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persevereforahappyending · 2 months ago

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No Man's Land |9|

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Sam can’t help but be drawn to the cute stranger from her gym, even if everything about them makes them the perfect suspect, just when Ghostface has returned.

Warnings: Fighting, Guns, Violence, Attempted Murder, Shooting

Word Count: 3.5k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

You and Sam walked back to Blackmore in a comfortable silence. You preferred the quiet and appreciated that she didn’t ask you questions or push you on anything. Sam had no reason to trust you, but she was taking a chance, and you were going to make sure to prove you were worthy of her trust. When you got to Blackmore you and Sam sat on one of the benches outside the building that held Tara’s class until she came out half an hour later. As soon as you had her, the three of you went back to the apartment.

When you got back to the apartment Tara flung her backpack into the corner and plopped herself down on the couch, kicking her feet up as she reached for the remote on the coffee table. She flicked on the TV and instantly began scrolling through one of the streaming apps.

You mindlessly watched at Tara continued to scroll until you felt her eyes on you. You glanced at her and waited to see what she would say. Mindy was the most suspicious of you, which was fair, though she seemed to be more of a conspiracy theorist than anything, Chad seemed almost too trusting of you, it was slightly concerning, and Tara seemed to be hesitant of you, like Sam was with everyone, though she wasn’t as paranoid Sam. The one thing different about Tara though was half her suspicion seemed to come from just being protective of her sister.

“Do you like movies?” Tara asked, squinting her eyes as she waited for your response.

You shrugged. “I’ve seen a few,” you said.

That seemed to make Tara only narrow her eyes even more. “What’s your favorite movie?” You opened your mouth to give her what would probably be an unsatisfactory answer once again. “Wait! Let me guess,” she turned so half her body was facing you. “Saving Private Ryan!” You opened your mouth, but she didn’t stop there. “No! Hacksaw Ridge!” You closed your mouth and waited; you knew she wasn’t done yet. “You have a dog you love,” she mumbled more to herself than you. “War Horse!” She clapped her hands, quite proud of herself for that one. “Wait!” She shot her hand out, grabbing you on your arm as if you were about to get up and leave. “The Patriot.”

You waited a second to see if she had any more, but she just looked at you with a raised eyebrow. You chuckled to yourself with a shake of your head. “All military related because I’m in the military?” You asked.

She shrugged. You playfully rolled your eyes. “Those are all great movies,” you started. You caught Sam out of the side of your eye, she was in the kitchen making a sandwich, but she tilted her head just slightly, indicating she was listening. “The superhero stuff is also good. I-”

“I bet you’re a Captain America person,” Tara cut you off. You rolled your eyes. “You give off the same vibes.”

You gave her a thankful nod. You had never been compared to Captain America before and you were truly honored, though you were inclined to disagree with her. “Cap is great,” you said. “And Steve Rogers is definitely much cooler than me.” Tara shrugged, seeming to agree with you on that. “But I’ve always been more of a Batman person.”

Tara looked at you and nodded her head. “That tracks.” You tilted your head in question, but she didn’t elaborate any further.

“But my default movie, the one I’m always cool to watch, The Mummy.”

“Where Brendan Frazier plays a soldier,” Tara nodded, clearly not surprised by the answer.

“Only in the beginning do the movie,” you defended. Seriously the movie started with him figuring in the desert but that was it when it came to military related things. Unless Tara was also counting the pilot they found to fly them back out there.

“So, you just really love mummies?” Tara raised an eyebrow.

“The Mummy is fantastic, it’s got everything, action, comedy, a supernatural element, and romance. There should be no explanation required.” You had never had to defend liking The Mummy before, you thought Sam’s sister was going to school for film, you figured she’d know this better than anyone. “Oh, and Rachel Weisz,” you added.

“All good points,” Sam said, coming back into the room. She handed you a bottle of water before taking her seat in the chair next to the couch. You gave her a thankful smile; you hadn’t even asked for a drink for her to just bring one to you.

“You too?” Tara shouted, whipping her head around so fast you were surprised she didn’t get whiplash.

Sam shrugged as she curled her feet up on the chair, tucking them under her before reaching for her sandwich on the coffee table. “Who doesn’t love Brendan Frazier and Rachel Weisz,” she said as if they explained everything.

Sam went on to eat her sandwich while Tara was looking at her sister in a whole new light, as if she was seeing her sister for the first time. You were still new and getting to know the sisters, but you were curious why Sam liking The Mummy would be so surprising. Tara just stared at her sister for several minutes before finally going back to scrolling for a movie, finally deciding to settle on The Mummy.

Not long after the movie ended did Chad walk in with a stack of three pizza’s, quickly followed by the others. “Dinner is served!” Chad said, holding up the pizza’s as he took them to the dining table.

“Thanks for picking them up,” Sam said as she got up to grab some paper plates.

Chad waved her off and flipped open all three boxes. Each pizza was different, there was a plain cheese, a pepperoni, and then a meat lovers. You and Tara got up to join the others around the table, everyone grabbed their slices and then went off to separate corners of the room. Quinn took the seat across the room, closest to the door, Mindy and Anika cuddled up next to each other on the floor, Ethan plopped himself down in the seat furthest from the door, and Tara dropped herself down in what was Sam’s seat because Chad stole her spot on the couch next to you.

Once Chad finished up his pizza, he wiped his hands off on a napkin and tossed it onto his dirty plate. He was still chewing the last bit of his food as he switched the channel on the TV and grabbed a PS4 controller. You wiped your own hands and put your trash on top of his, creating an organized little pile. You leaned back and watched the screen as Chad flipped through games.

“What are you playing?” you asked.

“Crash,” he said mindlessly.

“Racing or the original?”

Chad’s mouth opened and closed, gaping like a fish. He looked at you then back at the TV, only to do a double take and look back at you. It was like he couldn’t believe you were asking him about video games.

“R-Racing,” he said. “Want to join?” he reached over and grabbed the other controller and held it out to you.

You shrugged and took the controller from him. “Sure,” you said.

The two of you selected our characters and started the first race. You let Chad pick the track, you knew he’d need the edge anyway. The two of you raced around, doing your laps, you felt everyone’s eyes on you and the TV but you paid them no mind as you drove your way into first place. You were on the last lap when you dropped a TNT crate, only to hear Chad hit it a few seconds later. You quickly crossed the finish line, coming in first, then you leaned back and watched as Chad tried to fight his way back up the line, striving to just not come in last.

You repeated that with the same outcome another three races. Chad was hunched over, pressing the buttons hard as if that would make the cart go faster. You kept your eyes on the screen, never wavering as you completed lap after lap, coming in first every single time.

“You’re good at this,” Chad said. “How are you so good?”

“I play all the time when I’m home,” you said with a shrug.

“That’s why the only thing in your house is a game system,” Sam said.

You looked over at her and smiled. “Got my PS5 and my dog, what more could one possibly want?” Sam tilted her head, seeming to actually think about the question then nodded with a small shrug.

“One more,” Chad said, already flipping through the tracks again.

You rolled your eyes and got ready again as Chad finally selected the track. You were fully prepared to beat Chad on every track, using any character.

You got distracted when you noticed Sam staring down at her phone. You paused the game, ignoring Chad’s protests as you waited to see what was going on with Sam. “Everything okay?” you asked.

Sam looked up, meeting your eyes. “I don’t know,” she said. “Your dad is calling me,” she looked at Quinn.

Quinn furrowed her brow and leaned forward in the chair. “He’s probably just following up,” Quinn said with a shrug. “Or wanting to update you.”

Sam nodded but she didn’t seem too certain in Quinn’s guess. Whatever doubt she was having didn’t stop her from raising the phone to her ear. “Detective Bailey?” Sam spoke into the phone.

You couldn’t hear the other end of the line, but Sam’s furrowed brow deepened. “Yes, I know him,” she said. You look around the room, seeing Chad, Mindy, and Tara all looked just as confused. “Of course, I’m on my way.”

As soon as Sam hung up the phone she was moving and so were you and Tara. Sam didn’t even so much as look at any of you as she grabbed her keys. “Sam,” Tara said. “Sam, what’s going on?”

“Stay here,” is all Sam said.

“What happened?” you asked as you made your way over to the sisters.

Sam finally paused her movements and looked up at you, then at her sister. “That was detective Bailey.” You and Tara both nodded. “He said Doctor Stone is dead.”

“Who?” you asked. You glanced at Tara to see her furrow, her brow before her eyes widened.

“He’s my old therapist,” Sam dropped her eyes to the floor.

You furrowed her brow; you weren’t sure why Sam seemed ashamed of that. You went to a therapist; she didn’t know it was because you were ordered to, but she knew you saw one. She went with you to your appointment earlier, you couldn’t see why she would think you would judge her for seeing a therapist herself. You didn’t want to pressure her though; she didn’t owe you any answers.

“I need to go down to the station,” Sam said.

“Great, let’s go,” Tara said, gesturing for Sam to walk towards the door.

“No, no,” Sam spun around, holding her hand up to Tara. “You’re staying here.”

“No, we’re not splitting up,” Tara shook her head. “School was one thing, but this?” she pointed around her. “No. I’m going with you.”

Sam let out a tired sigh and ran a hand through her hair. “Fine.”

“Obviously I’m coming as well,” you said. Sam opened her mouth, probably to argue with you as well. “This is why you asked me here,” you whispered, looking her in the eye. You weren’t sure what it was but the idea of Sam and her sister going out there alone, at night, after Ghostface killed someone connected to Sam, it didn’t sit right with you.

“Okay,” Sam conceded, nodding. “The rest of you stay here,” she said loudly, looking at each and every one of them. Once they all nodded in agreement Sam finally made her way to the door.

You followed behind Sam and Tara, keeping close as they quickly ran down the steps and out the door without a second thought. You checked your surroundings as soon as you got outside, making sure to keep your head on the swivel.

“Why would Ghostface go after your old therapist?” Tara questioned. “I though you hadn’t seen that dude in months.”

“I haven’t,” Sam said. “It was only a couple sessions before I left him.”

“So, is he important?” you asked, inserting yourself into the conversation.

“No,” Sam shook her head. “As soon as he learned who I was…” she crossed her arms over her chest. “He wasn’t the right fit, we never even got into the details.”

You nodded, you could understand why she might not want to share that information. You didn’t care about why she was seeing a therapist or why she left this Doctor Stone, it was none of your business. “Then whoever this is might not know you switched therapists.” You looked around, carefully watching the other people on the street as you passed them. “They might have gone after him, thinking he was your current one still.”

Sam furrowed her brow and then nodded. “The only one I mentioned my new therapist to was Tara,” she looked at her sister.

“And I haven’t told anyone,” Tara said.

You nodded. “Good, don’t tell anyone. Your therapist is safer if no one knows who they are.”

Sam and Tara both agreed and continued their walk down the street. It was only a few minutes later when Sam pulled out her phone, you saw over her shoulder that she was getting a call from some guy named Richie Kirsch.

“Why do you still have his number?” Tara asked, clearly recognizing whoever this was.

Sam looked at her sister guiltily. “I couldn’t bring myself to delete his number,” she admitted quietly. You furrowed your brow; you could only begin to guess who this guy was.

“What do you want asshole?” Sam asked as she answered the phone, her attitude quickly becoming aggressive.

You couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, and you were just watching Sam’s reaction until you caught a shadow moving out of the corner of your eye. You just reacted, your arm shooting out to catch the arm of Ghostface as he tried to bring a knife down on Tara. You knocked Tara back toward Sam with our free arm, and twisted Ghostface’s hand, then punched him in the face.

“Run!” you called out to the girls, hoping they listened to you. As Ghostface stumbled back, trying to shake off the hit you brought your knee up, nailing him in the gut, and sending him falling back into the bushes.

You didn’t hesitate to turn around and take off after the girls, quickly catching up to them. You felt something when you kneed Ghostface, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it as Sam flung open the door to a bodega. You were only a couple steps behind them, swinging the door open to see them begging the cashier to help them.

You looked back and caught a flash of a cloak through the window. You pushed Sam and Tara back, spreading out your arms so that they wouldn’t be easy to hit as Ghostface charged into the bodega. One of the customers stepped forward and was yelling at Ghostface when Ghostface just started stabbing him in the chest and then a few of the other customers.

“The backdoor!” the cashier called out, nodding his head to the side as he reached under the counter and pulled out a shotgun. You glanced back to see a door on the other side of the room. You pushed Tara and Sam towards it so they could get out first as you kept your eyes on Ghostface.

The cashier tried to shoot Ghostface but couldn’t raise the gun before Ghostface reached out and ripped it out of his hands. Ghostface flipped the gun around and blasted the cashier in the chest. Your eyes widened and you turned and grabbed Sam and Tara. Ghostface had just raised the gun and fired at the back door when you pushed Sam and Tara down to the ground behind some of the shelves.

You raised a finger to your lips and then gestured forward, indicating for them the to slowly move. You kept your back pressed against the shelf as Tara and Sam slowly crawled around to the next aisle. When they got over there Sam looked back at you and you gestured for her to continue forward. If they kept going and kept quiet, then they could make it back to the front door and while you distracted Ghostface they could slip right out. Sam seemed hesitant to continue on, but she did anyway.

You stayed low and kept your eyes looking up, waiting for the perfect opportunity. You listened as Ghostface’s boots slowly crunched across the broken glass and bags of chips that were now scattered across the ground. You caught a glimpse of the barrel of the gun when the sound of someone hitting a bottle echoed throughout the room.

You held your breath and froze in place. The barrel of the gun disappeared and then a shot echoed through, hitting the shelf across the room and sending snacks flying. You only had to hear the crunch of Ghostface’s boot to make your move, shooting up from your spot and launching yourself at Ghostface.

You grabbed onto the gun and kept it pointed up as Ghostface tried to turn it on you. The two of you went back and forth, each of you fighting for control of the gun. In your struggle the gun got pointed up and went off, blowing a hole through the ceiling and sending chunks raining down on you.

“Go!” you called over your shoulder. If the sisters didn’t move now, you weren’t sure you could get them another chance.

You heard the sound of footsteps running across the floor and caught a flash of Sam’s jacket out of the corner of your eye. You jerked the gun up, finally ripping it out of Ghostface’s hands. You flipped the gun around and fired, only for nothing to happen, it was out of ammo. You flipped it back around and used the butt of the gun to smack the Ghostface’s chest with all your strength.

Ghostface went stumbling back until he hit the back door. As soon as Ghostface pushed off the door you thew the shot gun at him, making him react and catch it, the impact making him hit the door again. You reached behind you and pulled out your gun, not hesitating to raise it and fired three bullets into Ghostface’s chest.

Ghostface slid to the ground, his back against the wall and his body slumped over as the shotgun rested at his side. You stepped forward, raising the gun to Ghostface’s head when you finally heard the sirens. You dropped the gun back to your side and quickly tucked it back in its holster at your back before making your way out of the bodega.

Almost as soon as you stepped foot outside you were hit with a small impact. You let out a groan and looked down to see Tara with her arms wrapped around her waist. “Thank you,” she mumbled into your shirt. Police officers rushed past the two of you, none of them paying you any attention as they made their way into the bodega, their guns drawn.

“Are you okay?” you asked, looking down at Tara. You weren’t big on hugs but if it made Tara feel better then you were willing to accept it.

“What happened?” Sam asked, rushing up beside you. “Did you get him? Are you hurt?” she looked you up and down, searching for new injuries.

“I’m fine,” you assured her. “I shot him, but I didn’t get him,” you looked back at the front door, just waiting for him to come out.

“What do you mean?” Sam furrowed her brow. Tara finally released you and looked up as she waited to hear your answer as well.

“He was wearing bullet proof vest.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Flet it as soon as I kneed him on the street.” It took a while with all the adrenaline for you to finally connect the dots as to what you felt. You had more to say btu you didn’t think this was the time or place with all the prying eyes. You knew it was a good idea to keep the information to yourself when the cops came back out and said Ghostface was gone.

You, Tara, and Sam rushed back into the bodega to see the back door open, the lock that was on the door now lay scattered on the ground. Ghostface recovered fast, he could certainly take a hit, but you weren’t surprised he escaped. Just one fight with this Ghostface and you had enough information to narrow down your suspects. You weren’t sure when you’d have the time or privacy to go over everything with Sam though.

Taglist: @thatshyboy1998 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @acutenobody @godamnityess @luvwanda @rqizzu @riyaexee

#sam carpenter #sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter x you #sam carpenter imagine #sam carpenter x fem!reader #samantha carpenter #samantha carpenter x reader #melissa barrera #scream #scream vi #scream 6 #no man's land

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

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Roads Untraveled 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, pregnancy, and other possible triggers.��My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Single and pregnant, you discover a super soldier in the dumpster but he might not be hero you think he is.

[This is a rewrite of a series of the same name which I removed a couple years ago]

Characters: Silverfox!Steve Rogers

Note: I finally did this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

‘When he went away The blues walked in and met me Oh, yeah if he stays away Old rocking chair’s gonna get me All I do is pray...’

You sway to the melody as you wipe dry the last plate. You set it in the rack as Etta James’ soulful crooning wafts around the kitchen. Just the simple task of washing the dishes has you out of breath. You can no longer hum along as you’re suddenly light headed with sweat speckled across your brow. Even the breeze drifting in through the open window can’t cool the constant heat brewing within you.

You brace your lower back as you reach for the dish towel and pop open the cupboard. The music drones to silence as the next some in queue loads. Your rounded stomach presses to the counter as you take a mug and dry it inside and out. Strange, you don’t remember the song starting like that; the strange warbling noise much unlike Marvin Gaye’s rich tones.

You set the mug on the shelf and back up. Another noise peaks your attention, too tinny to be a snare. You rub your stomach mindlessly as you sling the cloth over your shoulder. You waddle across the tile to the folding table beneath the window. You tap pause on your phone and the bluetooth speaker goes silent.

Your fingers pick the damp fabric away from your bump. These days you can’t avoid getting soaked. Even as you can’t forget about the burden of your condition, you’re still oblivious to how it gets in the way until it does. You sigh as you listen for another clue.

A pained deep grunt floats up from below. Distant but decisive, another rustle beneath the unexpected noise. You lean over the table, a hand on the ledge as you push the pane higher. You bend, stomach pressed to the speaker, and peer down. You expect another dumpster diver searching for empties to trade in; rather you meet a most unexpected sight.

There is a man in the dumpster, alright, but he isn’t moving. From there, you can’t see very clearly. You squint at the figure strewn among the trash but the zigzag of the fire escape obscures your eye line.

You shouldn’t go and see. Not only is it a lot of effort, but it’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be wandering into alleys to check on strangers in dumpsters. You don’t know any good reason someone might be swimming in garbage. Nor do you think they would want to be bothered.

Still, the prickling in your neck urges you to do something. There’s just something so peculiar about the angle of the arm you can see clearer than the rest of the body. At least they’re moving, even if they sound agonized.

You take your phone and untether it from the bluetooth speaker. You unlock it and keep your thumb ready to dial out. You move as quickly as you can, not very, and waddles along the back of the couch into the entry way. You take your keys from the hook near your door and step into your cushy slides.

You turn back the latch and leave the door unlocked behind you. The slides shift on your swollen feet as you rush down to the elevator. God, your back hurts. You try not to lean too far back as it only adds to the pain. You need a belly belt but they’re so darn expensive.

You’re out of breath as you step on and turn to watch the numbers count down. You’re still panting as you reach the lobby and push through the front doors, leaning into the heavy grated iron until it creaks loudly. You clamour down the steps to even ground and your hips pang.

You put your hand under your stomach, trying to lift it and ease the pressure in your hips. You blow out between your lips as you have to slow down. You shuffle across the grass and into the paved lobby. The stink of the trash brings you back to those early days of morning sickness. And afternoon sickness. And night sickness.

You try not to inhale too deeply as you step between the brick buildings. You bring your phone up, ready to hit those three digits in a heartbeat. You should’ve done so already. Even if you do, it’ll take hours for anyone to come out here.

You stop and listen a few steps from the dumpster. You don’t hear anything now. You look up at the sky, dimming towards evening in a mixture of pink and blue, the moon peeking palely through the hue. You grip your phone tight, keys jangling with your movement as you continue forward.

“Hello?” You call out, “is someone in there?” You linger near the corner of the dumpster, the trash reeking in your nostrils, “do you need help?”

No answer. You stare up, wondering how you might see inside. If you weren’t built like a keg, you might be able to see from the lower level of the fire escape but you can’t even make it one rung. You blink and call out again.

“Hello? Are you okay?”

You wait for a response. Silence again. Maybe they found their way out on their own. You huff. So much for all that. All you’ve done is added to the pain in your arches. You turn on your heel and a groan gurgles and plastic crinkles noisily.

You stop again, wavering, and peer back over your shoulder. A hand appears over the tops of the dumpsters edge and grips it. You face the large metal bin as the knuckles strain within the stained brown leather, fingertips poking out nakedly, blood and dirty tinged across the flesh. A long grunt follows as the figure drags himself to look over the top.

“Sir, are you--” you begin, voice catching at the sight of the cowl and the man’s square jaw. The white star on his chest stuns you. It’s him. Everyone knows that uniform, that face, even under his helmet. New York’s own Captain America.

You gape as the super soldier strains and swings himself out of the dumpster with one arm. His other is hanging limply as his feet hit the pavement. His knees crack and buckle. He drops down onto them and hisses.

“Captain America?” You utter dumbly.

He puts his fist to the ground and leans on his arm. He hangs his head and heaves. He drags a leg forward, planting his foot, and makes himself stand. He pushes his shoulders back and winces, reaching to cradle his dangling arm.

“Steve,” he rasps, “goddamn.”

You don’t expect the obscenity. Not from him. He leans against the dumpster and turns his chin up. He gnashes his teeth as he grips his arm and jerks, moving the heavy bin with his effort. The pop of his shoulder is sickening as he growls tightly. He stomps his foot and as he shakes out the arm he just put back into place.

He reaches up and peels off his cowl as he puts his head straight. He looks at you as he wipes the streak of blood from lip to chin. His blond locks are streaked silver and his face is lined. He looks much older than the magazine covers and the TV screens. The magic of editing, right?

He swipes the sweaty hair from his forehead and huffs.

“Steve,” you rest your phone on your stomach, “are you okay?”

He pushes himself away from the dumpster and puffs, “I’m fine. Just... a hiccup.”

You stare at him. He looks tired and worn. You believe him when he says he’s okay. He's a super soldier and the world has seen his many feats. Yet he looks completely hollow.

“Are you sure? I could call someone or...” you step forward and point to the slash that borders chest and shoulder, “you should clean that out, shouldn’t you?”

He looks down and grimaces, “had worse. I got comms. HQ doesn’t care about a few scratches.”

He goes to step forward and stumbles slightly. He snarls and kicks his foot into the gravel. He wiggles his knee and bends to rub the joint.

“I...” your mouth opens and closes. This isn’t the man you’ve seen in the media. He's not smiling and golden and shining. Still, he’s the Captain. “I live above,” you gesture upward, “I could help... or maybe you can just... sit for a little bit. Get yourself straight?”

He looks at you. As if for the first time. His forehead smooths as the tension eases from his jaw. His gaze slowly crawls down to his stomach and you see the dimple in his cheek.

“Your husband okay with that? I’m a bit of a mess,” his tone is lighter as he fixes his grip on his cowl.

“Oh no, I don’t have--” you chew your lip and look at the brick wall, “it’s just me. But I have first aid kit and learned to stitch in summer camp. I think I can still remember how.”

He glances around and nods, “got a back door?”

“Yeah, it’s... past you,” you nod in his direction.

He pivots stiffly and cranes to see around the dumpster. You near him and your keys jingle again. You follow him to the metal door with the glass window and you shove the key in and twist. You pull it open a few inches. It’s heavier than the front door. He grabs it and wrenches it all the way back.

“Thanks,” you murmur. “There’s an elevator.”

“Hm, fewer people see me, the better,” he sniffs as the door clanks behind him.

“It might take me a while,” you warn, “I’m slow.”

“What floor. I’ll meet you,” he offers.

“Sure, it’s three.”

“Number?”

“310.”

“I’ll find it,” he states and marches towards the stair sign.

You go to catch the elevator, stewing in disbelief on your ascent. You step off and continue on to your apartment. He’s already there. He stands with his hand on the frame, looking over his shoulder as you waddle down the hall towards him.

“It’s unlocked,” you say.

He opens it and waits for you. You thank him as you enter and he follows. He locks it and lingers behind you. You put your hand to the wall as you slip off your slides. He gently lays his cowl on the corner table and bends to unlace his boots. You hang the keys on the hook and place your phone on the small table.

He leaves his dirtied boots on the mat and limps forward. You stand in the open doorway of the living room and peek back at him. He looks around reluctantly.

“Please, sit down,” you insist and wave through the doorway before you pass through.

“I...” he begins and you hear his uneven gait down the hallway. “I don’t want to dirty your couch.”

“I have a steam cleaner,” you assure. “Sit, I’ll get the kit.”

He stares, his eyes once more scanning the space. Does he think this is a trip? That you’re some covert agent who all too conveniently found him? That’s absurd. Look at you.

You shrug off that ridiculous idea and cross to the kitchen. You open several drawers before you remember it’s in the bathroom. Of course. Your brain likes to play games these days. You grab the metal tin from under the sink and return to Steve.

He pulls off his gloves and balls them on the side table next to the couch. You come around the other side of the couch and sit, leaving lots of space between you. You squeeze the kits as you’re once more out of breath.

“You okay?” He turns the question on you.

“I’m not the one bleeding. Just pregnant,” you smile.

You balance the kit on your stomach as you lean back. You sanitize a needle and weave it with surgical thread. You put that aside and fish out an alcoholic swap. You shift the kit aside and push on the back of the couch as you try to sit forward. You shake and he helps you, a humbling assistance.

“First,” you turn to him, “we’ll see how deep it is,” you tear open the swap, “can I...”

“One sec,” he dips his fingers into the fabric and tears the sleeve, renting the fabric like tissue. His arm is thick and well-toned despite the years. A centurion like him can’t complain for the shape he’s in, even battered. “I can do it myself.”

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be easy.”

You reach as he angles towards you. You gingerly dab around the gash and he tenses. He takes a sharp breath, “you don’t have to be so gentle. I can handle pain.”

“Right,” you work more diligently.

He’s quiet as you tend to him, picking out gravel and some metal slivers. You worry that you might miss some. You lean in closer and he steels himself at your proximity.

“So,” he clears his throat, “just you and...” the kid?”

“We all make mistakes,” you chuckle. You can only laugh about it, as scared as you are.

“Mmm,” he flinches as you sweep down the length of the cut. It’s not that deep, mostly superficial.

“Let me put some steri-strips on, shouldn’t need the stitches, ” you say as you sift through the kit with one hand, “if you’re hungry, I have leftovers. You like chicken?”

You don’t know why you’re offering. Maybe it’s because you owe him. Like everyone in the city. It’s your chance to give back to the hero who gave so much. Or maybe it’s because you’re so damn lonely talking to your own stomach.

“I should go,” he insists as you place a strip across the cut.

“Up to you,” you say, “I don’t mind either way, but I’m not going to chase Captain America out of ym apartment.”

He doesn’t say anything. You finish dressing his wound and gather up the wrappers and all. You crumple it in one hand and rock yourself to stand. You’re overly aware of him watching you. You touch your stomach and rub it, soothing your nerves. You find him watching the movement of your hand.

“You must be pretty far along,” he says.

“Six months. Chicken tortellini, if you want. I was gonna reheat some. I haven’t eaten since work.”

“Work?” He frowns and stands, moving better than before. “Should you be?”

“I’m at a desk. It’s nothing. HR got me some ergonomic stuff. Nothing compared to what you do.”

You put away the kit and toss the garbage. You wash your hands before you search out the container of pasta in the fridges. You sense him behind you, just in the wide archway that peers into the kitchen. You reach into the cupboard you left open and take the single plate that isn’t in the rack.

“So, you want some?” You ask.

He’s silent with contemplation, the shift of his weight creaks in the floor, “I appreciate it, yes, please.”

“I might have something you can change into,” you say. You wonder why you’re doing all this. Maybe it’s that maternal instinct kicking in. “The father, before he took off, left a few things.” You peek over your shoulder, “he was a bit smaller than you.”

He shrugs then winces at the careless gesture. “Do you mind if I wash up before I eat? I smell like garbage. I don’t wanna overstep--”

“Go ahead, it’ll take a while to warm this up,” you say.

Another long lull. He taps his fingers on the wall and inhales deep enough for you to hear, “promise, I’ll get out of your hair after dinner.”

“Please, take your time,” you say as you put the tortellini in a glass pan to rebake. He backs away and you sense his hesitation, “oh, down the hall, to the left of the bedroom at the end.”

“Thanks,” he intones, “oh, uh, just realised, you know who I am...”

Your brows pop up and you stop before you can put the pan in the stove. You look back at him and give your name. He nods.

“Pretty,” he comments, “also, it’s just Steve, not Captain.”

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #roads untraveled #silverfox au #au #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #captain america #avengers

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magnagaruzenmon · 27 days ago

Text

A Day to remember

Introduction The world changed forever the day the Hulk returned from space. But it wasn’t Bruce Banner, the brilliant scientist, who came back. No, all that was left was the Hulk—a relentless, unstoppable force of nature. Hardened and empowered after years among the stars, he brought with him the strength and knowledge of not just one, but four planets: Sakaar, planet Kree, Spartax, and Planet Skrull. This unparalleled combination of might and resources allowed him to launch a swift and devastating campaign to claim Earth as his own. It wasn’t just a victory—it was a conquest.

And so, the Hulk crowned himself Champion-King of Earth.

One of his first acts was to deal with the Illuminati, the secret cabal of Earth’s most brilliant and powerful minds who once sent him into exile. With the exception of Black Panther, the Hulk exiled the Illuminati and their allies—including my parents—to a so-called “idyllic paradise” somewhere off-world. It seemed like justice in his eyes, though it left Earth in an unprecedented state of transition. One day, I had human neighbors. The next, I was surrounded by Sakaarans, Kree refugees, and even a mutant or two. Earth wasn’t just Earth anymore. It was a crossroads for the galaxy.

Surprisingly, despite the terrifying aura of power he radiated, the Hulk turned out to be a capable and, dare I say, effective ruler. Crime plummeted, and the economy soared as he forged strong intergalactic trade and alliances with the new empires of Asgard and Wakanda. Life on Earth became both unrecognizable and…stable.

But that stability is about to be shaken again. Hulk has just announced a new tradition: the Gladiatorial Tournament of Champions. This brutal competition will determine Earth’s Realm Champions, the individuals he deems worthy of ruling specific territories under his reign. Each champion represents a distinct region of Earth, acting as both its protector and enforcer of the Hulk’s rule.

Here’s how it breaks down: • Wolverine oversees Canada and Alaska. • Steve Rogers rules the United States, Puerto Rico, Cuba, Costa Rica, Haiti, and the rest of Central America. • Namor dominates South America and Antarctica. • M’Baku holds Africa. • Shang-Chi governs all of Asia. • Devil Dinosaur and Skaar share dominion over Australia. • Doctor Doom controls Europe…when he’s not busy running his own intergalactic empire (it’s complicated).

And now, the tournament will determine the newest champions—or perhaps, challengers to their thrones. The stakes are high, the rules unclear, and the competition fierce. In this world reshaped by gamma-fueled ambition and intergalactic alliances, it’s anyone’s guess who will rise—and who will fall.

Reassemble TJ was surprised by how few had shown up to apply for the Realm Champion Tournament. Out of the vast expanse of the Gamma Force Empire, only 64 participants stood ready to compete. For an event of such magnitude, the hall of ceremonies felt oddly intimate, though the grandeur of the setting made up for the lack of numbers.

Golden chandeliers bathed the room in a warm glow, their light reflecting off walls lined with intergalactic banners—each one a symbol of the Hulk’s reign. The crowd was a mix of the famous, the powerful, and the curious. TJ recognized a few familiar faces from both legend and pop culture: Venom, towering and menacing but oddly polite; Luna Snow, the Korean pop idol turned superhero; Dazzler, the timeless mutant songstress; and a collection of idols, including Wonyoung and Yujin from IVE and Hanni from NewJeans. The blend of celebrity and power was overwhelming, but TJ—despite his less affluent upbringing and humble attire—moved through the procession with unexpected ease.

When people approached him, he introduced himself calmly and confidently. “Tiberius,” he said, his voice steady, “but you can call me Tibby. I’m one of the contestants.”

There was something magnetic about him, a palpable charm that made even the most skeptical faces soften. He listened attentively, asked genuine questions, and exuded a warmth that drew others in. It wasn’t intentional, but a few of the women couldn’t help but look a little flustered as they spoke to him.

For an hour and a half, Tibby navigated the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and learning names. But as the Master of Ceremonies stepped onto the elevated dais at the front of the hall, the atmosphere shifted.

“Contestants, it is time for your introductions,” the voice boomed, silencing the room.

One by one, the 64 fighters were named, and their achievements and titles were announced with a flourish. Most were unremarkable to Tibby, but a few stood out: • Lucion, a cybernetic warrior from Latveria, is rumored to have ties to Doctor Doom. • Leviathan, a towering Atlantean gladiator with a cold, unreadable demeanor. • Momotaro, a swordsman from Japan, clad in armor said to be enchanted by Asgardian forges. • Praetorius, a mysterious figure veiled in shadow, whose reputation as a mercenary preceded him.

And finally, Tibby. Though his name lacked the weight of the others, murmurs rippled through the crowd, many remembering the impression he had already made. By now, “Tibby” was on more than a few lips, and the nickname had stuck.

The Master of Ceremonies gestured to a row of ornate cups lined on a silver tray, each adorned with a symbol representing the Hulk’s empire.

“Champions,” he announced, “step forward and claim your Champion’s Cup. Within this drink lies a blend of the synthetic Heart-Shaped Herb, Asgardian blood rites, and a precise mixture of potions and medicines. Together, they will elevate you to a level worthy of this tournament.”

Unbeknownst to the contestants, the concoction was more than just a power booster. It was preparation—for a brutal process known only to the Empire’s inner circle as The Culling.

Tibby stepped forward and took his cup, examining the shimmering liquid inside before raising it to his lips. Around him, others did the same. The hall erupted into cheers and applause as each contestant drank, sealing their fate.

With the ceremony concluded, the party began in earnest. Music filled the air, laughter echoed, and the contestants mingled freely with the crowd. But Tibby had never been one for celebration before the victory. Quietly, he slipped away from the festivities, weaving through the throng toward the exit.

He almost made it.

As he turned a corner, Tibby’s path was blocked by a massive green figure. He froze, his heart skipping a beat. The Hulk stood before him, radiating power. His gaze was unreadable, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the corridor.

Tibby swallowed hard, unsure of what to say.

“Well,” the Hulk rumbled, his voice like distant thunder. “Where do you think you’re going, Champion?”

Tibby stood face-to-face with the Champion King, his heart pounding like a war drum in his chest. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe he could match the Hulk’s strength, but he didn’t cower. Instead, he stood firm, holding his ground with a mixture of respect and resolve.

“I was heading home,” Tibby said evenly, his voice steady despite the fear flashing in his eyes. “Parties aren’t really my thing—especially before I’ve won anything.”

Hulk raised an eyebrow, surprised by the man’s candor. Most who stood before him either groveled or puffed themselves up with false bravado. This one, though? He spoke with sincerity. The Champion King regarded him with a faint smirk.

“You’ve got guts,” Hulk rumbled, his voice like distant thunder. “Few people would talk to me that way. But there’s one more rite you need to complete before you leave.”

Tibby hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. “Lead the way.”

Hulk turned and began walking, his heavy footsteps echoing through the grand hall. Tibby followed, his nerves fraying with each step as they entered a glowing laboratory with a massive circular chamber at its center. The room hummed with energy, the air thick with the scent of ozone and sterilizing agents.

Hulk gestured toward the chamber. “This is the Culling Machine. It’s a tool we use to help contestants prepare. It simulates ten thousand years of forced evolution, compressing what would take eons into minutes. It’ll speed up your development and put you on par with the other fighters.”

Tibby stared at the chamber, his stomach twisting. This wasn’t what he’d signed up for. He thought of stepping back, walking out of the lab, and leaving the tournament behind. But then images of his past flooded his mind: the ridicule, the doubts, the dismissive sneers from the so-called geniuses of the Illuminati, and the whispered taunts of those who told him he’d never make it on his own.

Clenching his fists, he stepped forward, his eyes blazing with a cold fury. He couldn’t let them be right.

Hulk watched with quiet admiration as Tibby approached the chamber. For the second time that night, this contestant had surprised him. As Tibby entered the machine, Hulk closed the door and prepared the controls.

“Brace yourself,” Hulk warned as he pressed a series of buttons. “This is gonna hurt.”

The machine roared to life, flooding the chamber with a brilliant, almost blinding light. Tibby’s body was enveloped in its glow, and at first, everything seemed to go as expected. But then something went wrong.

Tibby’s skeleton began to glow, a fiery orange radiating from within as if his very bones were on fire. His skin bubbled and reformed, his body tearing itself apart and reassembling over and over. Each cycle was accompanied by flashes of pain and primal screams that sent a chill even through the Hulk’s hardened spine.

“WHAT THE HELL?” Hulk muttered, his massive hand hovering over the emergency shutoff. But he hesitated—Tibby was surviving. Somehow.

The machine’s timer finally reached zero, and the chamber powered down. The door slid open with a hiss, and Tibby stumbled out, his legs barely holding him upright. Steam rose from his body, and his skin flickered with faint traces of scales. His eyes glowed briefly before fading back to normal.

Hulk steadied him with one massive hand. “You good, kid?”

Tibby coughed, then nodded weakly. “Define… good.”

The Champion King let out a rare, deep laugh. “Fair enough. Let’s get you checked out.”

Hulk carried Tibby to the medical bay, where his advisors and doctors hurriedly ran tests. It didn’t take long for them to uncover the truth: Tibby’s X-gene—his mutant ability—had been dormant until now. The Culling Machine had triggered its activation, but instead of settling into one stable form, his mutation was in a constant state of flux, his body forever evolving.

��The only thing that seems consistent,” one of the doctors explained, “is that under stress, his mutation pushes him into a dragon-like form. Beyond that… well, it’s unpredictable.”

Tibby sat on the edge of the medical bed, his mind racing. A dragon? That wasn’t what he’d expected when he signed up for this tournament. But as he flexed his hands, feeling the latent power coursing through his veins, he realized he didn’t feel fear. He felt ready.

Hulk crossed his arms, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You’re full of surprises, Tibby. This might just get interesting.”

The festivities were in full swing, the grand hall alive with music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. Beneath the glittering chandeliers, contestants, dignitaries, and spectators mingled, each with their own agendas. At the center of it all stood Momotaro, the clear favorite to win the Realm Champion Tournament.

Tall and broad-shouldered, with a warrior’s poise and a face that seemed sculpted by the gods, Momotaro exuded confidence. The legendary champion from Okinawa had already made a name for himself as a formidable warrior in countless regional tournaments. His reputation had preceded him, and now it seemed, so had his charm.

Wonyoung and Gaeul of IVE, radiant in their evening gowns, had positioned themselves at either side of Momotaro. They were playful, their voices carrying just enough laughter to turn heads, and their smiles were dazzling, each glance carefully measured.

“You must hear this all the time,” Wonyoung said, her tone light and teasing, “but you’re even more impressive in person than the stories say.”

Momotaro chuckled, his deep voice cutting through the lively room. “I’ve found that the stories are usually exaggerated. I’m just a man who’s good at what he does.”

“And modest too,” Gaeul interjected, leaning in slightly with a sly smile. “That’s rare in someone so… accomplished.”

Momotaro gave her a small nod, his gaze steady but unreadable. “Modesty isn’t rare when you’ve faced enough challenges. The moment you start believing your own hype is the moment someone surprises you.”

Wonyoung tilted her head, her eyes sparkling. “A wise answer. But surely you’ve noticed how everyone is watching you tonight. They’re not just here for the tournament—they’re here for you.”

Momotaro smirked. “And yet here I am, lucky enough to have the attention of two of the most talented stars on the planet. How do you explain that?”

Gaeul laughed, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “We know a good story when we see one, and you, Momotaro, are definitely a story worth following.”

Their banter drew subtle glances from others at the party. Some watched with curiosity, others with envy. Among the crowd, Lucion and Leviathan exchanged knowing looks.

“Momotaro sure knows how to play the part,” Leviathan muttered, sipping his drink.

“Play?” Lucion smirked. “He’s not playing. He’s just that good.”

Meanwhile, Hulk, standing near the entrance, glanced at the scene as he returned from checking on Tibby. His sharp eyes missed nothing: the glances, the positioning, the subtle games of influence.

“Momotaro’s already won half the battle,” Hulk muttered to himself. “Let’s see if he can win the other half in the arena.”

As the night wore on, Wonyoung and Gaeul remained close to Momotaro, their charm never wavering. He entertained them with grace, but there was a quiet focus in his eyes, a steady awareness of the competition that lay ahead.

In another corner of the room, a subtle buzz spread among the attendees as whispers of Tibby’s ordeal began to circulate. The dragon-like transformation, the unexpected resilience—it was enough to draw the attention of a few, including Momotaro, whose gaze briefly flickered toward the doorway Hulk had reentered from.

“Interesting,” he murmured to himself before turning his full attention back to his admirers.

As the night continued Momotaro found himself needing to relieve himself. After he excused himself he didn't expect the two vixens to corner him in the restroom as he washed his hands.

“Oh ladies how may I help you?” he said politely the girls groaned and Wonyoung said,

“Cut the good guy schtick we know all about you. We know how bad you are,” she said as she closed the gap. Yujin was also not far behind as her arms wrapped around, the man. He sensed their less-than-pure intentions as Wonyoung and Gaeul brought him in for a shared kiss. Momotaro’s mask slips as the Helpful Hero gives way to the vicious villain underneath. Encouraged by Wonyoung’s prodding he lifts her dress up to see her bare ass.

“Spank it,” Gaeul whispers in Momotaro’s ear and he does so. The resulting jiggle serves to set Momotaro to take everything he wants. He undoes his belt and rams his cock into the idol’s tight cunt.

“Yes God“ Wonyoung moans as his cock ravages her. Momotaro continues to rail against Wonyoung while he and Gauel engage in a passionate liplock. Gaeul’s tongue dances and wraps around his as he fucks into Wonyoung deeper. She moans tirelessly as Momotaro’s cock pistons in and out of her tight pussy. Driven into a lusty haze Gaeul begins spanking the younger girl, before degrading her,

“Yes take that cock you filthy slut. Fuck you're so hot,” Gaeul growled possessive. She smiled as she watched Momotaro’s cock plunge in and out of the young woman. Gaeul for her part got on the other side of Wonyoung and began groping the young woman before settling her fingers in Wonyoung's clit. Momotaro watches as he feels Wonyoung get tighter and tighter before yanking her hair.

“Gonna cum slut?” he asks,

Wonyoung nods wordlessly as her mind is made mush by the pleasure. Momotaro keeps thrusting until Wonyoung screams cumming all over his cock before Momotaro carelessly cums inside of Wonyoung. Her pussy convulsed feeling his seed before sending her into another orgasm. Feeling cheated he spanks Wonyoung and says “No cumming more than me,” Wonyoung regains her wits and glares at you before saying “Don't push your luck,”

The following day Momotaro arrived to two guests in his quarters after his successful culling. The interior of Momotaro’s quarters was as opulent as the man himself—polished stone floors, walls adorned with accolades, and an array of expensive wines and delicacies displayed on a low table. Wonyoung lounged gracefully on a plush chaise, her long legs crossed, while Gaeul stood by the window, inspecting her reflection in the glass. Both were impeccably dressed, their attire chosen to emphasize their poise and elegance.

The door hissed open, and Momotaro strode in, his figure commanding. Unlike Tiberius, his time in the culling machine left no visible marks. He radiated confidence, his movements effortless, his smirk that of a man certain of his greatness.

“You survived,” Wonyoung said, her voice dripping with mockery masked as playfulness. She rose smoothly to meet him, her eyes glinting with admiration. “Not that there was ever any doubt, of course.”

“‘Survived’ is putting it mildly,” Momotaro replied with a smirk, loosening his collar as he crossed the room. “I thrived.”

Gaeul turned from the window, raising an eyebrow. “Thrived? Modesty as always.” She approached him, her tone teasing but laced with genuine admiration. “I suppose it’s safe to assume the others weren’t as fortunate. Did you hear about Tiberius? They say the machine nearly tore him apart. Poor thing. Talk about biting off more than you can chew.”

Wonyoung scoffed, settling back into her seat. “Honestly, I’m surprised he even made it out alive. I don’t know why they let riff-raff like him enter. The man’s practically a charity case.”

Momotaro chuckled, pouring himself a glass of wine and leaning against the table. “Let them have their dreams. It makes crushing them so much sweeter when the time comes.”

“You’re so cruel,” Gaeul said, but her smile betrayed her approval. She perched herself on the arm of Wonyoung’s chaise, idly playing with a strand of her hair. “Still, I have to admit, there’s a certain satisfaction in watching the undeserving fail. It’s not like they ever had a chance against you.”

Wonyoung tilted her head, her expression sharpening. “Especially not that Tibby. Did you see how awkward he was at the ceremony? Trying so hard to impress, but it was painfully obvious he doesn’t belong.”

Momotaro grinned. “He has his moments. A certain… charm, I suppose. But charm doesn’t win battles.” He sipped his wine and added, “Still, it’s almost a shame. I could’ve taught him a thing or two.”

Wonyoung let out a soft laugh, her hand brushing against Momotaro’s arm. “Oh, please. You’re being far too generous. The only thing you could teach him is how to stay out of your way.”

“Agreed,” Gaeul said, leaning closer to him. Her voice lowered, almost conspiratorial. “But don’t let him or the others distract you. You’re the clear favorite, Momotaro. Everyone knows it.”

Momotaro set his glass down, his smirk growing. “Distraction isn’t something I’m worried about. And as for the competition…” He gestured dismissively. “They’ll fall in line. One way or another.”

The three of them shared a laugh, the kind of easy, self-assured laughter that came from knowing the odds were in their favor. Wonyoung rested her chin in her hand, her gaze lingering on Momotaro.

“You know,” she said, her tone turning flirtatious, “you’re making it very hard for the rest of us to stay focused. All this strength, charisma… it’s almost unfair.”

Momotaro raised an eyebrow, a playful gleam in his eye. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Wonyoung.”

“Jealous?” Wonyoung leaned closer, her lips curling into a smirk. “Hardly. I’m just making an observation. Someone has to keep you humble.”

“Humble?” Gaeul chimed in, rolling her eyes. “Good luck with that.” She nudged Momotaro’s shoulder lightly. “But seriously, you’d better win. Otherwise, all this flattery will have been for nothing.”

Momotaro laughed, a deep, confident sound. “Don’t worry. I don’t plan on losing. To anyone.”

Wonyoung and Gaeul exchanged a glance, their smiles sharpening. They didn’t need to say it out loud—they had chosen their champion, and they were determined to bask in his glow.

But outside the room, the faint hum of distant celebration carried on, a reminder that the tournament had only just begun—and the masks, so carefully maintained, would soon be tested.

Meanwhile having recovered Tibby had begun training in his quarters while waiting for the arena to open properly. Tibby’s training quarters were stark and utilitarian—a far cry from the lavish accommodations Momotaro enjoyed. The dim lighting revealed worn sparring equipment, a simple cot pushed against the wall, and a single rack of weights. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Tibby. He wasn’t here for luxury; he was here to prepare.

Clad in a loose tank top and sweatpants, Tibby stood in front of a heavy punching bag. His knuckles thudded against the bag in a steady rhythm, sweat trickling down his forehead. Each strike was deliberate, his focus sharp despite the lingering soreness in his body from the culling.

The door creaked open softly, and a gentle voice broke the quiet.

“Tibby?”

He paused mid-swing, turning to see Chowon standing hesitantly in the doorway. She clutched a small cloth bundle in her hands, her posture timid but her smile warm. Dressed in a simple dress, she looked entirely out of place in the gritty training room, but her presence seemed to brighten it nonetheless.

“Chowon?” Tibby straightened, wiping his forehead with his forearm. “What are you doing here?”

“I… I heard you were starting your training, and I thought you might need this.” She stepped forward, holding out the bundle. “It’s nothing fancy. Just some snacks I made. For energy.”

Tibby took the bundle, his expression softening. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” she said quickly, her cheeks reddening. “You’ve been through a lot already, and… well, I thought it might help.”

He unwrapped the bundle, revealing neatly packed rice balls and slices of fruit. It was simple but thoughtful, and the care she’d put into it was obvious.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “This means a lot.”

Chowon smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re welcome. I just… I think you’re going to do great, you know? In the tournament.”

Tibby chuckled softly, sitting down on the edge of the cot. “Not sure about that. I’m still figuring out what this ‘dragon thing’ means, and most of the other contestants already look like they’ve been training for years.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Chowon said, her voice gaining a rare firmness. She stepped closer, her shyness momentarily giving way to quiet conviction. “You’re strong, Tibby. Not just physically. You… you have a good heart. That’s what really matters.”

Her words caught him off guard, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. He glanced down at the food she’d brought, then back at her.

“You’re too kind,” he said finally, his voice softer than before.

Chowon blushed again, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “I just… I want to help, even if it’s only a little.”

Tibby smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “You’re already helping more than you know.”

The two sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the contrast between the sterile training room and Chowon’s sweet presence making it feel almost peaceful. Eventually, Chowon stood, brushing off her dress.

“I should let you get back to training,” she said. “But if you ever need anything, just let me know, okay?”

Tibby nodded. “I will. Thanks again, Chowon.”

As she turned to leave, Tibby found himself feeling a rare sense of calm. The tournament loomed large, and the odds were stacked against him, but at that moment, he realized he wasn’t entirely alone.

He stood and returned to the punching bag, Chowon’s words echoing in his mind. A good heart. Maybe that was enough to start with.

Throughout the following weeks, Tibby and Taro trained relentlessly. The sunlight streamed through the grand training hall’s tall windows, illuminating the polished marble floors and elaborate tapestries that depicted scenes of victorious warriors. The air hummed with the low thrum of energy fields powering the advanced training dummies arranged in the room.

Momotaro stood in the center, dressed in a sleek, form-fitting combat suit that highlighted his muscular frame. A faint smirk played on his lips as he observed his reflection in the mirrored walls.

“Let’s make this quick,” he said, addressing the room’s automated trainer.

The dummies activated with a sharp hum, moving with near-human precision. One lunged at him, but Momotaro sidestepped effortlessly, his blade flashing in the light as he struck. The dummy shattered, its pieces clattering to the floor.

Another dummy approached, it struck faster and more unpredictably. Momotaro parried, his movements sharp and confident, as if rehearsing a dance he had already mastered.

In the distant corner, Wonyoung and Gaeul watched, their eyes gleaming with admiration.

“Flawless, as always,” Gaeul remarked, clapping slowly.

Momotaro turned, flashing a charming grin. “Of course. You don’t think I’d let that dragon boy put a scratch on me, do you?”

Wonyoung giggled. “He doesn’t stand a chance. You’ve already won, Momotaro. This is just… practice.”

His smile widened, but there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes. Confidence, yes, but also calculation. He knew the crowd expected perfection, and he intended to deliver it.

With a dramatic flourish, he raised his weapon and stepped toward the next wave of dummies, their metallic frames reflecting the light like distant stars. Each strike was a performance, every movement a declaration of his superiority.

Tibby’s training space was the opposite of Momotaro’s—a dimly lit, open-air courtyard surrounded by crumbling stone walls. The floor was uneven, scattered with patches of dirt and grass. A single lantern swayed in the breeze, its light casting long shadows across the ground.

Tibby stood in the center, his body tense and his hands wrapped in rough cloth. Sweat glistened on his skin, evidence of hours of relentless practice. He faced a simple wooden post, its surface scarred from repeated strikes.

“Again,” he muttered to himself, his voice steady despite the strain.

He lunged forward, his fists striking the post with sharp, deliberate movements. The impact sent a jolt through his arms, but he didn’t stop. His breaths came in steady bursts, each strike pushing him further.

Behind him, Chowon stood quietly, her hands clasped in front of her. She watched with a mix of worry and admiration, her gaze fixed on the determination etched into Tibby’s face.

“You’ve been at this for hours,” she said gently. “Maybe you should take a break?”

Tibby paused, his fists resting against the post. He turned to her, his expression softening. “I can’t. Not yet. If I don’t push myself, I won’t stand a chance.”

Chowon stepped closer, her voice quiet but firm. “You’ve already come so far. Don’t forget to trust yourself, too.”

Her words lingered in the air as Tibby nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. He took a deep breath, aTJusting his stance. “One more round,” he said.

Chowon sat on a nearby stone, watching as he resumed his strikes. This time, there was something different in his movements—not just strength, but precision and resolve. Each punch seemed to carry the weight of his determination to prove himself, not just to the world but to himself.

As the lantern’s flame flickered in the breeze, Tibby struck the post one last time, his fist splintering the wood. He stepped back, breathing heavily, and glanced at Chowon.

“You were right,” he admitted. “I needed that.”

Chowon smiled, her eyes warm. “You’ll be ready, Tibby. I know it.”

The day before the opening bouts of the tournaments the ceremonial chamber was a sight to behold—a cavernous hall carved from the heart of the mountain, with walls glowing faintly from veins of luminous minerals. Weapons of past champions lined the walls, each displayed with reverence. A long table stretched across the room, laden with ornate weapons wrapped in cloth, waiting to find their rightful wielders.

Hulk’s forgemaster, a towering, broad-shouldered dwarf named Gorund Ironbrand, stood at the head of the table. His beard was braided with bits of metal, and his hammer, massive and scarred from years of crafting, rested at his side.

“Tonight,” Gorund began, his voice resonating through the hall, “each of you will receive the weapon that best matches your spirit. These weapons are forged not just of metal but of meaning. Treat them well, and they will serve you faithfully. Fail them, and they will abandon you.”

One by one, the champions stepped forward as their names were called.

Momotaro’s Weapon

“Momotaro,” Gorund called, his deep voice cutting through the room.

Momotaro strode forward, confidence radiating from his every step. Gorund unwrapped the cloth, revealing an exquisite katana. The blade shimmered with a deadly brilliance, its edge almost too sharp to look at directly.

“This,” Gorund said, “is a katana forged from vibranium, adamantium, and carbonadium. Stronger than any foe you will face. A blade fit for one who carries the weight of many expectations.”

Momotaro accepted the weapon with a flourish, running his hand over the smooth hilt. He nodded in thanks, though inwardly, he savored the murmurs of admiration from the crowd.

“Lucion.”

Lucion, a pale figure with piercing silver eyes, stepped forward silently. Gorund unveiled a bow made of dark, twisting wood that seemed alive, its surface pulsating faintly with shadows.

“A bow crafted from the bark and branches of the World Tree,” Gorund said. “It draws on darkness itself, bending it to your will.”

Lucion took the bow without a word, his thin lips curling into a faint smirk.

“Leviathan.”

The tall, wiry contestant approached, his sharp eyes scanning the table. Gorund unwrapped a pair of daggers, their blades glowing softly with a calming blue light. Etched with ancient runes, they seemed almost alive.

“Daggers of uru and orichalcum,” Gorund said. “Inscribed with mystic etchings to balance their power. They are as precise as the predator who wields them.”

Leviathan twirled the daggers experimentally, grinning.

“Praetorius.”

Praetorius, clad in ceremonial armor, marched forward with the bearing of a king. Gorund unveiled a mace that seemed to hum with energy, lightning arcing faintly along its head.

“A weapon of vibranium and savage world steel, imbued with lightning. A fitting instrument for one who commands authority.”

Praetorius grasped the mace, nodding with satisfaction.

“Tiberius,” Gorund called.

Tibby stepped forward, calm and steady despite the low murmurs from the other champions. Gorund unveiled a single weapon—a staff-like rod forged from an alloy of vibranium, uru, and a rare off-world metal that glowed faintly in shifting shades of violet and teal.

“This,” Gorund said, his voice taking on a weight of reverence, “is a weapon unlike any other. It shifts forms at your command—kusarigama, tonfa, sais—whatever your instinct requires. Its power lies in adaptability, much like its wielder.”

The only embellishment was an inscription etched delicately into the metal: ‘Dragons care not for the opinions of sheep.’

Tibby accepted the weapon with a small bow, feeling its cool surface hum faintly with energy. He twisted his wrist experimentally, and the rod lengthened into a kusarigama. Another flick transformed it into a pair of tonfas, and yet another shift produced a pair of sais.

“Thank you,” Tibby said, his voice even but sincere.

Gorund nodded approvingly. “It is simple in appearance, yes. But simplicity often hides great strength. Remember that.”

Tibby bowed respectfully as he accepted the weapons. “Thank you,” he said simply, running his fingers over the smooth surface.

As Tibby stepped back, the other champions eyed his weapon with poorly veiled disdain. Lucion leaned toward Leviathan, smirking.

“They gave him a transforming stick,” Lucion whispered. “Guess they thought he couldn’t handle a real weapon.”

Leviathan chuckled. “He’ll need all the tricks he can get. Too bad it won’t matter when he’s out in the first round.”

Praetorius shook his head, a faint sneer on his lips. “Adaptability won’t save you when you’re outclassed.”

Tibby ignored the remarks, focusing instead on the shifting weapon in his hand. The transitions were smooth, each form feeling perfectly balanced and natural in his grip. He’d faced mockery before, and he knew that true power didn’t lie in appearances.

Momotaro observed silently, his elaborate katana hanging at his side. Though he refrained from joining the others in mocking Tibby’s weapon, his thoughts were far from kind.

A shapeshifting toy, he mused. How fitting for a second-rate contestant. It might impress peasants, but it won’t stand against real steel.

Outwardly, however, he maintained his composed, heroic demeanor, offering Tibby a polite nod as their gazes briefly met.

As the ceremony concluded, the champions mingled, comparing their weapons. Lucion and Leviathan examined their own with smug satisfaction, while Praetorius marveled at the power radiating from his mace.

“They gave him farmer’s tools,” Leviathan sneered, glancing at Tibby’s weapons. “Did they think he was here to harvest crops instead of fight?”

Lucion chuckled darkly. “Maybe they thought he’d need them to till the earth once he’s out of the tournament.”

Praetorius smirked but said nothing, his eyes flickering briefly toward Tibby.

Tibby, standing off to the side, heard the remarks but didn’t react. He was used to being underestimated, and he had no intention of rising to the bait. Instead, he turned the weapon ( currently a sai in his hand) , feeling the balance and weight, appreciating the craftsmanship.

Momotaro, standing nearby, didn’t join in the mockery. Outwardly, he maintained a neutral expression, but internally, he dismissed Tibby’s weapons as inferior. Farm tools, he thought. And here I was expecting competition.

As the champions laughed and boasted, Tibby took a step back, letting the noise fade into the background. He studied his weapon again, running a finger over the inscription.

‘Dragons care not for the opinions of sheep.’

A faint smile tugged at his lips. He knew what they thought of him, but that didn’t matter. His actions would speak louder than any words or flashy weapon.

In the end, it wasn’t the weapon that made the warrior. It was the heart behind it.

After the ceremony Momotaro went back to his shared penthouse with Gaeul and Wonyoung their contempt and disdain flowed freely behind sealed closed doors.

The flickering light from a nearby lantern cast long shadows across the private room, its cozy ambiance a stark contrast to the tension that lingered in the air. Wonyoung and Gaeul sat on plush cushions, their expressions a mix of anticipation and frustration. Momotaro stood by the window, looking out over the arena grounds, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his katana. He set it down gently before gesturing for Gaeul to approach. She smiled as they both undressed

“So, tell me again,” Gaeul spoke up, her voice dripping with a sharp edge. “You really think any of them stand a chance?” she said as she straddled Momotaro

Momotaro smirked as Gaeul spread her legs for the man. Her wet pussy drooling for him. “No. Most of them are just pawns in a game they don’t even understand. They’ll fall one by one.” he said as he thrust into Gaeul who moaned as Momotaro’s dick rammed itself inside her.

Wonyoung leaned forward, her gaze intense as she fixed Momotaro with a look of quiet calculation. “But there’s one who could be a problem.” she purred as she watched her champion fuck the elder girl.

Lifting his gaze from the window, Momotaro finally turned to face them. The playful arrogance in his eyes hadn’t faded, but there was a glint of something more serious in his expression. “Lucion. That bastard,” he spat as if the name left a bitter taste in his mouth. “He’s the only one I’ve seen so far who might be worth my time. The rest are… distractions,” he said after ramming himself deep into Gaeul. She shivered as he ran his cold hand across her waist before fucking her again. Wonyoung watched hungrily but she knew it was Gaeul’s turn to be bred so she accepted it.

Gaeul scoffed. “Lucion’s a shadow, a ghost. He’s been hiding his true strength. But even then, I’m not worried. He’s as much of an outcast as the others. He’s not a part of our world.” she said trying to stifle her moans as Momotaro continued fucking her. Her walls clenched his rod tightly as she neared her own release.

“Exactly,” Wonyoung added, folding her arms. “He’s been lurking in the shadows, and we don’t even know what he’s capable of. But he’s not a threat until he shows his cards. And when he does, we’ll be ready to crush him just like the rest.” Momotaro exited Gaeul for a moment. She pouted but kept her complaints hidden.

Momotaro’s smirk deepened as he took a step toward the table, where a fresh glass of wine awaited him. He picked it up slowly, swirling it as he spoke. “I don’t fear him, but I respect that he’s dangerous. Unlike the others. The rest? They’re nothing but fodder.”

Gaeul’s eyes flickered with an unreadable expression as she looked toward Wonyoung. “And Tiberius?”

Momotaro’s gaze turned cold at the mention of the name, the edge of his smile faltering slightly. “He’s a joke. A farm boy with no true understanding of what it means to be a champion. He doesn’t belong here.”

Wonyoung raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? He has that… something. Not the same as us. But there’s something there.”

Gaeul gave a short laugh. “Don’t let the unassuming act fool you. He’s just another body in the tournament. A warm-up for the real fight.”

Momotaro took a long drink of wine, the conversation falling into a brief, contemplative silence. His eyes narrowed as if contemplating something deeper. “Let’s make sure we don’t underestimate anyone… not even him. But for now, my focus is on Lucion. He’s the one to watch.”

The conversation turned to more idle chatter, but the underlying tension remained. Lucion—the only one they viewed as a genuine threat—hovered over their thoughts, even as they dismissed the rest of the competitors as beneath them.

At the same time Tibby’s was rediscovering himself with his new weapon. His mind unshackled by the burdens of others and their notions as he trained the weapon became an extension of himself its glow and radiance increasing as the hesitation and fear gave way to resolve and hope. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the training grounds. The air was thick with the sound of metal striking metal, as Tibby swung his newly acquired staff. It wasn’t just the rhythmic clang of his weapon that filled the air, but the undeniable energy that radiated from him. With every shift of his weapon, his movements were sharp, fluid, and somehow… full of life. The weapon morphed from tonfa to sais, then to a chain form with a fluidity that matched the rush of his energy.

Chowon stood at the side, her wide eyes following every shift in Tibby’s stance. She had known him as humble, reserved, even shy—but now, seeing him train, she noticed the spark in his eyes, the lively energy that emanated from him with every move. It was a side of him she hadn’t fully realized existed.

“Wow…” Chowon murmured, unable to tear her eyes away. “I had no idea you were so… intense.”

Tibby paused mid-swing, his expression bright and full of excitement. His usual soft demeanor gave way to an energetic grin as he caught sight of her watching him.

“Intense?” He chuckled, setting down the sais for a moment and walking over with a lively bounce in his step. “I’m just getting started! You should see me when I’m really fired up. But hey, gotta save my energy for tomorrow, right?”

Chowon blinked in surprise, her lips parting slightly as she processed his words. He wasn’t just humble—he was electric. The man who had appeared reserved and almost solemn was now speaking with a warmth, a fire, and a passion that she hadn’t seen before. He was clearly driven—more than she had anticipated—and somehow still managed to exude an extroverted energy that drew people in. She couldn’t help but smile in return.

Tibby’s grin only grew as he twirled his weapon in his hands, the kusarigama shifting back into its tonfa form. He raised an eyebrow at her, his voice teasing. “So, what? You thought I’d just stand there quietly in the corner? Nah. I’m here to make a splash! This tournament’s gonna feel like a breeze!”

He swung the tonfa with a sudden burst of speed, his movements so sharp they were almost impossible to track with the eye. His energy filled the space around him, creating a vibrant, unstoppable aura.

Chowon stood there, her mouth slightly agape, taken aback by the sheer enthusiasm he displayed. She’d seen others train with grit, with determination, but never quite with this much… joy. Tibby didn’t just fight to win—he fought because he wanted to, because he loved it.

“You’re amazing,” Chowon finally said, her voice filled with admiration. “It’s like… you’re completely alive in every move you make.”

Tibby paused for a moment, catching his breath, but still grinning widely. His eyes sparkled with the same energy as when he had first spoken. “What can I say? I love a good challenge! And tomorrow’s fight? I’m so ready for it, you don’t even know!”

His voice was brimming with excitement, and despite the looming uncertainty of the tournament ahead, his optimism seemed unstoppable. He wasn’t worried about the competition, nor the challenges they would throw at him. He wanted to be tested, to prove himself—because, at his core, he was a person who thrived on connection and the thrill of living.

“You really think you can win this, don’t you?” Chowon asked, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, still in awe of his infectious energy.

Tibby’s expression softened slightly, but his smile never wavered. “Of course I do! I’m not just doing this for me—I’m doing it for everyone who’s ever doubted me, everyone who thought I’d just stay in the shadows. They’ll see who I really am when I step into that arena.”

His enthusiasm was contagious. For a brief moment, it felt as though his vibrant energy filled the whole field. Tibby wasn’t some quiet, reserved contestant in the background; he was alive, a force of nature, and his presence radiated through everything he did.

“Alright, I’m ready to go again. You ready to see some real action?” Tibby grinned, fully revved up and eager to continue his training.

Chowon laughed, shaking her head in amazement. “I think you’re more ready than anyone.”

He winked playfully as he picked up his weapon once more, ready to take on the challenge ahead. With every swing, every movement, Tibby’s energy only seemed to grow, and it was clear: He wasn’t just in the tournament to compete—he was here to make his mark, to prove his existence to others, and nothing could hold him back.

The tournament arrived the next day and Tibby's excitement was palpable. The introvert everyone had seen at the opening ceremony was gone in his place something different. A difference so great the other competitors didn't even recognize him.

He carried himself with the swagger of a champion and the hope of a saint. When interviewed he looked less the part of a hero and ever increasingly the part of the heel everyone loved to hate, yet he spoke with genuine warmth and kindness to those around making rooting against him satisfying but also watching him Electrifying.

The tournament arrived the next day, and the air was thick with anticipation. The arena buzzed with energy, but none more than the competitors themselves. Among them, Tiberius was a beacon of electricity, a stark contrast to the quiet, reserved man everyone had seen just a day prior. The introvert, the humble and shy participant from the opening ceremony, was gone. In his place stood someone altogether different—someone unrecognizable.

Tibby walked through the bustling halls with the swagger of a champion and the hope of a saint. His posture was upright, exuding the confidence of someone who had already claimed victory, even though the battle had yet to begin. His eyes sparkled with a fire that mirrored the glow of his weapon, and every step he took seemed to draw the attention of those around him. His presence was magnetic, impossible to ignore.

When the interviewers approached, they were taken aback. This was no longer the shy, humble man who had stumbled through the ceremony. No, this was someone far more captivating. The crowd, which had seen him as little more than a dark horse before, now watched in awe as he spoke. His voice rang with an infectious enthusiasm, his words flowing with a genuine warmth that resonated with everyone around him.

Despite his energy, there was an edge to him. A slight cockiness that made him impossible to root against, but impossible to ignore. He had become the heel—the antagonist everyone loved to hate—yet, at the same time, he made it thrilling to watch. He was the kind of competitor you couldn’t help but cheer for, even if you knew he was likely going to crush everyone in his path. His charisma was undeniable, and the audience ate it up.

When asked how he thought the fight would go, Tibby leaned forward slightly, his eyes glinting with fiery excitement. His words were more than just a prediction—they were a promise. “You ask me, the immortal king of the battlefield, how this fight will go?” His voice boomed across the arena, and the crowd leaned in closer, hanging on every word. “I’ll tell you. You are watching the beginning of the tale of Tiberius, the one who slices the heavens! The story that ends with my dramatic finale against the Champion King himself. I will dazzle, I will amaze, and I will terrify beyond all belief. Today is just step one.”

The crowd erupted in cheers, roaring with approval as his words rang out in the air. They saw something in him—something special. His spirit wasn’t just competitive; it was alive, vibrant, and ready to take on the world. His confidence was infectious, and they couldn’t help but get swept up in it.

Hulk, standing off to the side with Chowon, exchanged a glance. They both knew it in that moment. “He’s gonna go far,” they thought simultaneously, their minds both drawn to the same conclusion. They had seen potential before, but this was different. Tibby wasn’t just a contestant; he was a force of nature.

Meanwhile, in the preparation room, Momotaro fumed. His eyes narrowed as he watched Tibby on the screen, delivering his showmanship to the crowd. He had expected fodder—someone easy to brush aside, a mere stepping stone on his way to the championship. But what he saw before him unnerved him. Tibby had transformed. The self-doubt, the hesitation, the humble man who had seemed like an afterthought had vanished. In his place was a competitor who didn’t need tricks or deception. He didn’t need to scheme his way to victory. Tibby’s desire to face the challenge head-on, with pure strength and determination, sickened Momotaro.

“Heroes…” Momotaro muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with disdain. He turned away from the screen, clenching his fists in frustration. The very idea of someone actually enjoying this game Hulk had set up, of someone fighting for something beyond their own gain, disgusted him. In his eyes, the tournament was nothing more than a game of manipulation, a means to an end. Anyone who thought otherwise was naive.

Momotaro stood there in his preparation room, breathing deeply, trying to center himself. His mind, usually so calm and calculated, was now thrown off-kilter by Tibby’s unexpected transformation. The world he had carefully built, where he was the shining hero, the top contender, was suddenly thrown into chaos. And that made him angry.

He couldn’t shake the image of Tibby—how the crowd had responded to him, how Hulk and Chowon had looked at him with recognition, understanding, and even pride. It was clear. Tibby wasn’t just a threat—he was someone who could disrupt everything Momotaro had worked for. The tournament was no longer just about winning. It was about proving who was the strongest, and Tibby had just made it personal.

“Your legend ends today,” Momotaro muttered, his voice cold and filled with resolve. “I’ll show him just who he’s dealing with. No one gets to stand in my way.” He looked at his reflection in the mirror, a cold smirk curling on his lips. The hero of the tournament had a challenger now, and that challenger was someone who couldn’t be ignored. Tiberius had made himself a spectacle, and Momotaro hated it.

The opening match was simple. The top seeds versus the lowest seeds and that meant Tibby was facing off against Taro. The combatants entered the arena, and Tibby feed off the cheers as he hyped off the crowd before walking over to Momotaro. He attempted a handshake but Momotaro’s only words were

“Focus up clown,” Tibby unfettered nodded and got in a combat ready stance as he took out his weapon. The crowd marveled as it turned into a beautiful nagitana that glowed with the same infectious energy Tibby had. Momotaro grew frustrated as he unsheathed his sword.

He closed the distance on Tibby and clashed with the tip of his nagitana. What he didn't expect was for Tibby to shift the weapon to its chain form and bind both of his hands before dislodging his katana away from him. Momotaro realized then along with all 64 other competitors that Tiberius was going to be a problem. As Tibby removed the priority weapon from his foe he tripped him before shifting his weapon into its Kusagirama form and kicking up dust to obscure Momotaro’s vision. To keep Momotaro off his game he continued to move the sword out of reach as he would look for openings that guaranteed victory, but Momotaro kept his guard dodging and carefully keeping ready for Tibby to slip up in his pressure.

The crowd watched rivetted. Wonyoung and Gaeul’s excitement and terror watching their chosen champion filled them with so much emotion their masks slipped and they cheered with reckless abandon. Chowon noticed this and said.

“Huh I guess Tibby brings out the true self in everyone,” she thought. As she watched Tibby play his little game if keep away. She noticed the shift. She watched as instead of moving Momotaro’s weapon far out of reach that he was placing on the battlefield as he moved the katana closer and closer to Momotaro.

For those who could see magic Tibby was putting chi glyphs that made it so when they were activated they'd explode. However because this was a new trick of Tibby’s he lacked control over this power so for what he was planning he was going for a lethal shot. Hulk’s advisor of mages Baron Mordo noticed this and notified the Champion King. While Hulk admired Tibby’s ingenuity he needed to keep his competitors safe so he gestured for Tibby to stop the fight which Tibby and a few others caught but not everyone so Momotaro unaware and pushed to his limit by this bumpkin hit him with his greatest attack. “Scales of the demon!” he yelled as he slashed his katana at Tibby who was lacerated a total of 356 by the radiant blades. He collapsed and the ref called the victory for Momotaro as he also didn't see Hulk’s signal. After the match was just as hectic as the crew readied for the next fight.

The lounge buzzed with subdued energy as contestants gathered to debrief and decompress after the opening matches. Wonyoung and Gaeul sat in a quiet corner, their expressions composer but held feeling of awe and terror deep within. The screens replayed moments from the day’s most dramatic match—Momotaro versus Tiberius.

“That guy,” Gaeul began, her voice low and contemplative, “he’s not like anyone else here. Did you see how he fought?”

Wonyoung nodded, her arms crossed as she leaned back in her chair. Her usual composure had slipped during the fight, her cheers echoing among the crowd alongside the roar of thousands. Now, her tone was measured, almost clinical. “He didn’t just fight. He put on a show. Every move felt deliberate—not just to win, but to entertain. And the crowd ate it up.”

Gaeul gave a small laugh, though her nerves still showed. “I almost forgot we’re here to root for Momotaro. Tibby’s energy…it’s impossible to ignore.”

Before Wonyoung could reply, the door to the lounge opened with a sharp creak, and Momotaro strode in. His movements were stiff, his expression cold, yet there was a shadow of uncertainty in his eyes. The room fell quiet as he walked past the other contestants, all of whom watched him with a mix of respect and trepidation.

“Momotaro,” Wonyoung called out, her voice breaking the silence.

He stopped, glancing at her and Gaeul before walking over. “What is it?” he asked curtly, his voice tinged with irritation. Gaeul reaches put to soothe the man with her touch.

Wonyoung didn’t flinch under his glare. “How do you think it went? That fight wasn’t exactly clean.”

Momotaro’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “I won,” he said flatly.

“Sure,” Gaeul interjected, her voice unusually sharp. “But look at him.” She gestured toward the screen, which now showed Tibby being carried off by medics, his bloodied body a testament to Momotaro’s finishing blow.

“He’ll live. he shouldn't though that blow should have been fatal” Momotaro snapped, though the defensiveness in his tone betrayed him.

“That’s not the point,” Wonyoung said, her eyes narrowing. “You saw it just like we did. Tibby didn’t fight like someone who was out of his league. He pushed you. Hard. And that was round one. He’s going through the loser’s bracket now, but if he makes it back to you…” She trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

Momotaro scoffed, though the unease in his posture was unmistakable. “He’s reckless. Flashy. That kind of fighting only works until someone with actual skill shuts it down.”

Gaeul leaned forward, her gaze piercing. “And yet, you had to use Scales of the Demon to stop him. Against the lowest seed.”

The words hit their mark, and Momotaro’s scowl deepened. He glanced at the screen again, his mind replaying the fight. Tibby’s unorthodox tactics, his shifting weapon forms, the calculated placement of the katana—everything about the match had been a puzzle, one he’d only barely managed to solve. And the crowd’s reaction…

“Everyone’s talking about him,” Wonyoung continued. “They’re calling him a genius. A wildcard. Even Hulk looked impressed.”

Momotaro’s eyes flicked to her, his expression dark. “You’re saying you’re rooting for him now?”

“No,” Wonyoung said, her voice steady, and her expression matching his as if scoff that he would challenge her loyalty again. “We’re still in your corner. But you need to take him seriously. If he gets another shot at you, he won’t make the same mistakes.”

“And neither will I,” Momotaro said firmly, though his words felt more like a promise to himself than to them.

Gaeul sighed, leaning back in her chair. “You’d better not. Because the way things are going, Tibby’s not just going to be a problem for you—he’s going to be a problem for everyone.”

Momotaro said nothing, his gaze fixed on the screen as the replay shifted to Tibby’s dramatic introduction before the match. The crowd’s cheers echoed faintly through the lounge, and for the first time, Momotaro felt a flicker of doubt.

He turned abruptly, walking toward the training room without another word. If he was going to beat Tibby he would have to train 3 times as hard as he did.

Wonyoung watched him go, her expression unreadable. “Do you think he gets it?” she asked Gaeul.

Gaeul shrugged. “Who knows? But one thing’s for sure.”

“What’s that?”

Gaeul smiled faintly, though there was no humor in her eyes. “If Tibby keeps fighting like that, this tournament’s about to get a lot more interesting.”

The impact of the first match overshadowed every following match much to Levithan’s Chagrin.

“The winners should be the focus,” he thought to himself before getting ready for his interview. The camera panned to Leviathan, who sat with his arms crossed, his lengthy frame nearly dwarfing the chair beneath him. His crimson scale mail shimmered under the lights of the press room, and his deep, steady breathing hinted at the restrained power within. The reporters eagerly leaned forward, microphones thrust in his direction, eager for a soundbite from the victorious warrior.

“Leviathan,” one reporter began, her voice bright but professional. “First of all, congratulations on your win. Another dominant performance. But if we may, we’d like your thoughts on the match earlier today between Momotaro and Tiberius. It’s all anyone can talk about right now.”

Leviathan’s eyes, cold and calculating, shifted toward the reporter. He took a moment to exhale slowly, as if weighing his words.

“It was… revealing,” he rumbled, his voice deep and deliberate, like the shifting of tectonic plates. “Not in the way most people think.”

A murmur swept through the room. The reporter pressed on. “Could you elaborate? What did it reveal to you?”

Leviathan’s gaze turned steely. “Tibby’s fight wasn’t just about winning or losing. It was a declaration. A challenge. And he succeeded in one thing: showing everyone, including Momotaro, that the rules of this tournament don’t apply to him.”

Another reporter jumped in. “Do you mean his unconventional weapon techniques? Or the chi glyphs?”

Leviathan allowed a small, humorless smirk to play across his face. “The weapon shifts, the traps, the strategy—that’s all surface level. What matters is the intent. Tibby doesn’t fight to defeat his opponent. He fights to expose them. To unravel them. And Momotaro?” Leviathan paused, letting the tension build. “He unraveled.”

The room fell silent, save for the frantic scribbling of notes.

“But Momotaro won,” another reporter countered, trying to challenge the narrative. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

Leviathan leaned forward, his crimson eyes locking onto the reporter like a predator sizing up prey. “Does it? Look at the aftermath. Momotaro isn’t celebrating. He’s not basking in victory. He’s shaken. Questioning himself. And that’s what makes Tibby dangerous. He lost the fight, but he’s still in the tournament. And now everyone knows what he’s capable of.”

The murmurs grew louder. Someone else asked, “What about the role of the officials? Hulk tried to stop the fight, but it seems like his signal came too late. Do you think that played a part in what happened?”

Leviathan’s expression darkened slightly, and his massive tail shifted behind him, the only sign of his annoyance. “Mistakes happen. Hulk’s job is to keep order, but Tibby? Tibby thrives in chaos. Even if the fight had stopped earlier, the damage was done. Momotaro’s psyche, the crowd’s perception, the other competitors’ calculations—Tibby’s chaos reached them all.”

The original reporter spoke up again, cautiously. “And what about you, Leviathan? If you face Tibby in the future, what’s your strategy?”

Leviathan let out a low, rumbling chuckle that reverberated through the room. “Tibby’s clever, but I’m no Momotaro. I don’t get rattled, and I don’t play into someone else’s game. If he tries to unravel me, he’ll find himself staring into the abyss instead.”

The reporters nodded, some murmuring their approval at the confident answer. But Leviathan wasn’t done.

“One more thing,” he said, his tone dropping to something almost ominous. “Tibby said he was here to beat Hulk. That’s a bold claim. But what he doesn’t realize is this: if he wants to climb to the top, he has to go through me first.”

With that, Leviathan stood, his towering form casting a long shadow across the room. The press erupted in questions, but he gave them no further response. Instead, he turned and walked away, his tail swishing with the slow, deliberate movements of someone who knew his power—and didn’t feel the need to prove it.

Later as the legend of Tiberius who slices the heavens spread Lucion sat on the edge of his bed, rolling the hilt of his sword between his hands. His usually calm demeanor was strained, the sharp lines of his face deepened with thought. Yerim lounged nearby, perched between his legs. Her lucious lips slowly rake across his manhood. sThe moonlight framed her figure, her presence an anchor in the storm of his thoughts.

“So?” Yerim’s voice was teasing but gentle, as she slowly worked along his shaft wit her skilled fingers like the wind brushing through a quiet forest. “What’s running through that big, brilliant mind of yours?”she said as she began bobbing on his cock again

He sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I can’t stop replaying their fight. Tibby was…” He paused, searching for the right word.

“Unexpected?” she offered as she came for air.

Lucion nodded. “And dangerous. More dangerous than anyone gave him credit for. His adaptability, the way he manipulated the battlefield—it’s not just skill. It’s instinct. And instinct like that can’t be taught.”

Yerim tilted her head, studying him as she stroked his rod some more. “You’re worried.”

He chuckled softly, though the sound lacked its usual warmth. “I wouldn’t say worried. Cautious, maybe. Tibby isn’t like the others I’ve faced. He doesn’t just fight; he thinks. Every move he made was calculated to throw Momotaro off balance.”

“And it worked,” Yerim said, her voice soft. “Until it didn’t.”

Lucion frowned, his grip tightening on the sword hilt. Yerim tried to calm him by sucking deeper than usual but Lucion was inconsolable, “Momotaro’s strength is brute force. He overpowered Tibby in the end, but it was close. Too close. If Hulk hadn’t tried to intervene, who knows how far Tibby’s plan would have gone? That kusarigama trick with the chi glyphs—he could’ve ended the match right there if he’d had more control over his magic.”

Yerim’s tongue slid off the of Lucion’s dick as she began to lick his frenulum, her pace slow and deliberate. She knelt in front of him, placing a hand on his knee. “You’re not Momotaro, Lucion. You don’t rely on brute force. You see the battlefield better than anyone. That’s why you’re still here.”

He looked at her, his expression softening slightly. “You always know what to say.”

“It’s a gift,” she said with a playful smile. Then her expression grew serious. “But you’re right to be cautious. Tibby’s next fight is with you, and he’s not going to come in the same way. He learns too fast for that.”

Lucion placed the sword down beside him, resting his hands on his knees. “The key will be keeping him from dictating the flow of the fight. He thrives on momentum, on keeping his opponent reacting instead of acting.”

“Then take the initiative,” Yerim suggested. “Force him to fight on your terms. You’re a tactician, Lucion. Use that. Make him chase you, and when he slips…”

“…I’ll finish it,” Lucion said, his voice filled with quiet determination. As he spoke he came all over Yerim’s face. She giggled happy to serve her man

Yerim smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “That’s the Lucion I know. Just don’t underestimate him. If you do…”

“I won’t,” he interrupted, his tone firm. “Tibby’s dangerous, but I know how to handle danger.”

Yerim stood, her confidence in him evident in the way she carried herself. “Good. Because I have no intention of watching you lose to some upstart with a flashy weapon and a knack for showmanship.”

Lucion smirked, standing to face her. “You don’t think I’d let him get the better of me, do you?”

“I think,” Yerim said, leaning in close, her voice a whisper against his ear, “that you’re going to show everyone why you belong at the top.”

Lucion nodded, her words igniting a spark of confidence within him. “He won’t know what hit him.”

“Now that’s the spirit,” Yerim said with a grin. “Just don’t let him turn this into a spectacle. Keep your head in the fight, and it’s yours.”

As she stepped back toward the window, Lucion watched her, his mind clearing as her words settled. He wasn’t Momotaro, and this wasn’t about brute strength. It was about strategy, precision, and control. And those were the things he excelled at.

Tibby may have made himself a threat, but Lucion was ready to remind him—and everyone else—why he was a contender.

Unsure about his interference in the tournament Hulk went to the people’s Champion infirmary room Tibby sat in the medical bay, his arms covered in bandages and his chest wrapped tight to stem the lingering pain from Momotaro’s brutal final attack. Despite the searing ache of his wounds, his expression was far from defeated. His eyes, sharp and calculating, were fixed on the notepad in his lap, where hastily scribbled notes and diagrams painted a chaotic tapestry of strategy. Hulk sat silent for a moment and watched Tiberius sketch and scribble.

Hulk entered the room, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the flickering glow of the medical monitors. His usual confidence was tempered, replaced by a somber expression as he approached Tibby’s bedside.

“Tibby,” Hulk began, his deep voice quieter than usual.

Tibby glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “Hulk, what brings you to the infirmary? I thought champions didn’t make house calls.”

Hulk crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway. “I came to apologize.”

That made Tibby pause, setting the notepad aside as he regarded the Champion King with curiosity. “For what?”

“For not stopping the fight when I should have,” Hulk admitted. “I saw where it was headed. I signaled for the referee to call it, but I didn’t act fast enough. You took a beating because I hesitated. That’s on me.”

Tibby blinked, then let out a short laugh that turned into a wince. “Ow—don’t make me laugh right now. These ribs are still protesting.” He shook his head, his tone light but sincere. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for, Hulk. This is a tournament, not a tea party. Things get rough. I knew what I was signing up for when I stepped into that ring.”

Hulk frowned. “Still, it wasn’t fair. If you’d had time to refine that technique of yours, things might’ve gone differently.”

Tibby leaned back, a faint grin tugging at his lips despite the pain. “Maybe. But fair doesn’t win fights, does it? And let’s be honest—Momotaro needed that win more than I did. Did you see the look in his eyes? I’m living rent-free in his head now.”

Hulk couldn’t help but chuckle at that, though his expression remained thoughtful. “You’re not angry?”

Tibby shook his head. “Nah. Losing’s just part of the game. Besides, I’m not out yet. The loser’s bracket is just another chance to prove myself. And I’ve already started working on my approach for the next fight.” He tapped his notepad, where diagrams of his kusarigama and notes on potential opponents filled the page. “Momotaro was step one. Whoever’s next? They’ll get the refined version of me.”

Hulk studied him, his keen eyes taking in every detail—the lack of resentment, the unwavering focus, the confidence that bordered on dangerous. “You really believe you’ll make it back to the finals?”

Tibby met his gaze, his grin turning sharp. “Oh, I’m not just making it back. I’m going to win this thing. And after that? I’m coming for you.”

Hulk froze for a moment, the weight of those words sinking in. He wasn’t easily intimidated—he’d faced countless challengers before—but something about the calm certainty in Tibby’s voice sent a chill down his spine. It wasn’t arrogance. It was conviction.

“Well,” Hulk said after a beat, his tone measured, “I’ll be waiting.”

Tibby leaned forward slightly, the movement making his bandages creak. “Don’t wait too long, Hulk. You might find yourself surprised.”

Hulk turned to leave, pausing at the doorway. “You’re a dangerous man, Tibby. I can see why the crowd loves you. Just don’t let that spark burn out too soon.”

Tibby smirked, picking up his notepad again. “Oh, don’t worry. The fire’s only just getting started.”

As Hulk walked away, his mind churned with conflicting thoughts. Tibby wasn’t just another competitor. He was something more—something unpredictable, unshakable, and undeniably formidable.

For the first time in a long time, Hulk found himself wondering if the Champion King might finally have met his match.

Praetorius reclined on a plush chaise in his private quarters, the dim lighting casting soft shadows over the royal decor. His long coat was draped carelessly over a chair, and a half-empty glass of wine rested on the table beside him. Across the room, Hanni perched on the edge of a velvet armchair, her delicate features glowing with curiosity as she twirled a lock of hair around her finger. Her nude form shined in the dimly lit room

“So,” she began, her voice teasing yet thoughtful, “what’s the verdict, oh great king? Did Momotaro barely scrape by, or was Tibby really just that unlucky?”

Praetorius smirked, swirling his wine as he considered her question. “A little of both, my dear consort,” he replied, his tone smooth as silk. “Momotaro’s victory wasn’t without merit—his precision and resolve are undeniable. But Tibby…” He paused, letting the name linger in the air. “Tibby is a different breed of fighter. What we witnessed wasn’t a loss—it was a declaration of intent.”

Hanni tilted her head, intrigued. “A declaration? You make it sound like he wanted to lose.”

“Not at all,” Praetorius corrected, setting his glass down. “Tibby doesn’t strike me as the type to settle for second place. No, what he did was far more dangerous. He forced everyone—Momotaro, the crowd, the judges—to recognize him. Even in defeat, he controlled the narrative. It’s a rare skill, and one that will serve him well in the matches to come.”

Hanni leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “You really think he’s that much of a threat? I mean, Momotaro did take him down.”

Praetorius chuckled, the sound low and rich. “My dear Hanni, you underestimate the power of perception. Momotaro may have won the battle, but Tibby won the crowd. Every move he made—the way he wielded his weapon, the audacity of his strategies—it was all designed to leave an impression. And it worked. By the time he’s healed and ready to fight again, his opponents won’t just be facing his skills. They’ll be facing the legend he’s already begun to craft.”

Hanni’s lips curled into a thoughtful smile. “You sound like you’re rooting for him.”

“Rooting? Not quite,” Praetorius said, his smirk widening. “But I do appreciate a well-played game. Tibby’s a wild card, and wild cards have a way of disrupting even the best-laid plans. It’s… fascinating to watch.”

Hanni rose from her seat, crossing the room to sit beside him on the chaise. “So what’s your plan, then? Sit back and enjoy the chaos? Or do you have something more… involved in mind?”

Praetorius turned to her, his gaze sharp and knowing. “Chaos, my dear, is a tool like any other. And a good strategist knows how to wield every tool at his disposal. Let Tibby and Momotaro dance their little dance. I’ll step in when the moment is right.”

Hanni arched an eyebrow, her expression equal parts amused and intrigued. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Only when I want to be,” he quipped, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “Now, tell me—what did you think of the fight? I trust your keen eyes caught something I missed.”

Hanni grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, I saw plenty. But if you want my insights, you’ll have to earn them.”

Praetorius laughed, a deep, genuine sound that filled the room. “You drive a hard bargain, my dear. Very well. Enlighten me.”

Hanni leaned back against the chaise, stretching like a cat before fixing Praetorius with a knowing smile. “Alright, here’s the thing about that fight,” she began, her tone light but sharp with observation. “Everyone’s focused on the big moves—the flashy techniques, the weapons, the crowd reactions. But that’s not what stood out to me.”

“Oh?” Praetorius folded his hands in his lap, his expression interested but unreadable. “Enlighten me, my insightful muse.”

Hanni rolled her eyes at the nickname but continued. “It’s Tibby’s rhythm. The way he fought wasn’t about power or even precision—it was about setting a pace and forcing Momotaro to follow it. Every shift in his weapon’s form wasn’t just an attack, it was like he was conducting a symphony. And for a while, Momotaro was dancing to his tune.”

Praetorius tilted his head, considering her words. “Interesting. So you’re saying Tibby wasn’t just reacting—he was leading?”

“Exactly.” Hanni’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “Even when it looked like Momotaro had the upper hand, Tibby was setting him up. Moving the katana closer and closer? That wasn’t just strategy, that was psychological warfare. He wanted Momotaro to think he was slipping. It’s just… well, Tibby got a little too clever for his own good. Those chi glyphs were brilliant, but he couldn’t control them. And that’s what cost him the fight.”

Praetorius chuckled softly. “Ah, hubris. The Achilles’ heel of every would-be genius. But you’re right—it was a fascinating strategy. One misstep, and it could’ve been Momotaro lying in the dirt instead of Tibby.”

Hanni nodded, her expression growing more serious. “And that’s the thing—Tibby doesn’t need to win to get under someone’s skin. He’s already in Momotaro’s head, rent-free. Did you see how rattled he was, even after the fight? That humble, stoic hero act is cracking , and everyone knows it.”

Praetorius let out a low hum of approval. “You’re sharper than you look, my dear.”

“Of course I am,” Hanni shot back, sticking out her tongue. “I watch more than just the showy moves. Like how Momotaro wasn’t the only one who cracked. Did you notice Wonyoung and Gaeul in the crowd?”

Praetorius raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“They were so caught up in the fight, they dropped their usual composure. They weren’t just watching—they were cheering, yelling, feeling. And Chowon noticed, too. She might play it cool, but I saw her smirk. Tibby’s chaos doesn’t just disrupt fighters—it pulls everyone into his orbit. Even the spectators.”

Praetorius leaned forward, his fingers steepled as he processed her insights. “So what you’re saying,” he said slowly, “is that Tibby isn’t just a fighter. He’s a force of nature. A disruptor.”

Hanni grinned, pleased that he was catching on. “No worse. He is a spectacle. And spectacles are dangerous, because you can’t predict what they’ll do next. That’s why Momotaro’s win doesn’t feel like a win. It feels like Tibby just laid the groundwork for something bigger. Another showstopper as it were.”

Praetorius’s smirk returned, his mind already spinning with possibilities. “A very astute analysis, my dear. Perhaps I should take you into my confidence more often.”

“You should,” Hanni replied breezily. “I’m smarter than half the people you surround yourself with. And cuter.”

“Undeniably true,” Praetorius said, lifting his wineglass in a mock toast. “To your insights—and to the chaos yet to come.”

Hanni clinked her imaginary glass with his, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Here’s to that. Let’s see how much more trouble Tibby stirs up.”

The infirmary smelled faintly of antiseptic and herbs, the sharp tang softened by the dim lighting and the quiet hum of activity. Chowon pushed the door open, her steps hesitant as she glanced around. Her heart had been tight in her chest since the match, her mind racing with what she might say when she saw Tibby. She hadn’t expected him to take the beating so well—or to see him sitting on the bed, entirely healed, casually tossing a small orb of light from one hand to the other.

“Tibby?” she called softly, stepping into the room.

He looked up, his grin as bright as ever, though his eyes carried the weight of someone who had been through far more than his expression let on. “Chowon! Fancy seeing you here. Thought you’d be off celebrating Momotaro’s big win.”

Her brow furrowed as she approached him. “Don’t start with that. I came to see you.”

“Me?” He tossed the orb one last time and caught it, letting the light fade from his hand. “I’m fine. See? Not a scratch on me.”

“That’s not the point.” Chowon crossed her arms, standing just a few feet from him now. Her gaze softened as she took him in—whole, unharmed, and still as infuriatingly carefree as ever. “Tibby, you scared me out there. I thought…” She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Tibby tilted his head, his grin fading as he noticed the worry etched into her features. “Hey,” he said, his voice dropping to something quieter, more sincere. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Chowon bit her lip, her emotions threatening to spill over. “You didn’t just worry me. You… you made it impossible to look away. The way you fought, the way you moved—it was like you were trying to carry the whole arena on your shoulders. Why do you push yourself like that?”

Tibby sighed, leaning back on his hands. “It’s not about pushing myself. It’s about showing everyone what I can do. People see me as some loudmouth clown with a flashy weapon, but I’ve got more than jokes and tricks. That match was my way of proving it.”

“And nearly getting yourself killed was part of that plan?” she shot back, her voice trembling.

He looked at her for a long moment, the usual spark in his eyes dimmed. “I knew the risks,” he said finally. “But I’m not here to play it safe, Chowon. I’m here to win. And sometimes that means taking hits, making people believe I’m down before I show them I’m not.”

Her arms dropped to her sides, and she took another step closer. “But at what cost, Tibby? What if next time, you don’t get up?”

Tibby’s grin returned, softer this time. “Then I guess I’ll have to make sure there isn’t a next time, huh?”

Chowon huffed, her frustration mingling with relief. Without thinking, she reached out and placed a hand on his arm, the warmth of his skin grounding her. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice dipping lower, more intimate. “But you’re still here.”

Her breath caught at his words, and for a moment, the world outside the infirmary seemed to fade away. Tibby turned his arm slightly, letting his hand rest over hers.

“I’ll be careful,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “For you.”

Chowon’s lips curved into a small, reluctant smile. “You better be.”

They stayed like that for a moment, their fingers lightly brushing as a quiet understanding passed between them. Tibby might be reckless, but here, in this moment, he was grounded—by her, and maybe for her.

“Alright,” he said, breaking the silence but not moving away. “Since I’m all healed up, what do you say we get out of here? I could use some fresh air, and I’m guessing you could use some company that doesn’t have a death wish.”

Chowon laughed softly, shaking her head. “Fine. But only if you promise not to do anything stupid for at least one day.”

Tibby smirked as he stood, their hands lingering together for a beat longer before he let go. “Deal. One day of no stupid.”

As they left the infirmary together, the weight of the earlier fight began to lift, replaced by the quiet comfort of knowing they didn’t have to face what came next alone.

The smell of melted cheese and garlic wafted through the air as Tibby and Chowon sat across from each other in a small, cozy pizzeria just outside the tournament grounds. The place was lively but not overwhelming, a perfect retreat from the chaos of the arena. A half-eaten pepperoni and mushroom pizza sat between them, the grease glistening under the warm light.

Tibby leaned back in his chair, one hand resting lazily on the table as he polished off his slice. “You know,” he said between bites, “there’s nothing quite like a good pizza after almost dying in front of thousands of people.”

Chowon gave him a pointed look, though a smile tugged at her lips. “If you’re trying to make me lose my appetite, you’re doing a great job.”

He grinned, grabbing another slice. “C’mon, you’ve gotta admit, it makes the pizza taste better. Like a victory meal, even though I technically lost.”

“Technically?” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine, definitely lost,” Tibby conceded with a shrug. “But I made my point. And now, I’ve got Lucion to worry about.”

Chowon set her slice down, her expression turning thoughtful. “Lucion’s no joke, Tibby. He’s precise, calculating. He doesn’t make mistakes.”

Tibby nodded, his demeanor shifting slightly. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. He’s the kind of guy who waits for you to slip up, then takes you apart piece by piece. But that’s the thing—he’s all about reacting. If I don’t give him the chance to counter, I might be able to throw him off his game.”

Chowon tilted her head, watching him closely. “So, what’s the plan?”

Tibby leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Speed. Lucion likes to control the pace, but if I keep things fast—keep him guessing—I might be able to catch him off guard. And I’ve been working on a couple of new tricks. The key is making him think he’s in control when he’s not.”

Chowon’s lips curved into a small smile. “You’re really taking this seriously.”

“Of course I am,” Tibby said, his voice softening. “Lucion’s not just another opponent. He’s a test. If I can beat him, it proves I belong here.”

Chowon reached out, her hand brushing against his on the table. “You already proved that today. Whether you beat Lucion or not, you’ve shown everyone what you’re capable of.”

Tibby looked at her, the usual playfulness in his eyes replaced by something more genuine. “Thanks, Chowon. That means a lot, coming from you.”

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before pulling back. “Just promise me you’ll stick to your plan and not do anything reckless. You don’t have to win every fight by being the flashiest guy in the room.”

Tibby chuckled, grabbing another slice. “No promises. But I’ll try to keep the stupid to a minimum. For you.”

Chowon rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. As they continued eating, the tension from the day’s events slowly melted away, replaced by the easy camaraderie and quiet understanding they shared. Whatever challenges lay ahead, Tibby knew he had someone in his corner—and that made all the difference.

#marvel fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #ive smut #wonyoung smut #gaeul smut #choerry smut #loona smut #artms smut

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ktficworld · 9 months ago

Text

Behind The Red Curtains

Pairing: soft dark! Steve Rogers x actress! reader

Summary: You come to know that your success might not be solely because of your talent.

Warnings: 18+, dub-con, forced relationship, bondage, size kink, degradation + praise kink, choking, oral(f receiving ), unprotected sex( it's fiction, your life's not), dirty talk, explicit language, explicit sexual content.

(Let me know if I forgot something)

Prompt: Oral sex, overstimulation, praise, Mob au, Blackmail + Cum play + “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? I think you even enjoyed it.”

A/N: So, this is my entry for the cum together extravaganza hosted by @labella420 and @stargazingfangirl18

I wanted to write this for a long time after the provocation by @biteofcherry 👀. I hope you all enjoy and this is my first time writing smut so, be gentle.

Divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Main masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

“Johnny Storm was seen with the new sensation in the modelling industry yesterday night. Rumor has it-”

You pressed the switch-off button with more force than needed as the squeaky voice of the anchor finally died down. Throwing the remote across the bed, you groaned in agitation.

You were dating Johnny Storm. Everything was going well, the meeting was story worthy, he was handsome, charming and had some good qualities you were looking for. This was the first relationship you got into since entering the film industry. Because you may be a hopeless romantic, but you were also choosy.

You didn’t know what happened in the process that just torpedoed your budding relationship. One day you were walking out of a cafe hand-in-hand and the next day, he was fucking some modelling sensation. Maybe you got lost in translation.

Or maybe he was just a fucking asshole. No matter what happened it showed you his true colors. That or instead of coming to you to talk out his issues, he went around, fucking and ghosted you.

Oh, but that was not the problem. The real problem was that you were shooting a movie with him. A romantic movie, with sex scenes. And you have no idea how you would be able to show any affection or chemistry on the screen without being awkward as fuck. This would be the best test of your acting skills for sure.

“Why do you look like you regret being born?” your friend and manager, Wanda asked as she entered your room.

You glanced at her and rolled your eyes. She was trying to lighten your melancholic mood but, it was of no use. “You know damn well why.”

She sighed. “I know, but you’re a great actress. You could easily pull off a serial killer then a rom-com is nothing for you. Don’t get worked up about it. Just imagine your celebrity crush instead.”

You laughed at that. You worked with people whom the masses considered celebrity and if you had a crush, you’d simply ask them out. So, you’re stuck in that department.

“I appreciate your support and I’ll get over this. Just give me some time. Is that why you came here?”

Wanda shook her head with a smile. “No, actually the PR guy told me to tell you to go to partage restaurant. Someone wants to meet you.”

You frowned. “You know if I started giving time to ‘someones’ then I won’t even be able to breathe. I need the specifics.”

“He didn’t tell me. Said the person didn’t want to be known till you meet them. But he said you need to go or they’ll be pissed and it could pose a problem to your career.”

Some rich asshole again. You pinched your nose in frustration. People really glamorised a celeb’s life but if they knew that you all have to play rich people’s puppets, they wouldn’t be so enthusiastic about it.

“Fine, I’ll go. What time and day?”

“8 p.m Sunday.”

“Great. Now get lost, I need my beauty sleep.”

Your heels clicked on the floor as you stepped inside the restaurant to utter silence.

The usually bustling restaurant was deserted. There was no violin swimming in the air, mingling with the chatter of the expensive people, the polished tables had no spilled drinks and the fine plates had no leftovers. The lobby had no sight of a reception and all the staff had evaporated out of existence. You were half doubting yourself that maybe you arrived at the wrong time or date. Maybe the restaurant was closed.

But all of them vanished when a prim and proper lady approached you. You had never seen her before but you didn’t care to ask if she was new.

“Good evening, ma’am, you may go to the VIP area upstairs. Sir is waiting for you there.” She said in a professional voice.

“Yeah, sure. But can I ask why the restaurant is empty?”

“He booked the entire restaurant.” She said like it was the most normal thing in the world. It was not like this place costed more than the top-paying actors in the Hollywood.

You thanked the woman with a polite smile you went upstairs to get to the VIP section.

The he made you shudder from inside. Another sleazy old man who thought that you would open your legs for him just because he was rich was awaiting you and judging by the stunt he pulled. You’d have to be more tactful.

Reaching the shiny golden doors with a lion emblem, separating the demi-gods from the gods, you knocked on the door of the VIP room.

“Come in.” A thick and deep voice called out, making you frown. How come an old man has such a great voice?

Oh, but how wrong you were. Because, as soon as you opened the door, in front of you, sat a man who was far from aged. He was pure muscles. His rings sparkled in the chandelier lights. Draped in the finest black suit with his blonde hair combed back, sat none other than Steve Rogers, the mafia lord of New York. The one who you have been trying to avoid your entire career. Who posed as a successful businessman but everyone was aware of how he earned his dollars. Just, they were too afraid to acknowledge it.

You couldn’t move an inch, frozen from fear and surprise. You had only met him once, during the premiere of your debut film and people had acted like he wasn’t someone who could wipe them off from the face of the earth without even blinking an eye. That night, his eyes were glued to you like Hades's gaze on Persephone. So intense and consuming that you never wanted to see him again.

And now, here you were.

“Sit down, darling.” He husked out, the sound of alcohol filling his glass reverberating through the walls.

Breaking out of your trance with a gulp. You pulled out the chair and sat down across from him while your heart was in your throat. “Good evening, Mr. Rogers. What brings me the pleasure of your company.’ You managed to get out without your voice cracking.

He smirked and leaned back on his chair. “It’s your beauty, your talent and your creativity that brings you here, sweetheart. I’m a big fan of art and beautiful things, you are both of them.”

“Thank you…” You drawl out, expecting him to continue.

“I liked you the moment I saw you. In your pink dress, you looked so innocent, so shy. Overwhelmed by the media attention. I knew you would do something big so I gave you the freedom to shine and shine you did. However, it looks like your freedom has got to your head.” The last sentence was said with a lower voice and an ominous smile.

Your hands became sweaty as they clamped down on the armrest. “I’m not getting what you are trying to say.” You whispered out.

His chuckle only made your heartbeat faster as he leaned forward and his gaze bore into your soul. “Let me rephrase, I claimed you the moment I saw you. But I knew you had potential so I let you go but your little dance with Johnny Storm made me realise it was time you became mine.”

“What-what did you do?” You choked out but you weren’t sure if you wanted to know the answer.

You yelped as he yanked your chair closer towards him till your knees were touching. Your chest moved rapidly as he leaned closer, his hands covering yours on the armrest.

“Awww, don’t play stupid, honey. Johnny, he’s a himbo and you are mine,” He said as his left hand moved to caress your cheek as you flinched away from his touch. “So, I pulled some strings, fed some mouths with dollars and your cute little on-set romance came to an end.” Your eyes widened in horror as he was the one that ended your relationship with Johnny.

He gripped your face in his big hand and turned your head so that his eyes burned through yours. “Trust me, honey, I was generous with him. I could have him disappear and no one would have given a shit.”

“No.” You whispered, wrenching his hands away. You suddenly stood up from your chair, effectively surprising him.

“No?”

“That is not happening. I don’t want to be with you, I’m sorry.” You stumbled back to the door but before you could touch the doorknob, you were whirled around and pushed against it.

“When did I tell you, you could say no?” Steve growled his hand wrapping around your throat. “If you think you can reject me then you are sorely mistaken, darling. Don’t forget that the production house you work with the most is mine.”

You gasped. How could it be his? It was of Tony Stark, you scorched the earth and back and found no such connection.

Steve noticed your reaction and tsked.“You didn’t know? Don’t worry, you are not stupid sweetheart. The public doesn’t know that Stark is nothing but my pawn.” His other hand snaked around to squeeze your ass through your jeans and you screwed your eyes shut as his touch sent tingles through your body and your breaths became shorter.

He tugged you closer to him with your neck, his breath fanning over your skin. “Now, do you still want to be stubborn?”

Now, you were no dumbo. If Steve can jeopardize your relations with his production then he can also ruin your entire career. Mob involvement in the film industry is an unsaid rule. However, you didn’t know their claws were so deep and sharp.

“And what if I leave? Leave this industry?” What could be more precious than your pride?

He gave you a lopsided grin. “Then you’ll just be the wife of Steve Rogers who was an actress. Remember princess, I’ll never leave you alone. If I held onto you for three years what makes you think I’ll not find you and drag you to my hell?”

Tears threatened your waterline as you murmured. “You are really forcing me?” What a stupid question to be asking a mobster.

He let out a throaty chuckle and moved his hand from your neck to his pant pocket however he was still invading your private space as his lips were inches away from your lips. “I’m giving you options: either come willingly or I’ll force you. Your choice, darling.”

He fished out a silver card from his pocket, tracing the sharp and cold edges of it on your face, meandering down your neck and stopping only when it reached the valley of your breast. You gasped harshly when he slid the card inside your bra, the chilled hard paper resting against your warm skin.

“My number, call me when you make a decision. You have one week.” He whispered against your lips before sealing the unspoken vow with a kiss.

With that he slipped away from your body and took his seat again like dark clouds gilding away from the moon before shortly, engulfing it once again. He resumed sipping from his glass like nothing serious happened and said nonchalantly. “You can go now.”

You ran to your car like you were burned. Which you were, your soul was burning. Burning from the choices you were given. Which was essentially choosing which cage you preferred better, golden or grey.

“Did you like the dinner?” Steve asked in his deep voice as he sat across from you at the dining table.

Blinking your eyes away from the full moon that shone outside the dining room window, you glanced at Steve and nodded. “Yes, I liked it.”

You did come to him willingly in the end, after all, what choice did you have? The moment you admitted your defeat and called Steve flashed in front of your eyes. His smug and triumphant words ringing in your ears.

“Nice choice, princess.”

“You seem to like the moon a lot,” Steve observed as his piercing gaze never left you, noting your every move and reaction.

You looked down at your hands, clasped in front of you. His presence still sent chills of fear down your spine. His imposing figure and intense gaze made your heart race. Not to mention the way his eyes sparkled with desire and lust whenever they laid upon you.

“Yes, the night is beautiful.” You replied softly.

“Do you want to go upstairs? In the balcony for a better view? I also have a very pretty garden.” Steve offered and you refrained from frowning.

From the moment you accepted his advances, Steve has been acting like the perfect lover. Sending flowers, expensive gifts, wanting to have nice and deep conversations and supporting you in your work. But still, you couldn’t decipher if he was actually being nice or plain manipulative.

However, you had grown tired, sitting and chatting in the room, the walls suffocating you. “I would like that.”

Steve grinned and stood up from his chair, taking a few long strides he reached you and offered you his hand. “Let’s go.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile, slipping your hand in his, you got up. You sucked a sharp breath when his hand tightened around your smaller one and his eyes grew darker. You ignored the building tension as he led you upstairs, to the balcony.

His mansion was spectacular, painted beige with marble murals. It resembled old French castles with intricate paintings from Greek mythology on walls to railing carved with various plant and flower motifs.

When he said he enjoyed beauty, he wasn’t bluffing.

Stepping on the top floor, there was a lounge area with a fireplace on the right and a couch on the left. In front was the glass door leading to the balcony. Steve opened the door and you had to hold back your gasp as the view was absolutely breathtaking.

It had the same marble railing as before and also had a sitting space for two people with two chairs and one glass table, perfect for a cosy morning or evening. The balcony ran along the entire top floor, connected with all the rooms.

However, the main highlight was the enormous garden that stood before your eyes. Tall trees were perched vertically of all types, some bearing fruits, some flowers and some none. Speaking of flowers, bright, colourful flowers adorned the garden like jewels. Rose, jasmine, sunflower, etc scattered all over with moonlight pouring on them.

It was straight out of a princess movie and you could spend your entire life wandering inside it, reading books under the tree shade.

“It’s gorgeous.” You whispered to Steve as you stepped forward, leaning on the railing.

“I know, my mother made it. She wanted me to keep the garden big and flourishing. So, I put everything I could to keep it perfect.” Steve revealed and moved behind you, his body pressing against yours.

You were so engrossed in gazing at the garden that you missed his hand coming to cover yours and he laid a soft kiss on your cheek.

“What are you doing?” You questioned as you tried to step away from his grip but he had you trapped.

“Enjoying my view,” He said as he gripped your hips and pressed them against him, his semi-hard cock pressing against your ass. “See what you do to me?”

His lips trailed down, kissing and sucking on your neck. His left hand travelled from your hips to your breast, he squeezed the underside of your tities while grinding his erection against your bottom. Your breathing was getting heavy as he continued to massage your boobs and sucked on your neck, collarbone and shoulder.

You had to refrain from biting your lips. His strong body and demanding moves were making you unwillingly wet. But he forced you into a relationship you didn’t want, you didn’t want this, right?

“I don’t want to do it.” You whispered despite wanting nothing but his hands under your scarlet dress.

“No?” He chuckled. “Let’s check, shall we?” He whispered seductively in your ear.

Your eyes widened as you thrashed in his grip but he stopped all your attempts to deny the truth with a hand around your neck and a squeeze that made you go still. His other hand glided under your dress and found your panties damp.

“Your pussy proved you wrong, princess.” He said with a smug laugh. He sucked at your pulse point as his fingers moved your lace panties aside and caressed your folds. The suddenness made you let out a choked moan as your hold tightened on the railing.

His words embarrassed you but you couldn’t deny that his touch was making your body betray you. He played your body like an instrument.

His fingers ran along your petals, spreading your arousal and brushing your clit, his index finger teasing your entrance when he abruptly stopped.

You blinked, gasping and panting. You were about to glance at him in confusion when he bent you over, your head resting against the marble railing as he went down on his knees, bunching up your dress around your waist. He ripped off your panties, the sound heating your cheeks with humiliation.

“You deserve to be punished.” He said through gritted teeth as he slapped your clit, making you jerk at the delicious sting as he spread your legs wider for him so your pussy was on full display. Wet and ready.

“Spank your ass till it’s burning for going out with that pathetic excuse of a man Johnny or have Bucky watch you as I fuck you senseless. He’s also a fan after all." He spread your labia and sucked on your clit, making you moan out loud as your stomach flipped.

“But I can’t, because this pussy is too tempting of a distraction.” He lamented as his lips went down to your pussy and his tongue teased your cunt with slow yet precise strokes.

Your left hand moved to his hair and tugged on the blonde locks as his administration made your clit pulsate with need. You couldn’t decipher whether you wanted him to stop or continue.

He tutted on you pulling his hair. You whimpered at the loss of his mouth on your pussy when the clicking of his belt echoed in the empty space. He yanked both your hands behind your back and secured them in place with his belt, the grip firm but not harsh.

“No.Touching.” He growled in your ear as his words were accentuated by a slap on each of your buttcheeks, making you whimper in pain and pleasure as you let your forehead rest against the cool marble and he knelt again.

He took your clit in his mouth again but with more ferocity as your pussy clenched around nothing, “Oh my god, Steve yes!” You mewled.

“Captain or I won’t let you cum.” He commanded as his fingers joined in and drew slow and teasing circles around your cunt.

“Captain, please.” You pleaded as your orgasm started to build up in your stomach.

“Good girl, that’s my good girl.” He finally eased his index finger inside of you, his thick and long finger filling your pussy and you were afraid as to how you were going to take his cock as his finger alone stretched your vagina.

He pumped his finger in and out of you all the while kissing and sucking your clit. When you bucked into his finger he added another one, exploring your velvety walls to find your spot that would make you sing. He curled his fingers when you dripped around his fingers and mouth.

“Mhmm, captain. Feels so good.” You cried out as your climax was approaching you faster, your skin glistening with sweat under the pale moonlight. It was so embarrassing, being this crying and moaning mess he had turned you into. His hands kneading your thighs and ass.

“Are you going to cum, princess?” Steve asked in a husky voice as he kept up his pace, replacing his mouth with his thumb to grow circles around the bundle of nerves,

Your skin was on ablaze, the coil tightening in your belly as you were tethering on the of falling apart. “Yes, Captain. Please let me cum.” You requested, spellbound. He didn’t need to ask you to beg, you were already sliding into your subspace. His finger found your g spot as he twisted his fingers, making you whimper as your breath shuddered.

He snickered, sending vibrations through your body. “I didn’t know you were so obedient, good to know.”His hand came down on your clit and it was the final straw that threw you over the edge.

You came with a loud moan as the blinding pleasure brought tears to your eyes and you gushed around his lips and fingers, coating his chin. He lapped all your juice, his pace not halting as he drank your nectar greedily.

Your body was quivering from the force of your orgasm, your heart racing as you tried to collect yourself.

Steve got up on his feet and you almost collapsed when he wrapped a sturdy hand around your shaking body, pressing you against his chest. He jutted your chin up and grinned down at you. “Aw, you already look so fucked out darling but it’s just the beginning, we have the whole night.” He smashed his lips with yours, swallowing your tired whimpers and moans.

After devouring your mouth and leaving you breathless. He picked you up and started walking to his left. You were too dizzy to notice your surroundings till you were hitting silk bed sheet and plush mattress. You glanced at Steve through your hazy vision as he stood at the end of the bed.

He smirked down at you. “How about you return the favour, sweetheart? Strip.” He ordered and it was enough to clear your mind of any hangover.

Your hand snaked to your back and you slid down the zipper and pulled off your dress, your breast clad in red lace coming into view as you completely removed the dress and discarded it on the floor.

You then unclasped your bra, trepidation and anticipation mingling together as your boobs spilled out. Now, you were completely naked, your panties already torn and tossed away.

“On your hands and knees.” He commanded as he quickly unbuttoned his shirt, his abs and chest made your mouth water and you wanted to grab and touch him but shook away the thoughts.

You got on your hands and knees, clothes rustling till the bed dipped behind you. Steve ran his hand up your spine, sneaking underneath to grop your breast. You mewled as his thumb tweaked your pebbled nipples, twisting and flickering the buds till you were writhing under him.

His other hand smacked your ass, causing you to whimper. “Spread your legs more, I want to see that pussy.”

You spread your legs some more, displaying your glistening cunt to Steve’s hungry gaze. “You have such a pretty pussy.” He said as he played with you enough that you were whining before he rubbed the tip of his cock over your cunt, spreading your arousal and his pre cum.

You shuddered, you had an inclining that he was big but how much? That you didn’t know since you couldn’t see his dick from your position.

He slapped the head of his cock on your pussy and you visibly shuddered. He did it a few more times before you were dripping for him and was on the verge of sobbing in frustration.

“Such a shame that it is about to get ruined by my big cock.” He declared and pushed the tip inside you. You moaned as you awaited your eventual mounting.

You clutched the silky sheets as he slowly bottomed out, your walls spasmed as they tried to accommodate his length. You were so full already and he was gracious enough to give you time to adjust. All the while he explored your body, kissing your spine, kneading and spanking your thighs, ass and breasts. His touch was electrifying and in no time, you were whimpering for him to move.

“Ah, someone is getting impatient.” Steve mocked but began moving out of your hot channel. He was slow and deliberate, his girth dragged through your walls and your pussy fluttered.

He hissed. “Don’t do that darling if you want to walk the next day.” He pulled out all the way, only the tip remained inside. Pushing your head further into the pillow as he slammed inside your cunt in one stroke, taking your breath away.

“Look at your pussy, pulling me in and clenching around me,” He grunted as his hold on your hips tightened. He looked where you two were connected and sighed in awe. “I didn’t know you were such a slut, you look so innocent. But look at you now, dripping around a man’s dick you barely know,” He pulled out again and thrusted back in with the same power. The slow yet rough pace he set made you cry out in pleasure as your climax started to stir in your lower belly again. “But I like how cockdrunk you are that you just don’t give a shit anymore.” He groaned and pulled out.

He changed his angle slightly and when he thrusted back again, he hit your g-spot and you screamed, flames of pleasure intensifying. He tugged you by the hair, pressing you against his toned chest. “Tell me that you are my slut.” He growled in my ear.

“I’m your slut, Captain!” you said breathlessly as his deep thrusts made you gasp.

His hand came to your clit and his thumb started drawing circles, making you tremble in his grip. “Yes, you are my slut. My fuck toy, who would let me do whatever I want and whenever I want with her because I own you now. Repeat what I have said.” He thrusted harder and if it wasn't for his strong grip, you would have fallen down.

“I'm your fuck toy. You can do whatever you want and whenever you want with me because you own me now.” You cried.

“Such a good obedient girl- Ahh, taking my cock so well. Now, you are going to ask me to make you cum.” He groaned his thumb sped up. Leaning down, he sucked on your pulse point, surely leaving a hickey, marking you as his.

“Please Captain, let me cum! Let me cum around your big cock.” You squealed out. Tilting your face upwards he kissed, hard and rough, you moaned against his lips as you tasted yourself on him.

“Good girl, now cum for me.” He demanded as fingers and thumb pinched your clit, his cock hitting your sweet spot in quick succession.

You shrieked ‘captain’ as you came around his girth, squirting on his dick. “Good, what a good little slut for your captain.” He moaned in satisfaction as he nibbled at your earlobe, fucking you through your release.

He let go of you when your shaking died down. Your face fell on the pillow as you tried to catch your breath. Your fucked out mind didn’t register that he didn’t come till you were being flipped on your back. Coming face-to-face with his annoyingly handsome face.

“You didn’t think it was over, did you?” He rasped with a smirk as he plunged into your cunt once again, but this time with more fervour.

You instantly mewled but the overstimulation and coming two times had worn you out, you weren’t used to this. You attempted to scoot away from Steve. “I-I can’t, too much.”

He pulled you back down on his cock, wrapping your legs around his waist. He restrained your hands over his head with one hand, leaving you unable to escape the pleasure he was giving you. “You can and you will. Get used to it, sweetheart. I’m being gentle right now,” He growled as he moved on top of you.

The pace was rough and fast, the bed rattling with each thrust, your boobs jiggled from the speed. He placed his hand on your lower stomach. “Do you feel me here?” He asked, the belly bulge sending shivers down your spine.

“Yes, I do, Captain.” You managed to choke out as he pounded in your pussy mercilessly.

“Then enjoy it, honey. Enjoy, writhing and moaning underneath me. My cock stretching your tight cunt, because that’s where you belong. Taking my cock like a good little fuck doll.” He husked as the force of his thrust increased with each passing second. The pain and pleasure mixing made tears fall from your eyes, the knot tightening yet again.

Steve leaned over you, kissing your tears, trailing down to your neck and then your boobs, groping and licking the plump area before taking your pebbled nipples into his hot mouth.

“Oh my god!” Your back arched, pleasure zapping through your body like thunder as his hot tongue sucked on your nipples and his hand massaged your other breast. All the while his thick cock rammed into you, his pubic areas brushing your clit.

Your hands jolted to touch him but he had your hands pinned above. You shut your eyes and enjoyed the unyielding pleasure he was bestowing upon you as pressure built up for the third time in your stomach. Your moans and his grunts bounced off the wall, so did the clapping sound of skin slapping against the skin.

Suddenly, his grasp loosened before coolness touched your ring finger. You looked up as he slid a beautiful sapphire ring into your finger, sealing your fate with his forever. You managed out a surprised gasp. He brought your hand down and pinned it to your side, giving you a proper view of the ring as it sparkled under the stark glowing moon.

“Imagine me, sweetheart,” Your breath caught in your throat as his speed grew frantic, his cock hitting the deepest part of your cunt as he chased his own release. “Imagine me when you have to romance on screen with some pitiful A-list actor.” He whispered in your ear, intertwining your hands with his as he kissed your lips. It was softer than the previous ones but no less demanding.

“Imagine me when you have to pretend to fuck someone on set. Because I know,” He whispered against your lips before lowering his hand to your clit and he drew fast circles on the bundle of nerves to help you fall apart.

Steve cursed under his breath and thrusted faster when your walls clenched his dick. “Because I know that I have ruined you for any other man. Ruined this pussy for anyone except me. So, imagine me when you kiss a man and realize that he’ll never make you feel this good.” You nodded along his words as tears streamed down your cheeks, smearing your eyeliner and mascara but he paid no heed to it. Rather, enjoying your fucked out state.

The fullness of his dick inside your pussy and the overwhelming stimulation finally tipped you over the edge as you came the hardest and it hit you like a tsunami.

After some more brutal thrust, he came inside of you with a loud groan. His hot cum spilling inside your abused cunt as it milked him dry. He pumped into you a few more times, giving you every last drop of his seed and staying inside your warm channels till his cock softened.

He put his forehead against yours as he finally pulled out and you almost whined at the loss of dick but restrained yourself as his cum leaked out of your hole.

Only heavy breaths echoed in the spacious room as both of you caught your breath. You were beyond regaining your previous strength as you couldn’t even move a muscle. However, Steve recovered shortly afterwards as he kissed your forehead and whispered smugly. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? I think you even enjoyed it.”

You didn’t answer because he was right, you enjoyed every bit of it even if you didn’t want to. Before you could drown yourself in self-pity. Steve picked you up and took you to his bathroom to soak you in a nice, warm bath…

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers au #mob steve #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers x reader au #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x fem!reader #steve rogers x female reader #mob steve rogers #CT 2024 raffle entry

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anika-ann · 4 months ago

Text

Caught (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, fluff, they were roommates and idiots trope

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 8,2k

Summary: You hadn’t exactly planned to get caught in the rain. Then again, people rarely do. But you did.

You hadn’t plan to get caught in the soft spiderweb of feelings for Steve Rogers when your friend had set you up as roommates. Then again, people rarely do. But you did. It was impossible not to.

Arriving at your shared apartment soaking wet sees Steve springing into action to warm you up… and send you falling deeper in love with him with every passing second. But hey – what else was new, right?

Warnings: tooth-rottng FLUFF, idiots-in-love trope, they were ROOMMATES trope, brief mention of PTSD and its symptoms, one gratuitous 'fuck' and French

A/N: cross-written for the Winds of Autumn challenge hosted by @the-slumberparty and for @elixirfromthestars ' writing challenge. Thank you ALL for hosting and breathing live into the community 💕 for WoA I chose 'caught in the cold rain' for the WChallenge I chose “ Why don’t you tell me what I can do to make your day better?”

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @steviebbboi ;enjoy y'all 🥰

This was all your fault; it really was.

There was no one else to blame for your current state.

Soaking wet, hair and clothes dripping alike, shaking so hard you nearly dropped your keys when trying to fit it into the keyhole.

A few minutes was all it took.

And yes; it was all on you.

You had practically been praying for a sweater weather. You had been so fed up with the unbearable summer heat still gripping the reigns even mid-September that you prayed and begged and swore you might be able to kill a man for a single breath of autumn.

So clearly, you had called this upon yourself.

In all fairness, you had wished for Indian summer; the normal late September weather. The light sweater weather. You certainly hadn’t been hoping to be thrown into the weather of seasonal depression, the temperature drop equalling a time machine bringing the end of November to the air and people’s hearts alike. Unforgiving icy wind, endless downpours, poking umbrellas all around, ever-present grumbling as one’s coat brushed against another, the dampness and cold seeping into yours and everyone else’s bones.

Nothing nice and prayers-worthy about that.

The thing was, this had been a daily reality for about a week now – and so one would think you were well-equipped to deal with the weather at least.

Except like the fool you were, you left your waterproof jacket at home, because you had believed today’s weather forecast, confident that the desired sweet and slightly crispy autumn was coming at last.

You and the meteorologists had been wrong.

But that wasn’t the worst part, no – the worst part would be your giddy optimism in the face a sudden NY underground failure.

Taking the ride home from work, you had nearly slammed into people surrounding you in the train at the sudden slam of breaks. A system failure, apparently. Caused by the damage to the network due to previous intense rains. A mishap stopping the trains in their stations, forcing people out.

And like the optimistic half-wit, trying to find a bright side and making the most of a miserable situation, you had thought, hey, it’s only a few blocks from here! No rain on the horizon for a change. What an opportunity to soak in the lovely autumn weather! The buses and taxis will be packed, and walking is good for health anyway.

And sure it was. And you ended up soaking indeed.

The brutal downpour and icy wind caught you in about ten minutes after you had taken off to your brisk walk.

You seriously doubted there was any benefit to your health at all, safe for maybe points to your mental resilience and an excuse to stay in bed with a book and a cup of hot chocolate next week, because you were about to catch a grade-A case of cold.

By the time you got to your apartment door, you were ready to flop on the floor the moment you’d stumble inside, uncaring for the wet smack you’d make against the hardwood or the carpet should you make it further into the apartment.

Except you knew the floor would be unforgivingly hard either way, and cold and you first had to get out of your dripping shoes and then the drenched clothes sticking to your body like a second skin and it would take you forever to strip with how shaky and numb your fingers had turned, the only sensation being cold and stiffness bordering on pain and for god’s sake could you at least stick the damn key into the goddamn keyhole-

You finally opened the door with a gratuitous ‘fuck’ on your lips, practically throwing the door open.

And were met with a surprised sleepy supersoldier blinking at your owlishly, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his white sleepshirt crumbled, the perfect case of bed hair and confused expression completing the most telling startled-from-his-sleep-but-not-Avenger-level-alarmed look.

Even in your state you had to admit he was adorable in a way men built like mountains shouldn’t.

You stared at each other mutely for several seconds, as if both surprised by each other’s presence – or at least state – processing.

You, drenched from rain and puddles, cold-dried by the wind, shivering all over and barely keeping your teeth from clattering as to hold onto the last shreds of your dignity and sanity.

Steve, still slightly disoriented, having just been woken up. Woken up by you, most likely, you thought regretfully, cursing your life-choices again. He was a light sleeper – a mere jiggle of keys would have interrupted his slumber, let alone your endless fumbling around the lock.

You spoke at the same time.

“I’m sorry for wak-” “What happened to you?”

Your voice trailed off, a chuckle of irony echoing in the back of your head.

What happened to you?

That was a question a lot more loaded that it might seem.

What had happened to lead you to this place, facing a sleepy Greek-godlike figure with a concerned look on his face?

A whole lot of coincidences; a whole lot of fate, maybe.

Sam Wilson, a friend from childhood, with whom you had only reconnected a few years ago.

You, having been looking for an apartment ever since your landlord had announced he planned to sell the building to a huge corporation which would, from then on, only rent the apartments to its employees.

Sam again, looking to move in with his girlfriend, claiming he was leaving a roommate behind, who would appreciate a kind, trustworthy and reliable replacement.

Your ‘Gee, thanks’.

‘Wait, no, he didn’t word it exactly like that,’ Sam had assured you. ‘I promise, he’s a real stand-up guy. Sure, a guy, but a respectful one and a neat one, with a sprinkle of a neat freak on top. He’s a great roommate and one of my best friends – I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t believe it could work.’

That was what your friend had said. And you believed him.

One thing led to another.

What Sam had conveniently failed to mention was that his real stand-up guy was a hulking drop-dead gorgeous supersoldier with the sweetest soul on the damn planet. Or maybe in the universe – what did you know? The universe had got a lot bigger ever since you found out it was perfectly possible for aliens to rain down from the sky through some kind of a hole in spacetime.

What Sam had conveniently failed to mention was that your future roommate was one of the heroes from the superhero band that had stopped these very aliens from taking over planet Earth.

After processing – even though you weren’t sure you’d ever finish processing – that you would share an apartment with Captain America, you accepted.

After all, you certainly weren’t one to look a gifted horse in the mouth; experience told you that could have done a lot worse than landing a person vetted by Sam Wilson and by a potentially world-ending event for a roommate.

In fact, you soon learned you couldn’t have done any better.

Steve was all the things Sam had promised.

And besides being the perfect person to share an apartment with, besides being the paragon of justice itself with a sprinkle of neat freak on top, he was also shockingly human.

Steve was a guy who had a routine until he didn’t, his schedule a little funny. He split housework with you in a way that left both of you content even as you felt he was doing a little bit more than his part whenever he could. He enjoyed cooking and baking and drawing and generally working with his hands, fixing any household issues before they could develop into a problem. Sometimes, nights found him in the living room with a book in his hand and quiet movie for a background when he couldn’t sleep. Sometimes, he left dirty dishes in the sink and a toothbrush on the basin instead of putting it into the holder and sometimes he forgot to put the toilet seat down. He was painfully respectful of your privacy and of your sleep alike whenever he was coming back at strange times, almost absurdly so for a man who seemed to barely fit in a doorway.

He had a sharp mind and a subtle but deadly sense of humour on a good day and a quiet demeanour on a bad day, usually after a sleepless or nightmare-filled nights, which were always followed by him walking around the apartment with his sweats tucked into his socks because the draught and the cold on his ankles clearly bothered him. The list could go on and on and it was rather embarrassing for you, the idea for just how long you could keep listing things you observed about Steve and his habits and him; but the point was that he was a guy who was absurdly ordinary guy and extraordinary in about everything at once.

He had introduced as Steve the very day you had met, clearly not standing for any of your Captain, Sir, Captain Rogers nonsense.

He became Steve to you soon after.

He turned dear to you just as fast.

You weren’t sure when it happened; when your relationship shifted from sharing an apartment to sharing a life. It happened gradually, through dinners and breakfasts and films watched together; through nights he found you on the couch, barely awake or already sleeping after having been waiting for him even as he had told you not to; through late-night talks, about both things you were passionate about and things you wished you could forget.

You weren’t sure when this man, larger than life in both frame and heart, became your close friend.

You weren’t sure when the small butterflies that appeared in your stomach every time he smiled turned so all-consuming, spreading their wings through your whole body, circling around your heart.

It must have happened somewhere between his first smile and the sparkle in his warm blue eyes, between the tear-streaked cheeks when you found his shaking breathless body curled on the floor, between a hug and holding your hand when he drove you back from your wisdom teeth removal surgery because no one else was available, between every single minute you had the fortune to spend in his company and those you couldn’t, longing for him instead.

Somewhere in between, you must have fallen in love, the urgent feeling in your chest slowly turning unbearable and heavy. It burned, to stifle it inside, the one secret you wouldn’t share for the fear of breaking something as precious to you as your peaceful life with Steve the friend.

You weren’t sure when exactly it happened, but it got you there.

It got you here; into this very moment, just like many others, facing him and rendered speechless for a breath or two, because god, was he handsome and lovely and sweetly worried and an image of domesticity at once and you were hit with a sharp tug of a feeling whispering of coming home.

What happened to you, Steve had asked, his gaze turning more concerned by the second as you remained silent safe for the rustle of your soaked jacket you had started to strip at some point and the one clatter of your teeth you failed to stifle.

What did happen again?

“Got caught in a rain,” you rasped, stating the painfully obvious. “Underground broke down. Thought I’d walk…”

Steve frowned, sleepiness wiped off his face to give way to compassion and sternness at once, a sigh leaving his lips as he slowly neared you.

“Seemed like a smart idea at the time…” you continued when he didn’t say a word, just gently – always so gently dammit – pushed at the door to get it closed at last, his arms quietly coming around you, engulfing you in his embrace. Your heart startled at the gesture. “Steve, no, I’ll get you all we---wow okay, this is nice, you’re really warm-“

He chuckled sweetly above your head as you babbled, protests dying on your lips with a sound resembling a whine and moan as his warmth enveloped you, so relieving and inviting, prompting you to melt against his firm and yet painfully soft body.

His voice carried an admonishing note as you trembled against him, his warmth and pleasant scent of comfort seeping into your body while the cold and smell of rain soaked him in return. You did not care for the scolding; it was a kind one. And Steve still was still holding you – that was the important part.

And the most painful one.

"You could have called,” he said, like a sweet, even if already lost bargain. “I’d come get you.”

You pressed closer to him, clearly having a glutton for punishment.

Those few innocent words burned through you like the most tender wildfire. An inflection and tone that couldn’t have been good for your heart and yet you revelled in them; a statement that felt like an oath:

I‘d come get you.

I’d always come get you.

I’d do anything for you.

Something so close to love, in your reach and yet untouchable, because he didn’t mean it – he couldn’t mean it, because Steve Rogers had a large heart, but surely would have told you if you had occupied space in it that way.

And yet he held your own heart in his palms and he didn’t even know. Was it wrong you let the gentle words wash over you and let them warm you just as much as Steve’s arms, even if they meant something different than you’d wish?

You gulped, a shiver that had nothing to do with cold running down your spine.

“You only got in like three hours earlier,” you reasoned, forcing yourself to focus on the practical matters as not to slip into whispering a true confession; and perhaps doing so anyway along the way. It was true, however; as per habit and your request, Steve had texted you he was home safe and sound barely few hours ago. Knowing that led you to immediately weed out the mere idea of calling him to pick you up as it appeared in your mind the moment the downpour started. You were aware, however bittersweet the knowledge was, that he would come – that was why you hadn’t called. For his benefit. “You needed to sleep.”

Steve sighed again. And you needed to be picked up, you heard in the weary and yet somehow fond sound.

He didn’t argue, however; his hold grew tighter, appreciative, his broad hand, oh so warm, running up and down your back, pressing a little stronger than he normally would in a hug; allowing the heat of his body sink deeper, into your very bones, sending you sinking deeper into the warmth blooming in your chest as well.

Pressed against his front, you couldn’t but breathe in, allowing everything that was Steve overwhelm over your senses. The woodsy notes and musk of his cologne, the soft material of his sleepshirt burning almost too hot as it clung to his body, the smooth movements of his rough hands, his warm breath brushing your scalp, the image of his minute smile behind your closed eyelids, his voice humming in his ribcage and filling your ears like honey.

“Why don’t you tell me what I can do to make your day better?”

His question was so genuine – and a little wavery in a way that made your belly tingle in response. Tell me what I can do and I will do it. Just say the word, it seemed to whisper in your head, your heart protesting and fluttering in your chest.

You already are, you almost replied as the shudders subdued slowly despite both of you now soaking. You’re back home. You’re safe. You’re with me. And you’re warm. And big. And strong. And you smell good. And you’re holding me oh so tight and gentle and it feels so profoundly nice and you really are warm and maybe this new shiver running down my back isn’t just that I’m cold, maybe it’s that naïve hope of which I should have let go of so long ago-

He noticed the fresh wave of tremble of whose origin you yourself weren’t entirely sure of – your weather escapades or the escapades of your poor heart – and the caress up and down your back grew faster, more of a rubbing to create warmth than a soothing gesture.

“Okay, doll, you’re getting into the bathtub right away. What can I do in the meantime?”

In spite of his words, a benevolent order one might say, he didn’t let go.

Despite his question sounding urgent, you took your time responding; because it took a huge portion of your willpower not to tell him to just keep holding you.

“…hot chocolate?” you suggested meekly, a shy but slightly mischievous smile tugging at your lips when Steve released you at last, those big warm paws of his settling on your shoulders for a moment. “And you should probably change.”

He glanced at his wet clothes self-deprecatingly, as if it was his fault – and in a way, you supposed it was. But you weren’t complaining. The wet fabric clung to his body in the most delicious way, no matter the scepticism he observed it with.

When his gaze met yours again, his smile was the sun itself; but you still missed the heat of his body against your skin.

“You got it, doll. Come on.”

Much to your regret and salvation, he released you completely. You still graced him with a grateful and once again shaky smile which you could and should blame on the loss of his body heat.

“Thanks, Steve. You’re the best.”

And he was.

And if that wasn’t becoming a bigger problem by the minute.

With some of Steve’s warmth lingering – mainly the one his actions and demeanour awoke deep within your body – you managed to get rid of your clothes with enough ease and patience to have the bathtub fill with steaming hot water before climbing in. Sinking into the water then felt about as pleasant as sinking into Steve’s embrace had been – except this time, it was the rest of your body which appreciated the heat, warming you from the outside, tension leaving your muscles, your brain relaxing and slipping into a mindless haze, an absent smile forming on your lips.

You soaked in the tub for long enough to almost fall asleep and slide under the water; the only thing convincing you to fight the slumber off – perhaps besides, well, drowning – was the premise of a delicious cup of hot chocolate made with utmost care and Steve’s company, all the more appreciated since you knew he’d stay for at least five minutes even as he was no doubt falling asleep on his feet himself.

Not wanting to keep him waiting any longer, your climbed from the tub, rushed through your routine and emerged from the bathroom with steam following you, no doubt making for an image of cosiness with your blissfully dry comfortable clothes, complete with fuzzy socks.

Steve must have agreed with your assessment, because he greeted you with a grin.

He had left the two mugs of top tier hot chocolate with actual melted pieces of the treat and whipped cream on top on the kitchen counter, having brought two blankets for the couch, now fumbling with the tv remote. A quick glance around the apartment told you that while you were nearly nodding off in the bathroom, he had made a quick work of cleaning the mess you had left behind; electric shoe dryers already placed in your boots, your drenched jacket near the heating with plastic film spread on the floor as not to do any damage.

You could kiss the lop-sided smile he gave you when you thanked him, your heart hammering in your chest with excitement and longing when he nodded towards the couch. To an outsider, the scene could easily appear as a quiet night in of a couple; a thoughtful beautiful man setting everything up for a date night full of seeking joy in simple domesticity and quiet intimacy.

One day, Steve Rogers was about to make someone incredibly happy.

The idea strung a sharp but brief note of jealousy in your chest, a lump growing in your throat as the rational part of you mocked you that the person wasn’t you. You would have known by now if you were; even though spending time with him did make you all kinds of happy.

You forced a smile through the light sting of tears, trying to stop your mind from racing and spiralling about the thought of having to move out to make space for the vaguely gorgeous and brilliant woman; or maybe sooner, just to put your heart at ease, because with every beat of it you felt yourself falling deeper into the trap of loving this man. It was beginning to hurt; and still, you approached him, smiling.

“Looking cosy. Feeling better?”

You nodded, unable to resist and placing your hand over Steve’s arm, his soft blues finding your gaze.

“Thank you, Steve. Really.”

The lopsided smile returned, his fingers brushing your shoulder. God, he was so close and all you’d have to do was to stand on your tiptoes. You’d kiss his cheek, a purely innocent display of gratitude of course, just to feel his smooth skin against your lips once-

You needed to get a grip. The brief hypothermia you had suffered was messing with your brain and was lowering your inhibitions and that was not good.

“Anytime,” he assured you, nodding towards the screen. “We don’t have to, but I was wondering if you maybe wanted to watch a movie? I feel like we could both use that. But if you’d rather be alone-“

You shook your head quickly, your smile coming easier now because of the absurdity and thoughtfulness of his question at once. To be alone when he was there? No thank you. Who cared that the rational part of your brain huffed again, telling you that maybe that would be a better idea unless you wanted to torture yourself with false hopes.

Saying no was not an option.

You really must have had a glutton for punishment; but in some ways, you learned Steve suffered from the same condition. So maybe that was just his persona rubbing on off you… And thank you, brain, for the worst possible choice of words.

You cleared your throat.

“A movie sounds great,” you said, the mental image of you throwing its hands in the air, grumbling something about your poor old heart. Steve was still very softly holding onto your shoulder though, facing you, mere foot apart; who expected you to think rationally in these conditions? “Fair warning though, I almost fell asleep in the tub. Might fall asleep half-way through this.”

Steve grinned, stepping back to get the mugs and beckoning towards the couch again as to tell you to get settled. You obeyed without protest; you knew him well enough to be aware there was no point in trying to get your mug yourself.

He was the nurturing kind of friend.

“Does that mean I get to choose the movie so you can blame your social and cultural ignorance on my choices?” he teased.

He was also the loveable little shit kind of friend.

“Rude… and I would never,” you protested, accepting the offering of the hot chocolate, now indeed all cosy, tucked in a blanket, sitting comfortably and wrapping your hands around the mug to warm your palms further. “…but deal.”

Steve’s laugh was perhaps warmer than the mug and sweeter than its content, but you stomped at the thought as soon as it popped up in your head. You had no time nor capacity for nonsense. You had a nice evening ahead.

Better not to ruin it.

You weren’t sure what you’d expected, but this was not it.

You had warned Steve about the possibility of you nodding off; after all, beyond having exhausted your body with the less-than-pleasant walk, nearly falling asleep in a bathtub and getting all comfortable on the couch, you had expected the large amount of sugar you’d consume to take its toll eventually and push you over the edge, the infamous sugar crash being the last straw.

You had expected to be out as a light in a matter of minutes, to be honest.

You had not expected the effect of all the warmth and sugars to evaporate much faster than that.

You were maybe twenty minutes into the movie and the anticipated sleep barely scratched the door of your consciousness; instead, the first reluctant shivers arrived. Blatantly ignoring Steve’s subtle side-eye and entirely obvious worry, you sank deeper into the couch, pulling the second blanket over yourself, tucking it all the way up to your chin, curling into yourself to preserve the warmth.

Thirty minutes in, you were shaking so hard Steve paused the movie, a crease forming between his eyebrows as he turned his upper body to you, right hand reaching out before pausing a few inches from your forehead.

“Can I?”

You hummed noncommittally, wondering yourself if maybe your grade-A case of cold was arriving sooner than expected and a fever already hit.

You were feeling just fine though; it was just the damn shivers which you couldn’t seem to stop.

Steve’s hand gently settled against your forehead, his frown deepening almost as if he could feel your heart speed up at the contact and didn’t approve. Which you knew was nonsense, because his whole mind was probably already consumed by the mission of assessing whether his inner Nurse Rogers should come out, but it worked well for cooling off your train of thought.

“It doesn’t feel like you have a fever, but we should probably check,” he hummed thoughtfully, shifting, prepared to rise his feet in search of the thermometer.

Your hand shot up from its safe warm haven, missing the target of his forearm but sending clear enough message to stop him.

He settled back down with a sigh, his hand sliding from your forehead over your cheek to the side of your neck, a delightful source of warmth spreading through your whole body and your suddenly deadly heartrate; a flicker of an image in which he’d place his hand exactly there and leaned forward, his lips brushing yours, nudged insistently at your brain.

You battled it with violent effort, refusing to even consider the soft look in Steve’s eyes was anything but concern for a good friend.

Because that was all it was: concern. What if you turned into an icicle, right? He had seen weirder things than that and he had spent whole seventy years frozen. He was naturally very worried about you having to endure the same.

“I’m fine,” you assured him with a smile that was shaky due to everything but cold. “Just my thermoregulation going haywire after all the excitement today--- Jesus how are you always so warm…”

Steve ignored your question, his hand still firmly set on your neck, the most delicious source of heat, his eyes roaming your embarrassingly shaking form.

“I’ve had a lot of practice with cold,” he said absently.

You could practically hear the wheels in his head turning, even as you were quite busy keeping your teeth from clattering. His eyes were so startingly blue, with the lightest speckle of green standing out for some reason, mesmerizing and warm as if to wreck the theory of these two colours normally belonging to the cold scale and you heart was positively about to beat your way out of your chest, because it appeared as if he was leaning forward a bit and maybe you were entering some kind of delirium, so it really was the time to move.

Move to kiss him, maybe, you bet his lips were warm too and yours were cold-

Okay, that was it.

“Okay, I think I’m gonna go for another soak-“

“Come here,” he muttered at the same time, effectively rendering you speechless when he released you only to scoot back a bit, his fingers beckoning lightly to himself, expression entirely serious.

What.

“I do run pretty hot and frankly I’d rather have you under supervision,” he said matter-of-factly, slipping into the Captain mode – managing to shoot your naïve hopes sky-high and shooting them dead in one sentence.

He was mission-oriented; that was all. He was worried, because frankly, your body was acting out and he was a good friend.

A good friend. A captain, responsible for his own.

There was nothing romantic about sharing body heat; he had probably done it dozen times on a mission.

He was simply concerned. And you should be and were grateful for that and for the practical and grounded approach to the matter at hand; you certainly preferred it to him rushing you to the doctor, because you were still pretty certain it was nothing to be worried about, nothing a good night’s sleep with loads of blankets on top of you wouldn’t fix.

So why the pang in your heart?

Why the regret and disappointment at him simply doing it to assure you’d feel better?

Because you were an idiot and you should have been so much more radical about forbidding yourself from catching feelings while living with Steve. But how could anyone blame you? He was just stupidly attractive and profoundly good and adorably ordinary in his extraordinariness, and you just wanted one touch, one taste, one moment of basking in his light and warmth and actual love.

Was that really so wrong of you?

You swallowed, voice set perhaps a little harsher than needed, the idea of him holding you out of pity making you a little sick to your stomach.

“Steve, you really don’t have to-“

“I want to,” he argued, voice so much softer in contrast to yours, and your body, that traitorous body acted, nearing to his despite your achy heart and hurting brain screaming at you to get to your feet instead, get to the bathroom or your room and lock the door and your heart and throw away the key to keep it safe.

“Steve-“

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he saw you wavering despite your verbal protest.

“Plus, I’m just doing my civic duty of protecting the innocent. You shake any harder, you’ll cause an earthquake.”

Deadpanning, you managed to stop your progress; in turn, your heart fluttered at the sparkle of mischief in Steve’s eye, that stupid muscle in your chest humming with fondness.

Godddamn him.

He knew exactly how to disarm you completely, to have you do his bidding, and he must have known of this power of his, blatantly abusing it for your wellbeing.

What a criminal behaviour.

With a sigh, you lifted your blanket a bit, scooting over to his open arms, carefully laying to his side as his arm slid under the blanket around your shoulders and pulled you closer; his warmth enveloped you in an instant, his hand rubbing gently at your arm, while his other busied itself with tucking the blanket around you to create a safe cocoon.

You felt yourself relax despite your better judgement, cheek laying on his chest, a steady thump-thump of his heart bargaining with yours:

How could you be short with him? Mad at him? He was just being the nicest person in the world, taking care of his friend, radiating warmth and smelling of comfort, selfless and without seeking anything but a simple thank you in return, if even that. And the charming bastard he was, he even tried to make you laugh.

It wasn’t his fault you had gone and fallen in love with him; it wasn’t fair to hold it against him that he was the best person you knew and your feelings were hurt just because he couldn’t think the same about you. Your mind understood that; it was your heart that was foolish.

You chased the thoughts away, only an echo of the ugly empty feeling remaining, giving way to a much more tender and insistent emotion; but mostly to sensation of your shivers subduing, almost as if they had been the trembles of an addict seeking their fix – Steve’s touch – rather than those of someone with messed up thermoregulation.

Maybe they were. But that wasn’t for Steve to worry about.

“Har har… how about your civil duty of being a sassybag…” you muttered in appreciation of his attempt, his chest shaking lightly with a chuckle.

“Oh, I’m taking that one most serious of them all.”

That he was.

The grin in his voice was infectious, however; you smiled against your will, poking his side lightly with your index finger.

“I noticed… but I forgive you.”

Because you’re really warm and sweet and for a moment, I guess I can indulge in the unhealthy delusion of you doing this because you like me close, postponing the ache of sobering up to reality for later.

“I’m glad. How’s that feel?”

Like I want to stay like this forever.

Like I want you to want to stay like this forever.

You shushed the traitorous voice.

“Warm… comfy,” you added after a while, rewarded by a rub to your shoulder, being pulled impossibly closer. And it felt so good.

“Good.”

Simply holding you and sharing his heat indeed for a moment, he let you soak in the comfort. Seconds passed, maybe minutes; you didn’t count the beats of his heart, but heard every single one of them, soothing, whispering the little lie that maybe some of them were for you.

You didn’t argue; you didn’t quite give in.

When Steve lowly asked you if you wanted to continue the movie, you just nodded, grateful for the distraction of how incredibly right you felt in the little fantasy of yours that this, you being here in Steve’s arms, was exactly where you belonged.

As he reached for the remote, you whispered a soundless ‘thank you’.

His ‘you’re welcome’ was softer and warmer than the blankets.

It was a herculean task to accomplish, fending off sleep, but having being in Steve’s company had rubbed off of you; you were anything but determined. Not knowing what the movie was about and what had happened on the screen in the past minutes – since the movie started, really – you still tried not to doze off at least.

You had a creeping suspicion Steve knew, deducting so from your silence or from the way your body was completely pliant against his, but he didn’t call you out, like the gentleman he was. Instead, he had simply stopped moving, safe from the periodical rise and fall of his chest, serving you as the most comfortable pillow you had ever had a chance of laying your head to, soft and warm and solid all at once.

And he seemed perfectly content to serve as one.

Just for that, you had stopped caring a while ago about his motivations. Had this been just a mission to keep a fellow human warm, so be it. He seemed pleased enough to do so and in your hazy sleepy mind, you knew one thing with absolute certainty – and that was that you did find this all kinds of pleasant too. Should the contentedness of yours come from a different place than his, well, you could deal with that later.

Or never.

You were just… happy and at peace.

You weren’t sure when exactly you had closed your eyes, but you had; your voice was slurring a bit too, your determination to fight your exhaustion clearly not enough to win over sleep.

“Thank ya’ for takin’ care of me, Steve.”

At that, the soft statue under you shifted the tinniest bit, Steve’s thumb brushing your arm gently as his arm had remained around your shoulders. His heart was beating a little fast, you thought absently, lulled back into obliviousness by the vibration of his voice.

“You already said that…” he reminded you, humour and something else, sweeter, laced into his voice. “Anytime.”

You hummed in response, sinking deeper into the softness enveloping you.

“Hey… I mean it, okay?”

“Uh huh,” you muttered again, the dreamland already calling you, insistent and so inviting. “Same… arenchya sleepy? ‘m sleepy.”

Silence only sweetened by his still rapidly beating heart settled, another slow caress to your arm, Steve’s voice reaching you from tender proximity and endless distance all at once.

“Then sleep, doll.”

Mmm.

The dreams wrapped around your wrists like tender ribbons, coaxing you to follow them, pulling gently.

You could give in so easily. Letting the dreamland take you felt as simple as breathing; comfortable and warm, and feeling so damn safe that your heart, while peaceful, was aching a little.

And maybe it was the tone Steve had spoken with earlier – so much emotion weaved into a few simple words, so much meaning – maybe it was the subconsciousness forming your dreams, but the memory of one of your favourites book which you had read multiple times flickered through your mind, making you smile. Or maybe it didn’t – you weren’t sure if you moved a single muscle, your body already floating.

Le sommeil partagé était le corps du délit de l'amour, the line read. A pondering of a man to whom sleeping with women meant nothing but entertainment, no feelings attached; not until he held a woman truly dear to him through the night, having fallen asleep peacefully, at last realizing that what he was feeling was love.

Sleeping with someoneor sleeping with someone, that was at the centre of his dilemma; the sharp contrast, one much more meaningful than the other. One a display of desire; the other, display of trust and love. A corpus delicti of love.

It was never like that for you – to you, the physical only came along with emotional, deep trust necessary to both. Having been learning about who Steve was, your mind argued lazily, there was no doubt in your mind Steve felt the same way about his relationships.

But the fact you could fall asleep right there, in his arms, and it felt like the safest place in the world…

It brought along a different memory; a memory of Steve’s large body curled into itself next to you on the couch, three blankets on top of him, your hands holding his, the contact seemingly somehow chasing away the demons of his past that had come to haunt his dreams. You had found him, lost in his own home, trapped in his own mind. He had agreed on a movie even as it had taken a long time to convince him that you weren’t going to back to sleep in your room while he’d try to fight off the invisible enemies his mind had created alone; so you had settled on a movie marathon instead. He had relaxed eventually, the dreamland taking him again, soft snores a lullaby to you – and you had never spoken about it again besides his quiet, ashamed and painfully genuine thank you the next morning. He had trusted you then, maybe feeling just as safe as you were now, despite you being nothing but an ordinary unenhanced human protecting him from evil.

It was a mirror image to how you were at this moment, you mused sleepily; you made him your pillow and a space heater and the source of comfort, while you tiptoed the line of reality and dreams.

His heartbeat thundered softly in your ear, calming but so vigorous and fast; and it slowly dawned to you that his body had stiffened under yours, the sensation nudging your consciousness and pulling you back, away from sleep.

Before you could voice your concern and confusion, his chest vibrated softly under you; his voice caressed you, tender with a hint of a rasp.

“…oui, c’est toujours vrai,” he whispered slowly, the words not making any sense.

Yes, that is always – still – true, you understood despite not being able to grasp at what he was saying truly or why, even as you knew French nearly perfectly, could probably speak it even in your sleep-

Your eyes snapped open, your heart jumping in your chest so fiercely it hurt.

Yes, that is always true.

It is true-

You had spoken out loud.

You had quoted one of your favourite books to him, out loud, speaking of shared sleep and love, and he had read that book too, you knew as much because you had talked about it before, he knew what that line meant, what it meant to you.

But it couldn’t be. He couldn’t be saying what you meant he was saying-

Except that tone. That soft, soft inflection to his voice, his thumb brushing over your arm again, reluctant but firm, his breath having hitched, awaiting your reaction to this… revelation?

And he got it; all sleep evaporating from your body, realizing you were basically lying on top of him – gods, you had no inhibitions in your semi-sleep state – your heart pounded so wildly your ribcage just might set it free. You gulped, shifting so you could look at him, the world slowly coming back to focus as your mind kept echoing the same words, over and over.

Corpus delicti of love. Corpus delicti of LOVE, c’est vrai-

You found Steve with his head bowed, observing you with patient and nervous anticipation, still holding you close to his body, something softly hopeful shimmering in his irises. Shadows of the evening had fallen over the living room but you could still see his perfect face so clearly, the depth of his blue eyes, the two beauty marks on his cheek, the pink lips looking so soft even as they were lightly pressed in a line – expectant of your response.

Your response to him indirectly confessing to---

Was he in love in you too?

The flicker of something you’d never dare to truly believe was real, because it appeared dangerously like adoration, lit up his eyes at your barely audible ‘really?’, a shadow of anxiety building behind the brilliant speckles of green in his irises when he nodded and waited.

As you processed, Steve never took his gaze off you in a display of bravery you were sure you would never have been capable of.

He had nodded. He had nodded.

Unless you were reading it completely wrong, unless--- unless this was just your fever actually taking over, Steve loved you, or at least was on his way to do so.

The overwhelming euphoric feeling rushed through ever nerve ending like a livewire, lighting your body up, your breathing hitching and expanding in your chest, something prickling in your eyes.

Steve’s Adam’s apple bobbed, gaze flickering over your face, appearing almost desperate to read your reaction since you couldn’t seem to verbalize how you felt.

But how could you let out a single word? He had romantic feelings for you too.

“We… we can talk later, if you’d like. You need your rest too…” he argued in a reluctant whisper.

There was no universe in which you were going to fall asleep, ever again and frankly you admired his self-restraint and willingness to wait after having just confessed he was interested in more than friendship and roommate-ship.

Steve Rogers, your Steve, was holding you in his arms, your bodies aligned, and he had feelings for you.

The soft expression – and the nervous energy radiation off him – whispered urgently of you not having read too much into his gestures, of your naïve hopes not being all that naïve, of all of this being true even as it left like a dream.

Maybe it was. But if it was, you’d cling to it and never let go.

And if it was by some miracle true, you sure as hell would never ever let sleep take you, because then… well.

The corners of your lips twitched minutely in an incredulous self-deprecating smile.

You were thoroughly warmed up, all shivers having subdued a long time ago, but something inside you trembled more than your voice.

“I can’t sleep now... I’ll think I’d dreamed all this up. That it wasn’t real,” you whispered hastily, “I… I want it to be real.”

Tension melted from Steve’s body at last, muscles having been tight as a bowstring easing into their mere usual firmness. His lips, those inviting lips, curled up in a smile, an echo of his eyes twinkling with something soft and exciting.

“Sounds like a dream to me too, yeah,” he admitted, your pulse nearing the speed that would sooner or later surely lead to cardiac arrest, your mind screaming with dozen of swirling thoughts.

He liked you. Steve like-liked you, perhaps maybe, just a little, on his way to love you, shared sleep, trust and love, he had dreamed of this too, he-

“How about…” he hummed, hand slowly cupping your cheek, tilting your head up and guiding you to lift it off his chest, causing your head to spin sweetly.

You could have easily escaped the tender touch; but you didn’t want to, not in a million years. You leaned into it instead, a pleasant twist deep within your belly, a shaky exhale leaving your parted lips, air swiftly drawn back as Steve leaned down, eyes roaming your face for any sign of protest. Finding none, his eyes earned a new kind of glow that warmed you up like no blanket or shower could, his lips neared dangerously, a silent wishful sigh as your fingertips stroked lightly over his chest.

“…we share a moment so real there’s no doubt left?”

There was no doubt left; and not a second of hesitation.

It occurred to you how absurd the reasoning was, to have a real moment, what a feeble excuse; as if you hadn’t dreamed of this before, as if the images of kissing Steve hadn’t haunted your nights, so vivid and so tangible morning had felt like razor tearing the masterpiece of a canvas apart; but that thought was but a silent voice in the very back of your mind and you did not care for it in the slightest.

On the other hand, Steve was right here and you’d do just about anything he’d suggest.

“Yes.”

The second the breathless sound left you, Steve’s lips were pressed to yours, soft and warm and real, an electrifying sensation of right rushing through your very being, proving Steve’s damn point; your dreams could have never done justice to this.

Not to the way his lips moulded against yours, the tentative touch turning eager the very moment you pressed against him.

Not to the way he felt so perfectly solid and soft under your palm, against your side, against your thigh.

Not to the way his hand on your arm curled around your bicep and squeezed when your lips parted for him with a choked whimper.

Not to the way his fingertips caressed along your jaw to your chin, tipping your head back further to truly kiss you.

Not to the way you couldn’t get enough of it, of his touch, of his taste, chocolate and sugar and home, of his scent, invading your senses in the most wonderful attack you’d yield to with delight.

When your lips parted with a gasp, your name like the sweetest endearment on his lips, his forehead rested against yours, sharing your breath, your space, the wild beats of your hearts.

It seemed that some of those beats of his heart truly might be for you; just like quite a few of yours were for him.

And it was beautiful.

An unwitting chuckle spilled from your lips, the euphoria coursing your veins spilling over, rewarded by a soft stroke of Steve’s thumb over your cheek, a deep inhale, your eyes fluttering open to his soft but blinding smile you couldn’t but mirror.

God, he was the most stunning man you had ever seen in your life.

Had you not been rendered speechless by the kiss, his beauty would have done the job.

And if that hadn’t been enough, the way he was looking at you, as if you had hung the moon and the stars and he would have hung them for you if you had just asked – how had you never noticed it before? – now that would have done you for.

You had no words; but it seemed that for the moment, neither did he.

And so your gaze flickered down to his lips, now more tempting than ever, and you let action speak louder than words.

Cupping his face in return, you kissed him again, and let the coincidence or perhaps fate, that had led you to spill your secrets at the precipice of sleep, take reigns again, not at all protesting when Steve’s hands roamed to your waist, a silent invitation for you to move closer in any way you wished.

You let the moment take you wherever it would lead, quite happy if the half-wit you had called yourself earlier that day lost all her wits to Steve’s softly demanding mouth.

Maybe next time you’d get caught in the rain, he’d be there soaking with you; and maybe just like he hadn’t cared for getting his clothes wet earlier either, you’d both stand there in the downpour in an embrace of lovers, caring little for the water dripping all over you.

As long as he’d keep kissing you.

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

Happy autumn, everyone 💕 I know I should be working on my longfic but my brain seems distracted by various short-fic ideas, often fullfilling writing challenges...

I really enjoyed this one 🥰 and I hope that so did you!

Have a lovely autumn!🍂

P.S. - For those interested, the quote comes from Milan Kundera's novel Unbearable Lightness of Being (L'insoutenable légèreté de l'être or Nesnesitelná lehkost bytí).

#elixirscafe #navy and roo's sleepover #sleepover challenge #winds of autumn challenge #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #caught #anika ann

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aizawash0e · 2 years ago

Photo

Always loved this scene 😭😭😭

#had me in the first half, not gonna lie Avengers: Age of Ultron | 2015 dir. Joss Whedon

#thor odinson #steve rogers #he was always worthy #marvel #filmedit #marvel films #age of ultron

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queenofvelaris · 5 months ago

Text

Worthy

Steve Rogers x fem!reader

Word count: 9.7k (don’t look at me)

Contains: ANGST but with a happy ending, mentions of abuse, self-deprecation, Tony’s stupid quips, fight scenes (its age of ultron duh), tooth-rotting fluff, minor character deaths

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters in this story. Everyone except for the reader and her family belongs to Marvel.

Author’s Note: hiiii so I wrote this in 2021 when I was going through a really dark time. It brought me so much peace to write it and I figured it was time I share it with the world. Reblogs, likes, and comments are much appreciated and I would love to hear your thoughts (such as if I should post more cause I got more 🫣) anyways I hope you like it!!

***

Worthy. What a ridiculous word. A hypocritical one, too. There are those who believe with everything they’ve got— even to the point of being prideful— that they’re worthy. Others hope that they are. And the rest feel, deep down inside, that they’ll never be worthy.

“I bet it’s a trick,” Clint commented, spinning drumsticks between his fingers. He was sat next to Maria, and on his other side, Bruce and Natasha were deep in conversation. Tony and Rhodey sat on the futon. Dr. Cho was asleep.

Thor chuckled and handed a newly opened beer bottle to Steve. (Y/N) was on the carpet, her back against Steve’s strong legs. Thor shook his head. “No, no. It is much more than that.”

“Whosoever be he worthy shall haveth the power,” Clint mocked in a Shakespearean voice that made (Y/N) snort. “Whatever, man!”

Thor grinned and indicated his hammer, propped up on the coffee table. “Please, be my guest.”

Tony smirked at Clint. “Go ahead!”

Clint raised his eyebrows. “Really?” He leaped to his feet.

“Oh, this is gonna be beautiful,” Rhodey remarked.

Steve leaned down and whispered in (Y/N)’s ear. “Five bucks says he gives up after five seconds.”

“You’re on,” (Y/N) shot back. “I say ten seconds… gotta give the man a little credit.” She smiled to herself as Steve tickled her shoulder. If she were on the same level as him, she’d tickle him right back.

From the very beginning of the Avengers initiative, after that whole mess in 2012, Steve has always been the one (Y/N) was closest to, Clint being a very close second. It was an instant click. They loved the same movies, traded jokes and sarcastic comments, trained together, and even fell asleep next to each other on the couch on days off. Three years later, they are as close as ever.

Clint approached Mjölnir, a swagger in his step. Tony leaned forward in his seat. “Clint, you’ve had a tough week. We won’t hold it against you if you can’t get it up.”

Everyone chuckled at that and Clint ignored them, eyeing Thor. “You know I’ve seen this before, right?”

He reached for the handle and tugged, grunting as he did so. About five seconds later, he gave up, shaking his head. “I still don’t know how you do it!”

“Smell the silent judgment?” Tony jeered at Clint as (Y/N) grudgingly handed Steve five bucks.

Steve made it better with a flash of his perfect smile and a wink from his pretty blue eyes. Beaming, she rolled her eyes and focused on the petty ones in the room.

Clint held out his hand. “Stark, by all means.”

Tony shrugged and stood, earning a chorus of “Uh oh”, “Mmm-hmm”, “Oh here we go.” He practically strutted over to the hammer. “Never been one to shy away from an honest challenge.”

“Yeah, but how often do you win ‘em?” (Y/N) muttered and Steve laughed so hard he choked on his beer. Rhodey and a couple others went “ooo!”

Tony shot her a playful glare and looped his wrist through the loop on the top of the handle. “It’s physics.” He glanced at Thor. “Alright, so, uh, if I lift it, I then rule Asgard?”

Thor nodded benevolently. “Yes.”

Tony grasped the handle and put one foot on the table. “I will be reinstituting Prima Nocta.” He grunted and pulled, but the hammer didn’t move at all. He removed the loop and cleared his throat. “Be right back.”

He stormed away and came back not one minute later with an Iron Man glove from his latest model. “That’s cheating!” Maria called.

Tony put it on and grasped the handle. “And I’m Tony Stark.” He yanked on the handle, but the Asgardian weapon remained unmovable. He turned his hand and little turbines came out of the arm, acting like a rocket. Still, Mjölnir stayed still as a rock.

(Y/N) shook her head, grinning as Tony struggled with the hammer. “Give it a rest, pretty boy, you can’t lift it.”

“I can and will, sugar lips,” Tony retorted good-naturedly. He waved Rhodey over and the latter put on his own hand gear from War Machine. Watching them try and lift it together was hysterical and (Y/N) could barely breathe, she was laughing so hard.

Next up was Bruce, who climbed on the table and screamed when he couldn’t lift the hammer. Everyone stared at him in amusement and he flushed pink, embarrassed.

(Y/N) had her head on Steve’s knee when Maria tried and failed. The former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent turned to (Y/N). “Alright, you’re up.”

She lifted her head, chewing on her lip. “Oh, no. I, uh, I’m not doing it.”

Tony whined. “Come on! After Capsicle and Shakespeare in the Park, you’re the strongest one here!”

He wasn’t wrong. That’s another reason she and Steve were both so close-- they were the only enhanced beings in the tower. Her super strength and cat-like agility earned her the nickname of The Leopard, only she wasn’t experimented on. Her mom had been a chemist for S.H.I.E.L.D. when (Y/N) was young, and one day she came to work with her mom and there was an explosion that resulted from the leak of a new serum designed to replicate the one inside Steve. She and her mom both got struck. The result? She got powers and her mom was killed.

“I’m not lifting it, Stark,” she said firmly. She held his gaze. Normally, she’d sigh at the sight of those puppy dog eyes and grudgingly give into whatever task he wanted her to complete. But this… this was different.

Thor boomed, “It is not about strength, Stark. It is about worthiness.”

And I’m the least worthy person here, she said silently.

Steve petted her head for a second before patting her shoulder. “I’ll try.”

Grateful, she shuffled to the side to let him stand. She took his place on the couch next to Thor and watched as he rolled up the sleeves of his button-up. His blonde hair glowed in the light and his arm muscles flexed as he gripped onto the hammer.

Clenching his jaw, Steve tugged on the hammer… and it moved slightly. Thrilled, (Y/N) stole a glance at Thor’s face and nearly pissed herself. Thor looked so shocked. Stifling her laughter, she watched as Steve pulled on the handle once more before letting go, holding up his hands in surrender.

Thor audibly blew out a sigh of relief, a small smile returning to his face. (Y/N) shoved his arm. “Don’t worry, no one’s coming for your throne, Thunder.”

Steve chuckled at that and sat back down next to her. Everyone looked at Nat, who smiled and took a sip of her beer. “Oh, no, no, that’s not a question I need answered.”

Tony raised his bottle. “All deference to the man who wouldn’t be king, but it’s rigged.”

Clint clapped Tony on the shoulder. “You bet your ass.”

Maria piped up, “Steve, he said a bad language word.”

“Did you tell everyone about that?” Steve demanded, glaring at Tony as (Y/N) buried her face in his shoulder to smother her laughter. Steve wrapped his arm around her instead of pushing her away, and when she lifted her head, she had to look away from Natasha, whose smirking expression was directed right at her and Steve. Nat has caught them curled up together on the couch before, and each time (Y/N) has told her “Steve is my best friend.” Even though I want more.

Tony leaped to continue his previous train of thought. “The handle’s imprinted. Like a security code. ‘Whosoever is carrying Thor’s fingerprints’ is I think the literal translation.”

“Yes, that’s a, uh, very, very interesting theory,” Thor replied, standing with his Asgardian ale in one hand. “I have a simpler one.” He lifted the hammer with ease and flipped it, catching it gracefully. “You are all not worthy.”

(Y/N) shook her head with a small smile on her face, Steve and Clint laughed, Rhodey and Bruce scoffed, Tony groaned a “Come on!” and Maria and Natasha exchanged looks with the now awake Dr. Cho.

Suddenly, a loud feedback whine pierced the air and everyone reacted, some stiffening and the others covering their ears. Tony frowned and pulled out his transparent pad that controlled everything in the tower.

A voice that sent chills down (Y/N)’s spine came to their attention, as well as the clanking of metal. “Worrrrrrtttttthhhhyyyy.” A tattered, roughed-up-looking version of one of Tony’s suits lurched into the living room, leaking oil. It turned to face them. It flourished its hand, and when it spoke next, its voice was clearer, more masculine, and much more sinister. “No. How could you be worthy? You’re all killers.”

At that, (Y/N) stiffened as dread rooted deep down in her gut. Steve let go of her and stood, his stern eyes fixed on the robot. “Stark,” he challenged without looking at the billionaire.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.,” Tony called.

“I’m sorry, I was asleep.” The suit turned his head, the lights in his eyes flickering. “Or I was a dream.”

Tony tapped on the pad. “Reboot. We’ve got a buggy suit.”

The robot in front of them shielded his face. “There was this terrible noise, and I was tangled in… in…” he looked down at the wires and spare parts keeping the frame together. “...strings.”

(Y/N) and everyone else who had been sitting set down their drinks and stood, all of them tense. The suit flourished his hand again. “Had to kill the other guy… he was a good guy.”

“You killed someone?” Steve asked, serious and condescending.

Those words and his tone made (Y/N) feel a little sick, but she willed herself not to react and instead focused on the terrifying suit, which glanced at the floor. “Wasn’t my first call. But… in the real world, we’re faced with ugly choices.”

“Who sent you?” (Y/N) asked calmly.

The suit straightened up as the sound of a tape rewinding filled their ears. “I see a suit of armor around the world,” Tony’s voice came through.

Tony’s face paled. Bruce stared at him. “Ultron.”

(Y/N), Steve and Thor shot a bewildered look at Tony, while Natasha, Rhodey, and Clint all looked at Bruce for answers. Maria cocked her gun and Thor’s grip on his hammer tightened. (Y/N) clenched her fists and exchanged a look with Steve.

“In the flesh,” the suit answered. “Or, no, not yet. Not this… chrysalis. But I’m ready. I’m on a mission.”

Natasha tilted her head. “What mission?”

Ultron jutted his chin out, and if he had a real form, (Y/N) was sure he would be smiling. “Peace in our time.”

Three of Tony’s suits burst out of the wall, concrete and plaster raining down like hail. Almost everyone dove for cover. Steve flipped up the coffee table just in time for a suit to collide with it, sending both (Y/N) and Steve over the couch.

He immediately reached for her, his eyes wide. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She scrambled to her feet at the same time he did. She ducked as one of the suits flew straight over her head and watched Thor smack it with his hammer.

She hurried over to the bar, where Natasha and Bruce were hunkered down, the assassin using her gun. Maria was also firing her gun, Clint was nowhere to be seen, and Rhodey tumbled through the glass window onto the landing below.

Grabbing a long skewer, she leaped onto the back of a suit that was towering over a terrified Dr. Cho. (Y/N) tried to impale the skewer in between the helmet and neck, hoping to dismantle some of the wires, but it threw her off and into the grand piano with a great crash. The impact barely hurt her, but it certainly knocked the air out of her lungs. She tumbled onto her back, winded, and her eyes widened in fear when the suit faced her.

Unbeknownst to her, Ultron cocked its head and turned his attention toward her. “Interesting.”

Natasha and Bruce hurried up the stairs, Clint barely missed a shot from a suit, Tony hopped onto the back of another one, and the suit looming over (Y/N) got distracted by Maria.

Her heart in her throat, (Y/N) watched as Steve got slammed against the wall on the second landing. He fell to the ground hard, groaning. Thinking quickly, she twisted her head and saw his shield. It was heavy as all hell for everyone else, but for her, it was nothing.

“STEVE!” She yelled, gripping onto the shield.

Steve bolted to his feet and at the same time, (Y/N) threw it to him like a frisbee. Thor dismantled one suit, Tony took down the other, but the third remained. With a spin, Steve threw his shield and it tore the suit in half.

It was over as fast as it had started. It was quiet for a second, the only sound being everyone’s panting. (Y/N) rubbed her neck and gripped onto the wall for support.

Ultron shook his head. “That was dramatic. I’m sorry, I know you mean well, you just didn’t think it through.”

Steve took a few angry steps forward and (Y/N) stiffened. Ultron continued. “You want to protect the world but you don’t want it to change. How is humanity saved if it’s not allowed to... evolve?” He bent and picked up the destroyed head of one of the suits. “With these? These puppets.” Ultron threw down the head and surveyed the room. “There’s only one path to peace. The Avengers’ extinction.”

Thor grunted and threw Mjölnir. The hammer smashed Ultron into pieces against the wall before flying back to Thor’s hand.

The lights in Ultron’s head sparked and flickered. In a sing-songy, raspy voice, the suit murmured, “I had strings, but now I’m free… there are no strings on me…” Then, it flickered and died.

Everyone remained frozen for a second as the tower’s lights flickered. Some went out. Steve rushed over to (Y/N), his intense fury softening as he looked at her. He reached to inspect her neck. “You okay?”

She nodded, though she was far from it. Ultron’s words about them being killers and his creepy disappearance… it unsettled her. She had a feeling they hadn’t heard the last of him.

She was right. Down in Tony’s lab, they realized Ultron had taken all of the Iron Man suits, Loki’s staff, important files, and hard drives. He was in the internet now and was most likely downloading everything he could about each and every one of them. The thought of that robot looking into her file made (Y/N) feel sick. Only Nick Fury had access to her file, but it was clear that Ultron could bypass that.

They also learned that Ultron could access anything he wanted, like nuclear codes. They all figured out that J.A.R.V.I.S. was the person Ultron killed. Tony revealed that he created Ultron because of a vision the female Maximoff gave him when they seized the scepter. He saw what he called “The Endgame,” and he didn’t believe the Avengers would be enough to save the world. Steve assured him that even if they lost the war, they would do it together.

That night, when all was quiet in the tower and everyone was asleep, (Y/N) began to toss and turn. She couldn’t get Ultron out of her head. The monstrosity followed her into the depths of her nightmares and made her feel trapped. Images of him infiltrating her file terrified her to no end.

She sat up and ran a hand through her hair. It was no use. She needed water, or milk. She climbed out of bed and padded to the elevator. It took her to the kitchen.

She was a few footsteps away from the fridge when she heard it. “(Y/N).”

Ultron. She spun around, her fists out, but there was nothing there. Shocked, she lowered her fists. But then, she heard it again, much more sinister. “(Y/N).”

“What do you want from me?” She tried her best to keep her tone harsh.

“Do they know?” Ultron’s voice was quiet and menacing.

(Y/N) stood at attention. “Do they know what?”

Ultron chuckled darkly. (Y/N)’s eyes darted every which way, but she couldn’t see him, only hear him. “What I read in that file of yours… how many years has it been since the “accident”? Or should we call it what it really is?”

She felt her blood go cold. He wasn’t talking about 2012. He was talking about when she was seventeen. Her breathing got more shallow.

Ultron continued. “I’ll ask again… do… they… know?”

“Please.” Her voice was nothing more than a whisper as her mouth dried up. Her hands began to shake.

“It’s the reason you’re not worthy to lift the God of Thunder’s mighty hammer.” The sarcasm in his voice made her heart beat faster. “You will never be worthy. How could you be? You’re a killer. Imagine how your closest friends would react. Just think of God’s righteous man seeing you for who you really are… ”

“No.” She covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. “No, no, no.”

His voice, his words… it didn’t stop. Monster… murderer…

The kitchen got darker and more confined, until (Y/N) felt like she was in a cage. The words got louder and louder until she screamed…

Drenched in sweat, (Y/N) jerked upright, panting. Her hands wildly felt around her. She was in bed. It had just been a dream.

But there was a truth to it that shook her to the core, a fear that she hoped and prayed would never come true.

A knock at her door nearly made her jump out of her skin. The intruder spoke up, their voice gentle. “(Y/N), it’s Nat. You okay?”

“Fine, Nat. Just a bad dream,” the girl lied. She fought to take deep breaths and slow her racing heart. “Sorry I woke you.”

She could tell Nat was hesitating so she forced more conviction into her voice. “Seriously, I’m okay. It’s not so bad tonight. Sorry again. Just… don’t mention it to anybody, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As the only girls in the Avengers, they shared this floor together. Unfortunately, nightmares were a common occurrence for (Y/N), and every time she accidentally woke up Natasha, guilt steadily consumed her. She never once let Natasha see her pain, her terror. No one could see. She was the “strong one”, the bold and cheeky (Y/N) that everyone knew and respected. Not the pathetic, shriveling mess that screamed herself awake in the middle of the night.

(Y/N) breathed a shaky sigh of relief when she heard Natasha’s footsteps recede. She was alone. Tears stung her eyes. Always alone.

She curled up in a ball and muffled her sobs, so as not to wake Natasha again.

***

It wasn’t long until they got a tip. Ultron had teamed up with Wanda Maximoff and her twin brother Pietro and were going to make a deal with an old weapons supplier of Tony’s. The rumor was that he had just come into a large stock of vibranium that Ultron wanted to get his hands on.

Pale yellow streams of light poked through the window when (Y/N) woke up. It was the morning of the raid. Silently, she climbed out of bed and suited up. She wore a dark blue leather coat that had leopard print on the inside-- courtesy of Stark. She also wore a blue leather top, black leather pants and boots, and her hair was done in a simple french braid down her back.

She crept into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee, like normal. On a regular day, she’d wake up before dawn and go for a run with Steve. Sometimes they raced each other, sometimes they just walked and talked. But last night, she’d barely gotten any sleep, and she had a feeling Steve would skip the run, too.

After she sat at the bar with her mug, Steve walked in, fiddling with one of his gloves. He was in full Captain gear, and the sight of him made (Y/N)’s heart flutter. He always looked handsome, but his uniform and cropped golden hair along with his gorgeous face and eyes always made heat rush to her cheeks. He was just as handsome as he was good and kind. She definitely didn’t deserve him.

Steve wordlessly made his own cup and sat next to her. His thumbs traced the sides of his mug. “You look tired.”

“Thanks,” (Y/N) muttered. She rubbed her temples. “Just didn’t sleep well.”

“You haven’t been sleeping well since Ultron attacked.” Steve peered at her with his signature mom expression. “You’ve been having nightmares again, haven’t you?”

(Y/N) stiffened and met his gaze. “Nat told you?”

Steve shook his head. “Last night I couldn’t sleep so I went for a run in the stairwell. When I reached your floor I heard screaming so I went to check on you, but Nat came out and stopped me. She told me you were okay and to just leave it.”

(Y/N) was quiet for a second. She felt a little guilty for thinking Nat would betray her. Steve covered her hand with his. “You know you can talk to me, right? I may not have gone through what you and Clint did during 2012, but I’ve seen my fair share of horrors.”

“You haven’t done what I’ve done, Steve,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

Before she joined the Avengers, (Y/N) worked closely with Clint and Natasha at S.H.I.E.L.D. She was the only enhanced agent, and everyone fought to keep that a secret. Then, Loki arrived. He turned his scepter on her and Clint, forcing them under the control of the mind stone. It was then that Loki came to notice (Y/N)’s strength and agility. He used her as his prized second in command and ruthless assassin. A lot of the human lives lost in Stuttgart, on the S.H.I.E.L.D. Quinjet, and during the Battle of New York were because of her.

Steve sighed. “(Y/N), what’s it gonna take for you to forgive yourself? You were under mind control.”

She shook her head. “So was Loki, but everyone blames him.” She interlaced her fingers with his. “Controlled or not, I have the blood of innocents on my hands.”

For a moment, she imagined what it would be like to tell him about the accident, to share the overwhelming amount of guilt of murdering innocent people in 2012. Would he still be here, holding her hand? Or would he hate her as much as she hated herself? No. She couldn’t tell him. Not till she was ready.

Steve said nothing, just kept holding her hand. He changed the subject, much to her relief. “Are your nightmares about Ultron?”

“Sometimes.” (Y/N) took a sip of her coffee. “I don’t wanna face that Maximoff girl. You heard what she did to Tony.” The thought of someone infiltrating her mind again made her want to throw up.

“I won’t let her near you,” Steve said firmly. He gently placed his index finger under her chin and turned her face toward his. “Do you hear me? I’ll keep you safe, sweetheart.”

She smiled softly, transfixed by his baby blue eyes. His gaze flicked to her lips, and for a split second, he leaned forward—

“Lady (Y/N), are there any Strawberry Pop-Tarts left in the cabinet?” Thor called, trudging into the kitchen in full Asgardian armor.

Looking away from Steve, (Y/N) couldn’t ignore the disappointment washing over her. “Should still be a box on the top shelf, Thunder.” She let go of Steve’s hand, but she didn’t see that he looked crestfallen at the missed opportunity, too.

An hour later, they were all assembled on the Quinjet and headed toward the African coast. Everyone was pretty solemn during the trek, the silence only being broken by Thor’s ramblings and Tony’s jokes. But even the God of Thunder and the sass master himself were more grim than normal.

As they snuck into the salvage yard and the hatch of the Quinjet opened, (Y/N) exchanged a look with Steve. He reached for her hand, squeezed it once, and let go. She didn’t need to hear him speak to know he was telling her he’s got her back.

They ran into the building, finding the discarded bodies of workers all along the floor. Tony in his Iron Man suit led the way, followed by (Y/N), Steve, Thor, Clint, and Natasha. Bruce hung back on the Quinjet-- they didn’t need The Big Guy just yet.

They all split up inside the salvage yard just as Ultron yelled, “Don’t compare me with Stark, he’s a sickness!” He had forged a new suit for himself. The robot was now about seven feet tall with red eyes and a shiny metal body. His back was turned to them.

“Aww, Junior,” Tony called, his voice filtered through the Iron Man helmet. “You’re gonna break your old man’s heart.” He landed down with a clunk on the metal bridge, facing his creation. Thor and Steve were behind him. Natasha and Clint were sneaking in from the sides, and (Y/N) was coming in from the back. Their goal was to box the enemy in.

Ultron turned to face them, flanked by Wanda and Pietro. (Y/N) allowed herself a brief moment of wariness before putting her game face on. She was armed with batons about the length of her arm, coincidentally made of vibranium.

“If I have to,” Ultron drawled, his voice powerful and menacing.

“No one has to break anything,” Thor warned.

Ultron and the Maximoffs approached until they were a few feet away from the three Avengers. “Clearly, you’ve never made an omelet.”

Tony tilted his head. “He beat me by one second.”

(Y/N) shook her head at his almost proud comment. She delicately ducked behind the door behind the Maximoffs and Ultron, peering out at them.

“Ah, so this is funny… Mr. Stark,” Pietro remarked, his Sokovian accent thick. “It’s, what… comfortable?” He glanced down at the missiles and other weapons. “Like old times?”

“This was never my life.” Tony sounded much more serious now.

Steve took a step forward, his eyes on the twins. “You two can still walk away from this.”

Wanda cocked her head. “Oh, we will.”

Steve didn’t back down. “I know you’ve suffered.” They’d heard about the twins losing their parents and nearly dying themselves in the process.

“Ah… Captain America.” Ultron gazed at Steve condescendingly. “God’s righteous man.”

At that, (Y/N) flinched. Ultron had called him that in her nightmare. However, when she saw Steve’s familiar haunted look appear, her fear turned into anger. She withdrew one of her staffs from its sheath.

“Pretending you could live without a war,” Ultron continued. “I can’t physically throw up in my mouth, but-”

“If you believe in peace, then let us keep it,” Thor cut him off.

Ultron took a step closer. “I think you’re confusing peace with quiet.”

Tony was over it. “Yuh-huh. What’s the vibranium for?”

“I’m glad you asked that because I wanted to take this time to explain my evil plan,” Ultron drawled.

Suddenly, he pulled his metal fist back and the energy sucked Tony forward. Ultron blasted him back against the wall and everyone sprung into action.

Tony and Ultron went head to head as suits-- clearly designed by Ultron-- came pouring out of a doorway. Pietro was a blur as he went around, trying to attack the Avengers. His sister was more successful and managed to blast Steve back.

(Y/N) launched out from the doorway and used her strength and one of her batons to knock the head of a suit clean off its body. She leaped over the railing and landed on the bottom floor. A small grin worked its way onto her face as two suits came down to meet her, tall and strong.

She swept the legs out from under one and started to attack the other, but it dodged her heavy blow. She was grabbed by it but twisted her body, ran along the side of a crate, and flipped up and over the suit, tearing its head off.

Meanwhile, Natasha and Clint took down a lot of the weapons dealer’s crew, who were shooting at both the suits and the Avengers. Steve forced Pietro to the ground a little ways away from (Y/N). His eyes flicked over to her, watching her battle Ultron’s minions. He’d been keeping his eye on her, and he was relieved and proud that she was holding her own. He smiled and went back to fighting.

Then Wanda struck.

It was Thor who went down first. A quick tendril of magic infiltrated his mind and turned his eyes red.

“Thor! Status!” Steve barked.

Nothing. He saw Thor falter and freeze in place on the second level as if he was frozen in time.

Immediately, he knew it was Wanda. He spun around, eyes wide and filled with worry. Before he could warn his girl, he was knocked backward by Pietro and witnessed his worst fear with a flick of Wanda’s wrist.

(Y/N) had no idea what was happening. She was easily taking down suit after suit, barely breaking a sweat. She heard static crackling in her earpiece but figured that was just a result of everyone’s efforts.

She was about to deliver a fatal blow to the largest of Ultron’s creations when it spoke. “Were you this talented of a fighter at seventeen, Agent (L/N)?”

(Y/N) froze in her tracks, her baton raised over her head. The suit climbed back onto its feet, its eerie eyes peering straight at her. When it spoke again, its voice bore a significant resemblance to that of Ultron’s. She felt like he was directly talking to her.

“That was your first kill.” It wasn’t a question… the suit knew. Ultron had examined her file.

(Y/N) swung at the suit, but her nerves made her sloppy. The suit grabbed her baton, locking her in place. “Did you enjoy your first kill as much as you enjoyed taking the lives you took in the Battle of New York?”

With a shriek, (Y/N) twisted her wrist and tore the baton free. She attacked the suit with both batons, her viciousness masking her vulnerable state of mind. When she’d backed the suit into a corner, she finally let up on her onslaught, panting. “I didn’t enjoy it. I didn’t enjoy it then, and I didn’t enjoy it in 2012. I’m not a killer. I was under mind control.”

“Not the first time. You became a murderer of your own accord.” The suit stood again, looming over her.

“Stop it.” (Y/N) shook her head violently.

The suit took a step forward. “How did it feel, watching his life slip away? How did it feel, realizing that you took a life and it was all for nothing?”

(Y/N)’s hands tightened around her batons, trembling. “Stop it.”

The suit was relentless. “How did it feel to be completely and utterly alone?”

“I SAID STOP!” (Y/N) screamed and lunged, but she never reached the suit. A flash of red was all she saw and then the room shifted.

She stumbled and dropped her batons, trying to grasp onto a crate, but she grasped onto a railing instead. It didn’t feel metallic; it was sleek and smooth. She turned her head and realized she was gripping a wooden railing.

She looked up, expecting to see the metal landing and the rest of her friends in the midst of battle. Instead, she saw a carpeted staircase with walls on either side.

Instantly, she felt cold, like someone dumped a bucket of ice water on her head. She was back home, back in the memory that haunted her sleep without relief.

She could hear the thumps from where she stood, tears already springing to her eyes. “No. No,” she choked out and sprinted up the stairs.

Even though she already knew what she would find at the top of the stairs, she still screamed. There was her dad, hovering over her baby brother, beating him bloody. It was obvious that Bobby was having trouble breathing. He was practically lying in a pool of blood.

Dad hated both (Y/N) and Bobby, but once (Y/N) got her powers, he couldn’t take out his aggression on her like when her mom was alive. Instead, he turned his attention to Bobby.

“Stop, you’re gonna kill him!” (Y/N) screamed, echoing the words she spoke when she was seventeen.

“Stay out of this, freak!” Dad roared, giving her a snarl that looked like a dog baring its teeth.

As if on autopilot, (Y/N) gripped onto his shoulders and ripped him away from Bobby. Unlike how it happened all those years ago, she was forced to watch his stumble in slow motion. She stood with her jaw dropped as he tumbled down the stairs and straight into the wall, his head colliding with the plaster so hard that a loud crack split the air. Blood seeped out of the wound, and he lay perfectly still. He was dead.

(Y/N) stared at her hands in revulsion. But tears began to fall when she realized what would happen next.

She whirled around and knelt next to her baby brother, whose chest was heaving and shuddering. This. This was what she saw almost every night, the image that never seemed to escape her. “Hey, hey, Bobby, please. Please. Stay alive. Please, don’t go. Don’t leave me alone!”

Bobby’s innocent eyes met hers briefly before closing. His chest rose once more, but it did not fall. He, too, was still.

“NO!” (Y/N) screamed, scrabbling at his body.

Bobby’s body disappeared in a cloud of smoke, and (Y/N) covered her face with her hands as she cried. She was too late to save him. She tried, but in doing so she killed her dad. He was a menace, but she’d never wanted to hurt him. She never wanted to hurt anybody.

But the nightmare was far from over.

“(Y/N)?” A familiar voice spoke. However, instead of the normal softness and affection in his voice, this time his tone was laced with disapproval and disgust.

(Y/N) leaped to her feet and turned around, wiping her eyes. Steve stood there, his helmet off. Behind him was Tony, Natasha, Clint, Thor, and Bruce. They all looked horrified and furious.

“You just killed your dad,” Bruce said in a hushed voice.

(Y/N)’s hands began to shake. “I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I-I just-”

“No, no, no, you don’t get to justify what we just saw,” Tony snapped, holding up his finger.

Tears burned (Y/N)’s eyes. “I was a kid. My powers weren’t under control yet! You have to believe me!”

Natasha and Clint looked disappointed. The former Red Room assassin shook her head in disbelief. “I was trained to become a killer. You became one on your own.”

“I didn’t mean to kill him.” (Y/N) couldn’t stop the stream of tears as they steadily dripped down her cheeks. “I was just trying to save my brother.”

“And how’d that work out for you?” Clint scoffed. “How many more dads did you kill in 2012? No wonder Loki chose you-- you’re wicked, just like him.”

(Y/N) couldn’t breathe. She clutched her ribs, desperately forcing air into her lungs. “It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault. Guys, please.” She looked at the people she saw as her siblings. “Clint? Nat?” They’d said they understood about 2012… but they were looking at her with pure venom.

One by one, her team turned their backs to her and walked away, disappearing into vapor. The only one who remained was Steve, whose head was lowered.

“Stevie?” (Y/N) tentatively approached him, reaching for his hand.

He ripped it away like she’d burned him and she recoiled. Steve fixed her with a cruel glare. “Now I know why you refused to pick up Thor’s hammer. You’re not worthy, and this is why.”

(Y/N) felt her heart shatter into a million tiny pieces. “Steve-”

“I thought the world of you. I wanted the best for you. I wanted a future with you.” Steve’s voice was low and dark. “Now… I don’t want anything to do with you.”

A sob escaped her lips before she could stop it and she fell to her knees. “Stevie, please!” She grabbed his hand and he pulled it away, walking away from her.

“Stevie, please, come back!” (Y/N) begged and pleaded, but she received no response.

Convulsing with sobs, she curled up on the floor, crying her heart out. Her worst fears had just been realized. The Avengers hated her as much as she hated herself for what she did, and Steve, her Captain… he hated her, too.

“It wasn’t my fault, it wasn’t my fault,” she whispered brokenly, wishing she could turn back time and reverse everything. “It wasn’t my fault.”

And that’s how Steve, the real Steve, found her.

When his vision cleared, he hauled himself up. Clint gave him the status report that he took Wanda out of the running, at least temporarily, and the archer went to look for Natasha.

Steve’s mouth went dry. Where was his girl? He reached for his earpiece, ready to command her to tell him where she was, when he heard it. The sobs.

He ran faster than he ever had in his life. It took him only a second to find her, curled up on the floor and crying.

He fell to his knees beside her, tearing off his helmet and setting down his shield. “(Y/N)... hey, hey, hey.” His hands fidgeted, longing to touch her but afraid of how she’d react. “Sweetheart, look at me. Open your eyes and look at me.”

(Y/N) obeyed him, but her mind was still trapped in another world. Her eyes darted lazily around, the flow of tears never ending. She met his gaze and he flinched when he saw the raw brokenness in their depths. “It wasn’t my fault... it wasn’t my fault.”

Steve frowned and this time, he touched her. He ran his fingers through her hair, which had fallen out of its neat french braid. “What’s not your fault, sweetheart?”

“Please, you have to believe me,” she cried. “It wasn’t my fault, Stevie. You have to believe me. You have to believe me.”

“Hey, hey, shh. It’s okay. I believe you.” Steve’s tone was soft and gentle as he cooed to her, trying to calm her down. Frankly, he was freaked out, too, by her state and what he saw in his own vision. And he was angry. He’d been complacent. He promised her he would keep her safe, that he wouldn’t let Wanda infiltrate her mind. But he was careless, and now his girl was a wreck.

(Y/N) locked eyes with Steve, a bit of hope returning to her (e/c) depths. “It wasn’t my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Steve confirmed, forcing a smile.

Clint’s voice comes in on the earpiece. “All the tin men are down, but the Maximoffs are gone. So is Ultron. Tony said the Big Guy escaped and he’s fetching him. I think we need to head back to the jet. Tasha’s in bad shape.”

Steve pressed his own earpiece, looking down at the sweet girl who was crying silently next to him. “So is (Y/N). We’ll meet you at the jet.”

He placed his shield on his back and gathered (Y/N)’s weapons, placing them in his belt loops. He gently worked his arm into the crook of her knees and wrapped his other arm around her back. He stood, cradling her in his arms. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s get outta here.”

She curled into him, and even though her tears had stopped flowing, she was still looking around blankly, like her mind was still adrift.

He carried her out of the warehouse, through the salvage yard, and onto the Quinjet. Natasha was slumped in a corner, pale and trembling. Thor looked tense and bewildered. Clint was unaffected vision-wise, but he was pacing the floor of the jet and scratching his head.

When Steve entered the jet, Clint turned and stiffened. “Oh, shit.”

Steve ignored his comment, clueing the archer into how worried Steve was. He followed closely as Steve sat down on one of the seats, arranging (Y/N) so she lay comfortably across the seats with her head in his lap.

“What did she see?” Clint asked quietly.

Steve shook his head, his eyes trained on (Y/N)’s face. His fingers gently combed through her hair, and his other hand traced light designs on her hand. “I don’t know. She wasn’t making much sense. She kept saying something wasn’t her fault. I’ve never seen her like this.”

Clint’s gaze was soft as he looked at her. “I was with her when Loki’s spell lifted. She barely spoke after.” He glanced at Steve. “Actually, it was you who got through to her. You got her to talk again. What Loki’s magic made her do… it damaged her. Being mind-controlled once is no joke, but twice?” He sighed. “Poor kid.” He stood and walked over to the pilot’s seat.

Steve’s heart was heavy, but at the same time filled with warmth. Had he really been the one to help (Y/N) come back to herself after 2012? As he gazed down at her, he decided it would be his job to bring her back this time, too.

So he kept stroking her hair, whispering to her. “(Y/N). Come back to me, sweetheart. It’s me, Stevie. If anyone can fight back against the power of that vision, it’s you. You’re strong, so strong. Stronger than all of us. I’m here. Your family’s all here. Just come back. I’ve got you, and I’m never letting you go. I promise. You’re safe with me.”

Though (Y/N) didn’t respond, her eyes flicked to meet his gaze and he could’ve sworn he saw a sparkle of recognition return to her eyes. Encouraged, Steve kept talking.

He lost himself in his quiet affirmations and gentle words to her, so much so that he didn’t notice Thor, Clint, and even Natasha watching. Thor and Clint smiled slightly, and Natasha, as shaken as she was, felt emotional watching the tender display. It was really obvious to everyone except Steve and (Y/N) that they had fallen for each other.

The three of them were so moved that when Tony and Bruce returned, Clint went out to meet them and warned them to keep their voices down and not make any comments-- with that bit being directed at Tony-- about what they were about to see.

All Tony said when they walked onto the jet and saw Steve with (Y/N) cradled on his lap was a grumbled, “Finally.”

***

They decided that it was too dangerous to return to the Tower. Ultron was everywhere, and after the whole Hulk incident they needed to lie low. Clint guided the jet toward a location he refused to tell the others about, and spoke quietly with Tony. They were the only two who hadn’t been hit with a vision at the salvage yard.

Thor was acting a little gruffer than normal, Natasha was quiet, and Bruce was weary, but the one they were really worried about was (Y/N). For the entirety of the Quinjet ride, her head rested on Steve’s thigh as she slowly came back to reality. It was Steve’s gentle touches and grounding words that eventually brought her back. But even then, she was uncharacteristically quiet and withdrawn.

“We’re almost there, sweetheart,” Steve whispered. “Just keep your eyes on me. Don’t slip back into your head.”

She nodded once, her face lined with sadness and a hint of fear. It made Steve’s heart ache. He kept his blue eyes locked with her (e/c) ones. “Do you remember Clint and Natasha? They’re like your brother and sister. We’re your family. You’re safe with us.”

He kept having to repeat these statements in order to keep her present. He did so without complaint and with a heart full of affection and concern for his girl.

At the mention of Clint and Natasha, the fear grew on her face and Steve moved his hand from her hair to her face. He gently tucked a strand of her hair behind her ears. “We’re not gonna hurt you. We all love you. I-” He swallowed. “… care about you so much, (Y/N). You’re safe with us, okay?”

“Okay, Stevie.” Her voice was small and quiet, reminding Steve of his mom after getting her ass handed to her by his dad. He hated it, and wanted nothing more for (Y/N)’s smile to return. So, he kept forcing a smile for her sake and continued anchoring her with his words and touches.

After a few hours, Clint landed the jet next to a farmhouse. Steve stood and held out his hands to (Y/N). “Can you stand for me, pretty girl?”

She nodded shakily and stood, taking his hands. He wrapped his arm around her protectively. The other Avengers watched with a mixture of worry and awe on their faces.

He and (Y/N) trailed behind as Clint helped Natasha walk and led Bruce, Tony, and Thor inside the house. When Clint’s pregnant wife appeared, who the Avengers had no idea about (except for Natasha), they all were stunned. Laura and Natasha caught up and Clint introduced them all to his kids and explained why he kept their location a secret.

(Y/N) tried to smile and hesitantly shook Laura’s hand. The yelling of the kids and the chatter of the others made her tense up. Steve rubbed her arms and made eye-contact with Clint.

Having seen (Y/N) go through something like this once before, Clint strode over to them and kept his voice low. “Tasha’s gonna sleep with Laura. Me, Tony, Thor, and Bruce will sleep in the living room. You two can take the guest room.”

(Y/N) was too in her head to fully process what he said, but Steve’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to question why he and (Y/N) should share a room and protest that it wasn’t appropriate, but Clint rolled his eyes. “Just take the damn room. Go. You’ll thank me later.”

Wordlessly, Steve took (Y/N)’s hand and-- after hearing Clint’s directions-- guided her upstairs. He entered a small but quaint room and shut the door. (Y/N) silently sat on the bed, her eyes on her hands.

Steve exhaled deeply. He walked to her and crouched in front of her, taking her hands in his. She met his gaze, her expression clouded. Steve squeezed her hands lightly. “Talk to me, sweetheart. What did you see? I want to help you.”

“You won’t once I tell you,” she whispered, tears pricking her eyes.

Steve’s tone was gentle but firm. “Try me.”

(Y/N) took a shaky breath. “Did… did I ever tell you how young I was when I joined S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

Steve frowned, concentrating. “You said you were seventeen. You were one of their youngest recruits.”

(Y/N)’s hands fidgeted in his grip. “Did I say why I joined?”

“You said you didn’t want to go to college, that you wanted to work there to honor your mother.” Steve sounded puzzled.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “That-that was-um… it wasn’t the whole truth.”

Steve looked at her encouragingly, and that just made it harder for (Y/N). She swallowed. “After I-uh… after I got my powers and my mom died, my dad… he became more violent. He was violent before, but losing Mom just… it just made him snap. He knew he couldn’t hurt me anymore, so he started taking it out on my baby brother. He was only twelve.”

“Go on.” Steve’s eyes were narrowed, but he made an effort to keep his voice soft.

The stinging tears made it difficult for her to see. “One-one day I heard my dad beating my brother, and when I found them, my brother was barely breathing. I yelled at my dad to stop, but he wouldn’t listen.” Tears trickled down her cheeks, one by one, and Steve let go of one of her hands to brush them away. “I eventually grabbed his shirt and shoved him away, but… but I-I shoved him toward the stairs.”

Steve closed his eyes and (Y/N) shook her head. “I couldn’t revive him. The fall killed him. I killed him.”

Steve’s eyes opened and he stared at her. “(Y/N), that was an accident. You didn’t kill him.”

“Stevie, I was too strong for him,” (Y/N) cried. “I should’ve-”

“Stop, stop, stop.” Steve cupped her face. “Sweetheart, you were a kid. Your powers weren’t under control yet. You didn’t mean to hurt your dad; you were just trying to save your brother.” And that monster doesn’t deserve your guilt and shame, he added silently.

(Y/N) sobbed once and Steve moved to sit next to her, pulling her onto his lap and encasing her in his arms. She cried into his shirt, staining it with her tears.

They sat like that for a minute, and he quietly shushed her and whispered words of reassurance. Once her sobs had died down, she pulled back a bit to look at him. “You… you believe me?”

“Of course I do.” His tone was matter-of-fact. Steve cupped her face again. “What happened to your brother?”

(Y/N) shuddered. “He broke a rib and it punctured his lung. I tried to give him CPR… but he was already gone. He’d lost too much blood.” The streams of tears continued to pour down her cheeks. “He was twelve, Stevie.”

Steve’s soul hurt for her, for that little boy he’d never gotten the chance to meet. He gently wiped her tears with his thumbs and kissed her forehead before pressing against it with his own. “I’m so sorry.”

(Y/N)’s small hands grasped onto his wrists as if they were her lifeline. “After that, I found Fury. He’s the only one who knows the whole story… other than you.” Her tone wobbled. “I asked him to lock me up. He gave me a job instead. He took a chance on me.”

Steve pulled her to him and his nose brushed her ear as (Y/N) continued to shake. “I’d managed to redeem myself in my mind. But then 2012 happened. When I realized what I’d done, what I’d been made to do… I was back in that house, with blood on my hands.” She gave a broken laugh. “It’s ironic, really. The girl with super-human strength and agility is weak in the head. She breaks everything she touches. She makes a fucking mess wherever she goes.”

“Stop, stop,” Steve pleaded, pulling back. “You’re strong, (Y/N). So strong. You’re stronger than me, that’s for damn sure, both mentally and in your heart. You don’t break everything you touch; you bring light to the darkest places. You gave a lost super-soldier a reason to smile again, inspired him to be the best hero he could be, which would never be half as good as you. When you make a mess, you own up to it. But you’ve never once willingly put someone in harm’s way. You’ve never once willingly allowed an innocent person to suffer. You love everyone around you with your whole heart.” Steve’s own eyes were brimming with tears now. “Everyone but yourself.”

(Y/N) stared at him. Steve took her hands in his and pressed kiss after kiss to her hands. “You’re a good person. It hurts me to hear you talk like you’re not.” He made eye-contact with her. “I have a feeling I know what you saw in that vision. You saw your dad and brother dying, right?”

“That’s… that’s not all.” Dare she speak the cursed words aloud? If she did… would that make it real? She covered her mouth briefly, looking anywhere but Steve. “You and the others hated me for what I did. You looked at me with pure disappointment. You-you told me… you told me that-that you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

If it was even possible, Steve’s heart broke even further. “Oh, sweetheart.” He lifted her chin with his index finger, gently forcing her to look at him. A tear rolled down his cheek. “I could never hate you for what happened. Neither could the others. I’m sure if they found out, they’d all feel nothing but compassion for you. What happened? It wasn’t your fault. We’d never blame you. We all love you.” He moved his hand up to run the backs of his fingers against her cheekbone. She unconsciously leaned into his touch. Steve’s tone held sincerity when he said, “I love you.”

(Y/N)’s breath got caught in her throat. The flow of tears slowed, and Steve noticed. A small, watery smile tugged at his lips. “I love you, sweetheart. Have for a while now.” He shook his head. “And you don’t have to say it back—”

(Y/N) cut him off with a gentle whisper. “But I want to.” She wiped her cheeks and moved to cup his handsome face in her little hands. “I love you, Stevie.”

Steve gazed at her with softness and adoration. He leaned forward and kissed her chastely. The kiss was delicate, but for both of them it felt as if sparks were flying. When he pulled away, (Y/N) pouted and Steve laughed. He rubbed his nose against hers. “Trust me, sweetheart, when you’re feeling better, I’ll give you all the kisses you want. But I don’t wanna take advantage.”

(Y/N)’s heart fluttered. Whether it was because he was from the 40s, or because he was just a true gentleman, he was the most considerate man she’d ever met.

She scrubbed her face, stifling a yawn as she did so. Steve noticed. “I think someone’s tired. Lie down.”

She could hear a tiny bit of his Captain voice as he spoke, and that made her smile. She was exhausted, it was true. Barely sleeping for the past couple weeks on top of the emotional baggage of today was more than draining.

She climbed under the covers of the queen-sized bed, and before she could ask Steve to stay, he shuffled over to her. “Scoot over, big guy coming through.”

(Y/N) laughed softly and did as he asked. Pretty soon, her back was against his chest and his big arms were encircled around her. He sighed, content.

She felt herself falling asleep already, but curiosity nagged at her. “What did you see in your vision?”

Steve sighed again, but this time, she could practically hear the resignation in it. “I saw myself going back to the 40s and dancing with Peggy.”

A bolt of jealousy and unease struck her. “Why did Wanda show you that?”

Steve buried his face in her hair, lightly brushing his lips against her ear and making her shiver. “Because she wanted to show us all our biggest fear.”

The unease faded to confusion. “Why was dancing with Peggy your biggest fear?”

“Because she wasn’t you,” Steve said simply. She felt his embrace get a little tighter. “I still care deeply for Peggy, and I try to visit her as much as I can, but I stopped dreaming about a life where I had been with her once I realized my dreams were now about you. I stopped loving her the minute I fell in love with you. Dancing with her… it was a picture of the life I don’t want anymore. It was empty and lifeless because you were gone. You’re my best girl.”

Tears sprung to (Y/N)’s eyes once more. He seemed to sense this and moved his lips from her ear to her temple. He kissed her hair and brushed his nose along her cheekbone. “Let’s go to sleep.”

(Y/N) nodded, and when she spoke she was half teasing, half serious. “Dream of me?”

Steve chuckled. “Always, pretty girl.”

They fell asleep minutes later, the super-soldier holding his girl securely to his chest. They didn’t hear the door open a crack, nor did they see Natasha peek her head in.

She smiled softly when she saw them and shut the door. She turned to face Tony, Clint, Thor, and Bruce, who all eagerly awaited the report.

“They fell asleep cuddling in the bed.” Natasha grinned at Clint. “They finally exchanged their “I love you”s.

Clint had a huge smile on his face, and he turned to Tony and held out his hand. Tony grumbled and handed him a twenty-dollar bill. “You rigged it by giving them the same room.”

“Hey, I did that so he could comfort her in private.” Clint smirked and pocketed the money. “Them finally admitting their feelings was just an added bonus.”

Bruce glanced at Tony. “So if Clint betted they’d admit their feelings, what did you bet?”

“That the Leopard and Capsicle would break the bed,” Tony muttered nonchalantly.

Natasha thumped him and Bruce facepalmed himself. Thor beamed. “No, no. The Captain is far too chivalrous for that. The courting ritual back in Asgard--”

“We can hear you guys,” Steve called, his tone a mixture of tiredness and amusement.

Natasha grabbed the boys and shoved them away from the door. She apologized to Steve and (Y/N) and walked away, muttering, “I swear, men are idiots.”

***

Thanks for reading!!!

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #age of ultron #captain america #x reader #reader insert #fem reader #my writing

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hurtspideyparker · 1 month ago

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my favourite type of moments in MCU movies:

Iron Man trilogy: When Tony argues with Pepper

"I WAS ATTACKED!", "I'm not on my CYCLE PEPPER!", "I was gonna make you an omelet and tell you." "'We could've been in Venice' 'Oh please.'" "It's a big bunny, relax about it!"

Captain America trilogy: Bucky Barnes. Just Bucky Barnes.

1. Howling Commandos Bucky all dirty and grinning, or confused and concerned "I thought you were smaller" "No not without you!" "I had him on the ropes" 2. Winter Soldier ALWAYS, but particularly the knife fight. Also the way his metal arm rolls the bomb in that one scene. And weepy lost Winter "but I knew him" 3. Beefy Bucky!!! I'm biased for Romania plum picking Buck, the stubble and hat combo, long hair peeking out and that jacket barely covering his bulging muscles in the henley. And the way he stares at Steve in his apartment... oh sweetheart. He needs a hug so bad

Spider-Man trilogy: When Peter cries. His teary brown eyes 😭🫶 (ik I'm a freak mk)

"I lost the Stark internship" in the oversized shirt and hello kitty pjs, needing May to comfort him. Crying like a little kid when he's stuck under the rubble. FFH when he's in the night monkey suit and just his goggles are up and you can see how watery his eyes are when Fury is reprimanding him. NWH: God... too much really. Reaching for May as she dies. Breaking down all over again when Ned and MJ find him on the rooftop and hold him. That beautifully cinematic shot when JJJ is tearing Spider-Man apart for being ruinous and unsalvageable

Thor movies: Loki's smirk/cockiness

Every time he smirks. Loki shapeshifting in Dark World during their escape, especially as Captain America. Ragnarok when Thor tells the snake story from when they were kids and Loki's just sitting there smug in the corner

Avengers movies: The domesticity of the team + when mom and dad fight (stony)

AoU did domestic so beautifully. The after party, Clint's farm, bantering about Worthiness, Nat's humour "I thought you and Tony were still gazing into each other's eyes". The whole "language" bit. The compound, everyone living together. Shawarma. Endgame when they are figuring out time travel together, Tony teasing them for being idiots, Nat, Tony, and Bruce cuddling on a table discussing the stone locations. Stony making up, "I trust you".

Stony fights: "Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist" "I don't trust a guy without a dark side" "'she's just a kid!' 'gimme a BREAK'" "you're gonna come with us, now! Because it's us." "Don't bullshit me Rogers, did you know?" "No trust, liar."

GOTG movies: Rocket being a dad to Groot

When Groot sacrifices himself and Rocket holds the twigs from his body, being gentle with him and him only, Groot showing the picture he made and Rocket being proud, the entire scene of Rocket trying to teach Groot not to press the big red button, and the scene of trying to get Groot to bring Yondu's fin. Arguing with angsty teen Groot

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stellar-solar-flare · 1 day ago

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S T E V E R O G E R S

This list has all my Steve Rogers works, sorted by length (longfic, oneshot, drabble/headcanon). I have noted down which ones have an AU version of Steve - works with just 'Steve' are about the Avenger we know and love. All my work is for 18+ only but stories have ratings based on their specific content.

MAIN MASTERLIST | AO3

Beautiful star dividers by @steviebbboi, thank you.

L O N G F I C S:

A Fairytale Of A Disaster | Steve x Doctor!Reader | Explicit

Reader has been stood up by her Valentine's Date. Or has she? Romance, fluff, meet-cute, hurt/comfort. COMPLETE, 4/4.

Brilliant Steel (AO3) | Steve Rogers x OFC, platonic Bucky & OFC | Explicit

The AI Head Strategist, Captain Steve Rogers's world implodes as a wave of inexplicable, supernatural events washes over the globe. The problem: the brilliant mind that might be the key to solving all this belongs to a woman Steve once scorned, and she won’t be happy to find him standing at her doorstep. In an effort to save the world, Steve and Bucky team up with a woman that Steve once thought would be much more than a teammate. In a universe much more vast and stranger than anyone ever thought, they’ll have to learn to rely on each other — wits and gifts and weirdness and all — to keep said world on its rails. WIP - 5/x chapters published.

For Centuries (AO3)| emperor!Steve x Stark!princess!Reader | Explicit

As you, the only daughter of King Howard Stark, arrive at the court of Emperor Steven the Righteous to be wedded and crowned the Empress of the Centurial Empire, your husband-to-be is not what you expected. This is a 'From Political Marriage to Love Marriage' story, featuring lots of romantasy elements, court politics, and protective, righteous Emperor Steve Rogers. The slowest of burns. WIP - 19/x chapters published.

Equinox (AO3)| soft dark!mob boss!Steve x superpowered!Reader | Explicit

When you’re caught in the crossfires of a war brewing underground, Steve does what he has to. And as you get pulled deeper into his world, it may very well turn out that starlight can scorch, too. A dark romance story about a woman scorned and a man who is so much more than he seems. WIP, 10/x chapters published.

Volatile | Steve x scientist!Avenger!Reader | Explicit

Reader has been subjected to an aphrodisiac while on a mission. Steve and the medical team attempt to find a solution. Smut with feelings, eventual fluff, eventual happy ending. COMPLETE, 3/3.

O N E S H O T S:

Cinderella Magic | Steve Rogers x Reader | T+

The entire thing had been like something out of a movie, starting from how Steve – to you just Steve, one of the regulars at the bookshop you ran – had barged into the store yesterday and blurted out that he desperately needed a date. Fluff, romance, friends-to-lovers. 828 words.

Every Bit As Magical | Steve x Avenger!Reader | G

When the car stopped, and Steve went round to open the door for you and help you out, you were practically bursting with curiosity. Tumblr Prompt: "Steve Rogers + a day at Disneyland?" Fluff, romance, established relationship. 567 words.

Malogranatum | soft dark!Avenger!Steve Rogers x mob boss!Reader | Explicit

“You know there are lines I do not cross,” you said. Tumblr prompt: "Steve + Mob AU + ”Would you really do that for me?” + nefarious." Dark romance with themes of obsessive love. AU - canon divergence & mob themes. 2,417 words.

Warmth | Steve x chronically ill!Reader | Mature

Steve is the most caring husband and the best heating pad in the world. Even on the bad days when you don't feel easy to love. Hurt/comfort, established relationship, protective Steve Rogers. 1,771 words.

Worthy | Steve Rogers x Reader | Mature

You and Steve Rogers have been dating for a year. When a journalist is out to get you, you will have to stand together and come out stronger. Romance, angst with a happy ending, fluff & hurt/comfort, protective Steve Rogers. Reader has past trauma and unspecified mental health issues. 2,045 words.

H E A D C A N O N S & D R A B B L E S

kink headcanons for different versions of Steve | Explicit

fall-themed dates with Steve headcanons | Mature

getting ready for a Halloween Party with Steve | T+

coming home to Steve after a long day | G

tempting Steve at a Halloween Party | T+

a 3-sentence fic about Steve being a good dad | G

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x oc #captain america x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x f!reader

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glynnisi · 2 years ago

Photo

Steve Rogers cares about others. He's worthy.

CHRIS EVANS as STEVE ROGERS Captain America: Civil War (2016)

#THIS #this is Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers #noble #concerned #kind #moral #righteous #good #a good man #worthy #steverogers #respects people #he was a weak ill boy and young man for his first 24 years

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redroomreflections · 7 months ago

Text

Gentle Hands Chapter 1

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha suspects Reader is in an abusive relationship and tries to convince her to leave

1/10

W/c: 7.7k

Warning: Domestic violence

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: Yes, I have a lot of WIPS sue me!

The problem with wearing a mask is that eventually, you can’t take it off. Sure, you can stretch the truth. You can come up with some other lie or story that helps move things along. Wearing a mask is like lying to yourself. You pretend everything is okay. You tell yourself more lies to believe you’re doing a good thing. That you’re keeping others safe. If only they knew.

You nod along to the melody pouring from the custom-built speakers Tony Stark installed in the lounge. You laugh whenever someone makes a joke. You smile politely when something is directed towards you. You’re among superheroes every day that ironically don’t wear masks. Their lives are wide open for everyone to see. Their secrets are all out on the table. You’re amongst the earth’s mightiest heroes and you feel like an imposter. Their personalities are big. Their smiles are bright. Their kindness is everlasting. You don’t know if you should be feeling the way you do when they’ve extended their grace to you. They’ve opened their hearts and their home to you. They consider you one of them and yet you can’t seem to offer them the same.

Your life is messy. Complicated. Normal. It’s nothing worthy of the time they’ve given you. It’s a movie night with the Avengers and you’re tucked into Sam’s side and holding onto Bucky’s arm as you watch whatever movie is on the TV screen. Not that you have much of a choice. They’re two pretty big men compared to you and there was only one open seat. You’re not sure they like each other all too well. It’s not your place to ask. So you sit between them with a question at the tip of your tongue that you may never know. You don’t mind much. It feels nice to be included. You’re not an Avenger. You’re not even a part of S.H.I.E.L.D. You’re just a simple secretary with a 9 to 5 who managed to charm Steve Rogers. You’re not like them.

Strong. Brave. Fearless.

You’re just… normal. You can count on one hand the things you’ve done in life that could even be a smidge of what they do every day. They save the world and all you do is file paperwork and answer phones. How does that compare?

Your eyes scan the room. As you observe them you wonder how is it that you’ve managed to fool them all. Do they notice how uncomfortable you are? Do they notice that you apologize whenever you make a mistake? Do they notice your hands shaking whenever a friendly debate becomes a bit more heated than necessary? No. Why would they? You’re just another person to them. A normal person with normal problems. Nothing could be wrong.

You look at each of them one by one as they enjoy the movie. Tony is munching on popcorn, quoting the movie whenever he can, as Pepper looks less enthused about this particular picture. She’s seen it a dozen times since she’s met him. Clint, a.k.a. Hawkeye, he’s half interested, as he checks his phone every three minutes. He must be a popular man the way it vibrates so much. He rests his arms on Natasha’s legs thrown into his lap. She’s leaning into his side, nosily reading the messages as if they’re her own. Her eyes flick to the screen ever so often as she mumbles the lines to herself. It’s a favorite of hers too. Steve is next to her. He’s more interested than any of you. He’s never seen this one. Bucky hasn’t either as he attempts to stay awake through the entire thing. Sam has taken to throwing popcorn over your shoulder, letting it fall into Bucky’s hair that’s incredibly long. Wanda is settled in a chair with her legs thrown over the arm. She’s reading from her kindle with the display brightness turned down low. She’s not interested in the movie but she’s enjoying the company of the others.

Vision is seated just below her on the floor. He’s trying to analyze some of the jokes of the movie. He laughs at inappropriate times and he looks to you for answers but you just shrug. You don’t quite get the movie either. This entire scene is domestic. It feels like a family. You remembered longing for days like this when you were younger. You would watch episodes of FRIENDS wondering if that would ever be your reality.

It’s refreshing how safe you feel here. How you feel like nothing can hurt you. Life should be like this forever? It’s how you always felt during family movie nights as a little girl. You would lie on the living room floor with your older sister, you would share a blanket, and rest your head on your elbows to see the tv better. You would glance around you ever so often to make sure your parents were paying attention. This night in the Avenger’s tower is reminiscent of that. It feels like home.

Until the lights come on. It pulls everyone from the moment as J.A.R.V.I.S. announces the presence of a visitor. Suddenly everyone is on guard. Bucky sits up. He’s more alert than he’s been in the past few hours. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you realize who it is. Sam reaches to grab the remote from the coffee table to pause the TV. Wanda moves to sit upright. Natasha grabs at her pants leg. Was she hiding a gun in those sweatpants? Everyone is on guard but you’re the one that’s afraid.

He steps in with an air of arrogance. He walks like he owns the place. Like he’s not nervous to be trespassing the home of people who could kill him without batting an eye. He gives a convincing smile though you’re not sure anyone is buying it.

“Uh, may we help you?” Tony is the first to speak.

“I’m here for y/n.” He says simply. He folds his arms behind his back and stands shoulder-width apart. His stance is not menacing. It’s quite friendly actually. Everyone turns to you. Curiosity in their eyes. You’ve mentioned having a boyfriend but you never had any intention of introducing them to him.

“I’m right here,” You stand a bit faster than necessary. “I have to go.” You search the couch cushions for your phone and your purse. You reach as far as you can go but you end up finding nothing. All eyes are on the newcomer again. He gives you a soft smile that’s almost convincing. You can feel someone staring at your back though you can’t tell who. Your shirt rises and you straighten to pull it back down. Finally, Bucky lifts and grabs the offending items from his end. He hands them to you. You give him a quiet thanks before turning around.

“But you didn’t finish the movie?” Tony groans. “Hey, trespasser, come sit and watch the movie. Y/n’s not done.”

“I called you.” Keith ignores Tony’s demands. He looks straight ahead to you.

“My phone must have died,” You explain as you press the power button. Sure enough, it is dead.

“You know how dangerous that is.” His voice is friendly though you know better.

“Well she’s not alone,” Sam tilts his head. “How much danger could she be in?”

“Our daughter is home,” Keith looks to Sam. “With a babysitter. It’s important for y/n to be available,” he says. He tucks his hands into his pocket to wait patiently for you. By the tick of his jaw you know it’s not that simple.

“You have a daughter?” Steve chimes in with a question. None of them knew. Not many people know.

“I do, she’s one. Her name is Kaia.” You shake your head in dismissal. “I will explain later. This is my boyfriend Keith. He’s Kaia’s father.” You walk around the couches to stand beside Keith. He wraps his arm around your shoulders to land a kiss on your forehead. He lingers before pulling back.

“Goodnight,” He gives them a wave before leading you into the elevators. Neither of you leaves any room for question. As soon as you’re inside he releases you from his hold. His hand twitches but he doesn’t move to do anything else. He’s not stupid. He won’t do anything in such high security, high-tech building. For a second you’re questioning how he was even allowed up then you remember his charm. It’s how he landed you once upon a time. Keith doesn’t speak until you’re out on the sidewalk. Home is just a fifteen-minute train ride away. “You should know better.” He says before releasing his hold on you.

“Keith, I’m sorry, my phone did die.” You call after him as he walks a bit faster. He’s not waiting for you at all anymore.

“Do you know I had to call around and see where you were?” He turns so suddenly that you almost bump into him.

“Again, I’m sorry.” You feel the frustration rising within you. He’s always like this. It’s no surprise. He thinks he owns you. He likes to micromanage every single one of your moves. He has to know every minor detail about your schedule. Which seems to anger you further. You’re working. You’re always working. Which he so graciously allows you to. “I was here. I’m sure Kaia is fine.” You shrug. Keith looks at you with narrowed eyes. For a second you think he’s going to debate but he doesn’t. Instead, he continues walking towards the train. You let out a silent breath as you look back to the tower. You’d much rather be back inside with the team.

The train ride home is silent. He sits beside you with a possessive hand on your thigh. You allow yourself to settle into him. From the outside, you look like the perfect young couple. You wonder if anyone could see through his gentle touches. You wonder if they know the lingering kisses he leaves on your head are just a warning of what’s to come. He’s not going to let this go so easily.

When you get home, you step into the door and kick off your shoes. You place them neatly on the bamboo shoe rack right next to his loafers. He heads for the fridge in search of a beer. He’s probably had a tough day in the office. He’s the youngest executive at Microsoft and that comes with its struggles. You’re understanding of that. Almost too understanding. You don’t pay him any mind as you walk further into your apartment. Everything you were afraid of disappears when you spot Kaia in her playpen. Kaia pushes against the fabric of the pen to stand. She smiles up at you with that smile. The one that she always has whenever you come home. It’s beautiful and innocent. You don’t hesitate to swoop her in your arms.

You kiss the top of her head before looking over to the babysitter, Maureen. She’s packing up her knitting tools. She’s a nice lady that lives down the hall. She never minds keeping an eye on Kaia when you’re working. You rarely go out so asking her to keep her a little longer wasn’t much of an ask. She just wanted you to have fun.

“How was she today?” You ask.

“An angel.” Maureen smiles. “I’ll see you soon.” Maureen waves her goodbye before exiting the apartment. You stand in silence, bouncing Kaia in your arms, as she toys with the necklace you’re wearing. You glance around the living room. It’s not that messy in here. You figure you can clean once Kaia’s asleep.

“Are you ready for a bath, my girl?” You ask her. You kiss her head again before looking over to Keith. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, his legs are crossed, and he’s sipping from the bottle.

“Are you going to cook?” He asks suddenly.

“What? No, I ate already.” You tell him. “Maureen already fed Kaia. I left her dinner instructions this morning.”

“So, I get nothing?” He deduces. Was it so bad for him to cook for himself?

“Keith,” You sigh. Was this really what he was angry about? You stayed after work with friends one time. Was that so bad? To him it was.

“No, you’re right, I’ll just order out.” He shakes his head. Good. Crisis averted. You walk to the back of the apartment to dress into something more comfortable. You set Kaia on the bed with a toy so that you can strip. Keith approaches the doorway to watch you. He glances to Kaia and then to you. His gaze is strong and heated.

“Can you start a bath for her?” You ask him. He doesn’t respond. You internally roll your eyes. You don’t know what his deal is today but you’re not in the mood to find out. You unbutton your blouse to reveal your bra. It’s new. It’s a part of the new wardrobe you’ve needed for a long while. Your new salary gives you the luxury to buy things like this now. Stark Industries pays pretty well. You’re only a temp but you enjoy the job nonetheless.

“I haven’t seen that one before,” Keith comments. He tucks his hands into his pocket.

“I just bought it,” You reply. Next to go are your pants. You toss them onto the bed. You glance behind you to make sure Kaia is still playing.

“For who?” He asks. You stop your search for comfier clothes to look up at him. What is he getting at?

“For myself,” You frown.

“Are you fucking him?” He suddenly asks. There it is.

“Him who, Keith?” You sit on the bed. You’re in nothing but your underwear but it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.

“Steve Rogers, Captain America.” He says it as if it’s obvious.

“Where would you get that ridiculous accusation from?” You shake your head. “Keith I’ve barely been there for a few months. He’s nice to me. I’m not sleeping with him.” You stand to look for a t-shirt again. You find one of your mom’s old college shirts that you’re pretty sure is your dad’s. You slip it over your head. You pick Kaia up and she squeals. You’re preoccupied now with the thought of bathing her. You take the few steps to head for the bathroom only Keith is still in the way.

“Does he want to fuck you?” Keith asks. You wish he would stop with the accusations. How could he accuse you of something like that? Especially when he’s the only person you’ve ever slept with. He’s your first. He knows that. He wears it proudly but suddenly he’s voicing insecurity that’s based on nothing.

“I don’t know,” You shrug. You gesture for him to move and he does. He follows you to the bathroom. He watches you without offering any help as you turn on the bathwater. You set Kaia down onto her feet as she holds onto the lip of the tub. She places her mouth on the edge to bite at it as you check the water temperature. “I wouldn’t notice.”

“The Black Widow is hotter in person,” He comments. Again you shrug.

It’s not like you disagree with him on that. Natasha is beautiful. She hasn’t said much to you since you’ve been hanging out with the rest of the team. She only even comes to movie nights because Clint drags her to them. You think she secretly enjoys the bonding.

“Look, the team is nice.” You strip Kaia of her clothes before placing her into the tub. The water is low and enough to bathe her quickly. She splashes excitedly as you toss a few toys in. You can feel the familiar ache in your back as you reach over the side to begin bathing her. “I just wanted to have a good time with them. I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

“It’s not,” He says.

“Keith, you seem upset that I even stayed at work,” You look behind you. He’s still dressed in his button-up and slacks. “A job you suggested I get remember.” It’s true. He suggested that you go out more and have friends. It was not without you begging for months. He never has his mind made up when it comes to your place in his life. When you first got together he was charming, kind, loving. He’s still all of those things when he chooses to be. It was only after you got pregnant with Kaia that things started to change. It was like a switch went off in his head. Suddenly his behavior was different. He was more possessive, angrier, more physical. It’s almost as if he hated you for even getting pregnant. This much after he begged you to keep the baby in the first place.

“Not upset just curious.” He shrugs. You can feel him coming closer. He kneels, fixing his pants legs so that it’s more comfortable for him to lean over the tub. He pushes his arm sleeves up to reach into the bathtub. He grabs a rubber duck to push it around in the water as it floats. Kaia gives him a toothy grin as she reaches for the duck. You strain your neck to look at him. “She needs a sibling.” You cringe. There it is again. The flipflopping. “Don’t you think ?”

Is that a trick question?

“I think that we should wait,” You say instead. “Until I finish school.” He stops playing with Kaia to give a deep sigh.

“You’re still on that?” He sits back on his legs. “I thought this job was enough.”

“It is,” You assure him. “I just would like to finish my degree. I only have two years left. Isn’t that what we wanted?”

“Yeah, before,” He shakes his head. “Now you don’t need to. I can take care of you.”

You don’t doubt that he could take care of you. You never doubted that. His family is already quite wealthy. They’re powerful. He understands the trade of business. He’s good with his money. He takes care of all of your needs but you want this for yourself. You promised yourself you would. He takes your silence for petulance and tries a different approach.

“Kaia needs you,” He says. “ She needs her mom. I mean with this job you barely have time for her anyways. If you add school to that she’s just going to be raised by a babysitter. I don’t want that.”

“Well you could do it,” You stop yourself from saying it. You’re not in the mood for an argument.

“Would you like a baby brother?” Keith directs his words to Kaia. She splashes at his attention. “See, even she says yes.” He laughs. He helps to clean her hair as you wash the rest of her body. The conversation seems to be over for now. He races for a clean towel as you hold a naked and wet Kaia against you. She’s slippery and still a bit energetic. Hopefully, with one song she will fall asleep. You walk over to the mirror to look into it as she leans her head onto your shoulder while bringing her hand up to her mouth to suck on. You inspect both of you in interest. She has your eyes. Her lashes are thick as her eyes flutter with heaviness. Maybe a song won't be needed. You rock her in your arms becoming entranced by your movements.

You enjoy motherhood. You do. Another baby sounds nice in theory. You grew up with siblings. Keith has two brothers himself. Was it unfair to have Kaia grow up alone? You’re not sure. Thinking about the time it would take to raise another one, the toll on your body, the time off of work. School seems a bit further away as you realize another pregnancy meant no time for it. Maybe that’s his plan.

Keith enters with a towel and he finally takes Kaia into his arms. She grunts in protest before settling into his arms. You follow him into her bedroom where he begins to dress her. He diapers her with ease as she watches him with sleepy eyes. You hand him the lotion bottle, then the baby powder, and finally the onesie pajamas for her to wear. You watch how he interacts with her. He’s a good dad. He is. He’s gentle with her. He plays with her. He loves her.

Why wasn’t that enough for you?

You leave him to put her to bed. You search for your phone. There are a few notifications that you weren’t expecting. It’s a groupchat of some sort you’ve been added to. You unlock your phone in excitement to see the unfamiliar numbers messaging you. The only number you do recognize is Steve’s as he’s sent you museum finds a while ago. You open the chain message to read each of them.

There’s a picture of Tony in a headlock attempting to break from Natasha’s grasp. You find it a bit funny and you heart the picture. You scroll up further in search of the other messages.

Hey, y/n, you missed out on the after-show. You laugh as the replies come rolling in. You type a response quickly after you ask for everyone’s names. Soon enough they reply with answers. Were you worthy to be included in their super-secret and private text chain?

You plug your phone into the charger as Keith enters the bedroom. He approaches you from behind to wrap his arms around your waist. You stiffen in his embrace before allowing yourself to relax. You know him. Your body knows him as it reacts to the kisses he places along your neck. He rubs your belly with his thumbs as you sway in place.

“I’m sorry,” He apologizes though he doesn’t elaborate. It could be for several things. “I’m stressed at work. I was upset when I came home to see you weren’t here. I should have known. Have your friends. You deserve it.”

“Thanks,” You say robotically.

“I like seeing you pregnant,” He says as his soothing rubs turn into firmer touches. His left-hand travels down so that he can trace your stomach under your shirt. You allow his touches. You welcome them. You can feel the slickness coating the inside of your thighs as he nips at the lobe of your ear. He toys with the waistband of your panties before moving to slide them down. “Let me take care of you.” He breathes hotly into your ear and you nod your consent.

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

The next morning you’re back at work bright and early. You’re typing away at your computer when Darcy Lewis comes to the lobby. She has donuts in her hand which only means she’s here to bribe you. You try to hide your grin as she bounces over to your desk. She places the box smack dab in the middle of your desk as she sits on the edge.

“What’s this for?” You ask. You push back so that you can look down at the box.

“Tony’s having a party,” Ah. There it is. “I want you to come.”

“Darcy, I can’t.” You groan. It’s not like you want to. “Keith wants us to have dinner with his parents that night. They’ll be in town.”

“So, bring them,” Darcy says in a duh tone. At your skeptical look, she resorts to begging. “Tony won’t care. I’ll tell him I cleared them. Keith may be a bit stiff but he loves a good party. His parents won’t complain about partying with a billionaire. Then if they’re happy enough you can avoid questions about having another kid or why you aren’t getting married.”

“What are you getting out of this?” You ask Darcy. She’s kind of your best friend these days.

“A right-hand woman that can drink me under the table if she so pleases,” You raise your brow. Even though she’s right she wants something more. “Okay, I need you to set me up with Steve. I know you two are like besties now and he’s not biting my bait so I need an in.”

“Steve and I aren’t besties,” You grimace at the term.

“But you hang out with him,” Darcy tilts her head.

“I do,” You confirm.

“That makes him your best friend beside me,” Darcy traces her nails along with the donut box. “Unless you’re planning some elaborate thing to keep him for yourself.”

“No, I’m not,” You shake your head. “Besides it’s not him I’m looking at if I were interested in an Avenger…”

“Who are you looking at?” Another voice startles you both as you whip your head around to see Natasha Romanoff standing behind Darcy. Her arms are folded and she sports a look of amusement. How long had she been standing there? Darcy recovers quickly and joins in on Natasha’s curiosity. She steps around the desk so that you’re both facing the Widow. She raises a brow urging you to continue.

You fumble for an answer.

“Barnes?” Natasha guesses and you immediately shake your head.

“Nah,” You frown.

“Sam? He’s nice.” Darcy takes a guess. Again you shake your head.

“Those are two very masculine choices,” You explain. You can’t believe you’re even entertaining them with this. You’re in a committed relationship. It’s just gossip, right?

“So, Wanda?” Natasha throws out. At your blush, she can tell she’s gotten warmer but you won’t admit it. “She’s pretty and smart.”

“It’s not Wanda,” You clear your throat before hurriedly stuffing a donut into your mouth. It’s not even one you like. It has chocolate and sprinkles and overall too much sugar. Darcy’s eyes widen as she seems to catch up before Natasha does. Which is saying something. Darcy squeals before looking between the two of you. You move to pinch her thigh and she yelps.

Natasha eyes her curiously. Oh. She unfolds her arms and it’s her turn to blush.

“I’m flattered.”

“Yeah,” You nod. “It’s nothing you have to worry about.” You shake your head.

“It’s okay, plenty of people have had crushes.” Natasha shrugs. “Besides, I don’t think you could handle me.” She leans in close to say this. She looks directly into your eyes and finds delight in the way your breath hitches. Truth be told it sounds like a challenge. One that has you curious but you don’t say anything further.

Natasha pulls back at the sound of your phone ringing. Why is she here again?

You grab your phone before looking at her apologetically. Darcy takes a donut out of the box as she leans over your shoulder to look into your phone. It’s a photo message of Kaia at the park. She’s playing in the grass while smiling widely at the camera.

“Oh, the kid is so cute,” Darcy coos. “When am I going to be able to squeeze those cheeks again?” Natasha’s back straightens at the mention of the little girl. You realize she’s never gotten to see her. You turn your phone for her to see the picture. Her eyes light up though she makes no other move.

“Cute.” She says. Without another word, she leaves you two to head for the elevators.

“What even was that?” You ask as the doors close.

“Natasha being Natasha,” Darcy dismisses. “Though I sense some major attraction. If I were into chicks I’d be all up on that.”

“Yeah,” You shake your head. You weren’t reading too much into it. Natasha is a spy. She’s a master of manipulation. She’s flirty. You’ve seen her do the same thing to Sam or Bucky whenever she wants something out of them. It’s just how she operates. What could she want from you?

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

The party is the next time you see Natasha. It’s a bit fancier than you thought. It’s more of a gala than a party. Everyone’s dressed so fancily. They’re dressed like money. It makes you a bit uncomfortable but you’re here to support Darcy and the rest of the team. They received Humanitarian awards earlier in the night after stopping another alien attack in some country. Now with the after-party being in the tower, you feel a bit better. This place you know.

You’re here with Keith, and his parents, Lorraine, and Paul. You’re showing them a good time. Everyone is mingling and drinking to their heart's content. Keith has his arm wrapped around you as you talk with Rhodey about one of his military stories. It’s the first time you’re hearing it but it’s an interesting one.

He’s in the middle of the story when Natasha sidles up to his side. She’s wearing a daring pink dress that has a plunging neckline, feathered hem, and a thigh-high slit. It’s pretty and you admired it when she first entered the party. It’s teetering on inappropriate but it looks so damn good on her. Rhodey greets her before continuing his story. She grins, having heard the story before, saying his punch line before he does. Rhodey looks at her with disapproving eyes before breaking into a laugh. She stole his thunder.

“Hello, Natasha Romanoff,” Natasha introduces herself. She shakes Lorraine and Paul’s hands. They sing their praises to her. They’re admittedly a bit star-struck. She’s amused by it as they question her on her fighting abilities. She answers the questions with ease.

“I am curious if you have any weapons on you now,” Paul questions with a glance down her body. “Where would you hide them?” You follow his gaze. You remember the day in the lounge where she grabbed at her pants leg. You have no doubt she has a knife taped to her thigh or something. Could she hide a gun there too? Natasha’s painted lips pull into a smile.

“A lady never tells,” She whispers to him.

“I do love your dress,” Lorraine comments. “It’s very beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Natasha smiles. “Though I think, y/n’s dress is stunning too.” Oh. All eyes are on you as she compliments you. What was that about?

Your eyes travel down your own body. It’s a bit simpler. It’s black. Form-fitting with its split. Your neckline is higher but you’re showing a bit of cleavage. You like the dress enough.

“I think on the right body, it can be,” Keith says offhandedly. Natasha’s smile disappears.

“The right body?” Natasha’s voice is dangerously low. You shake your head. It’s not worth arguing over.

“Oh, I see what you mean,” Lorraine joins in. “Y/n is still sporting a bit of baby weight so we don’t see the full potential.”

“I think the full potential has been shown,” Natasha raises a brow.

“Maybe she could work out with you?” Lorraine asks for you. You can’t quite believe it but you’re used to it. It’s not the worst thing she’s said to you.

“Is that what, y/n, wants to do?” Natasha looks to you for answers. You shrug. You’re not opposed to it but you didn’t think there was anything wrong with your body. “I think it’s beautiful. Her body. She did give birth just a year ago. I would think you’d offer a bit of grace to her considering.”

“Oh, of course,” Lorrain agrees not wanting to piss Natasha off. Though you figure it’s a bit too late. Before anyone can say anything else, Natasha walks away. You’re all left with the awkwardness of the moment. Darcy chooses this moment to approach you.

“Hi, I need, y/n, for a second.” Darcy excuses the both of you to pull you over to the bar. You wave in apology as Keith releases you. You look at Darcy questioningly. “Steve is over there. He’s alone. Go hype me up. Don’t do too much where he thinks I’m desperate but do it enough where he knows I want him.”

You narrow your eyes. Message received. You leave Darcy to go and talk to Steve.

“Hey, y/n,” He smiles.

“Where’s your phone?” You ask him. He looks confused but pulls it out anyways. “Darcy Lewis, my friend over there, Thor’s friend. She wants to climb you like a tree. Preferably tonight.” It’s the opposite of what Darcy asked you to do but the look on Steve’s face is so satisfying. “Call her.” You pass him his phone back before turning around to Darcy. You give her a thumbs up across the room. She smiles back at you. A win for her. She could thank you later.

It’s sometime later and the party has no signs of ending just yet. Everyone has paired up while Keith’s parents have gone home. You’re both huddled in the hallway, talking heatedly, as he accuses you once again of wanting to sleep with Steve. His breath is hot. He’s drunk. Your back is pressed against the wall as he stands over you. There’s no one on this side of the lounge and you’re sure he chose this hallway purposely.

“Why do you act like that?” He questions.

“Like what, Keith?” You sigh exasperatedly. You were growing tired of this. “I’ve done nothing. I entertained your family tonight. I endured them insulting me. They don’t like me you know that. Now you’re here again accusing me of wanting to sleep with Steve. I’m here with you.”

“So act like it,” He pokes his finger against your chest. “You’ve been ignoring me most of the night.”

“I haven’t,” You argue back. “I’ve been mingling. I told you we could stay home, Keith.”

“I was trying to do something good for you,” Keith grips your chin so that you can look at him. “Let’s go home.”

“I’m not ready,” You tell him. You would like to stay for just a little longer. You’re enjoying yourself despite his hangups.

“The team doesn’t like me,” Keith tells you. “What did you tell them?”

“What? I didn’t tell them anything.” You remove his hand from your face.

“You’re lying,” He grits through his teeth. He grips your forearm this time as he pushes you into the wall further. “You lie all the time. What did you tell them?”

“Keith,” You whimper. It hurts. His hands aren’t gentle or loving. Not right now. “Let me go.”

“Tell me,” He’s menacing as he dips his face closer to yours. “You know. Never mind. We’re going home. You can call and tell them you quit in the morning.”

“Fuck, do you know how crazy that sounds?” You say despite his grip on your arms. “You’re angry because you think I’m fucking someone I’m not. Do you hear yourself? I’m not sleeping with him. I’m here with you. Let me go, Keith.” His grip only tightens. Despite his inebriation, he’s well coordinated.

“She asked you to let her go,” A voice says from behind him. Keith’s grip loosens but he doesn’t let go of your arm. You peek around his frame to find Darcy and Natasha. Your cheeks flood with embarrassment at them finding you like this. Finding you so weak.

“We were just having a discussion,” Keith speaks first. He swipes s a hand over his face. Natasha’s eyes flicker to yours. “We’ll go home now.” You whimper again. You quickly try to hide it but she’s heard it.

“She’s staying with me tonight,” Natasha says. “We were having a sleepover.” She doesn’t address his hands on you. She can see the pleading in your eyes for her not to. You don’t want to fight right now.

Keith doesn’t say anything as he weighs the situation. There’s no way he would ever consider fighting with Natasha. She’s everything you’re not. Brave. Fearless. Strong.

“Fine,” Keith shakes his head.

“No, I can, go.” You speak up.

“Y/n?” Darcy questions.

“No, I’m fine,” You promise them. “Kaia is home and I want to tuck her in.”

“Are you sure?” Natasha’s gaze doesn’t waver. She doesn’t want to let you go home with him.

“I’m sure. I’ll be okay.” You assure them both though you’re not so sure yourself. You nod before following Keith out to the elevators. The two women watch you walk away. They don’t notice the tears in your eyes or the way you tremble as the doors close.

Keith decides on an Uber home. He’s silent the entire time. He relieves Maureen for the night while you go straight for Kaia’s room. You watch her as she sleeps. She’s safe in here. You’re safe in here. He won’t come in and you dread going out.

You’re not afraid of him. You’re not. Not now.

Finally, you muster up the courage to leave her room. You walk slowly to your bedroom where Keith is sitting on the edge of the bed. He’s crying. Why is he crying?

“I hate when you make me do that to you,” He admits. “Why can’t you just listen?” He asks.

“I’m sorry,” You apologize. What for? You don’t know.

“You’re not going to leave me are you?” He asks.

“I’m not going to leave you,” You assure him. You come to sit on the bed next to him. Everything in your body is screaming at you not to.

“You don’t have to go back there,” He begins. “If you quit I wouldn’t feel like this. The problems started when you started working there. It’s just… I’m afraid. That you’ll leave.” You knew this already. Though the problems started way before this. He turns to you suddenly. He can see the light bruises on your arms. “I’m sorry,” He slides off the bed to sit on his knees.

You don’t want to quit your job. You don’t want to quit the only thing that keeps you sane.

“You still love me?” He asks with those big brown eyes. The same ones you fell in love with all those years ago.

“I still love you,” You whisper back. You don’t know how much you believe those words anymore. He rests his hands on your knees before spreading your legs. He’s using sex as an apology again and you’re falling for it. When his nose nudges your clit through your panties you lean back to lose yourself in the sensations. When his calloused hands grip your thighs to bring you to the edge of the bed a gasp leaves your lips. When he finally removes your panties you allow yourself to think of something else. For the first time, you think of someone else.

Red tresses. You imagine her hands holding you still. You imagine the way her lips would feel as they kiss your inner thighs. You imagine that’s it’s Natasha here and not him. A single tear leaves your eyes as you climax.

Did you deserve what you’ve been getting?

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

You quit the next morning. You don’t even show up to pack up your desk. You ignore Steve’s messages and Darcy’s texts. Sam’s Instagram DMs are left unopened. Your only friends in the city are being ignored. You don’t want to cause any more problems with Keith. You stay home with Kaia. She’s the highlight of most of your days as you walk with her around the neighborhood every day. Today it’s getting colder so you’re bundled up while you walk. It’s the only place he’ll allow you to go.

Kaia is playing with her stuffed bear in her stroller as you walk aimlessly down the street. She’s warm and the extra blanket covering her legs is more than enough. You don’t notice she’s dropped her toy until she’s crying for it. She whines, whirling in her stroller to reach for the toy when you notice.

“Mama,” Kaia cries. You stop to see it’s gone. Damn it.

You turn to go back for it when a familiar figure stands in front of you. She’s holding the bear pushing it towards you wordlessly.

“Natasha,” You say. You take the bear, passing it back to Kaia, before looking back to the woman before you. Her green eyes watch the toddler curiously.

“You’re okay?” Natasha asks you. She trails her eyes away from the little girl over to you.

“I’m fine,” You assure her. She eyes you up and down as if she can see through your layers of clothing. You want to question how and why she’s on this side of town but you know better. She’s been following you. How long? You don’t know.

“Let me take you for hot chocolate,” Natasha suggests before you can walk away. At your skeptical look, she tries again. “Just one cup.”

You fidget in place before a wave of anger washes over you.

“Why?” You find yourself asking. “I’m not a basket case. I’m not someone you can save.”

“I’m your friend and I miss you.”

“Bullshit,” You tell her. “We’ve only spoken a handful of times. Not without any of the other team around.”

“I’m trying now,” Natasha counters. She eyes Kaia again. “Does he hurt her?”

Jesus!

“How dare you?” You ask. She’s not far off from her guesses. It’s not a radical question. You know it’s not. You’re still offended at her questioning. How could she think you would ever allow him to hurt her?

“He hits you right?” Natasha accuses.

“I’m done,” You turn the stroller in the direction of home. You’re not having this conversation. You didn’t want to have this conversation. Not with her.

“Y/n, please,” Natasha begs this time. “We’re worried about you. It was either me or the team would come looking for you.”

“You didn’t tell them?” You stop. You don’t look at her. Too ashamed.

“No, dorogaya, I didn’t,” Natasha promises. You ignore the nickname she uses for you.

“One cup,” You turn. She nods. Just one cup.

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

The cafe is one you’ve been to a few times. This time of day it’s empty. Everyone is either at work or school. They’re doing something with their lives. You help Kaia out of her coat so that she doesn’t overheat as you and Natasha sit towards the back of the diner. She’s already at the counter ordering your food while you wait. You insisted that you weren’t hungry but she’s Natasha. She cares about you.

It's hard to think about. Her caring. You shrug your coat off and allow it to hang on the back of your chair. You watch as she carries the muffins over to your table. She gives you a finger, asking you to wait, and she grabs the hot chocolate mugs too. She got chocolate milk for Kaia. The toddler takes it gratefully from her new friend. She drinks from the bottle happily.

“Oh, you’re such a big girl,” Natasha comments as she takes her seat across from you. Kaia beams at the praise. You watch how she interacts with the little girl. She’s gentle and loving. For a moment you wonder if she’s ever wanted to be a mom. Her line of work probably wouldn’t permit it. She’d be great at it.

“She likes you,” You inform her. Kaia is enamored with the other woman as Natasha engages in a game of peekaboo with her. It’s a drastic difference from the cold and aloof Avenger you used to see in the tower.

“Well, I like her too.” Natasha breaks the muffin in half to hand Kaia. Chubby hands grab onto the food and she places it in her mouth. Natasha places the muffin back on the plate before looking at you. “You look good.”

You give a half-hearted shrug.

“How are you?” Natasha asks.

“I’m fine,” You reply.

“Where is he?” Natasha asks.

“Working,” You tell her.

“Y/n, we miss you,” Natasha admits. There’s no sense in beating around the bush. “I came the next morning to your desk to see if you were still there.” You weren’t.

“I’m not anyone to miss,” You stare down into your mug. “I was just a temp.”

“A temp who became our friend,” Natasha ducks her head to catch your eye. “You can’t think that that’s all you are.”

“It doesn’t matter,”

“Doesn’t it?” Natasha replies.

“If you’re here to try and convince me to leave him I won’t.” You say.

“Won’t or can’t?”

“Nat,” You frown. “This isn’t some superhero business thing.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Natasha sighs. “He hits you, y/n.”

“It’s not all the time,” You feel stupid immediately after saying it. “What you saw at the party. It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t the first time he’s put his hands on you like that.” Natasha sounds so sure of herself. “I saw the bruises on movie night. The ones on your back.” Shit.

“So,” You shake your head. “I take pilates.”

“Bullshit,” Natasha says firmly. “You don't have to lie to me. He hits you.” Why does she keep saying it?

“He loves me,” You say.

“He loves Kaia too,” Natasha looks down at the little girl in question. “What happens when he hits her too?”

“Natasha, he wouldn’t.” You frown. It’s a concern you’ve had. Keith would never. Right?

“But he can,” Natasha begins. “He can and he will. Y/n, you don’t have to stay with him.”

“Where would I go,” You bite your lip nervously. “He’s all I have.”

“He’s not,” Natasha says. “He’s never been all you have. Steve would love to have you. Sam would love to cook with you again. I’d like to have you.”

“I can’t,” You shake your head. “I can’t just leave him. I’m not strong like you. I don’t want to put you out. He’ll find me.”

“You don’t have to be strong like me,” Natasha doesn’t like the sound of that. “Also, he can try and I’d kill him.” You whimper. “I’m sorry but it’s the truth. If you think he’ll come to the tower he’s even more of an idiot than I thought. If you’re up to it, I can bring you to one of my safehouses. It’s still here in the city.”

“Natasha, you don’t have to.” You shake your head.

“Please, y/n, come with me.” Natasha pleads. Your heart is beating further in your chest.

“Look, I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’m still worried about you. No one deserves to be alone,” Natasha slides a phone out of her pocket. She passes it to you. “It’s a burner. Use it. When you need I’ll come to get you. No questions asked.”

“Why?”

“I care,” Natasha says.

“I have to go,” You stand. You hurriedly put on your coat and then Kaia’s. Natasha watches you as you leave.

Would she ever see you again?

----> next part

#natasha romanoff #black reader #natasha x reader #black widow x female reader #black widow x reader #natasha x you #natasha romanov #natsxaddiction #redroomreflections #trigger warning

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