Chapter 3 – Shadows of Legacy
Years blurred in the hybrid chaos of capes and circuits. Tony's Iron Man had evolved into a global spectacle, clashing with caped crusaders from Metropolis and the grim vigilantes of Gotham. I'd woven deeper into the fray, my form a constant evolution—tendrils thicker now, laced with stolen edges from a dozen assimilated foes. Natasha and I? We'd burned hot and fast after that motel tangle, her body yielding to mine in stolen moments between ops. But the world pulled us apart. SHIELD's demands, my hunts across borders, whispers of a blonde Kryptonian streaking the skies—they eroded our rhythm.
It'd been eighteen months since I'd last buried myself inside her, her nails carving red trails down my back as she gasped my name—Shade, the alias that stuck. I'd vanished into Eastern European shadows, dismantling a Hydra cell that echoed too close to her past. She chased leads in Asia, dodging assassins who knew her scent. Comms flickered with coded flirtations, promises of reunion, but reality bit harder. I felt her absence like a itch under my skin, the symbiote core craving that lethal fire she brought.
Now, in a rain-slicked safehouse on the outskirts of Berlin, we collided again. I'd tracked a lead on experimental serums—Kryptonian knockoffs peddled by black-market scum—and there she was, slipping through the door like a ghost, pistol drawn on the guard I'd already webbed to the ceiling. Her eyes locked on mine, red hair damp and wild, that catsuit clinging to every curve like a second skin. Breasts heaving from the sprint, hips swaying with that predatory grace.
"Shade," she breathed, holstering the weapon. No time for hellos; she crossed the room in three strides, slamming into me. Our mouths met fierce, tongues battling as hands roamed. I gripped her ass, squeezing the firm muscle, pulling her leg up around my waist. She ground against my thigh, heat radiating through the leather.
"Missed this," I growled, breaking the kiss to nip her neck, tasting salt and rain.
"Missed you more," she shot back, fingers fumbling with my belt. We didn't make it to the bed. I spun her against the wall, yanking down the zipper of her suit. Her pussy was already slick when I shoved two fingers inside, curling them to hit that spot that made her arch. She moaned, head thrown back, as I pumped harder, thumb circling her clit.
Clothes shed in a frenzy—her suit pooling at her ankles, my shirt ripped open. I lifted her, impaling her on my cock in one thrust. She was tight, walls gripping me like she never wanted to let go. I fucked her against the wall, hips slamming, her tits bouncing with each drive. "Harder," she demanded, legs locked around me, heels digging into my back. I obliged, pounding deep, feeling her clench and shatter around me. Her orgasm ripped through her, juices coating my shaft, and I followed, flooding her with hot spurts of cum.
We collapsed onto the cot, bodies tangled, breaths syncing. But as the afterglow settled, something heavier stirred. I'd suppressed it during our romps, but the symbiote's intellect pieced it together from her stolen glances, the faint scars on her abdomen from old ops. Sterilization—Hydra's parting gift, or some SHIELD black-site fuckup. Memories I'd gleaned from her in those early bonds confirmed it: she couldn't carry a child. Not naturally.
I propped on an elbow, tracing a tendril along her thigh, light as a whisper. "Natasha... we've danced around this long enough. The world's a mess, but us? We could build something real. A family. You and me."
Her green eyes sharpened, body tensing under my touch. "A family? Shade, I'm a weapon. Broken in ways you can't fix. They made sure of that—cut me open, sewed me shut. No kids. No legacy."
I shifted closer, form rippling subtly, black ooze seeping to envelop her hand. Not invasive—just warm, pulsing with intent. "Broken? You're the strongest thing I've bonded with. And I can heal you. Not some half-assed patch; full regeneration. The symbiote's core—it rewires, rebuilds. I've pulled powers from gods and monsters, mended bones mid-fight. Your body's scarred, yeah, but I can flood it with my essence, knit the damage, restart what they stole."
She searched my face, vulnerability cracking her armor. "Heal me? How? You gonna... what, fuck the infertility out?"
A dark chuckle escaped me. "If that's the delivery method, I'm game. But seriously—I've assimilated regen from a dozen sources. Wolverine scraps in a mutant alley, some Asgardian trinket echo. Bond deeper with me, let me in, and I'll purge the toxins, regrow the pathways. You'll carry, if you want. Our kid—half-shadow, half-spy. Unstoppable."
Her fingers tightened on mine, the tendril coiling gently around her wrist. "And if it goes wrong? If I end up... changed?"
"You trust me enough to fuck me senseless, but not to fix this?" I leaned in, kissing her slow, pouring intent through the contact. "I won't force it. But imagine it—us, against the world, with something ours. No SHIELD strings, no symbiote takeover. Just choice."
She was quiet, staring at the ceiling, rain pattering outside. Then, her hand slid to her belly, pressing where my cum still leaked. "Do it. Heal me. And yeah... let's try for that family. But if the kid comes out with tentacles, you're changing the diapers."
I grinned, predatory edge softening for once. The symbiote surged, tendrils extending, wrapping her form in a cocoon of black warmth. I pushed inside—not just cock this time, but essence, delving into her core. She gasped, arching as heat bloomed, cells knitting, barriers dissolving. It took hours, her body writhing in pleasure-pain, orgasms crashing as the bond deepened. When it faded, she sat up, renewed, a faint glow in her eyes.
"Feels... different. Whole." She pulled me down, straddling me again. "Now, practice what we preach."
We fucked through the night—slow at first, her riding me with deliberate rolls, pussy milking every inch. Then frantic, me flipping her onto all fours, slamming into her from behind, balls slapping her clit. She came twice more, screaming, and I filled her again, seeding the possibility.
Dawn broke with Gotham's shadows creeping east, Superman's feats echoing from Metropolis feeds. Supergirl sightings ramped up—blonde fury taking down cartels. My web expanded, but this? This was personal. Natasha, healed and claimed, hand on her stomach as we planned the next move.
The predator builds a den. Worlds collide, and legacy stirs.