natasha romanoff x fem!reader one-shots

⑱+ 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

a/n: love halsey and love this song; not a based on it but definitely captures the vibes a bit; kinda mutual pining, kinda an affair but not really, friends that can't admit they're more than just that

Let's get away for a week, you told her. Or a month. Just to breathe.

Maybe you meant forever. Looking at the world outside — highway signs, bright lights, a handful of cars filled with tired travelers — you're starting to feel like you did.

It's not a feasible idea. You can't just stay on the road and never go back. Maybe soon you won't want to do that, either. It's only been a few hours, after all. Peace isn't eternal, not even when it tastes like cold coffee and leftover diner pancakes. Yet, you're convinced you could hold onto this long enough to make it worth something.

Natasha's behind the wheel. She has been for the entire ride so far. She'll probably let you drive at some point, but as of right now, she's insistent on being the one who drives you around.

You don't have a real destination. You'll want to get to a motel soon — it's past midnight, nearing 1 am —, but you're still stuck on the highway. All the exits lead to smaller towns and unfamiliar neighborhoods, and your best bet is to wait for a larger city to pop up so you can be sure you'll find a place to sleep.

Neither of you is tired, anyway. Natasha's balancing an almost empty cup of gas station coffee between her knees, and you're making an improvised dinner by mixing tuna pouches with ready to eat rice.

"Smells like cat food", she comments, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel.

"It's good, I swear." You grab hot sauce and squirt some into the plastic container, then you close and shake it. "Where's the next city?"

She checks the navigation system on the dashboard, her eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Around 9 miles."

"That's not a lot." You look out the window again and spot a sign that announces a nearby riverfront. "Hey, want to take a quick detour?"

Natasha hesitates, her eyes briefly sweeping over your face. Truth be told, she doesn't know why she agreed to this. It'd been a rash idea, thrown into the room like any other topic of conversation you've had so far. You'd both been tired and inebriated — not so much for you to be unaware of yourself and your surroundings, but enough for your walls to drop.

Your legs had been thrown over her lap. She'd stared at the ceiling instead of at your face, even if she'd rather done the latter.

Maybe she shouldn't have agreed. She has no idea what either of you are doing — you keep tiptoeing around, hiding in rooms you know nobody will enter. She'd kill for the chance to kiss you and not be seen, not be judged.

Being friends is more complicated than she ever thought it could be. Nobody understands. You don't, either, and neither does she.

Your suggested 'detour' is the Susquehanna River in Harrisburg. Coincidentally, Harrisburg has more than enough motels for you to have your pick. That moment where you end up in a room together will probably come sooner than Natasha had anticipated, but she might just have to make peace with the fact that it will happen.

You turn your head again. Bright eyes, lit by the signs and lights outside, stare right at her. She forces a smile.

"Sure. A detour sounds nice."

"Just so we can eat", you promise. You eye the contents of the plastic container again. "Or try to eat. This looks gross, we should've just picked up something from a diner."

"Too late", she says briskly, taking an exit. "Cat food it is."

A week or a month, just to breathe — that's what you said. It's been less than six hours now, and Natasha feels like she's never held her breath more in her life.