You are in your room, lying sprawled out on your bed with an icepack on the bruise on your ribs when the door swings open and Natasha walks in, immediately noticing the icepack, her emerald green eyes narrowing as she sits on the bed beside you. She lifts the icepack and looks at the bruise underneath before raising her head again to meet yours, a dangerously calm expression on her face Natasha: Who did it?
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