2023
It's been several months since Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff gave their lives to bring back the trillions murdered in the decimation.
In the wake of the post - apocalyptic clean up, and the entirety of the universe adjusting to home the life...
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"Next time I'm pissed, I'll aim my fist at the dry wall Next time, there will be no next time I apologize even though I know it's lies I'm tired of the games, I just want her back, I know I'm a liar If she ever tries to fucking leave again I'm a tie her to the bed and set this house on fire"
Eminem ft Rihanna, Love The Way You Lie
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T H E night was colder than most, averaging under the freezing point. The sky was crystal clear, lighting up the cul-de-sac and reflecting off the parked motorcycle in the driveway.
The parked motorcycle was unrecognizable to the man that sat in the black car across the street. The heat was on full blast, warming up every part of his body. His fingers had grown numb from the freezing temperature but were thawing out.
In the passenger seat beside him was a duffle bag, filled with a mixture of cash and jewelry; all ready to be cold to get him more money. He had completely drained his savings, but living on the run was harder to do then he originally thought.
There was no music playing in the car, the only sound was the engine running and the wind blowing outside the car.
Cold tears leaked from the eyes of Noah Ferguson as he scribbled on a piece of paper. His hands were shaking from withdrawal, and the only thought on his mind was making things right.
The image of the car door hitting Charlie Grant played over and over in his mind; obsessing over the look of pain and fear that was written all across her face during their encounter.
He hated himself for what had happened, for how he had hurt the woman he loved most in the world.
But there was anger too; a deep burning hatred for the man inside that house. Sleeping where Noah should be sleeping, sitting at the table where it should be him. And the idea of anyone touching or kissing Charlie other than him was enough to send him into a blind rage.
It made his jaw click with anger and he had to count to ten before he could continue writing.
And when it was finally finished, he folded the paper and wrote the nickname he had called her for years. And then he smiled.
The car door opened and the cold air immediately chilled him to the bone. He shoved his hands in the deep pockets of the leather jacket he wore, his fingers curling around the hard edge of the pistol that was there.
When he stood just off the property, he opened the black mailbox and set the letter inside of it. Once it was shut, he took one last look at the house before he turned around to run back to the car.
As much as he wanted to burst down those doors and beg for forgiveness, he knew he had to make sure she was safe first. And then, only then, would she love him again.
So he climbed back into the car, shifted into drive, and started towards the airport.
Will update later today too and also I am at work :( and pizza is very busy I am covered in flour 🌸
