#also GOD I HATE FIC SUMMARIESSS

[caroldantops]

the marble makes my cheeks look pink 

or, tell me you love me in private: chapter 1 

(next chapter)

ship: natasha romanoff x reader 

summary/request: a mysterious woman named natasha starts attending the church you volunteer at, but she seems much more interested in you than any gods (demon!nat au)

word count: 1.5k

warnings: references to christianity (smut in later chapters)

masterlist | ao3 link | demon!nat au playlist

Sweat trails down your forehead, a bead dripping into your eye before you can wipe yourself off. The southern humidity is already unbearable enough; but, with the church air conditioning out for what has to be the fifth time this month, you can practically feel yourself melting into the scuffed floors of the sanctuary.

As you pass out pamphlets that detail the upcoming picnic and honor the church members who have passed recently, you watch as practically every person who takes one starts fanning themselves. The flimsy paper offers little relief, but it’s better than nothing.

This is a routine you’ve become accustomed to, exchanging niceties with the people who have known you since you were toddling, but that you’ve never had a conversation past how you were enjoying your classes.

Honestly, you thought that you’d stop volunteering at the church your parents forced you to attend growing up once you started college, imagining moving on to fancy internships or spending summers backpacking through Europe so that you could post obnoxious photos about studying abroad on Instagram. But, sometimes dreams stay dreams for now.

It’s not all bad. You get plenty of good food from the sweet old ladies who won’t take “no thank you, I’m full” for an answer. Also, they send you little cash gifts for your birthday and other holidays or celebrations. So when the preacher (an old family friend) asked if you’d continue helping when you were home for the summer, you didn’t see any real reason to say no.

Plus, it’s only once a week. It gives you a chance to work part-time at the little ice-cream shop that sits in the strip mall across the street from the church during the week.

God, you’d give anything to be locked in the walk-in freezer right about now.

“Excuse me,” a voice pulls you from your thoughts.

“Oh, sorry,” you tear your eyes away from the stained glass window that you had zoned out on. Standing in front of you is a woman you’ve never seen before. She’s tall, definitely at least six feet, and with fiery red hair that matches the heat of the summer air surrounding you. Ironically enough, she doesn’t look like she’s broken a sweat at all. Which seems impossible given the leather jacket she’s sporting. “Did you want a pamphlet?”

“Yeah, that would be great,” she smiles, taking the one you hold out to her. She scans the two pages while she’s standing there, and you feel awkward in the silence.

“Are you new? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. But I’ve also only been back from my last college semester for about a month, so maybe we just haven’t crossed paths yet.”

The woman studies you for a moment, obviously sizing you up. Whatever she’s considering must end in your favor because she holds her hand out for you to shake.

“Natasha. You can call me Nat. I’ve come here a couple of times, but not super consistently. If I find good company though, maybe I’ll consider converting.”

You introduce yourself as you shake her hand, oblivious to the subtle sarcasm in her tone.

“I’m probably not the best choice to convert you. I only stick around because the reception always has really good snacks.”

A bark of laughter erupts from Natasha’s chest, causing a few of the other members to send looks your way. You give them a sheepish look, but Natasha isn’t paying them any mind.

“That’s cute. Still, maybe I’ll see you around more later.” Natasha makes her way to the very back of the sanctuary, flops down dramatically, and props her combat boots up on the empty pew in front of her. She’s so far away from anyone else that nobody notices enough to scold her for it.

It’s been well over a decade since you’ve cared enough to pay attention to the sermon, but luckily today it’s kept short because everyone is practically filling up the room with a pool full of sweat.

You occasionally sneak a peek over your shoulder, glancing at Natasha. It’s hard to see since you’re rather close to the front, but you’re almost positive that she was staring at you. You whip your head back and try to ignore the fluttering in your chest at the thought of all of Natasha’s attention being on you. At least, by the time service finishes up, you look back again and she’s just straight up asleep in the pew.

You consider going to wake her up and tell her that there’s probably some donuts the two of you can steal, but ultimately you decide not to. There’s something...off about Natasha. Something about the way she just kept staring at you even after being caught, studying you like she was preparing to dissect you.

Unnerving. Intimidating. An unnamed emotion that causes you to feel even hotter than you were already.

This mix of energies has completely muddled up your senses, and you really can’t decide if this stranger is someone you should try to befriend or run like Hell from.

All of these thoughts are pushed from your mind for most of the week. You’re just happy to be able to work somewhere that has to stay cold. During your break, you sneak a little cup of your favorite ice cream for yourself and decide to go for a walk to stretch your legs a bit.

As you exit the shop, you see a motorcycle parked by the fence of the church. You’ve never even seen anyone ride a motorcycle through the tiny town, so it piques your curiosity. You take your ice cream, praying that it doesn’t melt, and wander over.

The church is locked today, so it must be someone visiting the small cemetery off in the side yard. You push the already ajar gate open all the way, surprised at the sight you’re greeted with. Even though her back is to you, the red hair is unmistakably Natasha’s.

“I don’t think that people usually appreciate you sitting on their graves, you know,” you point out. Natasha turns to you, but she looks completely unsurprised by your presence, almost like she knew you were coming.

“What if I knew them?” Natasha quips, spinning around in her perched position to face you, propping one knee up to rest her cheek on.

“Oh, well,” you fumble a bit. “In that case, I guess that would probably be okay.”

Natasha smirks at your squirming.

“I think I’ll be fine then.”

“Was it a family member?” You ask gently, even though Natasha seems completely nonchalant about the fact that she’s hanging out alone in a graveyard.

“No, not family. Don’t really know what you’d call us,” Natasha hums. “Certainly not friends. I only knew them right at the end of it all.”

“Oh.”

The silence in the air is thick, and you really have no idea how to continue from here. You cope by shoveling a couple of spoonfuls of ice cream into your mouth, and Natasha chuckles at you.

“You’re cute, you know that?”

“I...thank you,” you don’t even attempt to hide how flustered the compliment gets you.

“So, what’s your deal? You don’t seem super into the whole religion thing. Why hang around here?”

“I should ask you the same thing,” you raise your eyebrow at her.

“Ah, the angel has a bit of a bite after all,” Natasha grins. You ignore her teasing and just wait for her answer. “I have a...complicated relationship with religion. For a lot of reasons. I’ve always liked the architecture though. Stained glass? A true gift to humanity. It should be used everywhere.”

“Are you telling me that you’re coming to church just to admire the windows?” You laugh.

“Gotta have something to do on Sundays,” she shrugs. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Similar answer to you, really,” you mumble through your last spoonful of ice cream. It’s mostly melted by now, so half of it ends up running down your chin. You curse to yourself for not grabbing a napkin.

“You’re spilling everywhere,” Natasha says. Before you can even react, Natasha grabs your chin. This is the most sexually charged moment that you’ve had in months, and it just had to be the weird hot chick who spends her afternoons in the cemetery. She pulls a handkerchief seemingly from thin air and wipes the ice cream from your face. Finally, she lets go of your face, but not before mumbling, “Messy little thing.”

As you try to start up your brain again with a coherent response, your phone starts buzzing in your back pocket.

“Ah, shit. My break is over, I have to go.”

“Shame, I was hoping I’d get to clean up more of your messes,” Natasha sighs dramatically. You just roll your eyes. “Will I see you Sunday?”

“I don’t know, will you?”

“I could give you an answer,” Natasha pretends to contemplate it. “Or I could leave you in suspense, angel. I think that sounds like much more fun.”