Jennifer Marie Hale's POV
The first thing I registered when consciousness returned was the warmth beside me.
Not the cold silk sheets I had expected. Not the empty expanse of mattress I usually woke to when Natasha was out running whatever late-night errand she needed to shake off the day.
She was here.
Natasha Romanoff—former Black Widow, current girlfriend, permanent resident of my mansion, and the 2nd member of the private Avengers team I had quietly assembled—was curled against my side, asleep.
One arm draped over my waist, her head tucked under my chin, red hair spilling across my collarbone like spilled wine. Her breathing was slow, even, deep. The kind of sleep that only came when someone felt truly safe.
I didn't move at first. Just lay there, letting the weight of her anchor me back to the present.
Three Infinity Stones locked in the secret room downstairs.
Thor free and on the run with Jane.
S.H.I.E.L.D. scrambling.
And Natasha—here, beside me, because she no longer answered to Nick Fury. She answered to me now. To us. To the team.
Tony(3rd member) still lived in his Malibu cliffside fortress like always—coming and going as he pleased, tinkering with prototypes, dropping by the mansion whenever he felt like playing genius-in-residence. But Natasha… she had chosen to stay. Permanently.
I shifted slightly, careful not to wake her, and that's when I saw it.
A single envelope on the nightstand.
Cream-colored. No stamp. No return address. Just my name in elegant, looping script:
Jennifer
I reached for it slowly. The paper was heavy, expensive. Felt like it belonged in a museum, not on my bedside table.
Natasha stirred, murmured something incoherent, then settled again.
I slid the letter out of the envelope with two fingers.
The handwriting matched the outside.
I read.
Dear Jennifer,
You made many changes in this timeline & they are acceptable, except some which were not supposed to be & they are:
1. You taking the Soul Stone in this timeline
2. Traveling back in 1941 & stealing the Space Stone/Tesseract, causing another timeline to be created
3. Traveling back in 2009 & stealing the Time Stone from Ancient One, resulting in 2nd alternate timeline to be created
But don't worry, I corrected the changes in this way:
1. Another Soul Stone has been created in this timeline, on the same place where you took it by sacrificing a part of Dormammu's soul in you, so Thanos can acquire it & you retain your Soul Stone in the secret room
2. The timeline created by you stealing the Space Stone/Tesseract is erased, but you retain your Space Stone in the secret room
3. The timeline created by you stealing the Time Stone from Ancient One is erased, but you retain your Time Stone in the secret room
You should thank me or else TVA would've came after you by now….
Oh & your womb is normal now, thanks to me
And as for me, think of me as your friend
No signature.
Just that last line, casual as if the writer had dropped by for coffee.
I stared at the page until the words blurred.
Then I exhaled—slow, deliberate.
And laughed.
A short, quiet sound that didn't quite reach my eyes.
Whoever this was—friend, watcher, cosmic janitor—had just rewritten my reality to protect it from consequences I hadn't even fully grasped.
The TVA. Time Variance Authority. The multiversal janitors who pruned branches to keep the Sacred Timeline intact.
They had almost come for me.
And this… person… had stopped them.
Erased the branches I created. Restored the canon paths for Thanos, for the Time Stone, for everything I had touched.
But kept my Stones.
Kept me intact.
And—apparently—normalized my body in the process.
I folded the letter carefully. Slipped it back into the envelope. Placed it in the nightstand drawer beside the burner phone I never used.
Natasha shifted again, murmuring my name in her sleep.
I leaned down, kissed her forehead softly. She sighed, nuzzled closer.
Twenty minutes later I was dressed—simple black leggings, long-sleeve shirt, hair tied back. The armor waited in its cradle downstairs, but I didn't need it yet.
I went to the secret room.
The door opened at my touch.
Three pedestals.
Soul Stone—orange, steady.
Space Stone—blue, infinite.
Time Stone—green, swirling with slow galaxies.
I reached for the Space Stone.
The moment my fingers closed around it, space folded.
No blackout this time. No disorientation.
Just a clean, instantaneous shift.
I reappeared on a windswept ridge overlooking a small Norwegian village—two hours into the future relative to when I had left the mansion. The sky was bruised purple, the air sharp with pine and salt from the fjord below.
This was the place.
In canon, this was where Thor would meet the Warriors Three and Sif—shortly after escaping S.H.I.E.L.D., after the Destroyer failed, after he proved his worth again.
But in this altered timeline, I had accelerated things.
Thor was already free. Already with Jane. Already moving faster than canon allowed.
I stood cloaked, invisible, overlooking the clearing where the Bifrost would soon deposit them.
The ground trembled.
A rainbow of light pierced the sky.
The Bifrost opened—burning, beautiful, violent.
And out stepped the Warriors Three: Volstagg, Fandral, Hogun. Sif beside them, sword already drawn.
Thor was not with them.
Not yet.
I watched.
The Warriors scanned the ridge. Sif's eyes narrowed—sensing something off, perhaps my presence, perhaps just the altered weight of the timeline.
I stayed still.
Invisible.
Silent.
The Space Stone pulsed warmly in my hand.
The Warriors Three began to move, searching for Thor, heading toward the village below.
___________________
The ridge above the Norwegian village faded in a swirl of blue light as I twisted the Space Stone in my palm. Space folded neatly, efficiently, like paper creased by an expert hand.
I reappeared in the secret room.
I set the Space Stone back on its pedestal. The room felt heavier now, the air thicker with the presence of three Infinity Stones. I stared at them for a long moment, the letter's words still echoing in my head.
Another Soul Stone has been created… timelines erased… your womb is normal now… think of me as your friend.
I exhaled slowly.
Whoever—or whatever—had written that letter had just handed me a free pass. Erased the branches I'd created. Restored canon where it mattered for Thanos and the TVA. Kept my Stones intact. And fixed my body without asking.
I could have been angry. Could have felt violated.
Instead, I felt… curious.
The Time Stone pulsed faintly, as if responding to the thought.
I reached for it.
The green gem settled into my palm like it had always belonged there. No resistance. No judgment. Just quiet power.
I closed my fingers around it.
Time bent at my will.
I focused—not on years or decades, but on something smaller. Something immediate. Something… experimental.
My body responded.
A shift. A reconfiguration. Cells dividing, rearranging, forming new structures in seconds. Painless. Precise. The Time Stone didn't create impossibilities—it accelerated possibilities.
I felt it grow.
Thickening. Lengthening. Hardening.
A penis—fully functional, anatomically correct, erect and throbbing between my legs.
I looked down.
It was mine.
Temporary, of course. The Time Stone's work would fade when I released it. But for now…
I placed the Time Stone back on its pedestal. The change held.
I left the secret room. The door sealed behind me.
The mansion was quiet. Natasha's presence hummed through the house like a low-frequency note—her heartbeat, her breathing, the faint scent of her shampoo lingering in the hallway.
She was in the bathroom.
I walked barefoot down the corridor, shedding clothes as I went. Shirt over my head. Leggings down my hips. Underwear last. Naked now, body flawless, unchanged except for the new addition between my thighs—thick, veined, pulsing with borrowed time.
The bathroom door was ajar. Steam drifted out. Water ran.
I pushed it open.
Natasha stood under the rainfall shower, back to me, water cascading over her shoulders, down the curve of her spine, tracing rivulets over her ass and thighs.
Her hair clung dark and heavy to her back. She was washing her hair, eyes closed, humming softly—some old Russian lullaby she never admitted to knowing.
I stepped inside.
The steam enveloped me. The heat kissed my skin.
She didn't hear me. Didn't sense me. Not yet.
I moved behind her.
My hands found her waist first—fingers splaying over wet skin, pulling her back against me.
She stiffened. Then relaxed. Recognized the touch.
"Jennifer," she murmured, voice low, amused. "You're home."
I didn't answer with words.
My right hand slid up her stomach, cupping one breast, thumb brushing the nipple until it hardened. My left hand stayed low, gripping her hip.
And then I pressed forward.
The head of my new cock nudged between her thighs, sliding along her folds—wet from the shower and from her own arousal. She gasped softly.
I pushed in.
Slow at first. Inch by inch. Her body yielded, tight and hot, walls clenching around me as I filled her completely.
Natasha moaned—deep, throaty, the sound echoing off the tiles.
I started moving.
Hard. Deep. Relentless.
Every thrust drove me to the hilt, hips snapping against her ass. Water sluiced between us, making the slide easier, wetter.
My right hand stayed on her breast, pinching, rolling the nipple. My left hand wrapped around her stomach, fingers digging in, squeezing hard every second—rhythmic, possessive, erotic pressure that made her gasp and arch.
She braced one hand on the shower wall, the other reaching back to grip my thigh.
"Fuck—Jennifer—"
I didn't slow.
I fucked her like I owned her.
Because I did.
Each thrust pushed her forward, breasts bouncing, water splashing. I squeezed her stomach harder—fingers pressing into the soft flesh just above her pubic bone, feeling the bulge of my cock inside her with every deep plunge. She cried out—sharp, needy—body trembling.
Minutes blurred.
I spun her around.
Back against the wall now. Legs spread. One thigh hooked over my hip.
I drove back in.
Face to face.
Her eyes were dark, pupils blown. Lips parted. Water streamed down her cheeks like tears.
I kissed her—hard, claiming. Tongue invading her mouth the way my cock invaded her body.
She moaned into it.
I squeezed her stomach again—every second, relentless. The pressure made her clench around me tighter, milking me, pulling me deeper.
I fucked her faster.
Harder.
The slap of skin on skin echoed over the water.
She came first—sudden, violent. Body locking, walls spasming around my cock, a broken cry tearing from her throat. I didn't stop. Kept thrusting through it, drawing it out, making her shake.
She sagged against me.
I lifted her—hands under her ass, legs wrapping around my waist.
Pounded up into her.
Her nails dug into my shoulders. Head thrown back. Mouth open in silent screams.
I squeezed her stomach harder—fingers digging in, feeling the outline of my cock inside her with every brutal thrust.
She came again.
And again.
Hours passed like that.
Two hours.
Relentless.
I took her against the wall.
On the shower bench.
On the floor—cold tile under her back, hot water raining down.
I flipped her over—face down, ass up—took her from behind, one hand in her hair, pulling her head back, the other squeezing her stomach in time with every thrust.
She screamed my name.
Begged.
Came so many times I lost count.
Her body was slick, trembling, marked—red fingerprints on her stomach, bite marks on her shoulders, hickeys blooming on her neck.
I didn't come.
Not yet.
The Time Stone's gift held—endless stamina, endless hardness.
I kept going.
Until two hours had passed.
Then—slowly—the change began to fade.
The cock softened, shrank, retracted.
Gone.
Just me again.
Natasha collapsed against me—spent, boneless, trembling.
I turned off the water.
Carried her to the bed.
Wrapped her in a towel.
She curled into me, half-asleep, murmuring something incoherent.
I kissed her forehead.
And smiled.