If vaults could win awards for dramatic entrances, this one would sweep the Oscars. The door groaned open like it was auditioning for a horror movie, revealing a chamber that looked like someone shoved a museum, a mad scientist's lab, and a fantasy novel into a blender set to "chaotic evil."
Harry Potter (yes, that Harry) stepped in first, red-and-gold phoenix armor gleaming like a sunrise that could punch you in the face. His magic flicked across his hand like a conductor prepping for a metal concert. Behind him, Natasha Romanoff followed—stealthy, graceful, and dressed in tactical black that somehow managed to be practical and jaw-droppingly hot.
"Okay," Harry said, surveying the weirdest treasure trove since someone let Loki loose in a pawn shop. "Either this is HYDRA's secret stash... or they've been hoarding for an interdimensional garage sale."
Natasha snorted. "Please. HYDRA doesn't have the taste for this much weird. That's 100% mad scientist energy. You think Eric Einhardt had a Pinterest board for this?"
"Absolutely," Harry replied. "Labeled it 'Murder Basement Chic.' Bet he had inspirational quotes too. 'Live, Laugh, Reanimate.'"
They passed a cryo-chamber containing what looked suspiciously like an angel wing. Just... hanging there, frozen mid-flap. You know. Casual.
"Harry, is that—"
"A seraphim wing. Yep." He squinted. "Still twitching too. So... not expired. Just... on a break."
Natasha made a face. "Great. This place has a heartbeat."
To the right, a chessboard made of bone and obsidian sat under a glass dome. The pieces moved on their own—and glared when anyone got too close.
Harry tapped the glass. The queen hissed at him.
"British and rude," he muttered. "I think we've found Voldemort's retirement plan."
Further in, a pedestal glowed softly, containing two matte-black hard drives nestled like cursed treasure. Runes and Stark-tech holograms spun lazily around them like fireflies made of math and bad decisions.
"Bingo," Natasha said, moving closer. "One's the backup of Einhardt's brain. The other has HYDRA sleeper operatives. AKA, the oh-no list."
"Let's just hope it doesn't come with a side of apocalypse," Harry murmured, scanning the warding glyphs. "Because this one's screaming 'Do Not Touch Unless You're a Demigod or Bored.'"
A runic glyph shaped like a yoga-posing basilisk pulsed angrily.
Natasha pulled out a shard the size of a matchbook and jammed it onto the pedestal.
The entire containment field snapped—gone in an instant like it owed her money. The runes flickered, glitched, and disintegrated.
Harry blinked. "Did you just vaporize ancient alchemical wards with a stick of gum?"
"Hex-virus," Natasha replied. "Stole it from a Siberian bunker. Named it after my ex."
Harry gave her a slow, impressed look. "Do not break up with you."
She smirked. "Smart boy."
He picked up the drive labeled with a scarlet "O." The names inside could flip countries. Governments. Possibly a few school boards.
"Wanna start a global revolution?" Harry asked casually.
"Only if we survive long enough to post the receipts."
Behind them, something clanked.
Harry and Natasha turned simultaneously.
In the shadowy far end of the vault, a shape rose. Tall. Mechanical. Judgy.
Twelve feet of HYDRA's finest overcompensation, it stomped forward with glowing red eyes and murder in its heart. Ancient runes crawled along its limbs like tattoos made by a blind wizard on acid.
On its chest: the faded symbol of HYDRA. Beneath it, a single word etched in angry iron:
OBLIVION.
"Oh, of course," Harry muttered. "Einhardt built a doom-bot. Because nothing says 'vault security' like a Terminator that went to Hogwarts."
"I'll take the torso," Natasha said, extending her shock batons.
Harry's finger flared with phoenix flame. "I'll take the sarcasm."
Meanwhile—
Outside the Vault:
Peggy Carter waited near the dumbwaiter shaft, keeping one hand on Harry's Cloak of Levitation (which was clearly sulking about not being in the spotlight). Her lips were set in a worried line, but her eyes gleamed with battle readiness and possibly a bit of can-we-be-done-here-so-I-can-make-out-with-my-boyfriend energy.
Further up the shaft, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes were hauling gear like it was World War II again, muttering in tandem.
"I'm telling you," Steve grunted, "he's got it under control."
"He better," Bucky replied. "Or we're busting in. Guns blazing."
"You just want to show off to Peggy."
"Don't you?"
Steve paused. "...Yeah. Fair."
Nearby, Sirius Black leaned against the wall with all the grace of a noir film protagonist. Coat slung over his shoulder, wand in hand, and a grin that said someone's about to get hexed and it's not me.
"Heads up," he called. "I hear boom noises. Harry's either flirting or fighting. Possibly both."
Across the mountain—
Clint Barton and Alastor Moody (still stitching up the bellhop disguises they used to sneak in) stepped out of the luxury hotel's staff entrance.
Clint muttered, "Next time, I'm wearing the maid outfit. Bellhop pants ride up in places I didn't know I had."
Moody grunted. "Constant vigilance. And a good tailor."
Their eyes scanned the snowfield. A shimmer distorted the air just beyond the tree line.
"There she is," Clint said, nodding toward the invisible Quinjet. "Now we just gotta hope the murderbot doesn't delay the lovebirds too long."
Back in the vault, as the golem raised one glowing fist, Natasha grinned and leaned close to Harry.
"Think we can finish this quickly?"
He smirked. "You buying me dinner afterward?"
"If we live? I'm cooking."
Harry raised his hand and charged. "Then let's work up an appetite."
—
The floor shuddered under Harry's boots like the Earth itself had decided it was tired of the drama and was calling a timeout. OBLIVION—the giant, rune-infested murder machine—stepped forward, its red eyes glowing like it was in the middle of a really bad rave. Harry didn't even flinch.
"Okay, serious question," Harry said, side-stepping a swipe that would've turned an entire building into confetti. "Who named this thing? OBLIVION? Seriously? Was 'Doom Machine of Doomy Death' already taken?"
"Maybe it's just misunderstood," Natasha quipped, her batons crackling as she swung them to deflect a blast of magic from the golem's glowing chest. "It's probably just mad because it's not getting enough attention."
Harry dodged another claw swipe, barely breaking a sweat. "Maybe it just wants a hug."
It would have been hilarious, if not for the whole 'giant death robot' thing.
OBLIVION roared, a sound that could probably make the Alps cry, and unleashed a flurry of spinning blades from its back. They twirled through the air with a deadly grace, like someone had said, "Hey, what would happen if we combined an industrial blender with a chainsaw?"
Natasha, ever the acrobat, vaulted over them in a perfectly illegal twist, landing behind the golem with the grace of a cat on espresso. "Okay," she panted, brushing a lock of hair out of her face, "That was kind of hot."
Harry flashed her a grin. "You should see me juggle. Shirtless. Maybe after we're done avoiding getting eviscerated?"
The golem growled and tried to stomp them both. Bad move, though. Harry caught its foot mid-drop, like he was some sort of magic-wielding crane operator. A golden aura surrounded the metal limb, freezing it in midair.
"Sit, you oversized paperweight," Harry muttered, his voice low with the kind of intensity that only comes when you've spent way too much time dealing with evil magic constructs. "You think I haven't dealt with your type before? I've buried worse in basilisk pits, pal."
"Yeah, you're really starting to get that 'hero' vibe going," Natasha said, flicking a look his way. "But, you know, I was thinking more along the lines of 'sexy' than 'savage.'"
"Thank you," Harry said with a wink, his eyes glowing like the sun was about to explode. "I work out."
Meanwhile, outside the Vault – The Team Discusses (Read: Complain About) Harry's Fighting Style
Back near the dumbwaiter shaft, Steve was in the middle of an impromptu shield drill, because that's just what Steve Rogers does. Bucky was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching with an expression that could've been mistaken for mild interest—or maybe he was just waiting for Steve to throw his shield wrong.
"That definitely sounds like Harry," Steve said, barely raising an eyebrow. "Is he fighting or flirting?"
Bucky raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. "Definitely both. I swear, it's the exact same tone he used when he was twelve. Remember when he tried to break up that Veela bar fight by calling her 'inferior' mid-duel? She proposed to him after she woke up."
Steve blinked. "I thought you were exaggerating."
"Nope," Sirius chimed in from the side, dusting off his leather jacket. "James did the exact same thing at fourteen. We had to bail him out of the most awkward proposal in history."
"Disturbing," Steve muttered, still processing this new level of weirdness.
Meanwhile, Peggy, who had been leaning casually into the shaft opening, flicked her hair back like she was auditioning for a shampoo commercial. Her cloak of levitation fluttered dramatically in the wind, which could've probably won an Oscar for 'Best Supporting Fabric' if there was such a category.
"Harry!" she called out. "Need help?"
Harry's voice echoed back, dripping with sarcasm. "Depends. How do you feel about magical Terminators with abandonment issues?"
The Cloak of Levitation zipped forward like it had a personal vendetta against the laws of physics, diving into the vault like an eager puppy. "Showoff," Bucky muttered.
The Cloak, clearly having a sense of flair, wrapped itself around OBLIVION's head, blocking its sight. It was like a magician's finale—graceful, efficient, and somehow dramatic. OBLIVION flailed blindly, its chainsaw-blades spinning wildly.
Natasha saw the opening, leapt onto the golem's back like she was auditioning for Cirque du Soleil, and slammed one of her batons straight into the glowing rune cluster between its shoulder blades. The golem screamed—a sound that sounded like an industrial garbage truck colliding with an angry walrus.
Harry didn't even blink. He drew a circle in the air with two fingers and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like an ancient incantation mixed with a techno beat. The runes on OBLIVION's limbs started peeling off like burnt stickers, crumbling to ash.
"I gotta admit," Natasha said, landing with the grace of a cat on a caffeine high, "I'd pay good money to see that again."
Harry just grinned. "Careful, Natasha. You're starting to sound like you might be into me. We've still got work to do."
"Maybe when we're done getting attacked by death robots, I'll show you how much I'm into you."
Harry's hand glowed with a golden light—one so bright, it was like someone had decided to put the sun inside a bottle. "Deal," he said, and with a final, dramatic flick of his wrist, OBLIVION shattered into a thousand glittering pieces. The metallic fragments sparkled like angry confetti, and for a moment, all was still.
"See?" Harry said, his voice deceptively casual as he turned back to Natasha, still breathing heavily but looking like he'd just come from an intense yoga class. "I told you I was good with my hands."
Natasha smirked, walking toward him. "Yeah, I noticed."
Suddenly, Peggy appeared, eyebrows raised. She looked at the wreckage of the golem, then at Harry, then back at the golem. "Are you two done playing with ancient death machines yet?"
The Cloak of Levitation drifted over, casually resting on Harry's shoulder like it was a cool sidekick that just couldn't quit being fabulous.
"Ma'am," Harry said with an exaggeratedly innocent look, "I swear, it tried to eat us first."
Bucky, Steve, and Sirius finally dropped down through the shaft opening with their usual military-perfect grace. They looked around at the mess. Sirius grinned. "I like him. He breaks things properly."
Steve sighed. "For a stealth mission, this is getting remarkably loud."
"Blame the murderbot," Harry said. "Very sensitive."
Bucky whistled as he looked over the shattered pedestal. "Got the drives?"
Natasha tossed them over with a look that was both professional and, for some reason, a little bit flirtatious. "All gift-wrapped, no apocalypse included. Probably."
"Good," Sirius said, examining the damage. "Now let's get out before we attract more attention than we already have. Don't want to make this the 'Harry Potter Show' every time we need to steal something."
Steve glanced at the chaos around them. "You think 'HYDRA' will just give up?"
"Nope," Harry said with a grin. "Which is why we need to vanish. Fast."
Before anyone could respond, Clint's voice crackled over the comms. "Quinjet's warming up. But you've got movement. HYDRA's waking up, and they're grumpy. Real grumpy."
Moody's gravelly voice came next, dripping with sarcasm. "Move your bloody arses, people. I didn't stitch up these stupid disguises and hike a mountain for you lot to play nursemaid to hormonal superheroes."
Harry smirked, adjusting the Vibranium mesh of his red-and-gold suit. "Alright, team. Let's vanish. And I'll even try to keep the quips to a minimum."
The Cloak fluttered dramatically behind him, as if it was making an entrance to its own personal rock concert.
With that, they turned and sprinted toward the dumbwaiter shaft, the drives safely tucked away, bickering all the way out. The perfect team—if your idea of perfection was a mix of magic, sarcasm, and really, really bad ideas wrapped in a whole lot of red and gold.
—
Sirius, Steve, and Bucky were busy with the kind of frantic energy that could only come from a life-or-death mission… or an impending glitter explosion. Steve was packing up the gear with military precision, each item neatly placed, the way only Captain America could do it—like he'd been trained by Marie Kondo herself. Bucky, on the other hand, was throwing things into bags like he had a personal vendetta against inanimate objects. Sirius? Well, he was pretty much the soundtrack to chaos, cracking jokes about wanting to set the whole place on fire—metaphorically, of course—while stacking crates like a man who didn't mind a little destruction.
"Honestly, I think we should've just yelled at OBLIVION and called it a day," Sirius muttered, loading a weapon into a crate with far too much enthusiasm. "That would've been way more satisfying."
Steve gave him a deadpan look. "It's a good thing we're not here to just have fun, Sirius."
Sirius shot him a grin. "Who says we can't have fun and save the world at the same time?"
Meanwhile, across the hall in the Presidential Suite, Peggy, Natasha, and Harry were in the thick of it, grabbing every piece of equipment left. Peggy was at the windows, setting off glitter bombs she'd planted earlier—because why have a stealth mission when you could have sparkle-based chaos? Harry, who had been wrapped in the Cloak of Levitation (and looking like he was about to lead a magical high school band), flashed her a grin.
"Peg, you're seriously going to make this the most fabulous mission in history," Harry said, checking his wrist like he had a personal countdown timer running. "You've got... thirty seconds before our glittery demise gets noticed."
Natasha was busy packing up a few last-minute gadgets but couldn't help smirking. "You're really living up to your 'magical menace' reputation, huh?"
Harry shrugged with that signature smirk. "What can I say? If you're going to be a menace, might as well be a fabulous one."
"You are a menace," Natasha grumbled under her breath, but her eyes were twinkling in spite of herself.
Clint and Moody had arrived at the Quinjet, cloaked in stealth mode like two shady figures at a late-night diner. Clint, in particular, wasn't exactly thrilled with the whole "invisible" vibe.
"I hate stealth mode," Clint muttered, checking his bowstring as he watched the hotel's windows through the corner of his eye. "It's like a bad spy movie, and I've had enough of those."
Moody, adjusting his bellhop uniform (which, frankly, looked a little too convincing for comfort), grunted. "If you keep complaining, I'll put you in a bellhop costume too. See how you like it."
Clint didn't even flinch. "As long as it doesn't come with sequins, I'm good."
The Quinjet's engines were running silent, a low hum that made it feel like they were waiting for the whole world to forget they were even there. Clint was the first to hear the muffled pop of a glitter bomb detonating, and he smirked.
"Guess that's our cue," he said, nudging Moody. "Time to cause a little chaos."
Peggy hit the detonator, and the sparkle explosion that followed was the kind of thing you only saw in movies about really bad heists. Glitter exploded everywhere, catching the dimming light from outside and painting the windows with an almost comical amount of magic and sparkle.
"Well, that's going to be a problem," Peggy said, surveying the glitter storm with a satisfied look on her face.
Harry, watching the fallout through the window, couldn't help but grin. "Oh, this is going to be glorious."
"Let's get this over with," Natasha muttered. "You two are impossible."
Harry shrugged, the Cloak of Levitation settling like a second skin around his shoulders. "Hey, you love us for it."
"Barely," Natasha replied with a half-smile, shaking her head. "Let's go. Now."
With a quick motion, Harry summoned his magic. A golden aura flared around him like the sun on a perfect day. The next thing anyone knew, Harry, Natasha, and Sirius were in the air, zipping down the hallway toward the Quinjet.
Sirius—ever the dramatic one—yelled as he shot through the air. "I thought I was going to be glued to the floor for a second there! What's with the sudden liftoff?"
"Oh, stop whining," Harry said with that cocky grin of his. "You're flying! Embrace the magic, buddy. It's like... a really high-speed elevator, only way cooler."
The Quinjet, its cargo door wide open and ready for action, was hovering in the distance like a sleek black bird in the night sky. Steve, Bucky, and Peggy were already tossing gear into the hold with the kind of efficiency that only a bunch of Avengers could manage, while Clint's voice crackled over the comms.
"Nice touch with the glitter bombs, team. The bad guys are going to love that."
Bucky gave the Quinjet's open doors a look as he threw a crate into the hold. "Yeah, a little too much love for my taste."
"Don't be such a buzzkill," Sirius said, shooting him a wink. "We're making an exit with style."
Steve shot Bucky a deadpan glance. "When have we ever made a quiet exit?"
"Never," Bucky said with a grin that could only be described as 'veteran mischief.' "That's the fun of it."
With a final burst of magic, Harry swooped into the Quinjet, Natasha and Sirius right behind him. The whole team was in, and the door slammed shut behind them just as the Quinjet roared to life, blasting out of the hotel with the kind of speed that could make a cheetah question its life choices.
The Quinjet swerved through the sky, the mountains of the Alps receding into the distance, and just like that, they were gone.
Clint's voice came over the comms, dripping with sarcasm. "Well, that was a lot louder than I expected. You guys really know how to make an entrance... and exit."
Moody's gravelly voice followed, even more deadpan. "Mission complete. Now, can we please not get caught?"
Sirius, who was slouched in one of the seats and looking way too relaxed for someone who'd just been flying through the air, gave Harry a look. "We did it, mate. Blown things up, made it look easy... and now we just wait for the 'big bad' to chase us down, right?"
Harry smirked, already settling into the seat beside Natasha. "Exactly. You know the drill. But let's make sure we do it with less glitter next time."
"Less glitter?" Natasha raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I'm ready for a world without your 'fabulous' side, Harry."
Harry grinned, leaning in with that playful, almost teasing look. "Give it time, Red. You might just enjoy it when I'm not blowing up the place with sparkles."
Before she could answer, Steve's voice came from the cockpit, serious as ever. "Focus, team. HYDRA's not far behind."
Bucky twisted in his seat, giving the group one of those devil-may-care looks. "Then let's make this getaway the most ridiculous one we've ever had. No glitter needed."
With a collective nod, the team braced themselves, ready for whatever the mission threw at them next. After all, when you're this badass, it's never just another Tuesday.
—
As the Quinjet sliced through the skies over the Swiss Alps, Clint Barton—aka Hawkeye, aka the guy who can hit a bullseye with a toothpick from 300 yards—was doing what he did best: being paranoid. He was staring at his screen like a hawk, but less "majestic" and more "someone who just saw a weird shadow and now thinks they're being followed by a secret government agency run by aliens."
He didn't like the vibe.
"Hey, Steve—hold up," Clint said, his voice low, a twitch of anxiety seeping into his usual sarcasm. His eyes were glued to the screen, scanning for something... suspicious. "We've got company."
"Company?" Steve Rogers, aka Captain America (and also a guy who could throw a shield that could decimate a wall without breaking a sweat) replied over comms. "I thought we just pulled off the perfect getaway."
"We did," Clint said, his gaze still locked on the screen. "But apparently, someone missed the memo. They've been tailing us since we left the Alps."
Steve's voice crackled in the comm. "Are we talking Hydra, or something more... dramatic?"
Clint zoomed in on the radar, his eyes narrowing. "Could be Hydra. Could be a rogue group of mime artists who want to challenge us to a 'silent fight.' Either way, I'm not in the mood for a fight today."
Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier—and resident guy who could punch through a tank and look effortlessly cool doing it—grunted from the cockpit. "We don't need more drama, Clint. Keep it together."
Sirius Black, who was reclining in the back like he'd just walked out of a James Bond movie (minus the tux), shot Clint an amused look. "Oh, great. A tail. It's not like we've had enough problems already."
Harry, ever the optimist (but only in the most sarcastic way possible), leaned back in his seat, hands clasped behind his head, his red-and-gold armor gleaming in the dim cabin light. "Well, you know, Sirius, if there's one thing we're good at, it's attracting trouble. I mean, what's the point of a covert mission without a tail, right? It's like having a party without cake. Not that I'd know—never been invited to a party. Sad, really. I'm the life of the—"
Natasha Romanoff, aka the Black Widow, cut him off with a sharp look. "Focus, Harry."
"Right," Harry said, a grin tugging at his lips. "I was just making a point. But okay, back to being serious. You're right. We need to focus. For now, let's just... blow up some stuff and call it a day. Simple stuff. No glitter this time."
"Not letting the glitter go, are we?" Natasha shot him a look, part amused, part exasperated.
"Why would I? Glitter is practically a weapon. I'm thinking we should start a whole new genre of combat with it." Harry gave a mock-serious nod. "I'm gonna call it: Sparkle Warfare."
Natasha just stared at him for a long moment, and then she gave a reluctant smile. "Let's keep the 'sparkle' to a minimum. Clint, you've got any tricks up your sleeve?"
"Do I ever not?" Clint muttered, already tapping away at his controls. "I've got something that'll make them forget we exist for a while."
"That sounds ominous," Bucky said, raising an eyebrow.
"Trust me, it's beautiful," Clint replied, his lips quirking. "But first, we've got to shake them."
The Quinjet swerved suddenly, cutting through the clouds in a sharp, heart-stopping dive. It felt like the world was doing that weird whoa thing, the one where your stomach stays behind while the rest of you plummets into an air pocket. Everyone grunted, instinctively grabbing the nearest solid thing to stop themselves from becoming one with the ceiling.
And then Clint pulled the controls with the expertise of a pilot who'd had way too much coffee and zero chill. The Quinjet shot upwards in a tight 180-degree loop that would've made Top Gun jealous. It was a maneuver so slick, the air itself seemed to hold its breath.
"Here it comes," Clint said under his breath, as though they weren't about to make everyone in their tailing craft reconsider their life choices.
A flick of a button, and the Quinjet shimmered—no, blurred. The magical tech fusion they'd installed (thanks, Howard Stark, Lily Potter, and Gideon Adler) kicked into high gear, casting a cloaking spell that made the jet disappear in a blink. It was like someone had flipped a switch, and bam, they were gone. Poof. Vanished.
Sirius whistled. "Now that is some impressive wizardry. I feel like I'm in a Bond movie... if Bond had a sense of humor and the ability to do tech sorcery."
"Beautiful, right?" Clint said, wiping a hand across his brow. "If they can't see us, they can't follow us. It's basically like playing hide and seek, except we're winning. So far."
Harry's grin grew wider, as his armor flickered slightly in the dim light. "I mean, yeah, Clint, I'll admit it—that was cool. And that? That was so much more satisfying than glitter. Although..." Harry paused, glancing at the window. "Imagine a glitter bomb that could do that. Think of the possibilities."
"Not going back to the glitter, Harry," Natasha said with an eye-roll, though the corner of her mouth quirked up ever so slightly.
"Oh, but imagine," Harry pressed. "The sparkles, the chaos—"
"Keep it to yourself, Potter," Natasha said, but her tone was laced with something... warmer. A hint of something beyond the usual banter.
Bucky chuckled from his seat. "You two are ridiculous."
Steve's calm, reassuring voice came over the comm. "Alright, that was a nice move. But we're not out of the woods yet. We still need to stay ahead. They'll regroup."
"No worries, Cap," Clint said, eyes scanning the empty skies. "I've got plenty more tricks up my sleeve."
"Let's just not blow us all up in the process," Peggy Carter, the no-nonsense voice of reason, added from her seat, a smirk dancing on her lips. "And let's not get any more dramatic than we already have."
"I'm a professional," Clint shot back, and there was a definite challenge in his tone. "Now, everyone buckle in—let's see if we can make them dizzy."
The Quinjet picked up speed, soaring higher into the clouds, leaving their would-be pursuers scrambling. But in the back of his mind, Clint knew one thing for sure: trouble had a habit of finding them. The real question was how they'd handle it next.
And knowing his team, he had a pretty good feeling. Because when you've got magic, tech, and the world's best problem-solvers in one jet, well, the only thing left to do was wait for the next round.
Harry settled back into his seat, his armor gleaming even more brightly now, his grin wide and cheeky. "Alright, so when do we get to the part where we actually get to have fun? I'm just saying—this is the moment where we either die or we make everything explode. Let's make this fun, people."
Natasha shot him another look, though this time there was a softness to it that didn't quite match her usual sarcasm.
"We'll survive, Harry. I'm sure of it."
"I'm counting on it." Harry's grin turned into something a little more dangerous, eyes lighting up with the thrill of whatever was coming next.
Because when you're this good, a little tailing is just the warm-up. The real fun was still ahead.
—
As the Quinjet continued its high-speed trek through the clouds, the team relaxed, settling into the comfortable lull that followed a job well done. Clint was leaning back in his seat, eyes flicking lazily between the control panel and the display screens. His fingers hovered over buttons as he hummed an off-key tune, clearly pleased with himself. Bucky, on the other hand, was pretending to read a comic book, though everyone knew he was just fidgeting in his seat, waiting for something to happen. Even Peggy had allowed herself to let down her professional guard for a moment, her lips curled in a rare, content smile.
But while the others were unwinding, Natasha and Harry—well, let's just say their idea of relaxation looked a little different.
Natasha was perched casually beside Harry, her legs stretched out and her back against the side of the Quinjet. Harry, in his usual red-and-gold vibranium-mesh bodysuit, sat slightly turned toward her, his golden-and-red armor gleaming softly in the dim light. He looked every bit the superhero—well, minus the whole "savior of the universe" vibe he sometimes gave off—and more like someone who knew exactly how to make a grand entrance.
"Do you ever stop being ridiculous?" Natasha asked, her voice teasing, as she flicked a stray piece of hair out of her face. She gave him a sideways glance, clearly trying to maintain her usual cool demeanor, but it was clear her mind was somewhere else.
Harry grinned back, an eyebrow arched. "What, like stop being the perfect mix of lethal and charming? Can't say I'm sure how that works."
She scoffed, but her lips tugged into a smile. "That's because it's not supposed to work. It's just... annoying."
Harry leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to something a touch more serious. "Well, you've been tolerating my brand of annoying for a while now. Guess that says something, huh?"
She met his gaze, her eyes softening, a rare glimmer of something unspoken between them. Natasha's usual sharpness seemed to dull just a bit as she leaned closer, her voice a quiet whisper. "Maybe it says that you're more trouble than you're worth."
Harry chuckled low, the sound rumbling in his chest. "Or maybe it says you're secretly enjoying every second of it."
Before she could reply with one of her usual witty retorts, Harry—ever the master of turning the tables—took a chance. He casually placed a hand on the armrest beside her, his fingers brushing against hers, just enough to let her feel the electric charge between them.
Natasha's breath hitched, and she looked at him with a mixture of surprise and something deeper, her gaze lingering a little too long. "You really don't know when to quit, do you?"
"I mean, it's not like I don't appreciate a good challenge," Harry said with a smirk. He leaned in closer, his lips just inches from her ear, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper. "But sometimes, Natasha... a challenge is just a little too irresistible."
Her breath caught, and for a moment, she forgot about everything else. The Quinjet, the mission, the ever-present threat of Hydra or whoever else might be out there—it all faded away as she focused on the magnetic pull between them.
"Is that so?" Natasha's voice was low, almost a purr now, the teasing edge replaced with something much more intimate.
"Yeah," Harry replied, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he met her eyes, a challenge in his own gaze. "I'm a sucker for a good challenge. And you? You're the kind of challenge that keeps things... interesting."
Before she could react, he leaned in just enough to press his lips lightly against hers, the kiss soft but filled with a quiet intensity. It wasn't rushed. It wasn't about making a statement. It was just the kind of kiss that happened when two people who couldn't deny their connection finally let their walls come down.
When they finally pulled apart, Natasha's expression was unreadable, but the corner of her lips quirked up, betraying her. "You're lucky I like you, Potter."
Harry chuckled, his usual cocky grin back in place. "I'm more than just lucky, Natasha. I'm a man of many talents."
"Oh, I've noticed," she said, her voice a mixture of exasperation and admiration.
They sat there for a moment, eyes locked, an unspoken understanding between them that transcended the banter and the flirting. The Quinjet sped on, the outside world fading, but for a fleeting moment, it was just the two of them, caught in a moment of rare quiet amidst the chaos of their lives.
"By the way," Harry said after a beat, as he leaned back slightly, "You can't keep looking at me like that and not expect me to take it as an invitation for more."
"Keep dreaming, Potter," Natasha replied, though the warmth in her eyes didn't quite match her words.
Harry raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Oh, I'm definitely not the only one dreaming, Natasha. You know, I'd say we make a pretty dangerous pair."
She gave him a sidelong glance, her expression unreadable for a moment before she nodded in agreement. "That we do."
And as the Quinjet flew through the sky, racing toward their next mission, Harry knew that whatever else came their way, he was ready. Because with Natasha by his side, there was nothing they couldn't face. And maybe—just maybe—there was more to this whole "team" thing than just saving the world. There was the chemistry, the danger, and, of course, the not-so-subtle romance that was simmering just beneath the surface.
And if that meant more late-night flights, more flirting, and—hopefully—more quiet moments between them? Well, Harry could live with that.
---
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