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keepingitformyself · 8 days ago

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i audibly gasped thrice when reading this (i counted)

REGIMES FALL EVERYDAY: PROLOGUE

series masterlist

synopsis → 5.4k intro chapter to the series…your mission to take down the nameless assassin doesn't go according to plan.

warnings → violence/graphic violence, trauma, dark themes, guilt (emotional/psychological distress), death and murder, betrayal, red room mentions, lmk if i missed anything!

notes → hi this is my first series…i hope you guys enjoy!! (Blyat’ = fuck)

The smell of stale cigarette smoke and carpet cleaner circled the room like a tidal wave. Even with the windows cracked, the smell lingered—the kind of stench that’d cling to your clothes if you were in the room for more than five minutes. You were now seriously regretting not fighting Fury on his choice of hotel. Of course, he’d picked the more modest choice rather than the more luxurious hotel where the banquet you were currently monitoring was being held.

You rubbed the side of your nose and looked around the dimly lit room. Maria was a few feet away from you at the desk, one of the few amenities provided by the management, setting up surveillance of the banquet on one of the three computer monitors. Fury stood in the corner of the room, stoically looking out at the streets of Budapest in front of the lone window.

“God, that smell is singing off my nose hairs,” Clint said as he stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in a clean, freshly pressed suit. His previous attire—black long sleeve and a pair of jeans—was rolled into a ball under his arm.

Maria huffed as she finally managed to crack into the surveillance of the ballroom. “Well, the proximity made it much easier for the hotel’s Wi-Fi to reach here,” she said, standing up after being hunched over a chair for a few minutes. Everyone was exhausted. The plane ride over had been anything but relaxing, sitting in the same section with a crying baby between the rows you’d been in for 10 hours, meant you were all running off fumes of coffee and maybe 2 hours of sleep.

You shook your head with a smile at Clint’s words, sitting on the edge of the squeaky bed, reading over the file you’d already memorized. Your own research, printed neatly in dark black lines of pretty Times New Roman font.

Your search for more information about the Widow program had taken months—days of looking through data files, footage, and interviews—that led you here. You’d been looking through assassinations that followed specific patterns that these “Widows” used. Seduce, entrance, kill. Their MO was what you tracked for months before you caught a more specific pattern in the kills. That’s what led you to her. There were many women in the program, but this one was… different.

She stood out, whether it was the effectiveness and brutality of her kills—it called out to you. The way she skillfully ended someone’s life and purposely made them suffer made you realize that, more than a handful of the cases had to have come from the same trained hand.

After graduating with your degree in Criminal Justice from University and following your father’s footsteps, joining S.H.I.E.L.D., doing years of training, skill practice, and missions upon hours of service brought you to where you were now—a ranked seven teammate who had the ability to go through years of evidence and that now, had enough research and concrete data to bring this case up to your superiors, who sent you in to take this assassin out on her next kill.

The assassin’s kills had been on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s radar for years, but only after extensive profiling and investigating, you were the one who connected the dots, found her, and had a backed-up theory about who her next victim would be.

She went under many aliases: Katya, Vesna, Nicholya, Lida, Nataliya, but you found her.

Her kills were more than just skilled; they were calculated. She offered herself off to these men in power, and, of course, they followed her like dogs wherever she took them. Her method was key to finding her. Many men wanted a submissive woman, and she played the part perfectly, that’s what got them hooked.

You’d become obsessed with finding her—your nameless, faceless assassin.

“The smell isn’t that bad once you get used to it,” Fury said from his spot at the window. “Smells kinda earthy to me.”

His words knocked you out of your spiral, making you huff and set the manila file down. “That would be the mold,” you corrected. You knew to keep the war inside your head just that—inside your head. You'd never let that affect the way you worked or the efficiency of your skills, you’d gone through so much just to fuck up now.

“Or mildew,” Clint added as he moved to stand in front of a mirror to straighten out his suit and put on his bow tie. You smiled and stood to wipe your hands on your pantsuit as you moved past the glowing computer monitors and walked to where he was standing to help him adjust the tie.

“Mildew or mold,” he sighs and looks toward the horizon of the setting sun before adding, “The internet is strong, and vision is clear. Plus, we have access to cameras within a 10-mile radius,” Fury said as he turned and moved toward the monitor setup. “If she runs, we’ll know where to.” He added as Maria moved to grab Clint’s comms device.

“I won’t let her get the chance to,” Clint said nonchalantly as you moved to stand in front of him—the man who’d really, truly helped you and took you under his wing as a newbie, helping you climb the ladder to get to where you were now—his equal in rank.

He smiled, seeing you stand before him, take the tie from his hands, and start to assemble it yourself, just like you had observed people do all through your youth.

“You’re going to need to learn how to tie these yourself one day,” you said as you wrung the fabric through the loops with practiced ease.

“Not when I have you to help,” he said, making you smile and roll your eyes playfully before you finished and adjusted it to his liking.

“That feel fine?” you asked, meeting his eyes and seeing him nod.

He took your hand before you could remove it from the fabric. “He’d be proud of you. Your dad. He’d be proud of you for accomplishing this,” he said, making you pause momentarily.

The assassination of your father wasn't something hard for you to talk about. It hurt, but you'd always dreamed of finding the people responsible and getting justice for your father—that’s the real reason you’d gone after the Widows, the women’s kill method was too similar to his own passing.

The heat of his chest seeping through his shirt and into your hand, brought you out of your trance. Clint knew. He knew what this case meant to you, how hard you’d worked, how much you’d sacrificed to finally get to this point. He got it—more than anyone ever would.

You nodded with a soft smile. “Yeah… yeah, I know he would be,” you said before Maria came up behind you with the comms device in her hands.

“Clint, this is yours—one in the left ear. Make sure it’s snug. The point is that no one sees them,” Maria said as she handed him the small earpiece. He adjusted it, showing her the positioning, and she gave a curt nod in approval.

“That’s your good ear, right?” she asked, making him huff while nodding. You turned to her with a raised brow.

“What? I had to ask and make sure,” she responded, already walking away, making you chuckle before she slipped back behind the monitor and spoke into a mic.

“Hawkeye, you copy?” Her words crisply came through the device into Clint’s ear, making him nod. She smiled before pulling up the ballroom footage.

“Remember, if we want to get her, we do not engage under any circumstances. We want her out of there and away from the public eye,” you turned to her with a confused face.

The whole point of catching her was to stop the killing, and here you were, apparently willing to let her kill another man for the benefit of who-knows-who. Clint’s eyes met your own with a questioning look. “We’re going to let her kill him?” you asked, breaking eye contact and looking at Fury.

“We can’t engage,” he repeated, making your brows furrow further. Were you really going to do this? Was finding the person responsible for your father’s demise worth killing another man? You turned back to Clint, his jaw tensing and his face hardening slightly as he took in Fury’s words while looking at the man.

“This is a highly sought-out, invitation-only party. These people are influential. S.H.I.E.L.D. cannot risk exposing itself like that.” You shook your head and scoffed in disbelief.

“That’s the deal,” he said, saying your name. “Collateral, in order to make sure it’s her.” Your stomach churned. “Barton goes in alone. Standard surveillance. Identify the target, confirm the pattern, and track movements. No engagement until we’re certain. Or we pack it up now.” You swallowed down an argument and looked down to avoid eye contact with them both, nodding—you were not screwing this up now. Fuck morals.

Clint cleared his throat, making you look up and watch as he followed your movements and nodded with the plan. He looked up, met your gaze, and flicked his head up, silently asking if you were okay. You pursed your lips and smiled before he moved toward the door, picked up the suitcase with his tactical weapons, and turned the handle of the door slowly before stepping into the hallway and out of sight.

“Okay, now around this corner should be the entrance,” you said as the three of you watched Clint through the cameras and tracked him through the hotel—a red dot traveling through the building.

“Uh, yeah, duh. I looked at the map,” Clint responded as he turned the corner and showed up on the screen projecting the camera footage. He smiled at the security guards as he told them his alias and walked into the party.

“Now, where’s the bathroom?” he asked as he looked around, and we saw a switch to the camera inside the party, showing him standing by the entrance and looking around.

“Thought you’d looked at the map?” Maria responded, making you smile.

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” you said, meeting her eyes and smiling at her before she closed her eyes and smiled back in acknowledgment.

Fury huffed before getting closer to the microphone. “No time for the little boys' room, Barton. Look for the target,” he said, reminding you of the mission's purpose. We saw Clint nod in acknowledgment as he walked toward the bar and asked for some sort of drink.

“She should look inconspicuous, Clint, like she’s supposed to be there, but younger, pretty,” you said, looking through the crowd pictured on the screen.

“I see a blonde, brunette, and a redhead,” Clint said, raising the glass to his lips and looking over the rim. Your eyes scanned the room for said women and clicked to find the camera angles that showed each of them more clearly.

“Got them,” Maria said, looking at your monitor and seeing the women clearly. “Watch and see who approaches the man of the hour,” Fury instructed.

The group watched as the women moved around the party, grabbing drinks and going from arm to arm, but none of the three approached the man who the event was organized for—Emil Morozov, market investor and owner of one of the best medical research centers in Europe, who had, had a breakthrough in his “cancer research.” In reality, the real people who took charge and were responsible for the innovations were unnamed in his book.

Maria calls out your name, “Why are they after him exactly?” She says while looking at the screen and finding him with his wife on his arm, a drink in his hand, standing and speaking to some other rich and important-looking men.

“Uhh, we’re not entirely sure, really. He seemed to fit the profile for her usual victims, though, so I thought he would be our best bet. I’m guessing he stepped over a line he wasn’t supposed to with this breakthrough,” you say as you open the file and read out some notes you had taken, scribbling a few more down regarding him and his appearance.

Maria nods in understanding as she turns to look at Fury, who has pulled out his own file and was studying the gathered profile you’d created for the unnamed assassin.

“Blonde is on the move,” everyone collectively sits up, Fury setting the file down as the group watches the tanned woman move toward Emil, who was now looking directly at her. He takes her in before she turns at the last second to the table beside them, gripping a man’s shoulder, making him turn. His eyes light up in recognition as she smiles up at him. He kisses her cheek in return, making you groan from the other side of the monitor.

“It’s not the blonde. She had a clear entrance and didn’t take it,” Clint says, making you lean back in the chair and let your head fall back in frustration.

Patience, you thought. Just be patient.

“Redhead is putting her drink down,” Clint’s voice breaks through the silence of the room.

“Is she moving?” you ask as you close your eyes and bring an arm up to cover your forehead.

You were never going to find her.

“Subject, looks like she’s heading for our man of the hour.” Your head picks up, your arm now on the table as you sit up.

“What?” you say, looking at the screen as her face comes into view, approaching the group of men in suits, tapping Morozov on the shoulder, and giving him a shimmering smile.

Time freezes for a second as you struggle to take this moment in. The face of the widow you’d been tracking for months was finally in front of you. Her gaze is intimidating as she grips Morozov’s arm and smiles at whatever he’s saying, making him wrap his free arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him unknowingly. The way her full lips tip to the side makes you gulp. At this moment, you now understood just how these women’s tactics worked so well.

“This is her,” you clear your throat and realize just how close you’d gotten to the monitor. You back up and straighten your back, turning and looking at Fury in silent question of what Clint’s next move should be.

“Barton, do not engage,” he says, leaning down to get a better look at the woman on screen. “Let her do what she must.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding at his words as your eyes trail back to the screen and take in her appearance.

Her red hair striking over the green dress she wore. The dip in the neckline gives just enough view to be appropriate yet still seductive. You wondered how she went unnoticed when, to you, she was anything but. She was… pretty, aggravatingly so.

“I’ll follow her once they start moving,” he says, looking up and staring at the camera closest to him as if to signal to the group that he was ready.

You breathe in shakily as you find it almost impossible to tear your eyes away from the screen where the widow was pictured.

“Good, Barton, just stick to the plan,” Fury responds after giving a curt nod at the monitor.

“Follow orders.”

You follow as you watch the woman entrance the man into following her out of the ballroom and into the hallway where Clint follows discreetly. Her arm tucked into his and his eyes staring down her dress as she throws her head back, feigning intoxication.

“Oh, she's good,” María states from behind you as you both observe how she grips the man’s arm as they enter the elevator.

“Killing people is her job. Of course, she’s good at it,” you scoff and watch as the doors close on them, and Clint steps into frame, heading for the stairs. After you give him the floor number where they got off, he races to reach them as they exit.

“Clint, they’re about to get off,” you say, scooting closer to the monitor as you watch the door to the stairs open before the elevator does, as well, in another frame.

“They’re heading to room 16F,” you say as he pulls out his key and unlocks the door. She follows in behind him before the door closes behind them. Clint shows up on frame as if on cue as the pair go into the room.

“It’s the waiting game now,” Clint says as he exhales and catches his breath after rushing up 7 floors. “God, I am out of shape,” he says, making you smirk.

“Dad bod hitting you, Bart?” you ask teasingly as you watch him throw up a middle finger at the camera in the corner of the hallway in which you were watching him.

“She’s heading out.” Clint’s voice reverberates through the speakers, making the three of you spring into action and move closer to the glow of the screen.

An hour had passed, the room now alit by the bedside lamps and the bathroom light. The sun had set earlier, and the start of daylight savings was sabotaging the mission that you'd planned. It would be harder to track her in the dark, and much darker to find Clint if something were to happen to him.

“Clint, be careful. She might not be as predictable as we think,” you say, sitting up straighter. These killers had taken your dad—what would you do if they took your friend, one of your closest friends?

“I got it… she’s moving into the elevator dressed in black and has red hair. She’s not hard to miss.”

You move close and take control of the mouse before María can, and find the right camera to spot her coming out of the elevator. Clint pops out of the stairs, discreetly following behind her. You all track her and him as they go through back roads and alleyways of the city to end up in an apartment complex that looked older than both of them combined. Cameras around the area were sparse, but enough to watch as Clint watches her go on the elevator. He sits in the lobby inconspicuously.

“Clint, she’s on the 9th floor,” María says as you switch to the hallway camera’s view of the floor and see her unlock and step into the last apartment on the edge of the building.

“Last apartment on the right,” you add and watch from another screen as Clint gets up and walks to the building beside the one he was just in. He manages to find the roof exit and is now set up, watching through the open window of the apartment on the ninth floor, on the far right.

“Target spotted,” he says as he settles into a crouch and directs the arrow from his bow to the target’s head.

“She’s in the kitchen, a few feet away from the window,” he adds.

“Is she aware that you're watching her?” Fury asks as he bends over the backs of María and your chairs.

“Not sure, but I have a clear shot,” he says, and you hear him scoot over the gravel of the roof and angle himself better.

“Take it.” You hype and lean forward, watching his form from a camera’s view from one of the first floors of a building on the same street.

“Clint, take it,” Fury says after giving you a glare.

You watch as Clint pulls the arrow back, and hear him take an inhale and exhale sharply as he releases the bow and watches it travel through the window, disappearing from sight.

“Fuck,” Clint curses and stands up quickly, grabbing another arrow and creating a zip line from his building to hers.

“Barton, what happened?” María asks, grabbing the mouse before you could and watching as he slides down into the apartment.

“She ducked,” he says, as the sound of his feet hitting the ground hard is heard. “She dodged the fucking arrows.” The crunching of glass is heard as you turn to the other monitor and watch his tracker flow through the building.

There is a beat of silence, just the sound of Clint’s breath before a shout and then muffled grunts and groans come through the speaker. He was being attacked. He was being attacked by a widow.

You feel the air buzz with adrenaline as you all spring into action.

“Hill,” Fury says, making her turn to him before he gives her a curt nod. “It’s time,” he adds. She nods in return and moves to grab a suitcase from beneath the bed.

This case wasn’t one you knew they had brought. It was a weapons case, and by the looks of it, it had enough for all of you and then some. Hill starts pulling out guns and begins handing one to you before arming herself and handing another to Fury.

“What’s happening?” you ask as you open the gun and see a full magazine in it. You look up to make eye contact with both of them.

“If she gets him, we’re next,” Fury responds. “We have to leave now and get to Clint as soon as we can.” Your blood runs cold as you take in his words.

It wasn’t a question. This woman—this widow—will kill Clint, and will come after you once she’s done.

The noises of the struggle suddenly end with a shout and a grunt.

“I got her,” Clint says, breathing heavily, the sound of a woman screaming heard in the background.

“Clint?” you ask, grabbing the mic.

“I’m fine. She’s on the ground with her hands tied behind her back,” he says as you hear her continue to struggle. “She got me good, though.”

“We’re on our way,” Fury states before we hear a noise of acknowledgment from Clint before a small intake of breath is heard, and then a short moment of silence.

“Fuck,” Clint says, making us all turn to the speaker. “Fuck, I—” he says.

“Barton?” Fury asks. “Is everything okay?”

“I can’t do this… Fuck,” he says, the girl’s shouts fading into heavy breathing. “She’s—” he takes a moment before taking in some air. “She’s just a kid. I can’t do this,” he says before a click is heard, and the line goes dead.

Static-filled silence is all that can be heard for a few beats before you speak, “What?” You say, picking up the mic. “Clint?” You ask. “Barton?” You grip the mic and call out to him, waiting for a response but hear nothing in return. You feel your blood run cold as you hold the mic with trembling fingers—adrenaline still beating inside you.

Maria immediately moves to the monitor and checks on his tracker. The blinking red dot you once saw was now long gone from the screen.

“He disabled his tracker,” she says, “He's gone.”

The porridge on the stove bubbled gently as she stirred, her thoughts far from the food her body desperately needed.

Another kill. Another target. Another mission. Another body. More red on her ledger.

Her stomach twisted as her appetite suddenly dissipates. She moves to grab a glass of water, the cool breeze of air making the side pieces of red hair she’d left out of her braid tickle the sides of her face.

She turns and leans on the counter, her back to the cabinets behind her and closes her eyes. She’d leave tomorrow, back to her home—the closest thing she had to one.

Dreykov had personally given her the task to take out this man, apparently finding the cure to cancer didn’t benefit the head of the Red Room academy.

Wasn't her problem, though. She had a mission. It's all that mattered, she'd done what she needed—what she had to do.

No place in this world.

She takes a long gulp of water as she opens her eyes and looks up at the plain wall in front of her, suddenly feeling the hairs on the back of her neck stand.

She was being watched, she knew this feeling. Felt it every day at night when cameras surveyed them while they slept, felt it when she would train and eyes of her superiors watched her take out her opponents. It was a trusted sixth sense she had.

She felt the air on the cheeks of her face and stays still before hearing the swoosh of something in the air and ducks, narrowly avoiding the double arrows that were aimed at her chest.

“Blyat’,” she grunts as she falls on her knees, the arrow breaking the windows and leaving shattered glass scattered on the floor. She grunts as she crawls across the floor of the kitchen and to the living room, her knees dragging across the pieces of glass.

She manages to stand with a wince and run to the corner, shutting off the lights of the apartment, hiding in the crevice of a bookshelf and a corner. Her green eyes trained to see in minimal light, making it easy to spot when her assailant glides into the room and speaks out loud into a microphone. He has more people with him, she notes, crawling behind a chair and waiting for him to get closer.

Once his bottom half comes into view, she sweeps her leg aming at his knees, his legs fold under him, and he falls to the ground with a groan. She stands and grabs his arm, twisting it behind him before he grabs her hair with his free hand and pulls her off of him, making her scream in pain.

He stands and holds her in a chokehold before she turns her body in his grip and knees him between the legs, then runs toward a wall to kick herself from it and manages to whip her legs around his shoulders, ending up on top of him, knocking him over before she can hold him between her thighs.

He scrambles away and takes gulps of air, moving to stand as she moves toward him again and pulls his foot, bringing him to his knees, and she wraps her arm around his neck, flexing her arm and tightening her hold. She feels him running out of air and smiles to herself before he suddenly stands and throws her over his shoulder, making her land on her back and knock the air out of her.

Her autopilot goes off as she flips over and gasps for air, trying to move away but is pulled back by her foot. She turns to kick the man in the face but misses, and he grabs her other leg and flips her onto her stomach.

Alarms blare in her head. How does she escape? How can she make this man follow the directions, not those of the people he works for? Who does he work for? A million questions fly through her head as she feels him grab both of her arms and tie them behind her back, sitting on her, his body weight on her lower half.

She thinks back to all of her training sessions and recalls none of the methods to escaping this form of restriction and moves below him, trying to free herself, and screams.

“I’m fine, she’s on the ground and with her hands tied behind her back,” the man says from above her, his breathing heavy on her neck as she wiggles around. The only thing she can think of to make him fall off of her, she tries kicking, but he moves to tie her ankles, and she groans and continues to scream. If he doesn't move, maybe the people that live on her floor can intervene once they hear her… maybe?

She turns to see that he is standing above her with each foot beside her. Her breaths come in short quips as she tries to calm herself, to think the situation though. quite plainly she already knew. she was fucked.

She feels him lean down and sees his fingers come into view. She prepares herself to strain her neck and get a good look at his face, but before she can, she feels his fingertips gently move her red hair from her face.

Green crashes with blue as their eyes meet, and his widen slightly as his face morphs into one of concern.

“Fuck,” he removes his hand from her and wipes it across his face. “I can’t do this… Fuck,” he says, making her brows furrow. He wasn’t going to kill her? Why?

“She’s—” she watches as he gathers his words before turning down to look at her and make eye contact. “She’s just a kid, I can’t—I can't do this.”

He says as he reaches into his ear and pulls the microphone out and crushes it beneath his foot, and takes a chip from his tactical suit and crushes that too.

She watches him with curious eyes as he looks back at her. What did he want from her?

He moves to turn her over and drags her to a chair, leaning her on it so she’s facing him but is still tied. He sits on the floor in front of her.

“What’s your name?” She doesn't respond and furrows her brows. He scoffs. “Of course, you’re not going to tell me that—fuck.” He looks at the ground and then meets her eyes again.

“How old are you?” he asks, as she clears her throat.

“Twenty-three,” she says, and she wiggles to move her hands and see if she can untie herself.

“How long have you been working for the Red Room?” he asks, and she stops and stares before he clarifies, “My people know alla bout it...I want to help you, if you let me,” he says before taking a breath. “Do you want a way out?” he asks, and she pauses and stares.

“You won’t get in trouble. This isn’t some sort of test. I was sent to kill you, and I didn’t follow specific orders, so I’m pretty fucked in every possible way in this situation.” He shakes his head and looks up.

“My whole life,” she finds the words leaving her mouth, her Russian accent heavy on the English words. “I’ve been a part of the Red Room my whole life,” she says, and she sits up straighter and manages to untie the rope but leaves her hands behind her back. She didn’t feel threatened—this man, whoever he was, was not a threat, and he's stupid to think she wasn’t even when tied up.

“Your whole life?” he asks with furrowed brows.

She nods. “It’s my home,” she states, the words sour on her tongue. It wasn't true—it was what was ingrained into her since the start her interrogation training.

Give them enough to not think of you as a threat, but hold the truth back.

“Do you want to go back?” he asks, her eyes trained on him as he moves to untie the rope binding her legs together and sits back again.

“The fact that you haven’t killed me yet tells me you don’t want to,” he continues and looks at her, tilting his head. His eyes go to her hands behind her back. “You’ve been untied for a while now, haven’t you?” he asks, making her sigh and move her hands to her lap.

“Like I said, this isn’t a test,” he says. “I work for an organization that can help—they can—we can help you.” He looks at her with pleading eyes before looking down and closing his eyes in defeat as he still gets no response. The only noise coming from the breeze coming through the window.

Was this real? what would happen if Dreykov found her? What would they do? She didnt know what would come of this but if it was a way out she wasnt going to pass on it—she couldn't keep living like this. Fuck it.

“Natalia.” Her raspy voice fills the silence, making him look up.

“Natalia, is my name.” She says as she moves to stand, he follows her, a bit rushed.

“Natalia,” he holds out his hand once he stands to his full height, about half a foot taller than her.

“I’m Clint Barton.” He holds out his hand.

She takes his hand in a firm grip as they shake and make eye contact.

More than a few things run through her mind at the moment. Was this a trap? Was she going to be killed? Would his organization even help her? Was it too late for her to be helped? Did she have enough humanity left in her to be helped?

As she shook his hand and a small relieved smile graced the man’s—Clint Barton’s face, she could only focus on one thought.

Was it all over? Or was it just the beginning?

a. note → well there you guys have ittt, i ofc hand to change age and if i have any mistakes ignore them this is purely for entertainment, for preface reader and nat are the same age :) hope you guys liked it hehehehe...give your thoughts bellow pls pls pls ill love u forevs <33.

dividers by → @cafekitsune @enchanthings

tag list → @natashasmuse

lmk if you want to be added to the tag list in the replies!

#natasha romanoff x reader

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