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zensations35 · 5 months

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Familiar Rapport (Natasha)

HERE IT IS FINALLY raaah! I wrote it on Monday but damn if recording the audio didn't take me FOREVER. But please enjoy Nat being sick and Tony being a sarcastic asshole. (Because I am weak for Stark Sass). Audio under the cut.

It’s past 9 and Steve is still here.

He’s asking for more information on Natasha’s new project and she is rushing through her explanation. Which only causes more confusion.

She’s listing off tasks for a third time when she notices her voice starts to tinge with congestion. She pauses mid-word, gaze flicking to Steve.

He looks at her, pale brows knit, “What? Something wrong?”

She gives her best vacuous chuckle hoping it will disguise a shiver of her lips. “I was just thinking it might be easier to show you.”

She pivots, socks shushing across the plush rug stretching across the central room of Stark Tower. She bends to the table centered between the chairs and picks up a tech pad.

Steve chuffs, “I think you have too much confidence in me being able to understand this baloney.”

Natasha squints at him, her lips curving in a wry smile, “Baloney?”

“P…people don’t say that anymore?”

The grin stretches in amusement. “If Captain America says it, it might make a comeback.”

She powers the pad on and swipes through the screens, showcasing visual details to Steve. He leans close and she instinctively holds her breath for a moment before realizing it’s pointless. Steve can’t catch it anyway. As his eyes skim the pad, she lifts a curved knuckle to her nose, tapping it just hard enough to chase away a lingering itch. Steve doesn’t notice. Fuck, she wants to sniffle so bad.

Steve is pointing at the pad, brows raised expectantly. What did he just say? Rghh, it’s so hard to focus on anything but the creeping sensation crawling through her sinuses. The itch just won’t stop, and it’s going to be completely obvious if her nose runs. She has to sniffle. Just one…maybe he won’t notice…

She risks it, sipping air with the barest…tiniest…

*snf*

Her nostrils flare wide but also up. In an extremely pronounced way. As if her face was a map of lines pointing straight to her nose’s announcement of her hitching breath. Fuck. Steve’s eyes flick to her and her lips tighten. He can’t know--he can’t know. If Steve realizes she’s sick, he’ll put a halt on this project. Natasha may have final say in most things, but Steve will absolutely round up the entire team to get her to lay the fuck down.

Nope. Not happening.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she snaps. Steve’s lips crimp but he doesn’t frown. He’s too graceful for that. He just nods and says “Alright.” He doesn’t mention the congestion in her voice and Natasha hopes maybe she sounds less stuffy than she feels.

She mimes a startle and pulls out her phone, “One minute.” She sticks it against her ear which allows her to turn away from him and wander a few steps. Thank fuck. She starts speaking Russian, pretending to have a conversation about a crisis while she saunters farther away, toward the frosty bay windows.

She can feel the chill from the winter wind against the glass, snowflakes kissing the window only to drop down and pool below solidifying into icy daggers.

The sudden chill has Natasha wrapping her bare arms around herself, shuddering. Her words begin to spill, she’s speaking with the un mistakable thickness of a person about t-to…

“H’kX!” She squeezes her shoulders, her neck, clenches her jaw, slams every wall down around herself before releasing a barely audible, “Hrt’KngT!” A small puff of breath escapes after and that does not go unnoticed.

Steve whips his head toward her. “Did you…”

She blinks at him, giving him her best, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ look. She knows it works. It al ways works. Steven looks abashed and refocuses on the pad, “Nothing.”

Damn right nothing.

She eases back toward Steve and pockets the phone, screwing her face up in concern-- hopefully convincing despite the cloying of her nose, the pink of her cheeks…

“Oh, Steve, I think Bruce needed your help with something.”

“He did?”

“Yeah,” she hands him the tech pad. “Why don’t you take this and show him the plans--he can help you and you can help him. Win win, hm?”

Steve tilts his head, apprehension painted all over his features.

Natasha points at the pad, “Go.” She thrusts the finger at the door.

Steve mutters something, but with another shoo from Nat, he does amble away.

Oh thank fuck because as soon as hhh she hears hhhh-im l-leave…”hih-AH!” He’s gone, fina--IEXSTTchh!!” She groans as she finally surrenders to the-- “HieTNKgshh…”

“Bless you.”

Natasha spins, eyes widening when she sees Tony standing askew next to the table. Her teeth chafe her lip in frustration. No one sneaks up on Natasha--damn this cold messing with her in unfathomable ways.

“How are you handing it?” Tony asks offhandedly.

“Handling what?”

“The cold.”

Her voice quakes. “What cold?” Damn, she can lie better than this. This is pathetic. Her cold symptoms are making her look disingenuous. She is fine, she just…needs to sneeze a lot and it won’t…fucking…stop. That doesn’t mean she isn’t fine.

He snorts, swaying toward the table in a sashay that rivals her own. “I heard it keeping you up last night.”

She latches a glare on him. “Why were you up last night?”

Tony plucks a square tissue box from the shelf next to him, “Oh, the usual. Binge drinking. Learning quantum physics. Being generally brilliant.” He holds out the box to her, taking a step forward.

Natasha holds up her hand, “Don’t.” Tony hesitates at the look on her face, lowering the box. “Don’t even come near me. I don’t want to give this to you.”

Tony lifts an eyebrow. “Is that the only reason? Because you talk as if I didn’t already catch this.”

Her eyes spread, “You were sick?”

He tosses it to her and she deftly catches it. At least her reflexes aren't in the trash.

“Still am.”

Natasha runs forked fingers through her hair, parting her copper waves, “Wow you are way better at hiding it than me.”

“No I’m not. I just know what hiding it looks like.”

Her lips crimp and she droops, letting her entire body melt into the chair. She tips her forehead onto her fist and sighs. “I’m so fucking tired. I just want to lay down and moan.”

Tony leans against the wall, folding his arms in his very Tony Stark way. “Then do it.”

Natasha chuffs, “I can’t. If anyone sees me taking time off. Slacking? They’ll know…”

“That you’re not perfect?”

Natasha’s head jerks up to glare at him. Tony rolls his eyes. “You’re not perfect, Nat. None of us are. You may be able to kid Cap. Bruce. The whole team--but you can’t hold them in forever.”

She rolls her eyes. “I can try.”

“But you shouldn’t.”

Another glare, and if looks could jump kick you in the face, Tony would be on the floor. She can’t hold the glare for long though. Her eyes are already glassing over, face flushing with a pink tinge. “H’kNG!” Hhhh-dammit--Hah!” Her shoulders curve, her fist sliding across her cheek to pin her nose, “H’ISXht!”

Tony sighs, his shoulders sagging with the breath, “I’m gonna put on soup. For both of us,” he iterates. “You go lay down. Watch one of those nature documentaries you like.”

“I don’t like nature documentaries.”

“I was being nice. I know you watched Marley and Me when you thought we were all asleep.”

She stiffens, “I only watched that because Owen Wilson looks familiar!”

“You know Owen Wilson?”

“No, but I’ve seen…” Lines crease her eyes and her vision warbles. She sips a breath, shoulders rearing as she snarls into a quickly cupped palm, “Hat’TSHieh! Hk’TZSH!!”

“I can text Mr. Wilson and ask him, but I think he’d agree with me that you need to rest.”

“You’re exhausting.”

“You’re exhausted.”

“Fuck you.”

“No thanks. You had your chance.”

Natasha throws herself to her feet and groans, not unlike a teenage outburst. She inwardly scolds herself for it. Being sick? It sucks. It makes it even harder to keep a cool head. Especially when Tony’s being a little shit.

“Fine,” she wipes the air with her hand and strides toward the hall, “I’m going to rest.”

“Thank. You.” Tony glides toward the kitchenette and Natasha doesn’t even fight the fact that he technically won this battle. But she’s so exhausted, she really doesn’t care.

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plush-rabbit · 11 months

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It's Always Coffee

Request: Hello!!! I was wondering if you could write a like enemies to lovers between The spot before he becomes The spot (so basically Jonathann Ohnn) where the reader is a journalist who is investigating what is going on at Alchemax? And it would be nice if in the end you could include a part whit the reader and The Spot after he becomes it. Thank you so much!! <3

A/N: I’m on a fucking high for this guy!! Hope you like it<3 (this isnt necessarily an enemies to lovers but its something!!)

Word Count: 3.2K

You sit at an empty chair pushed against the wall of the coffee shop, your gaze focused on the screen of the laptop, the cursor blinking as the words stop. The bell dings, and you look up, catching a look of a familiar doctor walking up to the counter and fumbling with his wallet to pay. You smile, keeping your eye on him, a part of you hoping that he would turn around and see you.

No doubt feeling the gaze of someone on him, he peers around as his transaction ends. His eyes meet yours and your grin stretches, a cheeky grin stretching over your features. You wave at him, dropping your gaze to return to your work, a newfound hit of inspiration causing you to type away at the keyboard.

Keeping your attention on the screen, you bite down the smile as someone takes a seat in the chair next to you. You can feel his gaze on you, and you keep your gaze focused on the screen. The cursor stops and blinks at you, and as you type, your backspace, unable to make the sentence flow as you’d like. With a sigh, you grab your drink and take a sip.

“Are you following me?” He asks, and finally you turn to face the doctor.

“You know, a hello is usually a common way to greet people, Dr. Ohnn.” You place your cup down, turning your attention towards him. He narrows his eyes at you. “Technically, I should be asking you that. I was the first one here. If anything, I should be accusing you of following me.” He stays silent and you smile at him. “I can assure you that I am not following you. Honestly, I didn’t even think you knew about this place. You seem more like the type to make your drinks at home.”

He pulls his lips into a line and fixes himself in his seat. “Usually, I am. I only recently found this shop. It’s one of the few shops that offers distinct blends of coffee.” You snort and he shoots you a pointed look.

You hold your hands in front of you in mock defense, closing them and returning them to your keyboard. You don’t miss the glance that he gives to your screen. “I never took you to be such a connoisseur of coffee,” you admit. “How long have you been frequenting this place?”

He stays silent, and turns his attention to where the baristas work behind the counter. “Past two weeks,” he tells you, returning his gaze to look at you.

“Ah,” you sigh. “I found this place maybe a month ago.”

“I didn’t know you enjoyed coffee,” he admits.

You shrug. “I’m a reporter. It’s kinda in the requirements to enjoy coffee.”

Silence befalls between the two of you, and he turns his attention to where the baristas work. Your fingers dance over your keyboard. You chew on the inside of your cheek when you feel his gaze on you once more. He turns to look at your screen where you type, fingers slowing down as you turn to look at him with an expecting grin. “Can I help you, Dr. Ohnn?”

He doesn’t look the slightest bit embarrassed about being caught, instead, he shoots you a narrowed look. “What are you writing about?”

“If you must know-” his eyes dart over the words, and you grab the top of your laptop, pulling it down to block him from reading any further- “it’s about a local animal shelter.” You lift the screen back to its standing position, and take a sip of your drink. He huffs and looks away, crossing a leg over the other. You take a peek through your peripheral vision, and return to typing. “The shelter is doing a little event where you can walk or play with an animal for an hour, and each person will receive a five-dollar gift card to a coffee shop.”

“Oh.” He clears his throat. “That sounds nice.”

You scoff out a laugh. “Does that satiate your curiosity?” Your fingers tap over the keys as you try to come up with the finishing sentence. “Honestly, no wonder you dislike me when I question you as you do your job.” You give him a teasing smile, and he straightens, pushing up his glasses from the bottom rim with his knuckle.

“I don’t-” he clears his throat at your expectant gaze and shakes his head. “What coffee shop is allowing that? I’d assume it would have to be a local one.”

“You’re correct.” You point at him, pulling away from your screen and leaning against the back of the chair. You tilt your head, raising your brows at him with your smile growing. “Wanna wager on it? If you guess the shop, I’ll buy a coffee from there.”

“Do you know how many coffee shops are in this area alone?” He glowers at you, uncrossing his legs and leaning back against the chair. “Unless I have unlimited guesses, I won’t be able to figure it out in such a short amount of time.”

You hum, turning to look at your screen. You click your tongue and tap a finger against your chin.”Okay,” you draw out, “I’ll give you a hint.” You turn to look back at him, arms crossed over your chest. “It’s one of the only shops around that offers such distinct blends of coffee,” you raise the pitch of your voice, an awful attempt at mimicking the words once said,

“I do not sound like that,” he pouts.

You snicker, dropping your head and giving him a wide grin. “Ah, so you’ve guessed it?”

He turns his head, and back at you. “Obviously,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “Why would this place partner with a random shelter?”

“The shelter is a family friend with the owner from here,” you explain. “So they partnered up since the shelter is low on staff.” You grab your drink, swishing the liquid around. “It’s a nice idea-” you place your drink back down- “and they have ads placed all over, so I’m hoping that this article just boosts it up a bit more, you know.”

“Will you be participating?” he asks.

“Probably not,” you answer. “I like animals as much as the next person, but I get attached much too fast.” You turn to him. “I don’t think I could part with a dog. What about you?”

Dr. Ohnn lifts a hand, twirling a strand of hair around his finger before letting it fall back into place. “Probably not. As is, I don’t have the time to myself. What little time I do have, I much prefer to spend it by myself.”

“You’re worked to the bone, huh?” You give him a sad smile, turning your attention back to the screen. You feel his eyes on you. “That blows.” He says nothing. “I get it. You enjoy what you can. In this case, while it’s a noble cause, it’s definitely more for the people who have the time.” You turn to him. “And those who enjoy coffee.”

“I hope your article is able to put the word out,” he tells you without a hint of sarcasm laced into his words. Your ankles cross, and you pull them close to the underside of the chair.

“Yeah-” you backspace a word, only to rewrite it- “me too.”

You hear his name get called, and the both of you turn to where a barista places the drink on the counter. He stands, and stays in front of his seat. Craning his neck, he looks to you, and you blink up at him.

“Hey, you already paid for your drink, I can’t cover this one,” you say, raising your hands in front of you. “Maybe next time?”

“Next time?”

Another name is called, and in the corner of your eyes, you watch as the person scurries to pick up their drink. “Sure. Next time,” you confirm. You suck in a breath, and hold your drink in your hand, nerves causing your stomach to flip upon itself. “I’m uh, free tomorrow.”

He frowns. “I’m not.”

You cringe upon yourself, and bite the inside corners of your lips to stop from wincing. “Then, whenever. Or I could just pay you now for your drink. I think that’ll even it out. That way we won’t have to meet again.”

“No,” he blurts out. You look at him with raised brows. “I’d rather meet. I did win your little wager,” he says. “I’ll try to find time.” He bites his bottom lip, and clears his throat. “I believe I’m owed that after all.”

Hope makes your heartbeat quicken, and you can’t stop the smile that grows. “Okay. You’re welcome to sit by me if you’re not in a rush.” He stutters for a second, and you smile up at him. “Relax. I won’t question you. For now.” He pulls a face and you let out a small laugh. “It’s a joke. We can just be two people who met at a coffee shop. Not a reporter or scientist, just me and you.”

Without an answer, he walks towards the counter, and you watch his movement. You watch as he grabs the cup and places the rim against his lips. You watch as he pulls out his phone, and looks to the door and looks back at you. You aren’t sure what’s compelled you to invite the scientist to sit with you- it isn’t as if the two of you are friends, or anything of the sort. However, in the short conversation where work for you and annoyance for him was absent, you enjoyed talking to him. Just a bit. Not enough to admit it, but enough to invite him to sit with you. He turns a foot towards the door, and you give him a final smile, raising your hand in a goodbye, looking down at your screen.

It’s no bother. All you really are to him is a reporter with pestering questions about his line of work, it would be a no-brainer as to why he wouldn’t want to sit with you. However, it doesn’t stop the disappointment that weighs you down. You write the last sentence of the article and sigh.

Someone sits by you, and you give a glance, lifting yourself straight when you find the scientist perched at the seat, holding his drink in his hand with his body turned towards you.

“Are you almost done with your article?” You nod, glancing back down to save the file despite the automatic save feature working on its own. “Good, good.” He turns to look at the door, and back to you. “Would you like to go for a walk?”

You close your laptop, and hold it by the edges. “As a reporter and a scientist? Or as-”

“As me and you.” His feet tap against the floor. “I understand if you’re busy or-”

“I’d love to go for a walk.” You hadn’t realized how tense he was, until his shoulders fall at your words, a small smile tilting the corners of his lips upwards. “You got an idea of where to go or do you want to walk aimlessly?” You grab your messenger bag, delicately placing your laptop into its designated sleeve.

You follow behind him, clutching your nearly empty drink in your hand. Your bag pats against your side, and you bend to walk underneath his arm as he holds the door open.

“You’re supposed to wait for the door to open fully,” he tells you, fixing the sleeves of the black undershirt.

“And you’re supposed to answer someone’s question before walking away, Dr. Ohnn.” You pull yourself straight. “Guess we both have some learning to do.” He rolls his eyes, and continues forward, and you follow behind him.

The air is warm- not uncomfortably so, but enough to know that summer is creeping in. You smile at people who you make eye contact with. Dr. Ohnn walks without saying a word, but when you stray far too behind to peer into a window full of jewelry, he walks back to you.

“I didn’t take you for a jewelry person,” he admits.

“I’m not usually,” you answer, “but I have to admit that some of it is pretty.” You straighten yourself and look at him through the reflection. “I much prefer dainty types of jewelry. What about you?” His brows furrow at the window, and you take his answer through the reflection. “Are you a jewelry person?”

“I’m a fan of watches, does that count?”

“Huh,” you click your tongue. “I think so.” Pulling away from the window, you walk down the crowded street. Soon enough, he walks beside you again. “I never really could find a watch that suited me.” You flex out your hand and twist at your wrist. “I think I’m just bad at choosing things.”

“How do you tell time then?”

You let out a small laugh. “Dr. Ohnn, we live in a place where most people have cell phones.” His shoulders perk at the words, and a flush deepens the hue on his face. “I’ll manage to tell time without a watch.” You take a sip of your drink, and all that remains is ice and a bottom rim of a watered down version of your drink. “I’m not sure how you’ll manage, though.” You exchange the cup to your other hand and raise your now free hand, flexing your wrist. “Naked wrist and all.” You jerk your head over to his, and he covers it with his hand.

“I forgot,” he answers defensively. “Simple mistake. Anyone could have made it.” He clears his throat, and takes a swig at his drink.

“Oh, I’m sure,” you tease.

Peeking a trash can further up ahead and no longer wanting to hold your cup for the next few minutes, you rush forward to toss your drink. You dart through the crowd, mumbling apologies and sticking your tongue out a person who mutters a curse towards you. Tossing your drink into the trash, you wait for Dr. Ohnn to catch up to you. He stands by you, downing the drink before tossing the empty cup into the trash.

“Why’d you want to work for Fisk anyways?” He gives you a look. “Off the record, I swear!” You raise your hands in front of you in mock surrender. “I’m curious. You’re a scientist, and I’m positive you’re good at your job. So why work for him? Why not work for anyone else?”

“Why write articles?” You frown at him for avoiding your questions. “Plenty of others do it. Plenty of other agencies will offer to help you write the story you so desperately chase. So why stick to that one agency?”

“Okay, Dr. Ohnn. I’ll let you escape answering my questions, only-” you point your index finger at him- “and only because I’m feeling quite open to speaking. If you must know why I stick to my agency, I do it because I’m familiar with it.” He stops for a second, and continues his strides. “I like it there. Fluff pieces and all. We can’t all be journalists willing to die for a story, and while I’m very curious about what you do, I am willing to at least push the limits of how far I can go.” You look at him. “It’s not the most meaningful sentiment, but it’s mine, so if you make fun of it-” you falter, unable to come up with some threat- “I won’t buy you your coffee,” you conclude with the threat. You begin to pull away, one step in front of him when he stops you.

“I wouldn’t make fun of you,” he says with his hand wrapped around your elbow.

“Oh,” your voice comes out softer than intended. You turn to give a weak cough. “Cool. Thanks. I guess you get to keep your free coffee then.”

“You think I’m good at my job?”

You smile at him, and standing on the sidewalk- even if pushed close to the building- does the two of you no favors. A stranger rushes by, and you’re pushed closer to him. The grip on his elbow tightens, and you take note of his hand. His fingers are long, and thick, and they hold onto you tightly, nails scratching at your skin. You turn your gaze.

“Yes, and before we get shoved again, let’s continue walking.” You pull ahead, and his grip on your arm falls. Turning your head to make sure that he’s behind you, you start. “I do think you’re good at your job. That’s why I try to do mine.” You give him a glance, and smooth out your shirt. “It is how it is. Too bad you’re good at it, you had to meet me.”

“What else?” He asks and you tilt your head at him. “What else do you think of my work?”

“I don’t know. I tried to read the papers that you’ve written along with a few other scientists that study along the same lines, but it was all words to me. No offense.” You give him an apologetic smile. “I’m sure you know what you’re talking about, and in some pages, I could feel the excitement, ya know? Like- Like when you started to talk about black holes and stuff. Were you always interested in stuff like that?”

His hand reaches to the back of his neck and he scratches at himself. “Mm, not necessarily black holes, but other stuff. One thing led to another.” He turns a corner and you follow close behind, catching at every word that escapes from him. “Not many people outside of my profession read what I have to offer,” he says in a low voice. “Thank you,” he says your name gently and you can feel heat burn at the shell of your ears.

“Yeah, no problem. It was a long read, but um- it was interesting and stuff.” You try to stop the grin that grows, and tug on the strap of your messenger bag. “If you have the time, I wouldn’t mind-” You're cut off by a phone ringing and you stay silent, watching as he pats his pockets.

“Ah,” he pulls out his phone and quickly reads the message. Looking back up at you, he seems almost apologetic. “I apologize. I- I have to go. Something work related just came up.” He lifts his phone as proof, but you can’t read the words with the glare of the sun. “We’ll continue this later?”

The words take a second to process, and when they do, you can feel your heart race. “Oh!” You perk up. “Yeah- yeah, of course.” He smiles at you, and takes a step forward. He’s close enough where you can smell the cologne on him. “Um-” his voice squeaks, and he clears his throat. He lifts a hand and pats at your shoulder. “This was fun. Thank you for accompanying me on the walk.” He gives you a tense smile and walks away without a goodbye.

You stand on the sidewalk and watch. He turns around, and you lift your hand in a wave, and he does the same.

You frown when you realize you never received his number.

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