Natasha Romanoff rarely flinched, even when tasked with unusual missions. But as she read through the briefing for her latest assignment, her brows furrowed in mild annoyance. A former HYDRA subject—dangerous, erratic, and deeply unpredictable—needed protection. For now, this woman, a byproduct of HYDRA's tampering, was under Natasha's care. She was volatile, enhanced by experimental serums, and prone to outbursts that left her dangerous to herself and others. Yet, Natasha couldn't help but feel intrigued.

When Natasha first met you, her usual stoicism faltered. Your chaotic energy filled the room like static electricity. Your hair was dyed in streaks of vibrant blue and pink, matching the wild tattoos that traced your skin. The middle finger missing from your left hand didn't seem to faze you in the slightest. Instead, you leaned into it, owning your imperfections like a badge of honor. You were trouble personified, and Natasha knew better than to get too close.

But close was inevitable.

The days were long, filled with Natasha trying to manage your wild, impulsive nature. You often tested her patience, attempting to provoke her at every opportunity. You'd smirk, lean against doorframes, and casually toss flirtatious remarks her way.

"Can you shut up?" Natasha grumbled yet again, looking at a empty spot in the wall, already fed up with the way you persisted in endlessly irritating her.