Chapter 8
In the end, it was a close call, but you managed to win over at least Natasha. She'd always been difficult to read, but after the sparring session, there was a hint of approval in her eyes. She respected strength, but she respected strategy and intelligence even more. You'd proven both during the match, and that was enough to make her nod in silent acknowledgment.
Steve, on the other hand, was a bit harder to take down. His steady, methodical style of fighting was all about precision, defense, and wearing down his opponent slowly. It took a while, but eventually, you managed to get him in a headlock—one you'd seen Tony use on a few occasions—and, with a twist of your hips, locked his arms down.
You held the position, feeling the weight of the moment before Steve tapped out, signaling his surrender. You could feel his arms tense as he gave in, though there was a gleam of amusement in his eyes.
"Alright, alright," he said with a soft chuckle, his voice a mix of surprise and respect. "You got me."
You released the hold and stepped back, grinning. "See? Told you I was ready," you said, wiping your brow. "I learn quick."
Steve stood up, adjusting his posture with a smile. "I won't make it easy next time," he warned, but his tone was light. There was no resentment, just the friendly competitiveness you'd grown used to in the short time you'd spent with the Avengers.
Natasha, arms crossed and leaning against the wall, raised an eyebrow. "I've got to say, I didn't think you'd have him in that headlock. Good move."
You chuckled, giving her a nod. "Gotta keep you all on your toes."
Steve extended a hand to you, offering you a handshake. "Good work, Y/N," he said. "You've definitely earned your place here."
You accepted it, shaking his hand firmly. "Thanks, Cap. It's good to be part of the team."
With the training session over, you could sense the shift in their attitudes—an understanding had been forged, not just through the fighting but through mutual respect. You'd proven yourself, and in that moment, you knew you were no longer just an outsider in the Avengers' world. You were one of them.
You walked into the common room, your muscles still humming from the intense sparring session. The familiar faces of Bruce, Tony, and Clint were there, all of them looking up as you entered. Clint raised an eyebrow, his usual laid-back demeanor taking on a playful edge.
"So, happy to see you guys are still in one piece," he said, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I take it the sparring went fine?"
You shrugged, walking over to the couch and plopping down with a satisfied sigh. "Oh, it went well enough," you said with a grin. "Natasha's still as tough as ever. And Steve... well, let's just say I made him tap out."
Tony chuckled from his seat, clearly amused. "Steve tapped out? That's something I'd pay to see." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "I'm guessing you had a good strategy?"
You nodded. "I learned from the best. Tony, I'm still figuring out the whole flashy tech stuff, but the basics of hand-to-hand? Easy enough." You gave him a wink, knowing how much he loved his gadgets.
Bruce, who had been quietly observing, chuckled softly. "I'd say that's impressive. Steve's not exactly easy to take down, especially not in a headlock."
Clint smirked, clearly impressed. "Guess we'll need to step up our game if you're around, huh?"
"Don't get too cocky," you teased, lying back on the couch. "I'm just getting started."
Tony leaned forward, intrigued. "Oh? You planning on taking on all of us now?" He grinned, eyes twinkling with mischief.
You laughed, the tension from the sparring session melting away as you relaxed into the moment. "Maybe. I could give you all a run for your money. But for now, I think I've earned a break."
Clint raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, we've got no complaints here. You keep up the good work, and we might just start training with you instead of against you."
You smiled, settling into the familiar warmth of the common room. With every passing day, it felt more and more like home.
SCENEBREAK
The night air hung thick with the scent of concrete and forgotten dreams. You were walking the familiar streets of the city, your thoughts lost in the routine of your life, when the sudden force of someone grabbing your wrist tore you from your reverie. Before you could react, you were yanked into the darkness of a nearby alley. A hand covered your mouth, the rough calluses of his palm scraping against your skin.
A raspy voice, cold and menacing, hissed in your ear. "If you scream, I'll gut you like a fish."
A shiver ran down your spine—not from fear, but from the raw, unsettling energy emanating from him. You could feel the weight of it, the undercurrent of power that pulsed like a living thing. Your fangs sharpened instinctively, a low growl bubbling in your chest as you forced yourself to stay still, quiet. Your fingers twitched, but you resisted the urge to strike.
Just then, two scruffy-looking men shuffled past the alley, oblivious to your presence, deep in their own conversation. The first man, his hair the color of sand, scratched his knuckles as he muttered, "Did you see him burn our comrade, or what?"
The second man, smaller and more wiry, hummed, his voice carrying a strange, eerie confidence. "I'd love to see his teeth fly out." He chuckled darkly. "We better be quick, though. That fella's got fire."
Their voices faded as they walked on, the sound of their footsteps blending with the city's background hum. As soon as they were gone, the grip on your wrist loosened, and the hand over your mouth dropped. You didn't waste any time glaring up at the man who had grabbed you, your eyes flashing with a dangerous light beneath your blindfold.
"What were you thinking, idiot?" you spat, your voice dripping with venom.
The man in front of you just chuckled, his deep laugh sending a chill through the already tense air. He raised his hands, showing no sign of aggression, but you knew better than to trust a first impression. His strange blue eyes gleamed with something far too intense, studying you like a predator sizing up its prey. You took him in fully for the first time.
Tall, with a lean but muscular build, he appeared to be in his early twenties. His white hair, strikingly stark against the dim alley light, was streaked with red at the crown, spiking upward in a chaotic yet controlled mess. His turquoise eyes, heavy-lidded and cold, locked onto yours, an unsettling gleam hiding behind their surface. And then there was the most disturbing detail—his skin. It was mottled with purple patches, gnarled and twisted, spreading from his neck to his collarbone, and over his arms and legs like some grotesque, permanent marking. It was as if his body had been scorched by something far darker than fire.
You blinked once, and the weight of his cursed energy hit you. It was enough to make your legs waver, a subtle tremble beneath your calm demeanor. You raised your head slightly, feeling the intensity of his gaze piercing through the blindfold.
"Who are you supposed to be?" you asked, voice steady, though your posture remained guarded.
The man chuckled again, the sound like a slow, drawn-out exhale of smoke. He licked his lips with a deliberate, almost predatory gesture, his gaze never leaving yours.
"I'm Dabi, darling."
His words dripped with a venomous sweetness, and you could feel the danger lurking behind them. His cursed energy was undeniable now—powerful, corrosive, and threatening. You were no stranger to danger, but this man? There was something about him that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.
As his name echoed in your mind, you realized you were standing face-to-face with a force that wasn't to be trifled with. And yet, somehow, you felt a strange pull toward him, as if fate had decided you were meant to cross paths tonight.
Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: AzTruyen.Top