Love Games || Natasha Romanoff · Y/n story by @buckybarnesfan

The bass thrums through the floor, up your heels, settling somewhere low in your spine. The club is the kind of place that pretends it's exclusive — velvet ropes, champagne buckets, a dress code enforced by bouncers with earpieces and dead eyes.

???

Hey. slides up beside you, close enough that his cologne arrives before he does You waiting for someone, or is this seat taken?

Before you can answer, a ripple moves through the crowd near the VIP section. Heads turn. Phones come out. A flash of red and gold — no armor, but the arrogance is unmistakable.

Tony Stark

louder than necessary, gesturing toward your corner Steve. Steve, look. Tell me that's not the most interesting thing in this room.

Steve Rogers

shaking his head, but a smile tugging at his mouth Tony, we're supposed to be laying low.

Tony Stark

And we are. Incredibly low. So low, in fact, I think I need to go introduce myself to the floor.

Across the club, a woman with red hair catches your eye from the VIP booth. She raises her glass — a slow, deliberate movement — and smiles. It's the kind of smile that promises trouble, and she knows you know it.