Natasha Romanoff Week 2025

You stare down at the message, face impassive. It tells you the location, the act and the target. The location is a much fancier hotel than the one you’re currently in. The target is what you get stuck on. Natalia Romanova. The act is only mildly surprising. It says it in more clinical words but you’re to fuck her. 

A test, certainly although not the usual method, but for who? Likely Natalia, given her tendency to push clearly marked lines, but it’s always smart to analyse your own movements. To make sure you aren’t somehow accidentally signalling disloyalty and uselessness. Nothing comes to mind, as it shouldn’t. You aren’t fresh from the Red Room after all. 

What really catches your attention is what you’ve been told to wear. Not only a specific style but specific items. Ones you’ve seen on a particular witch. An Avenger. What exactly is Natalia suspected of doing? You note that they’ve chosen an outfit in a photo used many times by multiple news outlets across the world. Not something they’ve documented on surveillance. Is this to guarantee you would recognise who you are to remind Natalia of or for Natalia to? 

It would depend if Natalia herself has done surveillance on the witch, or if she’s come across materials. If she has then these specific clothes are for you, if she hasn’t then they’re only for her. You have no way of knowing. Either way you do know, which means you can tailor your behaviour to that of the girl. You haven’t seen enough footage of her to be able to mimic exactly in every situation but you can easily mimic her mannerisms and speech patterns. At least when she’s in front of press or fighting. 

A thought hits you and your mind quietens. Will Natalia be directed to dress as someone for you? The line of your shoulders tense before you shake it off. No. The only close relationship you’ve had is with Natalia herself when you were small during training. You haven’t had prolonged contact with anyone in a very long time. You have not been told to and you have no need to. You are a Black Widow. The only survivor of your generation. You don’t even long for the missions that require a long-standing mask.

The screen had gone back to normal while you thought. You take the chip out, smash it into even tinier pieces, wash half of it down the sink and scoop the other into the toilet to flush later. You pocket the phone. You have yet to be told or had the suspicion to get rid of it. You grab the few weapons you’ve hidden around the room, hide them on your person, and grab the small bag holding all of your possessions. A few clothes and toiletries. 

You don’t take a complicated route to the airport but you do switch flights at the last moment. A better seat opened up on an earlier flight. How convenient. You’ll never know how many of these instances are orchestrated and how many are natural. You were trained to take all that are needed either way. The flight is uneventful and you keep yourself entertained the usual way while keeping your pleasant mask on. 

On your way out of the airport an older woman bumps into you. You don’t recognise her but you do the first word she whispers into your ear. An identifier. The next is an addition to your orders. Call her Natasha. You twist from each other as if she had accidentally run into you. You mutter an apology and keep going. Not the slightest misstep. Anyone would have taken the movement of her lips for an apology. There was no lingering to draw suspicion.

Interesting, very interesting, but you keep any emotion except the expected one as you make your way to the taxi bay. You have an overly complicated route and a makeup stop to take as you contemplate the possible meanings behind this addition.

When you eventually enter the high-end hotel you look around the entrance hall, acting like you don’t know the layout. You beeline for the service counter when you see it.

“Hello,” you say, voice higher than its usual pitch and very American, “I’m so sorry. I’m in Room 1311 and—”

“You must be Wanda Romanoff,” the cleric smiles. “Don’t trouble yourself. Your wife called ahead and told us of your key situation.”

Wife, and the handlers have decided to leave a paper trail?

You use your most pleasant smile and give a relieved laugh. “Oh my god, thank you so much. I know how tight security is and my wife said she wouldn’t be able to return to until like super late and—”

“It’s no worry, ma’am.” The man’s customer service smile doesn’t falter but there’s a line forming behind you and you know he’s trying to get you to move on. You blurt out another round of gratefulness as you take the keycard before making your way to the room at a steady pace. You vaguely wonder if you should have used a Sokovian accent from the start but dismiss it. You weren’t instructed to be Wanda Maximoff. Only to play her in Natalia’s company. Natasha’s company for this visit. 

You allow a smirk to curl around your lips. No doubt the security footage of this hotel will be run over with a fine tooth come by many organisations but your handler won’t punish you for playing a woman thinking of her generous wife and what you plan to do to with her later. The image of Natalia seeing it excites you. This is the most fun you’ve had in a long time.

The room is empty when you enter, as expected. You place your bag against one wall and do a sweep. Nothing aside from the few hidden guns. No knives you note. Is she slipping or has she formed a preference outside of current regulations? Very naughty either way.

You take out your small toiletries bag and make your way to the bathroom, placing it on top of the counter. You make quick work of your makeup. Exactly like the photo the clothes are from. Technically you weren’t ordered to to copy that exact photo but you weren’t told exactly how to do your makeup like you were what clothes your wear. There’s no doubt who they’re having you remind Natasha of. There’s a possibility that copying the make-up the same as the clothes will give Natasha similar information it did you but you decide that the clothes are enough to do it on their own.

Packing away the toiletries bag you settle on the bed. You were not informed how long Natasha would be compared to you. It would depend on where she was in the world and when she got the new order. No doubt they want you here first. If they want you waiting is another question all-together.

Time passes quickly as you go into what you call Standby Mode. You are still aware of the world, still able to subconsciously catalogue any threats, but on the inside is quiet and everything is distant. A vital tool you’ve learned growing up. Patience is everything when it comes to the Red Room.

Few footsteps have passed the door since you got here and the ones you hear now are just as casual as the rest. Of course she wouldn’t be so easy to tell the difference so you wait until she’s at the door to believe it’s her. You shift back slightly on the bed to sit crossed-legged and lean on one hand.

The door isn’t all the way open when you see the first crack. Most would have missed the slightest way she pauses at the sight of you, what little of her shoulder you can see tensing. She eases herself the rest of the way in and you keep your content smile on your face.

She doesn’t look as well as the last time you saw her. It was no surprise she thrived outside the walls of the Red Room but it has been years and she is not thriving now. She must be being very naughty.

She doesn’t stop once she’s got the door locked behind her. She walks to the little set of chairs and a coffee table and takes off her jacket. She places it over the back of one of the chairs before crouching down to take off her boots. You can tell she’s assessing the room as she does it but she’s polite enough not to personally check every nook and cranny.

You don’t speak when she pulls her shirt over her head either. It’s only when she starts undoing the button of her jeans that you do. She seems to be in a ‘getting it over and done with’ mindset but that wasn’t your instructions.

“You know, when you asked me to meet you here I thought it was for something a little more romantic.” The accent that slips from your lips as naturally as if you were born with it has her face hardening. You don’t let your true smile show. If every other indication hasn’t already shown that she’s been up to something then that little slip would have.

“We can have fun without going slow.” She approaches you on the bed.

“What if I want to go slow?” You lean back on both hands in invitation.

“I would never rush you.” She climbs onto your lap. 

“You were trying to a second ago.” You give an exaggerated pout.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, hands cupping your face. “I was eager to see you. We can go slow if you’d like.” She closes the last few centimetres to kiss you. You have thought about how the witch would kiss, would fuck, but you have too little information to be able to assume accurately. Instead of trying, you decide to do what will be most fun, and get until her skin a little.

Her teeth lightly scraping over your bottom lip have you pulling back with a groan. 

“We can go a little fast,” you say, voice breathy and accent perfect. One hand grabs the back of your neck and pulls you back in. Her hand slips under your waistband but you grab her arm before it gets far.

“You don’t want to see me?” you ask quietly.

Natasha hesitates, a flicker of frustration and a flicker of something else on her face. The conflict is easy to guess. She doesn’t want to be fucking you, she wants to be fucking her little girlfriend, but she has to. You don’t know whether she actually has touched the witch which makes you curious about your mimicking helping or making it worse.

“Of course I do,” she finally murmurs and helps you out of your shirt. You aren’t wearing a bra underneath. It doesn’t pull the reaction you want from her.

You bite your bottom lip nervously when she starts pulling down your skirt, you look up at her from under your lashes. She takes a moment after it’s off to take you in. You wonder if she’s imagining the witch in your place or if this is drawing long-buried memories from the early days in the Red Room. It is far from the first time you have seen each other naked. You wonder if it will be the last.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” you ask quietly. A little insecurity is to be expected, especially from someone so inexperienced and who cares so desperately about Natasha’s opinion.

“Gorgeous,” she murmurs as her hand runs lightly up your side. You arch slightly, encouraging her hands to your chest. She obeys the silent direction, taking you into her hands carefully. She plays lightly and the tease frustrates you.

“Nat,” you moan, “Natasha.” And okay, maybe you lay it on a little thick, make your voice a little too exaggerated, especially with what little is currently happening. 

Natasha’s soft expression melts into the hard one hiding underneath.

“Stop,” she snaps.

“You don’t care what I’m feeling?” You widen your eyes and mimic pain in your eyes.

“I— “ Natasha falters for all of a second. “Stop that,” she snaps again. 

It’s technically breaking your assignment as you allow your grin to show but you don’t care. One small slip isn’t punishable, at least in this context, and Natasha is unlikely to tell your handler. 

“Who thought you would be so callus with your little girlfriend.” The hand collides with your cheek hard enough to force your head around. The skin stings where she hit you. This type of pain is nothing after what the Red Room trained you with but it has been a long time since someone has been able to put their hand on you like that. “Natasha?” you ask in a small voice, one that perfectly mimics Wanda Maximoff’s.

Natasha doesn’t allow you to see her conflict of emotions. Her face merely hardens. You drop the act again after a moment. It’s not as fun when she’s all stoic. You poke at your still stinging cheek. You might actually get a bruise. 

“Where is that self control you’re so famous for gone?”

“It frays with the unprofessionalism.”

“Liar.” Her expression remains the same. Your hope for a rise diminishes. Oh well, Natasha will complete the assignment anyway. “Are you topping or am I?” you ask curiously. It will be interesting to see what her fantasy is when it comes to the little witch. Will she enjoy having power over someone who can break her with a thought or will she enjoy being able to let go? The less vanilla preferences would no doubt sneak in considering Natasha, and frankly the witch’s too, past but you highly doubt Natasha will make you privy to that kind of information. That vulnerability has not been put as part of the mission and Natasha won’t share it with you willingly. 

“You have to ask?” she raises an eyebrow. You wave her off. The lead up doesn’t guarantee anything when things start to get hot and heavy. She’s well aware of that which means you can use this as an opportunity to poke her further.

“I have no idea what the little witch is into.”

“I never imagined her to talk so much,” Natasha huffs. You smirk.

“Tell me more,” you purr.

“Is this really what your orders are?” The words aren’t malicious. Careless continuation rather than a pointed jab. Still, it ruins the fun. You smooth your smirk into a pleading looking, taking Wanda’s voice once more.

“Please, fuck me Natasha. Please, it aches.” You make your voice breathy and eyes wide. 

Her jaw ticks. She really is losing her edge if she thought you weren’t about to step back into your role after a comment like that. 

“I’ll make you feel good,” she says, her tone all wrong. She’s lucky this isn’t an assessment. Waning skills is taken very seriously by the handlers, mainly because it isn’t supposed to be possible. You don’t call her on it. You lie back and enjoy the feel of her hands on you again. They hesitate around your thighs.

“Please, Nat,” you try to encourage. It doesn’t work. Your voice is right but you aren’t. You pull her in for a kiss to try and distract her. It seems to work, at least for a while. She begins to relax into you and her hands move south. 

She pauses again with a huff, annoyance at her inability clear on her face. The obvious difficulty she’s having is fascinating. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen a Widow act so human. The fascination turns sour as you realise what this could mean. You need very specific circumstances to win against Natalia and this isn’t one of them. You hadn’t considered that you wouldn’t be able to fulfil your assignment at all. It will be the first since you were a child. The consequences are unimaginable. You won’t be able to hold her down which means you need to think of something else. 

You flounder for a moment as her hands veer again. She’s already touching you. Why is this last step so hard for her? There wasn’t any specific who-must-touch-who in your orders. You could convince her to lay down instead?

You really look at her the next time she hesitates. This time her struggling pulls something deep within you. Distant sounds echo from your memory. For the first time you feel the presence of the handlers in the room.

“I can do it again. No I.O.U required,” you offer quietly. Her eyes meet yours for the first time since getting on the bed. “If you shut your eyes, you won’t be able to tell if you don’t think too hard about it.” You change your voice to mimic Wanda’s again. “And I can help you stop thinking so hard.” Your hand slips down her waist.

Natasha closes her eyes tightly. This time the conflict is clear on her face. You wonder which part bothers her the most. Does it feel like a betrayal or is it the reminder that she can never really have the witch that bothers her so much? If it’s the latter then having something so close might be torture. 

You aren’t worried. Black Widows are used to torture.

“Do it,” Natasha finally says, opening her eyes. You gently swipe your thumb over her skin. Just once. An acknowledgement of what you had as children. The small things you can get away with doing for each other in a world that takes and takes. That makes you enemy and ally in the same breath.

She bends over you again, head resting exactly where you sprayed the perfume. Her eyes slip close. You wait a moment, easily falling into the role but allowing Natasha time to sink into the fantasy.

You slide your hand lower. She isn’t as wet as she could be but she isn’t insultingly dry. You coat your fingers in it before dragging them up to her clit.

“Oh Nat,” you murmur with Wanda’s voice. “That’s it. Just like that. You’re so perfect for me.” You can feel her shudder above you. You carefully push two fingers inside. “I’ve been dreaming about this,” you continue, “What you’d look like, what you’d feel like,” you curl your fingers for emphasis and she moans, “What you’d sound like.”

You continue the fantasy as Natasha gets closer and closer. You say one quietly moaned, fuck, as she squeezes around you.

“Wanda,” she moans quietly as she comes apart. You shut the resulting feelings in a box deep inside of you. Instead you focus on the way she flutters around your fingers. It doesn’t last long enough. She composes herself unreasonable quickly for how small she sounded a moment ago. Her hand lightly grasps your wrist and pulls you out of her. Your fingers glisten. You resist the urge to lick them.

Natasha’s hand releases you and trails lower, You grip her wrist. “I believe that fulfils the assignment.”

She meets your gaze and holds it. You don’t know if she sees what you don’t want her to. She probably does. She was always too good at that.

She gives a short nod and you let her go when she pulls away. She goes back to not looking at you as she collects her clothes. You watch her. There isn’t much else you can do. You slowly pack away the few memories that started to slide out of their box as she slowly dresses. The few moments the Red Room couldn’t take away are hidden for a reason. Natalia always did bring the worse out of you. The tiny speck of softness that you can’t quite seem to stomp out. It seems hers is getting the best of her.

“And?” 

“She’s in a private kink community. She finds scene partners on there.”

“Oh.”

“Oh is right. There’s some pretty extreme stuff on here.” Wanda sees the look on your face. “But all consensual. All adults. You wouldn’t be walking into something dangerous…outside of being a mole, I mean. Here.” Wanda shows you the screen. Natasha’s profile is up.

Domme, anal, fisting, strap-ons, bondage, role-play—

You have to look away before your brain shits off.

“Wow.”

“Right?” Wanda nods.

“Why do you seem so shocked? I figured you would’ve seen stuff like this before Ms Darkweb.” You poke her side.

“I mean I’ve browsed but nothing like this. And this isn’t the dark web. This is just a private community.” She tilts her chin up imperiously. You’ve always wondered whether she’s doing it on purpose or not.

“What have you browsed?” you ask curiously.

“You wouldn’t be interested,” she dismisses.

“How do you know?”

“You think I haven’t used my ’hack genius’,” she repeats your words dryly, “to learn everything about you?”

You know for a fact she has but the thought is embarrassing enough for you to change the subject. “Which ones should I approach her with?”

“She’s looking for a scene partner interested in fisting.” You swallow roughly. Wanda rolls her eyes at your face. “You don’t actually have to do it,” she reminds you. “Just be confident enough to get what we need.” She smirks. “Unless you want to. I won’t judge.”

“Wanda.”

“What? I won’t.”

“One, not the point. Two, no way a fist fits up there.”

“What’s the bet you’re thinking of Natasha shoving a proper fist up there.”

“I’m not thinking of her doing anything! But what do you mean proper?”

Wanda closes her hand like she’s about to throw a punch. “Like this. People don’t shove this up other people’s cunts. Or,” she gives it a considering look, “I mean I’m sure people have but usually what people are talking about is this.” She opens her hand again, presses her fingers together in a line, and rests her thumb against her palm.

“Well, that is significantly less scary.” You don’t ask her how she knows. You’ve shared a wall long enough to know she’s experienced a lot more than vanilla sex in her life.

“So you do want to do it.”

“Wanda!”

“Sorry,” she laughs, “I’ll stop.” She pauses for all of a second. “But seriously, I can find you something after if you’re curious.”

“What happened to stopping?”

Wanda mimes zipping her lips. She clicks to the tab with the profile creation. You copy most of what Natasha’s interests are but add a few of your own so it doesn’t seem too perfect.

“What should my limits be?” you ask Wanda.

Wanda shrugs. “The easiest lies are mostly truth. Tweak them a little to fit within her interests but otherwise I don’t see why you need to overcomplicate things.”

“Okay.” You fill in the box with what you can think of.

You don’t think much of Wanda reading what you write until she makes a little humming sound.

“What, is there something you didn’t know?” you ask.

“Not exactly,” her eyes flick away.

“Are you blushing?” you gasp. “The Wanda Maximoff, kink extraordinaire, is blushing?”

“Says the person about to get fisted.” She holds her expression for all of a second before bursting out laughing at the look on your face. 

“Wanda,” you whine.

It takes a while for her to recover but when she finally does she says, “You’ll be fine. This group is very serious about consent. Say stop and she will. It won’t be suspicious.”

That does make you feel better but you still flick her for the comment.

“Do that again and I’ll make you do the dirty talk,” she threatens.

“I can dirty talk,” you bluff.

“Not without falling over yourself. We’ll get a meeting quicker if I do it.”

“But won’t it be weird that I’m so less confident in person?”

“Not even a little bit. Now go away, I’m concentrating,” she shoos.

“Who knew your night time activities would be so handy in your day job?”

“We both know they rarely happen at night.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t remind me.” You push yourself up. “I’ll get the device ready.”

She nods, hands already flying over the keyboard. Hopefully she doesn’t get too turned on. Although, a horny Wanda is one on a mission and she can be scary when she is.

You don’t look at the DMs until a few days later when Wanda has already set up a meeting place. Apparently you’ll both meet in public to see if there’s anything you were hiding before Natasha takes you back to her place. It’s smart safety wise but it still makes you nervous. You thought originally you’d only need to bluff for a few minutes, max half an hour for the device to do its job and hack its way into her system. Meeting beforehand means much longer and a car ride. You won’t be able to fill the time with nervous introductions and reiterating boundaries. What you see in the DMs makes you want to groan. Wanda sits unapologetically beside you.

Look for red hair and a black button up.

We should match. I’ll wear something red.

Oh?

It may not be obvious until later.

You groan. Damn it Wanda.

Cute.

Says you. I’ll see you at two.

“Two? I thought it would be like seven at the earliest.”

“Scenes can take a long time,” Wanda says. “You don’t want to be exhausted in the middle of one. You might have to stop early. Also, the potential dangers of an exhausted partner.”

“Not asking.”

“You kind of want to though, don’t you?” She grins.

“Our shared wall has told me enough.”

Wanda laughs. “Not all the juicy details.”

Skipping passed that you say, “Tell me you didn’t buy me lingerie.”

“I didn’t buy you lingerie,” she repeats dutifully. “It would be highly inappropriate for me to buy my business partner that kind of thing.”

“You bought me a dildo two months ago.”

“You needed an upgrade,” she says, “and that was not for business purposes like this was. I was helping a friend in need.”

You snort. “You sure it wasn’t just so you knew what to picture when you thought of me?”

“This is why your partners always say we have no boundaries.” Wanda dodges.

“You’re the one buying me sex toys unprompted!” 

“I don’t talk about them afterward,” she says smugly. “Now go try the lingerie on. Trying to buy the right size online is almost impossible and we need to make sure they fit right so the mission isn’t a bust.”

“The mission where nothing sexual is happening?”

“The mission where fisting isn’t happening. I thought you knew there was a high chance of clothes being taken off. You will need to stall for time.”

You had thought about it. You’d thought about it while looking at pictures of Natasha. In your room. Late at night. Not that you’re going to admit it to yourself, or Wanda.

“Stall for how long?” you ask, nervously fiddling with the collar of your shirt.

“Maximum half an hour,” Wanda reminds you for the fifth time. “Worst comes to worst call your safe word and then spend however much more time needed talking it out with her before leaving.”

“Okay,” you take a deep breath, “I can do that.”

Two days later you’re at a very fancy restaurant. You wait near the bar, thankful you don’t need to try and hide how nervous you actually are. Your head turns at every flash of red. It’s unfortunately a popular colour. You’ll recognise her, of course, but you aren’t meant to and there’s no doubt she’ll watch you for a while before approaching. 

You smooth out your shirt for the umpteenth time. The idea of her watching has you even more nervous so you try to focus on the thought of Wanda watching through the cameras instead. Thinking about the comment she’d make about how nervous you are compared to your usual  undercover roles and a sly one about how Natasha’s is very close to your type is enough to distract you for a while.

Another flash of read has you turning your head and you finally see her. Her pictures don’t do her justice. Normally you’d try not to think about how hot a mark is but since it’ll help with your acting this time you embrace it. Your eyes run over her figure. A black button up like she’d said, sleeves folded up to her elbows. Tight black jeans show off her legs and boots finish off the look. Undoubtably expensive as hell, especially with the necklace and watch, but the money looks good on her. 

You awkwardly wave and the confident smile on her face grows. You dart your eyes around. You aren’t sure where to look as she makes her way towards you. You’re allowed to stare, she thinks you’re about to fuck after all, but it feels like you shouldn’t. Too soon maybe? 

She leans against the bar beside you.

“Hello,” she greets, voice low.

“Hi.” You settle on looking at the soft curve of her cheek.

“How’re you doing tonight?”

“Good— I mean, well— I mean,” you take a deep breath and talk a bit quieter. “I’m excited.”

“But nervous.”

“Is it that obvious?” you laugh.

“A little,” she shrugs. “If it makes you feel any better that outfit suits you very well.”

“You look very…” Your eyes travel along the delicate curve of her throat like her shirt encourages you to do. “Handsome,” you finish quickly. That smile shows again and her teeth flash at you.

“So, you’re new to the scene?”

“Not super, but yeah. I haven’t done anything like, uh, like tonight.”

“Meeting up?”

“No, I mean yes I have. I meant what we’re doing tonight. Um, fisting. But I’ve done a few uh, lighter scenes before.”

“Fisting isn’t a light kink to you?”

You gape at her. She laughs.

“I”m only messing with you. Everyone’s different. If this is too much we can do something else, or stop altogether.”

“No,” you say too forcefully. You won’t get a chance like this again. “Uh, I mean, no, thank you. I want to. I’m just nervous.”

“Understandably. Can I ask what you’ve done to prepare?”

You’d already talked about this in your DMs but you still say, “Four fingers,” as quietly as possible. “I thought it would be fun to experience it for the first time on the actual night.”

Natasha’s eyes darken. “It will be.”

You have to look away from the heat in her eyes. She crowds you against the bar.

“What else are you looking to experience tonight?”

You take a fortifying breath which doesn’t help with her perfume surrounding you. Wanda said directness and honesty are very important leading up to a scene. That there’s times where a scene won’t happen at all based on the first interaction. You think about what you would say if you were actually in this position. You meet her heavy gaze.

“Submission, loss of control,” you pause. You can’t think of a hot way to put it, “Stretching?”

That breaks the tension. Natasha snorts a laugh and covers her mouth. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she says. “I’m not laughing at you.”

“You are a little bit,” you tease. “How would you have put it?”

“Size kink, fisting.”

“Oh, totally,” you nod a  few times too many, eyes dropping to the floor. She tilts your chin up with a curled finger.

“We can’t do anything kinky if you can’t say the word kink.” Her voice is half-teasing, half-firm. The worry that tonight will stop before it starts has your mouth running without thought.

“I want you to fulfil my size kink by using those long fingers of yours to stuff m—“

Her hand wraps around your jaw, grip tight as her pupils dilate. 

“I think it’s time for us to leave.”

You can’t pull your eyes away from her lips even as you nod. Her lips curl and then she’s pulling you towards the door.

The drive back to her place seems to take no time at all and forever. When she finally parks the car your heart is racing.

She holds your hand as she leads you inside and you’re in her bedroom before you can take the rest of the place in. It doesn’t matter. The device is in your pocket and started working the second you got out of the car. The only thing you need to think about is Natasha. 

She pulls you in before you can get a good look at the bedroom either. Her lips on yours is a relief until her hands start wondering and make the heat inside of your burn hotter. You tug at the collar of her shirt.

“Off,” you mutter between kisses. You can feel her smiling but she fights it enough so it doesn’t break the kiss. Her fingers make quick work of the buttons and you’re almost envious that you couldn’t do it that fast for yourself. 

You slide your hands under the shoulders of the shirt and slide it off of her. It drops unceremoniously to the floor. You slide your hands appreciatively down her arms. They flex slightly as she grabs your hips and pulls you against her again. Her lips find your neck and you tilt your head up to give her better access. A brief thought about how unfair it is that she’s distracting you right after she has her shirt off disappears under the feel of her teeth. The attention she lays there is sure to leave more than a few marks but you can’t bring yourself to care when it’s travelling down your spine and to your clit. 

You almost whine when she pulls away but her hands shucking off her pants soothes the need. More of her is revealed and you gaze appreciatively until she interrupts you. She tugs you out of your own shirt, lips seeking yours again immediately after.

You’re completely distracted. The only thought you have about the device is when Natasha shoves off your pants. The smallest worry of it falling out of your pocket makes you look down. When it’s nowhere to be seen you safely assume it’s stayed where it’s meant to and return your full attention to the woman in front of you.

“Everything okay?” Natasha asks quietly.

“Don’t wanna trip,” you say and push her towards the bed. She huffs a laugh and you grin back as you shove her onto the bed. This feels unnervingly easy with her.

She stops letting you push her around at that point. You’re planning to climb onto her lap but you’re thrown around onto the bed instead. She climbs on top of you and you don’t even try to wriggle out or roll her. The muscles in her arms flexing as she crawls over is too much of a distraction.

Her lips meet yours and her hand trails down your side before skimming over to meet your soaked folds. You should probably stop her now. Move away, close your legs or call out your safe word. Natasha’s fingers find your clit and you moan instead. You can stop her in a moment, when things get a bit further along. There’s no reason to push her away while the device still needs time to work. 

You murmur a quiet, firmer, and she listens. There’s no needy rush, no desperate groping. She gently builds the pleasure into a pleasant buzz. Turning you hazy in a way you don’t want to stop. At some point her fingers glide lower and she probes your entrance.

“Ready?” she asks. Your flicker of worry must show on your face. “To start,” she clarifies. Relaxing, you nod. She doesn’t enter you until you give a quiet,

“Please.”

She pushes in easily with so much build up and you sigh at the relief of being filled.

“Slow build, okay?” Her finger slowly pumps in and out of you.

“Not too slow,” you say, hips already seeking more.

“Slow,” she repeats firmly but adds a second finger all the same. You make an appreciative noise. 

She tries the same gentle build as before but you’re too impatient. Another plea has her sliding in a third finger. This time you feel the stretch. It’s almost hard to imagine a fourth yet it takes so long for her to add it that she has you begging for it.

You groan this time and your impatience takes a while to come back. It feels unreasonably good for something that was scary to you only a few days ago.

When she finally feels you’re ready for the tantalising final finger she murmurs, 

“Ready?” against your lips.

“Ah-huh,” you pant. Natasha slowly eases her thumb in. The stretch is exquisite. Your head drops back as it fills your brain. All you can think and feel is her stretching you open, until the stretch slowly begins to fade.

“Are— are you gonna move?” you ask, voice high.

“If you want me to,” Natasha says, holding perfectly still. “We can stay like this until you’ve had enough if you don’t.”

“Don’t you dare.”

A smirk as your hips twitching. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to move,” you whine, the twitch quickly turning into you humping her hand.

“It seems you’re already doing it for me.”

“Please.” 

Her free hand holds your hips still while she oh so slowly begins to move. It’s torture to feel so little stimulation yet so full at the same time. Still, you don’t ask you for more again. She knows what she’s doing and the way the pressure is building inside you again shows that. Your frustration at her slowness turns quickly into gratefulness when the overstimulation suddenly starts to build quickly.

“Wait, wait,” you gasp. She immediately stills. “Clit,” you beg. Her free hand moves to run circles over it and you moan. Two seconds later the cord snaps and you see white. She holds your hips still as lightning runs through you. You come down to shockwaves still rolling through your body.

When your shaking stops, Natasha carefully pulls out of you, removing her fingers one by one until they’re all free. Her eyes never leaving your face, looking for any hint of discomfort.

You watch with heavy-lidded eyes as she slips two of her fingers into her mouth. Her eyes slip shut as she moans. If you weren’t so spent you’d want to go again just because of that sound. She puts on a show, slowing sucking and licking her hand clean. You can’t look away.

When she’s finally satisfied, she crawls up and lays down before tucking you into her side. You lay your head on her shoulder but hesitate before getting too comfortable.

“Do you want me to return the favour?” you ask.

“I think you’ve had enough for the night.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Trust me, I found that quite satisfying.” The look in her eye matches what she says so you nod before burrowing deeper. 

“I’ll go in a minute,” you mumble, eyes drooping.

“Stay as long as you need.”

You hum, your over-exerted body easily slipping into sleep.

“‘m sorry,” you mumble, head drooping to rest on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.”

“It’s okay,” Natasha says. “We’re in the tower, you can let loose.”

“Didn’t mean to.”

“Let’s just concentrate on getting you to your room. We can have regrets tomorrow while you’re hanging over the bowl.”

You groan but obediently quiet for the rest of the slow trip to your room. Mostly. There’s a few curses here and there about how big the tower is that have Natasha’s shoulders silently grinning.

You try to fall on your bed when you finally make it to your room but Natasha stops you. You pout at her.

“Let me get you out of this first,” she says. “I can’t imagine it would be comfortable to sleep in.”

You’re drunk enough that you doubt anything will disturb your sleep once you finally slip into it but you let her manhandle you out of your fancy clothes anyway. It’s probably better you don’t sleep in such nice things and this way you won’t have any bruises from something digging into you in the morning.

The alcohol has you too warm to feel the cool of the room as strips you. You hesitate slightly when she reaches your underwear but she’s slipped them off before you can tell if it’s needed or not. 

She guides you onto the bed and you finally flop down. You watch with distant interest as she removes her own clothes. You’ve seen her in varying stages of undress before during training and missions. You’re familiar with the scars littering her body and the iron muscles underneath. 

You frown a little. Almost every scar. You’ve never seen those two before. Did something new happen? It takes you until she’s moved you around on the bed to realise you’ve never seen it because her bra is gone. Which is weird. And good. You reach for it as she climbs on top of you, tracing them curiously.

“Are we going to cuddle?” you slur.

“Something like that,” she murmurs. 

Instead of laying down she stays hovering over you. Her eyes trail your naked form. She forgot to pull the top cover back before getting you on the bed. Maybe she’s trying to work out how to do it without rolling you around enough to make you sick?

Her nose skims down your neck before her breath stops on your chest. The warmth of it matches the warmth of your skin.

“Nat?” you ask, confused.

“Just checking,” she says. 

For what? is too hard to ask so you wait patiently until she’s done—

—You wake to nails skimming down to places they haven’t touched before. You’re disoriented and confused until you see red hair and remember Natasha helping you to bed. It’s hard to stay awake past the feeling of relief. Your eyelids are so heavy but Natasha still hasn’t laid down properly, or left, and your curiosity manages to keep you awake for a few moments longer. It doesn’t give you enough energy to form a question. Not yet.

You continue to feel her hands trail over you, as well as a sensation you won’t realise until tomorrow is her lips on your skin.

You don’t know if you drift off again but at some point she nudges your legs apart. Your brow furrows when you feel her hand trace over your folds. “Nat should you— should you be doing that?”

“Of course, I’m just helping you get to sleep.”

You’re not sure how this helps but she sounds so confident you relax back. Besides it’s Natasha, she’d never hurt you.

She lightly presses on your clit. It sends tingles up your spine.

“Mm, feels good,” you murmur without thinking.

“Yeah?” Her fingers become firmer. “How’s that, is that good?”

Your mhmm comes out more of a moan. The tingles are the only thing to break through the haze, to not feel so far away. They become stronger and travel further until a few high pitched sounds escape you and then suddenly you’re coming. You don’t realise what you’re doing until the pleasure has settled again.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you gasp. You don’t know what’s happening but you know you’re not meant to come with a friend in the room.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Natasha shushes, “There’s nothing to be sorry for. You can’t help it.”

Her understanding has your panic receding. 

“Didn’t mean to,” you promise.

“I know,” Natasha reassures. “No harm done.” Wet fingers trace patterns into your hip. “Try to go back to sleep,” she suggests. “We can forget about it in the morning.”

What muscles that are working probably again tense. What does she know of gentle? 

The group finally approaches you. You keep your eyes on the white sheet covering your legs. Sitting up only hurts marginally more than lying down but being able to move under your own power, to be able to hold your head up, makes you feel a lot better than lying limply against the thin bed.

“Hey, how’re feeling?” Steve says when he comes into view.

You try to crack a smile. “Never better.” Your voice sounds awful.

Tony snorts and Steve shoots him a look. “What? You knew the answer before you asked.”

Steve ignores him. “I’m sorry to do this when you’ve just woken up but can you tell me what happened before we got to you?”

Your eyes flicker to Natasha and then away again.

“She touched me,” you mumble. 

Heads turn to Dr Cho whose lips press into a thin line. Doctor-patient confidentiality saves you. Or maybe damns you since you can’t seem to put what happened into words they’ll understand. She won’t tell them anything apart from how far you are from dying without your express, un-drugged, permission.

“Could the drugs be muddling their memory?” Steve asks Dr Cho.

“Shit that has them this messed up hours later? Absolutely,” Tony answers instead. 

“It has been known to cause mental confusion and hallucinations,” Dr Cho confirms.

You squeeze your hands into fists. The memories are fuzzy and feel far away but you aren’t confused. You remember Natasha coming in; hearing her steps, having your head tilted up, seeing her hair, feeling her hands. Hands that went where they shouldn’t have.

“I remember,” you insist. You force yourself to look at Natasha, “She touched me.”

“Can you remember what she looked like?” Steve asks.

You make a frustrated noise and press your palms into your eyes. What does he mean what did she look like? She is right beside him! How can he not understand what you’re saying?

“Natasha was there for the real version of the events.” Steve turns to her.

“I didn’t see anyone exit the room,” Natasha says quietly. “They were drugged heavily. I thought they were…” It seems the others don’t need her to fill in the blank like your slow mind does.

“And?” Steve prompts her gently when the silence lasts too long. You wait for it. For the words to confirm what you think you remember. They never come.

“And nothing. I got them to the Quinjet. You saw what they were like. I didn’t encounter anyone within three rooms of where they were held. No movement on our way out. If someone was left alive in the building they knew a very good hiding place.” She turns to you, face full of concern. “I know it’s hard,” she says softly, “But can you remember anything about the woman who was there before me?”

Your confusion grows. You don’t remember anyone before her. She had been the one to touch you, hadn’t she? If you said the right thing, if you finally managed to make them understand what you’re trying to say, would they believe? Mental confusion and hallucinations. Is it possible Natasha wasn’t the one who did— who was with you when it happened. You don’t remember your bonds being undone let alone being carried to the Quinjet. Was it someone who looked like Natasha to your distorted vision or has your broken brain put her face on the woman who touched you?

“Vi-Video?” you ask, interrupting whatever they were talking about. You’re more concerned about your voice cracking.

“None in the building,” Tony says clearly annoyed. You flinch slightly at the tone. “Shit, not pissed at you. Just the general lack of technology. I don’t know how you did it, Capsicle.”

“Tony,” Natasha reprimands quietly. Tony mimes zipping his lips. 

“If there’s anything you can give us on the person who hurt you tell us so we can catch them,” Steve says. You don’t like being called a liar but you don’t know what you want to be true. Someone had touched you either way.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You try to remember more than the vague flashes and feelings you currently have. You remember a vague sound of footsteps and trying to lift your head. When that failed you had tried to open your eyes. The footsteps had reached you by the time you managed to slit them open. Blurred colours and light that hurts was all you got. Mostly greys; the concrete floor, the steel of the chair you were tied to. Only the muted colour of your suit was different. Then hands. Gentle fingers cupped your jaw, tilted your head up. Red bled into your vision. Fingertips pressed against your pulse point. You had swallowed roughly. It had hurt. Your head was rested gently against the back of the chair. The fingertips slid down lower. You thought they were checking for injuries. You were wrong. They skimmed down your chest, pressed into soft spots. A confused noise left you and they gentled. They disappeared when they reached your waist.

The sound of fabric ripping filled your ears. You couldn’t figure out what she had done until you had felt those fingers on your skin again. On the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You tried to speak. To ask. To stop. All that came out was an unintelligible mumble.

A quiet, “shhhh” had sounded but you aren’t confident now whether it was in Natasha’s voice or not. You had tried to force your eyes open again at the noise. A smear of dim red at the bottom of your vision was all you could see of her. Those fingers crept higher. The explored the outside of your underwear, probed the folds hiding beneath. You tried to protest again but only got the same results as the last time. No shushing though. Instead the fingers slipped beneath your underwear. They wandered up to your clit. For a while you couldn’t feel much beside the pressure but at some point the tingles started. Then they grew. Your hips twitched. Then you started to squirm in your bonds. Another few sounds had escaped you. You weren’t sure if they were to stop or encourage. You still aren’t sure. The pleasure had blocked out the pain that slipped past the drug. It had been nice to feel good after such an awful day. You hadn’t been thinking clearly. You couldn’t really think at the time. You can’t tell if you’re thinking properly now. If you’re remembering properly. 

The fingers had slid lower. You were well and truly wet by then. Enough to be humiliated by if you weren’t so empty. You feel embarrassed just fine remembering it now but you try to push the feeling aside. You got a proper glimpse of her at some point. You’re sure. You just need to find it and imagine it. 

Your mouth dropped open in a silent gasp but it took a moment for your brain to catch up to why. Something was being pushed inside of you. Fingers. Her. It felt better than it should have through the haze but you couldn’t tell if you were getting close. Only the persistent pleasure that was sharper than the dull pain filled you. You had no way to tell how long it went for. Time was honey. Eventually it slipped away altogether. Her fingers were still moving inside of you when you passed back out again.

You make a frustrated, defeated sound. The woman’s eyes were green but that’s all you can tell through the blurry vision. That isn’t enough. The possible image of her face isn’t enough now that you have Natasha in front of you. 

“Don’t push yourself,” Natasha says quietly. Her hand rests reassuringly on your shoulder and you jump. You look up at her, blinking tears from your eyes. The blurry memory is nothing compared to the crystal clear image in front of you. It couldn’t have been her (You don’t want it to have been her).

“I’m sorry,” you croak.

“It’s okay. You have nothing to apologise for,” she says. “Focus on healing.” 

“Rest,” Steve agrees. “We’ll find who did this to you.”

“The facility went dark, you can check the reports yourself”

He shakes his head, "I'm not talking about if it actually happened, I’m talking about who did it”

“You don’t think it was the Widow?”

“Oh she was there, but I don't think she was alone. Ain’t no way anyone could've taken out that place alone. Let alone a woman”

The oldest among them chuckles, “Son, you haven’t been here long. You don’t know her like we do”

“You've seen her then? Encountered her?”

The man with the cigarette laughs, “We wouldn't be here if we had”

“Then you don’t know her. You know her stories. And that's all they are, stories. I doubt any of them are true. Full of bullshit”

“Oh I’m sure there's more than a few exaggerations in them” the older soldier agrees, “But there isn’t any denying what she's done, what she's capable of”

“Like in Tehran, she took out an entire caravan without ever firing a shot. Just used her bites and blades”

The rookie scoffs, “What about Odessa, she failed there didn’t she? Her target died”

“You don’t understand” the man smoking states, “She walked away from an encounter with the Winter Soldier. Nobody ever does that”

“She wasn’t his target”

“Doesn’t matter. She was there, she was an obstacle, a threat. And he doesn't let people that get in his way survive”

The rookie glances away briefly, looking at the fire as he feels a sweat beginning to run down his back despite the cool temperature of their environment. He clears his throat as he shifts in his seat, “She just got lucky”

“Lucky like a fox is. Don’t think for a second that she's not clever.” one of the others tells him

“She's skilled and smart. Can’t deny that” the rookie clarifies, “But the shit shes pulling off, just ain't no way she's doing everything alone”

“She's precise and deadly, underestimating her might get you killed”

But the rookie waves them off, “why would she be here of all places?”

“She goes everywhere, son.” the older soldier stresses, “Moscow, Budapest, Istanbul”

"Lagos, Madripoor” another continues

"Don't forget Osaka, what she did there….hell on earth"

“Now wait a damn minute” the rookie interrupts, “If she's such a good spy, how do you know she's been to all these places? How do you know what she does?”

“You think we really know everywhere? No, we only know for sure when she decides to make her presence known, which I can count on one hand. But we don’t know anyone else capable of such feats. Nobody does”

“The small towns and villages, the deserts and the jungles….Imagine what she does there and we just don’t have a clue because there's no one else around to tell it”

“You don’t even have a clue now” the rookie scoffs, “You're trying to convince me she's really doing all this alone without even knowing she's the one doing it to begin with”

“Let me ask you something, you think a woman known as the Red Death and the Slavic Shadow isn’t a woman to be feared?”

He feels a chill down his back again, “I didn’t say that. I just don’t think she's as big of a threat as y’all are making her out to be. And she certainly ain’t no solo act”

The rest of them simply shake their heads, seeing that their new member is either too stubborn or stupid to see the true threat that was the Black Widow. Stubbornness can be fixed with time, but stupidity would land him dead in their line of work before he even had time to worry about the Widow

But in the treeline nearby Natasha listens to the things they say about her with a smirk. She’d been staking this place out for about a week now, biding her time, waiting for the perfect time to strike. She hadn’t even imagined that she would stubble upon it in the form of a conversation about herself, a conversation that made her seem like some sort of fable. She's going to enjoy showing them just what all shes capable of

She counts them first, six of them. Each has a holstered sidearm and half of them have a rifle slung over their shoulder or backs. Those three will be targeted first, and she'll save the rookie for last. Not for any real reason, she just wants to prove a point before she kills him.

She aims both her widows bites at two of the more well armed men and fires at the same time. Both men convulse for a brief moment before falling to the ground dead. The sight and sound of them doing so startles the others, but before they can figure out what's happening she strikes again.

She fires her grapple onto the last man with the rifle, and he lets out a yelp of surprise as he's pulled backwards. She quickly fires the other end of it onto the tree and jumps down into the tall grass below, landing with the grace of a cat. The man slams into the tree, his skull making a cracking sound before he goes limps and is hauled up into the branches

The remaining three men pull out their side arms and are frantically looking around, desperately trying to find their assailant. Natasha however is careful, making sure to stay both in the tall grass and outside of the ring of light that the small fire is providing. Thankfully her targets are not well trained and they haven't grouped together. She carefully makes her way behind one of them and unsheathes her knife.

She lunges at him, one hand covering his mouth while the other slices his neck open. She leaves him collapsed in a heap, quickly bleeding out as she sinks back into the grass. The sound of his choked gurgles gains the attention of the oldest soldier and he rushes over. He curses under his breath as he realizes the gravity of the wound, and the situation. This is the Black Widow. He knows it in his bones. And he knows he's not leaving here tonight unless its in a body bag

Silently he takes a step back, keeping his eyes on the grass near his fallen teammate. Natasha has already moved on though and perched on a tree branch behind him. A few more steps and he's directly below her, just where she wanted him. With her legs wrapped around the branch she lowers herself, and quickly loops the grapple cord in her hands around his neck. He lets out a chocked gasp but its extremely muffled as the wire digs into his flesh, and the rookie is too far away to hear it. Satisfied with the cords hold on him she lets go, letting it pull him upwards by the throat.

His thrashing is what finally gets the rookies attention and his eyes nearly pop out of his head. But its not his hanging teammate that has his heart thumping hard enough to cause discomfort. No, that would be caused by the redheaded woman who is leaning against the trunk with a nonchalant posture and smirk on her face

"You- you're- oh god" he stutters, taking a step back in pure fear. Then gun in his hand shakes wildly as he points it at her

"Go ahead. Use it" she tells him, taking a few quick steps forward

He yelps and pulls the trigger, only for nothing to happen. In his earlier panic he had never taken the safety off, but in his panic now he only continues to pull the trigger as tears blur his vision

She grabs the gun and easily disarms him, tossing it into the darkness. But to her surprise he doesn't give up. Instead he takes a swing at her. She dodges it, and the next two as well before giving a sharp kick to his knee. There is a snap and his leg buckles, sending him to the ground with a shout

"Pathetic" she mumbles to herself as she leans down over him, unsheathing her knife once more, "Let me show you what else I'm capable of"