**M.W.A.

She found the Golden City to be gorgeous. Filled with culture and the smell of the local food and restaurants. Natasha noticed some older women sitting on an iron table outside a cafe that was still open, discussing something in a language she had yet to learn as they drank coffees. How could one not enjoy this?

When she accepted his hand, T’Challa drew her fully onto the floor. He moved with easy confidence, shoulders loose, steps smooth and grounded in the beat. One hand settled at her back as he guided the tempo, letting the music lead them both. Around them, the crowd widened instinctively, eyes drawn to the King as he danced with the Queen—not for spectacle, but with a natural grace that made the moment feel shared, intimate, and alive.

It wasn't so much that Natasha didn't want children. She did. She even tried with Alexei. She just had so much trauma based around motherhood that she never considered it again.

"I'm all yours then, my love..." She sat up on her knees, her hands on his hips. Natasha felt the material of the woven fur blanket dig into her knees. Looking up at him, she took his cock in her hands and began to jerk him off. She didn't stop making eye contact with him, until she decided that he was ready.

Positioning herself so she was on all fours, Natasha rubbed him one last time before taking him in her mouth. Having grown accustomed to how well endowed he was by now, she knew that she wouldn't be able to take him completely. Unlike all of her other male lovers in the past.

Natasha moaned around his length, taking him as far into her throat as she could manage. After a moment of getting used to the feeling, she bobbed her head faster. She could feel herself getting more aroused, enough to the point of using her one free hand to start touching herself. Her moans were muffled around the size of his cock.

By a galaxy, she was the most skilled he had ever known. His hands found her instinctively, fingers threading through her hair with slow, reverent care, guiding without force, holding without urgency." You please...your King astonishing."

Okoye did not look away.

Her grip tightened on her spear as she watched Natasha devour the King, the room heavy with heat and reverence. It wasn't just the act itself that stirred her unease, but the way Natasha moved with him — unafraid, unhesitating, as if she already belonged in that space.

“Desire is easy,” Okoye murmured under her breath, jealousy sharpening her tone just enough to betray it.

Natasha’s pace was deliberate, unhurried, each movement drawing a sharper response from him than the last. T’Challa’s breath broke this time—no effort to hide it—as his hand slid into her hair, fingers tightening just enough to betray how close his control was to slipping. His chest rose hard beneath her touch, a low sound vibrating out of him despite himself. Heavy droplets of pre-cum spilled from his strong, thick member.

Natasha stepped out of the royal chambers, her floor length black gown with gold embroidery fit snug on her body as it showed off her curves. In an instant, two Dora Milaje walked with her on either side as they headed towards the throne and reception area of the palace. Their goal was the same as always: protect the royal family. They didn't care if Natasha was married into said family.

She still wasn't used to having bodyguards, outside of maybe Ivan. Years of being shaped into a deadly weapon does that to you. Natasha even had on her gold gauntlets, the length of them covering her forearms and wrists. That's what she liked about them, they were subtle enough to pass as accessories.

He inclined his head slightly to the Dora Milaje in acknowledgment before stepping toward her.

“They do not walk beside you because you are incapable,” he said calmly, voice steady and resonant. “They walk beside you because Wakanda honors you.”

His eyes dropped briefly to the gold Wakandan jewelry at her wrists — the subtle yet blinding gold he bestowed upon her the morning after their steamy engagement celebration— and a faint, knowing smile touched his lips.

“You have survived assassins, empires, and gods,” he continued. “You are not fragile, Natasha. But you are my queen. And a queen is never left exposed — not as a restriction, but as respect.”

He stopped in front of her, close enough now, lowering his voice.

“If you wish them to fall back, say so. The Dora obey you as they do me.”

A pause. Then, softer: Then, softer:

Natasha smiled softly at her husband. "I hope it's as an equal, rather than a form of ownership. I'm no one's property anymore, and I hope you remember that." She patted his jaw as she walked past, sitting on her new throne beside his. This was new to her, too. She still was getting used to this whole queen thing. One of the Dora looked at her admiringly.

She had been raised her entire life being told that she was from the same bloodline as the Romanovs themselves, but it wasn't like she had any control over Russia. All the connection had earned her was more Soviet propaganda.

“I have never mistaken you for property,” he said evenly. “Wakanda does not place crowns on possessions. It places them on partners.”

He lifted her hand gently, his thumb resting over the precious stones as if acknowledging both the gift and the heart deserving of the honor.

“Equality does not mean sameness,” he continued. “Nor does leadership require domination. You stand beside me because you chose to — not because I claimed you.”

A faint smile touched his mouth.

"But understand this,” he added, voice steady and sure. “A throne does not erase order. It sharpens responsibility. Mine is to lead. Yours is to challenge me when I am wrong, and to strengthen me when I am right.”

His gaze softened, but his presence did not.

“You are no one’s property,” he said. “But you are my queen — by will, by covenant, and by strength.” His thumb brushed her lower lip once, possessive but restrained. The Dora could only look on with curiosity — and jealousy. Jealousy stemming from the two that engaged in combat with her quite some time ago.

"However, I do have instructions for you at this appointed time." The King's eyes briefly meet the Dora's then realigned with the Queen's.

Knowing what was next, she stepped out of the gold heels and black lace underwear, placing them and the dress on her throne to be put back on. Natasha stood there, in the nude, in front of him and the Dora. Having been trained to use her body and sexuality as a weapon, she had no issue with the possibility of another man coming across such a sight.

As Natasha let the gown slip from her shoulders, the Dora Milaje formed their silent ring, unmoving, eyes forward. T’Challa stood still—yet something primal stirred beneath his composure. A low, steady sound rumbled in his chest, not loud enough to command attention, but unmistakable—an instinct held on a leash.

If beauty alone were the measure of worth,” T’Challa murmured, his voice low and even, “you would be overqualified.”

As the words settled between them, his hands found her with deliberate calm — not roaming, not hurried. One palm rested at her waist, firm and grounding, while the other traced the natural line of her back, feeling the warmth of her body beneath his touch. It was a study, not a claim — the way a panther acknowledges what stands before him.

Natasha's hands held on to his biceps for stability, feeling how muscular he was from underneath his clothes. She eventually placed them under his shirt, pulling away long enough to take it off of him, then resumed kissing him. The henna essential oils that she always used for her baths, combined with the perfume she chose that day smelled heavenly.

She pulled away, taking some time to take off his belt and started to pull down his pants.

Natasha's hands held on to his biceps for stability, feeling how muscular he was from underneath his clothes. She eventually placed them under his shirt, pulling away long enough to take it off of him, then resumed kissing him. The henna essential oils that she always used for her baths, combined with the perfume she chose that day smelled heavenly.

She pulled away, taking some time to take off his belt and started to pull down his pants.

Natasha stepped out of the royal chambers, her floor length black gown with gold embroidery fit snug on her body as it showed off her curves. In an instant, two Dora Milaje walked with her on either side as they headed towards the throne and reception area of the palace. Their goal was the same as always: protect the royal family. They didn't care if Natasha was married into said family.

She still wasn't used to having bodyguards, outside of maybe Ivan. Years of being shaped into a deadly weapon does that to you. Natasha even had on her gold gauntlets, the length of them covering her forearms and wrists. That's what she liked about them, they were subtle enough to pass as accessories.

He inclined his head slightly to the Dora Milaje in acknowledgment before stepping toward her.

“They do not walk beside you because you are incapable,” he said calmly, voice steady and resonant. “They walk beside you because Wakanda honors you.”

His eyes dropped briefly to the gold Wakandan jewelry at her wrists — the subtle yet blinding gold he bestowed upon her the morning after their steamy engagement celebration— and a faint, knowing smile touched his lips.

“You have survived assassins, empires, and gods,” he continued. “You are not fragile, Natasha. But you are my queen. And a queen is never left exposed — not as a restriction, but as respect.”

He stopped in front of her, close enough now, lowering his voice.

“If you wish them to fall back, say so. The Dora obey you as they do me.”

A pause. Then, softer: Then, softer:

Mr. Terrific

Half a smile cracked at the corner of her mouth as she looked him up and down. She wasn't going to let him in her pants without a date, she liked to have fun but a real man knows foreplay is everything.

Bishop was no stranger when it came to the needs of a woman. Despite his busy schedule he had his time around women and was quite popular with them. He was just selective.

"Sooo let's dance."

Of course, Jean had heard of District X, but its establishment and many developments had occurred largely while she was dead, on the opposite side of the country, or otherwise occupied in some sort of world-ending crisis. In all things, a simple consequence of being an X-Man first, and everyone else second for the last half-decade or more. But that didn't keep her from keeping tabs, and of course she knew what Bishop had been up to.

"Oh, the area was it?" She asked with a faux coyness, she might have been serious at one point, if almost every other old face in her life, Ororo, James, Scott, Warren, Kitty, even Emma, hadn't come by at some point in the last few weeks to try to talk her back into the team, "But I get that, a pretty girl always has a habit of causing thirst." Smirking to herself at what was probably the lamest joke ever.

Reclining slightly in her seat, as she picked up the cup by its handle, she nodded, here it came, "Yeah, death can really fuck up a girl, you know? But it sort of... Compounded on my other personal realizations regarding... The whole thing over the last few years. It's especially hard to take any of it seriously after a rotation with the avengers, even if it was the West Coast squad."

"Thirst? I should charge you with a felony for lying to an officer," he said holding his stoicism." Only one of us at this table is thirsty- and that, Ms. Grey, is unequivocally you." He teased back. He didn't have the best sense of flirtatious humor..but the effort was there.

Death, something he was all too familiar with." I imagine. Some of the crime scenes I've seen in the District would screw the minds of the finest soldiers Weapon x has to offer." As those words left his lips hundreds of bloody battle thoughts involving the XSE and his dystopian home rush his mind. War of some sort was part of his DNA, for better or worse.

"Busy, alright- but not busy enough to invite you over later. It's getting a little late. I gotta head to the station and go over a few things with my guys." He nods as he gets up." I hope his dream really can come true someday, Jeanie."