Natasha Romanoff x Reader Oneshots

nothing's new.

word count: 1,7k
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Y/n's POV

It's about ten thirty when I finally shut the lights off in my office- it's been a hell of a day. Maria stuck me with the new recruits to train because Bobbi is on a mission and therefore can't do it, Fury dropped two more repots to make on my desk, Clint played an awful prank on Hunter which ended with the whole east wing under water and Coulson wouldn't stop bragging about an upcoming mission.

So to say I'm happy to go home in an understatement.

I've beed so stressed the complete day, I didn't even have time to worry about Natasha who is on a mission in Sweden. I would do anything to just fall asleep in her arms tonight but the thousands of miles between us may make that a little difficult.

"Agent Romanoff!" I hear as I wait for the elevator to arrive, are you fucking kidding me? I turn around, the look on my face telling whoever is behind me exactly how pissed off I am. "Ma'am" the agent gulps, shrinking under my gaze. I lift an expecting eyebrow and the agent starts ranting about whatever he wants to tell me. "What's your name?" I ask as he's finished "Henry Brown, ma'am"

"So Agent Brown, you are officially in charge with bringing together the agents of your year to clean the gym you just trained in, I don't even want to know how or what or who did the mess, just fucking clean it and let me go home. I can't handle another stupid prank today. If the problem isn't fixed by tomorrow morning I will bench all of you for two weeks"

"Yes, ma'am, sorry, ma'am"

"It's fine, just- just go" I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose before waving down the hall and turning back around to the ping of the elevator. Fucking rookies.

-

I pull up by my apartment block, finally home, and park my car in its usual spot.

As the apartment door opens I feel that something is off, something is really bugging me. Then my eyes fall to the bathroom door, the open bathroom door. I closed it this morning. The cold metal in my hands grounds me, the barrel of my gun straight ahead, not shaking the slightest bit, even though adrenaline is rushing through my veins.

I comb through every room- bathroom, kitchen and living room, office, that leads me to the last room, the bedroom. I push the door open with my foot, the moonlight illuminating the outlines of the double bed in the middle of the room, closet on the left wall, then my eyes fall on an outline of a person huddled in the corner on the right, my breath hitches and if it wouldn't be for the familiar position the person is in they would've had a bullet in their leg by now. I drop my gun and lay it on the end of the bed.

"Nat?" I ask into the dark, stepping closer, falling to my knees in front of her. There she lies, on the cold floor, curled into fetal position, a handcuff securing her wrist to the foot of the bed, red hair all tangled and messy, dirt in every little crack of her face, scratches on her exposed lower arm and the closer I get the stronger the scent of alcohol fills my nostrils. Fucking hell. Oh my God. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. What the hell. What happened? Why is she here? She shouldn't be for a week at least. Something went wrong. Obviously something went wrong. God Y/n you're so stupid. Is she hurt? Oh my God is she dying? Was she even alive???

I stop my spiralling and take a deep breath- focus. She needs you now.

She's fast asleep on the floor which itself isn't a good sign, but she cuffed herself to the bed, that's even worse. But she doesn't seem hurt, at least she isn't lying in a puddle of her own blood like she did some times before. And in a Natasha-scale that means she isn't badly hurt. And the fact that she is still sleeping and didn't even notice me in any way is either a good sign or a very bad sign and the fact that she's lying here the way that she does tells me that it's the second option. It doesn't seem like she had a big fight though which means there are no internal bleedings, which means that as long as she doesn't wake I'll let her sleep because sleep won't come easy the next days.