Steve Rogers X Reader Oneshots // Drabbles

Too Hardheaded

Thoughts are italics in quotations = 'Example'

includes:

- Enhanced Reader

- reader is a bit jaded.

- Includes Deadpool/Wade Wilson

- And Possible more action than actual romance.

- soft delicate stuff

Word Count: 4173

Too Hardheaded

Two lone figures made haste in charging towards each other, none waiting for a signal to go, only the need for adrenaline controlling them, that, and of course bragging rights.

- Because that's what it was all really about; proving who came on top and who was the big dog.

The sound of gleaming metal clashing soon echoed throughout the arena, repeating countlessly as two sharpened blades kissed each other with quick, precise movements and would-be kill shots if either of the wielders were any less skilled.

(f/n) stood opposite to the taller male figure, (e/c) eyes keenly watching him with full attentiveness, trying to capture even the smallest hint of a muscle twitch within his ripped, six-foot frame.

As always, he was fully coated in red and black from head to toe, having claimed them as his signature colors, finding them to be more convenient while in turn, she thought of them as a dead giveaway, making him a big, obnoxious target.

Proudly wielding a katana in one hand, he held it up before him, aimed right at her with the sharpened point focused dead-center, falling between her eyes from his point of view.

With a hidden grin, his other hand remained free, but just as her eyes skimmed their focus onto that piece of him, she could see a barely noticeable tic occur in the unoccupied fingers, and she was well aware of just what it meant,

'About time,' She thought with a snicker.

Behind his back, securely strapped close to him was the other blade he carried around, hidden away for the moment, just waiting for its chance to enter the scene.

He always waited for the perfect opportunity to have it enter the battle, never starting off with the two katanas when he was with her because he determined that a build-up was much more exciting.

To him, a battle was about enjoyment, about letting loose and showing off even if it was a dire situation.

In general, life was nothing but a game for him, and while it was incautious and wild, it made sense to her, because a small portion of her felt titillated, always excited when she was on the opposite end of his sharpened blade.

With him, she could let loose and not feel guilty later.

She pridefully held her own blade in her right hand, a gleaming light resonating from the precious metal when she held it at just the right angle, making her sport a barely visible smile at the sight of its illumination.

Because, to her, there was no other sword as lovely as hers.

It was custom-made, just for her hand, created perfectly for her use and swing, and she wouldn't ever trade it in for any cold piece of commonly manufactured weaponry such as a drabby pistol.

She knew it was strange to carry it around when a hot slug was a much easier form of execution, but even so, she knew that her choice was always the one to come on top.