has way too many zippers and—” You hit her with your elbow, startling her.

“Stop it! Give me some room to complain, woman. I’ve already accepted plenty of your side eyes this morning.”

Rolling your eyes, you pulled her along by her hand. Her eyes stuck where you two were touching. “What are you…” As you opened the door, you followed down the hallway, being careful not to be spotted. Shushing her and slightly pulling her against the wall to cover with the shadows, you pointed to the now visible men, who were around the corner in a small operation room. There were gift-themed boxes scattered everywhere, alongside bags of bright purple powder. Still, for anyone, it could be said this was a normal management room.

“Pretty sure there aren’t any Barbie houses in those boxes,” Natasha muttered. You nodded, counting the number of guys. “So that’s how they do it. They benefit from the holidays to smuggle the drugs…” She trailed off.

“…and because there is so much activity and shipment movement it goes easily under the radar.” You finished happily, looking up at her with a grin, only to notice that she was already watching you. Her eyes locked on your hand, which still rests softly on her upper chest, the space between the two of you being almost nonexistent. In your excitement, you didn’t notice how close you were.

For a second, you didn’t say anything. No happy comments or quick remarks. She didn’t say anything either, no sarcastic retort or reproach. The only sounds were your breaths and the faint pulse of a frantic heart.

Even if it felt like it was frozen, there was this notion that one of the two was moving slightly closer. If not both of you. But as it turns out, time didn’t actually freeze, and it didn’t take much for someone to spot you.

“Hey, what are yo-… Oh shit.” Someone exclaimed, making both of you jump away from each other. You caught the movement of Natasha reaching for the taser that (you didn’t approve of) was strapped on her back. However, a quick analysis of the man’s face told you enough to make her stop. She looked at you in confusion before reading the spark in your eyes. A nod.

“Oh, sorry, we thought this was an empty closet…” You giggled, dramatically grabbing Natasha’s arm and putting your face on Natasha’s shoulder, nuzzling her neck. You felt her tense before her arms wrapped around your waist, tugging you closer. You were pretty sure that extra beat wasn’t because of the adrenaline.

“This place is restricted to the public,” he muttered, flustered.

“Sure. How about we try the changing room, sweetheart?” Natasha muttered, loud (and suggestive) enough for the man’s awkwardness to grow tenfold and leave.

“What was that, man?”

“Nothing, just Mrs. Claus and her helper making out.”

It wasn’t long until you both returned to the first level of the mall. “Alright, this should be enough distance…” Natasha mutters, looking for any more tattooed men. Suddenly, an unusually soft, warm sensation process on her mind, looking down she can still see both your hands enterwined. You are looking to, but don't make any attempt to “fix” the situation.

“C’mon, let’s go inform Fury to bring in the team.” Immediately after that, you are pulling her along, Natasha’s face now fully complementing the same shade of her Mrs.Claus dress. If it was because of embarrassment or another feeling entirely she will not tell.

One thing she can say for sure. Perhaps this whole “christmassy operation” wasn’t bad after all.

***

—extra

(A FEW MOMENTS LATER, IN THE TOWER…)

”Great job, agents. I appreciate your work.” Fury hangs the calls, turning to the rest of the team. “Apparently, they found out actual activity of the smuggling. Have plenty of high ranked operators and shipment cargo.”

“Why the surprise?” Bruce questions, while Tony laughs.

”Shit, they actually did?” Everyone looks at him confused. “What? You guys don’t know?”

The room fills with puzzled looks as Steve exhales audibly in his chair. “This operation was merely a facade to orchestrate a charming little rendezvous between Natasha and Y/N. It’s rather remarkable they stumbled upon anything, considering the slim odds,” he elucidates nonchalantly.

”And Fury greenlit this?”

“I did. I’ve grown weary of witnessing Agent Romanoff’s infatuation with Y/N—it’s proving distracting. Even the junior agents are indulging in speculation about their eventual…get together. Sooner rather than later, I say,” Fury explains, shrugging indifferently.

“You did what?!” Natasha growled, practically kicking the door down.

Most people have never seen a single emotion on the director's face. But the ones who were there that day would forever remember the flash of fright that flashed in Nick Fury's good eye.