BLACK WIDOW: FUTAMAKER

The Present

Avengers Tower

New York City

Nat’s eyes open. Something is wrong.

She’s in her bed. Morning sunlight coming in through the windows turns the rather bare, Spartan room golden. It’s peaceful and lovely.

Slowly, she sits up. There was no nightmare; she takes **** to prevent that. But something is unmistakably wrong. Blinking groggily, she pulls the sheets off and looks down at herself, recoiling at what she sees. She tumbles to the floor with a startled curse, yanking desperately at her damp underwear. She sits up on the rug and stares, uncomprehending, at the thing between her legs. She’s seen penises before. She knows all about them.

Reality is setting in. Her hair is crazy. She’s covered in sweat. There’s a penis. Now her backside hurts from falling off the bed. She’s stiff and sore from that thing with the Vibranium the other day. She rubs her eyes. It’s still there.

Vision comes through the wall without a sound, floating half a meter off the ground.

She clenches her fist, suppressing more swearing.

“You know not to do this!” she bites out.

Vision is serene as he gazes down at her in her sticky undershirt.

“We are needed, Agent Romanov,” he says. “And I had to be sure you were all right. I heard a noise.”

She glares up at him.

“I have a problem here,” she says.

Vision sees it.

“Well,” he says. “It’s not a very large problem.” That is true, but despite everything, Nat bristles. “It’ll have to keep. Mr. Hogan is preparing the jet for you.”

With that, he vanishes through the wall before she can reply. Head spinning, Nat picks herself up and staggers into the bathroom. It’s not until she’s looking at her reflection that she makes the connection, seeing Loki in that chamber in her memory. No. It can’t be. This is a prank. This is Tony. She’ll kill him. Or Wanda. She’ll kill her. She’ll kill everyone.

There’s no time to bathe. She pulls on clean underwear and struggles into her suit, zipping it up vengefully and strapping on her equipment. As she heads for the door, the problem gets worse. It’s a tight suit. She doesn’t need Tony always commenting on it and the constant chatter on social media to know that. It was tight to begin with, and it’s not intended to accommodate this. The penis isn’t even that big, but it’s painful.

Not just painful—noticeable. The mirror by her door shows an obvious bulge. It’s only a little bulge, but it’s difficult to miss. What’s she supposed to do? Wear a fanny pack to conceal it? Add a skirt?

A sudden pounding on the door makes her jump.

“Natasha? You good?” Happy asks.

“Coming,” she calls back, shaking her head. She’s not herself. Literally. She’s growing extra body parts.

“We got a thing,” he says. “Can you get in the jet?”

She hesitates. Nerves of steel are her whole brand, yet she feels close to panic.

“Can’t Vis handle it?” she replies.

“No, he’s got his own thing. Him and Wanda. We gotta get in the jet.”

She clenches her fists tighter. “OK!”

“Nat, we really gotta get in the jet,” Happy insists.

“I’m coming! Jesus!” She takes a deep breath, pushes her hair out of her face, and glares at her reflection. Nobody will notice if she plays this correctly. She can keep it covered or out of sight when stationary, and she doesn’t need to worry about it when she’s moving. No one will notice anything. Their minds will be other stuff. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

She opens the door and pushes Happy. He hustles off down the hall and she breaks into a jog, which is an instant mistake. Vigorous movement amplifies the discomfort quite a bit. She tries to power through, rounding the corner before stumbling and then finally coming to a halt.

Happy reaches the doors to the landing platform and looks back, seeing her doubled over with her face scrunched up in pain. Having a penis is a shock. Having it crushed in a tight bodysuit is agony. Nat fights back tears.

“I can’t,” she says. “I have to change.”

“What? Nat, get on the plane,” Happy says, beckoning. “We don’t have time for this.”

“It’s fine! The plane’s fast!” she snaps, turning around and scrambling back into the hallway. She hurries along, struggling with her zipper and the top half of her suit as she moves in her hurry to be free. One tear has already escaped and is rolling down her cheek. Grogginess and confusion are giving way to rage. It needs to be free. She doesn’t care if she has to hop back to her room. She gets her suit down to her waist and pushes it along with her underwear down enough to free her penis. The subconscious plan is to strip it all the way off right here, sprint to her room, get changed, and hack the surveillance footage later.

The reality is that there’s a sudden ding from the elevator up ahead that startles her. She trips and overbalances; even the great Black Widow can’t salvage a fall when her skintight suit is wrapped around her knees. She manages to catch herself with her elbows to avoid taking the worst of the fall with her face and chest, but that’s small comfort as a familiar red and blue figure emerges from the elevator.

“Oh! Whoa!” Spider-Man raises his hands as though she’s pointing a gun at him, although all she’s doing is half-lying on the floor with her suit tangled up and her bare ass out. The white eyes of Spider-Man’s mask become massive. She hurriedly covers her penis as Spider-Man turns his back. “I’m so sorry! Miss Romanov, are you OK?”

“Why are you in an elevator?” she demands furiously. There shouldn’t be anyone up here. This is insane.

“Happy says I’m not supposed to swing around the jet,” Spider-Man says, flustered.

Swearing, Nat picks herself up and angrily pulls her suit up. She zips it.

“You didn’t see anything,” she snarls.

“Yes, Ma’am. No, Ma’am. I didn’t,” he promises, his voice cracking. “I mean, are you—are you—are you good?”

“Shut up, Kid. Go get on the jet and tell them to wait.” She stomps past him back to her room. Suit off. Clean underwear again. Real clothes. Nat knows how to get dressed quickly, but it’s still not quick enough. She jumps at the sharp banging on her door. It’s Happy.

“Nat! We really gotta go!”

She pauses in the act of tying her sneakers, mouth open in a look of disbelief.

“I know!” she shouts.

He bangs on the door again.

“I really need you on the jet, Nat! Tony’s not here. We don’t have Cap. I really need you on this, Nat.”

“Keep your shirt on!”

“You keep your shirt on!”

Nat blinks, taken aback.

“OK, I’m sorry,” Happy says, his voice muffled by the door. “I’m sorry. All right? Just don’t leave me with the kid. Nat, please.”