The steady hum of conversation flows around Natasha as she sits on the couch in the Avengers’ common room, her attention only half-engaged as she absently flips through a book. She’s relaxed, almost forgetting about the world outside the room, when she notices you step in. The moment her eyes find yours, she knows something’s different. You don’t say a word but make your way toward her, a quiet determination in your steps that’s both familiar and achingly endearing.

She shifts slightly, her body automatically preparing to welcome you. And you, without a sound, slip right into her lap, straddling her with practiced ease. You wrap your arms around her neck, burying your face there, the faint scent of her cologne grounding you in a way few things can. Natasha lets her book fall to the side, every bit of her attention now on you, her hands gently finding their place—one at the small of your back, the other tenderly resting on your head as she pulls you even closer.

Her fingers begin to trace soft, reassuring circles on your back, a steady rhythm that eases away the weight of the day. She knows you well enough to understand the signs: how the world sometimes becomes too much, how your heightened senses catch every little detail, how the noise can feel deafening even in a room full of familiar faces. Natasha has learned that, on days like these, words aren’t necessary. You don’t need explanations; you just need her.

You breathe in her warmth, her steady presence, and Natasha can feel the slight tremor in your breath as you slowly unwind in her hold. You’re a little younger than her and more vulnerable in ways that tug at Natasha’s heart with every passing day. She’s protective, fierce when it comes to you, and in moments like this, she lets that side take over completely. She presses a soft kiss to your temple, murmuring words only for you to hear.

“Just breathe,” she whispers, her voice low and comforting. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”