Chapter 2
(A/n:I might switch to first-person POVs in a few chapters... is that okay?)
Third Person POV:
Tony Stark had always prided himself on his ability to compartmentalize, to tuck away the messy emotions behind iron walls and polished sarcasm. But standing there, in the dimly lit living room of his own compound, facing Natasha Romanoff, he felt every seam of his armor threatening to rip open. He hadn’t meant to leave his lab—had barely left it in three weeks—but Friday had practically strong-armed him into taking a ‘mental health walk.’ The AI had insisted that fresh air and a change of scenery might clear his head, but now, as he stood rooted in place, Tony knew the truth: nothing could clear his head when it came to her.
She was a vision, even in the most unassuming clothes. Natasha wore baggy black sweatpants that pooled around her feet, the uncuffed hems brushing against the concrete floor. Her tight-cropped black tank top clung to her like a second skin, showcasing the lean, sculpted lines of her abdomen and the subtle curve of her waist. She was drenched in sweat, her skin glowing, and Tony knew what it took to make her sweat like that. Hours upon hours of brutal training—sparring, lifting, running herself into the ground. She was the kind of woman who only bled or sweated when she wanted to, and now, with her body shimmering in the fractured sunlight, she looked untouchable.
The first thing he noticed was her hair. Gone were the familiar fiery red curls, replaced by platinum blonde strands cut into a shaggy, almost wolf-like style. The middle part allowed her hair to frame her face perfectly, soft curtain bangs brushing her forehead. It barely reached her shoulders, each layer messy yet deliberate, a calculated disarray. The change was more than aesthetic. It was a statement, a shedding of skin. She was reinventing herself right under his roof, in his space, and the audacity of it made his blood simmer.
"You're still here?" His voice came out harsher than intended, but he didn’t bother to soften it.
Natasha didn’t flinch. She never did. Instead, she pushed away from the kitchen island, her palms leaving faint prints of moisture on the granite. "I told you. I’m not going anywhere. I haven’t even left the building."
Tony’s jaw tightened. "Or you’re plotting my demise."
Her lips curled, not quite a smirk but close enough. "Don’t be childish, Tony."
She leaned against the counter, her arms folding just beneath her chest, and Tony’s treacherous eyes followed the movement. The cropped tank top did little to hide the swell of her breasts, the toned curve of her body. Even in baggy sweats, her hips drew his attention, the fabric clinging to her in all the right ways. God, she was beautiful. Dangerous. A black widow who had woven herself into his life, spun silk around his heart, and now sat in his kitchen as if she belonged there.
"What? How is it childish?" His arms crossed defensively. "You stabbed me in the back. Maybe you’re here to finish your boyfriend’s job. Or are you dating the one who murdered my parents? Honestly, can’t tell. Or do they tag team? I don’t discriminate in sex. Are you guys a throuple?"
Her eyes narrowed, a flash of genuine anger breaking through the practiced calm. "No, I’m not dating a super soldier. I’ve never dated anyone truthfully. Only undercover."
The admission struck him, but Tony wasn’t about to show it. "Come on, some asshole got to fake date you, and you wouldn’t even give me a kiss when you were Miss Rushman?"
She exhaled slowly, a controlled release of frustration. "You wouldn’t have let me. You were too wrapped up in Pepper. Speaking of which—where is she?"
Tony didn’t bite. He knew her game. "Lies."
"What?" Her brows knitted, but the confusion felt too rehearsed.
"I never fell in love with Pepper. And we weren’t even together when you came to stab me in the back the first time."
Natasha’s lips parted, and something shifted in her demeanor. Vulnerability, perhaps? No, not her. "You wanted me to kiss you?"
He snorted, busying himself with the coffee maker. "Did I not make a pass at you?"
"You make a pass at everyone." Her voice had a sharpness to it, an edge of something darker.
Tony turned, setting down two steaming mugs of coffee. "I don’t remember trying to seduce one of the super soldiers or Rhodey. But I’ll ask Friday to analyze my past behaviors. I’d hate to think I’m projecting. I don’t make romantic passes at just anyone, Miss Widow. But if you were as good at analyzing your victims as you claim, you would have known that."
He handed her the coffee—black and hot, just how she liked it. His fingers brushed hers, a spark of warmth against his otherwise cold demeanor. It was a betrayal, a sign that despite everything, for Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark could still find it within himself to be a gentleman.
She took a sip, her lips leaving a faint print on the rim. "You’re jealous of Steve and Barnes?"
"Only thing to be jealous about Cap is his ass," Tony shot back, his tone flat. "And as for Barnes, I’d rather be kidnapped and tortured again than be like him."
Natasha’s expression didn’t change, but her grip on the mug tightened. "I don’t mean of them. I mean my relationship with them."
There it was. The knife between the ribs. "No, I’m not jealous of your canoodling with Captain America and The Winter Soldier. I’m hurt you’d pick them. And that in past missions you slept with your targets. At least if you’d slept with me, I’d have something to show for your lies and deception."
Her lips quirked into a sly smile. "Tony, you want to sleep with me?"
He huffed, setting his own mug down. "No. I wanted compensation for your actions. Now I want you to disappear. But I’m too gullible to kick you to the streets, and too much of a gentleman to treat you like shit—like you treated me."
She took another sip of her coffee, unfazed.
"And stop calling me that."
"Tony?" Her voice was sweet, a mockery of innocence.
"Yes." His tone was ice.
"Why?" She leaned forward, a predator toying with her prey. "You respond so well to it."
He didn’t break. "Widow, stop."
The silence settled between them, thick and suffocating. Tony held his ground, refusing to be drawn into whatever web she was spinning. But beneath the anger, beneath the betrayal, was the truth that gnawed at him. She was still here. Still standing in his home, looking like sin and salvation all wrapped up in a body that could kill him a thousand different ways.
And despite everything, he wanted her.
Not just her body, though God knew that was part of it. He wanted all of her—the broken, twisted parts, the lies, the truths, the secrets hidden behind those green eyes. He wanted to unravel her, to understand the enigma that was Natasha Romanoff. And it was that desire, that obsession, that terrified him most of all.
Because if she ever found out—if she ever truly understood the hold she had on him—Tony knew he’d be lost. And she would win.