The conference room at the top of Avengers Tower had seen gods argue with soldiers, billionaires threaten monsters and the end of the world laid out across glass tables more times than anyone cared to count.

But tonight, the room felt different and that was the first warning. No voices overlapped or no one paced except Tony and even his restless movement felt muted, like the tower itself had decided to hold its breath. New York looked distant from up here, completely unaware that somewhere beyond the stars, something ancient and merciless was moving toward them.

The hologram above the table glowed blue. Vision’s face turned slowly within the projection, then his body, then the Mind Stone in his forehead. He was now a target, which meant..death sentence. A silence followed every rotation of the image. Steve stood with his arms crossed, jaw tight and Wanda sat beside Vision, her fingers wrapped around his hand as if physical touch alone could keep him anchored to the earth. Tony flicked his wrist and the hologram zoomed in on the Mind Stone.

“So, we’re all agreed that letting the big purple grape collect the magic forehead jewelry is bad.”

No one laughed and Tony’s mouth tightened. “Right. Tough crowd..” Shuri stood on the other side of the table with her arms folded and eyes bright with the kind of intelligence that made even Tony look like a man holding a candle beside a star.

“It is not jewelry.” she said and Tony pointed at her without looking. “I am aware.”

“You keep calling it jewelry.”

“I cope with world ending trauma through sarcasm. It’s a system.”

“It is a poor one.” Shuri stepped forward, tapping the holographic display. The image shifted, peeling back layers of Vision’s synthetic tissue and the luminous threads connecting the Stone to everything he was.

“The Stone is not merely attached to him.” she said. “It is integrated. Poorly, in some places but elegantly in others..and it can be removed.”

Wanda looked up. Vision’s expression softened, but there was fear beneath his composure. “How long?” Steve asked.

Shuri’s gaze flickered briefly to her brother before returning to the projection. “Long enough that we would need a controlled environment. My lab and my equipment.“

“Wakanda.” Natasha said.

T’Challa stood near the windows, he had been listening more than speaking. A king in a room full of warriors, letting others spend their panic first.

“Yes.” he said. “Wakanda.”

Tony exhaled, already moving to another screen. “Okay, good. We have a destination. We get Vision there, Shuri does her genius thing, we keep the Stone away from Thanos and maybe, for once, the apocalypse can make an appointment instead-“

“No.”

The word did not come from T’Challa, it came from Shuri. Steve’s eyes narrowed. “No?”

Shuri was looking at her brother now and he did not move, but something changed in his face. “We need help.” he said quietly.

“No.” she repeated, sharper this time. “Do not even think it.”

“We may not have a choice.”

“We always have a choice.” Shuri said. Her voice trembled, but not from weakness, but from the effort it took to hold something enormous back. “You taught me that.”

“I taught you that kings choose for their people before they choose for themselves.”

“You are not talking about Wakanda.”

“No.” T’Challa said and the room seemed to grow colder. Natasha straightened from the wall. “What are you talking about?”

T’Challa was silent for a moment. He looked at Vision first, then Wanda, then Steve. “If Thanos comes for the Stone..” T’Challa said, “he will not come alone.”

“We know.” Steve replied.

“No.” T’Challa said and this time there was steel in it. “You do not. Thanos does not conquer like men conquer. He does not send soldiers to claim land, or kings to demand surrender. He sends hunger and he sends teeth. He sends nightmares that do not understand mercy because mercy was never put into them.” Bruce’s face had gone pale because he had seen Thanos. He knew.

T’Challa continued, “Wakanda is strong. Stronger than any nation your world believes exists. Our shields may hold. Our warriors may fight. Our weapons may cut down thousands. But if an army falls from the sky with no fear of death, no need for rest and no desire except slaughter, then strength alone will not be enough.”

Shuri turned away, her jaw clenched and Tony looked between them. “Okay, I’m officially not loving the direction this is going.”

Steve stepped closer. “You know someone who can help.”

T’Challa’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “I know of a people.” He turned slightly, looking out over the city as if what he was about to say did not belong under electric lights and glass ceilings. As if it belonged around a fire, under a red sky, spoken by men who had seen gods bleed. “They live far from the world you know. Farther even than Wakanda, though not by distance alone. They are not on your maps and do not come to summits. They do not trade with presidents and they definitely do not ask permission to exist.” The room was utterly still.

“They are a kingdom.” T’Challa said. “Though that word is too clean for them. They are bloodlines and banners..Ash and bone. They are a people built by war, shaped by it, fed by it.”

Wanda’s hand tightened around Vision’s and T’Challa looked at her, “For centuries, they fought a war the rest of the earth never knew was being waged. Not for politics or for oil. Not for borders drawn by men in rooms. Their war was older than that. A war of oaths and prophecy. A war that swallowed generations.”

Bruce slowly lowered himself into a chair. “Who are they?” he whispered.

“Their society is harsh.” he said. “Law exists, but loyalty is stronger, blood..is stronger. A promise made before witnesses is worth more than paper and a coward’s word is worth less than the dirt beneath a horse’s hoof.”

Natasha’s face remained unreadable, but something in her eyes changed. She knew societies like that. Not the horses, not the banners, perhaps not the myths. But fear as language? Obedience as survival? Children raised to become weapons before they understood the shape of their own names? Yes. She knew.

“Their warriors wear their victories where all can see them. Long hair braided with rings of bone and metal. Battle trophies and proof of survival. Their riders are elite beyond anything I have seen outside Wakanda. They do not simply ride horses, they move like storms given bodies.”

Clint, who had been silent until now, frowned. “And you think they’ll fight Thanos?”

“I think..” T’Challa said, “that if they choose to ride, even Thanos will hear them coming.”

The words lingered till Shuri spoke, “They will not come for you.” Everyone looked at her. “They do not fight because someone asks. They do not send armies because the world is in danger. The world has never cared about them and they have returned the sentiment generously.”

“Then why bring them up?” Tony asked.

Shuri looked at him. “Because there is one person they would burn the world for.”

T’Challa closed his eyes for half a second, as if hearing the name before it was spoken.

Steve’s voice was careful. “Their ruler?”

“No..” Shuri said and T’Challa opened his eyes. “Their king and queen still sit the throne.”

“Then who?” Wanda asked. Shuri swallowed and T’Challa answered. “Their daughter.”

The word daughter should have softened the room..It did not. “Age means little among them. She ended the war her ancestors could not. She broke armies that had been bleeding her family for centuries. She took men who had known nothing but vengeance and made them kneel. Not with speeches, not with treaties. With victory.”

Natasha’s gaze did not leave T’Challa. “What’s her name?” Shuri’s head snapped toward her. “Do not.”

Natasha’s brow lifted slightly and Shuri’s voice dropped. “Do not ask that lightly.”

Tony gave a humorless laugh. “We’re really doing the forbidden name thing now?”

T’Challa looked at him, and Tony’s expression faltered, because the king of Wakanda did not look irritated. “In their language, names have weight.” T’Challa said. “Hers more than most.”

“What do they call her?” Steve asked and T’Challa’s eyes lowered. For the first time since he entered the room, the king looked reluctant. “Khaleesi.”

The word fell like a blade laid flat on the table. It was not a name, not exactly, it was a title. But even without understanding the language, the room felt the shape of it. Shuri looked away as if even hearing it here, in this glass tower in the heart of New York, was wrong.

“They bow to her?” Rhodey asked and T’Challa’s mouth tightened. “Everyone bows to her.”

“To the princess?” Sam asked.

“To the victor. She is not first on the throne.” he continued. “Not yet. Their laws do not allow it while her father lives. Their family tree is old and cruel and tradition does not bend quickly, even for those who have earned more than a crown.”

“And yet?” Natasha asked.

“And yet..” T’Challa said, “her parents rise when she enters a hall.” That landed harder than anything before it. “Her brothers, cousins, generals, blood riders, priests, servants, enemies taken into chains, all of them lower their eyes. Not because she demands it, because they have seen what happens when she is opposed.”

Shuri looked back at the table, “They treat her like a god.” she said and the blue glow of the Mind Stone projection flickered between them all.

“They fear her.” T’Challa said. “They love her. They would die for her. They would kill for her. And there are many among them who do not believe there is a difference.”

Steve’s voice was quiet. “That kind of loyalty is dangerous.”

“Yes.”

“Can she control it?”

T’Challa looked at him. “She ended a war that had eaten centuries.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is the only answer that matters.”

Bruce was staring at nothing now, his mind clearly moving too fast, dragging old myths into new light. “You said prophecy..” he murmured and T’Challa’s eyes shifted toward him.

“What myths?” Bruce asked. “What exactly are we talking about?”

Shuri inhaled. “Dr. Banner-”

“No.” Bruce stood suddenly, chair scraping against the floor. “No, wait. Because there are stories. Old ones, not just Norse, not just Greek, not just the usual gods with bad parenting legends. There are expedition journals that were dismissed as fever dreams.”

Tony stared at him. “Banner.”

Bruce turned to T’Challa, stunned. “No..” he said softly. “No, that’s impossible.”

T’Challa’s face did not change and Bruce’s voice thinned. “They’re stories. Children’s stories.” Bruce said. “Myths..Dragons are myths.”

The word struck the room like thunder and for a second, no one seemed to understand it. Then Sam let out a breath. “I’m sorry, did he just say dragons?”

Thor, standing near the back with his arms folded, “Dragons are not so impossible.”

Tony turned on him. “You do not get to normalize this.”

“Many realms have them.”

“This is Earth.”

Bruce stepped away from the table, shaking his head. His eyes were wide with the horror of a scientist watching myth become evidence. “I thought they were symbolic.” he said. “I thought the fire was metaphor. The wings, the scales, the whole thing, I thought it was power exaggerated by people who didn’t understand what they were seeing.”

T’Challa’s voice was very soft. “They understood.” The room died around him. “They were real?” Wanda whispered.

“They are real.”

No one moved and Natasha felt the words settle beneath her skin. Not were..are.

“How many?”

T’Challa looked at Shuri. She shook her head once, pleading without words, but he looked back at the Avengers. “Once, the royal family had three.”

“Three.” Bruce repeated.

“Born from a line older than any record I have ever seen. Not pets or weapons in the way men understand weapons. They were bound to the family through blood and fire, through rituals older than their kingdom. During the last years of their war, the dragons changed everything.” His eyes lowered. “And then the war took them too.”

Wanda’s voice was barely there. “They died?”

“Two did.” The number moved through the room like a living thing. But..one dragon is still alive. Still enough to make a king of Wakanda speak with caution.

“And the last one belongs to her..?”

T’Challa’s gaze lifted. “No. She belongs to no one.” T’Challa said. “But he follows her.”

Natasha pushed away from the wall at last. “You’ve seen it.”

T’Challa looked at her. “Yes.”

Shuri’s expression tightened, but she said nothing now. The memory seemed to pull T’Challa somewhere far from the tower. “A few years ago..My father believed that Wakanda could not remain blind to the other hidden powers of this world. He took me beyond our borders, farther than our aircraft were tracked, farther than our maps marked with names.”

He paused. “Their land is not like Wakanda. Wakanda hides beauty behind illusion. They hide brutality behind distance. I remember the first sound.”

His voice lowered, drawing the room with it. “Thousands of them. The earth moved before they appeared. Then the riders came over the ridge, hair uncut and braided, blades curved, faces painted in ash and red clay. They did not slow when they saw us. They circled close enough that I could see the scars on their horses. Close enough that my guards reached for their spears.”

A faint, humorless smile touched his mouth. “My father told them to stop and their king came, but none of them were the reason the riders parted.” The room waited. “She was.”

Natasha’s fingers curled slightly at her sides. “I had heard the title before I saw her.” T’Challa said. “Whispered by men who did not whisper for anyone. She was young, but already riding a black horse with no saddle. Her hair was braided down her back with iron rings, each one marking a battle won. She wore no crown, she needed none. The riders lowered their weapons before she passed. Men twice her age touched their foreheads to the ground. Her own father stepped back to let her speak first.”

Shuri stared at the hologram, but her eyes were distant. “She was seventeen then.” T’Challa said and Bruce made a quiet, disbelieving sound. “At seventeen.” T’Challa said, “she had already won the eastern war.”

T’Challa’s eyes remained fixed on the past. “I did not understand it then. The way they looked at her, like she was salvation and execution wearing the same skin. I thought it was fear, then one of their prisoners spat at her feet and she did not flinch.” T’Challa said. “She did not raise her voice..only looked at him.”

“What happened?” Steve asked. T’Challa’s expression darkened. “The entire field went silent and one of the shadows came.” T’Challa said. “At first, I thought a storm had crossed the sun, but storms do not have wings. They do not blot out the sky with scales black as burnt metal. They do not breathe fire so hot that stone remembers it.” The room seemed to shrink around his words.

“One of her dragon landed behind her and she did not turn. The beast lowered its head over her shoulder like a mountain bowing to a girl.”

His voice became almost reverent despite himself. “And then I understood.”

Natasha whispered, “Understood what?”

T’Challa looked at her. “Why no one challenged her.”

For one bright instant, the tower windows reflected everyone’s faces back at them: soldiers, spies, gods, kings, monsters in human shape, all gathered around the image of a dying man with a Stone in his head. And somewhere beyond all their maps, a woman with a forbidden title and a dragon that followed her waited in a kingdom built from war.

Tony broke the silence, but his voice had lost its edge. “Okay..” he said. “So we ask dragon girl for help.”

Shuri’s head snapped up. “You do not ask her like that!”

Tony lifted both hands. “Noted.”

“You do not summon her!” Shuri said, voice hardening. “You do not bargain with her as if she is one of your politicians. You do not lie. You do not threaten. You do not look at her people like they are savages, even if they frighten you. Especially if they frighten you.”

Natasha watched Shuri closely. There was not only fear there. “You’ve met her too. ” Natasha said and Shuri’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”

“And?” For once, Shuri did not answer quickly. “She was kind to me.” she said at last. “She showed me their healing tents. Their forges. Their histories carved into bone and stone because paper burns too easily. She asked questions about Wakanda’s technology and understood more than she should have.”

A small, unwilling smile appeared and vanished. “Then a man interrupted her and she had him dragged from the hall.”

Tony blinked. “For interrupting?”

“For forgetting where he was.” Shuri said. “For forgetting who she was.”

“What kind of person are we inviting into this war?” he asked and T’Challa answered without hesitation. “The kind who can win it.”

The honesty sat between them and Natasha looked back at the Mind Stone. A creature like Thanos was coming..A thing with no mercy, no doubt, no hesitation and T’Challa was speaking of a woman raised in a world where hesitation read as weakness, where loyalty was blood deep, where gods were not prayed to but obeyed when they entered a room.

Steve drew a slow breath. “Will she help us?”

T’Challa turned toward the windows again. “I don’t know.”

Wanda’s voice was fragile “Can you reach her?”

“There are ways.” he said. “Old ways. Wakanda has kept them secret for generations, but understands this before I send word. If she comes, she will not come as a soldier under our command.”

His gaze moved from face to face. “She will come as Khaleesi. And where she goes..” T’Challa said, “..her people follow.”

Bruce sank back into his chair, stunned. “Dragons..” he whispered, still trying to make the word fit inside the world he knew.

Hours later, the Quinjet waited like a black blade against the gray dawn. The city below was waking without knowing it had almost died in a conference room hours earlier. And high above them, the team boarded a ship that would take them toward a country that did not exist. No one said what they were thinking.

A century long war? A hidden kingdom? A royal family with dragons? A girl worshipped like a god? It was impossible and absurd. The kind of story told by dying men around fires. The kind of thing carved into old ruins and dismissed by scholars. The kind of thing people stopped believing in when the world invented satellites, missiles, news channels and men like Tony who could map half the planet from a screen.

And yet..No one had known about Wakanda. The world had seen a poor country with cloth markets, shepherds and dusty roads. It had not seen the mountains open like the mouth of a god. It had not seen vibranium woven into cities. It had not seen aircraft without wings, weapons without bullets, medicine that could humble death itself. So no one

Vision was helped aboard first, Wanda never leaving his side. He walked under his own power, calm as ever, but there was something too careful in his movements now. As if the Stone in his forehead had become heavier since they had spoken its fate aloud. Steve followed, carrying a shield he hoped he would not need and knew he would.

When T’Challa entered, everyone was looking at him. “We have permission to enter their country.” The words landed like a sentence passed by a distant throne.

Steve gave a single nod. “Then we go.”

The sky changed from iron gray to pale blue, then to the molten gold of late afternoon, then to darkness so complete the windows became mirrors. Tony tried to track their route twice but the systems failed both times, as if the world beyond a certain point refused to be measured.

Inside the Quinjet, tension grew teeth. Natasha sat alone near the middle of the aircraft, she wanted to watch everyone else. That was how she survived, they was how she had always survived. Read the room and the breath before the lie and the fear before it became betrayal. And was full of fear. He sat hunched over, the old book open on his knees and Natasha watched him turn one page, then stop. “Hey.” She slid into the seat across from him. “You’ve been staring at the same page for twenty minutes.”

He blinked, then looked down as if surprised to find the book there. “Yeah.” he said softly. “I know.”

“That bad?” A humorless laugh escaped him. “I’m not sure bad is the word.”

Natasha leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “Try me.”

Bruce looked at her for a moment, then carefully turned the book so she could see. The leather cover was cracked and darkened by age, the corners reinforced with dull metal. The pages inside were thick, uneven, yellowed at the edges and covered in ink that had faded from black to brown. On the page Bruce showed her, was a drawing. A girl stood at the center of it and was lifted above a field of bodies, her hair flowing behind her like smoke, one hand outstretched, the other holding a curved blade slick with black ink meant to be blood. Around her, men knelt with their foreheads to the ground. Some still held weapons, some had dropped them. Behind her, wings spread wide enough to swallow the sky. The dragon in the drawing was monstrous. Its neck was long and armored in jagged scales, its horns swept back from its skull like broken crowns. Its mouth was open and the artist had drawn fire spilling from it in twisting lines that consumed towers, horses, men.

Natasha stared at it and Bruce’s voice was quiet when he spoke. “I was told about them when I was a student.”

Natasha did not look away from the page. “By who?”

“A professor at Culver. He specialized in pre modern myth cycles. The kind of thing no one funded unless it could be tied to something famous. He used to talk about the hidden war, the fire line, blood riders and the last daughter.”

Natasha looked up at him. “The last daughter?”

Bruce nodded. “That’s what some of the older texts call her. Not because she was the only daughter, because prophecy loves making things sound dramatic and impossible to verify.”

“Prophecy.” Natasha repeated.

“I know.”

“That’s a dangerous word.”

“Yeah.” Bruce tapped the page lightly, careful not to damage it. “This book refers to her as the daughter of storm, smoke and slaughter. Which, you know, not exactly comforting.”

Natasha’s eyes returned to the drawing. “What does it say?”

Bruce hesitated. “Banner.”

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “It says that when the old war reaches its final winter, the daughter without a crown will call fire down from the sky. It says kings will kneel before she sits a throne. It says her enemies will speak her name only once.”

Natasha’s face did not change. “Why only once?”

Bruce looked at her. “Because after that, they’re dead.”

The Quinjet hummed around them and Natasha studied the girl in the drawing. The artist had not made her look soft, that interested Natasha more than the dragon. Men loved turning dangerous women into either monsters or saints after the fact. They painted innocence over rage, beauty over violence, tragedy over choices. But whoever had drawn this girl had not softened her. Her face was young, almost painfully so, but her eyes were hard. A child drawn like an execution.

Bruce turned another page and there were more illustrations. Three dragons circling over burning siege towers. A young woman kneeling in mud with two massive dragon skulls behind her, her hands pressed to the earth, her mouth open in what might have been grief or might have been a scream.

“What happened to her?”

Bruce looked down. “I don’t know all of it. The texts contradict each other. Some make her sound like a liberator. Some make her sound like a curse. Some say she was beloved. Some say she was never human at all.”

“She’s still human.” Natasha said and Bruce looked at her. “People who are worshipped are always human underneath.” she said. “That’s usually the problem.”

Bruce was silent for a moment till a voice spoke from behind them. “You are right.” T’Challa stood in the aisle, he had moved silently despite the aircraft’s faint vibration.

Bruce shifted slightly. “You recognize this?”

T’Challa nodded. “It is a poor copy.” he said. “But yes.”

Bruce’s face changed, the last thread of skepticism in him snapped. “So it’s true..”

“Yes.”

Natasha leaned back slowly. “All of it?”

“No.” T’Challa’s eyes hardened. “Stories are never all true. They are shaped by fear and pride. By men who were not there and wished to sound as if they were.”

He touched the edge of the page, not quite making contact. “Before the Great War..She was not what she is now. She was kind.” T’Challa continued. “That is the first thing people forget because it frightens them less to believe she was born terrible.”

Shuri’s face softened, just barely and T’Challa saw it, then looked away. “She was loved.” he said. “By her people. By the riders. By servants who had no reason to love royalty except that she knew their names. By old warriors who had buried sons and still smiled when she passed. There are songs about her from before the war.”

Natasha looked again at the drawing of the girl surrounded by corpses. “Everyone wanted her so badly..” T’Challa said, “that the royal house created a private unit to guard her before she ever commanded an army. Not because she was weak, because she was precious.” His voice lowered.

“They called them the Silver Guard. Forty men and women sworn to her alone. Their oath was not to the king, not to the throne, but her breath.”

Steve’s jaw tightened, that kind of oath never ended cleanly. “When the Great War began, it did not begin with a battlefield.” T’Challa looked at the book, but it was clear he was seeing something else.

“An alliance was offered, a union meant to end generations of bloodshed. Her family believed it would hold, so they came under guest right.” T’Challa said. “And when the horns began, the doors were barred from the outside.” The Quinjet’s engines filled the silence.

“The Silver Guard died first, not because they were outmatched..Because they put their bodies between her and the blades. Forty sworn.” He paused. “Forty dead.”

Bruce looked down and Natasha kept her face still, but something in her chest had gone tight and sharp. “Her loved one was killed in front of her. Her people were slaughtered around her. One of her dragons was chained in the courtyard and pierced with scorpion bolts until the stones ran black beneath it.”

Shuri turned her face toward the window. “The second dragon broke its chains.” T’Challa said. “It burned half the keep trying to reach her. It died over the gate hours later.” Wanda’s eyes filled with tears and Vision, gentle lowered his gaze.

“The stories say she did not scream.” T’Challa said. “I do not know if that is true. I think perhaps men prefer women silent in grief because it makes legends easier to carve.”

Natasha looked at him then. There was a weight in his voice that had not been there before. “What I do know..” T’Challa said, “is that she survived and it changed her.”

Bruce whispered, “Rage took over.”

T’Challa nodded once. “Rage, grief..Duty. Perhaps all three became the same thing. She did not beg for justice. She did not wait for her father’s banners. She did not ask the old gods why they had allowed it. She walked out of the ashes with blood in her hair and called the last dragon.”

The words slipped through the Quinjet like smoke. “The enemy army was still beyond the walls. Thousands of men and lords already dividing lands they had not yet conquered.”

He looked around the cabin. “And then the sky opened. Fire came down first on the siege towers. Then on the horses and on the men who ran.”

T’Challa’s voice did not flinch, but the image did. It filled the aircraft without needing a screen. Men clawing at burning armor, warhorses screaming and flesh splitting beneath heat.

“She brought fire to the world.” T’Challa said. “Not in one night, not in one battle..That would have been mercy.”

His eyes grew harder. “She hunted them. Every lord who broke guest right. Every commander who ordered the slaughter. Every house that hid them. Every man who swore he would hurt her, touch her, chain her, breed her, break her-” T’Challa stopped himself. “By the end, those who had once promised to drag her through their streets were kneeling in the dirt, pressing their swords at her feet. Some begged forgiveness, some offered loyalty. Some called her chosen by the gods.”

“And she accepted?” Steve asked.

“She accepted their surrender.”

Bruce looked down at the book again, at the prophecy, at the inked girl surrounded by men bowing and fire blooming behind her. “She wasn’t a myth.” he said.

“No.” T’Challa replied. “She was a warning.”

Natasha stared at the drawing. Before, the title had sounded distant. Exotic in the way all foreign titles sounded until you knew the blood behind them.

A few rows ahead, Wanda spoke softly. “What is her name? Her birth name?”

Shuri stiffened and T’Challa did not answer. Wanda lowered her eyes, understanding she had stepped too close to something sacred. “You will hear it when she gives you leave to hear it.”

Tony looked toward the cockpit. “How much longer?”

“A few hours.”

And the hours passed. The Quinjet flew through weather that did not behave like weather. Then T’Challa stood and everyone’s attention snapped to him. “We are entering now.”

Steve moved first, then Sam, Rhodey, Clint. Wanda helped Vision stand, though he did not need it. Tony came forward slowly, one hand braced against the ceiling. Bruce carried the book against his chest like a shield and Natasha rose last. They gathered behind the cockpit and ahead, there was nothing but cloud.

“This is the border?” Sam asked and T’Challa nodded. The Quinjet entered the cloud and white consumed them. For several seconds, the world disappeared. There was no sky, no ground or direction. The windows showed only pale vapor rushing past like the breath of some sleeping giant.

Then the cloud broke and the world opened. Below them lay a country that should not have existed. Not hidden in poverty like Wakanda had once pretended to be. This land did not hide by shrinking itself..It hid by becoming too impossible to imagine. Mountains rose in vast black ridges, their peaks crowned in snow and gold sunlight. Valleys spilled between them, green and wild, crossed by rivers that flashed like silver wounds. Forests stretched farther than the eye could follow, deep and ancient, broken by roads of pale stone winding through the land like veins. To the east, the ocean struck cliffs so high the waves shattered into mist before reaching the top. Ships moved in the harbors below, their sails dark red and black, marked with symbols Natasha recognized from Bruce’s book.

Cities stood along the coast and hillsides, built of black stone, bronze roofs, white towers and bridges suspended over impossible drops. And ahead..the castle. It dominated the horizon. The fortress was carved into the side of a mountain and built outward as if the mountain itself had decided to grow teeth. Black walls rose in tiers, jagged and severe, banners streamed from every height, red and black against the wind.

Wanda stared down at the land, one hand pressed to the window. “All this time..” she whispered and Vision’s eyes moved across the landscape. “Humanity has always been better at hiding wonders than preserving them.”

Before anyone could ask anything, something moved in the corner of Natasha’s vision. A shadow over the sun. At first, she thought it was cloud, but then the shadow curved. The Quinjet’s warning systems screamed and red lights flooded the cabin.

Tony jolted forward. “What the-”

A roar split the sky, it slammed into the aircraft hard enough to rattle the frame, hard enough that Wanda grabbed Vision, Sam cursed, and Bruce nearly dropped the book. The roar rolled through Natasha’s ribs and sank into something older than fear.

Outside, the clouds tore open and the dragon appeared beside them. For one impossible moment, it was all the world contained. A body longer than the Quinjet, larger than anything that should have been able to stay in the air. Wings stretched wide, the thin membrane between their bones scarred and dark, catching the sun in veins of deep red. Its neck curved with terrifying grace, armored plates overlapping like shields. Horns swept back from its skull, cracked in places, each fracture pale against the black.

The dragon flew beside them as if the Quinjet were no more than a strange bird allowed, temporarily, to live and its eye fixed on them through the glass. Natasha had been looked at by killers, by monsters and gods. This was so much different..This was not a creature deciding whether she was dangerous. This was a creature deciding whether she mattered.

Bruce made a small sound behind her. “Oh my God..” Tony’s hand hovered over the controls, frozen. For once in his life, he had no joke ready.

The dragon’s jaw parted, rows of teeth appeared, each one curved and long as a knife. A low growl rolled out first, vibrating through the Quinjet’s metal skin, then came the roar again. The windows trembled and a panel sparked overhead. Wanda flinched despite herself and Vision stepped slightly in front of her.

The dragon’s eye moved to him and to the Stone. For one terrible second, the creature’s pupil narrowed and the cabin went cold. Then T’Challa lifted one hand and placed it flat against the glass. The dragon’s gaze shifted to him and recognition passed there.

T’Challa bowed his head and the dragon watched him. Then, with one powerful stroke of its wings, it rose above the Quinjet and the entire aircraft shuddered under the force of displaced air. Its tail swept past the window, ridged with spikes, close enough that Natasha saw old scars carved deep into its scales. Some were pale and healed, some were darker and newer. One jagged scar crossed the left side of its chest, a wound that looked like it should have killed even a creature born of fire.

Bruce stared at it, eyes wet behind his glasses. “The second dragon died over the gate..” he whispered. “And this one survived.”

The dragon wheeled ahead of them, black against the sun, and dove toward the castle. Far below, horns began to sound, warning the kingdom and welcoming the guests. Or announcing them to something far more dangerous than a king.

“Okay..” he said. “I believe in dragons now.”

No one laughed, no one even looked at him. The Quinjet continued toward the castle, escorted by the shadow of wings and ahead, beyond walls blackened by history, beyond banners snapping like blood in the wind, beyond a kingdom that had survived by becoming legend, she was waiting.

The Quinjet descended through the last coils of cloud and from above, the fortress had looked impossible. The platform was vast enough to hold half a fleet, carved directly from dark volcanic rock and veined with metal that caught the dying light in dull red flashes. Massive chains hung from iron posts along the edges, each link larger than a man’s torso. Beyond the platform, the castle gates rose in layers and above it, banners snapped violently in the mountain wind.

No one moved when the Quinjet touched down and for a breath, the cabin remained silent except for the low cooling hum of the engines. Then the ramp lowered and it definitely smelled nothing like Wakanda or New York. Sam stepped closer to the ramp and his eyes narrowed against the wind. “That’s a welcoming committee?”

Natasha followed his gaze and saw how soldiers waited on the platform. They stood in disciplined formations along both sides of the landing area, spears upright, curved blades at their hips, armor dark and matte beneath cloaks of red and black. Some wore helmets shaped like snarling beasts, others had their faces uncovered, revealing high cheekbones, scarred brows, dark eyes, pale eyes, brown skin, bronze skin, weather worn skin and hair braided with rings of iron and bone.

A man stood ahead of the soldiers, waiting at the center of the platform. He was older than most of the warriors, perhaps in his late fifties, though the harsh lines of his face made age difficult to measure. His eyes moved over the ramp as the Avengers began to descend. T’Challa went out first and the older man’s attention sharpened immediately. Then he bowed like a man recognizing another man of power under laws older than comfort.

“King T’Challa of Wakanda.” he said in accented English, his voice carrying across the platform despite the wind. “You return under guest right and old witness, your name is remembered.”

T’Challa inclined his head. “Lord Vaelar.”

The man’s mouth twitched faintly. “You remember mine.”

“My father taught me that forgetting a man’s name at these gates is an insult best avoided.”

This time, there was nearly a smile. “Your father was wise.”

“He often reminded me.”

Lord Vaelar’s eyes shifted to the others. Natasha felt every stare settle on them because she knew the sensation well. It was how predators looked at unfamiliar things before deciding whether they were food, threat, or weather. Steve stepped forward half a pace, but T’Challa lifted one hand slightly because he understood the rules here and everyone else would be safer letting him speak. “We bring wounded need and grave warning.”

Lord Vaelar’s gaze flickered to Vision and for a second, something in his expression changed.

“The royal family has been informed of your arrival.” he said. “You and those under your protection will be housed tonight. Tomorrow, you will be brought before the throne and heard.”

“Tomorrow?” Wanda’s voice cut across the platform before anyone could stop her. Her fingers tightened around Vision’s arm and red beginning to glow faintly at the tips. “We do not have until tomorrow.” she said, stepping forward. “You do not understand, something is coming. An army, a force you cannot imagine. He will come for Vision and if he gets what he wants, half the universe dies.”

Lord Vaelar’s face did not change but the soldiers’ hands shifted closer to their weapons. Shuri moved faster than anyone expected. “Wanda.”

Wanda turned on her. “No. I am tired of everyone speaking like we have time. He is being hunted and we came here because T’Challa said they could help and now we are supposed to wait for an audience?”

“Enough!” Shuri snapped and Wanda stared at her. Shuri’s eyes were fierce, “You are afraid, I know. But you will not stand on their stones and speak to their blood speaker as if he is delaying you for sport! You will not make threats with your magic glowing in your hands! Not here..”

Wanda’s breath trembled till Vision touched her hand gently. “Wanda.”

Her eyes flicked to him and the red faded. T’Challa turned back to Lord Vaelar, face composed, though Natasha could see the warning beneath his stillness. “Forgive the breach. Fear speaks quickly when love is threatened.”

Lord Vaelar studied Wanda for a long moment. Then he gave a small nod. “Fear is understandable.”

T’Challa continued, “The matter is urgent. If there is any way we may be heard tonight-”

“No.” Lord Vaelar said and Shuri’s shoulders tensed. Lord Vaelar did not look apologetic, “The king and queen do not receive unsummoned pleas after moonrise when the heir of fire is beyond the walls.”

T’Challa’s expression shifted subtly. “She is not within the castle?”

“No.”

“Will she return tonight?”

“That depends on the success of her..business.” Something about the way he said business made Natasha’s attention sharpen. It was a court word, a veil thrown over something everyone here understood and no outsider was meant to question.

Lord Vaelar continued, “Until morning, you are guests and guest right protects you. You will be fed, housed and left untroubled so long as you do not trouble others.”

Sam muttered under his breath, “That sounded friendly right up until it didn’t.”

Rhodey murmured back, “That’s kind of their brand..”

Lord Vaelar turned and the soldiers parted. The movement was perfect and the gates opened without a sound. The team followed and Natasha walked near the middle, her eyes moving everywhere. The entrance hall beyond the gates was large enough to swallow a cathedral and the floor was polished dark stone, worn slightly uneven by centuries of boots. Along the walls hung shields, banners, old weapons and enormous tapestries depicting battles in thread so vivid the red looked wet. Everywhere, people stopped to stare and children were peeking from behind pillars until older hands pulled them back but when T’Challa passed, several people lowered their heads, not in submission, but in recognition.

The castle was beautiful in a way Natasha distrusted. Built to awe and intimidate in equal measure and each arch was carved with flames. Each doorway was guarded by stone beasts with wings tucked close to their bodies. Bruce stopped once and Natasha stopped with him. He was staring at a mural stretching across one wall.

Three dragons flew above a battlefield, wings wide, mouths open, fire pouring down over towers and men. Beneath them, a young woman stood with her hair unbound and a blade in her hand. Lord Vaelar noticed but did not pause. “Your chambers are prepared in the eastern guest wing.” he said. “You will find water, food and attendants should you require them.”

The guest wing was warmer than the halls, though no less imposing. Their chambers were large and high ceilinged, furnished with carved beds, thick furs, bronze basins, low tables and windows that opened toward the city below. Vision was given the largest chamber so Shuri could examine him in private and Wanda followed him inside and did not come out again.

Bruce did not sleep at all. Natasha found him later standing by one of the tall windows in the common chamber, both hands braced against the stone ledge, staring out at the darkening sky. The sun had gone down behind the mountains, leaving the city below lit by thousands of fires.

“You’re going to burn holes in the glass.” Natasha said.

“There’s no glass.”

She looked closer and he was right. The window was open to the air, protected only by a carved stone lattice and a drop that would kill anyone unfortunate enough to test it.

“Then you’re going to fall out.”

“I saw a dragon..” Bruce said and Natasha leaned one shoulder against the wall beside him. “I noticed.”

“No, I mean…” He laughed once, “I saw a dragon. A living, flying, breathing dragon. It looked at us..looked at me. The mass to wing ratio alone should be impossible unless its bone density is unlike anything on Earth.”

“Maybe it isn’t.”

Bruce looked at her and Natasha shrugged. “Or maybe Earth has always been bigger than we thought.”

He looked back outside, expression softening into wonder edged with fear. “That’s what scares me.”

Behind them, the common chamber was quiet. The team had scattered into uneasy rest, or something pretending to be rest. Natasha felt the walls pressing in despite their size and she looked down at the city again.

“I’m going out.” she said and Bruce finally turned. “Out where?”

“City.”

His eyebrows rose. “Nat.”

“What?”

“We just got here.”

“I’m aware.”

“Where we were specifically told not to trouble anyone.”

“I’m not planning to trouble anyone.” Bruce gave her a look that suggested he had known her too long to believe that. Natasha smiled faintly. “I want to see what kind of people worship a woman like that.”

Bruce glanced toward the door. “Maybe ask T’Challa first.”

“I wasn’t asking permission.”

“No.” T’Challa’s voice said from behind her. “But you should listen to advice.”

Natasha turned and he stood in the doorway, still wearing the dark clothes he had traveled in, though he looked less like a guest now and more like a man remembering how to move in a place full of knives. Natasha raised an eyebrow. “You’re getting quiet again.”

“I have always been quiet.”

“Not like that.”

His mouth almost curved. Then his gaze moved to the window, to the city below, and the amusement vanished. “You should not go alone.”

“I can manage.”

“I know that.” T’Challa said. “That is not the concern.”

Natasha folded her arms. “Then what is?”

“You do not know the streets. You do not know the customs, know which houses are loyal to which bloodlines, which colors should not be worn after dark, which songs should not be requested in taverns, or which insults are insults until someone has already drawn a blade.”

“Sounds like most cities.”

“No.” T’Challa said. “It does not.”

That gave her pause. “I just need some air.” she said and T’Challa studied her. He saw more than most people, that was one of the reasons Natasha liked him and one of the reasons she was careful around him.

After a moment, he sighed quietly. “If you insist on going, cover your hair.”

Natasha frowned. “My hair?”

“Yes.”

Bruce blinked. “Why?”

T’Challa’s eyes remained on Natasha. “Red hair will draw attention.”

“It draws attention everywhere.”

“Not like here.”

Natasha touched a strand near her shoulder. “Should I be offended?”

“No. You should be practical.” Shuri entered behind him carrying a folded length of dark cloth. “He is right.”

Natasha looked between them. “Is red unlucky?”

“No.” Shuri said. “Rare and associated with old battle songs, foreign omens and women who appear in stories right before men do something stupid.”

She held out a cloth. It was fine, soft and dark enough to vanish in shadow and edged with subtle bronze embroidery. Natasha took it. “You were prepared for this?”

“I assumed one of you would make a poor decision before morning.” Shuri said.

Sam poked his head out of a doorway. “My money was on Stark!”

“So was mine.” Shuri replied. Natasha wrapped the cloth over her hair with practiced ease. She had worn enough disguises in enough countries to understand the language of fabric. She tucked the red beneath it, adjusted the fall near her cheek, and watched T’Challa’s expression.

“Better?”

He looked at her for a long second. “Yes.”

Natasha’s smile softened into something more genuine. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“I know.” T’Challa said. “Be more careful than that.”

The city took her in quietly, that was the first surprise. Natasha had expected noise, drunken shouting, brawls spilling from taverns, riders thundering through narrow streets, violence barely chained beneath torchlight. T’Challa’s warnings had painted a place where every wrong breath might invite blood.

Instead, the city at night felt controlled. The streets were paved in pale stone that glowed faintly beneath lanternlight. Buildings leaned close overhead, built of black brick, white plaster, carved wood, and bronze balconies draped with heavy fabrics. The soldiers were everywhere, they stood at corners, bridges, gates, watching without appearing to watch. Their presence explained the quiet more than any law could have. This was a city where violence existed, perhaps even thrived, but it had rules. It had places. It had consequences.

Natasha respected consequences. She wandered without seeming to wander, keeping to streets with enough people to disappear among but not enough to trap her. Eventually, she found a tavern, the sign above the door showed a black cup surrounded by painted flames.

Natasha went in and the room dipped in volume for half a second. That told her everything she needed to know. She crossed to the bar as if she belonged there. The bartender was a broad woman with gray hair braided over one shoulder and arms muscled from years of lifting barrels or bodies. Her eyes narrowed at Natasha’s clothes, her covered hair, her boots.

“You drink?” the woman asked in English that was rough but understandable.

Natasha rested an elbow on the counter. “That depends what you’re pouring.”

The woman’s mouth twitched. “Foreign.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Yes.”

“Then give me what you’d give someone who wants to stop being obvious.”

The bartender stared at her and she laughed. It was not a friendly laugh, “You want heavy?”

“I want to understand the local culture.”

“Then heavy.” the bartender decided and reached for a dark clay bottle from beneath the counter. The liquid she poured into a short bronze cup was nearly black, with a reddish sheen where the firelight caught it. It moved too slowly, clinging to the sides like syrup and the smell hit Natasha a second later.

Natasha picked up the cup, then someone crashed into her side. The drink spilled across both of them and Natasha reacted before thought. One hand caught the stranger by the waist to keep them from falling, the other steadied the cup, though far too late to save more than a mouthful. Dark liquid splashed down the front of Natasha’s borrowed tunic and across the stranger’s cloak.

The body against hers was warm and smaller than she expected, but strong beneath the layers. “I’m sorry.” Natasha said immediately, because apologies were cheaper than scenes and she had promised not to trouble anyone.

“No, no!” The stranger pulled back with a breathless laugh. “That was my fault. I was watching the door and not my feet, which is a very poor habit in a place with both furniture and witnesses.”

A young woman, her voice was low and smooth but threaded with amusement and Natasha looked at her and forgot, for one dangerous second, that she was supposed to be watching the room. The woman’s face was partially shadowed beneath a deep blue head covering, the fabric wrapped elegantly around her hair and throat, leaving only her face visible. But that was enough...more than enough. She had the kind of beauty men wrote wars around and then blamed on fate.

Her skin was pale beneath the tavern light, warmed by the gold of the flames. Her mouth was full and curved with the beginning of a smile and her cheekbones were sharp enough to make softness seem like a choice. Her eyes were dark at first glance, then not dark at all when she shifted beneath the light, but strange, luminous, somewhere between violet and gray and storm clouds before lightning. Natasha had seen beautiful people. She had been trained with beautiful people. She had used beauty, weaponized it, dismissed it, survived it. This was different.

The woman glanced down at the stain spreading across both of them. Then she touched two fingers to the wet fabric near her collarbone, lifted them to her mouth and tasted the drink. Natasha’s attention fixed briefly on her lips and the woman’s eyebrows rose. “You were going to drink that?”

“That was the plan.”

“Willingly?”

“I like to live dangerously.”

The woman’s smile widened. “There are easier ways to die.”

Natasha leaned against the bar, letting her gaze move over the stranger’s covered hair, layered cloak, fine gloves and boots that looked too well made for someone trying not to be noticed. “And here I thought you were about to apologize.”

“I did apologize.”

“You also insulted my drink.”

“I insulted your judgment.” the woman corrected. “The drink is blameless. It does what it was made to do.”

“And what is that?”

“Punish arrogance.”

Natasha laughed softly despite herself and the woman’s eyes brightened. The woman turned to the bartender. “Another.” Then she looked back at Natasha, “I spilled it, I replace it.”

“Generous.”

“Practical. I dislike owing strangers.”

“Then we’re strangers?”

“For the moment.” Natasha angled her body toward her. “And later?”

The woman’s smile turned slow enough to be dangerous. “That depends on whether you survive the drink.”

The bartender set down a fresh cup. The woman picked it up before Natasha could and lifted it in a small toast. “To poor footing.”

“And dangerous judgment.” Natasha replied.

The woman drank. The dark liquor disappeared past her lips and her expression did not change at all. No cough, no blink, no tightening around the eyes. Nothing. She lowered the cup and passed it to Natasha. The challenge was silent and Natasha accepted it. She had survived Russian vodka, contraband Balkan spirits, poison-laced champagne in Prague and something Fury had once called whiskey despite all evidence to the contrary.

She could handle a drink, so she took a mouthful and fire detonated behind her teeth. The taste was smoke and iron and pepper and old fruit left to ferment in a dragon’s throat. Heat punched down her throat, spread through her chest and tried to climb back out through her nose. Natasha turned slightly, because she refused to spit it across the bar, but a cough escaped her anyway.

The woman laughed, it was a beautiful sound and an infuriating one. Natasha set the cup down with great care while her eyes watered. The woman was still laughing when she reached for a pitcher, poured water into a plain cup, and offered it, “Here.”

Natasha took it, throat burning. “I’m..fine.”

“Of course.”

“I am.”

“You look very fine.”

Natasha drank the water and the woman watched with undisguised delight. The woman leaned closer. “Take your time.”

There it was again, that confidence. Natasha was used to watching people respond to her. The shift in breathing or the moment they realized she was flirting with intent and keeping up with her, but this woman was not struggling to keep up. She was enjoying herself.

She was young, yes. Young enough that Natasha should have held the advantage through experience alone. But the stranger flirted like someone born in a court where language had always been a weapon and desire was simply another battlefield. She knew when to answer or to deflect. When to offer enough truth to make Natasha chase the rest. Natasha liked skill..she liked it too much.

“You’re enjoying this.” Natasha said.

“I am.”

“At least you’re honest.” Natasha lowered the cup and smiled. The woman’s laughter softened into something warmer, but her eyes remained sharp. She leaned one hip against the bar, close enough that Natasha could smell the night air on her cloak beneath the spilled liquor. “You still haven’t told me your name.” Natasha said.

“Neither have you.”

“Mine is harder to earn?”

The woman’s smile turned wicked. “You assume yours is the prize.”

Natasha nearly laughed and that actually caught her off guard. The stranger saw it and looked delighted. “There.”

“What?”

“You did not expect me to bite back.”

“I expected it.”

“No.” The woman stepped closer until the edge of her sleeve brushed Natasha’s wrist. “You hoped for it.”

Natasha’s expression did not change, but inside, something sharpened. This girl was good.

“Maybe.” Natasha said and the woman’s eyes dropped to her mouth again, “I hoped you would stay.”

Natasha’s answer came softer than she intended. “I haven’t left.”

“No..” the woman murmured. “You have not.”

The tavern became smaller around them. The singer’s voice blurred into the warmth of the room and a chair scraped against stone. Somewhere behind Natasha, someone laughed, but it sounded far away. The space between her and the veiled stranger was suddenly the only place with heat. “So what should I call you?”

“What do you call women whose names you do not know?”

“That depends on what I want from them.”

The woman’s eyes flashed. “And what do you want from me?”

Natasha let the silence stretch and a slow smile touched her mouth. “I was going to start with conversation.”

“Liar.”

“Was I that obvious?”

“You say that often.”

“I am right often.”

Natasha leaned in until her voice was just for her. “Careful. Confidence can be mistaken for arrogance.”

The woman did not retreat. “Only by people too small to recognize it.”

Natasha stared at her. “You’re trouble.”

“Yes.”

“No denial?”

“I thought honesty pleased you.”

“Depends how it’s used.” The woman’s fingers brushed the back of Natasha’s hand where it rested against the bar. A mistake if either of them wanted to pretend. “And this?” she asked.

Natasha looked down at the touch, then back up. “That depends how it’s used.”

The stranger’s thumb moved once, barely there, over Natasha’s knuckle and Natasha’s breath stayed steady by training alone. The woman noticed anyway and her smile softened into something slow and victorious. “You are easier to read than you pretend.”

Natasha turned her hand, catching the woman’s fingers before she could withdraw. “And you are enjoying pretending not to be.”

The woman looked at their joined hands, then at Natasha. “You are very bold for a guest.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed faintly. “How do you know I’m a guest?”

The woman did not miss the slip. “You are not a merchant. Not a rider or temple sworn. Not court born. You entered under someone’s protection or you would not have crossed the border at all.”

Natasha’s thumb traced once over the side of the woman’s finger. “Then you already knew I wasn’t from here before I said anything.”

“Yes.”

“And you still spilled my drink?”

The woman’s smile grew dangerous. “Perhaps I was curious too.”

Natasha should have pulled back. Instead, she moved closer. “How curious?”

The woman looked at her as if weighing how much truth would make the game sweeter. “Enough to ruin your drink.”

“That all?”

“No.”

Natasha had to remind herself where she was. Hidden kingdom, strange laws and royal blood. Vision with a Stone in his head and Thanos somewhere beyond the sky. But then the woman’s fingers tightened lightly around hers and Natasha thought, one more minute. Just one.

The stranger tilted her head. “You are thinking too much.”

“I’m usually praised for that.”

“Not by anyone trying to kiss you.”

Natasha’s smile was immediate, “There it is.”

“What?”

“The first honest thing you’ve said all night.”

The woman leaned close enough that her breath touched Natasha’s cheek. “No.” she said softly. “The first honest thing was that I was interested.”

Natasha turned her face slightly and their mouths were close now. Too close for the tavern, but not close enough for Natasha. The woman’s eyes flicked down, then up again. She was waiting and she was letting Natasha feel the space and choose what to do with it.

Natasha respected restraint but respected temptation more. “You do this often?” Natasha asked.

“Almost kiss strangers in taverns?”

“Make them want to forget why they came.”

The woman smiled, but something darker moved beneath it. “No. Do you?”

Natasha could have lied, instead, she said, “Not like this.”

For the first time, the stranger looked truly surprised. Then her expression changed as if Natasha had offered something more intimate than a name.

“Good.” she said and Natasha felt it like fingers at her throat. A man brushed past behind them, giving the veiled woman a wide berth despite the crowd. His shoulder nearly clipped Natasha’s but swerved at the last moment. He murmured something in the local language without looking up.

The stranger caught Natasha catching it. “You are important.” Natasha said and the woman withdrew her hand slowly, but not because she was embarrassed, but because the game had turned dangerous.

“Many people are important.”

“Not like that.”

“You do not know what that was.”

“I know deference.”

The woman’s eyes sharpened. “And do you offer it?”

Natasha leaned against the bar, letting her gaze move over the hidden face, the elegant veil, the mouth that had already become a problem.

“Depends who earns it.”

That pleased the woman so much she looked almost angry about it. “You would be difficult to command.” she said.

“I’ve been called worse.”

“I did not say I dislike difficult things.”

Natasha laughed softly. “You are young to sound so sure of yourself.”

The woman’s smile vanished with warning. “I am old enough to know what I want.” the woman said.

Natasha held her gaze. “And what do you want?”

The stranger stepped closer again. “You.”

The answer struck harder than flirtation should have and Natasha did not move. For all her training, all her control, all the years she had spent using desire as tool, cover, weapon and shield, she found herself briefly, absurdly, without words.

The woman saw that too and a smile slowly returned to her face. “Did I steal your tongue?” she asked and Natasha recovered with a slow inhale. “No.”

“No?”

“I was deciding whether you meant it.”

“And?”

Natasha’s eyes dropped to her mouth. “You meant it.” The woman’s voice softened. “Yes.”

The honesty changed the air. Natasha felt the pull then, fully. Not curiosity anymore, not simple attraction, but something heavier, wrapped in risk and heat and the intoxicating knowledge that both of them were hiding almost everything except wanting.

The stranger turned slightly, looking toward the tavern’s side passage. “There is a quieter place..” Natasha’s pulse shifted and T’Challa’s warnings came back. She looked at the woman, at the veil hiding her hair, at the eyes that knew too much. At the mouth still curved like it expected Natasha to follow and would be disappointed if she did not.

“You invite strangers to quiet places often?” Natasha asked.

“No.”

“Should I believe that?”

“No.”

Natasha smiled and the woman’s smile answered. “But it is true.” she added.

Natasha looked toward the door, then back to her. “And if I say no?”

The woman’s gaze moved over her face, lingering just enough to make Natasha feel it. “Then I finish my drink and wonder whether you are as disciplined as you pretend.”

Natasha laughed under her breath. “You make saying no sound like losing.”

“It would be.”

“For who?”

The woman stepped in close enough that their sleeves brushed again. “For both of us.”

Natasha knew, in that moment, that this woman had come into the tavern wanting distraction. Maybe amusement or power without ceremony. Maybe a night where no one bowed, no one feared, no one begged her for anything. Natasha did not know the shape of that truth, she only knew its shadow and she was already stepping into it.

“Lead the way.” she said and the woman’s smile turned brilliant beneath the veil. And Natasha, who should have known better than to follow secrets into the dark, followed her anyway.

The woman led her deeper inside. Past the bar, past the crowded tables, past the hearth where the singer’s voice curled low and rough through the smoke. There was a side corridor half hidden behind a hanging curtain of dark beads and leather strips. No one stopped them when the woman pushed through it. No one even looked directly at them, though Natasha felt the awareness shift around the room.

Natasha followed close behind, close enough to see the elegant line of the woman’s neck beneath the veil, close enough to notice how she moved. She walked like someone used to doors opening before she reached them, like the world had always made space for her and she had grown bored of pretending not to expect it. But when she glanced back at Natasha, there was nothing cold in her eyes. Only amusement.

The sounds of the tavern dulled behind them, swallowed by heavy stone walls and thick rugs beneath their boots. Lanterns burned low in iron brackets and the air smelled of wine, smoke and something floral Natasha could not place. At the end of the corridor stood a dark wooden door carved with the same black horse that marked the tavern entrance. The woman took a key from inside her sleeve.

“Private room?” Natasha asked and the woman inserted the key without looking away from her. “Did you think I would take you somewhere public?”

“I was wondering how bold you were.” The lock clicked and the woman smiled. “Still wondering?”

Natasha stepped closer, close enough that the woman’s back almost touched the door. “No.”

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The tavern was only a few steps away, but it felt distant now. The music had become a pulse through the walls and the firelight from the corridor touched the edge of the woman’s veil, the curve of her mouth, the sharp brightness of her eyes. Natasha should have thought. She should have slowed down. She should have remembered the mission, Vision, the Stone, T’Challa’s warnings, the impossible kingdom above them, the dragon somewhere in the sky.

Instead, the woman opened the door and backed inside and Natasha followed. The door closed behind them and they reached for each other at the same time. There was no careful beginning or slow approach. The tension from the tavern snapped the moment privacy wrapped around them. Natasha caught the woman by the waist and pressed her back against the door and the woman went willingly, laughing once against Natasha’s mouth before the laugh broke into a kiss.

The woman kissed like she did everything else: with confidence, control and a wicked awareness of exactly what she was offering. Her hands found Natasha’s jacket, fingers curling into the fabric and pulling her closer instead of pushing her away. Natasha felt the strength in her grip, the poise even in the rush of it, and it made something low in her stomach tighten. This girl was definitely not overwhelmed by her and that was the part that made Natasha burn.

The woman let Natasha lead her back from the door, but not because she was yielding. She allowed it with the grace of someone granting permission, step by step, mouth never leaving Natasha’s for long. When Natasha turned them and walked her backward toward the table, the woman followed the pressure of her hands easily, almost elegantly, her body answering without losing its own rhythm.

Natasha melted a little at that and hated that she did. The woman noticed and she pulled back just enough to breathe, lips parted, eyes bright beneath the shadow of the veil. “You like being obeyed..” she murmured and Natasha’s fingers tightened at her waist.

“I like being understood.”

The woman smiled, “Then understand this.” She caught the front of Natasha’s jacket and pulled her back in and the kiss deepened. Natasha’s hands slid under the edge of the woman’s outer cloak, feeling warmth through layers of fine fabric. The cloak was loosened with a practiced tug and the woman let it fall from her shoulders, not breaking the kiss as it dropped to the floor. Natasha’s own jacket followed a moment later, pushed down her arms by impatient hands.

They stumbled toward the bed near the wall, though stumble was not the right word for the woman. Even half blinded by kissing, even breathless, she moved like a dancer who had once learned war instead of music. Natasha could not stop noticing her, the elegance and the danger under it. The way she let Natasha press her down onto the edge of the bed and still somehow made it feel like Natasha had been invited exactly where the woman wanted her.

Natasha kissed her again, slower now, one hand braced beside her shoulder, the other at her waist. The woman arched into her touch with a quiet sound that made Natasha’s thoughts scatter. Then Natasha’s fingers found the fastening near the woman’s throat and the veil shifted. T’Challa’s voice cut through the heat in her mind and Natasha froze. The woman felt it immediately and opened her eyes. “What is it?”

Natasha breathed once, steadying herself. Her hand was still near the veil. Too close to a truth she had no right to uncover without thinking. “I..can’t.” Natasha said quietly. The woman’s expression changed, but not with offense. “Can’t?”

Natasha pulled back enough to put space between them. Her own scarf had loosened during the kissing, but most of her red hair was still hidden beneath it.

“I was warned.” she said and the woman sat up slightly, “About me?”

Natasha gave a breathless little laugh. “About everyone.”

That earned the smallest smile, but it faded quickly. “What warning stopped you?”

Natasha touched the edge of her own scarf. “My hair draws attention here.” The woman’s eyes dropped to the movement and Natasha hesitated. Then, slowly, she pulled the scarf away and red hair spilled loose around her shoulders. The woman stopped moving and for the first time since Natasha had met her, the stranger looked genuinely stunned. Her eyes moved through Natasha’s hair as if she had never seen anything quite like it. The silence stretched so long that Natasha, impossibly, felt almost self-conscious.

Then the woman reached out and stopped just before touching, asking without words, but Natasha allowed it. The woman took one strand between her fingers, “is it natural?”

Natasha blinked, then she smiled, That was new. People had called her hair beautiful, dangerous, pretty or a target. A disguise ruined by genetics. No one had ever asked with that kind of wonder. “Yes.” Natasha said. “It’s natural.”

The woman looked up at her and the fascination had not faded. “It looks like flame.”

Natasha’s smile softened despite herself. “That’s what they’re afraid of?”

The woman’s thumb brushed the red strand once before letting it slip free. “No.” she said. “That is what they would remember.”

The woman leaned closer again, but Natasha did not move yet. “You said you were warned..” she murmured. “And now?”

Natasha’s gaze flicked toward the hidden veil. “Now I’m wondering what you’re hiding.”

A slow smile returned to the woman’s mouth. “Something less rare than yours.”

“I doubt that.”

The woman’s eyes glittered, then she reached up and loosened the pins beneath her veil. Layer by layer, the cloth slipped away and at first, Natasha saw only pale strands at the temple. Then more and all of it. Long snow white hair fell over the woman’s shoulders in a shining wave and Natasha stopped breathing. The room seemed to go silent around her, the tavern beyond the walls disappeared.

White.

Not silver, blond or gray. White as moonlight on fresh snow. It spilled down over the woman’s dark clothing, over her shoulders and chest, luminous in the low light, impossibly soft looking and impossibly striking. It changed the shape of her beauty into something almost unreal. Before, Natasha had thought her stunning. Now, with her face fully revealed and that white hair loose around her, she looked like something from the old tapestries in the castle. A girl from bloodlines people wrote laws around.

Natasha stared, she knew she was staring but couldn’t stop. The woman watched her closely and this time there was no teasing in her expression. Natasha’s mind moved, because Natasha’s mind always moved, even when her body wanted to forget how to stand. T’Challa had said snow white hair belonged to royal blood. Royal blood, not only one woman..

Certain branches tied closely to it. Noblewomen wore veils, royal cousins wore veils. Court women moving quietly through the city without drawing the wrong eyes. And Lord Vaelor had said Khaleesi was not in the castle tonight. Surely that meant away from the city..Away from taverns and from private rooms with foreign spies. Surely the woman a whole kingdom lowered its eyes for would not be here alone, smiling beneath a veil, tasting spilled liquor from her own shirt, flirting like the world had never placed a crown shaped blade above her head.

Surely, if this woman were Khaleesi, someone would have bowed. Someone would have whispered or would have panicked. But no one had..People had given her space, yes, but that could mean noble or royal adjacent.

Not Khaleesi. Not the dragon’s chosen. Not the almost-queen they had crossed the world to beg for help.

Natasha let herself believe the simpler danger, because the other one was too impossible. The woman was looking at her now like she did not want to be recognized. She wanted to be wanted and Natasha wanted her.

“You’re beautiful..” Natasha said before she could make the words clever. The woman’s expression shifted and for all her confidence, for all her sharpness, that seemed to reach her. “Careful..” she said softly. “You sound honest.”

Natasha stepped closer. “I am.”

The woman looked at Natasha’s red hair, then back into her eyes. “Then I do not care about the warning.”

Natasha’s breath caught. “No?”

“No.” The woman’s hand rose, fingers slipping carefully into Natasha’s hair. “I like it.”

Natasha’s gaze dropped to the woman’s mouth. “And your hair?” The woman smiled faintly. “Will you run?”

Natasha lifted her hand and touched one white strand, letting it slide between her fingers like silk. “No.”

“Will you kneel?”

Natasha’s eyes returned to hers. That question should have sounded playful, it did not..It sounded like something from a throne room, dragged into candlelight.

Natasha’s heart slammed against her ribs. She was older than this girl, had seen more wars, more beds, more ways desire could be used as both weapon and surrender and yet here she was, utterly undone by snow white hair and storm eyes that looked at her like she was something precious instead of dangerous. She wanted her. God, she wanted her. The kind of want that made every trained instinct short circuit.

Natasha sank to her knees without hesitation, the thick rug cushioning the fall. Respect and hunger twisted together until she couldn’t tell them apart as she looked up, eyes dark with need. The woman’s breath caught, surprise flickering across that beautiful face before it melted into something warmer, almost tender. She leaned back slowly on the fur draped bed, white hair fanning out like moonlight, thighs parting in open invitation. “You…chose that so easily for me?”

Natasha nodded once, crawling forward between those spread legs because she needed to be closer. “For you.” she answered, voice rough. “Only you.”

The woman’s smile softened, eyes glittering with delight and something deeper. She reached down and brushed her fingers through Natasha’s hair, not tugging, just stroking like she couldn’t quite believe this was happening. “Then show me..” she whispered.

Those words snapped the last thread of Natasha’s restraint. She leaned in and pressed her mouth to the inside of one pale thigh, kissing reverently before dragging her tongue higher. When she reached the heated center, she licked a slow, hungry stripe up the glistening folds and moaned at the taste, sweet and warm and addictive.

The woman’s hips jerked, a surprised little gasp escaping her. Then the first real moan spilled out completely unguarded and Natasha’s mind went white..It hit Natasha like fire in her veins. Her self-control, the careful distance she always kept, the calculated moves, the older woman composure shattered completely. She was supposed to be the one in control…but right now all she could think was more. She needed more of that sound, needed to be the reason it kept happening.

She dove in like a woman possessed, her tongue circled the swollen clit with desperate hunger, sucking it gently between her lips before licking back down to push inside her. The woman’s fingers tightened in her red hair, not pulling, just holding on as another moan tore free, richer this time, longer, trembling at the edges.

“Gods…you feel so good..” the woman breathed, voice already cracking with pleasure. She rolled her hips up to meet Natasha’s mouth, white hair spilling everywhere as her head fell back against the furs. Natasha lost herself completely. Every moan from those pretty lips made her spiral harder and licked and sucked with shameless need, tongue fucking into her in deep, wet strokes before pulling back to lavish attention on her clit again. Her own thighs pressed together, completely soaked and aching, but she didn’t touch herself, this was all for the woman beneath her, all for those gorgeous sounds that kept ripping Natasha’s composure to shreds.

The woman’s hand trembled where it rested in Natasha’s hair, guiding her gently higher when the pleasure peaked. “Right there- yes..just like that…” Another moan broke free, louder, sweeter and Natasha whimpered against her slick heat, the vibration pulling an even prettier sound from the woman’s throat.

Natasha’s mind was pure heat and reverence this woman, this impossible, beautiful girl was moaning because of her. Because Natasha couldn’t stop, couldn’t slow down, couldn’t do anything but worship with her tongue and fingers and every desperate breath. When Natasha slid two fingers inside her, curling them just right, the woman’s back arched clean off the bed with a moan so raw and beautiful it made Natasha’s head spin.

The woman’s voice cracked, amusement long gone, replaced by pure overwhelmed pleasure. Her fingers tightened gently in Natasha’s hair, guiding her rhythm without force, just need. “G-Gods, don’t stop, Please..!”

Natasha definitely had no intention of stopping. Not when every moan made her lose another piece of herself to this woman..The woman’s moan cracked into a long, shuddering cry as she came hard on Natasha’s tongue and fingers. Her thighs clamped around Natasha’s head for one dizzying second, hips rolling helplessly through every wave of pleasure. Natasha didn’t stop, she just couldn’t licking her through it until the tremors finally eased and the woman melted back into the furs.

Natasha’s own pulse was thundering. She was soaked, aching, trembling with how badly she still wanted her. The taste of her was still on her tongue, the sound of those moans echoing in her skull like a drug she already needed more of. Without thinking, Natasha slid her hands under the woman’s hips firmly and turning her onto her stomach.

The woman made a soft, surprised sound and her cheek pressed into the dark furs, her body completely limp and glowing with aftershocks. Natasha crawled over her from behind, pressing her own body flush along the younger woman’s back. She was moaning quietly already, just from the heat of her skin and the way the woman’s ass fit perfectly against her hips. Natasha slipped two fingers back inside her without warning and woman’s eyes flew open, “F-Fuck..I..can’t-!”

“You can..” Natasha’s mouth was right at her ear now. She twisted her fingers just right on every thrust, grinding her own soaked core against the woman’s ass in time with it. “Come for me again. Let me see your face when you do.”

The woman’s moan broke into something higher, sweeter, completely undone. Her hands fisted the furs, back arched beautifully under Natasha’s chest, white hair pulled taut in Natasha’s grip like silk ropes. Every thrust drew another gorgeous sound from her, breathy, helpless, overwhelmed and Natasha was losing her mind at the sight, “You’re so beautiful..”

The woman’s thighs started trembling. Her moans turned into broken little cries, face flushed and open and devastatingly beautiful as Natasha kept fucking her through it. “Come on..” Natasha breathed against her neck, “Let me feel you. I need it..I need you..”

The woman came with a long, shattered moan that echoed off the stone walls, clenching hard around Natasha’s fingers, back bowing as pleasure crashed through her all over again. Her eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, white hair glowing against the dark furs while Natasha watched every second of it, chest pressed tight to her back and heart hammering like it wanted to climb out and give itself to this girl.

Natasha didn’t pull her fingers out right away. She kept them buried deep, stroking her gently through the aftershocks, face still hidden in that soft neck, breathing her in like she was the only thing keeping her alive. Natasha smiled against her skin, pressing a slow, open mouthed kiss to the pulse fluttering under her lips. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

What followed was hours of heat and hunger that blurred the edges of time. The woman repaid every single second Natasha had spent worshipping her. She rolled them over with surprising strength, pinning Natasha gently beneath her, white hair falling like a curtain around them both. Her mouth was everywhere, kissing down Natasha’s throat, sucking marks into the older woman’s collarbone, then lower, until she settled between Natasha’s thighs like she belonged there. The first slow drag of her tongue had Natasha’s back arching clean off the bed with a broken moan of her own.

The woman was relentless in the softest way possible. She licked and sucked like she was savoring every sound Natasha made, fingers sliding deep inside her and curling just right while her tongue worked her clit in slow, devastating circles. Natasha came the first time with a sharp cry, thighs trembling around the woman’s shoulders, fingers tangled in that impossible snow white hair. But the young woman didn’t stop either. She kept going, murmuring soft praises against slick skin, “You taste so good…let me hear you again” until Natasha came a second time, harder, hips bucking helplessly as pleasure crashed through her in waves.

They switched again and again, bodies sliding together in the low lantern light. Hours passed like that and the tavern outside had long since gone quiet. The only sounds in the private room were gasps, moans and the wet slide of bodies moving together in the dark. Eventually they collapsed, utterly spent.

The woman lay on her back, chest heaving, one arm draped lazily over Natasha’s waist. Natasha was on her side, red hair sticking to her damp forehead, body boneless and glowing with the kind of satisfaction she hadn’t felt in years. She couldn’t remember the last time sex had been this good..this raw, this endless, this right. Every nerve in her body still hummed with it. She felt wrecked in the best possible way, like the younger woman had reached inside her and pulled out every hidden piece of want she’d been carrying.

Natasha turned her head slowly, still breathless, and just…looked at her. The girl beside her was flushed and glowing, lips kiss swollen, eyes half closed in pure bliss. She looked unreal..like something carved out of moonlight and fire and every impossible story Natasha had ever heard. Natasha’s voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. “So…What’s your name?”

The woman turned her head, a slow, sated smile curving her lips. Her eyes met Natasha’s with something soft and open and a little amused, like she’d been waiting for the question all night. “Y/n.” she said simply.

The name settled between them like a secret finally shared and Natasha stared at her, heart still pounding, the weight of everything they’d just done sinking in deeper with every second. And for the first time since she’d stepped into this hidden kingdom, she had no idea what came next.

Part 2

-

-

It wasn’t often that Natasha had bad days, but when she did, everyone knew not to piss her off. She’d walk into the room, expression cold and shoulders rigid. She was sharper with her words and even deadlier with her eyes. Fury had called her in for a meeting about unorganised files and missing reports that she had run way past the due date. Yeah it was an awful morning, it’s never nice to be on the receiving end of a lecture from your boss who had no leeway for answers.

Her boots echoed around the compound as she walked into the common room, Steve, Bucky and Tony in the kitchen arguing over what the better topping was on pancakes. The minute Natasha walked in Steve gave her a friendly smile but it faded as he was met with a sharp stare. “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed Romanoff?” Tony snarked and she stabbed his pancake with a fork nearby. “Well goddamn Widow” he mumbled and dragged himself over to the living room, opting to eat breakfast there. Bucky’s and Steve followed Tony closely, not wanting to be in the firing line. Smart move.

Natasha grabbed one of her shakes out of the fridge and retreated to her office with a determined strut. She’s got a shit load of paperwork to do and the sooner she started the better. One file after the other, multiple coffee breaks, no interruptions. In fact, no one had seen her all day. That is until you went to go find her. You’d been out with Kate and Yelena all day so you had no idea what was going on in the compound. If you had known, you wouldn’t have bothered her.

“Hey there you are, oh my god, you wouldn’t believe what Yel-” you started cheerfully but got cut off when she huffed frustratedly and turned towards you sharply. “Fucking hell leave me alone! I don’t care! You know some people take their work seriously and don’t just bludge around all day! Maybe one day you’ll realise that this job is more than just Tony’s perks and free time to fuck around! Being an Avenger actually means something to some people! Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got paperwork to do because unlike you, I do my job like a real Avenger” she finished with a glare and you shrunk down. “Uh, yeah okay sure sorry um I’ll see myself out sorry” you stammered and she rolled her eyes, turning back around to her paperwork.

She didn’t see the way your hands trembled slightly, or how you bit your lip to try and hide the building tears. With one last look, you walked out, closing the door softly and took a deep breath in. Was this a constant thought she had about you? It’s no secret that you’re new to the team, only being properly engaged in mission from about two months ago but still? Did she not see you as a real Avenger? Did she think you weren’t good enough? Did she hate you? Were you not good enough for her?

That night you skipped dinner, not unusual but not something Natasha would like. Whether it was a jab at her or justified by anxiety no one knows and no one asked. If you weren’t good enough for Natasha, you weren’t good enough for anyone. The tears came freely this time as you lay in bed that night. Natasha’s hoodie that you usually slept in, thrown on the floor near the door. You didn’t deserve it. Not if you weren’t good enough. A quiet broken hiccup escaped your lips as you heard Wanda and Natasha speak behind your door.

“Didn’t come down for dinner Nat, she’s been in her room since she came back pretty much” Wanda’s voice was heavy with her accent and you heard Natasha sigh. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow, thanks Wands” you squeezed your eyes shut as you heard the door open. You evened out your breathing as best you could when she slipped in the bed behind you, “You were doing so well” she mumbled and sighed against the back of your neck. You stayed silent, tense but silent and Natasha must have been utterly exhausted because not long after she was fast asleep. For a spy who can literally tell if you’re lying with her eyes closed, she didn’t pick up at all that you were well and truly awake. She really didn’t care for you anymore. She wasn’t paying attention anymore. You really weren’t good enough for her.

Morning came and sure enough, you were met with an empty bed. It shouldn’t be a surprise to you, you’ve been forgotten, disregarded and made to feel like an outsider your whole life. But it still hurt. The one person who you thought truly saw you for you and not some screw up had finally realised you’re nothing but a waste of time. Yeah, it hurt big time. You sighed as you slipped on a loose pair of sweats and a hoodie, grabbing your vape (yes still hidden from Natasha) and heading straight to the doors leading to the fields outside the compound.

You knew a spot not far from the building, a little into the woods but quite pretty. There was a big oak tree that you’d climb every now and then when you wanted to breathe or just think, so with nothing but your vape and phone you set out towards it. It didn’t take you long, 17 minutes to be exact and you sighed at the tree in the distance. Why was it always you who ruins everything? The relationship with your parents, people at college, high school and now the new family you thought you created within the Avengers. The common denominator was you.

You climbed the tree with ease, sitting on one of the higher sturdier branched and tilted your head back against the trunk. It was quiet, it was peaceful and the nicotine from the vape was soothing the mental struggle like a saint. It was pretty much the only thing you could control right now. You were out for hours, no one had come to look for you, no one had realised you were gone. It’s not like you went far, but still, the thought of no one caring weighed heavy in your chest. The silent tears came to you at full force as more and more hours went by.

“I thought I locked that up” an unamused voice caught you by surprise as you choked on the vape. Natasha was standing at the bottom of the tree with her arms crossed and her brows raised. “Sorry” you mumbled automatically and pocketed it. You didn’t come down and she didn’t climb up. What now? “Wanna tell me why you’re up there?” She sat on the ground observing you. You couldn’t speak, words were choked up and tears were desperately trying to stay at bay. From Natasha’s position in the grass, all she could see was your knees to your chest and the smallest fraction of your face between the leaves above.

She was about to ask again when your voice cracked, “you yelled at me.” A painful whimper managed to escape and you heard her sigh. You were too busy trying to regulate yourself enough to talk to her that you didn’t hear or see her scale the tree like it was nothing. “You yelled at me Nat, you said that- oh you’re right there sorry- you said that I wasn’t good enough to be a real Avenger. I know it sounds stupid to cry over and I’m just being a baby and you’re right I do need to take it more seriously cause otherwise there’s no point in being here at the compound and being an Avenger. I’m sorry I’m not good enough yet, I promise I’ll do better, I promise I’m sorry” you were openly sobbing now and Natasha was frozen.

She didn’t realise just how far she set you back into your own insecurities and anxieties. You were doing exceptionally well in your mental health and she just wrote it off in the blink of an eye. “Hey no, look at me. I’m sorry for yelling at you. Fury had me do all this paperwork and he stressed me out and I ended up lashing out and I know it doesn’t justify what I did or said to you. But I need you to understand that you are an Avenger, you earned that spot just like we all did. I’m sorry I set you back in a spiral. I’m so sorry detka” Natasha sighed as she pulled you in for a calculated hug. Keep in mind all this is happening in a goddamn oak tree and she didn’t want either of you falling from the height you were at.

You weren’t perfect and neither was she, but in this moment, Natasha made a silent promise to herself to never let you get this deep in your thoughts. She couldn’t afford to lose someone so perfect for her.

natalie pulled back from the kiss with a small grin on her lips and you were unable to tell your heavy breaths apart from hers, the dark-haired woman tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, "did you bring my cigs?" she asked with a lazy grin, and you rolled your eyes, gently punching her chest as you dug out her carton of cigarettes from your purse and opened it, holding it out to her, "you're not even gonna give me a 'hello'? not even an 'i missed you'? just 'gimme a cig'."

"well, what i just did kinda was my way of saying 'hello' and 'i missed you'." natalie said in a sultry tone, taking one of the cigarettes and placing it between her lips as you dug around the bag for the lighter with the carving 'N.S' flicking it open as she brought her mouth closer to the flickering flame of the lighter, your eyes on the way the cigarette caught aflame, the filter starting to turn brown at the end.

"but if you really want me to, i guess i could take you in the backseat and show you how much i really missed you." natalie grinned stepping back from you, the cigarette between her pointer finger and her middle finger, the black paint you'd applied to her nails chipping, the woman taking in a deep inhale before blowing the smoke away from you. "maybe you should."

and she did; you ended up in the backseat of the car natalie had stolen months ago, her head between your legs as your hands were tangled in her long, brown hair, pulling her closer to your core as she lapped at your cunt, the scent of your arousal filling the small car. your skirt was bunched up on your waist, and your favorite pair of panties were in the backpocket of natalie's scuffed black jeans.

one of her hands were greedily kneading your brest while the other was pumping in and out of you, the long, ringed digits scissoring inside of you as your lewd moans filled the car.

her tongue darted out to circle your clit teasingly until her lips sucked the sensitive bud into her mouth, your pussy arching into her mouth as if out of instinct, as if chasing all the sensations she was making you feel.

"god, nat..." you whined, the woman letting out a cocky chuckle into your pussy, each tiny drag of her tongue causing shivers to run up your spine, the sensations in your abdomen building up every time her fingers met with that sweet spongy spot inside of you, with every moan and whine natalie drug out.

you let out a loud moan of her name when you felt the band in your stomach snap, your walls clenching around her fingers so tightly the woman could barely move them, her lips easing up slightly, letting go of your clit with a small, wet pop! giving your clit small kitten licks to help you come down from your orgasm.

when you finally stopped clenching around her fingers, natalie pulled her fingers out of you, splaying her hand on your stomach, as she looked up at you, "did that show you just how much i missed you?" she asked, cocking her brow.

"hmm." you pursed your lips, narrowing your brows as if deep in thought, "i think i'm gonna need some more proof for your claims." she grinned, tilting her head to the side, "yes, ma'am." she nodded, before diving back between your legs.

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