natasha romanoff x fem!reader one-shots

𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 (𝟔/𝟔)

a/n: don't know what to write here tbh, just read the chapter

— SKIN OF TEETH —

A gunshot rings through the air.

The bullet slams into Natasha's shoulder, the force of the hit causing her to lose her balance for a moment. She staggers backwards, her hand going to her shoulder to try and staunch the bleeding. Blood seeps between her fingers, her vision swims, the world spins around her as she tries to stay upright.

"Warning shot", the man with the graying hair says coldly. He and his friend sit back down in their car and pull out the driveway.

She curses under her breath, pain radiating through her shoulder. She fights through it, steadying herself against a nearby tree. It's not like she isn't used to being injured every once in a while, but being out here, hiding in the woods — it complicates things.

Inside the cabin, you flinch as soon as you hear the weapon discharge. Nina's eyes widen, her little hands clutching your shirt as you get up with her in your arms. You throw the door open.

"Natasha?", you call — and then, all words die in your throat. Natasha's face is pale, one hand clutching her bleeding shoulder, the other trailing along the trees for support. You hastily put Nina down before running outside, snow crunching beneath your feet. "Natasha!"

You rush to her side, not wasting a second. You sling her arm over your shoulder, your hand wrapping around her waist. Natasha tries to stand taller, but her legs give out beneath her. Her weight nearly knocks you off balance, but you manage to catch her.

"I'm fine", she mumbles, but you just shake your head. 'Fine' looks different. 'Fine' isn't a jacket soaked with blood, or legs that sway with every step.

"Let's get you inside", you say, voice shaky, and start leading her towards the cabin.

You pull Natasha inside and help her to the closest chair, your hands flying to find the medical supplies. Nina is standing in the doorway, her hands nervously grasping at the hem of her shirt as she watches the scene unfold.

Gauze pads, medical tape, some antiseptic wipes.

"Y/N", Natasha groans as you gently peel off her shirt, revealing the deep, gaping wound underneath. The blood is still flowing, too quickly for your liking. What's in front of you is beyond your usual expertise, as you can clearly tell it'll need surgery. "I'm fine. I- I've survived worse, okay?"

You don't respond at first. The sight of Natasha, so vulnerable, so pale, sends a sharp spike of panic through you.

"Shut up", you mutter, almost angrily, as you press a cloth to the wound. "You're not going anywhere, you hear me? Just keep your eyes open."

You keep applying pressure to the wound in hopes to stop or at least slow the bleeding, but all attempts seem futile. She's still there, still fighting, but her forehead is feverishly hot and she looks like all blood drained out of her face.

"We need to get you to a hospital", you say quietly, your fingers pressing on the cloth shakily. "I can't do this here."

Natasha shakes her head, her eyes fluttering — the effects of blood loss, so visible, so tangible. "No hospital. Too risky."

"You're barely holding on as it is", you snap, your frustration boiling over. "I'm not letting you die in some cabin, for god's sake! You'll bleed out, and then I can't save you!"

Her eyes soften with something you haven't seen in years. She winces as you adjust the bandage only to wrap another layer around her shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere", she murmurs, the words faint.