Avengers Imagines (Part One)

Natasha Romanoff X Fem!Reader - Gangsta

A/N - This chapter is based on the song 'Gangsta' by Kehlani. I'm considering doing a part two of this imagine, so please let me know what you think. I hope you all enjoy it.

Online dating had been your friends idea. Years of dating guys you had met in shitty bars had taken its toll, and you were beginning to think that perhaps it was time to give up. But she had drunkenly slurred about how well you would do on Tinder. "God, you'd have guys begging to take you out." 

"I can get guys to beg in real life," you uttered, taking a sip from your drink. "Why would I go online for that?"

Your friend chuckled, pulling out her phone and opening the app. "Because online you can also find women without having to scream 'I'm into girls' in the middle of a bar." She started swiping, showing a mixture of men and women on the screen. 

"Fine." 

That night when you had gotten home you had begun to build your profile. A couple of nice selfies, and a few full body shots. And the it had asked for a bio. God, what could you even say? 'Looking for fun' No, that sounded a little too loose. 'Looking for someone to take me out; either on a date or with a gun. Don't mind which.' A little bit too dark, perhaps. 'I need a gangsta to love me better than all the others do.' Now that seemed promising. 

You chuckled to yourself as you saved the new bio, taking a deep breath before moving on to the next stage. Swiping. The first couple of guys seemed fine, nothing special but not the worst people in the world. And then they had just gotten worse. Guys who were blatantly misogynistic on their profiles. Some who only had one picture and no information about themselves. It was getting tedious fast. And then a notification had chimed, revealing that someone had super liked your profile. 

Natasha. 35. 'Be the Bonnie to my Clyde.' She was pretty too, no, not pretty, she was stunning. Like supermodel hot. Fuck. Maybe your friend had been right, online dating was a good idea. 

You immediately swiped right on the profile, smiling when it popped up with a notification that you had matched. And then, silence. You waited for a couple of minutes for a message, swiping absent-mindedly, before giving up and going back to her profile. 

You pondered for a moment. Would it seem desperate to send the first message, or would it be just forward enough to lead to a conversation? You decided on the latter, flicking down to her bio again to think up a first message. 

Want to commit armed robbery and murder, before inevitably being shot dead by the authorities?  You had been told in the past that your humour didn't always communicate well through text, and as soon as you had sent the message you regretted it, closing the app and attempting to push the idiotic comment out of your mind.

You put the phone down on your bedside table, you rolled to the other side of the bed, pressing your eyes closed and making your first attempt at falling asleep. 

And then your phone had chirped. That telltale sign that you'd received a notification from Tinder. You were back on the phone in an instant, reopening the app and smiling at the message you'd received. 

Only if I get I get to drive.

A small chuckle bubbled out of your throat as you scanned the message again and again. 

With the traffic in New York. It would be an honour to let you chauffeur me. You typed quickly, your fingers tapping loudly at the phone screen.

It's a date. 

You bit down on your bottom lip, thinking of a quick response. I suppose we'll have to go for a drink to sort out the logistics of our crime spree.