The Problem (With Crushes)
REQ: I just read all of your Natasha romanoff fics and i'm in love ! PLEASE may i ask for a scenario where Natasha has a crush on reader but hides it by being cold with R until one day where they both almost die on a mission. After that There's a fight and R kisses Nat and ...smut smut? (With R as a top please?) I hope this request doesn't bother you, if it does please juste ignore it. Thank you and have a nice day ^^ (Anon)
(A/N) i miss fun ads. pre-panorama i got ads for dumb things like new videogames or movies... now it’s like, antidepressants and life insurance asldkfj like excuse me,,, are u trying to tell me something??? anyway here’s some pron. hope u enjoy. like comment and subscribe x
Rating: E (Explicit!! 18+!!)
Warnings: Natasha Romanoff Is A Brat And We All Know It; And She Has A Praise Kink (Change My Mind You Can’t); Smut; P0rn With (Minimal) Plot; Nothing kinky this time sorry guys uwu just pron; OH ALSO there’s slight gore but not really that bad or detailed
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Stark!Reader
Word Count: 4,546
Synopsis: You finally take your place at your brother’s side by joining the Avengers, and thankfully, you get along with almost everyone. Almost.
why is this gif so hot to me as;ldfkjsdfk
When your brother revealed himself as Iron Man, you knew your easy days as the Family Disappointment were over. Not that you had anyone but him to disappoint - something you rarely did anyway - but it meant your days of slacking off were over. To your surprise, though - and, at the time, relief - he didn’t drag you into it. Didn’t even want you to be part of it. Not that you had FOMO or anything, but you’d have thought being Tony Stark’s mutant half-sister would have at least gotten you a visit by his mysterious organization buddies.
It took a few short years, though, for the beans to spill. Maybe you were a little angry at him - being fifteen years apart and from different mothers meant that for a long time, you and Tony only communicated with the occasional holiday greeting card and the bit of money your father had left you. He only connected with you when he thought he was dying, and after that you were sort of stuck together. You’d even say you got along perfectly fine, as any siblings should, but with his devotion to the Avengers you felt… what, abandoned? Left out?
You don’t really know why you did what you did. You had always known you’d be caught sooner or later. Mutant Fighting Rings were, after all, illegal and shut downs were frequent no matter where they popped up. Still, that didn’t stop you from participating, did it?
You like to say you’re the Improved Stark; the more expensive model. You conduct electricity like a lightning rod, able to aim it long distances that could even rival that blonde guy your brother trapses around with. You inherited the Stark Genius, of course, and used the skills you’d learned from Tony to build your own suit of sorts. Gloves that were lined with thin wires that enhanced your electrical abilities, and similar conductive materials beneath the kevlar material of your suit made you the undefeated champion of this underground world.
Okay, maybe you’re more like your brother than you thought. The adoration and the attention were more addictive than any drug. You lived for the applause. Thrived on it. The bigger the opponent, the more joy you found in taking them down. There was always someone to beat, always a way to win. To outsmart them, to outmaneuver them, to outlast them. You got sloppy, somewhere in the middle, you know, and that’s how you find yourself where you are now.
In SHIELD’s custody.
Tony, looking in at you from the outside of this dumb cell with such disappointment it makes you want to cringe and crawl away. You don’t, though. You stare right back at him, jaw clenched, not saying a damn word. Because, yeah, you’re more similar than you’d like to admit.
“When were you gonna tell me you could fight like that?” He asks, finally breaking the silence that made your skin tingle.
Your stomach drops, along with your jaw. “Wait, what?”
He breathes out a disbelieving laugh. “That suit? Genius. I never thought you could give a boost to your powers, but wow. I bet we can think of something better, something more durable. You looked a little stiff when-”
“You’re seriously rewarding your sister’s behavior?” A female voice inquires, heels clacking beside heavy bootsteps approach from beyond your brother.
Tony’s grin falls. “What? I thought that’s what we were doing?”
“She’s in a cell and you thought-”
“He’s not entirely wrong,” another man interrupts. As he comes into focus, you notice he’s got an eyepatch and wicked scarring around it. He looks intimidating as all hell, it makes your hands tremble a little with uncontrollable surges of electricity. “We assumed her powers were… let’s say, not up to our standards.”
“Gee, thanks,” you and Tony gripe at the same time. You share a look, making the redheaded woman standing rigidly between the men roll her eyes.
“But we were wrong. I’m Director Fury. I run things here at-” Eyepatch continues but you cut him off.
“Oh you’re Fury.” You nod with a hum. “That explains a lot. So then you’re… Natasha, right?” You look at the woman, who only scowls at you in response. “Tony said you were grumpy but he never said you were-”
“Don’t finish that sentence if you want to live,” Tony warns.
And just like that, you’re an Avenger.
- - - -
For some foolish reason, you thought Natasha Romanoff’s annoyance with you would end after she got used to you. You weren’t a blood-thirsty criminal, after all, so she really had no reason to assume the worst of you. It quickly becomes apparent, however, that that is not the case.
She seems to go out of her way to avoid you throughout the Tower, leaving a room just about as soon as you enter it. It was annoying for plenty of reasons, the primary being that she’s the only one who has a problem with you.
At first, you try not to let it get to you. You focus, instead, on the new designs of your suit with Tony. You manage to make it possible for you to walk up buildings, which Peter is eager to teach you. It quickly becomes a race, during most missions. The others sometimes have trouble getting you two to stop competing and focus. (But you’d take getting scolded anyday as long as it made the kid happy.)
Thor and you have invented a new game, wherein you pass bolts of lightning back and forth, back and forth - much to the horror of the others. One miss can result in an unfortunate accident, but so far, that miss hasn’t happened. It’s handy during fights, too, so they can’t be too upset about it.
You just seem to blend in seamlessly with everyone else. Everyone else. Except for Natasha. Normally, it isn’t a problem; but you also haven’t had a mission that depends entirely on her cooperation before. That is, not until now.
You were both the stealthiest out of the group, but it was rare that a mission relied on just the both of you. You usually had the company of Steve or Tony or even Bruce or Clint. Not this time, though.
It was, in theory, an easy mission. Wouldn’t last more than a few hours. Painless, quick, efficient. In practice? Not so much.
The Hydra facility was supposed to be abandoned, and empty. That was enough of a hiccup, finding it teeming with life. You still had a job to do: find out what’s really going on. You started off watching from afar, but the silence felt heavy and unnatural, so the both of you decided sneaking into one of the main offices and using one of Tony’s all-in-one hacking device was the best solution. In and out.
Except, no, it was not in and out.
Natasha can’t stop drumming her fingers impatiently as the files upload onto the device. You try to keep your eyes trained on the door leading out of the office. She’s been antsy ever since you had to make her piggyback on you so you could slip inside the window without being detected, as if by touching you she became agitated.
And, honestly? You’re getting agitated too. If she’s going to act like a child, she might as well tell you what the hell her problem is to your face. Right?
“If you have something to say,” you huff in an angry whisper, “just say it.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Natasha responds flatly, keeping her eyes trained on the screen. 38%.
“You clearly have an issue with me. I’d appreciate it if I knew what the hell I did wrong.” You look at her with annoyance, but she still doesn’t meet your gaze.
“I don’t-” her voice almost raises. She struggles to control it, glancing up at you with a flash of anger in her green eyes. “I don’t have an issue with you,” she hisses, a little quieter but still holding as much venom as she can muster.
“Could’ve fooled me,” you scoff, turning back to the door with a scowl. “Is it ‘cause I’m Tony’s sister? I went over a decade without meeting him. Before that, I was just our dad’s bastard kid he didn’t want to lay claim to. His hush money paid our bills, filled our bellies. His will left me just enough for college, and I mean just enough.” Your own volume is raising, but you can’t control it. “I’m not whatever spoiled, trustfund bitch you’ve created in your head without ever trying to know me-”
“Shut up,” Natasha’s hand covers your mouth, making you yelp with surprise. There are footsteps rapidly approaching. You look to the monitor with wide, panicked eyes. 54%.
“Fuck,” you mutter against her glove-clad palm, making it sound more like, ‘fuff’.
Natasha removes her hand in a jerky motion, as if she’d just remembered it was over your mouth, and lowers to a crouch. You follow her action, the cubical allowing some bit of cover. You reach blindly for the keyboard, lowering the brightness all the way to zero so that the monitor doesn’t call too much attention to your location.
You meet Natasha’s eyes with uncertainty, feeling embarrassed by your outburst. You don’t find the usual cold distrust, though. There’s a calm sort of confidence, the eyes of someone with a plan and the authority to pull through with it. You give her trusting nod, watching her slip out of the cubical and following a breath after just as the door bursts open.
You go in opposite directions, hoping to get an angle on whoever is in the room with you and meet back at the original cubical. Hopefully by then, the extractions will be finished and you can get out and head back to the Tower.
Your heart is hammering in your ears. This is your favorite part: the Before. The moments that change everything in a fight. It makes your skin prickle, charged with static. You inhale slowly as you notice a shadow moving, the unmistakable symbol of Hydra flashing for only a moment.
Gunfire makes you jump with alarm. Natasha is standing, exposed to any daring enough to shoot her. You groan and stand, taking in the electricity around you and releasing it in a single bolt that trails between two of the several Hydra goons before dying out.
“So much for being discreet!” You quip as an alarm flashes red, sirens blaring.
“Fuck,” Natasha hisses.
You leap back, almost stumbling over the body that had somehow ended up behind you. You don’t examine it, though, choosing instead to scurry through the maze of cubicles until you make it to the one with Tony’s little friend.
“Fuck!” You yelp. Natasha shoots at one of the soldiers as they file in, looking over her shoulder at you with a raised eyebrow. “Eighty-six percent!” You announce, earning a groan.
You’re going to have to take matters into your own hands.
You take a deep breath and rush to Natasha’s side, sending bolts after bolts of lightning at the swarming bodies. They’re like roaches, seeming to come out of every surface. You’re sweating, losing control a bit as your aim becomes sloppy. You punch someone in the jaw before leaping onto the ceiling to check the monitor again.
So fucking close. But there’s too many of them.
“Nat, we have to bolt!” You shout at her as you drop back at her side. “We can’t-”
“We need those files!” She snaps.
“This is a deathwish.”
“Just a few more minutes!”
There’s a wildness to her gaze. Like she doesn’t give a fuck about her life. For some reason, it cuts you deep. Hits you so hard, you’re almost breathless. Your next wave of lightning is harsher than any you’ve used so far, paralyzing several bodies around you. The scent of burning flesh hits your nose.
“Natasha Romanoff, get your goddamn ass back to the computer.” You order, to which she actually laughs.
“I’m the superior, here. I don’t answer to you.” She snarls.
“Oh yeah?” You scoff, picking her up unceremoniously. Natasha yelps, an arm wrapping around your neck as you carry her bridal-style to where the monitor is. She looks over your shoulder to shoot, the maneuver causing her chest to press against your shoulder and her breathing to hit your ear in warm puffs.
“You’re,” she pants, “a fucking asshole.”
“And you’re insane.” You growl, looking at the monitor. TRANSFER COMPLETE. “Fucking finally!” You announce, disconnecting the device and pocketing it. “Let’s get the fuck out of here. Cover me?”
“Yeah, yeah,” she grunts.
When you climb back down the window, you’re simultaneously surprised and pleased to find out Natasha can hold on with just her thighs. It’s not even painful, either. Actually, you’d hate to admit it, but it’s kind of the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.
But you will never give her that satisfaction.
You just focus on using the last bits of your energy to boost your speed, letting you dart through the swarms of Hydra soldiers with minimal damage to either you or the redhead. It’s all a blur, how you get back to the quinjet. Adrenaline alone keeps your mind in tunnel-vision.
It’s truly a miracle either of you survived.
Your brain is still buzzing when you’re in the air. You finally come down from the high of the battle, Natasha looking at you with an unreadable expression.
“What the hell was that, Romanoff?” You ask, unable to mask the bite to your tone as you catch her staring. “You could’ve gotten us killed!”
“We did what we had to do, and now it’s over, and neither of us died.” She responds icily. “You’re the one that picked me up and ran with me.”
“Because you refused to leave!” You throw your hands up in exasperation, wincing at the sting in your shoulder at the motion. “Do you have a deathwish? Should I inform Fury you’re recklessly endangering yourself because-”
“You’re bleeding,” she remarks, tone gentle. She reaches out, touches a spot on your shoulder that stings. It’s such an abrupt change in tone and attitude, it stuns you into complete silence.
Ah, yes. You remember getting that. You saw the red dot on Natasha’s back and did the only thing you could think to do. You didn’t even feel the pain of the gunshot, didn’t register it at all.
You unzip your suit, shrugging off your left sleeve to reveal the bloodied fleshwound. You don’t miss the way the redhead’s eyes dart down, seeming to scan your torso before settling on the bullet wound. She moves to the first aid kit on the wall, fishing out several supplies before sitting down gingerly beside you.
She’s silent as she works, eyebrows pulled together in concentration. “The bullet’s still inside,” she informs you. “I’m going to have to take it out.”
“Wait,” you finally find your voice. “Are you qualified to be doing this?”
“It’s a long flight home. I’m not letting you spend it with a piece of metal lodged in your arm. Besides, if we wait too long, it could do more damage.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I’m qualified enough.” This time, her tone offers no room for argument. She’s watching you in that same authoritative way she had back in the Hydra facility.
(You’d love to wipe that look off her face. To watch her lose control.)
She moves to grab something else from that metal box, and your mind wanders. It always wanders, especially when Natasha is involved. This is a side you have never, ever seen before, much less directed at you. It’s a caring side, a tender one. Almost as if she doesn’t hate your guts.
She returns with gloves and what looks like something to remove the bullet in your arm. You try not to wince at it, but she notices the way your face pales with dread.
“You didn’t even notice you were shot, but you’re going to be a baby about having the bullet taken out?” She teases.
“Shut up,” you mutter, looking away from her.
“Don’t worry, I’ve done this before,” she assures. She gives you a folded spare shirt she must have fished from one of the nearby boxes kept in case of emergencies. You place a corner in your mouth, meeting her gaze worriedly.
To your surprise, she’s gentle. It hurts like all hell, of course, but Natasha keeps a hand steadying your arm with soft, barely noticeable pressure. She removes the bullet with ease, so quickly you almost can’t believe it’s actually out. She cleans it, wordlessly, but with the practiced patience of someone who has, in fact, done this many times.
Then, she’s stitching the wound closed and tapping your elbow.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” You blurt, blushing despite yourself.
“Normally, people thank me after I take a piece of metal out of their body.” She quips, gathering the materials she can return to the first aid kit and tossing the rest.
“But you hate me.”
She pauses, shutting the first aid kit with a metallic click.
“I don’t hate you,” she sighs, shoulders sinking.
“You avoid me like I’ve got cooties.” You frown. “You practically ignore me. It’s tiring, not knowing what the hell I did to deserve that.”
It surprises you, honestly, the way she looks so open when she turns to look at you again. So vulnerable. Very much unlike the Natasha you’ve come to know. You’re grateful the quinjet is piloted by Tony’s Autopilot AI, allowing you this beautiful glimpse at this New Natasha.
Her cheeks are burning red, a brilliant blush that looks unfairly lovely on her soft features. “When I, um… when I start to… feel things… for people, I get… scared. And I tend to be an ass. Clint’s words, not mine.” She clears her throat awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to, uh, make it seem like… I hated you.”
You can’t stop the smirk from spreading across your lips. “You have a crush on me?”
Look, as mean as she comes off as, there’s no denying Natasha is a bombshell of a woman. Damn gorgeous. This ego boost is one that’s gone straight (or, not-so-straight) to your head (among other places).
Natasha’s blush worsens, thanks to her already pale skin. “I-I didn’t call it a crush. It’s not-”
“No, you can’t take it back.” You’re grinning, now, almost maniacally. “You’re into me! Wow- wait ‘til Tony-”
“Oh my god, don’t you dare-” she starts, but you cut her off by standing and crossing the small distance it takes to meet her. You shrug off your other sleeve on the way, freeing your arms so you can wrap them around her waist. Natasha inhales sharply at the action, looking at you with questionable suspicion.
“No more avoiding,” you order in a hushed tone. You don’t miss the way her pupils dilate, the way her breath hitches. “No more ignoring me.”
“Yeah?” She breathes unsteadily, eyes flickering down to your lips. “Or else what?”
With little hesitation, you push your lips against hers. She tenses, at first, but relaxes and returns the kiss hungrily. Heatedly. Like she already can’t get enough of it. Her fingers curl into the material of the tank top you’d been wearing beneath your suit, bunching it up until your stomach is exposed and the rest of the suit falls down your hips a little.
Natasha’s tongue pushes into your mouth, vying for control of the kiss that you are unwilling to relinquish. Your fingers dig into her waist, earning a quiet gasp from the redhead that turns into a moan when you press her against the wall.
“How long,” you pull away breathlessly, humming when plump lips move to your neck. “How long ‘til we’re at the Tower?”
She hums, thoughtful for a moment. “Long enough.”
“You’re ambitious,” you tease, running one of your hands up her spine in feather-light strokes.
Natasha shudders. “Well, when I want something, I tend to get it.”
“Is that so?” You chuckle lowly, moving to place heated kisses along her neck. Your hand twists in her hair, tugging roughly to expose more of her neck. Natasha whimpers at the action, blunt nails digging into your back.
It’s a tangle of limbs and tossed clothing as you pull each other towards the only bed in the quinjet - an infirmary bed, meant for one person at a time and uncomfortable. You push Natasha onto it, vaguely aware of where you’d thrown her own suit aside and out of the way. Your lips are everywhere you can reach, placing frantic kisses and forming bruises in some places.
Natasha’s hands skim your shoulders, your back, your neck; gasps and moans falling from her lips like music to your ears.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” you admire breathlessly.
Natasha twitches when your fingertips give minute sparks. “That feels good… do that again.”
“So bossy,” you tease, but oblige with tiny waves of electricity as you drag your hands to her hips. She lets out a soft whimper. “Shame I can’t take my time with you,” you sigh, moving down to place a gentle kiss on the scar just above her bikini line. “I’d love to hear you make more sounds than that.”
“So you’ll stop being a tease, then?” She huffs, impatiently bucking her hips.
You laugh lowly, gripping her hips and pinning them to the bed. The action makes her suck in a sharp breath, pink spreading across her cheeks. “Nobody said that.” You place another kiss on the inside of her thighs, biting when she twitches again. “You’re a brat, you know that?”
“I could always take care of myself,” she warns.
“Yeah?” You pull away, releasing her all at once and sitting back with a wide smirk. “Go ahead. I’ll watch.”
“No, no, wait,” she whines, reaching down to grab your wrists. “I’m sorry.”
“Now you’ve gotta beg for it.”
The expression on her face almost makes you laugh. As if she were saying, ‘The Audacity!’ But you keep smirking, not moving an inch. Natasha huffs, rolls her eyes, juts her bottom lip out into a pout. It’s adorably amusing.
Her resolve crumbles. “Fine. Please.”
“Please what, buttercup?” You tease, batting your eyelashes.
Natasha’s eye twitches just a little before she switches into another version of herself you’ve seen before, though, not directed at you. She leans forward, slowly enough to stun your brain as you get a look at her black lingerie, but quick enough that you’re unable to react. Her lips brush your ear.
“Please, fuck me,” she purrs, pulling the lobe of your ear between her teeth.
Well, that’s as good as you’re going to get. (For now.)
You push Natasha onto her back again, hands gripping her thighs as they wrap around your waist. You connect your lips in a rough kiss, one of your hands moving to cup her covered center. To your astonishment, she’s absolutely soaked. You both let out muffled moans at the action, the rising heat in your body effectively ending all coherency in your brain that isn’t set to Fuck Natasha mode.
Your hands skim along her sides, blunt nails raising goosebumps in their wake. She shivers beneath you, that control she so obviously loves finally in your hands. You’re in awe of each noise she makes as you explore the map of her body. You find that scar again, a light bump, and smooth your fingertips over it as you pull back from the kiss to catch your breath.
She’s properly flushed, now, green eyes vibrant and dark with want.
“You really are beautiful, Nat,” you murmur, softer than before. She swallows, seemingly struggling to speak.
“Can you please just fuck me already?” Natasha huffs around a whimper.
You laugh a little, lowering your mouth to her neck to place slow, teasing kisses. You push aside her panties, sliding your fingers through her folds and around her clit. Natasha gasps, arching into you.
“So wet for me,” you bite down a little at her neck, earning a guttural groan from the redhead. “Or was it the adrenaline that has you so worked up?”
“You. Definitely you.” She answers breathlessly as you slip your fingers inside of her. “The- on the wall, when you-” she attempts to explain, but quickly diminishes into restrained whimpers.
Is she really trying to be modest with you? You almost want to laugh. Instead, you ease a third finger inside of her and press your thumb to her clit to rub lazy circles against it. Natasha moans freely, now; it bounces off of the walls of the jet.
“That’s it, baby,” you praise. “Good girl. I want to hear you scream for me.”
The second 'good girl’ leaves your lips, Natasha bucks against you with a sharp exhale. Grinning to yourself, you move to her ear.
“You like that? Being called my good girl?” You ask huskily. Her resounding moan is confirmation enough. “You’re so good, in fact,” you continue, kissing down to her jaw, then her neck. “-that I would love-” another gentler kiss to her scar “-to taste you.”
You replace your fingers with your tongue before sucking her clit between your lips. When her legs move to your shoulders and her fingers tighten in your hair, an unbidden cry of your name falling from Natasha’s lips like a prayer, you actually moan yourself. This, you think, this is where I want to die. Between Natasha Romanoff’s thighs.
Natasha’s hips ride against your mouth and fingers, your pace unrelenting as you find spots deep inside of her that make her twitch and moan. She’s already so close, her velvety walls pulsing around your fingers when you curl them against her sweet spot.
You slow your pace, looking up at her lustfully. “Look at me, Nat,” you order. Her eyes snap open, meeting yours with surprising vulnerability. “That’s it, baby.” You pick up the pace again. “Look at me when you cum for me. Good girl.”
Her thighs tighten around you. You use your free hand to control her hips’ movements. “Oh my fucking-” she pants, almost tilting her head back. “(Y/N)- I’m- I’m gonna-”
“That’s it. Be a good girl and cum for me.” You return to running your tongue over her clit; once, twice, and Natasha is almost screaming your name, her body thrashing as her orgasm overwhelms her. You let her ride it out, replacing your fingers with your tongue to lap at her.
When she’s left to gentle afterquakes, you move back up to kiss her neck softly. She wraps her arms around your waist lazily, as if her limbs were too heavy.
“How’s your arm?” She asks, and it takes you a moment to realize she’s talking about the wound.
“Probably fine. Good enough for round two?”
She snorts, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I think we’ve already landed.”
“Oh,” you pull back with a frown. “So…”
“So we’ll have to get it checked out at the Infirmary first.” She smirks. “THEN round two.”
- - - -
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