Let’s Go On A Date
As second in command, naturally, you were put in charge of the next heist. So, what did you do? Oh, of course, it had to be assigning Scorch as the getaway driver leaving him in the van bored out of his mind. He was filled to the brim with humiliation and rage when you told him his role, rendering him useless for this mission. But can you really be blamed? Who wouldn’t skip out on a chance to annoy the shit out of that egotistical douchebag?
You also stole one of the new goons’ Subway orders before leaving the warehouse; so what if you’re on a power high right now? After being loyal to Genesis and this team for two years now, you think you deserve the position and in turn deserve a goddamn Subway sandwich. Everyone earns their spot in this team, goons included, which means being pushed around comes in the job description.
“Pack it up. Good work, everyone.” You flash a smile at your squad for their efficiency, the Subway bag swinging in your hand. There’s a plan in your head. It lingers in the back of your mind as you fiddle with the plastic, waiting for everyone to leave. She only ever shows up afterwards anyway, so much so that sometimes you think she’s simply waiting in the shadows for you to be all alone.
Bullet speeds around being as careful as possible with the mines and mini-missiles in the boxes while Optic uses her duplicates to carry and pack them up in the van. You’ve given Blackout a day off because, honestly, she deserves it. Blackout works silently, efficiently, and rarely takes a mission off.
So far so good; everything has run smoothly enough and you’re sure Genesis will be impressed at how quiet this mission has been.
But of course it doesn’t stay that way. Which is technically the plan anyway, you remind yourself. It’s a plan, strategy, it’s not real. Those words repeat over and over again in your head as you try to bury the anticipation brewing in your stomach.
A few minutes later, you hear Natasha’s footsteps routinely entering the factory but she merely sighs when her eyes spot you. Before you can speak up, she beats you to it with a dismissive hand raised high.
“I have had a long day. A long week, actually,” She mumbles the second part, recalling the endless meetings she had to have with Maria about professionalism, “so please just keep your mouth shut and let me arrest you.” She asks lazily, the vibe already very different to what you usually get from her.
It takes you a moment or two of blinking in confusion before a smirk finds its way onto your lips. “Bossy. I like it.” You husk out with dancing brows, finding your composure.
The redhead lets out a frustrated sigh, folding her arms across her chest. “I don’t get it. You’re not a bad person, not vengeful or evil. Yet you keep–”
You interrupt her with a clenched jaw. “Let’s go on a date.” Bluntly, you suggest a date, already scanning your environment for a table and chairs of some sort. Surely there’s something around here, broken or not.
“What?” She stutters and blinks once with wide eyes, taken aback by your suggestion. You’ve thrown her off her little game; the nerves and bashfulness are suddenly back, breaking right through her facade.
“I mean, clearly you think you know me, but you don’t. Not yet, anyway.” You flash her a cheeky smile – though you are partly being serious – before strolling over to the wooden table you spot by a small, isolated office with paint peeling off the door frame. “Come, take a seat. I stole some dude’s Subway on my way here.” Your brows dance as you show off the bag.
She rolls her light eyes at you, observing curiously as you unfold two plastic chairs that were resting against the wall. “Really?” She mutters disapprovingly.
“What? I was hungry.” You whine, defending yourself from her judgemental eyes. “Here, take half. Now, why don’t we start with names?” With your best soft, welcoming smile, you pull the sandwich out of the bag and begin to unwrap it.
The hero scans you with a mix of curiosity and confusion, and a deeper feeling she’d rather keep ignoring. “This is ridiculous.” She mumbles silently to herself before sighing and rubbing her temple with her hand. “Do you honestly think I’m going to just sit here and–”
“Please?” You interrupt with a little rawness in your tone, looking up at her with a hopeful half-smile, hoping to poke her sensitive side.
Green eyes stare into yours, flicking side to side before sighing and taking careful steps to the folded chair across yours and sitting down. “Natasha.” She answers your initial question.
A playful smirk stretches your lips. “Oh, I know. I just wanted to see if you trust me. That’s adorable.” You let out a laugh as she huffs out, failing to fight the pink tinting her cheeks.
“You’re an ass–”
You interrupt with a raised finger. “Ah, ah, ah, if you want this date to end well, I suggest you be nice to me for once.” There’s a playfulness in your tone and your wiggling eyebrows but Natasha only narrows her defensive eyes in response.
“Was that a threat?” She asks with her hand already on her holster.
Your eyes widen as you shake your head quickly, correcting her. “Wh–Huh? No, I meant sex.”
Natasha’s eyes widen comically. “Oh.” She gulps, looking panicked for a moment as she laughs a little nervously – adorably – at your joke. Although you’re only partly joking…Because look at her. Who would pass up that opportunity?
“I’m kidding, Natasha.” Your soft laugh relaxes her a little, her tense shoulders dropping. “Unless…” You lift a brow and she kicks your leg under the table with a glare in response. “I’m just joking. Relax, woman.” You wince at the kick, reaching under the table as you rub your shin aggressively.
“Don’t call me that.” She snaps.
“Okay, Natty.” You tease.
“Or that.” She cringes.
“Alright, gorgeous.” You husk out.
A blush invades her cheeks and you can’t help smiling softly. “I–Uh…” She whispers under her breath.
“You like that one?” You lean forward, whispering lowly, eyes shamelessly dropping from her emerald ones to her plump lips that you’ve only just realised are shiny, full, and so kissable.
“Jesus Christ.” She groans, burying her face in her hands in obvious frustration – maybe with herself, maybe with you.
Deciding to have mercy on her for a moment, you bite into your half of the sandwich but your face instantly cringes at the taste. Natasha seems to be amused by your antics as you chew slowly and then dramatically swallow the bite of horrible food.
“This is a really bad Subway order. What kind of maniac goes to Subway and gets tuna of all things?” You complain with a sound akin to a whine.
Natasha raises a brow and shrugs her shoulders. “I like tuna.”
“Oh, really? Same.”
“You just said–” She lets out an annoyed sigh and rolls her eyes, her hand slamming down on the unstable wooden table as she stands up. “Okay, I’ve had enough. Let’s go.” The hero quickly moves around the table to grab your arm but your reflexes are faster.
Natasha’s hand is slapped away, and in a quick move, you rock back on your chair and twist on the ground; your foot swipes her feet, successfully throwing her onto the ground. You want to run. You honestly do want to run because this is how it always happens, right? Natasha tries to arrest you and you get away with a quirky remark and see her again the next time. But right now she’s on the ground and she’s groaning with her eyes closed in pain and her hands holding the back of her head and you’re not a…
This isn’t who you are. You don’t hurt people, not like this.
“Shit.” You mumble angrily at yourself, sifting a hand through your tangled hair before dropping down to her. “I’m sorry. Hey, Nat?” You whisper softly, so quiet she’s not sure if it’s real or a fabrication of her mind. Your hand slides over her soft cheek as gently as you can. “Look at me?” You ask her, thumb tracing back and forth greedily soaking up the rare moment.
Her eyes snap open at your gentle touch more than your words; you swear you see her pupils dilate as she meets your eyes with curiosity. But you don’t want to risk delusion so you ignore that, ignore the intensity of her eyes, ignore the way your heart is pounding so hard in your chest at being this close to her.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” You ask before flashing the middle finger with a cheeky smile.
“Fuck you, too.” She grumbles, rubbing the back of her head, confirming she’s still conscious and aware.
“Okay, not concussed, that’s good. Great.” You mutter in relief, unable to help yourself as your hand goes to the back of her head to hold it up delicately. What’s shocking is that the redhead lets you. In fact, she even leans into your touch tiredly, having lost herself in the moment.
“Why are you still here?” She whispers, scanning your still-worried expression.
You scan her right back, eyes trailing from her knitted brows to her slightly open lips. “I–Uh, I don’t know. Why haven't you stopped me?”
“I don’t know.” She whispers back.
The hand behind her head stays right where it is, frozen just as you both are. Time passes as you hold each other’s gazes, both communicating with your eyes as well as scanning each other, contemplating the risks and rewards of crossing the invisible line.
You clear your throat before slowly sliding your hand away, relieved to see no blood staining it. “Cool. We’re on the same page then.” You tread carefully, hoping there’s a mutual understanding that there’s something here. Something unknown, something that could be dangerous, but something nonetheless.
“Cool.” Natasha clears her throat, taking the hand you offer her to stand up, both of you desperately trying to ignore the spark of electricity bouncing between your hands at the touch. You tug a little too hard and she ends up almost falling into your arms with her face pressed against your chest, lips so close to skimming against yours as she forces herself to step away from you.
“I’ll see you next time?” You flash her a hopeful smile, slowly walking backwards. She only gives you a subtle nod, watching you walk away. But the moment you turn your back, you hear the sound of clinking as your body automatically turns to steel at the bullets attempting to pierce your skin. “Really?” You snap, spinning around with your arms raised. “Right in the back? Not cool, Natty. So not cool.” Lucky for you, a bullet bounces off and hits a pipe, smokey steam rapidly filling the air. You use that distraction to escape, running through the steam; you’re halfway out before realising she hadn’t bothered to chase you.
Oh, there is so something here.
It’s another two weeks before you see Natasha again. Part of you thinks it may be her avoiding coming to missions that involve the Sinister Squad, and part of you is relieved by it. Because that means Genesis can’t blame you for the excruciatingly slow pace or push you to make progress on your infiltration mission.
It’s two weeks of Scorch burning holes into the back of your head through missions where you’ve put him on the sidelines. Two weeks of Genesis asking for updates on the infiltration all for you to shake your head, yet he always responds with a small, patient nod. Two weeks of Optic flashing you small, nervous smiles and Bullet giving you knowing ones and you returning them both as politely as you possibly can with someone else on your mind. A hero on your mind, with beautiful green eyes and angry full lips and, God, why her? You could have crushed on literally anyone else and it had to be the one person you can’t have.
The next time you see Natasha, it’s when the Avengers interrupt a business deal with the Sinister Squad and Klaue. Apparently, vibranium deals are all it takes to force all the Avengers to finally come together. Leaving the fight to the rest of your squad, you stay guarding the small amount you managed to buy before the Avengers attacked, hiding out in a small office on one of the higher floors. But it’s not long before Natasha kicks the door wide open.
“Hey.” She husks out, panting as she strolls in, her hair all over the place as she haphazardly tries to fix it.
Your brows pinch high in surprise, both at her entrance and the casual greeting. “Oh! Hi?” You confusedly greet her back, leaning against the smudged, dirty window behind you.
Natasha takes a moment to herself with a hand on her hip, scanning the small office as she always does in a new environment. “So…” She trails off, eyes narrowing at the empty box of doughnuts on top of the stack of stained papers. It’s like she knows you ate them and didn’t leave her a single crumb.
“Wow. No threat this time?” You tease, crossing your arms over your chest knowing it’ll make her eyes drop down for a moment.
They do but she’s quick to roll those beautiful eyes at you. “You’re so–”
“Gorgeous? Charming? Sexy?” You list with a smirk.
“Confusing.” Natasha settles on that, tilting her head at you. She’s spotted the vibranium hidden in the metal case behind your feet, but you act like she hasn’t. You can still get the upper hand here.
“Thanks?” You answer in a questioning tone with a soft huff of laughter. There’s the background noise of guns firing and Iron Man’s suit blasting but it’s easy to drown them out when you have her in front of you distractingly gorgeous.
“You’re not like the others in your group.” She observes, carefully choosing her words. Her arms cross over her chest as she stalks around the room.
“Oh, that is such a cliche come-on.” You laugh out loud, biting your lip when she blushes deeply immediately. Man, she’s absolutely adorable and you should not be having these thoughts. But the light is kind of warm in here and it makes her look like she’s glowing, like she’s the sun and you’re a deprived sunflower.
Natasha’s brows come together as she stutters through her defensive words. “What? No, I’m not–This isn’t me coming on to you! I just meant–”
A soft chuckle escapes your throat as you step off from leaning against the window. “Natasha. I’m just teasing.” You lower your voice, eyes boring into her green ones.
She blinks owlishly. “I–I know that.”
You lift a playful brow. “Sure you do.”
Natasha lets out a groan of frustration, at you or herself you don’t really know but her head thrown back like that showing off her long neck is kind of doing things to you.
“Whatever. Go make your escape. It’s not like I can catch you.” Natasha complains as she runs a hand through her short, red locks. Your eyes narrow as you take a step closer to her; there’s limited space in the room anyway, but now there’s even less between the two of you, so much less.
“You can’t catch me,” you begin in a soft voice, leaning your head down to her to whisper into her ear, “because you don’t want to.” A small part of you is doing this because you know Genesis is going to have questions and you need to hint at some sort of progress. But the bigger part of you doesn’t mind risking death by an enlarged heart if it means the potential reward is a kiss from her. Just a kiss, the kiss of death, if you will. It’s worth it, you think as your eyes flicker down to her lips.
“That’s ridiculous.” She breathes out against your lips, hot and airy and God help you.
“No…What’s ridiculous is how beautiful you are.” You flash her a half-smile, a real smile not a smirk, not a joke, but real because your words are real and you mean them. Natasha stares into your eyes, her brows relaxing, her body shifting. Her eyes flutter a little but, God, if that’s not one of the most intense gazes you’ve ever held. “Don’t stare into my eyes like that. I’ll kiss you.” You mumble rather impulsively but fuck it.
“Did–Did you mean kill?” She stutters, eyes darkening, zoning onto your lips.
“No.” You reply bluntly.
“Oh.” She breathes out and you breathe her in.
“Yeah.”
Her eyes flick up and down again. “Yeah.”
Your brows knit together, not wanting to misinterpret this moment. “Yeah?” You ask.
Natasha nods a little too fast, tongue coming out to slide over her bottom lip. “Yes. Please.” She whispers, leaning up and Black Widow just asked you to please kiss her. Are you a fucking moron? No. So you slowly lean in, caressing your nose against hers gently, intimately. Brushing your lips over hers for a moment just to test the waters and tease a little, you let your hands slide down to her waist as hers creep up to the back of your neck.
With little-to-no patience, Natasha presses her lips to yours with a push on her toes and a tug of your hair down. Immediately, you feel a wave of intimacy, intensity, and every other ‘ity’ and ‘acy’ there is, flooding your entire being. Either she’s a really good kisser, or this is some spiritual awakening where she’s the Goddess that has finally shown herself to make you a believer.
When she pulls away at what feels like mere seconds later, her lips are trembling a little and your eyes remain shut as you feel them softly shake against yours. You wait until she’s taking a steady breath in before pulling away and pressing your forehead to hers. Your eyes open and meet emeralds that are a shade or two darker and it’s so fucking intoxicating.
“I can’t believe you said please.” You tease in a whisper, snorting as she glares at you.
“Shut up.” She breathes out and suddenly her eyes close and yours follow as she tugs you back down. It’s a harsher kiss, a clash of lips and teeth and tongue and you were not prepared for this. Even if you had all the time in the world, you could never be anywhere near prepared for how hot her body feels pressing against you, pushing you against the closed door, teeth tugging on your lower lip to show you who’s in charge and hello? Moron? No, of course not, so you whimper and submit with ease.
But not without a quick question because this is probably wrong for her as well and you want to make sure she’s actually okay with all of it. “What are we doing?” You pant against her lips, pulling away for a brief second.
“I don’t know.” The redhead mumbles, attaching her lips to yours again, making it very hard for your mind to stay on track.
You pull back with a nervous, breathy laugh. “Mmm, okay, Natasha, I really think we should talk–”
She sighs annoyedly, pulling herself away from you altogether; the frown on your face at the loss of contact is completely out of your control. “Do you want to make out with me or not?” She states with a challenging raised brow. There’s a moment of silence as a bomb goes off in the background. Well.
“Good point.” You mutter before pulling her in by her hips and letting her attack your lips again. She slides her tongue into your mouth with a confidence so sexy you can’t help but whimper again. Only a moron would say no.
You are a fucking moron. Why you thought Genesis wouldn’t find out is beyond you. And of course it had to be Scorch of all people to snitch to him, which makes you wonder why he was creeping around instead of fighting anyway.
“I saw them! They were all over each other kissing like–”
Genesis interrupts Scorch’s childish ranting. “So I take it you have made progress then?”
There’s a moment of silence as you contemplate how to approach this situation. Genesis has given you an out here, a choice: him or her. There’s only one thing you can really do here, for your own safety and hers.
“I would have told you tomorrow during our catch-up meeting and rundown for today’s mission. If Scorch had given me the chance.” You glare at the still-fuming, steaming man in the background. It’s easier to glare at him than to look to your right where Optic is staring at you with a disheartened expression.
“Good.” Genesis opens the cabinet in the corner and pulls out a thick folder. “The next mission is an important one.” Genesis emphasises, carefully placing the folder on the wooden table. With a single slender finger, he pushes it closer to you. “It’s only for you.” He whispers with wide, black, intimidating eyes.
“I’ll get to reading right away.” You nod as he does, leaving you and the rest of the squad in the room. The door slams shut behind him, just as a show of his powers; everyone jumps up slightly at the sound, Optic more than the rest. “You okay?” You ask her quietly.
She nods, taking in a deep breath. “Just…you know.” She mumbles off and all you need to do is scan her face to know she’s terrified: slightly furrowed brows, tight jaw, widened eyes. They all are, you notice, glancing around the table quickly.
“I got you. All of you. We’ll blast through this mission like every other one.” You reassure the rest of the group with a half-smile. Before opening the folder you take in a deep breath, dramatically wiggling your brows and cracking your knuckles.
The folder reads ‘Cerebro.’