This will be a primarily Natasha Romanoff oneshot book, but I'll sprinkle in some Scarlett Johansson ones as well. SJ stories will be labeled with her initials.
It will be female reader.
Started 10.14.2021
Ended TBA
It will be updated as frequently...
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"Hurry up Rocky," you groaned, shoving your free hand into the pocket of your jeans as you watched your dog smell every bit of grass as he tried to pick the prime spot to relieve himself. It was nearing four in the morning, so there was a steady breeze you didn't expect to affect you, but for some reason you were shivering.
Natasha shook her head amusedly, something you missed as she surveyed you from the shadows of your complex's courtyard. Every night like clockwork she'd return home around two from her surveillance, and on the nights that she didn't have to report back to Maria she'd wait for you to emerge with Rocky.
"How many times are you going to forget a jacket darling? Soon enough you'll freeze."
Your heart skipped at the sound of her voice, not only was she undeniably gorgeous, but her tone was the hottest thing you'd ever heard. It was silky smooth, with a gritty rasp that made you forget how to speak for embarrassingly long periods of time. Natasha found your obvious silence amusing, if you would just look up you'd see just how interested she also was.
"Good," you paused trying to think of the proper greeting for such an odd time, "Early morning Natasha?" Natasha chuckled softly, "Good morning works just fine Picasso." It had been two months now of these late night encounters and you were still so awkward.
You hummed shakily, and kept your hazy eyes forward. In the comfortable silence of the early morning you watched your dog finally select a rock while Natasha instinctively observed you. From the first moment she met you she knew you were an artist, the average untrained eye wouldn't have clocked the paint chips beneath your fingernails, but Natasha wasn't average.
The redhead was cursed to notice everything, her job required her to assess everyone as a threat first before she deemed them harmless.
After the first encounter with you she knew you to be harmless to everyone besides yourself. The late night walks with your pooch paired with the bloodshot eyes indicated to her you were an insomniac of sorts. It honestly pained her to see you struggle the way you did, but it wasn't exactly her place to outwardly care for you. Yet she found herself doing so anyways.
"You know, I've still yet to see what you're working on," Natasha teased, "When do you plan to invite me over?" Never was your answer, because you didn't want these late night talks to end, and if she saw her obvious likeness on your canvas you worry she'd bolt.
"Now works," she continued, you finally looked up and nearly choked on the air you gulped down as she was now much closer than before. "I-I, my apartment is a clusterfuck Nat, trust me when I say you'd likely trip and die."
Natasha wanted to roll her eyes at your weak excuse, judging by the shades of red and green on your white coveralls she'd already picked up on your latest pieces influence. Most would find your infatuation weird, but she was once again not like the average populous.
"I am extremely agile sweetheart," she purred as her rough fingers contrastingly brushed against your face softly, her excuse being the eyelash on the apple of your cheek.
