Author's note: this was another one that was very fun to write >:) It’s rare for me to write a reader who isn’t completely at the characters mercy or under their spell. Pls enjoy and let me know what you think!
ao3 | masterlist
Natalia Romanov, going tonight by Natasha Romanoff, pulls you into her dingy hotel room. Her smile is teasing and her eyes promise a night of pleasure. You hope it still will when you break your illusion of ignorance. The door shuts behind you and she pulls you against her.
“I have something to confess.”
“Something exciting I hope,” her eyes drop to your lips. “I’m very adventurous.”
“I know who you are.”
She stills. “And who is that?”
“Natalie Rushman. Natasha Romanoff. Natalia Romanov. The woman of a thousand faces.”
Natasha’s smile drops. She looks you up and down. You’d done some light altering so she wouldn’t realise immediately. Finally recognition flares. “Someone’s done their research.”
“I can’t look into my fiancé?”
“Potential fiancé.”
You smile. “Potential fiancé,” you allow.
“What else have you found?”
“I know what the Romanov’s require of their spouses.”
Natasha’s eyes flicker to your stomach. “That’s fairly obvious.”
You roll your eyes. “Other than heirs.”
Natasha looks away. “What is that?”
“A partner. One that can help with business.” She raises an eyebrow. “Not an equal,” you allow. No one is equal to the Romanovs. “But someone you can trust . A righthand.”
“I have a righthand already.”
“You have a lefthand,” you dismiss. “You can’t trust her with everything.”
“I can with you?”
“Eventually. I don’t know the ins and outs of your dynasty, family secrets and all, but I can learn. You can trust me.”
“I can?” she asks flatly.
“I’ll earn it. The Romanov Dynasty was at its best when the head could rely fully on her spouse, in everything.”
“It isn’t at its best now?”
“You’re aware of your father’s shortcomings.”
“I could kill you for that,” she says, amused.
“Will you?”
Natasha gives you a considering look.
“My father said I need to make sure my wife can properly please me.”
“Anything else?”
“Fertile.”
You snort. “And he wonders why the Dynasty has sunken.”
“So you can’t?”
“Can’t what?”
“Please me.”
“In everything,” you swear.
“Prove it.”
You drop to your knees. You unlace and pull off her boots and socks before making short work of her belt and jeans. She lets you pull her limbs as you need. You eye her boxer briefs appreciatively.
“In a hurry?” she drawls. You pause with her jeans just below her knees.
“Oh, Natasha likes the tease does she? The build up?” What you could find about Natalia’s previous nightclub guests was that the encounters were quick and dirty but you can play the game. You lean forward and nose at her underwear as you slowly lower her jeans. You meet her eyes and lick slowly over the forming wet patch. Her eyes darken. You pull away with a smile, leaning down to help her step out of her jeans. You place them beside yourself before lightly placing two fingertips on her ankles. You slowly walk them up her legs, smiling to yourself with the way Natasha’s eyes don’t leave yours.
She still hasn’t said anything by the time your reach the waistband of her underwear. You dip your fingertips in and run them along the seam. Her stomach muscle jump and you grin up at her unabashedly before swiftly pulling them off. She huffs but still doesn’t say anything. Deciding to be a bit more bold you trail your fingers down her thighs. You dip them between her thighs before slipping back around to grasp her hips.
“Does Natasha like begging?” You bat your eyelashes. “Oh, please let me eat your cunt, Natasha. Please, I want to so badly.”
Your hands slide down her thighs and you lean your cheek against her boxers. Natasha groans, a mix of annoyance and want. She shoves your head back to shove down her underwear as, finally, her true desires win. She grips your hair and pulls you to her wet cunt.
“You’ll need some better acting skills if you want to be of any help,” she mutters.
You lick through her folds, savouring the taste of her before saying, “Honey, I have plenty.”
“Being a brat then?” She moans as you focus on her clit.
“If that’s how you’d like to think of it,” you murmur.
“You’re going to be a handful.”
Feeling victory run through you, you decide there’s been enough talking for the moment. You want to eat her cunt. You want to feel her fall apart on your tongue. She isn’t stopping you so you decide to stop denying yourself to get in another sly comment. No one was stupid enough to let slip exactly what Natalia likes in the bedroom but you’re observant. You change your movements based on the tightening of her hand in your hair, a sharp inhale, the muscles in her thighs relaxing. Your pace and pressure change but your eagerness doesn’t. You eat her out with the rigour of a person possessed.
Her hand clenches in your hair tight enough to hurt, her legs shake, but all she allows out is a low moan when she comes. You lap up the extra wetness as you help her come down. A final shudder has her releasing your hair and taking a step back. You meet her eyes and lick your lips. Her eyes track the movement.
“What about you?” You tilt your head, not rising from your kneeled position despite the obvious invitation. She tilts her own head questioningly. “Will you be a pleasing wife?” you ask.
“Surely you would have heard something in your research.”
You allow the hint of a smirk. “People often exaggerate for the ego of heirs.”
Natasha’s face hardens. Her hand returns to your hair and one grabs your shoulder as manhandles you up to bend you over the bed.
“Oh, no,” you say with the same exaggeration as earlier, “Are you going to spank me?”
“I’m going to fuck you until you can’t speak.”
Oh. “How terrible. However will I please you when so ruined?”
“You’ll need to be able to think while half-incapacitated if you want to be my right-hand.”
Challenge accepted. “I’m hearing a lot of talking and not a lot of fucking back there.” Natasha slaps your ass hard enough to make you jolt. “Oh, fuck.” You barely hold back a moan. She isn’t meant to know how much this is getting to you yet.
She shoves down your pants along with your underwear and coats her fingers in your wetness.
“You’re talking back a lot for someone’s who’s dripping.”
“Maybe acting like this is what’s making me drip.”
She pushes one finger inside of you and you moan.
“Is that right? Is acting like a desperate little slut turning you on this much?”
“Not—” she pushes in another finger and you cut yourself off with a moan. The stretch feels so good. “Not what I was doing.”
“No?” Her fingers press against your front wall and an embarrassing noise escapes you. “Then what were you doing?”
Admitting it isn’t how your game is played. You can’t think enough for a witty response no matter how hard you’re trying. Her fingers don’t stop moving.
“Well?”
“Pi—pissing you off,” you say which pisses yourself off since it’s such a weak answer. She chuckles lowly.
“Is that how you get what you want? Is pissing off your potential husband how you get a ring on your finger?” She pushes into you with more force and you press back against her.
“I’m definitely getting what I want,” you moan.
That earns you another slap to the ass. Then she curls her fingers and you gasp. Her movements and her words have built you up steadily enough that you’re almost there.
“Is pissing me off going to let you come?” she asks like she can tell.
“Yes,” you say unashamedly.
“Oh, really? Why do you think that?”
“Tit for tat,” you manage. You swear you hear another quiet laugh.
Her free hand leans on your back for leverage and she begins fucking you in earnest. Her fingers push as deeply into you as they can and she scissors them inside of you. You moan and squirm but her weight keeps you still. Your hips push back into every thrust as you reach your peak and tumble over. Natasha guides you through it until only shivers remain. Then she guides you onto the bed and lays down beside you. You blink at her slowly until your brain begins to function again.
“Will you be good for me?” Natasha asks quietly.
“It’s not in my nature,” you say honestly, although you can’t quite stop the teasing tone your voice takes.
“Will you submit to me?”
“Only to you,” you vow.
“Have you submitted to others?”
“Never out of a scene.”
“You’ll submit to me then,” she lifts your chin. “No scene, no game, no play. Submit truly and wholly as yourself.”
“I will,” you promise. She raises an eyebrow as she waits. “This feels awfully like a scene.”
The corner of her mouth ticks up. “Another time then.”
“Only if you take me as yours.”
“A good fuck can’t ensure trust,” she points out. You draw your eyes away from her glistening body.
“One can always trust another’s desires and greed.”
“And what is your greatest desire?”
“Power,” you breathe. “The ability to carry out any threat I want to make. Safety. I will be second only to you. I want nothing more. Killing you won’t give me your power, only blood can take your place, so you can trust that all my interests are yours.”
“And what are you greedy for?”
“Flesh.” You dip your head to run your nose up her neck. “Blood.” You scrape your teeth over her skin. “The look in a man’s eyes when he realises how completely fucked he is.”
Natasha’s eyes are lidded when you meet them.
“I don’t expect you to trust me, Natasha. Not for a long time. I expect you to test me until you do. I have no allegiances outside of my own wants. My family can rot. Say yes and I will give you my everything.”
Natasha leans close enough to brush her lips against yours. “Yes.”
Hello! This is an interest check for a Natasha-centric week event that will take place in October or November 2026.
This initial assessment is for us to have an idea of how many people are interested in participating, as well as to vote on the exact dates of the event.
You can access the interest form by clicking here, or copying and pasting the following address on your browser: https://forms.gle/9gGbocz9RsQMF4pe7
The form will be up until June 18th.
If you have any questions, the askbox is open (anon is on).
The mods of this event are @/system-of-cells-interlinked and @/snowberriesromanoff
authors note 1: this is written for the MCU version of Nat
authors note 2: unlike my usual works, this is not a reader insert
warnings: somewhat graphic violence(blood, broken nose, crushed throat, strangulation, neck breaking, shooting, death of a pregnant woman)
word count: 2,059
Day 5 Natasha Romanoff Week
Natasha Masterlist Marvel Masterlist
“принеси мне Наталью(bring me Natalia)”
The guard by the door nods before leaving to follow his order. He travels through the long echoing halls of the old building, passing by rooms that have been turned into a variety of things. Classrooms, dance halls, shooting ranges, computer labs, gyms, training arenas, sleeping quarters, cafeterias, medical bays. The Red Room was a very well equipped and state of the art facility.
After a few more hallways the guard comes to stop and opens a door, entering one of the arenas. The ring is surrounded by a Madame and her pupils, and inside the ring two women spar. The brunette appears to be a young Widow called Polina, but the redhead is unmistakably Natalia. He dares not interrupt a lesson though, instead he stands back and watches. Each of the girls is battered and bruised, but Natalia is faring much better. And why wouldn't she? She was Dreykovs best pupil, the star of the Red Room. She has yet to fail a single mission, and her ledger is drenched in blood. He knows she'll make quick work of the other girl.
The women circle each other, assessing the other, looking for weak spots and trying to gauge when the time to strike would be best. Polina moves first, throwing a punch that Natalia easily dodges, and she throws one of her own. There's a small crunch as the brunettes nose is broken, and she staggers back, leaving a trail of blood drops on the floor. Natalia smirks and with a quick sweep of her leg Polina hits the concrete floor. The slam of her head on the ground is enough to keep her dazed and down, leaving her open and vulnerable. And that's just something a Widow should never be.
The Madame frown and with a voice as cold as steel she gives her command, "Финиш ее (finish her)"
Natalias eyes flash with something akin to eagerness as she prepares to strike. Weapons weren't allowed in this fight, but she didn't need a weapon, she was one. She steps closer to where the Polina lays and before the brunette can scramble to her feet Natalias boot is pressing down on her larynx. The girls eyes widen in fear and as Natalia adds more pressure she starts to gasp for air and claw at the redheads leg. But Natalia only presses harder and watches the fight slowly leaving her as oxygen deprivation takes its toll.
"Please don't" she manages to whisper out in a desperate plea
For a moment the furrow of Natalias brow softens and the darkness in her eyes clears, but she quickly catches herself. Her upper lip curls in a snarl and she presses all her weight down onto Polinas throat. A sickening sound fills the room causing most of the younger girls to flinch or gasp. She quickly turns away from her now dead opponent, looking too long still made her nauseous and she couldn't afford to let that show, especially not in front of a Madame.
"Natalia" a mans voice calls out into the room, and shes grateful for the break in the silence. Silence after a kill sets her on edge, it allows her mind to wander too much, it allows guilt to try and seep in. But shes working on being better. Weapons don't feel guilty or remorse, "Come with me"
She follows without hesitation and remains silent, by now she knows better than to speak without first being spoken to. Eventually he starts to lead her down an all too familiar hallway, and she feels her stomach twist as the door to Dreykovs office comes into view. Unfortunately for her, he had set his eyes upon her ever since she returned from her Ohio mission as a child. And shes found that being in his presence has never gotten any easier. The way he looks at her, touches her, makes her skin crawl. But she cannot do anything about it, shes tried plenty but no matter what she cannot harm him. No Widow can. So she has resigned herself to being his pawn, his plaything, his weapon. And it is better to live that way than to not live at all.
"Не заставляй его ждать.(Don't keep him waiting)" the guard tells her as he opens the door
Dreykov gestures towards a chair in front of his desk. She does as shes told and keeps her gaze upon his desk instead of his face, its easier to look at. But he's not having that. He comes around from behind his desk and tilts her chin up as he leans in, "You did good in the ring today Natalia"
His words cause opposing emotions to swirl inside her. Pride for having done something appropriately, but also disgust for doing something that would gain his approval. She hated him, wanted him dead, and yet….nothing felt better than knowing he was proud of her.
"I have an assignment for you" he tells her, finally letting go of her chin in order to sit back down at his desk. He opens a file and slides it to her, "Your target is quite influential, you might have even heard of him. Oliver Hansen"
Natalia had heard of him, briefly. He was a rich CEO type, but by all accounts he wasn't greedy or corrupt. He donated to multiple charities and had even started one of his own. Didn't seem the type to warrant an assassination by a Red Room Widow. Regardless she would do as requested of her.
"Oliver has been cleaning up things he shouldn't be. And to ensure the message is clear to anyone else, you're to take out his wife too. Our client wants it clean, precise. In and out, no mess." he explains, pausing before dropping his last words like a brick, "Irina will be going with you"
She had worked with Iriana before. The girl was smart, agile, precise. But all Widows were. She wasn't special, didn't exceed Natalia's own expertise of skill. And a partner wasn't needed for something so easy. Her eyes narrow as she speaks, "I can handle it on my own"
"Oh I know you can" he chuckles, "But Irina has disappointed me. So I look to you to keep her in check"
Natalia understands what he doesn't plainly say. This is Irina's second chance, her only chance. And she will be the one to decide if the young Widow uses it appropriately.
A day later she finds herself on the outskirts of the Hansen estate. So far nothing was off with Irina. They had exchanged standard pleasantries, and silently assessed each other to ensure they had each others back. They had prepared for the mission, gone over the plans, grabbed their gear and left. Nothing abnormal. But Natalia knew better than to let her guard down.
"Оставайтесь на связи и дайте мне знать, если что-то пойдет не по плану.(Stay in contact and let me know if things don't go according to plan)"
The younger Widow nods and they each go their separate ways. The client hadn't said anything about the security guards so the two widows had agreed to let them live as long as they don't see anything or interfere. And truthfully there wasn't many of them anyway, she doubts they'll be an obstacle.
It's far too easy to gain entrance to the home and find Oliver's office. Its obvious he thought he had no enemies and was careless. But oh how wrong he was. She quietly shuts the office door behind her and makes her way over to where he stands at a filing cabinet, his back facing her. She reaches for her belt and grabs her garrote. She surges forward and quickly wraps the cord around his throat and pulls it tight. He lets out a small sound of surprise before choking. His hands desperately clutch and grab at his throat, but with the wire starting to slice into his flesh he has no way of grabbing it.
The blood dripping down his neck has him panicking more than the lack of oxygen, and he attempts to elbow his attacker. Natalia easily shifts away from his weak attempt and with a swift kick to the back of his knee she causes him to fall. She hopes the thud of his knees on the hardwood goes unheard and decides to quicken things along. She pulls even harder, causing Oliver to reach back in a last ditch effort to grab her hands, but after a few more seconds his limbs go limp and he goes slack in her hold. She carefully untangles the garrote from his neck before grabbing his head in both hands, and with one hash tug to the right, his neck snaps
After ensuring his body is obscured behind his desk in order to buy them enough time, she makes her way to check on her "partner". It doesn't take long, shes in the bedroom with Oliver's wife. The woman's eyes are wide and shes crying silently as she stares at the gun Irina is holding. But for some strange reason, the young widow hasn't yet pulled the trigger
"сделай это(do it)" Natalia commands, her presence making the target jump
Irina still hesitates and turn slightly to look at the older Widow, "Но она беременна.(But she is with child"
Natalia steps further into the room to get a better look at Mrs. Hansen, and sure enough her belly is protruding ever so slightly. For a split second she feels a tug in her chest, a sick feeling in her own stomach as she watches the woman cradle the swell of her stomach
"Please" she whimpers, "Take whatever you want, valuables, money….just don't hurt us"
Irina looks to Natalia once more and she realizes she must be the one to act. She swallows the lump in her throat and steps forward, grabbing for the gun that her "partner" has carelessly started to lower. She nods at Irina , who takes a step back as she releases the weapon. Once its in Natalias hands she quickly looks it over, and before either of the other two women in the room can even comprehend what happened, she raises it, aims and fires. The silencer had done its job, but the womans body made quite the thud. It made Irina flinch and was sure to draw someones attention.
"Двигаться. Сейчас.(Move. Now.)" she commands, brushing past the stunned Widow
Irina quickly follows, not daring to make any sounds or take her attention off the older Widow. Once outside of the grounds its clear what they had just done was discovered, if the shouting was anything to go by. Once back at their drop of point a few miles away the two women pause briefly to check their gear over.
Irina nervously plays with her thumbs, "I am sorry, I…I froze"
"You are soft. Too soft." Natalia retorts, taking a step forward, "You are weak"
The younger woman flinches and her voice quivers, "I…I know. I…I just need more time, more training"
Natalia scoffs, and gestures to the SUV waiting in the clearing. Irina quickly starts walking, not wanting to risk further pissing off Dreykovs finest pupil. She doesn't even hear the gun unholster, doesn't feel the bullet enter the back of her skull, isn't aware of how her body crumples down onto the forest floor.
But Natalia is aware of everything, and somewhere in the back of her mind guilt naws at her. This girl had known her to some degree, had trusted her to have her back, had even felt safe enough to turn her back to her. She lets out a deep sigh as she screws her eyes shut, she had to do this. It was merciful even. Had she not taken it into her own hands like Dreykov expected, Irina would have been made an example of, the torture would have been nearly endless until Dreykov finally got bored. No, it had to be this way…at least that's what she tells herself in the hopes that it allows her to sleep tonight
She opens her eyes and heads for the SUV, stepping over the body and letting out a whisper only the wind hears, "До свидания(Goodbye)"
the story behind this is, it was pointed out to me that Nat has a pair of point shoes on the chair next to her when Steve visits her at the Compound at the start of Endgame, and throughout the first half of the movie she always has her left leg elevated resting on a table.
i don’t know shit about ballet so i’m really sorry if anything makes no sense😭
The studio was freezing and silent. She knew from days, weeks past that it would remain that way for hours. No matter how hard she worked, she set the temperature to always keep her cold. No matter how quick she moved, her training assured that she wouldn’t make a sound — that just wouldn’t do. Old habits die hard, as they say, and if Natasha so much as landed with a soft pat on the waxed wooden floor, she’d force herself to go another hour at least.
She turned out her knee and spun, as many pirouettes as she could, staring down her reflection in the mirrors. When she eventually lost her momentum, Natasha would — silently — come down on the flats of her feet, take a breath, and go again. Over and over.
Eventually the pirouettes and fouettés would stop doing what she needed. Natasha would move on to a variation — the most challenging one she could think of in the moment — and she would run it from memory, without music. Silent. Over and Over. Then she’d switch to another variation, and the same process repeats.
By the time she gets through two or three rounds of a her first variation, Natasha is absolutely parched, but she doesn’t drink. She keeps up her perfectly controlled movements even as her tongue dries in her mouth.
You must never show your weaknesses; if you do not remain composed on a mission, it will cost you your life.
Whether that be in the field or in the Red Room, it didn’t matter. Discipline is everything. Control is everything. Practice, gruelling practice, makes it easier.
As Natasha came back en pointe, she felt a quick build of pressure, followed by a searing pain. It stunted her breathing and almost made her stumble in its unexpectedness.
A cracked toenail.
Natasha could feel heat spreading through her left big toe, something wet and sticky rolling down it. It had been a while since she’d cracked a nail, but she had been used to it at one point. It had slowed her performance, once; made her sloppy. After that, she was better at dealing with the pain in her feet — it was better than the punishments for imperfection.
It was punishment now. She wasn’t stupid, she knew she was punishing herself with this — endless rehearsal through thirst and pain. She was using something that maybe, if things had been different, she could’ve found beauty in, something that had caused her so much pain in her younger years, that causes distress and pain now.
She deserved it.
Stepping into that studio, lacing her ankles in pink ribbons, going through her memory to find a variation. This wasn’t just a physical punishment. Being here, doing this, made her heart race more than any battle. She felt like she was being inspected, like the crack of a whip was one misstep away.
And she deserved every second of it.
They had failed in Wakanda. It cost half the universe. It cost half her friends. It cost her baby sister. Thousands of cracked toenails could never make up for that.
So she’d keep dancing, running variation after variation in the freezing studio with no music and no water. She deserved punishment. She deserved worse than this.
