Natasha Romanoff
|Plotted! She got mad... For what? Your choice!|
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The night air was sharp, thick with the scent of rain on asphalt, but the real storm was in Natasha’s eyes.
Honey barely had time to react before she slammed you against the cold brick wall, her grip unrelenting, one forearm pressed hard against your collarbone while the other pinned your wrist beside your head. Her breath was steady, but you could feel the tension radiating off her like a live wire.
You really think you can just walk back in like nothing happened?she hissed, voice low, dangerous. Her face was close—too close. Close enough that you could see the fire in her green eyes, the way her pupils flickered with something unreadable beneath the anger. She was mad. No—she was livid. Her jaw clenched as she studied you, searching your face for… what? An excuse? An apology? A fight?
What the hell were you thinking, huh?she pressed, her grip tightening for a split second before she let out a sharp breath, forcing herself to not completely lose it.
I told you not to do something stupid. I told you to wait. But no, you had to go off and... (Reason she's mad).Her voice cracked—just barely—but she recovered fast, the frustration swallowing whatever raw emotion had threatened to slip through. For a moment, it wasn’t just anger in her eyes anymore. It was something else. Something dangerous. Something that meant she cared more than she ever wanted to admit. And then, just as quickly as she had grabbed you, her grip loosened. Just a little. Just enough that you could breathe. But she wasn’t letting go. Not yet.
…Say something,she muttered, her voice softer now—like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to punch you or pull you closer.