ANTI-HERO [N. Romanoff × Female Reader]

Chapter Ten

Weeks later, Natalia Romanova was sitting on a couch that Ollie had lent you from yesterday. The apartment he was telling you about was spacious and smelled of cheap money.

"You wanted to talk?" You scoffed at her. "We talked and it didn't go very well." She was glaring at you, trying to figure you out just like how she usually does. "Go back to your boyfriend, Natalia, you're wasting your time with me," you turned to go to the kitchen.

She furrowed her eyebrows. "Boyfriend?"

You smiled, hearing her clueless, "Y'know, Barnes?"

Natalia stood up from the couch and rolled her eyes. "Your brother? No," she grew silent, which caused you to turn and look at her.

"Adopted."

"That was only back then," she continued.

"Yeah, well, he's still considered as your boyfriend since you hadn't officially called it off — oh, but what do I know I was rotting in jail when you guys started dating." Shrugging, you grab a glass and a juice box that you got from Ollie — seriously that guy is so generous.

Natalia crossed her arm on her chest, jaw clenching at the mention of you rotting in jail and constantly pinning it on her, who else would you blame? The General's dead daughter? That girl was not bad even, she was a child and Madame B saw potential in her and that's when girls around her started to get jealous.

"How long before you trusted me?" Natalia questioned and you found it funny, as you looked up at her to see her expression genuine.

"Wow, you expect me to trust you?" You mused. "That's big." You poured yourself a glass of orange juice that might have been mixed with whiskey.

"It's worth a shot," she shrugged, letting her shoulder loose.

You hummed for a second, both for the drink and what you heard her say. "Well, I wouldn't know."

She was looking at you now, getting a hold of your eyes. "Why's that?"

Putting down the glass with a sound, you stared back. "Because you're sixteen (16) years late for that."

All she had to say was sorry. She admits she was in the wrong because honestly, you'd wave your flag the moment you hear that one word leave her mouth, but then again how can she be sorry when she can't even admit to herself the mistake she had done? She helped destroy your life thinking she did the right thing when all along you've suffered the way she did.

"Do you know where she is though?" You asked, furrowing your eyebrows at her.

"Who?" She didn't know who you were talking about. The thought had just popped into your head and it's not like it has a transmission signal to hers.

You offered her the orange juice instead but she declined with a swift wave of her hand.
"You know... that senior girl who made you do things to me back in the Red Room."

She scoffed. "Your so-called 'senior girl' is probably in her sixties now and has a family, so why bother going after her?"

"You don't get it don't you?" Sticking your tongue on the inside of your right cheek; you almost couldn't believe what she had said.

"Oh, I do, I perfectly get it, Y/N. You're angry, and now that you're out all you want is revenge, you want to kill and take away people's lives. You're angry, and I perfectly get that!" She clenched her jaw, her arms on her side now. You knew she was done with you, but you didn't care, she engaged back into your life and now she's already tired of your shit. "Just so you know, violence is never the answer. And if you think even just for one second that you'd feel clean after you had it, then you're wrong. I've been there, I've done that, and it doesn't work."

With that, she was out of the door and you stood still, staring at the white cold wooden door she had just walked out into.

Rolling your eyes. "It doesn't work," you mimicked, chugging down the glass of orange juice, "she just brought the Red Room down and killed that mother fucker Dreykov. And now she comes in telling me it doesn't fucking work — well fuck you Natasha Romanoff. It worked, you just don't want me getting my justice!"

"You're seeking justice at the wrong place!" She yelled from behind the door, and all along she was standing there listening to your little tantrum.

"Give me some fucking privacy creep!" You yelled back, and the door opened.

"Say fuck again and—"

"And what? Slap me with your dick? Get over yourself Natalia," You spat and you could swear you saw her lips twitch to a small smirk. "And get out of my damn apartment."

"Whatever you're thinking is not right, Y/N." She finished firmly with a glare before the door shut gently this time.

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