tagCelebrities & Fan FictionAn Avenger's Revelation

An Avenger's Revelation


This story takes place before the events of Age of Ultron and has many characters featured in the Marvel Universe. The 5th entry in an ongoing Avengers series, please read the earlier entries to best enjoy this sequel.


Present Day

Avengers Tower

New York

A lone Avenger walked casually through the luxurious communal area of the empty complex, her heels clacking in the wide-open space. Climbing the glass stairway that arced around the room, the redhead looked out over the Manhattan skyline just as the sun set over the horizon. Reaching the highest level she continued along the upper walkway passing Tony's lab, the ex-S.H.I.E.L.D agent glimpsing a robotic arm at work through the tinted window. Ignoring the impressive technology, the woman headed straight for the double doors ahead of her.

As she drew closer to her target, the woman casually checked her appearance, shrugging in her short tan trench coat. The redhead's clothing gave nothing away, the former spy still prone to anonymity over her newfound fame. But now it was time to be seen:

Unbuckling the belt, the redhead opened her jacket with a flourish, allowing it to fall to the floor as she continued onward.

Unveiling a sheer black negligee, Natasha Romanoff felt the cool air meet her creamy skin. Beneath she wore a red lace décolletage, tight demi-cups holding her full chest in place. A matching garter belt suspending sheer red stockings complimented this erotic ensemble, red knickers following the curve of her behind. The revealing items only served to display the woman's perfect form, the ex-agent's curves tantalisingly accentuated by a pair of sweeping black high heels.

Sexuality oozed from Natasha's every pore, the redhead's artfully applied make-up the icing on the cake; dark, lush red lipstick, eyeliner and blusher completing the erotic image.

No more skintight black uniform, yet she still intended to go into battle.

Arriving at the double doors, Natasha leant against them momentarily. Running a hand through short red locks the woman took a steadying breath. This was when her façade faded, albeit momentarily, her cool demeanor replaced with signs of apprehension.

The outcome of this engagement could make or break her; this alias maybe even defining her role as Black Widow from now on.

Bracing herself, Natasha pressed through the double doors.


6 Months Earlier

S.H.I.E.L.D Safehouse


Natasha Romanoff burst through the heavy metal doors gun raised, her usual subtlety all but forgotten as she focused on her target. Even in the dark of this dank dam complex, the redhead knew exactly where to aim, leveling the pistol in the direction of her former employer.

"Thanks for knocking," Maria Hill stated dryly.

The Ex-Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D didn't flinch, setting her pen down wearily as she looked up from her makeshift desk. Ever since she had discovered her agency was compromised she'd been expecting this meeting. The Black Widow, after all, was ultimately just another asset that required evaluation. One that was apparently malfunctioning.

"Did you know!?" Natasha asked bitterly.

"Know what??" The brunette replied patiently.

"That HYDRA was running S.H.I.E.L.D!"

Maria blinked, her crystal blue eyes faltering momentarily; it still hurt to admit her former life had been lie:

"Of course not," Maria responded pointedly; "How could you even ask me that?!"

Natasha shook her head, stepping forward into the light from Maria's desk lamp. Immediately she could see the strain, the redhead's battered suit reflective of its wearer's latest near-death experience. Even the Black Widow's gun arm was trembling, the affect of a recent gunshot wound to her shoulder abundantly clear. When the redhead spoke it was through clenched teeth:

"Oh I don't know, maybe because every mission you ever assigned me was off the books?? How am I even supposed to know whose lies I've been telling!?"

Maria stood up abruptly, staring down the redhead even with the weapon pointed directly at her:

"What are you after here Romanoff? Some revelation to clear your conscience?! You're not going to like my answers so you may as well shoot me!"

Natasha paused, her eyes misting over. For all her anger, she knew this course of action could hardly be justified. The redhead lowered her weapon:

"I thought I was going straight..."

"Well we both know that's not true," Maria replied jokingly.

Natasha glowered as she reluctantly returned the gun to her hip holster. Leaning against a nearby concrete support, the redhead massaged her injured shoulder, speaking quietly:

"I placed myself at your feet Maria. I crossed ethical lines; professionally, physically-"

Stepping around her desk, Maria walked into the redhead's personal space. Natasha didn't blink as the other woman ran her hands around her hips, apparently examining her injuries, their faces millimetres apart:

"-sexually." Natasha continued awkwardly, "And I hold myself accountable for all that. But I have to know what I was a part of before I can move forward."

Natasha frowned as she felt her utility belt loosen, the brunette unbuckling the strap around her waist:

"Sorry Romanoff, but these tools are no longer licensed. As for your... off the book assignments, including the Martinelli Protocol, it was all sent from the top down," Maria explained as she unclasped Natasha's thigh straps, tugging the equipment free:

"Each docket was encoded, but they all came from the World Security Council itself. That's the good news."

"And the bad?" Natasha whispered, her dry sexy tones not disguising her concern.

Maria sighed and for the first time Natasha saw the vulnerability that the brunette was also feeling:

"Its highly likely that at least some of the Counsellors are HYDRA. I gather at least a third of them, Gideon Malick, possibly Hawley and Jacobs."

Natasha felt her knees give, leaning more heavily on the column:

"Say it."

Maria paused, attempting to disguise her concern: "Natasha-"

"-Say it!" The redhead snapped.

"Could be a long while before we know whether all your actions were for the good guys, or the bad."

The brunette watched the ex-agent's plump lower lip tremble, her eyes moisten:

"I thought I knew who I was fucking," Natasha began, her voice cracking, "but it turns out I don't even know whether I'm giving or taking anymore!"

The redhead felt sick. How many people had she slept with under false pretenses?

"So I'm no better than a prostitute?" Natasha asked shakily.

Maria cleared her throat, eyes hardening: "You knew what you were getting into."

"So now what?"

The brunette surveyed her ex-agent carefully. The redhead was a shadow of her confident former self. Maria wound her people tight, so they could twist out of any situation. However, some twist so much they break:

"Its over Natasha, no more Martinelli Protocol, no more sexual espionage. From now on you draw your own boundaries. So take a vacation, go find yourself. Become a-"

Maria rolled her eyes: "-superhero."

"I'm not sure if I can do that."

"You'll have to, the brunette replied coldly, "let's face it, you're no good to us like this."

Maria turned away only for Natasha to grip her hand. Sighing, the brunette waited expectantly.

Reaching for the zipper of her suit, the redhead tugged it down to her navel. Maria watched, momentarily taken back, as the garment split open, the pale skin of Natasha's abdomen revealed, taught and smooth:

"What are you doing?" Maria asked uncertainly, watching the redhead disrobe.

"You don't want your suit back?" Natasha asked bitterly, stepping closer to the other woman.

Looking back at her ex-agent, Maria replied coldy:

"No actually."

Seeing the hurt in Natasha's eyes, the brunette held firm.

"Give me a mission." The redhead asked quietly.


Natasha stretched the neck over her damaged shoulder, still wrapped in bandages. Maria swallowed as the redhead released her perfect breasts from their taught confinement, full round orbs exposed to the chilly air of the dam. The ex-agent allowed her suit to drape around her waist:

"Give. Me. A Mission." Natasha stated more firmly.


The redhead scowled. Going for broke, Natasha grabbed the other woman's hand. Before Maria could pull away, the ex-agent slid her palm into the open suit.

Maria gasped, eyes widening as her fingers descended over her ex-agent's downy hair, sliding between Natasha's legs only to find her incredible heat once more. Digits brushing the girl's swollen lips, the brunette clenched her teeth as she cupped her hot core.

Natasha closed her eyes, exhaling shakily as her superior's fingers met her nethers, delving into her wetness. Feeling her suit fall around her ankles, the redhead open her legs, inviting Maria in. She needed this:

"Give Me a Mission!" The redhead demanded.

For a few moments the women stood together, locked into this strange embrace. Then the brunette rallied:

"No," Maria stated firmly.

Opening her tired eyes, Natasha stared, crestfallen, into the woman's cold blue stare. Maria withdrew her hand:

"We're all just civilians now."

Turning from the broken redhead, the Ex-Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D strutted away, taking only a moment to taste the ends of her digits.

Behind her she left a tearful, half-naked Natasha Romanoff in the dim light of her office.


2 Months Earlier

'No5 Orange'

New York City

Crossing the street, Natasha strode with purpose, even without her S.H.I.E.L.D costume. Tonight she was on a mission; whether it was sanctioned or not. So instead of her usual outfit the redhead was dressed in plain clothes; a simple navy tanktop complimented with a black leather jacket and a tight pair of jeans. This was not a disguise, after all Natasha was a civilian now. Nevertheless, her training was harder to remove, and as she approached the building she analysised the structure.

Built of stark concrete, the entire block was broken by only a single door. There was a cluster of cars around the door and a man exited while Natasha approached. He didn't glance in her direction.

Arriving at the battered door, she noted a sign indicating that a person had to be eighteen to enter had been scratched out. Typical, the only place for a thousand miles where she wouldn't be recognized was a dive like this. But that's what happens when you dump all your secrets onto the Internet.

The hallway beyond was painted in a darker shade of red, although the paint was scuffed and peeling. Bare light bulbs lit the way to another doorway through which she could hear loud music playing. The lights on the other side of the doorway pulsated with thumping bass notes as she got closer.

Once inside Natasha paused to get her bearings. As she moved into the dark room she could see a stage in its centre. Along the wall to her right stretched the bar where she could see a number of excited men talking to barely dressed women. One man sat at the bar alone and raised his head as she walked by. Most of the tables were empty, all though there was a group of four college boys seated at one, a pitcher of beer between them.

Moving towards the bar, Natasha was painfully aware that a number of people were watching her. After all, she was the only woman there who was not an employee of the strip club.

"Somethin' to drink?" a surly bar man asked her.

"A cocktail," Natasha replied, surveying the board behind him: "Black Russian."

Surveying the room the ex-SHIELD agent surveyed the strippers that crossed the open floor with benign interest, even as the barman handed her the drink. Taking a sip, she eyed the room with detachment, oblivious to the chaos all around her.

Natasha Romanoff was bored. Ever since she'd been forced into this 'vacation', all the violence of her previous life had ended. Without the thrill of another dangerous encounter she had physically healed easily, but her mind was a different matter. She needed action, she need violence. And most of all; she needed sex.

The lights flashed on the stage. A deep male voice came over the PA system asking that everyone give a big welcome to the next dancer: 'Chastity.' Natasha rolled her eyes.

There was clapping and hollering. Soon a song started playing and after about twenty seconds another woman appeared, this time dressed as a pink cowgirl.

It wasn't just the sex Natasha missed, she was a beautiful woman, finding willing partners was easy; it was deeper than that, the fuck or be fucked world of espionage that no relationship could replicate.

The ex-agent eyed the woman performing on stage, drinking her provocative movement in. Here it was all right to stare, that was why she had come. After all, she had justified coming to the bar to look at women. But already that wasn't enough; there was no challenge, no intrigue! It just wasn't enough to see a woman take off her clothes in a sleazy strip bar. She needed more.

The woman on stage slid around her pole, before athletically inverting herself along its length. Natasha smirked; the feat was a little sloppy by her own standards; a little slow and robotic. A man seated by the stage however seemed to be impressed by the close-up view of her suspended behind.

Taking another swig of her drink, she placed the glass on the counter. This was a waste of time that was now obvious. What had she hoped to learn here? Whom was she expecting to find? Preparing to leave, the redhead grimaced as the hand of another club patron gripped her own. Not even pausing, Natasha twisted the arm in place, only satisfied when she heard the offending wrist break:

"ArrrghhH!!" the man yelled, falling backward off his stall. Nobody cared, continuing their own business as Natasha finished her drink, taking a swift draft.

"I like a girl who can play rough," a woman's voice laughed playfully.

Seeing a female form lean up against the bar where the man once stood, Natasha turned to meet an attractive stripper:

"The clientel aren't usually prettier than the performers," the brunette began, smiling naughtily.

Taking in the curvaceous form of this surprisingly perfect woman, Natasha smirked:

"I guess that's in the eye of the beholder..."

The stripper raised a hand:


"Natasha," she replied, shaking the Brazilian woman's hand, uncomfortably aware that giving her own name never ended well:

"How'd a nice girl like you wind up working in a dump like this?"

"Rough childhood," Vanessa replied playfully, slipping a strip of bubble gum between her teeth.

"Been there," Natasha responded, coyly looking the woman up and down:

Vanessa wore a strappy, black latex cocktail dress, the skintight fabric straining to contain voluptuous curves. Draped against the bar, the brunette's glorious shape was further accentuated by impossibly high heels.

"You wanna private dance honey?"

Natasha considered the proposal; Vanessa was enticingly straightforward, streetwise and beautiful for an escort. What did she have to lose?

"Why not?" Natasha replied coolly.

Taking the redhead's hand, Vanessa led her across the bar and into a private room. Ignoring the intrusive eyes of several bar patreons, Natasha distracted herself with the impressive behind of the stripper, her cocktail dress so short and tight it struggled to cover the brunette's ample butt.

Stepping into a curtained-off area, Natasha took a seat, her curiosity outweighing her own self-doubt: this was a sex-worker. She was an Agent! A hero!! Why was she even here?

"Loosen up a bit Red," Vanessa smiled, chewing slowly as she noticing how tense and upright her customer had become. Leaning over her seat, the stripper parted Natasha's legs, stepping closer to her captive audience. Pursing her lips, the Brazilian woman blew an impressive pink bubble, allowing it to pop millimetres from the redhead's face. Natasha smirked; the woman was definitely experience.

Beginning to gently sway, Vanessa twisted on the spot, rising and falling in time with the beat of the club's music. Following the woman's every move, Natasha relaxed, the hypnotic gyrations easing the ex-agent's inner turmoil. Turning, the redhead took in her bare back, lace crisscrossing olive skin. Facing her once more, the brunette leant over Natasha, filling her vision with her full chest.

Sliding down the straps of her dress, Vanessa teasingly slipped the garment down, revealing soft flesh and the delicate lace of black lingerie. Twisting her hips, the garment traveled down her abdomen, Natasha left mesmerised by the brunette's flowing movement.

Stretching latex over wide hips, Vanessa smiled as the clothing came free, allowing her dress to fall around bare thighs:

"Mmmm, that's better..."

Watching as the brunette stroke her palms over her own curves, Natasha followed them down her abdomen, till fingers hooked into a lacy black thong. Staring at the stripper's nethers as her hips began to rotate once more, Natasha bit her lip, feeling her own inhibitions melt away to be replace with genuine lust: This woman was knew her stuff. Her eyes flicked up to meet Vanessa's:

"You are good!"

Vanessa paused momentarily, her eyes becoming suspicious:

"You're not a secret shopper are you? Cos if so... Literally anyone else would have fitted in better here."

Natasha grinned:

"I am... unemployed at the moment."

Vanessa placed her hands on the couch either side of Natasha's head, lifting her impressive chest so close to the former agent's face she could almost taste the brunette's body oil, her eyes taking in the detail of the stripper's fine lace. The stripper continued:

"So you're in the sex business too?"

Natasha blanched, green eyes widening. Vanessa smirked:

"Don't bother denying it Red, I see it all over that pretty face of yours."

Natasha closed her open mouth, grimacing. The brunette continued:

"I've seen this from time to time with the other girls here..."

Natasha had no idea what to say, but that didn't seem to matter. Watching Vanessa arch her back, the redhead practically salivated as the woman ran her hands over her full breasts.

Reaching behind her back, Vanessa unclased her bra, allowing it to fall free. The woman smiled as Natasha bit her lip, eyes locked onto her dark brown nipples.

Turning her back on Natasha, she hooked her thumbs in her g-string once more, practically wedgying herself to show off her beautiful rear. The brunette continued:

"Every girl in this place has doubts, gets a big head, or gets all existential about the job. That's when they start visiting each other... Like they want to know the other side..."

Natasha bit her tongue, stunned by the woman's observation:

"You talk a lot for a stripper."

Vanessa smiled over her shoulder, keeping her back to the redhead. Blowing a smaller bubble, the brunette raised her ass towards Natasha, while her hips continued to rotate to the music:

"But you're not one of my girls... Why'd you come here??"

The ex-agent gripped the couch on either side of her legs, resisting the strong urge to grope tantalizingly fat globes: of course if necessary she could shirk the consequences of the 'no touching rule'. What threat were bouncers to the Black Widow? But she wanted to see how this played out:

"Because it's the one place nobody would ever look for me."

Twisting, the brunette raised an eyebrow, Natasha continued calmly:

"Trust me, you're well outside my universe."

The stripper shrugged. Still, as Vanessa moved over her outstretched thighs, hovering there for the longest time while swaying to the music, Natasha struggled to maintain a cool façade. Then agonizing inches at a time, she lowered behind, brushing against the redhead's tight jeans. Natasha let out a shuddering breath, feeling the heat from the stripper's body as her ass began to press against her pussy. For all her training, she couldn't help it: jerking her hips upward against the brunette's ass.

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