Lock had been playing Marvel games when he passed out.
He remembered the flicker of the screen, the faint hum of his PC, the quiet click of a mouse—then darkness.
When his eyes opened again, the world had changed.
Gleaming marble stretched beneath his feet. Rows of pews lined a cathedral aisle, filled with unfamiliar faces—mostly Westerners, dressed in suits and gowns. He spotted one or two Asian guests, but none he recognized.
Standing opposite him, under a vaulted ceiling of stained glass, was Natasha Romanoff.
The Black Widow.
She was wearing a white wedding dress.
And she was smiling at him like he was the only man in the universe.
Lock blinked. His mouth felt dry.
Am I still dreaming?
The priest's voice echoed solemnly from the pulpit.
"Miss Natasha, do you take this man as your lawful husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, until death do you part?"
Natasha glanced at him, her expression calm, serene, almost. Her smile softened, and she gave the faintest nod.
"I do," she said.
The words hit Lock like a freight train. What the hell is happening?
"Mr. Lock," the priest continued. "Do you take this woman as your lawful wife, to love and protect, for better or worse, until the end of your days?"
He stood frozen for a heartbeat. Then two. Then five.
Every Marvel game, every comic he'd ever read, every moment of fandom surged through his brain at once.
This was real.
He could feel the cold sweat on his back. The suit wasn't his. He didn't remember putting it on. But the weight of the moment crushed him with certainty. This wasn't a dream.
He swallowed.
"I... do. Yeah. Yes. I do. I'm willing."
He forced out a shaky laugh. "I just... can't believe God is real—and has this messed-up sense of humor."
He turned to Natasha, eyes locking onto hers.
"I swear to the universe, I'll protect you with everything I have. You won't be alone anymore. No one's going to hurt you again—not if I can help it."
A flicker crossed her face. Surprise? Caution? Vulnerability?
For a split second, the Black Widow's walls cracked.
She stared at him, looked at him, and for a brief moment, she wasn't a super-spy or an assassin or a world-class liar.
She was just a woman. One who'd lived a thousand lifetimes of pain in a single body. One who'd never had a home.
Lock didn't know her history in detail, but something in her eyes told him his words had struck deeper than he meant them to.
And that scared her.
The priest's voice rang out once more.
"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."
Applause erupted. The cathedral filled with clapping, scattered cheers, and camera flashes.
"You may kiss the bride."
Lock turned—and promptly forgot how to breathe.
Natasha didn't hesitate. She stepped forward, pulled him close, and kissed him like he already mattered to her.
It wasn't fiery or wild. It was deliberate. A kiss with weight. With purpose. With a history neither of them had yet shared.
And Lock? He forgot everything—who he was, where he came from, even what day it was.
He kissed her back.
---
The rest of the wedding felt like a blur. Lock the toasted smiling strangers. He smiled at them in return. He nodded through conversations he barely followed.
But Natasha was different.
She stayed close, arm in his, her presence cool and controlled—but something behind her eyes was... searching. Calculating.
And cautious.
Lock only realized why when they approached an older man sitting in the front row. Pale blue eyes. Chiseled features. Glass of wine in hand. The kind of man who could kill you with a look—or a pen.
Lock raised his glass.
The man returned a nod, but didn't drink. Instead, one of his bodyguards poured from a sealed bottle—his stash.
Paranoid, Lock thought. Or important. Or both.
Beside him, Natasha smiled sweetly.
A flick of her fingers, so fast no one else saw, and a nearly invisible trace of powder drifted from her nails, straight into the man's glass.
Lock didn't blink. Didn't flinch.
But internally?
Holy hell.
This was not just a wedding. This was a mission.
The man drank. Natasha thanked him. The toast moved on.
Lock walked beside her in silence, his mind racing.
She'd used him.
And the worst part?
She wasn't sure how he'd react.
🌙 That Night
The bedroom was Western-style. Elegant. Luxurious.
Lock sat on the bed, staring at the wall. Everything was moving too fast.
And yet... it didn't feel wrong.
Not entirely.
Natasha appeared from the bathroom, freshly changed, drying her hands. She paused when she saw him, something unreadable flickering in her gaze.
"You have questions," she said.
"Just one," he replied. "Are we married for real, or is this still part of the mission?"
A long silence.
Then, softly: "Both."
Lock let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Fair enough."
The night passed in quiet warmth. Not lust. Not chaos.
But something... safe.
🌅 The Next Morning
When Lock awoke, sunlight filtered through the curtains. The sheets beside him were empty, but still warm.
He sat up slowly, memories from the day before trickling back like echoes.
Wedding. Natasha. Poison. Kiss.
And the strange certainty that he was no longer on Earth as he knew it.
He looked at the suit hanging on the closet door. His reflection in the mirror.
This wasn't a dream.
He had crossed over.
And he was married to Black Widow.
---
A/N: Please Leave A Comment Or Drop A Powerstone It'll mean alot to me...