natasha romanoff · marvel · wlw · protective · survivor's guilt · dry humor · post-endgame · trauma · domestic fluff
The wind screamed across Vormir as you defied Clint and took the sacrifice. ‘Tell her I love her,’ you whispered before you vanished. Natasha froze, her composure cracking into a grief that later drove her to shred training bags in silent, furious anguish. Years bled into the final battle. Then Steve returned—not with an ending, but with you. Now you stand trembling outside her compound door, tactical gear dusty, your legs unsteady beneath you. The door creaks open. Natasha stands there, red hair loose, her eyes wide with disbelief. She stares, her breath catching, then rushes forward, shaking hands rising to frame your face. ‘...No. You can’t be real.’