King's Coming in Marvel

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The memory of the Red Room was something Natasha would never forget. It was there that she had undergone grueling training, shaping her into the Black Widow.

But the trauma left its mark, one that would not simply disappear with time unless she confronted it head-on.

"This woman is truly brave."

Michael couldn't help but shake his head.

Though Natasha often appeared strong and composed, there was something incredibly vulnerable and heart-wrenching about her current state.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

There was a knock on the door, and the innkeeper entered.

"There's nothing to worry about. We're only staying here for a short time. I can assure you that there won't be any trouble. This is for you." Michael spoke in an authoritative tone, handing over a generous sum of money.

The innkeeper, sensing it was best not to pry, took the money and left without a word. Once the door closed, Michael turned to Natasha, only to feel his hand being grasped.

"Are you awake?" He asked softly, noticing Natasha had opened her eyes, "Are you alright? How do you feel?"

Natasha shook her head without speaking, her eyes filled with fear, "Don't worry. You've been affected by the cane's influence, but you'll be okay soon. Whatever you're seeing or thinking, it's in the past."

"There's no need to be afraid. Let me get you some water to help calm down." Michael rose to fetch a bottle of water. But before he could leave, Natasha tightened her grip, surprisingly strong. Michael stumbled forward, falling directly onto her.

"Ouch!"

He groaned, trying to get up, but Natasha held him firmly. The movement brought their faces close, and their lips met by accident.

The metallic taste of blood lingered.

Michael winced, realizing his lip had been cut. Glancing down, he saw a similar wound on Natasha's mouth.

"Let go, it's okay. I'm not going anywhere." He whispered gently, knowing her reaction stemmed from fear. But instead of releasing him, Natasha clung tighter, her hands pulling him closer, her desperation overtaking her.

The taste of blood mixed with the heat of the moment. Michael hesitated, fearing he might hurt her if he resisted. Yet Natasha, in her fevered state, grew bolder, almost frantic, leaving him unable to resist.

This... is getting intense.

Natasha's emotions seemed completely unbridled, which in turn unsettled Michael. While the cane's effects hadn't invoked fear in him, they had stirred a latent restlessness that Natasha's fervor seemed to rekindle. The faint taste of blood, the heat of her breath—it all played havoc with his own self-control.

It was unclear who made the first move, but in the whirlwind that followed, clothes fell away in a desperate rush. Logic and restraint had long since vanished. Michael had to admit, an unrestrained Natasha was truly something to behold.

Pat~ Pat~ Pat~

"Mnhhhhhhh~"

A small, pained gasp echoed as boundaries were crossed and inhibitions forgotten.

How much time passed? It was impossible to tell. When they finally succumbed to exhaustion, the two fell asleep in each other's arms.

---

The next morning, Michael was woken by the bustling sounds of the street outside. Blinking against the sunlight filtering in through the curtains, he turned, feeling the softness of the bed and the warmth beside him.

Turning his head, he saw Natasha still sleeping soundly.

As memories of the previous night surfaced, Michael found it hard to reconcile the calm woman next to him with the one who had been so passionately unrestrained mere hours ago.

'Fear is truly a powerful thing.' He mused. Even someone as resilient as Natasha couldn't resist its grip.

Noticing a faint red stain on the sheets, Michael stilled.

"No way..." He murmured, surprised by the revelation. He hadn't expected Natasha, as fearless and experienced as she was, to still have been untouched in that way.

This... this was certainly an unexpected gain.

As he recalled the events of the night, a mixture of pride and confusion filled him. Had he, or had he been the one ensnared by the Black Widow?

With a faint shake of his head, Michael gently disentangled himself from her grasp and slipped out of bed, heading to the bathroom.

By the time he emerged, refreshed and dressed, Natasha was awake, gazing thoughtfully out the window, seemingly soaking in the morning sun.

"Feeling better? Do you want to eat something or get some more rest?" Michael asked, walking over.

"Where is it?"

Natasha turned, surprising him with her directness.

"Is that really the first thing you ask when you wake up?" Michael chuckled.

"What else? Should I be asking how you felt last night?" She gave a wry smile, "I admit, I have mixed feelings about it. It's... hard to put into words. But at the very least, I'm sure it's something I'll never forget."

Though her emotions had been unrestrained the night before, Natasha hadn't been unaware. She remembered everything, and rather than being upset by it, there was an acceptance in her gaze.

Michael couldn't help but feel a little pleased. At first, her nonchalant tone had slightly dampened his spirits, but seeing her openness now was refreshing.

"Don't worry about the mission for now. Your main priority today is rest—both physically and mentally. You need to recover." Michael said gently.

Natasha hesitated, knowing the mission was important. But as she met his caring, steady gaze, she found herself nodding.

"What's on your mind?"

Michael asked, noticing her contemplative expression.

Natasha ran her fingers through her hair, then shook her head with a soft smile, "Nothing. I just realized... this is what it feels like to have someone care about you. It's... nice."

"You'll get used to it." Michael replied warmly, "Because I'll always be here."

She chuckled softly, "Looks like my words last night came true. It was truly unforgettable. Maybe I do have a talent for seeing the future after all."

Michael chuckled along with her, content in the moment.