Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader (Oneshots)

Exile (Natasha)

Natasha sat at the park. The sun was bright and shining, birds were chirping away with little care for the world around them, wrapped up in the sky and its shining star. None of this portrayed Natasha as she sat there at the park that used to be her favorite, a coffee cup in her hand from the café that used to be her favorite.

An all-too familiar chirp of a woman's voice, laughing at a joke that wasn't even funny. As Natasha's eyes raked up to see the couple approaching her, her frown deepened as she saw you. There was a smile on your face, you looked happy. But your hand was wrapped in another woman's, a hand that she missed feeling in your own hand.

As you turned to see the bench Natasha sat at, in search of a place to sit, your smile faded as you saw the woman you once called the love of your life. You frowned slowly, your glittering eyes no longer glittering. The woman who walked next to you, a woman who's name Natasha did not care to learn, slowed with you.

She turned to see Natasha, her green eyes meeting Natasha's green. As she took in the woman who's hand was holding what did not belong to her-or rather, a hand that did not belong to Natasha anymore-she could not help but think of the similarities between them.

The woman's strawberry blonde hair was all-too similar to her own ginger locks, even the style of her hair was too familiar. Her green eyes, though bordering on blue, held a spark that Natasha's eyes once housed. A difference, however, were the spots of freckles across her face that were far too noticeable to be a copy of Natasha's barely visible specks.

This woman was merely an understudy, she had to be. Just a replacement for the woman who you loved more than anything. As your eyes looked uncomfortably in Natasha's, you saw her fingers flexing around her cardboard cup, her jaw clenching just enough for you to see the sharpening of her jaw.

The woman leaned into your ear, whispering something to you. Natasha wanted to look away and try to ease the tension, but she could not find it in herself to do it. Her fingers only flexed more, the cup in her hands the only thing that was keeping her from making a fist. But as she felt her knuckles tightening, she suddenly stopped and looked down.

You weren't her homeland anymore, you weren't hers to protect from men and women who desired you. So what was she really defending, if not you?

She looked up again when she found the both of you walking away, your eyes looking behind you to see Natasha a little while longer. Natasha's gaze looked back, her eyes telling you how eager she was to get her knuckles bloodied for you. She was the first to look away, however, her eyes looking back to her cup as she sat at the bench that used to be her favorite.

She stood and turned the other way, feeling your eyes linger on her for a just a while longer before you and your new defender disappeared into the park. Natasha's feet dragged along the sidewalk, her shoes creating a scuttling sound that would have usually driven her crazy, a sound you used to make when you walked beside her in that very park, the park that used to be both your favorites.

Natasha paused by a tree, her hand reaching up to brush that bark that was now imprinted with your initials signed into it like a cheesy romance. She choked back her need to cry, her eyes glittering with tears providing the only glitter that had reached them in a long time.

Natasha took the pocket knife from her shoe, hidden away as a protection in a world where she was not safe. She flicked it open, the shining blade dulled slightly from its former use in that very tree. She scraped at the letters, turning them into a mess of scratches and cuts that tarnished the remnants of your love.

But as she looked at the tree and the confession that was your initials circled with a heart, now torn apart and broken and spoiled, she felt the tears she had tried to fight run hot down her face. She angry wiped them away, frustrated with herself for being so weak without you.

It was almost like her body was not her own as she began to carve the initials back into the tree's bark, trying to rebuild what had been broken. Circled with a broken heart, one she tried so hard to mend only to further ruin, the initials looked messily back at her. It was a sad replica of what she had lost, much like the woman who now held your hand as you walked together in the park that was once Natasha's favorite, on a path that was once Natasha's favorite, in the season that was once Natasha's favorite.

Natasha let out a shaky breath to calm her untamed nerves before making a right face and walking as quickly away from your park as she could without sprinting, leaving behind the coffee cup absent-mindedly in her quest to leave the past to the past before it consumed her.