#widow response

Send "🙋" + any headcanons you want to know about my muse.

Accepting | Open

"Are you really, seriously asking me this?" Of course, he was, Natasha sighed, her eyes rolling, "I prefer to write with a pen that works. So my least favorite would be a pen that doesn't work. Next question."

If there ever was a loaded question…

She could answer this in so many ways. A lot. Wouldn't you like to know? Perhaps even just stare in silence.

She's committed what she sees at times as necessary infractions. Things that need to be done but that she would never let anyone else soil their hands with.

She thinks about all the things she's done, and realizes that she can't really say she hasn't done something. She's stolen, mostly vehicles to escape, or information from someone. But that's minor. Her biggest crimes?

Murder. Blackmail. Extortion. Lying.

She has without a shred of guilt tortured people to get what she needs out of them.

She has done terrible, unspeakable things, and if necessary she would repeat every single one. It's about survival some days, making a very unmistakable point. Doing the job.

Thing is, if someone knows who she is, then frankly the know the answer to their own question.

"What do you think? I'm a spy and an assassin."

Send 🔪 and I’ll write a drabble where my muse kills yours | No Longer Accepting

@survivorsloss​ left a message: knife murdery theme and maybe for baby Winter

Natasha has heard the sound of a gun going off so many times in her life, but none as loud as this one. Protecting the kid was first and foremost in her mind when she agreed he could come with her, she never should have agreed.

Without any hesitation or second thoughts she dispatches anyone left standing that shouldn’t be and moved to his side, keeping control of her emotions and uncertain of what to say or how to say it. She can hear every breath he takes out the hole in his chest. She knows there’s not enough time to get him from here to anywhere to help him.

Another child is going to die because of her.

It’s a slow death, the last thing she wants is for him to suffer, it’s bad enough there’s nothing she can do but be with him in the last moments so he isn’t alone.

“It’s okay.”

She blinked at how steady his voice is and focuses on his face, his blue eyes intent on her.

“I’m not afraid.”

He wasn’t, she could see it. She gave him a small, sad smile and reached out to touch his hair, “does it hurt?”

“Yeah,” Winter nods, “getting shot is supposed to hurt.”

Despite herself, Natasha laughs a little at that, at how tone is so obvious about it even like this he’s still so smart and then a thought enters her mind, she could give him a quicker, kinder death.

“Winter,” she sighs, trying to keep her voice steady, “would… would you like to go to sleep now?” She knows he’ll get her meaning, she watches his small face, she can tell he’s trying to think about it, make a decision.

“Yes, I’m tired now, but, um…” he hesitates, “can I have a lullaby?”

It’s such a simple request and Natasha nods, “I don’t remember all the words, but I do the tune, now be a good boy and close your eyes.”

With his eyes closed, she can let her tears fall, her voice somehow keeps steady despite as she softly sings a Russian lullaby she knows, that she remembers Ivan singing to her before her world changed. Towards the end of it, she leans down and presses her lips to his forehead, “спать спокойно, спокойной ночи (Sleep well, good night).”