Shadows of Restless Desires

The soft glow of the bedside lamp flickered in Sue's peripheral vision as she drifted off, her mind succumbing to the pull of exhaustion. Yet, her dreams did not take her to the familiar corridors of the Baxter Building or the comforting chaos of her family’s adventures.

Instead, she became someone else entirely, she was Natasha Romanoff, the infamous Black Widow. The change was seamless in her dream, her blonde locks now a deep red, her figure adorned in a black tactical suit that clung to her like a second skin. Her sharp heels clicked against the sleek marble floor of an Atlantean palace, her target clear in her mind: Namor, the Sub-Mariner.

Her objective was simple: eliminate him. The reasons didn’t matter. In the dream, she knew only her orders, as if they were etched into her very being.

The palace was stunning, all glittering coral spires and walls that shimmered like the surface of the sea. The air was thick with humidity, clinging to her skin. She moved silently, her every step calculated, her weapons hidden but ready.

And then she saw him; Namor sat upon his throne, his regal posture commanding the room. His dark eyes gleamed with a mixture of arrogance and curiosity as he looked at her, as though he had been expecting her.

"Black Widow," he said, his voice a low, velvety rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. "How bold of you to come here alone."

“I’ve come to finish this,” she replied, her voice steady, her hands already reaching for her hidden daggers.

But before she could act, he moved. Faster than she could have anticipated, he was upon her, his hand wrapping around her wrist, effortlessly disarming her. Her other hand shot forward, but he caught it just as easily, pinning her against the wall with a strength that felt both terrifying and thrilling.

“You’re bold,” he murmured, his face inches from hers. “But foolish.”

She struggled against his grip, her breath quickening as his eyes roamed over her face. There was no malice in his expression—only intrigue.

“Tell me, Natasha,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, “is this what you truly want? Or is there something else you’re after?”

Before she could answer, his lips were on hers, claiming her in a kiss that was both unexpected and electric. Her body reacted instinctively, her mind torn between resistance and surrender.

She felt the wall cool against her back, his hand sliding down to her waist, holding her firmly in place. Her heart raced as she felt his fingers brush the zipper of her suit; his intentions clear. His nimble fingers grasped the tab and pulled.

Exposing her pale skin and ample cleavage, the dark-haired captor eyed her lustfully, his gaze burning as he prepared to grope her breast. His fingertips started to slide under the material, his touch sending a shiver of anticipation through her.

And then she woke.

******************

Sue bolted upright in bed, her breath coming in short gasps. Her heart hammered against her ribcage as the remnants of the dream clung to her, vivid and disorienting.

Her hands trembled as she pushed back her golden hair, trying to ground herself in the present. She glanced at the empty side of the bed where Reed should have been, the sheets cold and untouched.

The glowing numbers on the bedside clock read 3:14 a.m. It was still hours before dawn, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie back down. The dream had been too vivid, too consuming. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt the ghost of his touch, heard the timbre of his voice.

With a frustrated sigh, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Maybe doing something mundane would help clear her mind. She padded softly down the hall, careful not to wake Franklin, who was fast asleep in his room.

******************

By the time morning rolled around, Sue was exhausted. She’d spent the early hours folding laundry in the common area, replaying the dream in her head and trying to decipher why it unsettled her so much.

Was it the sheer intensity of it? Or was it what it revealed about her?

She was still mulling it over when Johnny stormed into the room, his typical obnoxious energy in full ****.

“Morning, Sue!” he greeted loudly, making her wince.

“Not so loud, Johnny,” she said, rubbing her temples. Her voice was edged with fatigue.

Johnny, oblivious to her tone, flopped onto the couch with a grin. “Wow, you look terrible. Long night with Reed?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, clearly aiming to get a rise out of her.

Sue shot him a glare that could have melted steel. “No, actually, I didn’t sleep well, thanks for asking. And Reed’s been working in his lab all night, as usual.”

Johnny paused, his smirk faltering slightly at the mention of Reed’s absence, but he quickly recovered. “Maybe you just need to chill out. Watch a rom-com or something. You’re too uptight, Sis.”

“I’m not uptight,” she snapped, though her tired voice lacked its usual sharpness. “And for your information, I was up doing laundry.”

Johnny snorted. “Laundry? At three in the morning? You’re officially the least fun person I know.”

“Good. Now that we’ve established that, are you done?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“Fine, fine, I’ll leave you to your riveting morning routine,” Johnny said, throwing up his hands in mock surrender as he got up. “But seriously, Sue, lighten up a little. You’ll wrinkle faster if you keep frowning like that.”

She resisted the urge to throw a balled-up sock at him as he sauntered out of the room.

******************

When the door finally closed behind Johnny, Sue exhaled and sank into the armchair, staring blankly at the pile of neatly folded clothes in front of her. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh at Johnny’s ridiculousness or cry from sheer exhaustion. Her brother was infuriating, but at least he was predictable. Unlike her own thoughts, which seemed to grow more tangled by the minute.

The dream lingered, as vivid as it had been hours ago. Namor’s voice, his touch, the intensity of his gaze—it all felt so real. Too real.

And yet, what unnerved her most was not the dream itself but her reaction to it. The way her heart had raced, her breath quickened—not in fear, but in something dangerously close to desire.

She shook her head, trying to dismiss the thought. It was just a dream, she told herself for the hundredth time. Nothing more.

But as she began to sort through the next load of laundry, she couldn’t help but wonder if it meant something deeper.