Marvel: The Infinite Crown

{Chapter: 156 - New Lovely Morning And Elliott In Trouble}

As the soft golden rays of the morning sun filtered through the cracked windows of the bus, casting a warm glow over the interior, the air was still heavy with the scent of sweat, faint perfume, and lingering intimacy. Aiden sat at the edge of the bed, watching Daisy stir beside him. Her hair was a wild halo around her head, cheeks still flushed, and a sleepy groan escaped her lips as she tried to sit up, only to wince.

"Hey," he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face and placing a kiss on her forehead. "You can sleep here a little longer. Everyone knows about us now anyway."

Daisy, still sore from the night before, gave him a look that was equal parts affection and embarrassment. Her voice came out hoarse, touched with her signature sarcastic edge. "Yeah, and I'm sure they're all totally thrilled to hear their fearless hacker queen turn into a moaning bitch."

Aiden chuckled as he helped her sit up, gently supporting her back. He'd already helped her into a clean set of clothes—soft cotton and something loose enough to avoid irritating her sensitive skin. Her movements were stiff, but she let him take care of her without protest, something she wouldn't have allowed from anyone else.

"I mean," he smirked, teasing, his voice low and playful, "you were kind of screaming my name like we were in some bad action movie."

"You!" Daisy reached out and gave him a playful smack on the shoulder, but there was no strength behind it. Her laugh, however, was genuine.

He grinned, feigning innocence. "I'm just saying... if they didn't hear it, then the walls must be soundproof."

"You're so annoying sometimes," she mumbled, though her hand lingered on his chest, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt.

"You love it," he replied, leaning in to kiss her gently on the lips. Unlike the desperation of their earlier hours, this kiss was soft, lingering, full of warmth. The kind of kiss that promised more than lust—it promised care, belonging, something real.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her gently against his chest. Daisy let out a content sigh, resting her head over his heart, listening to the steady beat. "You know," she whispered, voice muffled against his shirt, "I didn't expect last night to turn into... whatever that was. But I don't regret any of it."

"Neither do I," Aiden said, kissing the top of her head. "You're stronger than you think, Daisy. And not just with your mind. You let me see all of you—every scar, every fear—and that takes more courage than anything else."

They stayed like that for a moment, basking in the aftermath of something raw, something healing. But as she shifted again, trying to stand, her legs wobbled and gave out.

"Okay, okay, I got you," he said, lifting her effortlessly into a princess carry.

Daisy groaned. "Ugh, this is so humiliating. You're not allowed to say anything about this ever."

"Too late. I'm telling Skye the Queen was defeated by a night of passion."

"You're such a dork," she muttered, hiding her face in his chest as he carried her to her room.

As he laid her down gently on the mattress, tucking her in with practiced care, Aiden's thoughts began to drift. He sat by her bedside for a while, watching her breathe, noting the peaceful rise and fall of her chest. The night had been intense—probably the second most intense of his new life.

His mind wandered back to another night... with Natasha.

Natasha Romanoff—Black Widow. A woman woven from shadows and scars, whose heart had been battered by betrayal, missions, and a world that never gave her a real chance at softness. Yet with Aiden, she had shown a side no one else had touched. Their night together hadn't just been about carnal need. It was two broken warriors seeking refuge in one another's arms. Natasha had always been in control, but with him, she had allowed herself to be vulnerable, to surrender, to crave something tender even within the fire.

The passion with her was volcanic—wild, unrestrained, edged with danger, but laced with deep yearning. It had been a night of whispered truths and unspoken confessions in the language of touch. He remembered the way she clawed at him and told him to slap her harder fuck her harder, like a drowning woman, desperate to feel something real. The way her breath caught every time he kissed her scars, refusing to let her think of herself as anything less than whole.

And now, with Daisy, it felt different—but just as deep. Daisy didn't hide behind masks. Her broken pieces were worn with pride, stitched together with grit and rebellion. And he admired her for it. She was fire too—but fire that searched for meaning, connection, a place to belong.

Whatever pain lingered in Natasha's past, whatever walls shed built, Aiden would stay by her side. Not to fix her, but to remind her she didn't have to carry the weight alone. He would be there through the nightmares, through the doubts. Because she was already perfect in her imperfections, and he wanted all of her—the scars, the sass, the soul.

Returning back to his own room. Lying back on his cot, heart still thrumming with residual heat and affection, Aiden exhaled slowly. His hand opened and began to channel the faint shimmer of Aether, swirling like gentle waves across his palm. It was a comfort, a rhythm to keep his thoughts from spiraling too deep.

His mind drifted over the women in his life—each strong, each beautifully complex. He would give them what they needed. Not just protection, not just power—but presence. Devotion.

With the soft hum of the Aether vibrating gently through his veins, he simply began to absorb Aether until he felt sleepy then rested.

His eyelids finally began to droop. And with the taste of Daisy's kiss still lingering on his lips, he slipped into a deep, peaceful sleep.

—

The early morning air was crisp, still holding the chill of the night as rays of soft sunlight began stretching across the training compound. Aiden woke slowly, his body still warm and heavy with the echo of yesterday's passion, but his mind clear. He followed the scent of breakfast toward the mess area where the rest of the team had already gathered.

He carried a sleepy smile as he walked in, instantly spotting Daisy among the crowd. She was standing in the makeshift training zone, facing off against Agent Melinda May—graceful and deadly in motion. The two moved fluidly, trading blows in a rhythm that spoke of hours of training, sweat, and perseverance.

Aiden quietly leaned against a nearby column, watching with silent admiration. Just a few months ago, Daisy had been a hacker operating under the alias "Skye," her skills confined to keyboards and data lines. But now, here she was—throwing somewhat solid punches, parrying with precision, her stance grounded, her footwork good enough. She wasn't just improving—she was evolving.

Daisy caught his gaze and offered him a wink between blocks, her lips quirking into a smirk. "Enjoying the show, pretty boy?"

Aiden chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. "I'd pay good money to watch this every morning."

"I hope you stretched," May called out dryly while ducking under Daisy's strike, "Because I'm about to stretch your boyfriend out next."

Daisy froze just half a second, and May's leg swept her off balance, sending her tumbling to the mat with a thud.

"Oof!" Daisy groaned, glaring up at May. "That was so unfair!"

"So, you didn't let me have a good sleep with what I heard echoing through the walls last night.," May responded coolly, barely concealing her smirk.

Daisy's eyes went wide as her face turned scarlet. "You—you heard—?!"

"Everyone did. You're not exactly subtle, Daisy."

Aiden, never missing a beat, leaned in and said with a grin, "I told you we should've stuffed a sock in your mouth."

"AIDEN!" Daisy half-yelled, half-laughed as she threw a training glove at him.

May raised an eyebrow. "For future reference, Aiden, I recommend soundproofing. Or sedatives."

Daisy rolled onto her side, groaning again, burying her face in her arms. "Can I just melt into the floor now?"

"Nope," Aiden said, helping her to her feet. "Because then I wouldn't get to see you flustered, and that's one of my favorite sights."

"Ugh. You're incorrigible," she muttered, though the affectionate twinkle in her eyes betrayed her amusement.

Before Aiden could respond, May called out, "Hey, Romeo. You wanna spar next?"

Aiden started forward, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders. "With you? Always."

But just as he stepped into the ring, a new voice interrupted.

"I'm afraid you won't be able to spar today. Someone's asking for you."

Aiden turned to see Phil Coulson walking toward him with his ever-calm expression and signature black trench coat.

"Ugh," Aiden groaned with dramatic flair. "Why does this feel like when someone calls a prisoner out of their cell?"

"You're not in prison," Coulson replied dryly. "Yet."

Aiden narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Should I be concerned? Who is it?"

Coulson simply gestured for him to follow.

As they exited the training grounds and made their way down the corridor toward the security checkpoint, Aiden noticed a familiar silhouette waiting outside the compound.

"Steve?"

Captain America—Steve Rogers—stood there, arms crossed and face set with his usual grave expression.

Aiden blinked, caught off guard. Of all the people he expected to see this morning, the living legend was not on the list.

Steve nodded in greeting. "We've got a problem. I'm afraid I'll need your help."

Aiden arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

There was something heavy in Steve's tone, something that made Aiden's internal radar go off. This wasn't just a friendly check-in.

Steve gestured to the Quinjet waiting nearby. "Let's talk on the way."

Aiden turned back briefly toward the base. Daisy had appeared at the edge of the compound, watching the scene unfold. She offered him a small wave, her usual sass softened by concern.

"Be safe, okay?" she called.

He gave her a reassuring grin. "I'm always safe. It's the people who mess with me that need to worry."

"I'll hold you to that," she said, biting her lip, her eyes lingering on his longer than necessary. The bond between them had grown stronger than either of them had expected.

Coulson clapped Aiden on the back before returning to his duties. Aiden followed Steve onto the Quinjet.

As the engines roared to life, as they got on the plane. Aiden quietly activated his foresight ability, allowing his mind to slip forward in time in fragmented glimpses.

Flashes appeared—like a broken mirror reflecting chaotic moments:

A tall man standing in a ruined street. Elliott Randolph.

He held a pair of ancient daggers—Norse in origin with Runes on them, glowing with ethereal energy. The air around him shimmered with fear—raw, corrosive, sentient.

Aiden inhaled sharply as more details formed. The city around Elliott was writhing, feeding off the panic of its people. And those knives—imbued with something dark, something ancient—they weren't just reacting. They were absorbing the fear. Amplifying it. Channeling it back through him.

And Elliott... Couldn't resist it.

Though Aiden knew Randolph to be a relatively calm man—ancient and world-weary—there was something different now. His eyes glowed, jaw clenched, body trembling under the weight of the emotion he was absorbing.

Aiden opened his eyes as the Quinjet about to leveled out.

"It's Elliott," he said quietly to Steve. "He's not in control anymore. Something's taken hold of him—something born of fear."

Steve's expression darkened. "Then we'll get him back. Or stop him before others get hurt."

Aiden nodded slowly, already preparing what he might need.

*****

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