An Avenger's Ultimatum

This Story occurs before the events of Age of Ultron and features many characters from the greater Universe.

*****

The prisoner shuddered awake with a start: bolting upright only to rattle the chains holding her in place. Twisting in the wooden seat, the redhead groaned, head still spinning. Leaning forward she blinked hard as light slowly returned to her world. Attempting to ignore the ringing in her ears, Natasha Romanoff surveyed the dank surroundings with disdain; even as she began testing her bonds.

So the mission had gone sour, she was used to that. While Natasha hadn't intended to be knocked unconscious it was an operational hazard, and the redhead was more than equipped to deal with it.

Shifting her hips against the bottom of the wooden seat, Natasha felt the weight of the utility belt strapped around her waist. Nothing but empty p. No weapons, no communications, no back up. The ex-S.H.I.E.L.D agent released a frustrated breath, brushing a booted heel against the ground. In the old days there would have been a task force specifically to get her out of this; now she was alone.

The mission parameters had shifted, that was obvious, though the essential requirements had not changed: the redhead was here to survey the castle for potential threats; intelligence suggesting this Sokovian fortress was a HYDRA sub-base. Given the high security she had encountered, the ex-agent was now more inclined to believe them.

Natasha stayed calm: she had a team that backed her up in this kind of situation. They weren't exactly reliable, but they packed a big punch, and more than that, they were friends. Natasha closed her eyes. She could hardly blame Tony Stark for this one, she had chosen to survey the castle alone, believing it to be a minor stakeout: hardly worthy of the Avengers. She had been arrogant, but when your team consists of Gods and monsters it's hard not to have something to prove.

Hearing the metal door to her cell clunk menacingly, Natasha straightened up in her seat, ready to confront her captors. Choosing a more upright, dignified pose, the redhead felt her black combat suit tighten reassuringly against her curves: coiled and ready to strike.

The door swung open alarmingly quickly, the heavy metal slamming against the castle wall and reverberating in place, dust falling from the brickwork around her. Given the rust and weight of the vault-like entranceway, Natasha was surprised to find a small, waifish brunette standing opposite her, illuminated only by the light that could now spill into the cell.

Both women eyed each other carefully, neither greeting the other. Natasha guessed the girl was around 20: not a leader, so perhaps an underling? Hardly suited for intimidation. Yet the brunette had an otherworldly quality; the tilt of her head, the twist in her stance. Combined with an unusual dress sense her demeanour suggested something... unprecedented.

Stepping into the room, the brunette moved with purpose, boots echoing against stone. Taking in the girl's body, Natasha was again surprised, next to no muscle, no visible weapons. This child was to be her interrogator?

"You don't talk much," Natasha stated curiously, watching as the girl continued to take her in; passing behind her chair as she circled the tied-up redhead. Neglecting to respond, the brunette slunk soundlessly around her, bright eyes never leaving the Agent's face.

Natasha decided the girl was pretty, in-spite of her somewhat unkempt appearance. Her gypsy-like attire suggested a Sokovian origin; the clothing mismatched yet somewhat appealing:

The brunette's slight, distressed black dress was thin enough to reveal the pert body underneath. The garment was cut revealingly: the neck deep, the hem just reaching mid-thigh. Wrapped in a deep red shawl to keep out the cold, the tattered garment was indicative of the girl's streetwise nature.

Meeting the brunette's bizarre gaze, Natasha was absorbed by the girl's huge green eyes, seemingly transfixed by the redhead's very existence. Surrounded by excessive, blurred mascara, the Sarkovian's stare seemed to penetrate her soul, while ultimately betraying the youth and underlying lack of confidence of her interrogator.

"This your first time?" Natasha asked playfully, watching the brunette twitch in reaction:

"It's a good act, but do you really think you can torture me?" Natasha scoffed, smirking in-spite of her powerless position:

"I didn't know HYDRA had fallen so far they would use little girl's to do their dirty work."

Eliciting no response, the redhead began to wonder if this woman even spoke English. If she didn't then this wasn't an interrogation; meaning torture was now more likely. Since Natasha wasn't really in the mood for pain, she decided it was time for a daring escape.

Turning back toward the entrance, Natasha listened carefully: The redhead could register no sound coming from the hallway beyond. No armed escort? If she could break free of her restraints this would be the perfect time to break out-

-The brunette flicked her arm, hand contorting as it suddenly moved through the air. Natasha watched, astonished, as the heavy metal door swung back on its hinges without the girl even touching its surface: Slamming shut with an echoing clang, the sound reverberated around the tiny room, more dust dropping from the ceiling:

"No more thoughts of eh-scape Spy, you leave when I'm ready. Or in bag..."

Natasha opened and closed her mouth; had she telegraphed her intentions in some way? Looking back up at the mysterious girl, she noted the red smoke wafting up from her left hand, before meeting her eyes once more. Natasha watched as they faded from red to green. The ex-agent braced herself:

"So you're one of Strucker's enhanced? Telekinetic or psychic? S.H.I.E.L.D has done research into Neuro-electrical interfacing..."

The brunette frowned as she struggled to register the redhead's assertion. Realising her words had not translated, Natasha spoke more carefully:

"You," she nodded at the brunette, " You can move objects with your mind?" The redhead's nose crinkled:

"Did you know what I was going to do?"

Not responding immediately, the brunette stepped forward slowly, eyes moving across the other woman's face. Swiping a loose strand of dark wavy hair behind an ear, she spoke calmly; her strong Sokovian accent coming through in just a short statement:

"All you need to know? I am weird."

Shrugging of her shawl, the brunette hung the worn weave over the back of the dilapidated chair. Leaning over the prisoner, the girl raised a hand; flexing her long fingers in the air around the ex-agent's head. Natasha watched cautiously: If this girl was telepathic this interrogation could actually go pretty badly for her:

"So you're weird, I get that... But you don't want to go poking around in my mind, you might not like what's in there..."

The brunette ignored her, the girl's large eyes sliding over Natasha's face and back up to her gaze:

"I grow up in war-torn hell-hole, I am... experiment. I get off on fear..."

The redhead nodded: the girl had a point; if anyone could understand having a messed up background, it was Natasha Romanoff. Maybe then she could use their shared experience as leverage, reason with the foreign girl on mutual ground:

"I get it, I went through the same thing as a kid, till S.H.I.E.L.D took me in."

"You also get powers through Alien staff taken from Norse God?" The brunette responded, her broken English not disguising her amusement.

"Well no..." Natasha replied, taken aback. Deciding on a different approach that suited her own style, the redhead continued, asking questions herself since the girl apparently didn't need to:

"So they made you, using the staff? We tried to deep-six that research but I heard all of your kind died in HYDRA's experiments, or were at least horribly scarred..."

Natasha ran her eyes over the brunette's lithe curves appreciatively; making sure the other girl could see her inspection:

"But I guess you lucked out. You fit together pretty well."

The brunette's mouth became a thin line of irritation; she had given away information. Again. Who was interrogating whom? Meeting the redhead's eyes, it was her turn to be intimidated, green orbs amused but giving nothing away. The Sokovian chose to scowl back at the other woman's smirk. When she replied the girl was overly assertive:

"You think you will geht out of here? This is your... ultimatum? I see S.H.I.E.L.D's scars all over the inside of your head Romanoff. You are, muddled..."

"Getting lost in my head huh?" Natasha said, a small grin curving her lips. Maybe she could keep this girl out, provided she kept to the right thoughts:

"Why do I think you're winging this?" Natasha asked playfully.

Again the brunette stared back at her, hard eyes faltering slightly:

"Right, another American expression..." the redhead explained apologetically:

"I think you are making this up as you go along, preying on my vulnerability. What if I don't believe in your tricks huh?" Natasha asked, pausing to conjure a thought before asking her next question:

"Like, what am I thinking right now??"

Focusing on the spy's mind, the brunette felt imagination reverberate through the redhead's consciousness. Eyes flickering red, her mouth feel open:

...

Naked and crouched on all fours, she felt the plastic cock pushed between her virgin cheeks, the hard spear stretching her crack wide open.

Feeling the massive dildo press against her puckered little hole, she could not speak, frozen in place; the image hazy but unmistakable.

Shuddering the brunette gasped, spittle flying from her lips as the enemy agent gripped her waist tightly. Plunging forward, the redhead swung her hips upward.

Soft flesh reverberated under the impact, her whole body shunted forward. Overwhelmed, the brunette howled, light and ecstasy pulsing all around her.

...

Wanda flinched, gasping in shock and scrabbling away from the redhead as she frantically escaped the spy's thoughts. Falling back against the brickwork, the brunette gaped, eyes wide as the fantasy faded from her mind, hands instinctively grasping her own behind.

Natasha chuckled darkly, watching the shocked young woman twitch:

"So you saw that huh? Like it??"

Leaning back, the Spy seemed at ease in her confinement, opening her thighs and cocking an eyebrow suggestively.

Meanwhile her façade of confidence shaken; Wanda twisted the many cheap rings that adorned her fingers. Taking a steadying breath, the girl responded weakly:

"You think- think you can shock me??"

Natasha frowned:

"You're good, but if I were trying to shock you I'd be thinking about this..."

The brunette felt the dark thoughts flood over her before she had time to shut them out, the horrors of Natasha Romanoff's past all bombarding her at once.

Stumbling forward, Wanda squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing her temples; She had to keep the agent's pain out. Reaching for the redhead, she slapped the woman across the face:

Natasha reeled sideways, her chains rattling. Shaking short, wavy red hair away from her brow, the ex-agent saw fear in her captive's eyes. Blinking, Natasha came to her senses; She could not let this devolve into a who's more screwed up contest; antagonising a clearly deranged witch might end badly for her. Deciding to be reasonable, Natasha responded:

"I'm sorry, that was... unnecessary. But I wanted you to understand; we are the same. I can get you out of here!"

The brunette took a deep breath, still flustered by the ex-assassin's projection:

"Perhaps we are more alike than I thought..." Wanda mumbled, looking away from her captive.

Natasha smiled: This vulnerability could be a critical turning point in their interaction. She could use this!

"I hear what you ah thinking Romanoff..." The brunette responded dryly, turning back, her conviction returning, "you are the only prisoner here Spy! And I have my own Ultimatum..."

Natasha scowled; it seemed that any clear, focused thoughts she formulated became accessible to the girl before her. By that logic the only way to keep her secrets concealed was not to think of them. To stay calm and distracted:

"I won't tell you anything. We both know you've been through a lot kid, but you're no soldier, you're not even a baby monster! Just a scared little girl."

Now it was the young woman's turn to smile:

"You know nothing of me. You think I have to hit you, to even talk to you, to play my mind games?"

Sauntering forward, Wanda moved close to her captive with renewed assurance. Natasha blinked, eyes widening as the girl threw a long, hose-covered leg over the chair; lowering herself into the Spy's lap. The redhead tensed as the psychic planted her body against her own, seemingly getting comfortable:

"Sorry nowhere else to sit." The brunette said matter-of-factly, flipping long, loose dark hair over her shoulder:

"Since you resist I must go deeper now."

Natasha watched suspiciously as the girl slid forward; thighs brushing tantalisingly against the agent's own.

Raising her hands, the brunette flexed her palms, black nails gyrating as they hovered just above Natasha's temples.

The redhead's mouth fell open as she began to feel movement in her own mind; this was different, the girl was really getting inside now:

Feeling this presence grow, Natasha attempted to resist, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head feebly before staring nervously back at the girl once more.

Red, glowing Iris' greeted the Agent's befuddled gaze, power emanating from the smaller girl's stare:

"What, what are you?..."

Natasha felt woozy, the room around them fading into endless black.

...

"Welcome to de inside of your head," the girl responded, smiling back at the bewildered redhead:

"Kind of empty in here, no?"

Natasha looked around them: It was dark but they were bathed in light, it's source seemingly nowhere; or maybe everywhere. Colours twinkled floating in space, close but just out of reach. The redhead sensed they hadn't moved, that they were still somehow in the cell, that she could even see it if she focused hard enough. Natasha frowned; Something told her there was much more to this than she could even comprehend:

"I don't know what kind of trick you're playing here, but if I weren't cuffed to this chair-"

"You aren't cuffed Romanoff," the girl said lightly, "not if you don't want to be."

Natasha pulled at her chains; but they had already gone.

"Woah..." Natasha gasped, not sure whether to be anxious or impressed.

The girl smiled, stepping backward before turning on a heel; studying the glowing haze all around them:

"This is the doorway into your mind, your inner sanctum."

"My head... So I can do what I like?" The redhead asked carefully, examining her free hands in the dream space.

The foreign girl twisted back around, eyebrow raised:

"Yess-"

Before the brunette could finish she flinched backwards; Natasha had both sidearms raised, her trusty twin Walthers both aimed at the girl's head:

Pulling the triggers, the guns bucked in her hands, the flash of each shot pulsing around her mind's eye. Pulling the triggers over and over, Natasha waited until she heard them finally click, emptied.

The wide-eyed brunette stared back at her attacker; alarmed but totally unharmed. Recovering from this shock the Sokovian smiled weakly:

"Thinking about hurting me doesn't actually hurt me."

"Right, just checking." Natasha replied slowly, considering her next option:

"Except... there is that one thing..."

The brunette blinked.

...

Eyes squeezed tightly shut, dark mascara ran down her cheek, whimpering as the dildo was slowly tugged backward out of her.

Struggling to comprehend this bizarre feeling, the girl could only shudder as the tip rubbed her forbidden opening; eyelashes fluttering.

Then the redhead powered forward once more, and she gasping, winded as she was stuffed yet again; the huge dildo burrowing deep into her bowels.

...

Wanda shook her head, eyes wide and disbelieving:

"H-how are you?..."

"A doorway into my mind: Wanda Maximoff??" Natasha replied scornfully:

"Doors can be passed through in either direction: You screw with me, I screw you."

The girl gulped, realizing she had lost the advantage; the prisoner had learnt her name, what else could she uncover? The redhead eyed her smugly: Even trapped inside her own head, she could play the brunette like an open book.

Casting around, Wanda realized she could still only access the surface memories. Searching desperately, the girl used the only knowledge she had gathered from the Spy:

"You really only think of sex Romanoff!? You are Avenger, this iz your power?"

The brunette watched the redhead's smile twitch, she'd hit a nerve. Good. If she were to expose a weakness she would have to go deeper:

"You are seductress?" Wanda asked, circling the agent cautiously.

Natasha blinked.

...

Natalie was at Stark Industries, on her knees; the CEO was calling her false name even as the strawberry blonde's cream ran down her chin.

"Seems like she is boss though, no??" Wanda asked chillingly, eying the erotic scene as it unfolded before them.

The omnipresent light flickered yet again.

...

The Black Widow was on her back, naked, the younger agent slipping her tongue deep between her pussy's delicate folds. The blonde girl was determined, her technique sloppy but insistent; nose buried in her superior's snatch.

"Who's pulling your strings Romanoff?" Wanda asked condescendingly:

"Or are you just a puppet??"

Natasha shook her head angrily:

"I'm always in control!"

The Witch was getting to her, the light surrounding them flickering more erratically.

...

Natasha was in a dojo. Where was she, San Francisco?

"Now dis tells me who you really are," the brunette stated smugly.

"Wait..." Natasha started, studying their new surroundings more closely:

"Oh no..."

...

"Try to hit me," the redhead proclaimed simply.

She took a loose, playful combat stance, ready for an attack but by no means threatened by the woman that she challenged.

"Seriously?" The taller brunette asked, shaking her head; short brown bob dancing around her elfish face, grinning at her sparring partner:

"Your sure about this?"

Natalia nodded: Spoilt trust fund kid, daughter of a powerful CEO: S.H.I.E.L.D had to keep these mad scientists in check. Unfortunately, Hank Pym was too old for martial arts. Thankfully, Hope Van Dyne was a different story.

The young board member began to stretch, inadvertently advertising her toned, athletic, but undeniably feminine frame. Sweating from their already intense workout together, her body glistened; encased in the tight polyester of her workout clothes.

The redhead smirked; Hope was a lot more fun than her usual marks. Unpredictable too. But women with Daddy issues were always ultimately the same: so desperate to rebel. That meant no pads; the gloves were off. All Natalia had to do was give the brunette a push, the Russian lilt of her accent punctuating her taunt:

"Come on Lady Science, show me what you've got!"

Hope grimaced, Natalia was literally asking for it.

The brunette lead with a fist that the redhead dodged easily, then an elbow she had to block to avoid. Stepping backward Natalia goaded the aggressive administrator with a naughty grin. Catching Hope's high kick, she suddenly had a realization: her attacker was not as outmatched as she originally thought. Deciding to end this quickly, the agent put the other woman down.

Unable to break free, Hope could only gasp as her leg was yanked upward. Balance now way off centre, within a second she had gone from standing to on her back.