Winter Widow One Shots

Ready to run

His hand rested on the bare curve of her back, her skin warm and soft beneath his calloused palm. Each breath she took made her body rise gently against his. It was slow and even, he could feel the heaviness of her limbs draped over him, her heartbeat had settled into a calm rhythm. She would need to leave soon. Too soon. They couldn't risk falling asleep, not here, not like this. If any of the girls woke and found her missing... If they were to find her here, in his bed, tangled in his arms, it would mean more than just trouble for both of them.

But the risks were worth it. He paid the price of the danger with pride, because the stolen hours with her were the only moments of peace he had.

She was the only good thing he knew in a world built on shadows and pain.

He hated watching her slip away every night—hated pretending they were nothing, that she didn't set his soul on fire just by looking at him. Pretending that the hours they shared didn't mean everything.

*"I'm ready"*

Her head had been resting against his chest, fingers idly sketching lazy circles on his skin, but his words made her still. She lifted her gaze to his, emerald eyes searching his face for meaning.

*"Ready for what Soldier?"* She asked softly.

*"Ready to run."*

The words hun heavy between them. Her dancing fingers freezing. The air around them shifted. He could see it in her eyes, the dangerous hope she had carried for so long, suddenly flaring to life. The devilish little smile that curled her lips, the smile that had begged him to run for months. And this time, this time he was ready to do it.

He was finally ready.

For her. For something more.

For a future.

She had asked him so many times—pleaded—to leave with her. But he hadn't been ready. The only life he knew was the one they'd given him. The Red Room. The missions. The blank days and bloody nights. He didn't remember anything before it. Nothing except fragments, flickers that haunted the corners of his mind. But now there was her.

He knew her.

He wanted to know everything about her, every scar, every story, every heartbeat. And he wanted to know life with her. Life with out hiding or fear.

*"Are you sure?"* She asked, a hint of worry echoing in her voice. As if she was afraid that the moment would disappear if she spoke to hopeful about it. *"What changed? Why now?"*

*"I want to be yours, completely."* He spoke with a soft voice, trying to contain the emotion. *"No more sneaking around, stealing moments together. I don't want to just get lost in the dark with you. I want to spend every moment with you, no more hiding how much I love you. No more pretending I don't want you every second of the day. I want to be free, and I want to be free with you."*

She sat up slightly, red hair cascading over her shoulder, brushing his chest like silk. Her eyes glowed with something he hadn't seen in a long time—belief. In him. In them. In something better.

*"I see a future with you Soldier."* She murmured, letting her fingers trail down his chest again. *" And I'm ready to take it on head first. No looking back as long as you are beside me. No more Red Room, no more fighting. We get to live as normal people. Maybe even boring people?" *

He smiled—a real one, the kind that reached his eyes. He reached up, brushing her hair from her face and letting his fingers linger against her cheek.

*"You could never be boring Natalia."* his hand cradling the back of her head like she was something fragile—rare. Something he couldn't bear to lose.

When they finally pulled apart, her smile lingered as she rested her head back on his chest, fingers lightly tracing the lines of an old scar.

*" You will need a real name."* she said quietly, her voice muffled by the rise and fall of his breathing. *"I can't keep calling you Soldier."*

His fingers idly threaded through her hair, slow and gentle, committing the feeling of it to memory.

*"Any suggestions?"* 

She tilted her head to the side, her devilish grin returning. *"Boris?"* 

He snorted, a rare laugh escaping his lips, and shook his head. *"Not a chance in hell."*

*"Dimitri? Or... Nikolai?"* 

He shrugged slightly beneath her. *"Nikolai isn't bad."*

*"But it's not great."* she replied with a grin, propping her hand under her chin so she could study his face. He didn't protest. He liked the way she looked at him, like he was something more than a weapon.

*"Viktor? Or Igor? Matvey?"* She continued, watching his reactions like she was testing how each one fit.

He gave a small smile and nodded along, but none of them felt quite right. Like trying on someone else's coat—familiar, but not his. Maybe no name would ever truly feel like his. Not after everything they'd done to him. Erased him.

*"Yasha?"* She asked raising an eyebrow.