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You are forever one decision away from an entirely different life.

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Natasha headcanons for my long fic!

an: I still haven’t finished the fic, so here’s some little headcanons!:) fic will be out next week!!!

opposites attract just fine

Natasha is all sharp smirks and dry wit, while you’re the warm presence that lights up every room. She rolls her eyes whenever people call you sweet, but secretly, she agrees with it especially, when you flash that radiant smile at her after missions.

everyone loves you (and Nat pretends to be jealous)

You’re the golden child of the team, everyone gravitates toward you. Natasha acts annoyed when other agents steal your attention, thinking, “she’s mine, find your own ray of sunshine.” But deep down, she loves how easily you bring people together.

silent protection mode

You’re an agent, just as capable as she is, but Natasha still has this black cat habit of lurking around you, subtly making sure you’re okay. If you so much as wince after a mission, she’s dragging you to medical with an unreadable expression. “I’m fine, Nat.” - “You’re bleeding, try again.”

mornings together

Natasha is a morning person, she wakes up with the energy of someone who slept for a full eight hours (even when she didn’t). You grumble and hide your face in the pillow while she tries to coax you out of bed with coffee and forehead kisses.

you definitely bring the soft side out of her

She has a reputation for being intimidating, but when it comes to you? She’s soft. You’re the only one allowed to ruffle her hair, steal her hoodies, or get away with poking her sides.

training together

Sparring sessions are a mix of you using agility and speed to keep up with Natasha’s precision, and her playfully taunting you when she gets the upper hand. “Come on, sunshine, you can do better than that.” - “I’d be better if you weren’t distracting me with those arms” ;)

Natasha pretends she isn’t a romantic (she totally is)

She’ll say she’s not into grand gestures, but then she’ll casually remember your favorite coffee order, patch you up after missions with the gentlest touch, or leave little notes in your gear that say “Don’t die. I’ll be pissed.”

protective, but in very Natasha way

She doesn’t hover, but if anyone dares to look at you wrong, she’s already analyzing the best way to end them. “Nat, I can handle myself.” - “I know. But they don’t know I won’t let them live if they mess with you.”

your sunshine is rubbing onto her

She claims she doesn’t do cute things, but suddenly she’s making you tea when you’re stressed, sitting closer just to feel your warmth, and allowing herself to smile more because you bring out the best in her.

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holy fire - rafe cameron.

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Rafe Cameron always thought he had you figured out. You were sweet. Soft-spoken. A little bratty sometimes, sure, but never truly mean. Never someone who would push him past his limits. His cute little girlfriend. His pretty, delicate thing.

So when he muttered, exasperated, "Can you stop being a bitch for one second?"

Oh.

He had no fucking idea.

The shift in you was immediate. Instantaneous. Like a switch had been flipped, like something dark and ancient had been stirred awake inside you. It was in the way your spine straightened, the way your chin lifted just slightly, the way your lips parted in a soundless breath—before curling into something he had never seen before.

Not a smile. Not quite.

More like the promise of a reckoning.

You stepped forward. He stepped back.

And then you laughed. Low. Cold. Devoid of warmth.

"You think I’m a bitch?" Your voice was too calm, too measured, a deadly contrast to the fury burning in your eyes. "Rafe—I’ve been nice. You don’t even know the fucking half of it."

His jaw clenched. He had never seen you like this before. Not really.

"You throw a tantrum the second something doesn’t go your way, whine like a spoiled little trust fund brat, and then turn around and call me a bitch?" Your brows lifted, mocking. "Oh, no, baby. No. You’re confused. You don’t know what being a bitch really looks like."

His throat bobbed.

"You’re so used to people catering to you, huh? Used to everyone letting you get away with your little moods, your little outbursts. Used to people folding the second you get angry." You took another step forward. He barely noticed his back hit the wall. "You think you’re intimidating? You’re not. You’re just a boy who was never told ‘no’ enough times."

Rafe blinked. He was listening—really listening—but his body was reacting to something else entirely. His pulse was racing, blood running hot, an unfamiliar tightness coiling in his stomach.

Because you weren’t just mad. You were magnificent.

"You act like you’re untouchable, like you own everything in your orbit. But Rafe, let me make one thing crystal fucking clear to you—"you don’t own me."

His breath hitched.

"I let you have me. I decide how this goes. And if you ever, ever talk to me like that again—" you leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper, "I will burn you to the fucking ground."

Silence.

Thick. Charged. Suffocating.

Rafe couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Because for the first time in his life, he wasn’t the one with the power. He wasn’t the one who held control in the palm of his hand.

You did.

And fuck—

Fuck, he was obsessed.

His lips parted, words failing him. His body had its own ideas, already reaching for you, fingers itching to touch, to grab, to worship.

A slow, delirious grin spread across his face. "Holy shit."

Your glare sharpened. "What?"

He exhaled a laugh, eyes raking over you with something dangerously close to reverence. "You’re fucking gorgeous when you’re mad."

The sheer audacity. The absolute nerve.

You could kill him. You really could.

But before you could spit another insult, before you could shove him away and leave him stewing in his own mess, Rafe grabbed you. Rough. Desperate. His hands curled around your jaw, his fingers digging into your cheeks, and then his mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t a kiss—it was a collision.

Teeth clashing, lips bruising, his breath ragged as he devoured every ounce of rage still burning off you. You made a noise—part frustration, part something else—and your fingers curled into his shirt, yanking him closer as if you wanted to fight and kiss him at the same time.

Good. Because so did he.

His grip was greedy, possessive, one hand slipping to your throat, the other pressing against the small of your back, crushing you against him. You could feel the way his heart was racing, the way he was breathing like he had just run miles, like he was completely, utterly wrecked by you.

And when you bit his lip—hard—he groaned, half in pain, half in something darker.

"Fuck," he panted against your mouth. "Do it again."

And you did.

Because you might not belong to him, but right now?

He definitely belonged to you.

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talking to me is just me being like sorry i fell asleep. i wanna take a nap. i am so sleepy .Sorry i took a nap

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