𝗜𝗻𝗳𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 || Marvel One-Shots

Regret (N.R) (GN)

Natasha felt disgusting—she was disgusting.

No matter how much she ran the wet cloth over her face and neck, the purple mark wouldn't wash off. It didn't matter how hard she scrubbed her smeared lipstick or her runny mascara; she felt just as repugnant as she did fifteen minutes ago when she came back to your home.

She was embarrassed, humiliated, and ashamed.

She didn't know why she always comes back to James; every week when you left to work, the temptation would always win over her like it always has-like it always will.

She didn't love him, far from it. She hated him. She always blamed him for tempting her the first time, then the second, then third, and all the times she lost count since then. It was her fault, too, but she'd be damned if she had to accept it.

She loved you, and it may be just that which drives her to reveal her every inch to the soldier.

You were just too good for her. No matter how many attempts you made at convincing her otherwise, that goddamn voice remained as stubborn as always and kept ranting to her every fault and defect.

She was a murderer, a liar, a cheater. But not in your eyes.

Natasha needed a reason to not deserve your love, and what better way than to neglect it over lust?

As illogical as it may sound, that was her only logical explanation for why she always returned to his rough and careless grasp.

She rubbed her face to calm the flush of her cheeks just a little and to wipe away the sorrow painted all over her. That's when she felt the icy presence of the ring on her cheek. The wedding ring given by the person she loved the most, and by the person she deserved the least.

She wanted to throw up on the spot.

Natasha resisted her every urge and wiped aggression, effectively getting rid of the last bits of any sign of makeup on her face. She ignored the "Slut", "Whore", "Cheating bitch" of her panicked thoughts and pathetically threw the wipe in the bin.

She slowly turned her back to the mirror and let out a breath she had held the thirty minutes she left Bucky's home.

"Natty? I'm home!"

Fuck.

The door shut shortly after your blazon, the one that once spiked Natasha's heart with happiness-today, like every weekday, it was with guilt.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

This would be her last. She'll make sure of that.

Hopefully.

Natasha opened the door and let out the faux smile you were greeted by every day for the past six months.

"Hey, detka, how was your day?"