Steve Rogers. MCU account. (Pre/Post Endgame & AU) Looking for banter & maybe a few detailed SLs. Fun is a must. First and always. SS. Probably Wanda or Natasha. But open with chemistry & open to inquiries. RT please?

-principle. But survival, he would soon learn, required more than strength. It required the impossible—the endurance of mind, heart, and soul against forces that sought not just to defeat him, but to remake him entirely.)

-reckoning, a soldier whose loyalty was unshakable, whose skill was unparalleled, and whose heart had been reshaped to serve their purposes. In that sterile, icy chamber, Steve Rogers, Captain America, became both prisoner and pawn, caught in the cruel paradox of power and-

-a man endure before he became someone else entirely? How many assaults on the mind before the lines of identity blurred into obedience? Leviathan watched, patient, knowing that one day, he would emerge—not as the hero the world once celebrated, but as a weapon beyond-

-fought for others, and forge him into an instrument of precision and death. But the man who had survived the ice, the war, the Red Skull, and Thanos, was not so easily broken. And yet, even as that defiance burned, a part of him feared the inevitable. How many fractures could-

-of hope. A memory of Brooklyn, of Peggy, of the war he had once waged for freedom and justice. The struggle within him became a battlefield more harrowing than any he had ever known. The Leviathan brainwashing sought to mold him, to strip him of Steve Rogers, the man who-

-Time lost its meaning. Steve began to see flashes—visions of battles, of cities falling, of innocents dying under his own hands. And yet, between the conditioning and his own unyielding core, fragments of the man he had always been fought back. A spark of defiance. A flicker-

-principle he had lived by, every oath he had sworn, was under siege. “Ah,” the man said, smiling faintly. “But killing is subjective, isn’t it? You will follow orders, Captain. You will protect, as you always have. Only… the definition of ‘enemy’ will be ours to define.”-

-Captain?” the man asked, voice calm, almost conversational. “They shaped time. They shaped reality. And now, you will shape it for us.”) No...I won't.... (His voice was quieter now, less certain. The restraints, the conditioning, the isolation—it gnawed at him. Every-

-larger chamber. Before him lay weapons unlike any he had seen, devices that hummed with unfamiliar energy, capable of destruction on a scale that rivaled even the Stones themselves. Leviathan’s leader circled him, a predator inspecting its prey. “Do you remember the stones,-

-was meticulous, almost surgical. Steve Rogers, the man who had led the Avengers, who had faced Thanos and survived, was reduced to a mind poised on the knife’s edge, teetering between loyalty and indoctrination. One day, if he could even remember the day, he was taken to a-

-he could not escape. They drilled him relentlessly, pairing his combat training with psychological conditioning. Each time he resisted, pain lanced through his body. Each time he wavered, rewards—a taste of warmth, a brief reprieve—conditioned his reflexes to obey. The process-

-And when he answered with the familiar clarity of the man he had always been, Leviathan responded with images—images of destruction, of innocents crushed beneath the weight of his own failure. Sleep became a fleeting concept, dreams invaded by whispers in Russian, by orders-

-subjected to a regimen that tested the limits of mind and body. They forced him to relive moments of the past, twisting memories until the line between reality and illusion blurred. Each session began with questions: “Why do you fight? Who do you protect? Who do you serve?”-

-Captain. But your will is finite. We will extend it. We will reshape it. And when we are done… the world will see you not as a hero, but as a weapon. /Our/ weapon." The last thing that Steve Rogers remembered was screaming. For days that bled into nights, Steve was-

-etched into their uniform: the emblem of Leviathan, a secretive Russian organization that had always operated in the shadows, rumored but never confirmed. Their leader—a man with sharp features, eyes like shards of ice—studied him with clinical fascination. “You have will,-

-not yours to control. I'll never give up, I'll never give in. You can't make me do this... I’ve faced tyrants, dictators, men like you. I’ll never give up… (“You will,” the figure interrupted, stepping closer into the light. Steve’s eyes adjusted, revealing the insignia-

-restraints were engineered with precision beyond anything he had ever encountered. They pulsed with a subtle energy, faintly synchronized with the rhythm of his heartbeat, and slowly, inexorably, he felt his resistance falter.) You don’t understand. This won't ever work. I’m-

-“You, Captain, are about to become something… greater.” Steve struggled against the restraints, muscles straining. His body remembered the countless battles, the countless enemies he had faced. He was Steve Rogers. He was a soldier. He was...more than /this/. But the-

-his prey. Steve’s jaw tightened as he finally spoke.) Who are you? (The words came as a demand, his voice hoarse but firm. The figure tilted their head, as if amused by the question. “Names are irrelevant,” the voice said, smooth and cold, tinged with a Russian accent.-

-him, pinning his arms. His shield was gone, and panic, unfamiliar and raw, surged through him. A figure approached, cloaked in shadows that seemed to swallow the light around them. The gait was deliberate, confident. Steve recognized it for what it was...a predator stalking-