A/N: So this chapter release is supposed to have the first complete R-18 scene released with it, but I'm taking my time writing it as I'm still thinking of how to portray Natasha in such scenes, so expect the ".5" chapter to come out in the coming days or with the next chapter at the latest. Having said that, enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights for any of the preexisting characters. This novel is made merely for entertainment purposes.
...
After the longest interaction Damian and Natasha have had in weeks, Damian reluctantly agreed with her and took off driving shortly after.
The city slid by in streaks of light and shadow, headlights trailing over old brick buildings and worn asphalt. The familiar buzz of New York at night surrounded them–distant sirens, the occasional bark of a dog, the idle hum of streetlamps–but inside the car, it was silent. Too silent.
Mary Jane sat in the passenger seat, her hands pressed flat on her thighs to keep from fidgeting. Her heartbeat thudded quietly against her ribcage, impossibly loud to her ears. She could hear the hum of the car engine, the gentle rhythmic swoosh of tires over pavement, and Damian's even breathing. She sneaked a glance at him through the corner of her eye.
He looked relaxed. Too relaxed.
That was a lie. Mary Jane knew him well enough to recognize the signs. His jaw wasn't clenched, but his fingers tapped against the wheel in a rhythm, barely noticeable, but it was there. His brows weren't furrowed, but they hovered close, almost touching. There was tension behind the mask. She knew he was overthinking again. Maybe about Natasha. Maybe about her. About them.
And at that her stomach twisted. She bit her bottom lip and looked out the window instead, chewing on the words that were trying to climb their way up her throat.
She didn't do this. She didn't pine. She flirted, she bantered, she teased. That was safe. That was fun. But this? The silence, the waiting, the unsure weight in her chest? This was the kind of thing that wrecked people.
And still…
She glanced at him again, the way his dark hair fell a little over his brow, the way the light from the dashboard gently illuminated the side of his face. A face she knew far too well. And it was killing her. The things she hadn't said. The things she wanted to.
Maybe it was now or never. "Hey…" she said suddenly, almost surprising herself.
Damian's eyes flicked toward her, then back to the road. "Hm?"
She hesitated, then added more deliberately, "Remember what we were talking about in the kitchen?"
He let out a soft snort. "You mean what we talked about ten minutes ago? Yeah, I think I do."
She rolled her eyes, grateful for the small levity. "Very funny, Rossi."
He smirked faintly, but didn't respond.
Silence returned for a few beats before she leaned a bit more toward him, her voice trying for casual but coming out a little too light. "So, let's say this woman-friend of yours was thinking about confessing."
Damian didn't react, but she caught the slightest hitch in his breath.
MJ kept going. "Would it help if she was, let's say… pretty? Hypothetically, of course."
There was a beat. Then Damian let out a small laugh, soft and deflecting. "Define pretty."
She groaned and smacked his arm lightly. "Just answer, you asshole."
His smirk lingered as he glanced at her–but MJ was no longer looking at him. She was staring out the passenger window, arms folded loosely, voice quieter.
"…Pretty as in… as pretty as me."
The car didn't swerve, but it might as well have. For a second, Damian didn't say anything, and MJ regretted the words the moment they left her mouth.
'Stupid. Stupid.' She reproached.
But then, his voice–gentler than she expected–cut through the air.
"…That would help," he said finally. "For sure."
MJ turned slowly to look at him. His eyes were on the road, but something in his face had changed. The easy mask he wore had cracked slightly, revealing something rawer beneath. He wasn't joking anymore. And neither was she.
The rest of the ride passed in a quiet so heavy it felt sacred. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them willing to.
…
Mentally, Damian was reeling. What he had feared more than facing the asgardian god of deceit came back, knocking louder than ever.
He tried to keep it playful like before. Tried deflecting, saying things like: "Define 'pretty'," to her awfully disguised 'hypotheticals'. Yet she proved more determined than what he expected, doubling down.
He should've just kept joking, should've kept it playful. But his mouth moved faster than his reason. "…That would help. For sure." He said, wanting to bash his head on the wheel. Not even the peak of human intelligence seemed able to beat the foreign rawness of human emotions.
In the silence that ensued, he regretted the rashness of his words. He knew there were a multitude of factors affecting the way he thought, the way he saw himself. He could blame it on his assimilations, blame it on the personality and feelings of this world's Damian having fused with his older counterpart.
Yet, deep down, he couldn't refute that a part of him genuinely meant what he said to MJ. And that was what was tearing him apart. He thought about Natasha, even about Gwen… About the silent Eva.
There were so many important women in his life, and he genuinely felt afraid of hurting any of them. Hypocritically so, the greed inside him refused to have to choose between them, it wanted them all.
Such was the human design.
…
When Damian finally slowed to a stop in front of her house, he shifted into park and looked over to her.
She didn't move at first. Then, slowly, she unbuckled her seatbelt, her hand pausing on the door handle. She looked at him. Really looked at him. His eyes were steady, unreadable, observing.
"Thanks for the ride," she said softly.
"Anytime," he replied, equally soft.
She hesitated again. And then, in one swift motion, Mary Jane leaned in and kissed him.
…
Seeing her reach for a kiss, the motion felt tortuous for him. At the pace his brain thought, her actions might as well be happening in slow motion.
He could have stopped her, could have dodged. A million thoughts and possibilities ran through his mind. But at the end, only one thought remained in his mind.
The unyielding desire of having a life without regrets this time. The resolve of accepting who he was, a selfish bastard, willing to be greedy enough to reach for what he wanted. No matter the price.
And so he stood still.
…
It wasn't long. It wasn't practiced or experienced. But it was real. Honest, soft and sudden, her lips brushing his with a shaky sort of certainty, like she didn't know what the hell she was doing but didn't want to stop anyways.
When she pulled back, breath caught halfway in her chest, she didn't say anything. Just searched his face, her gaze flicking desperately between his eyes, looking for a sign–any sign–that she hadn't made a colossal mistake.
Damian blinked, a myriad of emotions swirling behind his green eyes, yet he didn't pull away. Didn't recoil. His breath hitched, gaze flicking to her lips, then back to her eyes.
"I-" she started, then cut herself off.
But before she could say anything more, she felt a hand on her chin, his hand moved with precision to her face, forcing their eyes to meet again. There was no teasing, no joking. Playtime was over.
"I will say this only once, so listen carefully," he said, voice low and serious. So serious it rooted her in place. "I'm not the kind of man you think I am, Mary Jane."
His thumb brushed her jawline, just barely. Careful. As if touching a delicate treasure. "I have secrets, truths that could hurt you. Physically and mentally," he said, his gaze unwavering.
"And if you come closer, if you really come any closer, there's no way for me to protect you from all of it."
His hand moved again, softer now, tucking a loose strand of her red hair behind her ear. His touch lingered just a moment longer than it needed to, his thumb grazing her cheek as he asked; quietly, vulnerably. "Even knowing that... do you still want to try?"
His words and actions took her breath away.
MJ wasn't used to this side of him. She had seen the wit, the calm, the faint smugness, the goofy charm. Earlier she glimpsed at his seriousness and protectiveness.
But this? This raw edge in his voice. This weight. Was something else entirely. There was no shield in his eyes now, no filter. Just pure desire, want. Not of her body, but of her. All of her. The way he looked at her in that moment made her feel like he was looking at the real her. As if he could see past the layers she used to guard herself. Like he knew something about her even she didn't want to admit.
Maybe it should've scared her. No, it definitively should've scared her. But instead, something inside her flared.
Her throat tightened, and for a second she was torn. Torn between the part of her that demanded answers, details, clarity. And the part of her that just wanted him.
So she nodded. A little shaky. But firm enough. "…Yes."
That was all he needed. In the next moment, Damian leaned in and kissed her. Really kissed her. Like the question was no longer if, but how.
There was nothing rushed in the way his lips moved, but there was passion. A depth of feeling restrained only by his unwillingness to overwhelm her. He didn't press further, didn't dare. But he made up for it in how fiercely he wanted to feel her there with him.
MJ answered without hesitation. The nerves vanished the second she felt his mouth against hers, her hands reaching for him instinctively. At first, she was a little clumsy. Proof of her inexperience. But when he steadied her with a quiet hand at her side, something inside her clicked. She matched him. Moved with him. And together, they found a rhythm neither wanted to lose.
Minutes passed in a haze of shared breath and clashing emotions. They weren't just kissing. They were confessing what they felt without using words. Fingers curling into fabric. Breaths hitching and mingling. It was intense. Hungry. But somehow still safe.
Eventually, Damian forced himself to stop.
Their lips parted with a quiet gasp, MJ's breath shaky, eyes glassy, lips kiss-bruised. His hand lingered on her waist, as if unsure if he should let go. But he had to.
He swallowed hard and looked out through the windshield, collecting himself. "We should stop here," he murmured, voice huskier than usual. "If we stay in a parked car much longer, your neighbors are gonna start rumors. Or your dad will find out and kill me."
That finally pulled a breathy laugh from her, and with it, a bit of clarity returned to her eyes.
"You're right." She said, cheeks still pink but no longer from embarrassment. This time, it was something warmer.
She reached for the door, but turned back at the last second, leaning in with a soft smile. Her voice dropped into a purr. The confident MJ resurfacing. This time not jokingly, but sincere. "Goodnight, Tiger."
And before he could say a word back, she stepped out onto the sidewalk and closed the door with the faintest of clicks.
Damian sat there, staring at her as she disappeared behind the door of her house. Then to the spot where she had been just moments ago. The car was still. The air was thick.
Eva, who had been so uncharacteristically quiet through it all, finally spoke in the back of his mind, her tone half-impressed, half-mocking: [Well. So much for hypotheticals.]
Damian leaned back in the seat, exhaling a long breath he didn't know he was holding. "…Yeah. I guess there are no more take backs." He joked at the end.
…
The garage door creaked shut with a metallic hum, sealing the garage in silence. Damian killed the engine, leaned back in the seat, and for a brief moment, just breathed. The warmth of MJ's kiss still lingered on his lips. It wasn't clarity–it was chaos–but it made him feel alive. And that, for tonight, had to be enough.
He stepped out of the car, humming to himself. Softly, barely audible. A rare sound of contentment slipping out without permission.
Then a voice sliced through the calm. Sharp and smooth. "Someone looks happy."
Damian blinked, then turned.
Natasha was leaning against the door of the garage, towel draped over her shoulders, still drying her hair. She wore one of his shirts again, the fabric falling to her mid-thigh. Too familiar, too loaded.
She hadn't worn his clothes in weeks. And she had to do that now of all moments.
Her eyes, however, were anything but warm.
"Yeah, well," Damian said as he walked past her, voice tight behind a plastic smile, "the people who actually care about me showed up to celebrate my birthday. What's not to be happy about?"
[Damn. That's a low blow, even for you.] Eva murmured in his mind.
And he knew she was right. He didn't even mean for it to come out so rough. Yet it did.
The words were meant to sting, and that they did.
Her posture stiffened instantly, towel freezing mid-motion. "Wow," she said flatly, voice laced with disbelief. "That's how it is now?"
He didn't respond, brushing past her as he made his way toward the bathroom.
"You think I didn't want to be here?" she called after him, voice rising. "You think I just chose not to show up?!"
Damian stopped at the doorframe, hand on the light switch, jaw tight.
"I think you chose not to tell me anything for weeks, Natalia," he shot back. "And then you show up last minute. No smiles, no congratulations, no nothing. Just petty passive aggressiveness towards my friend."
Hardening his expression, he said. "What the hell do you want me to think?"
She crossed the kitchen floor with silent, predatory grace. The coldness instilled in her at the Red Room bleeding through every movement. "You think I wanted to disappear like that?"
Her voice cracked at the edge. "Fury pulled me into a two-week black ops infiltration. No phone. No contact. You know how S.H.I.E.L.D. works. Or did you forget that in between cozy drives and flirty redheads?"
"Then you could've said something before you went dark. You could've said something after the mission was over. You could've said something while driving back."
Natasha's lips parted, breath hitching. Caught between anger and something else. Something sharp. Raw.
"You think this is easy for me?" she snapped. "That this is just a game? I didn't know how to talk to you, Damian! After that morning, I didn't know what the hell to say. I still don't!"
He froze in place.
"I'm not built for this," she said bitterly, fingers curling into the towel. "I'm not trained for... feelings. Everything I've ever been taught tells me to bury it, move on, erase it. You don't get it."
Damian didn't respond right away, he took a moment to breathe. To admonish himself.
Looking at Natasha's face, he could see it. The proclivity to lash out, to deflect, to distance yourself. Anything to avoid vulnerability. Just like he used to do when things ever got too real.
His anger ebbed away as he said. "I'm sorry. That was a cheap shot. My emotions got the best of me."
Putting a hand over his face, he massaged his eyes. "I've been trying to pretend I'm fine. To pretend the sudden distance between us doesn't hurt. That I will get over it. But I'm not, it hurts, and I don't wanna get over it. So… yeah. I'm sorry."
There was a long pause. The tension didn't vanish, it settled. Sinking into something else.
"…Me too," Natasha murmured eventually. "For disappearing like that. For acting like that. I was an ass too, I get it."
She leaned against the wall opposite him, head tilting back slightly. Her expression unreadable–except for her eyes. They betrayed her.
"I brought you something," she said, pulling a small box from her coat pocket.
He took it silently, unwrapping it. Inside was a sleek silver watch. Nothing extravagant. But elegant, timeless. On the back, engraved with clean, deliberate strokes:
For Damian. With much love. – Natalia
He turned it over in his hands, eyes lingering. "When… did you get this before the mission?" He asked.
She nodded. "The day before I left."
"Why?"
The words hovered on the edge of her lips, unsteady and alien. She wasn't used to voicing things like this, not to anyone, much less to him. But for once, silence felt worse than vulnerability.
"…Because I was scared," she admitted at last, the towel still gripped tightly in her hands. "Not of the mission. Or dying. Or the usual stuff that people are supposed to fear."
She met his eyes, and this time, there was no guard left in hers.
"I was scared of leaving without saying something. Without leaving anything behind." She paused. "And that feeling… that wasn't like me."
Damian said nothing. Just listened.
"I've spent years–most of my life, really–not needing people. Not letting anyone get close enough to matter." Her voice faltered for a second before steadying. "And that's worked fine… but then you happened."
Her words came quieter now, like they were being pulled from somewhere deep. "Tonight… when I saw you smiling with her, it wasn't jealousy. Not exactly, I just-" She exhaled a shaky breath. "I wanted to be the one who made you smile like that."
Damian's expression flickered.
"It wasn't about her, Damian. I wasn't angry that it was her. I was angry that it wasn't me. I used to make you smile like that."
Her voice dipped even lower. "And I envied it. That ease. That comfort. That connection. I missed it. I missed you."
Damian's expression softened, a faint shift in his eyes betraying the storm of emotion he didn't let surface.
She looked down at the floor, fingers tightening. "And I know I was the one who pulled away. I thought I could compartmentalize my emotions. That I could bury it, treat what happened like a mistake. Like it never happened." She gave a bitter huff. "But I'm not made of stone. Turns out I'm not as cold and unbothered as I pretend to be."
He took a careful step closer, his presence warm, non-judgemental. "Then why push me away at all?"
She looked up again, and the weight of her conflict showed in every line of her face.
"Because I don't know what to do with this," she confessed, finally giving voice to the guilt that had gnawed at her. "You're Christopher's son. You're young. And I'm… not."
He blinked but didn't flinch. She went on, her tone a touch harsher, but not at him. At herself.
"You're eighteen, Damian. You should be out there making dumb decisions and figuring things out, not getting tangled up with someone who has more ghosts than birthdays."
He exhaled softly. "You're not just someone, Nat."
She laughed, but there was no joy in it. "I'm dangerous. Jaded and broken. Hell, I'm barely learning how to be a person again." Her hand twitched slightly. "What kind of life is that for you?"
"The kind I choose," Damian said without hesitation.
She looked up sharply, surprised by the steadiness in his voice. He took another step forward.
"A woman like you could have the world at her hands if you wanted. A woman no sane man would reject… And yet," Damian said gently, "you're still here."
Natasha didn't respond. Her hands were at her sides, but her fingers twitched. Like she wanted to reach for something. Or someone.
"You say I'm young. And maybe I am. But I'm not naive, Nat. Not after everything I've lived through. Be it this life or the one before it." His voice dipped lower. "You know all my secrets. You know I'm not a dumb teenager fresh out of the package."
She held his gaze, searching it, uncertain. Wanting to believe. Terrified to.
"…I'm still not sure what I want," she admitted, voice trembling slightly trembling. "But when I saw you tonight, something in me cracked. I didn't just miss what we had. I wanted it again. I wanted to make you smile like that again. I just…"
She trailed off, her composure slipping. "I don't know how."
Damian didn't speak for a moment. He just looked at her. The real her. Not at Black Widow, the agent of SHIELD looking for redemption. Nor the assassin of the Red Room. Just Natalia Romanova. Bruised, complicated, vulnerable. Yet caring, honest and entirely human.
And for the first time in weeks, something inside him breathed again. A weight he didn't know he was carrying, lifted from his shoulders.
The strange yet familiar woman who had quickly grown on him and became one of the first lights in both his lives was here again. Yearning to return. Yearning to go back. But not as back as he had feared.
Giving her what looked like one of the most radiant smiles Natasha had ever seen, he opened his mouth.
"…If you want to make me smile," he said, slipping the watch onto his wrist. "Please don't push me back anymore."
Then he lowered himself a little and went in. Not for a kiss, but for a hug. Trying to transmit back all the warmth Natasha had brought to his life in the short time they've been living together.
At first, she didn't move. Like her body didn't trust the moment. But slowly, her hands lifted and pulled him in. Fiercely. With that wordless, desperate kind of strength only someone like her could give.
"Okay," she whispered, muffled into his shoulder.
He smiled, feeling her warmth against his chest, then pulled back slightly, keeping his hands gently on her waist.
"Well," he said, voice lighter now, trying to breathe some normalcy back into the air, "now I feel like celebrating again. Mind doing me the honors, milady?"
A breath of a laugh escaped her, and something in her expression shifted. Lighter, easier, more her. The her he'd come to know in the early days.
She arched her eyebrow. "Sure, but Sir Knight will have to reheat the feast himself."
"Only if the reward is worth the labor," he said, putting on mock nobility.
She smirked. "Oh? Was the watch not enough?"
And before he could reply, she leaned in–close enough to smell the faintest trace of mint on his breath–and kissed his cheek. A simple thing. Gentle. Honest. More chaste than what he could imagine her capable of.
"You'll have to take that as a down payment," she murmured, lips just inches from his ear.
And when he turned to look at her, he was struck by the rare, almost vulnerable kind of smile she wore. It was so beautiful, pure. Almost blindingly so, making for one of a kind contrast on her face.
Getting lost on her face for a second, he felt he was a beat too late to react, but he smiled back at her nonetheless. "I guess this will have to do. For now."
Then, in one smooth motion, he picked her up in a princess carry, her towel nearly slipping from her shoulders.
[Well ain't that smooth.] Eva quipped from the back of his mind, making him laugh internally.
Caught off guard, Natasha instinctively threw her arms around his neck, but there was no startled yelp this time, nor resistance.
Just that knowing, smirking look. The kind only she could pull off.
"I could get used to this," she said, eyes sharp but voice soft.
And the confident grin he gave in return said all the words he didn't need to speak.
They were complicated, yes. They were messy, too.
But they weren't done.
Not by a long shot.
…
Waking up, Damian was greeted by the morning sunrays entering the room through the gaps in the curtains and the lingering smell of conditioner.
Looking below and to his right, there she was, sleeping on top of his chest. After their little one-on-one celebration, and a shower, they had gone to sleep on his bed, no sneaking around this time.
Although nothing happened, he was content with sleeping and waking up with her in his arms, so he closed his eyes and took a minute to enjoy the moment.
Then, feeling her shifting, he opened his eyes to find hers looking at him: "Good morning," she said, her tone groggy, but melodious to his ears.
"Morning, sleepyhead," he answered with a smile.
'Morning,' he said in his mind.
[Morning, you harlot.] She said, starting the morning by getting a laugh out of him.
But before he could jokingly defend himself, he was distracted by Natasha, as she went in for a kiss. And unlike the last one, this one was passionate, deeper, more lustful.
Breaking away after some minutes, he said. "Don't you need to get ready for work?" But he was immediately brought back into action.
In between kisses, Natasha spoke as her hand reached downwards. "I got the day off… And after what you did… you awoke something… in me…"
Reaching for the object of her desire, she freed his little brother from its restraints, looking at him with an expression that he had seen once, an expression that could make any man go crazy.
"I've been holding up for a month, so you better take responsibi-" was all she could say before Damian sealed her lips with his own.
…
It was a little past noon.
The scent of garlic and rosemary filled the kitchen as Damian stood over the stove, focused and shirtless, his hair still slightly tousled from the morning's events. A pan sizzled with seasoned chicken breast, while a pot of quinoa steamed nearby. Everything was measured, balanced, protein-rich, and restorative–especially after what they'd just put each other through.
From behind, the sound of slow, begrudging footsteps echoed on the wood floor.
Damian turned, towel slung over one shoulder, and saw Natasha limping slightly into the room, wearing one of his oversized shirts again.
She shot him a half-hearted glare as she sat herself down at the dining table with careful, calculated movements.
He grinned. "Always thought the Black Widow eats her mate when she's done with him. But looking at you? I guess I was misinformed."
Her eyes narrowed. "Keep talking like that and it might become true."
He turned off the burner and plated the food with theatrical flourish. "Well, you did eat something out-"
Her leg snapped forward under the table. Her heel connected with his shin. Or tried to. She hissed as the movement pulled at every sore muscle she'd thought had already calmed down.
Damian didn't flinch, flashing a shit-eating grin. "Didn't even feel that."
"You're insufferable," she muttered, wincing as she adjusted in her seat.
"And yet," he said, placing her plate in front of her with a satisfied smirk, "you're still here."
"Unfortunately." she rolled her eyes in mock annoyance.
He kissed the top of her head as he passed behind her. "Unfortunately you love that."
They ate in peace, save for the clink of forks and the occasional comment about seasoning. It was domestic. Warm. Familiar.
And when the laughter died down and their plates were mostly clean, Natasha leaned back in her chair, still a bit sore, eyes flicking over Damian as he took a sip of water.
"So," she said, voice a little quieter. "You seem... like you're preparing for something."
He raised an eyebrow, surprised at her uncanny guess. "What makes you say that?"
Natasha leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowing in quiet study. "Call it a woman's intuition," she said, voice cool but edged with the weight of a bad premonition.
Damian set his fork down, meeting her gaze without flinching. "I'm preparing to leave for a bit. Go train."
Her lips tightened almost imperceptibly. "Train… where?"
He exhaled slowly, leaning back as if choosing his words carefully. "...A… different world. One better suited for me to push my limits. A place where I can cut loose without having to worry about dragging anyone I care about into the crossfire if I go all out."
"I love being here, the place I can now call home," he said, looking at her with an earnest smile. "But this Earth has too many constraints on people like myself. Not only physical and societal, but also psychological." He finished, turning to look at the kitchen window.
Her expression didn't change much, but her eyes sharpened. "When are you leaving?"
"Today." He said with finality in his tone.
The single word dropped between them like a stone. She didn't look away, but there was the faintest tension in her jaw. She asked softly, almost too softly. "...Will you… come back?"
She looked at him, and the weight in her expression was something profound. The kind of look worn by someone who'd become accustomed to farewells–maybe too accustomed.
Damian turned back to look at her. He reached across the table, hand rested on her face as his thumb traced her cheek.
The moment would've been quite romantic, if not for his smile, a crooked, unbothered smirk that was so him it almost made her roll her eyes. "It's not a matter of if, but a matter of when. You ain't getting rid of me any time soon, woman."
Her lips twitched despite herself, a reluctant smile breaking through his infuriating confidence as his hand went back, a lingering warmth resting on her face.
"How long?" she asked, more calm now.
"At best, it'll feel like a brief moment to you. At worst… a couple days."
She breathed out, shoulders easing only slightly, but enough for him to notice. "You're impossible," she muttered, though it lacked any real venom.
"Yeah," he said, picking his fork back up with a shrug. "And you like me that way."
She rolled her eyes, but the faint smile lingered as she went back to eating, letting the conversation drift to silence. Not the heavy kind, but the kind that spoke of two people already bracing for the time apart.
…
Double checking his dimensional inventory, Damian made sure all the supplies he might need for his travels were at the ready, and seeing the year's worth of food, clothes and gadgets–some bought, some 'loaned-without-the-owners-knowledge-temporarily'–reassured him, even if just a bit.
Cutting his connection with the dimensional spell, Damian willed for the pair of black shorts he was wearing to change. And change they did, because the shorts weren't made with normal fabric, but rather unstable molecules.
Seeing the fabric expand and cover his whole body as it transformed, he still felt marveled at seeing such a unique sci-fi like invention with his own eyes. He also really wanted to show this to Richards, as he had 'temporarily borrowed' a couple suits he had 'lying around' and modified them with the inspiration of his future knowledge to their current state.
Currently, he made three pairs of suits; one for himself, one for Natasha, and one for Peter. Though he hadn't come around giving out the other two pairs, mainly because he hasn't had time to modify theirs to contain multiple outfits.
Due to time constraints, he has only gotten around creating shapes for his own suit, so far creating 10 different profiles.
As all his thoughts swirled in his head in only a couple seconds, he was brought back to reality by a voice that could only sound beautiful to his ears.
"How convenient. Are those part of your powers or can I put an order for a pair too?" Said Natasha, resting on his bed as she recuperated from their lengthy round two.
Turning around, he looked at Natasha with a smirk, shamelessly admiring her nakedness. "Unless you got a direct line to Reed Richards, I doubt you can buy one of these with money."
Seeing her raise an eyebrow, expression silently asking to elaborate, he continued. "The suit is made of something called unstable molecules. Without yapping too much, these molecules are basically particles that exist oscillating between being matter and being energy. On their own they are already pretty good as they are. I just modified them a bit, using some of those particles as 'anchors' to inscribe shapes in the molecules themselves."
Finishing his rough explanation, he saw the look she was giving him and asked with a raised eyebrow of his own. "What? Thought I was all muscle and no brains?"
"Nope," she said, overly emphasising the 'p'. Then, in a tempting tone, she spoke. "Never thought watching you talk like that could make you even hotter."
Smirking, he answered. "Easy there, woman. Don't make me go for round 3, we both know you can't handle more for the day."
Seeing as he was getting awfully cocky, even more than usual, she changed the topic with a smirk of her own. "I also didn't know you had such… unique tastes."
Looking at the mirror, Damian saw his current outfit. Modeled after the outfit of Sasuke from The Last: Naruto the Movie, he had a long sleeved shirt in black that reached the middle of his thighs and had two slits at the side for better movement. The neck part was wide and reached to his chin.
His black pants reached halfway to his shins while his legs and hands looked to be covered in dark gray bandages. Of course, the bandages were merely part of the suit and not real bandages.
With a twitch of his eyebrow, he defended himself. "Hey, what's wrong with my fit? I made it like this to blend in," touching the edge of the wide neck he whispered to himself. "I think it looks cool."
'Cute.' Thought both Eva and Natasha.
[Don't forget the other piece too. It makes the outfit look more complete.] Said Eva, encouraging him.
Listening to her, he pulled a wide string of white fabric out of his mystical dimensional storage and hung it around his shirt like a short scarf. Giving a mental command, the scarf transformed into a poncho with a hood and after changing into a multitude of colors, it settled into a matte dark gray color with black accents.
Looking back at her with a childish smile, he asked. "How about now? Better?" while putting his hands on his hips, arms akimbo.
"Yeah, you look really cool and handsome." She said, her lips quirking to contain laughter after watching this cute side of him.
Seeing her unimpressed reaction, with a defeated expression, he muttered in a low voice. "Haa, and here I was preparing a UM suit for you, but since you don't seem to like it, might as well do something else with it."
Almost jumping out of the bed, in spite of how sore her lower half felt, she took a step, interlocking her arms around his neck while shamelessly pressing herself against his chest.
"But I really do think you look reaal handsome~" she said, dragging her words at the end for emphasis while blinking charmingly at him.
Feeling like the ball was on his side now, he raised his chin and said in a mocking-chivalrous tone. "Thy hypnotic magic shan't work on me, witch!"
Rolling her eyes at his antics yet containing a laugh, she decided to indulge his antics. "Oh? I know not what thee speaks'," while guiding Damian with her hand to look at her again, she said. "Still, what can this little witch do to make you change your mind, oh brave knight?"
"You broke character, little witch," he said after hearing her immediately drop the old english accent.
And after a moment, both laughed, breaking the silence.
"Still, I shall accept a proper payment for your suit, though I can't give it right now as I still need to work on it so it's able to change into different outfits. And I'll need your output to know how you want the fits to look like." He explained.
"Mm, and what type of payment would you want?" She asked with a smirk.
Putting on a sweet smile, he said. "How about a date when I come back? My treat of course."
Which was answered with a kiss. Breaking apart, Damian got momentarily lost in the pure smile and slightly pinky cheeks of Natasha, yet her voice brought him back to reality.
"You have a deal," breaking the embrace they held, she turned around to look for the shirt she now used as pajamas. Putting it on, she looked back at him. "Now you better go, before you really make me make you stay."
Laughing at her comment, he took out his Sling Ring and slipped it on his left hand.
Doing as he had practiced beforehand, he imagined the specific time and place of his destination. And Natasha noticed that unlike when he had done this almost a month ago, he now made the portal appear without any hand movements.
That was something he had been practicing since he first got the Sling Ring, as he thought it was way too slow and inconvenient to create portals in the classical way. And although it required more focus and finesse to do so this way, the convenience was more than worth it.
It was also worth noting that his portals no longer shone in a golden tint, but rather had a hue of royal blue surrounding the portal.
Looking back at the now 'dressed' Natasha, he walked up to her and gave her a last kiss before resting his forehead on hers. "I'll see you in a bit, Nat."
While locking their eyes with one another, she said. "You better not take too long. I've been meaning to visit this place in Budapest."
Quirking an eyebrow at her words, he held back from doing any jokes she wouldn't understand. "Sure, but I'll pick the place for the next time."
And with those last words, he let go of her as he walked to the portal.
As Damian took the first step, Natasha noticed that the outline of the portal was changing, from a pure royal blue to a mix of blue and a slightly metallic silver. That wouldn't warrant doubt on its own, but when the alleyway that could be seen on the other side of the portal suddenly changed to a completely different scenario she felt that something was wrong.
And she was not alone in this, sadly for both of them, this change happened a fraction of a second before the portal was forcefully closed, leaving Natasha anxiously wondering if what she saw was even real or just a figment of her paranoiac imagination.
…
On the other side of the portal, Damian's paranoia peaked off the charts after feeling the portal close as his surroundings changed abruptly–from an alleyway in Tokyo to what looked like the reception of an office building.
By force of reflex, he immediately entered 100% mode while lowering his center of gravity, ready to vault at the slightest sign of danger as he was enveloped by a spheric energy shield of his own creation. Simultaneously, he tried to open his inventory to pull a special mask out.
That's when he noticed that he was having a hard time opening said inventory, almost as if the spell was malfunctioning.
"You got quite the decent getup for a novice, Child." Said a voice that sounded deep and worn by time.
Turning in the direction of the voice, he could see a man that looked to be somewhere between his 50's-60's, wearing a black suit, white shirt and black tie with a pair of golden rimmed binocles tied by a small chain to his chest pocket.
His beard was neat and trimmed, his hair was slicked back and his kind expression made him look like a benign grandpa, but Damian knew better than to blindly trust appearances.
[The bit of the old mysterious man suddenly appearing in the room is really getting old.] Said Eva, going on high alert to try and make the 'bit' not repeat itself twice in a row.
With a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, he asked sarcastically. "Hi there, Gramps. Mind telling me why did you kidnap me?"
Without missing a beat, the old man replied. "That's quite the rude way to put it, child. We did not kidnap you, it was your actions what brought you here."
Paying attention to his words, he gave out a mental command. 'Eva, be on the look out for any other energy signatures and be ready to deploy the time bubble. We're going with plan D.'
[I'm on it.] Was all she said.
"Mind being a bit more specific? Your face doesn't ring any bells."
Without breaking his perpetual smile, the man asked. "Does travel between universes ring any bells? Also, you don't have to worry so much. As far as we are concerned, you haven't done anything wrong… yet."
Not being reassured at all by his words, he pressed as he mentally analyzed the best route to escape. "Fantastic, if there are no problems mind stopping your interference with my space-time magic?"
Finally having a change in expression, he raised an eyebrow as he commented. "Hoo. Perceptive, aren't you? However, you can not leave until I make sure you are aware of the customary protocols of The Bureau."
Raking his brain for any meta-knowledge he might have about an organization called 'The Bureau', he came to the conclusion he didn't have enough clues to come up with any solid guesses.
Putting on a fake smile, he said. "The Bureau? Never heard of it."
Realizing what he was implying, the old man said. "Oh, where are my manners! I haven't introduced myself yet. I am the personal assistant of the branch manager that oversees the universe you come from and those adjacent, you can call me Kaleodor," he said while bowing slightly in greetings, crossing a hand over his chest. "Welcome to The Bureau, child. We are the sentinels of the known Omniverse."