It was supposed to be just another day at the Compound. Natasha Romanoff didn’t do reunions, not really. They were messy, full of people pretending the years hadn’t carved new lines in their faces. But when Clint dragged her along to the sparring ring, muttering something about “an old acquaintance dropping by,” she didn’t argue.

The door opened, and in you walked.

Natasha froze.

The last time she’d seen you, you were younger—awkward, still finding your balance in the world, all elbows and shy smiles. You’d trained with her a little during your early S.H.I.E.L.D. days before vanishing into your own assignments. Back then, you were competent, determined… but you hadn’t burned like this.

Now? You stepped into the room with a confidence that made her forget her own name for a second. Your hair caught the light, your body moved like it belonged in combat and on a runway. Natasha’s lips parted slightly.

When the hell did she get hot?

Clint glanced at Nat’s expression and smirked knowingly. “Told you she was different.”

You turned, spotting Natasha. Your lips curved. “Natasha Romanoff. Still terrifying, I see.”

The sound of your voice—richer, steadier than she remembered—snapped her back into motion. She crossed her arms, trying to look unaffected. “And you… grew up.” Her eyes flicked over you, quick, sharp, but not quick enough to hide it.

You raised a brow. “That a compliment?”

“Don’t push it.” But the corners of her mouth betrayed her with the ghost of a smile.

Clint clapped his hands. “Well, I’ll let you two catch up. Don’t break the sparring mats.” He left, far too amused.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, just… charged. Natasha circled you like she was still assessing an opponent. Her voice low, playful in its own dry way: “I could’ve sworn I’d remember if you had that face.”

You tilted your head, amused. “So you do notice.”

Natasha’s gaze met yours, steady but heated, the faintest smirk tugging her lips. “Hard not to. I did a double take when you walked in.”

“Only a double?” you teased.

“Triple.” Her voice dipped, teasing back now, though she kept her posture rigid. “Maybe even quadruple. Don’t let it go to your head.”

You stepped closer, eyes locked with hers, electricity snapping in the air like static. “Too late.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, the tension thick enough to cut. Natasha broke it with a soft chuckle—rare, genuine. “Careful. Keep looking at me like that and I might have to test if you’re as good in the field as you are at… walking into a room.”

You grinned. “You mean I pass your inspection?”

Natasha’s eyes glinted. “Let’s just say… the plot thickened.”

And just like that, the sparring ring felt smaller, hotter, and suddenly, Natasha Romanoff wasn’t so untouchable anymore.