natasha romanoff x fem!reader one-shots

𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 - 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲

a/n: short and kinda random, but this is for anyone who wants to know more about y/n's and nat's pre-split dynamic. didn't know how to include this stuff in the last chapter(s) of the series so i just wrote this as a little addition lol

definitely not as detailed as the other chapters but it gives you an idea of what their relationship was like

✷ 2005 ✷

— WHO ARE YOU? —

Natasha never liked the medical wing of SHIELD — too sterile, too bright, too many questions asked. She preferred to take care of her wounds and injuries herself, usually managing to stitch those up just fine, but this time, the large gash on her side required professional medical attention. She sat on the exam table, her shirt clinging to the blood on her side uncomfortably and her eyes darting around impatiently.

When the medic finally arrived, it wasn't who she'd been expecting — a few inches shorter, with her hair open and her face too youthful to be working here. They sent a rookie, Natasha thought, taking in the almost disarmingly calm demeanor of the woman with raised eyebrows and mild skepticism.

She looked at Natasha, then at the gash, with clinical efficiency, but the softness in her features was apparent.

"Romanoff, right?", you asked as you snapped on a pair of rubber gloves.

"That's me", she replied, eyeing you warily. "Who are you?"

"I'm the person who saves your ass when things go sideways", you promptly replied, sitting down on a small stool and scooting closer.

It was rare for Natasha to be caught off guard by something, but you'd managed to do it. She blinked, staring at you as you gently lifted her shirt to inspect the wound.

"You're new", she finally observed flatly.

"Not really", you mumbled, grabbing a few medical supplies. "I've been working here for a few years. You just never managed to visit during my shift." You looked up, smiling faintly. "Guess you finally made the cut. Congratulations."

"Are you always this charming?", Natasha muttered, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips.

"You're just special", you deadpanned, continuing to clean the wound. Then you reached for a needle. "Now hold still, or your stitches will end up looking like a kindergartener's art project."

Silence lingered as Natasha watched you work. You weren't a rookie, that much was clear now — but beneath the skilled hands and quick wit was a softness that Natasha wasn't sure she wanted to address.

She peeked at your name tag as you worked. Y/N — she filed it away.

Natasha didn't realize it then, but the exchange would echo for far longer than the fleeting sting of antiseptic.

. . .

The abandoned factory was eerily quiet.

Natasha dragged herself to the wall and then slumped against it, her hand pressed to her side. She was breathing heavily, her eyes half-lidded and blood seeping through her fingers.

The sound of your boots pounding against the concrete floor cut through the air and disrupted the silence. Natasha barely managed to look at you, her entire body protesting at her attempt to stay awake.

"Natasha!" You dropped to your knees beside her, already taking supplies out of your bag. "You look like hell", you chided, firmly but also gently.

She sighed, shifting and then grimacing as the pain shot through her side. "What are you doing here?"