avengers x male reader (requests are open)

GORGON PETRAGON

The sky above Attilan was dark with storm clouds—not natural ones, but created by conflict. Tensions with a rogue group of splinter Inhumans had escalated, and the Royal Family had sent a rare request for help: they needed the Avengers.

You stepped off the quinjet onto the gleaming platform of Attilan’s capital. The Inhuman city shimmered with alien beauty, crystal towers reflecting the storm light in jagged glints. Behind you walked Steve, Natasha, and Wanda, all on edge. But you? You were focused.

You were the team’s strategist—a specialist in battlefield coordination, weaponry, and tactics. You weren’t gifted with powers like Wanda or strength like Steve, but you could outthink most enemies three steps ahead.

And you were here for one reason: to end this rebellion before it shattered something precious.

“Avengers,” Medusa greeted from atop a stairway, flanked by Karnak and Black Bolt. “We thank you for your presence. Attilan is honored.”

“We’re here to help,” Steve said calmly. “Just point us to where we’re needed.”

Medusa’s expression was poised but urgent. “The outer districts are under siege. Gorgon has taken command of the defense line. You’ll coordinate with him directly.”

Gorgon. You had read his file.

Head of the Royal Guard. Military strategist. Known for a temper, but unmatched on the field.

And one hell of a jawline, according to the dossier image you’d seen.

Training Fields – One Hour Later

You made your way across the sprawling training grounds of Attilan. The place was alive with warriors, drills, and sparring. The stone floor was cracked from repeated tremors—literal ones. You knew who caused them before you even saw him.

Gorgon.

He stood like a mountain, his broad frame covered in black armor with gold trim, massive hooves stomping the earth as he faced off against six trainees at once. With each stomp, the ground quaked, knocking opponents flat. His movements were precise, brutal—controlled chaos.

You crossed your arms and watched, unimpressed. “Is this training or intimidation?”

He paused, head snapping toward you, his mane of dark curls brushing against his armored shoulders. His eyes were sharp—hazel with flecks of amber—and they scanned you quickly.

“And you are?” he asked, voice low and rough like gravel shifting beneath thunder.

“Y/N. Avengers tactical ops and combat strategy.” You offered your hand. “We’re supposed to work together.”

He glanced at your hand but didn’t take it. Instead, he stepped forward, towering over you.

“You’re not what I expected.”

You tilted your head. “Most people expect someone bigger. Or more explode-y.”

Gorgon’s lips twitched. “Or more Inhuman.”

You smirked. “Give me fifteen minutes on the field. You’ll change your mind.”

His eyes narrowed—challenged. “Prove it.”

Sparring Arena – Minutes Later

Word had spread fast. Warriors surrounded the training circle, murmuring. It was rare to see Gorgon spar. Even rarer for him to accept a challenge from an outsider.

You stood across from him, unarmored, holding only two electrified batons. He cracked his knuckles and gave you a warning look.

“Still time to back out.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

He charged.

You rolled under his first stomp, which sent a fracture spidering through the ground. You jabbed your baton at his side—he blocked, his massive forearm catching the strike—but your other baton came in low, buzzing against his ribs. He grunted.

“Clever,” he muttered.

“Calculated,” you corrected, flipping backward.

He swung wide, hooves shattering the tiles where you’d stood moments before. You ducked behind him, slid between his legs, and jabbed at the back of his knee. He stumbled but twisted faster than you expected, grabbing your arm.

“Fast,” he growled.

You smirked. “Flirt later.”

He actually laughed—brief and rough—before letting go. “You fight like you’re predicting my next move.”

“Maybe I am.”

Another exchange. A stomp you dodged. A punch you caught. You twisted around him and leapt onto his back, baton to his throat—not pressing hard, just enough to make a point.

“Match point,” you whispered in his ear.

The crowd gasped.

Then Gorgon reached up, grabbed your waist, and flipped you over his head like you weighed nothing. You hit the ground—hard—but grinned up at him anyway.

He extended a hand. This time, you took it.

“You’re good,” he admitted, pulling you up. “Very good.”

“And you’re better than the file says,” you replied. “A little less grumpy, too.”

That got a real smile. “Only around people who can keep up.”

After the Match – Training Field Edge

You sat beside him, both of you catching your breath, watching the sparring matches resume.

“I underestimated you,” he said after a moment. “Most people with clean hands don’t know how to fall.”

You glanced at him. “These hands are calloused in all the right ways.”

His eyes flicked to yours—hungry, interested. But not pushy.

You leaned back. “So, Gorgon… what’s it like working for a silent king?”

He chuckled. “Quiet.”

You laughed, and something between you shifted—comfortable, relaxed, charged.

“You’re staying in the palace tonight?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said slowly, “Why?”

“I know a shortcut to the south tower. Avoids all the formalities.”

You raised a brow. “Offering me a private tour?”

“I’m offering you my time,” he said plainly. “If you want it.”

You looked at him—this massive, powerful Inhuman warrior with eyes like embers and a voice like stone—and felt something stir deep inside you.

“Yeah,” you said, “I want it.”