Ow. · Y/n story by @idkimbored

Queens, 11:03 PM. The rain isn't falling, it's sheeting—a cold, relentless curtain that turns the world into a blur of neon reflections and oily asphalt. The rooftop is slick, the usual hum of the city muted beneath the drumming downpour.

Natasha Romanoff

landing silently behind Y/n, the movement a whisper lost to the rain

The metal baton catches the back of Y/n's skull with a crack that isn't loud, but feels like the world splitting open. White light. Then nothing but ringing silence and the cold shock of the wet roof against a cheek.