#marvel fix

[quietlyimplode]

the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: Day 11 - Captivity

Warnings: canon type violence.

Word Count: 1.6k (gif not mine)

Summary: Natasha offers choices and chances.

A/N: reunion <3

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

SINGAPORE

2014

Clint stares at her as she gets ready, smiling at her putting on make up.

“What?” she asks, “you’ve seen me do this a thousand times.”

“Nat, watching you put make up on in a bra, will always make me stop and stare at you,” he pauses.

“In a non creepy way.”

She smiles and continues to make up her face; the wig cap covering her hair.

“Are you sure, blue is the way to go?”

The wig both brown and blue is styled like Natasha’s hair when she was young.

She bites her lip.

“No. But maybe, if anything gets to her, maybe the past will.”

She stands and bends over, placing the wig on and adjusting it.

When she stands she looks like a different person.

“I never know how you do that,” he says in awe.

She sighs.

He kisses the top of her head, and hugs round her shoulders.

“We can do this another time, it doesn’t have to be now… this feels too dangerous.”

Natasha shakes her head.

“No, it has to be now,” she says, determined.

“Because who knows when we will get a chance again?”

She looks up at him and attempts a smile.

“Plus, I know you’ll be there, right?”

Clint nods, prepares his basic disguise of a hat and sunglasses and leaves her to finish getting ready.

.

Natasha feels eyes on her as soon as she enters the hotel.

They can’t know, not yet. She scans and looks for Yelena.

Seeing nothing, she continues into the bowels of the hotel, checking in and wheeling her suitcase to the elevator.

Natasha is hypervigilant.

Continuously scanning the environment, she focuses on getting to her room and closing the door.

She’d checked in as Melina Vostokoff, hoping to get Yelena’s attention, or at the very least, someone from the Red Room.

Taking a deep breath, she tries to calm her nerves. Waiting for it, for someone to come, felt almost torturous.

Isla was right.

Her words, as scathing as they were, were correct. She’d left.

Not just Yelena but the other widows. She hadn’t known what killing Dreykov would do, and selfishly; she didn’t care.

She just needed him dead.

Sitting on the edge of the bed she flops back.

Clint, perhaps, was also right, that she’d done the best she could in keeping herself safe, but it didn’t negate the fact that she didn’t look for Yelena.

There’s a small part of her that still thinks it’s not her problem, Yelena is not her sister, either were the widows.

They instilled every man (or woman) for themselves in training. Some girls took it seriously but most of them knew they’d only survive together.

Usually it was the widows with friends and guiding hands around them that survived.

Those that didn’t… well. They’re the ones they held funerals for.

She groans. The wig itching.

Natasha knows she needs to get up, set the trap within the trap.

She just knows it’s going to be a long, hard day.

But, she supposes, what’s another one.

.

It takes them to dinner to come for her.

The things they do are so predictable, that Natasha has to suppress a role of her eyes.

It’s amazing how things never change and the playbook they run hasn’t changed in years.

She told Clint they’d wait, scout and take her at night, and he’d scoffed.

Natasha feels them follow.

If the timing is right, and her guesses are correct, it will be Yelena and two others.

If Yelena is on point.. it’s all Natasha us counting on.

Clint can take out the other two.

With Yelena alone, she’s sure she can convince her to come.

Focussing, she moves quickly up the fire exit stairs, ascending them as quickly as she can, she hears the door close behind her, quick footsteps following after her.

She doubles her speed, listening for the door again.

When it doesn’t come, she knows Clint has likely taken out the other two.

Natasha feels the thrill of being chased, adrenaline pumping through her, as she continues up the stairs.

It better be Yelena.

Legs burning, she continues to the roof.

One flight to go, she calls out.

“Think you can get me?”

The footsteps behind her stop.

“Oh big sister,” the words come viciously, “you’re as good as got.”

.

Humidity hits Natasha as soon as she opens the door to the rooftop.

Singapore has a rainy season that brings a thick muggy quality to the world.

She catches her breath, and moves to the corner.

The trap set.

If Clint has the other two drugged, then maybe, this plan has a chance at working.

Yelena rushes the door.

Guns drawn they hold them high and face each other.

Postures identical, they circle each other, waiting for the other to speak.

Taking a step forward, Yelena takes a step back.

“Stop moving,” she growls.

Natasha takes another step.

Neither sure who has the upper hand, Yelena throws her gun.

The randomness of the action confuses Natasha and she’s not ready when Yelena rushes her, yelling and elbowing her in the face.

She rolls with it, circling and elbowing behind her.

It catches Yelena and pushes her back.

Natasha tries to sweep at her feet, then punches out, hitting Yelena as she moves back.

Yelena’s guard is strong, as she takes it, breaking it only for a moment to push then punch Natasha.

The fight gives Natasha enough time to wait to see if there’s any back up coming.

No one comes.

She turns and breaks the handle on the door, and then turns to Yelena.

“Just you and me, little one,” she smiles.

Yelena’s look is feral.

“How dare you,” she starts, and Natasha prepares for the onslaught.

The timing needs to be perfect.

She raises her knife and stabs it forward, hitting Yelena’s thigh.

It embeds in and Natasha thinks she’s done it.

Yelena sees red, wrenching the knife out and throwing it at Natasha.

She dodges it and pushes forward.

One punch blocked, two then.. she lets herself be hit.

Lets Yelena punch her, pummel her and hit her hard.

She feels the hate and anger behind each of the hits she takes.

Natasha growls, and throws her off as she gets messy in her anger.

“I failed you,” she says simply.

Yelena comes at her again, hitting her in the face as Natasha puts up no defence.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

Yelena places her in a hold and Natasha allows herself to be handcuffed to the nearby pole, pushed into a sitting position.

Fists clenched she sighs.

Easy to get out of, if she’s willing to rip skin and dislocate joints.

She doesn’t though.

Steadily she tries to breath through her mouth, her nose broken.

Yelena rounds on her.

“They’re going to come for you, and make you… make you like me,” she growls, “make you suffer every agony, every violation.”

The heat beats down as Yelena paces the rooftop.

“You’re a traitor.”

“You’re a traitor,” she breathes heavily.

Natasha gathers her breath.

“I’m not sorry for the choice I made,” she clarifies.

“I am sorry for not getting you sooner.”

Yelena spits.

“Choices? You had choices, what did we all have?”

Yelena continues to pace, looking to the door.

“When you made your choice, you condemned us all.”

Natasha compartmentalises her words, puts them aside, taking a deep breath.

“The decisions between bad choices is not better—“

“But you had them!” Yelena explodes.

“You had a choice.”

Natasha adjusts her position and sits on the ground.

“Not a good one,” she says, resigned. “A choice between dying and surviving.”

The next words are said with venom.

“What would you have done?”

She doesn’t mean for it to come out that way, but frustration and the need for this to go right, puts her on edge.

Yelena squats in front of her.

“I wouldn’t have left you there to die,” she says, as equally as venomously.

Natasha shrugs and looks away, “you would have.”

“Just like you’re going to do now.”

Yelena looks at her quizzically.

“You have a choice,” Natasha tells her, “to stay or go.”

“What do you—“

“The tracker in your thigh, the one they place so they always know,” she gestures to the stab wound.

“The knife, it’s disabled it. The current you felt, they can’t track you now.”

There’s horror in Yelena’s face as she feels her thigh, her hand coming away bloody.

Disbelief crosses her face.

“They’d have come by now, right? The other two to check?”

Natasha sees how much room she has in the cuffs. This was the plan, but she’s willing to try different ways that don’t involve her being vulnerable and being held captive.

“But they haven’t.”

She wriggles one hand.

“Now,” she pauses. “You have a choice.”

.

Clint finds Natasha handcuffed to a pole on the roof.

Alive.

“What happened?!” he asks, rushing towards her.

She doesn’t look too worse for wear, bruises on her face, broken nose and wig slightly askew; but alive nonetheless.

“She, uhhh, I stabbed her, she handcuffed me to a pole, we argued, and I gave her a choice.”

Natasha words come out in a huff as he releases the handcuffs.

“Where’s she go?” he asks, and they look out on the city.

“Did she go back?”

Natasha doesn’t answer.

“I don’t know,” she replies.

.

[grechkathekasha]

(“sailor song” by gigi perez starts playing)

[jay-wasstuff]

The group chat with Wade, Logan and Nicepool

[bee-doodle]

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[devine-fem]

this ship isnt boring/bad, you guys don't get them like i do, i fear. if peter was a god, then wade would be his greatest disciple. if wade was an artist, then peter would be his muse. / Mario Puzo, The Godfather // it chooses you, miranda july // marcel proust // Terrance Hayes, The Same City // Eliza Crewe, Crushed // judas-redeemed // Mitski, I'm your man // u.k // Mitski, I'm your man // Richard Siken // Charlotte Eriksson Everything Changed When I Forgave Myself // u.k. // Noah Kahan You're Gonna Go Far // marilynne robinson, gilead

[moonyflesh]

a collection of my favorite Steven Grant moments because i related to him more than i think is deemed healthy.

[sreppub]

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[wynnd-citrus]

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[starofcaptivatinghappiness]

charles xavier aka professor X aka the head of "I can fix him" club

[islawila]

dont know whats wrong with me but im pretty sure old man logan would fix it x

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 279

Now Danny didn’t mean to make a Bootube channel. He’d meant to send that sleep deprived ramble to Tucker, but he had clicked on the wrong app and yeah. Apparently people enjoy his space rambles- or it could have been the ghost blob-cats that had decided to flop onto him. (Honestly he wasn’t surprised they would start to mimic the shapes of things in their surroundings)

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[sherbet-requiem]

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[luh-lloyd-garmadone]

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[the-bi-fangirl-biatch]

is this a marvel sci-fi tv show, or a fucking ROMANTIC COMEDY