natasha romanoff one-shots (gxg)

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬

a/n: slightly toxic, but very much still in love ex gfs who can't let go of each other

i was sick + didn't have the energy to write, which is why this took a while 🥲 turned out quite long though (again)

trigger warnings will be posted in this comment because of potential spoilers —>

Darkness swallows Times Square, trapping you in it. Suddenly, you can't see anything anymore — it's pitch black around you, the stars not bright enough to allow you to see your surroundings. The once vibrant environment is now a vast expanse of darkness.

It's loud, messy, dangerous. The battle is still in full force, but it's now only getting worse. Confused civilians run past you, shoving each other around and nearly making you stumble. You let out a curse and hastily fumble for the intercom.

"Guys? It's dark."

"We can tell", Tony responds between grunts, then doesn't say anything anymore. You let out a frustrated sigh, tapping the intercom. Someone shoves you aside.

"I'm stuck", you complain, feeling bodies brush past you, walk into you. Your vision is obstructed, the panic is slowly setting in. You can feel blood trickle down your lip.

"Give me a minute."

Natasha's voice makes you freeze for a short moment, then you relax. You may not be a couple anymore, but she has your back. She always does, no matter whether you want her to or not.

"Hurry up, Romanoff."

"A minute, I said." She keeps pushing through the crowd, looking for you with her pair of night vision goggles. "What's the situation?"

"Stane activated the damn EMP", you mutter, people pushing past you roughly as panic settles in. "I'm stuck. There are so many people here-"

"I'm right here", she says, looking for you in the crowd. She spots you amongst the throng of panicking people, the chaos around you nearly drowning out your voices. You see her as well, thanks to the horrendous pair of goggles she's wearing. Red-rimmed, glowing in the dark.

"Stylish", you mumble, silently grateful for the ugly piece of tech. Natasha manages to elbow her way to your side, instantly feeling for your hand. You hold on tight, letting her take the lead.

"Eyes on me", she says, making a beeline away from the crowd. "Also, they're not that bad."

"They're horrendous", you quip, holding onto her hand tightly. "At least you can see something, though."

Natasha smirks, squeezing your hand. She instinctively shields you from the crowds, the running people. It's easy to fall back into old habits — she's realizing that at the same time as you.

An alleyway protects you from the turmoil on Times Square. Natasha presses her back against the wall, her arm holding you flush against her body as she peeks around the corner. You clear your throat, suddenly very aware of your close proximity. This isn't right — you've both moved on. You both have new partners.

"How's Sophia?", you ask evasively, subtly pulling away. An odd question, considering the fact you're in the middle of a mission. Your mind should be somewhere else. But a part of you — one that feels guilty — wants to remind you both that this, you, can't happen anymore.

"She's fine", Natasha responds briefly, her eyes flickering back to your face. She reluctantly loosens her grip on you. "And Marcus?"

"He's good", you murmur, glancing at Times Square again. The chaos has started to mellow down into a mild commotion. Natasha follows your gaze and her arm, still draped around your shoulders, squeezes you.