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@natanovna
#NATANOVNA ﹐ an independent &. canon―divergent roleplay blog for 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐀 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐍𝐀 “𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐀” 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐅𝐅. MUN﹕ ❪ DAVINA, 21 ❫ › MAIN﹕ @SATLUN
⁰ 𝗚𝗨𝗜𝗗𝗘𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦 ¹ 𝗠𝗘𝗠𝗘𝗦
marvel + 🍺
buckynat + similar fighting styles because he trained her
|| @natanovna
It had been months since they had last seen each other. The Soldier looks almost peaceful in the ice, eyes closed like he’s asleep. It’s dark, the middle of the night. No one would be looking for Natasha for a few hours at least.
With the press of a few buttons on the controls, the ice thaws and the cryo chamber opens. The Soldier groans and stumbles forward, weak and out of it. He had his memory erased just before being frozen. He blinks blearily, reaching for her as he tries to make sense of what’s going on. Everything hurts. “I-I…” he stammers, voice weak. His steel blue eyes meet hers, but there’s no recognition in them, none of the love they share.
Down here was very dim and sharp with cold, as if it were outside and not in here. The place began to light up afterwards as the machine opened its door. Her eyes widened slightly, not in terror, but in a manner to understand him, to study if this was James and not the Winter Soldier they claimed him to be. “James…” If he wished to hurt her here and now, Natalia would let him achieve it. With no hesitation or fear, she stumbled toward him for a tight, longing hug. Her head buried on his shoulder, sensing the coldness of his skin, of his metal arm. And that only turned things difficult… or worse; despair appeared in her eyes, feeling angry at what they had done to him.
“You know me…” It sounded desperate, but it was meant to be a reminder, a wake-up call for the soul they buried deep inside this man, the love of her life. “It’s Natasha.” Her last sentence was spoken in English, not her mother tongue, but his; the language that he had taught her himself moths ago.
The Soldier collapses into her arms. It’s… this feels safe? Not like his handlers… “Natasha…?” He mumbles, the English catching his attention. He knows English. She feels familiar, but he can’t place her quite yet.
He looks around, trying to make sense of this. “Do… do I have a mission…?” He doesn’t want to go on a mission. He just… he wants to be done. But he knows they’ll force him to go somehow.
“Please…” Her head pressed against his rigid shoulder, followed by a slow, aching shake of her head. “Yes, James… Natasha,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his tactical suit. She reached up to touch his face, her fingers lingering for the possible heat before she pulled away to get a better look at him.
“No, James. Not anymore.” Her thumb brushed his cheekbone, tracing the scar she had left on his flesh a month ago, a mark from a blade she had ensured would not harm him. “We have to go. Stay with me,” she said deliberately, her voice a quiet anchor meant for him alone. At that moment, they needed to be completely discreet. “Can you trust me?” a final sentence escaped her lips at last.
The Solder instinctively leans into her hand. He’s… really confused by now. No mission… so what is he here for? His eyes dart up and down, taking her in. His eyes land on her red hair and his face scrunches in confusion. “I can trust you…?” he mumbles, reaching out to touch her hair. His other hand slips into his pocket, and pulls out the strand of hair he stole from her last time they were together. His eyes widen. “You—“
Her head leaned into his gentle touch; this was really James, just James. They would never allow the Winter Soldier to be this soft, never. She knew it by heart. “Yes, James...” Her voice dropped low, fading into a whisper.
Then, Natasha’s eyes widened slightly at the strands. Had he kept them all this time? So close to him... she had been this close. “You really do like my hair,” a low, hushed chuckle escaped her lips at last, an attempt to soothe the tight situation and the confusion within him. “Keep it.” Her hand later took his, drawing him close to her side as she led him through the darkness.
The Soldier—James?—takes a moment to process all of this, then nods and follows her. He squeezes her hand and his eyes dart around like he expects something bad to happen. “… it’s pretty… like fire…” he mumbles, trying to figure out why he knows that so well. His free hand rests on the knife at his hip, just in case.
A genuine, knowing smile formed on her lips. “You always say that…” Her head turned slightly, trying to trace the shifts in his expression in the dark. His hand, though, still felt starkly cold against her slight warmth.
As they were about to reach the entrance of this underground, loud signals echoed over the building, a warning that the Winter Soldier had disappeared. Natasha recognized the threat immediately; they must be completely silent, quick, and discreet from that moment on. “James,” she turned around, “We’ve done something like this before.” Her voice sounded serious, underlaid with an understanding of his confusion and overwhelming emotions. “Can you do that again…?”
James’ eyes dart around the entire way, like he knows that something is going to go wrong. When the alarms start to blare, he freezes up, mind screaming at him to go back. His eyes lock with Nat’s and he tilts his head. They’ve done this before? If they have it must be protocol, right? He can’t remember, but he knows for some reason that he trusts her. He nods. “I… I can.”
He looks over his shoulder. Thankfully, and by plan, they took one of the corridors that isn’t really watched over much, so they should have a couple of minutes at the least. “… are we deserting…?”
Her movement was precise, smooth, and professional, combining a grace and lethal manner. Within the dead hallway, where she had pre-emptively blinded the security cameras, Natasha guided the way. But as James asked the simple question, she came to a sudden halt. She nodded once, a subtle gesture, while her eyes scanned the space behind him, tracking for any sign of armed men.
“We are, James. You promised me.” A subtle, genuine smile appeared, underlaid with passion. Her voice turned lower, almost whispery and tender, contrasting with the tight situation. “‘I’ll find you,’” she echoed the same words from a month earlier, a hidden signal to stimulate his memory once more. “‘You already know that.’” The same words again. And her eyes never left his, she only thought that this could help, at least.
James winces and puts his free hand to his temple, screwing his eyes shut as he hisses in pain. It hurts, trying to remember. But he still clings to Natasha’s hand, because even without his memories some part of him still knows she’s his anchor, his tether to morality he thought lost.
He swallows and nods. “We… we need to move, then.” He forces himself to stand up straighter, to force the guise of control. He glances over his shoulder once more, then he turns his focus on the door out. He shuffles past her and tries it, and when it doesn’t open, he punches it down with his metal arm.
Her grip squeezed, tightening their only connection. With concern plainly displayed on her face, Natasha shot out an immediate question, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Her eyes lingered, observing his subtle reactions and how the headache seemed to suddenly hit him.
And it saddened her, deep down, deeply. It seemed his memories were buried so far, deep inside. He could barely bring them up, or perhaps he was trying not to sink deeper into his identity, but he could always do it, she knew that. He’d done it before. He’d survived. He’d returned. This time should not be different... only longer. Soon enough, he shuffled past her, leaving Natasha with only the ghost of his presence until she quickly followed after.
James shakes his head. “Just… hurts.” He takes a moment to let the headache fully disappear, then turns to look at her as he backs out of the building. He looks around blankly, still visibly unsure of what they’re doing. “Is this right…? You’re not— I shouldn’t be taking orders from you—“ he gets a little worked up, some failsafe they implanted triggering.
“James, look at me.” The red siren pulsed outside, casting repetitive streaks of crimson across her face. Her red hair bled into the shadows, making her appear as if a ghost of his buried memory. “Nobody here owns you.” She took his hand, her warm flesh touched against his cold metal palm, a silent assurance, a desperate truth because it was now or never again.
Armed men appeared in the distance, their presence lingered across the far corner of the building. Despite the coming threat, their hands remained locked. The guards leveled their weapons and the rifles were lifted up afterwards. “You’re making a choice. It’s different this time.” Before the rush of anticipated violence could reach them, she whispered one last time, “Two cats, you said we’d get two… leave this place with me, James. Let’s live.”
Without hesitation, she released his hand in a swift motion. Natasha lunged toward the armed man with a lack of fear and in an attempt to protect him. If death was the price for their freedom, she would pay it, but deep down, she knew the truth of this place: when its two most lethal weapons fought as one, defeat was impossible.
James locks eyes with her, and his body relaxes. He trusts her. He trusts her more than the voices in his head singing their twisted manipulations. His metal fingers interlock with hers, a silent promise. He’s making a different choice this time. For her, for both of them. He lets out a quiet chuckle. Two cats… he likes the sound of that.
The moment their hands are apart he twists and lunges for the nearest man, easily breaking his neck and taking his gun. The price of freedom was high, but he was willing to pay it for a chance at a life with her. He aims the rifle and starts shooting.
From time to time, her gaze landed on him, ensuring that every threat was halted before it could ever reach him. His protection was her top priority; she barely spared a thought for herself. She knew she could handle her own safety, and he could too, of course but love always twisted the truth, leaving her with the restless need to guard him from harm.
Her movements were fluid and professional, a testament to why she was claimed to be one of the Red Room’s greatest Black Widow. Her choice of weaponry was less aggressive than his, yet equally lethal: Widow’s Bites, batons, and her grappling hook moved in a blur. One man went down, then two more followed in rapid violence.
But the last armed man moved with a sudden, violent force, rushing toward his blind side. Natasha interfered, throwing herself into the gap to halt the man and his weapon. The impact was immediate, the heavy body of the gun knocked her face, a hard, stinging burn that spread across her skin.
James doesn’t seem to be caring much about protecting himself anyway. His focus is only on making sure she isn’t hurt by these men. He flashes her a smile every time their eyes meet, though it’s pained. His mind is raging with him as he tries to figure out if he’s making the right choice. He can’t help but find himself in awe of the way she moves. He always does, despite how often he sees it.
He’s too slow to stop the man from hitting her across the face. It was too risky of a shot, with her between them. He throws his gun tithe ground and tackles the man, getting on top of him and squeezing his throat. “You don’t get to touch her.” He snarls, teeth bared and eyes lit with fury.
Without hesitation, she rushed toward the man James had pinned down. Her Widow Gauntlets delivered a visceral electric shock to the target's neck; the body seized and turned stiff almost instantly. On her flushed face, a shallow slit appeared, a thin line of crimson drawn by the sharp edge of the gun. It was a perfect match for the scar she had left on his cheek a month ago. Matching scars, matching pain.
Natasha’s gaze fixed on his. She recognized the anger burning in those eyes, the specific, raw fury James always carried. The way he had declared, ‘You don’t get to touch her,’ echoed in her mind, it was so familiar. Had James finally come back to her? “James,” she whispered at last, attempting to pull his attention from his own frustration. “We need to move.”
Very, very impressive individual.
Introducing Natasha Romanoff IRON MAN 2
Tell me we’ll never get used to it.
—Richard Siken
|| @natanovna
It had been months since they had last seen each other. The Soldier looks almost peaceful in the ice, eyes closed like he’s asleep. It’s dark, the middle of the night. No one would be looking for Natasha for a few hours at least.
With the press of a few buttons on the controls, the ice thaws and the cryo chamber opens. The Soldier groans and stumbles forward, weak and out of it. He had his memory erased just before being frozen. He blinks blearily, reaching for her as he tries to make sense of what’s going on. Everything hurts. “I-I…” he stammers, voice weak. His steel blue eyes meet hers, but there’s no recognition in them, none of the love they share.
Down here was very dim and sharp with cold, as if it were outside and not in here. The place began to light up afterwards as the machine opened its door. Her eyes widened slightly, not in terror, but in a manner to understand him, to study if this was James and not the Winter Soldier they claimed him to be. “James…” If he wished to hurt her here and now, Natalia would let him achieve it. With no hesitation or fear, she stumbled toward him for a tight, longing hug. Her head buried on his shoulder, sensing the coldness of his skin, of his metal arm. And that only turned things difficult… or worse; despair appeared in her eyes, feeling angry at what they had done to him.
“You know me…” It sounded desperate, but it was meant to be a reminder, a wake-up call for the soul they buried deep inside this man, the love of her life. “It’s Natasha.” Her last sentence was spoken in English, not her mother tongue, but his; the language that he had taught her himself moths ago.
The Soldier collapses into her arms. It’s… this feels safe? Not like his handlers… “Natasha…?” He mumbles, the English catching his attention. He knows English. She feels familiar, but he can’t place her quite yet.
He looks around, trying to make sense of this. “Do… do I have a mission…?” He doesn’t want to go on a mission. He just… he wants to be done. But he knows they’ll force him to go somehow.
“Please…” Her head pressed against his rigid shoulder, followed by a slow, aching shake of her head. “Yes, James… Natasha,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his tactical suit. She reached up to touch his face, her fingers lingering for the possible heat before she pulled away to get a better look at him.
“No, James. Not anymore.” Her thumb brushed his cheekbone, tracing the scar she had left on his flesh a month ago, a mark from a blade she had ensured would not harm him. “We have to go. Stay with me,” she said deliberately, her voice a quiet anchor meant for him alone. At that moment, they needed to be completely discreet. “Can you trust me?” a final sentence escaped her lips at last.
The Solder instinctively leans into her hand. He’s… really confused by now. No mission… so what is he here for? His eyes dart up and down, taking her in. His eyes land on her red hair and his face scrunches in confusion. “I can trust you…?” he mumbles, reaching out to touch her hair. His other hand slips into his pocket, and pulls out the strand of hair he stole from her last time they were together. His eyes widen. “You—“
Her head leaned into his gentle touch; this was really James, just James. They would never allow the Winter Soldier to be this soft, never. She knew it by heart. “Yes, James...” Her voice dropped low, fading into a whisper.
Then, Natasha’s eyes widened slightly at the strands. Had he kept them all this time? So close to him... she had been this close. “You really do like my hair,” a low, hushed chuckle escaped her lips at last, an attempt to soothe the tight situation and the confusion within him. “Keep it.” Her hand later took his, drawing him close to her side as she led him through the darkness.
The Soldier—James?—takes a moment to process all of this, then nods and follows her. He squeezes her hand and his eyes dart around like he expects something bad to happen. “… it’s pretty… like fire…” he mumbles, trying to figure out why he knows that so well. His free hand rests on the knife at his hip, just in case.
A genuine, knowing smile formed on her lips. “You always say that…” Her head turned slightly, trying to trace the shifts in his expression in the dark. His hand, though, still felt starkly cold against her slight warmth.
As they were about to reach the entrance of this underground, loud signals echoed over the building, a warning that the Winter Soldier had disappeared. Natasha recognized the threat immediately; they must be completely silent, quick, and discreet from that moment on. “James,” she turned around, “We’ve done something like this before.” Her voice sounded serious, underlaid with an understanding of his confusion and overwhelming emotions. “Can you do that again…?”
James’ eyes dart around the entire way, like he knows that something is going to go wrong. When the alarms start to blare, he freezes up, mind screaming at him to go back. His eyes lock with Nat’s and he tilts his head. They’ve done this before? If they have it must be protocol, right? He can’t remember, but he knows for some reason that he trusts her. He nods. “I… I can.”
He looks over his shoulder. Thankfully, and by plan, they took one of the corridors that isn’t really watched over much, so they should have a couple of minutes at the least. “… are we deserting…?”
Her movement was precise, smooth, and professional, combining a grace and lethal manner. Within the dead hallway, where she had pre-emptively blinded the security cameras, Natasha guided the way. But as James asked the simple question, she came to a sudden halt. She nodded once, a subtle gesture, while her eyes scanned the space behind him, tracking for any sign of armed men.
“We are, James. You promised me.” A subtle, genuine smile appeared, underlaid with passion. Her voice turned lower, almost whispery and tender, contrasting with the tight situation. “‘I’ll find you,’” she echoed the same words from a month earlier, a hidden signal to stimulate his memory once more. “‘You already know that.’” The same words again. And her eyes never left his, she only thought that this could help, at least.
James winces and puts his free hand to his temple, screwing his eyes shut as he hisses in pain. It hurts, trying to remember. But he still clings to Natasha’s hand, because even without his memories some part of him still knows she’s his anchor, his tether to morality he thought lost.
He swallows and nods. “We… we need to move, then.” He forces himself to stand up straighter, to force the guise of control. He glances over his shoulder once more, then he turns his focus on the door out. He shuffles past her and tries it, and when it doesn’t open, he punches it down with his metal arm.
Her grip squeezed, tightening their only connection. With concern plainly displayed on her face, Natasha shot out an immediate question, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Her eyes lingered, observing his subtle reactions and how the headache seemed to suddenly hit him.
And it saddened her, deep down, deeply. It seemed his memories were buried so far, deep inside. He could barely bring them up, or perhaps he was trying not to sink deeper into his identity, but he could always do it, she knew that. He’d done it before. He’d survived. He’d returned. This time should not be different... only longer. Soon enough, he shuffled past her, leaving Natasha with only the ghost of his presence until she quickly followed after.
James shakes his head. “Just… hurts.” He takes a moment to let the headache fully disappear, then turns to look at her as he backs out of the building. He looks around blankly, still visibly unsure of what they’re doing. “Is this right…? You’re not— I shouldn’t be taking orders from you—“ he gets a little worked up, some failsafe they implanted triggering.
“James, look at me.” The red siren pulsed outside, casting repetitive streaks of crimson across her face. Her red hair bled into the shadows, making her appear as if a ghost of his buried memory. “Nobody here owns you.” She took his hand, her warm flesh touched against his cold metal palm, a silent assurance, a desperate truth because it was now or never again.
Armed men appeared in the distance, their presence lingered across the far corner of the building. Despite the coming threat, their hands remained locked. The guards leveled their weapons and the rifles were lifted up afterwards. “You’re making a choice. It’s different this time.” Before the rush of anticipated violence could reach them, she whispered one last time, “Two cats, you said we’d get two… leave this place with me, James. Let’s live.”
Without hesitation, she released his hand in a swift motion. Natasha lunged toward the armed man with a lack of fear and in an attempt to protect him. If death was the price for their freedom, she would pay it, but deep down, she knew the truth of this place: when its two most lethal weapons fought as one, defeat was impossible.
James locks eyes with her, and his body relaxes. He trusts her. He trusts her more than the voices in his head singing their twisted manipulations. His metal fingers interlock with hers, a silent promise. He’s making a different choice this time. For her, for both of them. He lets out a quiet chuckle. Two cats… he likes the sound of that.
The moment their hands are apart he twists and lunges for the nearest man, easily breaking his neck and taking his gun. The price of freedom was high, but he was willing to pay it for a chance at a life with her. He aims the rifle and starts shooting.
From time to time, her gaze landed on him, ensuring that every threat was halted before it could ever reach him. His protection was her top priority; she barely spared a thought for herself. She knew she could handle her own safety, and he could too, of course but love always twisted the truth, leaving her with the restless need to guard him from harm.
Her movements were fluid and professional, a testament to why she was claimed to be one of the Red Room’s greatest Black Widow. Her choice of weaponry was less aggressive than his, yet equally lethal: Widow’s Bites, batons, and her grappling hook moved in a blur. One man went down, then two more followed in rapid violence.
But the last armed man moved with a sudden, violent force, rushing toward his blind side. Natasha interfered, throwing herself into the gap to halt the man and his weapon. The impact was immediate, the heavy body of the gun knocked her face, a hard, stinging burn that spread across her skin.
you can measure your dick against my face, by the way
@mightyhammerwielder
|| @natanovna
It had been months since they had last seen each other. The Soldier looks almost peaceful in the ice, eyes closed like he’s asleep. It’s dark, the middle of the night. No one would be looking for Natasha for a few hours at least.
With the press of a few buttons on the controls, the ice thaws and the cryo chamber opens. The Soldier groans and stumbles forward, weak and out of it. He had his memory erased just before being frozen. He blinks blearily, reaching for her as he tries to make sense of what’s going on. Everything hurts. “I-I…” he stammers, voice weak. His steel blue eyes meet hers, but there’s no recognition in them, none of the love they share.
Down here was very dim and sharp with cold, as if it were outside and not in here. The place began to light up afterwards as the machine opened its door. Her eyes widened slightly, not in terror, but in a manner to understand him, to study if this was James and not the Winter Soldier they claimed him to be. “James…” If he wished to hurt her here and now, Natalia would let him achieve it. With no hesitation or fear, she stumbled toward him for a tight, longing hug. Her head buried on his shoulder, sensing the coldness of his skin, of his metal arm. And that only turned things difficult… or worse; despair appeared in her eyes, feeling angry at what they had done to him.
“You know me…” It sounded desperate, but it was meant to be a reminder, a wake-up call for the soul they buried deep inside this man, the love of her life. “It’s Natasha.” Her last sentence was spoken in English, not her mother tongue, but his; the language that he had taught her himself moths ago.
The Soldier collapses into her arms. It’s… this feels safe? Not like his handlers… “Natasha…?” He mumbles, the English catching his attention. He knows English. She feels familiar, but he can’t place her quite yet.
He looks around, trying to make sense of this. “Do… do I have a mission…?” He doesn’t want to go on a mission. He just… he wants to be done. But he knows they’ll force him to go somehow.
“Please…” Her head pressed against his rigid shoulder, followed by a slow, aching shake of her head. “Yes, James… Natasha,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his tactical suit. She reached up to touch his face, her fingers lingering for the possible heat before she pulled away to get a better look at him.
“No, James. Not anymore.” Her thumb brushed his cheekbone, tracing the scar she had left on his flesh a month ago, a mark from a blade she had ensured would not harm him. “We have to go. Stay with me,” she said deliberately, her voice a quiet anchor meant for him alone. At that moment, they needed to be completely discreet. “Can you trust me?” a final sentence escaped her lips at last.
The Solder instinctively leans into her hand. He’s… really confused by now. No mission… so what is he here for? His eyes dart up and down, taking her in. His eyes land on her red hair and his face scrunches in confusion. “I can trust you…?” he mumbles, reaching out to touch her hair. His other hand slips into his pocket, and pulls out the strand of hair he stole from her last time they were together. His eyes widen. “You—“
Her head leaned into his gentle touch; this was really James, just James. They would never allow the Winter Soldier to be this soft, never. She knew it by heart. “Yes, James...” Her voice dropped low, fading into a whisper.
Then, Natasha’s eyes widened slightly at the strands. Had he kept them all this time? So close to him... she had been this close. “You really do like my hair,” a low, hushed chuckle escaped her lips at last, an attempt to soothe the tight situation and the confusion within him. “Keep it.” Her hand later took his, drawing him close to her side as she led him through the darkness.
The Soldier—James?—takes a moment to process all of this, then nods and follows her. He squeezes her hand and his eyes dart around like he expects something bad to happen. “… it’s pretty… like fire…” he mumbles, trying to figure out why he knows that so well. His free hand rests on the knife at his hip, just in case.
A genuine, knowing smile formed on her lips. “You always say that…” Her head turned slightly, trying to trace the shifts in his expression in the dark. His hand, though, still felt starkly cold against her slight warmth.
As they were about to reach the entrance of this underground, loud signals echoed over the building, a warning that the Winter Soldier had disappeared. Natasha recognized the threat immediately; they must be completely silent, quick, and discreet from that moment on. “James,” she turned around, “We’ve done something like this before.” Her voice sounded serious, underlaid with an understanding of his confusion and overwhelming emotions. “Can you do that again…?”
James’ eyes dart around the entire way, like he knows that something is going to go wrong. When the alarms start to blare, he freezes up, mind screaming at him to go back. His eyes lock with Nat’s and he tilts his head. They’ve done this before? If they have it must be protocol, right? He can’t remember, but he knows for some reason that he trusts her. He nods. “I… I can.”
He looks over his shoulder. Thankfully, and by plan, they took one of the corridors that isn’t really watched over much, so they should have a couple of minutes at the least. “… are we deserting…?”
Her movement was precise, smooth, and professional, combining a grace and lethal manner. Within the dead hallway, where she had pre-emptively blinded the security cameras, Natasha guided the way. But as James asked the simple question, she came to a sudden halt. She nodded once, a subtle gesture, while her eyes scanned the space behind him, tracking for any sign of armed men.
“We are, James. You promised me.” A subtle, genuine smile appeared, underlaid with passion. Her voice turned lower, almost whispery and tender, contrasting with the tight situation. “‘I’ll find you,’” she echoed the same words from a month earlier, a hidden signal to stimulate his memory once more. “‘You already know that.’” The same words again. And her eyes never left his, she only thought that this could help, at least.
James winces and puts his free hand to his temple, screwing his eyes shut as he hisses in pain. It hurts, trying to remember. But he still clings to Natasha’s hand, because even without his memories some part of him still knows she’s his anchor, his tether to morality he thought lost.
He swallows and nods. “We… we need to move, then.” He forces himself to stand up straighter, to force the guise of control. He glances over his shoulder once more, then he turns his focus on the door out. He shuffles past her and tries it, and when it doesn’t open, he punches it down with his metal arm.
Her grip squeezed, tightening their only connection. With concern plainly displayed on her face, Natasha shot out an immediate question, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Her eyes lingered, observing his subtle reactions and how the headache seemed to suddenly hit him.
And it saddened her, deep down, deeply. It seemed his memories were buried so far, deep inside. He could barely bring them up, or perhaps he was trying not to sink deeper into his identity, but he could always do it, she knew that. He’d done it before. He’d survived. He’d returned. This time should not be different... only longer. Soon enough, he shuffled past her, leaving Natasha with only the ghost of his presence until she quickly followed after.
James shakes his head. “Just… hurts.” He takes a moment to let the headache fully disappear, then turns to look at her as he backs out of the building. He looks around blankly, still visibly unsure of what they’re doing. “Is this right…? You’re not— I shouldn’t be taking orders from you—“ he gets a little worked up, some failsafe they implanted triggering.
“James, look at me.” The red siren pulsed outside, casting repetitive streaks of crimson across her face. Her red hair bled into the shadows, making her appear as if a ghost of his buried memory. “Nobody here owns you.” She took his hand, her warm flesh touched against his cold metal palm, a silent assurance, a desperate truth because it was now or never again.
Armed men appeared in the distance, their presence lingered across the far corner of the building. Despite the coming threat, their hands remained locked. The guards leveled their weapons and the rifles were lifted up afterwards. “You’re making a choice. It’s different this time.” Before the rush of anticipated violence could reach them, she whispered one last time, “Two cats, you said we’d get two… leave this place with me, James. Let’s live.”
Without hesitation, she released his hand in a swift motion. Natasha lunged toward the armed man with a lack of fear and in an attempt to protect him. If death was the price for their freedom, she would pay it, but deep down, she knew the truth of this place: when its two most lethal weapons fought as one, defeat was impossible.
“What are you doing?” — @natanovna
"Uh, changing my oil?" He said from under the jacked up car, his jeans dirty and slightly greasy. "Whatchu doing?"
“Supervising.” Nat leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. “Making sure you don’t get stuck under there.” A teasing smile tugged at her lips.
"You doubt my mechanical knowledge and skills?" He pouted underneath the body. "Wow, didn't know you thought that low of me." He rolled himself out from under the car, brushing off his knees and standing up.
"Hi, Nat."
“I was just being nice,” she said, her teasing nature winning out once again. A playful smirk then appeared on her lips as she shrugged her shoulders, brushing his second statement off.
“Hey,” she said, the smile still faintly displayed on her face. At that moment, she stared at him, openly and visibly, until she finally broke the silence. “You look like a stray cat,” she teased, gesturing toward his face, which was smudged with grease from the mechanical work under the car.
"What??" He rubbed the smudge, making it spread more. "There's nothing on my--" he leaned over and say his reflection in the window of the car. "Ah..."
“There definitely is,” confidence blended into her words. “Here, wipe it off.” She tossed a clean cloth over to him. “I don’t need another cat.” Still, her playful smile displayed on her face.
He snags the cloth and runs away the grease as best he can. "Thanks, oh that reminds me, does your car need a change?" He looks at her, stuffing the now greasy rag in his jeans pocket.
“Of course it does. Why else would I be here?” She leisurely gestured at her car outside. “Gonna need your help again, Buck.”
hello Ms. Romanoff!
@peter-b-parkor
“Hey, kid. Where’ve you been?”
"busy with school and the group home stopped letting me go to the tower for a bit as a punishment"
“You don’t get grounded for nothing.”
"yeah, it's cause I had a "tantrum" again"
“They call it that? What happened?”
“One of the other kids went in my room and messed everything up. I don’t like when people touch my things”
“That’s pretty bad. I don’t like people touching what’s mine either. Sometimes you just need to kick their ass.”
"I don't-I can't do that though"
“I was joking. You probably shouldn’t. But how will you deal with it next time?”
“I’ll just leave it alone, if I’m gonna have a meltdown I’ll just try and do it in private. There’s not much I can do”
“You know what, I could kick their ass for you. Just say the word. I won’t tell your aunt.”
“It’s okay мама паук, Mr stark is letting me stay at the tower this week anyways”
“I like that name. Should we throw a party at his office then?”
"would he be mad?"
“I’ll make sure he won’t.”
“I dunno I don’t want him to be mad”
“If he is, I’ll handle it. So what set it off last time?”
“Set off what?”
“What was the last thing you two argued about? With Tony.”
“Ummmm oh uh I messed up and people got hurt so he-he took away my suit…”
“I see. But he won't be mad this time. I promise.”
hello Ms. Romanoff!
@peter-b-parkor
“Hey, kid. Where’ve you been?”
"busy with school and the group home stopped letting me go to the tower for a bit as a punishment"
“You don’t get grounded for nothing.”
"yeah, it's cause I had a "tantrum" again"
“They call it that? What happened?”
“One of the other kids went in my room and messed everything up. I don’t like when people touch my things”
“That’s pretty bad. I don’t like people touching what’s mine either. Sometimes you just need to kick their ass.”
"I don't-I can't do that though"
“I was joking. You probably shouldn’t. But how will you deal with it next time?”
“I’ll just leave it alone, if I’m gonna have a meltdown I’ll just try and do it in private. There’s not much I can do”
“You know what, I could kick their ass for you. Just say the word. I won’t tell your aunt.”
“It’s okay мама паук, Mr stark is letting me stay at the tower this week anyways”
“I like that name. Should we throw a party at his office then?”
"would he be mad?"
“I’ll make sure he won’t.”
“I dunno I don’t want him to be mad”
“If he is, I’ll handle it. So what set it off last time?”
“Set off what?”
“What was the last thing you two argued about? With Tony.”
hello Ms. Romanoff!
@peter-b-parkor
“Hey, kid. Where’ve you been?”
"busy with school and the group home stopped letting me go to the tower for a bit as a punishment"
“You don’t get grounded for nothing.”
"yeah, it's cause I had a "tantrum" again"
“They call it that? What happened?”
“One of the other kids went in my room and messed everything up. I don’t like when people touch my things”
“That’s pretty bad. I don’t like people touching what’s mine either. Sometimes you just need to kick their ass.”
"I don't-I can't do that though"
“I was joking. You probably shouldn’t. But how will you deal with it next time?”
“I’ll just leave it alone, if I’m gonna have a meltdown I’ll just try and do it in private. There’s not much I can do”
“You know what, I could kick their ass for you. Just say the word. I won’t tell your aunt.”
“It’s okay мама паук, Mr stark is letting me stay at the tower this week anyways”
“I like that name. Should we throw a party at his office then?”
"would he be mad?"
“I’ll make sure he won’t.”
“I dunno I don’t want him to be mad”
“If he is, I’ll handle it. So what set it off last time?”
hello Ms. Romanoff!
@peter-b-parkor
“Hey, kid. Where’ve you been?”
"busy with school and the group home stopped letting me go to the tower for a bit as a punishment"
“You don’t get grounded for nothing.”
"yeah, it's cause I had a "tantrum" again"
“They call it that? What happened?”
“One of the other kids went in my room and messed everything up. I don’t like when people touch my things”
“That’s pretty bad. I don’t like people touching what’s mine either. Sometimes you just need to kick their ass.”
"I don't-I can't do that though"
“I was joking. You probably shouldn’t. But how will you deal with it next time?”
“I’ll just leave it alone, if I’m gonna have a meltdown I’ll just try and do it in private. There’s not much I can do”
“You know what, I could kick their ass for you. Just say the word. I won’t tell your aunt.”
“It’s okay мама паук, Mr stark is letting me stay at the tower this week anyways”
“I like that name. Should we throw a party at his office then?”
"would he be mad?"
“I’ll make sure he won’t.”
hello Ms. Romanoff!
@peter-b-parkor
“Hey, kid. Where’ve you been?”
"busy with school and the group home stopped letting me go to the tower for a bit as a punishment"
“You don’t get grounded for nothing.”
"yeah, it's cause I had a "tantrum" again"
“They call it that? What happened?”
“One of the other kids went in my room and messed everything up. I don’t like when people touch my things”
“That’s pretty bad. I don’t like people touching what’s mine either. Sometimes you just need to kick their ass.”
"I don't-I can't do that though"
“I was joking. You probably shouldn’t. But how will you deal with it next time?”
“I’ll just leave it alone, if I’m gonna have a meltdown I’ll just try and do it in private. There’s not much I can do”
“You know what, I could kick their ass for you. Just say the word. I won’t tell your aunt.”
“It’s okay мама паук, Mr stark is letting me stay at the tower this week anyways”
“I like that name. Should we throw a party at his office then?”
hello Ms. Romanoff!
@peter-b-parkor
“Hey, kid. Where’ve you been?”
"busy with school and the group home stopped letting me go to the tower for a bit as a punishment"
“You don’t get grounded for nothing.”
"yeah, it's cause I had a "tantrum" again"
“They call it that? What happened?”
“One of the other kids went in my room and messed everything up. I don’t like when people touch my things”
“That’s pretty bad. I don’t like people touching what’s mine either. Sometimes you just need to kick their ass.”
"I don't-I can't do that though"
“I was joking. You probably shouldn’t. But how will you deal with it next time?”
“I’ll just leave it alone, if I’m gonna have a meltdown I’ll just try and do it in private. There’s not much I can do”
“You know what, I could kick their ass for you. Just say the word. I won’t tell your aunt.”
hello Ms. Romanoff!
@peter-b-parkor
“Hey, kid. Where’ve you been?”
"busy with school and the group home stopped letting me go to the tower for a bit as a punishment"
“You don’t get grounded for nothing.”
"yeah, it's cause I had a "tantrum" again"
“They call it that? What happened?”
“One of the other kids went in my room and messed everything up. I don’t like when people touch my things”
“That’s pretty bad. I don’t like people touching what’s mine either. Sometimes you just need to kick their ass.”
"I don't-I can't do that though"
“I was joking. You probably shouldn’t. But how will you deal with it next time?”
