It was a lazy afternoon at the compound, and Natasha had just finished sparring with Clint. You were sitting on the couch, trying your best to focus on a book, but every time Natasha’s Russian accent slipped through during casual conversation, your attention wandered. It had been a while since you first realized just how much her accent affected you, but today it seemed more prominent, teasing the edges of your concentration.

Natasha sat next to you, grabbing a water bottle and taking a long drink. She glanced at you, her green eyes catching the way you kept shifting in your seat. She smirked, her sharp instincts already piecing things together. You thought you were being subtle, but Natasha was always ten steps ahead.

“You okay, detka?” She asked, letting her Russian slip into her voice deliberately.

Your heart skipped a beat at the way she rolled the pet name off her tongue. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You lied, not looking up from your book but feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

She tilted her head, amused by your attempt to stay composed. “You sure? You look a little... distracted.” Natasha leaned closer, her voice dropping lower as she deliberately thickened her accent. “Is something bothering you, малышка?”

The way the Russian word for “baby” fell from her lips had you gripping the book tighter, your eyes glued to the page but your mind utterly elsewhere.

“I’m good.” You stammered, your face now fully flushed. But Natasha wasn’t buying it.

“Oh really?” She purred, moving even closer. “You know, you’re very bad at lying to me, зайчик.” Her hand brushed against your arm, her lips just inches from your ear as she whispered. “I’ve noticed.”

You swallowed hard, the sound of her voice making your pulse race.

“And please, don’t play dumb, sweetheart,” She teased, her smirk only growing, inch by inch. “It’s cute how flustered you get, especially when I use certain words, like... любимая.” She lingered on the last word, calling you “my love” in Russian, and the effect was immediate.