The Prophecy

Sparred

Opening the door to the balcony on the same floor of the party, I saw Wanda sat on the edge of the railing, her legs dangling over the city below as Vision sat to her side, his arm around her waist and her head on his shoulder. I laughed out my nose quietly and shut the door again, rolling my eyes with a huff as I walked over to the bar once more, joining Nat behind it and picking up the most expensive bottle of vodka there was. There were at least four sets of silent eyes on me as I poured four shots. Maria moved to pick one up but I smacked her hand away, looking up to meet her furrowed brows.

"She's with Vision," I sickeningly smiled, throwing back all four shots in a row and feeling my face scrunch up, "Nat, I need another Gin."

She slid one over and gave me a nod of understanding as I picked it up and moved around the party toward any sort of unfamiliarity that I could escape tonight through. When I say there were no single women walking around, I'm not even exaggerating; they were all on the arms of middle aged men. The only people on their own were the rest of the team. Meeting eyes with Steve, I paced toward him as he met me halfway and nodded toward the corner of the room. I gave him another nod and caught up with him once more, his hands on my upper arms.

"What's got you raging?" he asked, furrowed brows.

"I'm not raging," I spat out, shrugging off his arms and taking a huge sip of my drink.

"Y/N/N," he sighed, "you were fine 30 minutes ago."

"Yeah," I laughed out slightly, shaking my head as I saw Wanda walk back inside with Vision, his hand on the small of her back, "I need to hit something."

"Come on," he agreed, grabbing my free hand and leading me through the crowd toward a silent hallway and into the elevator, the both of us quiet on the way down, "do you want to talk-"

"Nope," I shook my head quickly, downing the rest of my drink before handing him the glass and unbuttoning my shirt as the room reached the 72nd floor.

I walked down toward the gym with Steve at my side, him knowing all too well what I needed as we both walked into the sparring ring. Slipping off my shirt and waistcoat, I hung them over the edge and fixed my stupidly low cut Calvin Klein top, my tits almost certain to fall out. Steve joined me in the ring with pads on his hands and his tie hanging where my shirt was.

"Do you wanna wrap your hands?" he asked me.

"I don't care about my fucking hands," I exhaled, shaking my wrists out before throwing a light punch at the pads Steve held up.

"Hit it properly," he ordered.

"I don't want to hurt you," I replied.

"I think I'll be okay, just throw the punch like you mean it," he told me, holding up his hands again as I hit them with more power, "again."

I hit it harder as Steve smiled slightly and nodded, encouraging me to go harder. After the tenth or eleventh hit, I lost count of how many jabs I threw towards the super soldier, his stamina not faltering as I kept going, the skin on my knuckles cracking as the hits began to hurt.

"Time to stop," he decided, his eyes on my knuckles.

I shook my head, "I'm fine," I told him, throwing the hardest punch yet as Steve tried to stop my hand but couldn't remove the pad in time so instead of my fist making contact with the cushioning, it hit him hard in the face, throwing him back slightly.

"Ow," he swore calmly.

"Fuck, Steve I'm so sorry," I exhaled, running toward him and angling his face down to see I had cut his skin on the bridge of his nose, trickles of blood dripping down his face.