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She didn’t know how she got herself into this mess. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She knew exactly which steps she had taken, and she was entirely mindful of the probable consequences when she decided to use the Red Book for her petty reasons. The problem was that she didn’t care at the time, and this always got her into trouble. Bruised wrists were wriggling against the shackles that hoisted her body, bringing about a strained tension in her limbs that were rapidly desensitizing. With each inhalation the throbbing ache, caused by a good-old-fashioned beating, a form of disciplining that she had anticipated, coursed through her frail figure. She tried to calm her breathing and allow rational and strategic thinking back into her brain.
It was his fault, she decided. The Winter Soldier was a good trainer. He knew how to utilize her temperamental and slightly disobedient nature to his advantage in her training. It had irritated her that she could not get a rise out of him like she had with her previous instructors. It was her small and insignificant way of revolting against The Institution for isolating her from the real world, for torturing her until she disintegrated and lost every piece of who she thought she was so they could develop her to their liking: a person with a wholesome and beautiful demeanor but savagery underneath. Keeping her head down and her face neutral around him grew harder with each passing day, so when she learned about what the Red Book could do, vengeance clouded her judgement.
If she were being truthful then she might have admitted that it really wasn’t his fault. Just like her, he was but a tool that was being used to serve a purpose. However, she was being prepared for her first solo-mission in the West, and that is where he came in. Everyday. Compelling her to simulate a flawless American accent. Drilling her with brutal hand-to-hand combat training until she could not take it anymore. Instructing her on American mannerisms and ideology so she could blend in easier, and appeal to those she needed to attract and manipulate.
“I can help vith that. How vould you like me to service you?” [Y/N] used her most seductive voice, but her accent kept slipping out.
As always he remained neutral when he was making her say the most ridiculous phrases so she could demonstrate both her sensuality and her pronunciation, but this time she noticed the small raise of the corner of his mouth. He was fucking amused, she grew exasperated. A pang of shame went through her. She was not sure what caused it exactly - the fact that he was laughing at her or that he was putting her through this over and over.
“You’re almost there. You only need to work on the w-sound, agent.” He moved closer to her and she wanted to slap the subtle smirk of his face.
“Your lips need to be more closed when making that sound. Show me. Purse them for me.” He stood still in front her, arms crossed in front of his chest.
A pink flush crept up her cheeks and her jaw stiffened at the humiliation, but she did as he asked.
“Hm, that's better. Now repeat all of your dialogue.”
He was not the worst of her instructors, but because of the many daily encounters she had with him, which added to her degradation, thus leading to an expansion of internal and external conflict on her part, to her he represented the root of all her problems, and she wanted to make him pay.
She considered it a stroke of luck when she overheard one of the scientists discussing the Red Book with a peer. Much was not known about The Winter Soldier, but there were whispers about an object that could control him. At first she dismissed those rumors as nonsense, but when she heard of that book her curiosity was piqued.
“They are going to send him away?” A beady-eyed man asked the scientist.
“Once the Black Widow program is completed, they will reprogram him and send him on his next mission. I was informed today. I will finally be allowed to be part of the process.”
“He will have to be reprogrammed? How?”
“Mind wiping. Mind control. The Red Book.”
She had to know more. Without considering the possible consequences, she took silent steps towards the two men, keeping her distance, she followed them in the direction of a workroom she had never been before. Hm, a keycard lock, she observed after the door closed that separated her from the scientists. That is suspiciously uncomplicated, hm. I’ll have to come back and explore.
She could work around a keycard lock. After all, stealthily stealing items off of a person’s body was one of the many skills she was taught at The Institution. The real challenge was slipping away without being noticed at a facility where everything and everyone were controlled and monitored, and at a time when that specific workroom would not be used by others. It’s not worth the risk. The risk of getting caught. The risk of being punished. She decided to let her curious impulse die, and be prudent for a change.
This new mentality flew out the window as she neared her first mission, when he was teaching her a move to use in combat to prevent the enemy from gaining the upper hand, and neutralizing the threat.
Her hair was up in a ponytail, but training after hours on end with The Winter Soldier had most of her locks falling out and clinging to the moisture on her face. Her breathing was heavy, and she tried to concentrate on his ruthless punches by taking in long and deep breaths as her body moved from side to side.
“If you employ more elbow blocking and take charge” – He panted as his punches kept coming at her while she tried to deflect them like he had taught her – “then you will end up on top, instead of me.”
He thumped her forcefully with an upward motion in her stomach, a move she did not expect, and she tumbled away from him, trying to cough as all the air was being deprived from her body. He followed with a quick and sharp blow to her face, slashing her lip and making her fall to the floor.
“Defend and attack; you will own the enemy.”
Slowly she got up and touched her lip, rage coursing through her veins, while her chest heaved as she panted. Blood was dripping from her lip to her chin, but she ignored the discomfort her body was in. He mirrored her pose, slowly swaying from left to right, awaiting her next move.
She clenched her fists again, and quickly jabbed his face, which only got her a smirk from her instructor, infuriating her further. She would beat that smirk off. She threw another punch to his face, but he grabbed and twisted her arm, forcing her body against his.
“I can see your punches coming from miles away.” He breathed into her ear.
Her body tensed at his words, and she threw her head back against his face. He took a step back, and she turned around to kick him in the gut.
For a moment he looked surprised, but then he elbowed her in the face and threw another explosive blow to her stomach only to sweep her lead leg with his own, making her lose her breath and plummet to the floor. She quickly managed to grab a hold of his shirt, causing it to slightly rip as he fell along with her.
“What the fuck!” – She coughed while she tried to catch her breath. Her physical suffering became unbearable and she winced when he sat up, his body still crushing hers – “That was uncalled for.”
“Out there, outside of The Institution, there are no rules, nor are there any second chances.”
Involuntarily her eyes moistened and she tried to swallow the pain away. He stood up and extended his hand to help her up. She refused his gesture and softly whimpered as she raised her body off the ground, no longer able to endure the pain in her sides and her face quietly.
“Guess you’re done for the day.” He looked at his ripped shirt.
“Asshole.” She muttered through closed teeth as she walked away from him.
It was that exact moment when she decided to forgo reason or logic, and everything that happened next was based on emotion and urges. Consequences be damned. I will make him pay.
Before darkness fell over The Institution, [Y/N] managed to slip away with careful and quiet movements from the confinement that nighttime brought with it. Repeating the words she read in the Red Book in her head, she slowed down her breathing and attempted to make herself invisible to the vigilant guards as her body submerged in the desolate shadows. желание, ржaвый, Семнадцать, Рассвет, Печь, Девять, добросердечный, возвращение на родину, Один, грузовой вагон. The hallways of the establishment were void of windows and clocks, but she had learned to rely on her instinct, and her rebellious streak had her prowling around unknown and forbidden areas.
She stalked towards his private quarters, and as she placed her hand on the handle of the door a pang of doubt shot through her, but she pushed it aside. This is not the time to back down. She crept inside and took a couple of slow-paced steps into his room. It was small. The walls were bleak and empty with just a table and a chair on the left. It was just like every other area that she had seen at The Institution: bereft of color, ornamentation and warmth. Just like my life. On the other side of the room there were two closed doors. He must be in there. She rehearsed the words in her head over and over as she moved around the room, her fingers gliding over the scant amount of furniture. желание, ржaвый, Семнадцать, Рассвет, Печь, Девять, добросердечный, возвращение на родину, Один, грузовой вагон.
Her hand came to a halt when it touched a small black notebook on the table. Without giving it a second thought, she grabbed it and flickered through the pages. They were filled with code names of the Black Widows in training, followed by instructions and exercises. Huh. What does he say about me? She stopped when she saw her number, and quickly scanned the writing. He had scribbled down some descriptive attributes. Are these supposed to describe my character? Her body tensed up as she read each word.
I’m angry? Of course, I’m fucking angry. Look at my life. She could not believe he wrote that down as a trait. Combative? I’m being trained to be an assassin. What is he going on about? She did not comprehend why he would write down these obvious things. Impulsive?! Contrary?! The coldness of his words made a flush of anger rise to her cheeks. Determined. She clenched her jaw. One thing he got right. She threw the book back on the table. Rubbish. He understood nothing. And it made her blood boil. I’ll show him angr—.
One of the doors opened and he stood in the opening, not at all unsettled by her unannounced -let alone unauthorized- presence. A gush of sandalwood and cinnamon flowed out of his bathroom and reached her nostrils, and her eyes got slightly bigger when she noticed his dampened hair in front of his eyes, the book in his hand, and the grey sweatpants that hung dangerously low on his naked torso. желание, ржaвый, Семнадцать, Рассвет, Печь, Девять, добросердечный, возвращение на родину, Один, грузовой вагон, she thought quickly.
He raised his eyebrow, “What are you doing here, agent?”
She tore her eyes away from his body and focused on his face instead.
“желание.” Her tone was flat and unwavering.
“What are you doing?” He took a step towards her and she walked back instinctively.
“ржaвый.”
“Stop that!” He moved closer cautiously, but she was on alert.
“Семнадцать.”
Without a warning he dropped his book and ran towards her, trying to strike her down, but she anticipated his move and jumped to the side, “Рассвет.”
Her voice was elevated and her breaths became deeper as she tried to stay out of his reach, since he did not yield his attacks on her.
“Печь.”
He grabbed her leg and she fell flat on the floor in the middle of his private quarters, hitting her head. Flashes of light sparkled in front of her and she groaned. He pulled her leg towards him, and began to crawl on top of her.
“Девять.” Her voice shook as she tried to punch him in the face, but he blocked her.
“Stop it.” He wrapped his hands around her neck, encircling it tightly, and pressed.
Her nails dug into his wrists, but it made no difference. Enraged eyes stared intently at hers. The increasing physical force elicited small, ragged breaths from her throat and her eyes began to water. Calming her mind she tried to get out the next word, “добрaсердечный.”
His grip on her now bruised neck did not loosen, but it did not tighten either, so she tried the next word, “возвращение на родину”.
“Один.”–Nothing changed–“грузовой вагон.”
After the final word came out painfully, he loosened his grip and his eyes looked through her. It must have worked, she thought. She pushed his arms away, and he sat up straight on top of her, arms by his side.
Relief washed over her with each deeper breath that she was able to take. As her eyesight went back to normal, she glanced at the man on top of her who stared out in front of her. She could not believe he got the drop on her so easily. Yes, he was my instructor but I had the element of surprise. She caressed her neck, and she could sense where there would be bruising. Just like her, his breathing was heavy and it made his broad chest rise and fall slowly. It was the first time she had seen his bionic arm completely, but her eyes lingered on his smooth nipples, and her hand stretched out to him. Tentatively, her fingers touched the hard muscles on his abdomen and she lowered her vision to the V-shaped lines that disappeared into his sweatpants. What am I doing?
“Get off of me.” Her voice still was small, but the shove her hand made was strong.
He stood up immediately, his face was impassive, and came to a stand still next to his table. At least it worked. She sat up straight, still needing a moment to let the adrenaline course through her body, before she got up as well. So now what?
Unsure of what to do next, she saw his notebook had fallen underneath the table and she grabbed it.
“What about this?” She showed him the notebook, but he did not respond. “Why would you write that I am these things? Is that how you see me?” Anger and hurt was quickly uniting with her adrenaline rush, though she did not understand why she cared so much.
Still no response. “I guess those damn words don’t work as a truth serum. That’s disappointing.”
She placed the notebook on the table behind him and she could feel the heat that was radiating from his body. In the midst of his bleak room, after a lifetime of yearning for a life she knew she could never have, and after all the callous treatment that she had received from him and her other superiors, the warmth of his body awakened an appetite in her that she had ignored for a long time.
Her hand tentatively touched his bionic arm and slowly traveled to the sensitive skin on his shoulder. She knew she shouldn’t. She knew that this crossed a line even he had not crossed, but every other part of her body told her differently. And he had crossed so many other physical and mental lines with me. Hurt me in so many unimaginable ways, she tried to rationalize.
“Look at me.” It was barely a whisper, but he did as he was told.
His face lowered and their eyes connected. She saw something she was not expecting. Instead of finding unexpressive eyes, she found eyes that had an obscure glint of vulnerability barely visible behind his intense stare. Unintentionally her nails dug into his shoulder, and his hand brushed against her hip. Was he supposed to do that? But reason was quickly replaced by the tingling sensation that was thudding deep inside of her as he gazed in her eyes. It made her crave and want to give into that insatiable demand. She wanted to explore the unknown, to taste the forbidden, to discover where else his body was soft and where it was hard.
“K-kiss me.” Her voice wavered, and anger surged through her. She could not trust her own voice. It gave away her feelings way too easily. She was about to step away and berate herself, more concerned with how she felt inadequate than thinking about him, when the hand that brushed her hip now grabbed it and pressed her against his body.
“Oh…” She gasped, but the sound was smothered by his mouth when he crashed his lips on to hers.
Eagerly he wrapped his bionic arm around her waist and pushed himself against her harder, which made her take several steps back. Her heart was pounding, and his intensity made it more difficult for her to breathe. Am I really doing this? When his body smashed into hers once more and her head hit the wall, her world started spinning again, and her arms finally came to life.
A noisy puff escaped her lips when she raised her heels and her hand took hold of his hair. Their tongues found one another, and he brushed his teeth against her bottom lip. He tasted sweet, but minty. It reminded her of candy canes. One of the many American products that he had acquainted her with. Before she had time to process it properly, his hands roamed over her upper body, squeezing where he could. His movements were urgent and indelicate, just like his trainings with her. His lips moved to her neck where he bit and sucked her sensitive spots, eliciting soft moans of appreciation. It was not until now, now that she was feeding her hunger, that she was willing to admit how much she wanted this. How much she wanted him. It made her realize that perhaps her general feelings of anger and annoyance, were not as general towards him. That perhaps they were particular; that he had made her feel angry whenever she caught herself staring at his form.
He pulled up her shirt, revealing her tautened nipples, momentarily allowing his eyes to graze over them before he nibbled at them. Her back arched and he stroked the curve of her hip. How much independence does he have? He’s doing way more than just kissing me? Or maybe it’s because I wasn’t explicit? Questions flew threw her mind, but were quickly repressed when she felt the throbbing ache in-between her legs grow stronger.
Impatient hands slithered around his neck, softly adding pressure, then pushed his face away from her body. He stared at her intently, eyelashes moving from her breasts to her eyes, but he remained silent. Her hands were still encircled around his neck, but she slowly glided them to his shoulder to nudge him down.
“Kiss me… here.” She commanded as he fell to his knees.
With one hand he unzipped her black pants while her eyes sparkled with anticipation. He made quick work of tugging her pants to the ground, and before she knew it her eyes shut tightly, her back curved deeply, and her arms flew to the wall to remain balanced as his mouth sucked against her heat.
“Ah. Fuck… Fuck.” She moaned.
The strokes of his tongue alternated swiftly between long and flat swirls, broad stripes, and light and fast flicks, all accompanied by forceful suction. The wall gave her no support at all, so her hands hurriedly clasped around his head, seizing his hair roughly, while he tasted her. He was overwhelming her, and she did not know how much more of him she could take. Her breathing became ragged and her body stiffened. The room filled itself with sloppy noises and irregular moans. His suction became even more intense, and she almost toppled over. With accommodating hands on her bottom and hips he kept her steady, while he wantonly ravished her as she quickly reached her limits, only to push her over the edge.
Her body went limp in his arms, but he showed no mercy. His head did not disappear from her legs until she ordered them to the table. With a rough pull, he lifted her up in his arms and sat her down on his table. Needing more, her craving still unrestrained, she tugged at his sweatpants.
“Take it off.” She said as her legs still quivered on the table.
“Now come here.” She settled him between her legs.
“Fuck. Me.”
With one hand he pushed her back on one elbow before he clasped her waist, while the other hand held his length and moved it across her folds, blending together their carnal substances. She sighed at the movement; her body finally began to visibly relax again when he pulled her arm and upper body around his neck and plunged deep inside of her. She cried out, first at the sudden movement and then at the way he filled her up. The table wobbled with each ensuing thrust, going deeper and harder inside of her, and her nails dug in his shoulder, where his raw skin turned into his bionic prosthetic, making him groan. The pressure was building once more. His eyes were on hers, fixated and hungry, while hers were closed as she was already working on her second orgasm. Their bodies smacked against each other, sweat was dripping down his back and her head. A rapid motion of her fingers, desperate strokes, against her skin, produced a new batch of hot flashes of desire until her body became still and she unraveled again.
Her mind was empty. She had finally stopped thinking. Sighing, she flattened herself on the table, and he slowed down his tempo. Breathing in deeply, he brought his tempo to a steady pace, before he picked it up again and drove home at a furious pace with noisy breaths, until his groans became louder and his body trembled against her entrance. Catching his breath, he laid still on top of her, resting his head on her breasts.
She felt a burning sensation between her legs, “I can’t believe you’ve worn me out this much.” Her heart was still racing even when her breathing was slowing down.
She sat back up on the table and he moved along with her. His face drifted to her neck, and he immediately sought out the sensitive spot that made her cry out when she reached her height. His exhalations were still heavy, but he was unrelenting.
“Hm, but I could go for more. Take me to your bed.” She said.
Mere seconds later, his lips found their way to hers and his arms stiffened around her hips; as he hoisted her off the table she wrapped her legs around his waist and with a few swift steps he reached his bed in another room. Without any notice, he let go of her and she broke her own fall on the bed.
“Asshole,” She pulled him on top off her, since her yearning for him was greater than her annoyance with him.
——————————
Out of breath again, but finally satiated, she rested on his bed. She never experienced peace of mind before. On any given day, she would undergo a whole range of emotions from annoyance to sadness, but this was not a normal day, and today she felt calm. He stretched out next to her, looking for cover underneath the blankets, and placed an arm behind his head while he gradually steadied his breathing. Her eyes moved over his body until they stopped at the blankets; demanding hands tugged the fabric down so it revealed more and more of his flushed skin while her fingernails deepened the redness. When her wandering hand reached his groin, his fingers encircled around her wrist tightly, stopping her movement.
“What do you think you’re doi—?”
He bruised her lips with his, then leaned back and said, “Next time, consider improving that accent of yours if you want to be more successful in gaining power over me, otherwise I'll find an appropriate way to punish you for even trying.”
“What? My accent?” What was he talking about? Why was he talking?
“I definitely look forward to the many ways you can put that dirty mouth of yours to better use…”
She ignored his remark, still unsure of what he had meant exactly, and asked, “My accent? What are you saying?”
“You're pretty fucked up that you wanted me to do those things to you against my will, well…, what you thought was against my will.”
A sudden chill creeped over her body.
Unsure eyes shifted up and down his face.
Lies. He must be lying.
A smug smile formed on his lips.
Impossible.
He remained silent.
Did I? Did I fuck up?
“You’re… you’re not under my control?” Her voice was shaky.
“Oh, you definitely had me under your control, just not the way you thought.” His smile grew.
She sat up straight, the realization of his words hitting her, and tried to think of something to say, but she was at a loss for words. A bilious sensation was violently growing inside of her, and her hands grabbed the covers. He knew. He knows what I did… or what I wanted to do. He knows. Mortification surged from deep within her body and reached her heart.
“I’m… I have to go.” What else was there to say?
She removed the blanket from her body, and turned to get out of bed when he reached for her arm and pulled her back to him.
“I said you’re pretty fucked up. I didn’t say I have a problem with it.”
She did not respond. She did not know how to respond. What was I thinking? She looked at his naked torso, and that was a quick answer to her question. She felt her jaw tense up. Just deal with it. She repressed the unexpected manifestation of her moral compass, and dared to look him in the eyes; she noticed a provocative glint in them. He had liked it?
Her boldness returned and her hand slithered to his chest, “You’ve been making me do plenty of things against my will. I thought it only fair to return the favor.”
“By all means, put me in my place again.”