Chapter 9
Natasha stirred slowly, the early morning chill slipping through the cracks of the old estate and brushing over her exposed skin. The silk of her black tank top and shorts did little to keep the cold at bay, but she barely noticed it as she blinked herself into wakefulness. What she did notice, however, was the distinct warmth still present beside her.
Tony was still in bed.
That alone was enough to pull her fully from the haze of sleep. He never stayed. Not once in the few times they had fallen asleep in the same room—whether it was after a late-night strategy session or one too many drinks by the fireplace—had Tony remained past dawn. She had half-expected to wake up to an empty space beside her, the sheets cool and untouched, as if he had never been there at all. But this time, he had stayed.
He lay with his back to her, the covers draped loosely over his waist, exposing the broad expanse of his scarred back. The morning light filtering through the windows cast faint golden hues over the raised lines and brutal remnants of a past he never spoke about. His muscles were tense even in sleep, the marks of a man who had been trained to wake at a moment’s notice, always ready, always prepared. Yet here he was, lying beside her, his breaths deep and even, the slow rise and fall of his body unguarded in a way she rarely saw.
Natasha knew better. Knew she would regret it the second she did it. But impulse won over reason.
Carefully, slowly, she inched closer, pressing herself against his back.
His skin was warm, solid beneath her palms, and she felt the way his muscles twitched ever so slightly at the contact before settling again. The scent of him surrounded her—something like cedarwood, faint traces of motor oil, and the lingering warmth of sleep. She burrowed into him, letting her forehead rest against his spine, her arms loosely draped around his waist. It was a mistake. She knew it was a mistake. But for once, she didn’t care.
What she didn’t expect was for him to move.
With a low, barely-there grunt, Tony shifted, turning over until he was facing her. Before she could even react, an arm slipped around her waist, the weight of it warm and steady, his large hand resting against the small of her back. And then he pulled her in, effortlessly drawing her into him, her head naturally falling against his arm, her face just beneath his jaw, his breath warm against her hair.
He smelled different like this—softer somehow.
His body curled around hers, holding her with a protectiveness that felt too natural, too instinctual for a man who claimed not to need anything from anyone. He was warm, his grip gentle but firm, like even in unconsciousness, he had no intention of letting her go.
Natasha barely breathed, unwilling to disturb the moment. The single second she caught a glimpse of his face, his eyes were closed, his features relaxed in a way she rarely saw. Asleep.
Or at least, that’s what she assumed.
Minutes passed, though she wasn’t sure how many. She could hear the faint sounds of the estate waking beyond the walls—the distant hum of the wind moving through the trees, the occasional creak of the old wooden floors settling. But none of it seemed to matter. Not when she was still here, still wrapped in the impossible warmth of Tony Stark, still letting herself indulge in a fleeting moment of closeness she had no right to.
Then it happened.
The hand resting against her back moved, slow and deliberate. His fingers skimmed the silk of her tank top, barely a whisper of contact, before traveling upward, past her shoulder, until they reached her hair.
And then, with a care so precise it nearly unraveled something inside her, he fixed it.
He smoothed back a stray strand, tucking it away, his touch lingering for just a second longer than necessary before his hand drifted back down, settling once more at the small of her back.
That’s when she realized.
He was awake.
Tony was awake…
He was careful, calculated even in his kindness, always ensuring she had what she needed before she even had to ask, yet never asking for anything in return. It was infuriating in its own way, how effortlessly he gave without expectation, without ever letting himself be truly seen.
And yet, here he was now, wrapped around her in the quiet of the morning, his touch lingering as if he had no intention of letting go.
She should say something. She should pull away. The logical part of her knew this was dangerous, knew that whatever this was—whatever had been building between them for the past months—was teetering on an edge neither of them could afford to cross. But for once, Natasha ignored logic.
Instead, she shifted just slightly, just enough to glance up at him.
Golden flecks caught in the morning light, dark irises framed by long lashes, barely parted lips, the rough shadow of his goatee tracing the sharp line of his jaw. His face, normally so composed, so carefully schooled into arrogance or amusement, was bare in this moment.
And he was looking right at her.
"You're awake," she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
His lips twitched, something like amusement ghosting over his face before he exhaled slowly. "You say that like I ever really sleep."
The honesty in that statement settled between them, heavy and unspoken. She knew it was true—she had seen the way he functioned on the bare minimum of rest, how he never fully let himself succumb to unconsciousness. It was another thing she hadn't asked about. Another piece of him she knew he'd never willingly offer.
But here, now, he wasn’t pushing her away.
Her fingers tightened slightly against his back, a silent acknowledgment. She felt him shift again, the arm around her pulling her just a fraction closer, as if testing whether she would push him away. She didn’t.
"You stayed," she said instead, her voice softer than she meant it to be.
Tony didn’t respond right away. His eyes searched hers, as if weighing how much he wanted to say, how much he was willing to let her see. Then, after a beat, he gave her a lopsided, almost self-deprecating smirk.
"Yeah. Guess I did."
She didn’t know what to make of that. And maybe she didn’t need to.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The space between them felt smaller than it was, charged with something unspoken yet undeniable. She could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm, the warmth of him seeping into her skin.
Then, just as effortlessly as everything else he did, Tony lifted a hand, fingers grazing the curve of her jaw before tucking another stray strand of hair behind her ear. The touch was slow, deliberate—too gentle for a man trained to kill.
Too careful for someone who claimed not to care.
Natasha’s breath hitched for just a second before she schooled herself, ignoring the way her pulse quickened under his fingertips.
"You should go back to sleep," he murmured, voice lower now, rougher with exhaustion he’d never admit to.
She knew he wouldn’t. Knew he couldn’t. But she didn’t call him out on it.
Instead, she did something reckless.
She closed her eyes and let herself stay.
Natasha wasn’t sure how long she dozed, but when she blinked awake again, Tony was still there. That was… unexpected. She had thought maybe—just maybe—he would’ve slipped away while she slept, but no. He was still holding her, still warm, still solid beneath her fingers.
And when she tilted her head slightly to look up at him, she caught it—the tiniest, laziest crack of an eye opening. Just one. The barest glint of gold-flecked brown peeking through his lashes before a slow, knowing smirk curved his lips.
“Morning, Romanoff,” he murmured, voice sleep-rough and far too smug for someone who had just woken up.
She huffed, fingers idly tracing an old scar on his shoulder. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”
“Mm.” His smirk widened. “You’re supposed to be subtle.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. “So?” she asked, watching his expression carefully. “Did it help? Having someone in the same room?”
Tony exhaled, gaze flickering toward the ceiling as if considering his answer. “I think so,” he admitted, voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “I got, what—three hours? That’s a personal record.”
Natasha didn’t doubt it. She had spent enough nights in the same vicinity as him to know how little he slept. It was always the same—restlessness, pacing, the soft hum of technology in the dead of night as he worked himself into exhaustion. The rare times he did sleep, it was never deep. Never peaceful.
Her fingers moved again, tracing absent patterns against his skin. “Why do you think it worked?”
His chest rose and fell in a slow, measured breath. “I think…” He hesitated, his grip on her waist tightening just slightly, like he was grounding himself. “I think my body knew I wasn’t alone.”
She frowned at that, not liking the implication. “You know you’re not, right?”
Something unreadable passed over his face before he gave her a crooked, self-deprecating smile. “Yeah. Sure.”
She didn’t call him out on the obvious lie. Not yet. Instead, she pressed herself a little closer, resting her forehead against his collarbone. “For what it’s worth, I get it,” she murmured. “I have night terrors too.”
Tony didn’t react right away, but she felt the subtle shift in his breathing. When he spoke, his voice was softer. “I know.”
She lifted her head slightly, surprised. “You do?”
A short, humorless chuckle. “Romanoff, I have super hearing when it comes to things I care about. I’ve heard you wake up in the middle of the night more times than I can count.”
Her brows furrowed. “And you never said anything?”
He shrugged, a little sheepish. “Didn’t know if that was crossing a line.”
Her lips twitched. “That’s rich, coming from a man currently wrapped around me like a very clingy octopus.”
“Excuse you,” Tony said, scandalized. “I am an extremely refined and distinguished cuddle enthusiast. There’s a difference.”
Natasha snorted. “Oh yeah? And what exactly makes you so distinguished?”
“Well, for starters,” he drawled, “I don’t drool in my sleep.”
Her jaw dropped. “I do not drool!”
“Mm. Tell that to my arm.”
Natasha narrowed her eyes, reaching up to flick his forehead. “Maybe if your arm wasn’t right in my face—”
“Maybe if your face wasn’t right on my arm—”
“Oh my God, you’re insufferable.”
“And yet, you’re still here,” he pointed out smugly.
She huffed, shaking her head. “Unfortunately.”
Tony gasped, clutching his chest like she had mortally wounded him. “Unfortunately? Romanoff, I am the best thing to ever happen to your sleeping arrangements. You should be thanking me.”
“Oh, I’ll thank you, alright.” She gave him a deceptively sweet smile before jabbing her fingers into his ribs. “With pain.”
He yelped, jerking away with an exaggerated glare. “Unbelievable. I offer you warmth, security, and my devastatingly attractive presence, and this is how you repay me?”
She smirked. “Yep.”
Tony sighed dramatically. “You wound me.”
“I could do worse.”
He hummed. “Kinda looking forward to it, honestly.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was warmth behind it. “You’re a masochist.”
“Only for you, darling.”
The words were teasing, effortless, but there was something in the way he said them that made her stomach flip. He meant it. Maybe not in the way she should be worried about. But he meant it.
And that? That was dangerous.
Natasha arched a brow. "Also you? Worried about crossing a line? Seriously?"
Tony placed a hand over his heart—his real heart, not his arc reactor. "I know, shocking. Anthony Edward Stark, respectful and self-controlled. Who would’ve thought?"
She smirked. "Certainly not me."
His lips parted in mock offense. "I’ll have you know, I am the very definition of a gentleman. Ask anyone."
"Oh? You mean the same gentleman who installed a stripper pole in his jet?"
Tony pointed at her. "First of all, that was for science. Aerodynamics and all that."
"Right," she drawled, unimpressed. "And I suppose the 'Mile High Club' button on the dashboard was also for science?"
He grinned, entirely unrepentant. "Hey, never hurts to have options."
Natasha snorted, shaking her head. "You’re insufferable."
"And yet, here you are, cuddled up against me like a particularly aggressive koala."
She scoffed but didn’t move away. "I was cold."
"Ah, yes, the classic 'I was cold' excuse. Right up there with 'I tripped and fell onto your lips' and 'Oops, my hand just so happened to land on your thigh.'" He smirked. "You can just admit it, Romanoff. You like me."
Natasha rolled her eyes. "You’re lucky I tolerate you."
Tony gave her a knowing look. "Mhm. Keep telling yourself that."
She huffed, but there was no real annoyance behind it. Just the comfortable rhythm of their banter, the kind that had always come so easily between them. The kind that made her feel, for just a moment, like things weren’t as complicated as they actually were.
A beat of silence stretched between them before Tony spoke again, voice quieter this time. "For what it’s worth, I don’t mind the nightmares as much when you’re around."
Something tightened in her chest.
She had spent her entire life training herself to be untouchable, to be unshaken, to never let anyone close enough to see the cracks. But Tony—he had a way of slipping past her defenses, of making her feel things she had no business feeling.
And worse? She let him.
She swallowed hard, forcing her voice to stay light. "That’s because I’m the only one who can put up with you."
Tony smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Damn right."
She hesitated for a moment before reaching up, fingers brushing lightly over the tattoo down his spine, the words inked into his skin like a silent vow.
"You're not alone, Tony," she said quietly.
He stilled beneath her touch, his breath catching just slightly. And for the first time, he didn’t deflect. Didn’t joke.
Instead, he just looked at her.
Really looked at her.
And then, after a long beat, he whispered, "I know."
Tony’s fingers lightly grazed her ribs before settling on her side. The warmth of his touch seemed to spread through her, settling in the space between them. Natasha’s breath hitched, though she wouldn’t let herself acknowledge how it stirred something deeper within her. She couldn’t allow that, not when they both knew better.
“You know,” Tony mused, his voice a little too casual for the moment, “for a spy, you’re awfully comfortable getting up close and personal.”
Natasha tilted her head to look up at him, her lips curling into a smirk. “Is that a problem?”
“Not at all,” he replied smoothly, his hand gently resting on her side. “Just didn’t take you for the cuddling type. Thought you’d prefer... more distance.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “What makes you think I prefer distance?”
“Oh, please,” Tony quipped, his thumb stroking along her waist, a teasing, light touch that had her heart beating faster than she cared to admit. “I’ve seen the way you eye the exit every time someone gets too close. You're practically a human escape button.”
She let out a soft, amused laugh. “And you’re a master at pretending you don’t care about anything. So what’s your point?”
Tony rolled his eyes dramatically, but his hand didn’t move, staying firmly in place on her waist. “Point is, this is weird,” he said, his lips tugging up into a sly grin. “But also, I’m not exactly opposed to it.” His voice dropped lower, teasing. “I’m just not sure if you’re finally admitting I’m irresistible.”
She scoffed, but there was no real heat in it. Instead, she flicked a finger at his chest. “I’m just here for the free breakfast. Don’t flatter yourself, Stark.”
“Oh, right,” he said with mock seriousness, propping himself up on one elbow. “Because I’m just a walking meal ticket.”
“You absolutely are,” she replied, winking at him before shifting, trying to free herself from the tangle of limbs.
Tony’s grip tightened just enough to keep her in place, though, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Oh, you think you can get away that easily?”
Natasha raised a brow, an almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Is this the part where you try to seduce me with your cooking skills?”
“I don’t know, Natasha,” Tony teased, leaning down a little closer, his lips hovering just above her ear. “I could make killer scrambled eggs... or just ruin it by offering you pancakes with my signature ‘I’m too hot for this’ charm.”
She couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up, shaking her head as she gently shoved him back. “You’re insufferable.”
As the silence lingered between them, Natasha felt an odd sense of peace she hadn’t expected. The tension, the weight of the unspoken words, was still there, but for the moment, it wasn’t unbearable. She rested her head against his chest again, listening to the steady beat of his heart, feeling the warmth of his body. Tony was still holding her, still unwilling to let go, and though she had no idea what it all meant, she wasn’t ready to pull away. Not just yet.
Tony, ever the one to break the quiet, shifted beneath her with a soft grunt. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, his voice filled with teasing warmth. “Though I’m not sure ‘putting up with me’ is the highest form of praise.”
Natasha let out a laugh, though it was a small one, and pressed herself a little closer to him. “I’m doing you a favor, Stark. Don’t get used to it,” she said, her words a half-joking challenge.
“Right,” Tony drawled, “because no one else is lucky enough to experience the wonder that is me.” He shifted again, this time stretching one arm out beneath his head like he was getting comfortable for a nap. “You’re welcome, by the way,” he added with an exaggerated wink.
She smirked, unable to suppress the roll of her eyes. “As if I needed any more reminders of your ego,” she teased.
He grinned, leaning down just enough to press a soft kiss to the top of her head. “I’m just saying, Romanoff,” he murmured, “some people would kill to be in your position. I’m practically a treasure trove of charm and sheer brilliance.”
“I’m sure,” she replied dryly, “and yet here I am, stuck with you.”
Tony’s arm tightened around her, pulling her into him just a little bit more. “Hey, don’t knock it until you try it.” He paused for a beat, as though he was considering something. “Actually, you probably have already tried it. I’m irresistible.”
“Only to you,” she quipped back, her fingers absently tracing patterns along the edge of his shirt.
Tony chuckled softly, but then his expression softened, a glimmer of sincerity in his eyes. “I’m serious though. If you ever need a reminder of just how lucky you are—”
“I get it,” Natasha interrupted with a small, exasperated smile. “I’m graced with your presence. It’s a privilege.”
He smirked. “Exactly. You’ve got it now.” Then he gave her a gentle squeeze. “But seriously, Romanoff, if you want me to stop—”
“Stop?” she repeated, her voice low, though she didn’t move away from him. “Keep going. I’m not exactly complaining.”
He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “I knew it. You just can’t resist me.”
She snorted, sitting up slightly, her gaze locking onto his. “I’ve got plenty of resistance left. You’re lucky I like sarcasm. Otherwise, you’d be unbearable.”
“Lucky for you, then,” he said smoothly, “because sarcasm is basically my middle name.”
“Anthony Sarcasm Stark,” she deadpanned, earning a genuine laugh from him.
“Okay, now you’re just mocking me,” Tony said with a feigned pout, but his eyes were dancing with amusement.
“Well, you’ve earned it,” Natasha replied, letting her playful side shine through. “You make it too easy.”
“I do have that effect on people,” he said, leaning back with a smug grin. “What can I say? It’s part of my charm.”
“Yeah, well, the charm better come with food,” Natasha said suddenly, sitting up straighter. “Because I’m starving.”
Tony couldn’t help but grin as he leaned against the doorframe of the bedroom. “You know, I’ve been known to whip up a mean breakfast.”
Natasha, who had been lounging on the bed scrolling through her phone, didn’t even look up. “I know. You’ve been feeding me gourmet meals for the past three months. At this point, I’ve pretty much come to expect it.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so no room for surprise today?”
She finally looked up, raising a brow of her own, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “Not when I already know I’m about to eat like royalty, Stark. I’m actually starting to wonder if I should just move in here permanently and save myself the trouble of finding a place with decent food.”
He chuckled and pushed himself off the doorframe, strolling into the kitchen with a dramatic flair. “I’m glad to see my efforts are appreciated.”
“Don’t get cocky,” she called after him, her tone light but teasing. “You’ve set the bar so high, I’m not sure anyone else could ever compete.”
~~~
Tony smirked as he began to pull out ingredients, moving around the kitchen with the grace of someone who’d been doing this for years. He wasn’t the type to brag—okay, maybe just a little—but he knew how to cook. She’d tasted it. She’d felt it—every bite perfectly seasoned, the right balance of flavors, the quality of the ingredients always top-notch. The man could make something as simple as scrambled eggs feel like a luxury.
Natasha pushed herself up from the bed, stretching as she made her way to the kitchen. Her eyes followed him for a moment as he worked, the familiarity of his movements something she had come to appreciate in the last few months. He was methodical, confident, and—despite the casual attitude he often projected—clearly took pride in his cooking. She wasn’t sure if it was the genius in him or the former Hydra assassin that made him so precise in the kitchen, but whatever it was, it worked.
“I’ve got to say, I don’t know how you manage to make every meal taste like a five-star experience,” Natasha said, leaning against the counter and watching him with an amused expression.
Tony gave her a quick glance, flashing a grin. “It’s a gift.” He slid a pan onto the stove, the sound of sizzling butter filling the air. “Now, tell me if you’d rather have avocado toast with smoked salmon or eggs benedict. Or do I need to surprise you again?”
She chuckled, a soft, affectionate sound. “You’ve already spoiled me. I trust you, Stark. Just don’t go ruining my love for breakfast food.”
“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing,” he replied, a quiet confidence in his voice as he worked.
She couldn’t help but smile, leaning back against the counter, the warmth from the kitchen matching the warmth in her chest. She did trust him—completely. And it wasn’t just the food that made her feel that way. It was the quiet moments like this, the ease with which they interacted, the way Tony seemed to always know what she needed without asking.
When he finally plated the meal and set it down in front of her, she didn’t even hesitate before picking up her fork and digging in. The perfectly poached egg, the rich hollandaise sauce, the smokiness of the salmon—everything was exactly as it should be. Just like every meal he had made for her.
She took another bite, savoring the flavors, before glancing up at him with a grin. “I swear, you’re trying to make me addicted to your cooking.”
Tony smirked, clearly pleased with her reaction. “It’s a dangerous game, Romanoff. But you’re clearly already hooked.”
She rolled her eyes, though there was no hiding the affection in her smile. “I wouldn’t go that far, Stark.”
“You keep coming back for more,” he said with a wink, settling down next to her. “So, clearly, something’s working.”
She took a bite and shrugged, playfully ignoring him. “You’re lucky you can cook. Otherwise, you’d just be a billionaire playboy with a messed-up past and a few too many suits.”
Tony grinned, clearly not offended in the least. “And yet, you keep coming back to this billionaire playboy.” He leaned back in his seat, his voice dropping just a touch more serious, but still playful. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Natasha glanced at him, her expression softening slightly. “You should. You’ve earned it. You really know how to make a meal feel special.”
“I’m glad to know you think so.” He looked at her, his gaze holding hers for a moment before the playful tone returned. “Now, I just need to figure out how to make every day as perfect as this one. Maybe I’ll even let you cook for me one of these days.”
She gave him a look of mock horror. “You’re really pushing it now, Stark.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he teased, grabbing his own fork and digging into his own plate.