Chapter Text
Steve no, you're gay
She stalked down the street, poison in her eyes and death as her shroud as the regular midnight crowd of passers-by gave her wide berth on the pavement.
Natasha’s heels gave the loud clicks against the pavement, turning heads the way she would have appreciated if she wasn’t just ready to break a limb. Not hers, of course.
Because being the assistant of Pepper Potts not only meant working with one of the most capable women in the 21st century, it also meant having to deal with Pepper’s genius-but-not-as-capable-as-his-girlfriend boyfriend, Tony Stark, who had somehow managed to run a multi-billion dollar company on his own.
With Pepper and 98% of his impulse control gone, the genius billionaire in question had managed to blow up a corporate building that did not belong to him, which meant more messes for Natasha to clean up.
She quickly dialed her emergency driver, who rattled off an address and told her he could get there in 10 minutes, which almost made her day better.
The redhead rounded the corner to see a rather run-down bar, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste as a group of men came stumbling through the doors, very obviously drunk.
Yet even in their drunken haze, they managed to spot her, and started whistling and calling out variations of “hey pretty lady,” which on another day might have made her pause because the men were admittedly attractive, but today it made her speed up her walk.
“Your murder strut is fuckin’ cool, dude,” she heard one of the men call, “so are your heels! I could never walk in those things. Made my feet hurt for a month!”
This made Natasha stop in her tracks, brain whirring but unable to process what she had heard.
She spun around to see a tall blond grinning goofily at her, and a dark skinned man - the sober, designated driver - shoot her an apologetic smile.
“Holy-” another of the men, a brunet with curly hair, gestured over, “is your hair painted with the blood of your enemies? Because it looks like it is.”
Those were… strange catcalls.
Sober Friend facepalmed.
Natasha resisted the urge to grin.
A man with hair dyed white stared at her, eyes widening until he proclaimed proudly, “you look like you could murder someone in twenty different ways with your pinkie!”
Now that comment, true as it was, Natasha could appreciate.
A smaller blond popped up from behind, blue eyes wide, “woah, you’re hot! Did you crawl out from hell, because you look like you want to kill someone.”
The drunk men around him muttered their agreement, and Sober Friend groaned intelligibly in his hands.
“You have very pretty eyes!” The same small blond hollered.
Natasha raised an eyebrow.
Sober Friend called out, already reaching out to pull him away, “Steve no, you’re gay.”
Natasha burst into laughter.
“I’m sorry, he’s very gay,” Sober Friend reassured, hands clamped around Steve’s struggling form, “Sam, lemme go! I need to talk to her! Hey, where did you get your - Sam, let go! - your heels? I need to be taller!”
Natasha laughed again.
“It’s Gucci,” she called back, and turned her head to see a familiar red car turn into the road.
The car slid in smoothly by the curb, and a tall brunet popped out on the other side, eyebrow raised, “Tony?”
“Tony,” she nodded.
“Your friend is hot!” Steve shouted again, interrupting the duo’s shared exasperation for Tony Stark, “is that your boyfriend? Or is he gay-” Sober friend clamped a hand shut over Steve’s mouth, shaking his head in despair.
“You have very nice hair,” the other blond shouted, “both of you.”
Natasha smirked at him, and turned to a confused Bucky, “they’ve been catcalling me in creative ways.”
“Shit, sorry, I should’ve given you another address-” he started, but was interrupted by Curly Haired Brunet, who waved wildly in their general direction, “That’s a cool car, man! We love the color! Blood of enemies!”
“See? Creative,” Natasha rolled her eyes in amusement.
Sam facepalmed, and released his hold on Steve, who squirmed away and shot Sam a betrayed look, before turning to Bucky, “you’re very cute! I’d suck your dick, then cook you breakfast. I’m a great cook, you should ask Clint! I’m also great at sucking dick, but Clint doesn’t know that.”
Natasha wondered who Clint was.
Bucky blushed prettily, which made Steve grin wolfishly, and Sam sighed, “I’m really sorry, he loses all sense of shame when he’s drunk.”
“It’s really okay,” Bucky murmured, already flushed as red as his car, and he slunk back into the driver’s seat.
“James is very gay too,” Natasha grinned, and slid into the passenger seat, “see you boys.”
Everyone waved and called out versions of “bye girl” and “bye Steve’s crush”, which just made Bucky blush harder.
“He’s kinda cute,” Bucky admitted.
“I know,” Natasha patted him on the shoulder, “you can pine later. Turn right, then left. It’s the building with… it’s the half of a building.”