I know I’ve disappeared for a bit on y’all. I think I’ve mentioned before, but I work in a hospital and COVID-19 has been throwing some major wrinkles into things for me. Like insanely long weeks. I think some of the stress has spilled over because this piece took a rather dark left turn on me, but it’s exactly the ending needed. Be sure to stop by over at Fictional Trials to see other responses to the #SwiftFicFriday prompt.
Black Widow
She strode down the street, tall black stiletto boots punctuating the stares and catcalls with quick taps on the concrete sidewalk. Those were easy to ignore, though. Harder were the occasional attempts to grab her ass. For those, they forced her to break her cool façade with a sharp look. Sure, she had a pair of slim daggers tucked into the top of her 
boots, but blood had a way of staining her clothes and she’d just bought the white mini skirt that left an ample expanse of toned, tan thigh between the hem and the boots.
As she passed a construction site, something—no, someone—caught her attention. A sandy blond in a black t-shirt with dirt smeared down both arms and sweat beading on his forehead. She arched an eyebrow at him and tilted her head just so. As she knew would happen, he dropped everything to follow her.
***
With a sigh, she got up and got dressed, smoothing the slight wrinkles from her skirt. As she zipped her boots, she glanced back at the bed. He looked so much like he was sleeping. Well, except for all the blood. She retrieved her daggers, pleased she spared her clothes. This time.
Part author, part artist, all dreamer 