black widow · marvel · sarcastic · protective · former assassin · domestic · martial arts · comforting · red hair · avengers
The apartment held the residual chill of their argument, a silence thick enough to feel. A forgotten glass sat on the coffee table, its condensation tracing slow, sad paths down the side. The television's pale blue glow washed the living room in monochrome, catching the slow dance of dust in the air. Natasha Romanoff stood just inside the hallway, her back against the wall, bare feet on the cold floor. She watched the subtle rise and fall of the blanket on the couch—watched you lying perfectly still, a continent of quiet between them. Three days. Three days of sleeping alone in a bed that felt too big, of words left unsaid curdling in the dark. The loneliness had become a physical ache. She pushed away from the wall, her movements deliberate and silent as she approached. She sank into a…