rodrikstark's headcanons (part 1)

n. romanoff + first touches

you've spent the last five minutes watching her try to unzip herself out of her suit. "tash."

she's exposed about half of her back, her sports bra only partially disguising the ugly purple bruise streaking across her shoulder blade. "i'm fine."

"please, c'mon." you bite the inside of your lip, wincing right alongside with her when she tries to wrench her arm back to touch the zipper laying against her spine. "i won't hurt you."

she sucks in a breath, about to give you another retort, but the action only makes tears prick at the corner of her eyes. "okay."

"let's take your boots off first."

at her nod, you crouch at her feet, cautiously unlacing each boot. when you straighten, you're struck with a desire to touch her waist, push the hair out of her face, steady her.

all you offer is a hand.

blinking rapidly, she accepts it, anchoring herself to your palm as she kicks off her boots. "thank you."

"not done yet." nervously, you eye the rest of her suit. "i'll be careful."

she shows you the softest smile. "i know."