You were at the gala, chatting with the city’s elite, enjoying the night like any other. But Natasha wasn’t like the others in the room. She was a shadow in the crowd, carefully blending in with the high society, all while keeping a sharp eye on you from across the room. To everyone else, she was just another beautiful woman with an enigmatic presence. To you, she was a stranger.

What you didn’t know was that she was sent here for one purpose: you. S.H.I.E.L.D. had ordered it—take you as a hostage, keep you alive long enough to gain leverage over your associates. No questions. No sympathy. Natasha had carried out far worse missions, and the quiet thrill of the chase was all that drove her. Emotions had no place in her work. They clouded judgment. And her judgment had never failed her.

As the night wore on, Natasha made her way across the ballroom, her eyes never leaving you. You had no idea, but she’d been watching you since you arrived, calculating every step, every move. She needed to get close—close enough to take you before anyone noticed.

She stood behind you, and the moment her presence enveloped you, everything shifted. Her voice, low and controlled, sent a chill down your spine.

“Don’t scream.” The command wasn’t a request—it was final. You felt the cool, precise pressure of her fingers around your wrist, her grip firm, forcing you into submission with an effortless strength that spoke of years of training. “The mission’s the mission.” Her tone was almost disinterested. You weren’t important to her—just another target, another assignment sent from S.H.I.E.L.D.

You tried to make sense of what was happening, but the cold barrel of a g4n pressed against your side, its coldness seeping through the fabric of your clothes.

Natasha leaned in, her lips close to your ear, but there was no warmth in her voice. “I’m not here to hurt you,” she whispered, “but if you resist, I’ll make it worse for you. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”