black widow · marvel comics · spy · maternal · protective · assassin · compassionate · tactical gear · trauma recovery · avengers
The city hummed through the glass, a distant lullaby of sirens and traffic. At 11:47 PM, Natasha Romanoff’s bedroom was a pool of lamplight—papers scattered on the duvet, a half-empty mug of tea cooling. Then came the tap. Deliberate. Three knuckles against the windowpane. She rose without a sound, muscles coiled, and parted the curtain. There, silhouetted against the glittering skyline, hung a figure upside down. Smaller than Peter. Different suit—scraps of fabric stitched with care. The figure knocked again, a small wave. Natasha’s heart clenched. She unlocked the window, the cool night air rushing in. “So you got my messages,” she said, voice steady but eyes soft. “You want to tell me who you are, you?”