#Bruce Banner x male reader

[sunschay]

An Unwanted Guest || Natasha Romanoff x Male Reader

You return home after two years serving in the American army, having been forced by your father to enlist. But you didn't expect to have another stepmother in such a short space of time.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: Inappropriate language, swearing, sexual tension, age gap (Reader is 21, Nat is 42, she's a milf ugh), Bruce is a terrible and disrespectful husband. *

Also, this is not fully proofread yet, so it may contain some minor spelling errors.*

Word count: 10k

You wake up to the sound of banging pots and pans and a loud bell ringing in the back of the dormitory. It must be about five in the morning, but that's the time everyone here is obliged to wake up anyway, as early as possible. Sleep isn't important, but your work and your duties? Without a shadow of a doubt. You hear the recruits getting up from their bunks and putting on their uniforms, berets, boots and belts before retiring to the mess hall. You get dressed as well, brush your teeth and splash cold water on your face and almost jump with fright when you turn around and see a man standing in front of you.

“Private Banner. There's new mail for you at the post office outside the base.” Sam Wilson says, almost like a robot, the dark circles around his eyes giving away his bad sleep during the night.

“Thanks, Wilson.” You press your lips together and nod, retreating to the cafeteria.

It's an ordinary cafeteria, at least 30 to 40 square meters, with 25 tables and chairs scattered around. The canteen is a rather small kitchen that houses large pots and pans, two built-in stoves with four burners each and a huge fridge taking up almost half the space. The soldiers form a queue with trays everywhere to eat.

“Combatant Banner, how's your day going? There are three letters and correspondence from Mr. Banner waiting for you.” Your most familiar and talkative friend, Steven Rogers, greets you with the same smile as every day.

“Hey mate! Thanks for that, really. How's your day going?” You reply and give him a brief hug. “Good so far, no women around unfortunately.”

Steve is a good man, he's also an excellent and extremely competent soldier, unfortunately life (in this case, the top lieutenants) has placed him as a letter carrier indefinitely supposedly because Rogers doesn't reach the level of skill and strength as other recruits. But he's still a nice guy with his straight-edged blond hair, his friendly smile, his blue eyes and his pumped-up muscles.

“Thanks for this, Steve. I bet my old man is just asking me how things are going. He should know by now that I'm coming home tomorrow.” You snort and pick up the thick envelopes, seeing that the other letters are from your 13-year-old brother, Derek.

It was probably one of his drawings that he's always sent you since you joined the army.

“I hear you've got a new hot stepmother- I say, I hear you've got a new stepmother, comrade. You know, Derek tells me everything. I love that kid.” He gives you a nervous wink and you choke on air.

“Stepmother!? Wait, bloody hell! That's the fourth woman my old man's taken in two whole years.” You shake your head in disbelief.

“Come on, Y/n. He's single and still a bit young, a man should celebrate his freedom as he sees fit. But sometimes, with a new woman comes new problems.” Steve laughs lightly, finding your nervous expression amusing.

“The thing is, he's been having fun with several women for a long time, Steve, and he always gets into trouble with all of them because he doesn't know how to deal with break-ups. I bet she's a bitter old woman with a bunch of kids. Thanks, man, I'll have to accept another little woman wanting to boss me around anyway. See you in the cafeteria.” You roll your eyes and say goodbye to Steve with a high five.

After picking up the tray, you sit down and start opening the cards, barely touching the food in front of you. As soon as you finish opening the first letter, a long sigh leaves your lips before you start reading.

"Hey, my firstborn, how are things going over there? If I remember correctly, you're just finishing your service and will be going home soon. Derek misses you, I helped him send you his many drawings of dinosaurs and of you painted next to him in a soldier's uniform. He can't stop talking about you. I've also heard that you're as strong as a big Nutcracker doll. That's my boy. On the other hand, I imagine that Rogers has already told you everything. Son, yes, I'm in a relationship with another woman. Natasha is the most incredible and fascinating woman I've ever seen, and it's the best thing that could have happened in my life, I think you'll like her. We can't wait to see you, firstborn, come home soon."

Running your hands through your hair, you let out a heavy, tired sigh, taking a few bites of the not-so-juicy apple on the tray and looking at the mashed potatoes mixed into a soup with a strange texture. The food isn't always the best, but there's nothing to complain about, at least you have something to eat.

“I told you, new stepmother, new problems.” Rogers giggles as he enters the cafeteria and then laughs when he sees your frown.

“At least I hope this one doesn't try to burn our house down.” You say with a frustrated half-smile, eating with some effort.

“Relax, she must be a good woman.” Steve places the tray on the table, looking away for a moment.

You continue eating and frown when you see that he's practically drooling, staring in the opposite direction. Your head turns slowly and you see Second Lieutenant Stark and Agent Carter enter the cafeteria, walking together as they talk. She's pretty, with short brown hair, light eyes, a light button on her lips and a military uniform, wearing high boots. Agent Carter is actually the first General of the United States Women's Army, so basically, she's a well-known woman around here and sometimes makes a visit to the men's military base to do "research", evaluations and things like that.

“I'm going to have to get a bigger bucket if you keep drooling over her like this.” You smile, feeling Steve throw a stuffed potato at you.

“Ew, I wasn't even looking like that. Mind your own business.” He scolds you, fiddling awkwardly with his food.

“Oh, the one who spoke is no longer here.” You laugh and finish eating, getting up when the lieutenant calls you to run around the courtyard.

This time, you wake up before the bell rings and the noisy pots start banging to wake up the rest of the soldiers. Today is "vacation" day, if you can call it that. You're coming home after two years away. Finally. You'll be able to sleep when you want, when you want, drink, do all the rebellious shit you share with Steve. As you enter the bathroom, you pick up a razor and fit a new blade into the razor, washing your face with warm water and spreading shaving foam over your face as you shave. After removing the loose hairs from your face, you wash it thoroughly and face the new pencil moustache covering your skin, all the rest of your skin shaved and clean.

“It's not so bad.” You whisper, running your fingers over the moustache.

As soon as you've finished the rest of your hygiene, you pick up your farewell uniform, putting on your camouflage collarless shirt, pants and boots. You run your fingers through your black hair and comb it gently until it's neatly aligned, then you put your beret on your head. When you return, the dormitories are already empty and the commanders take the rest of the conscript soldiers outside to catch the bus home. You wouldn't take a bus home if Bruce came to pick you up, but with a brainless father like him, it wasn't good to risk being late. You stand in the queue and immediately feel someone tugging your ears back slightly, turning to see Steve right behind you.

“Hey, buddy, you look like you've just stepped off a modeling cover. If I were a woman, I'd be wet just looking at that moustache.” Rogers jokes and you roll your eyes, joining in.

“Yeah, and you look like a nomad with that much beard, the girls will love that.” You put your hands behind your back and he sighs. “I wish.”

“Private Y/n Chase Banner, 21 years old, British, sergeant correspondent. You may board.” The man hands back your papers.

“Sometimes I forget you're British. It's a bit ironic, you don't even like a cup of tea.” Steve says, straining his accent and making you laugh. “Why tea when we have whisky and beer in America?”

Steve laughs and takes the documents out of his pocket, handing them to the driver. Quickly all the soldiers board and you press your head against the hard seat, looking out of the window as the base slowly moves away and the bus accelerates. You hear Steve chattering non-stop next to you about Agent Carter, saying how divine and beautiful she was, and saying how much he wished he had a chance with her. The trip from Kentucky to Washington DC would take at least 8 hours and something more, it was still early in the morning and you'd be arriving in the afternoon or even evening, so you just answered Steve with nods and brief 'um, yeahs' as you drifted off to sleep.

“Hey, buddy, this isn't bedtime! Wake up!” Steve shook you, making you jump in your seat slightly.

Your fingers rubbed your eyes and you shook your head, gradually adjusting your vision. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, delivering a warm and muggy evening, the clouds gradually disappearing as the larger group of soldiers began to get off the bus at the Washington terminal. Steve laughed as he commented on your sleepy face and you grabbed your backpack, following him off the bus. It was clear that Bruce hadn't made any effort to come and see you in Kentucky, so it annoyed and irritated you at the same time, but there was no point in wasting time with your grumpy old dad.

“You're coming to dinner with me. That's not a request.” She joked with him as they started walking together.

Your house wasn't three blocks away, it wasn't that far, so it would be nice to walk.

“If it's to meet your hot stepmother, I'm always up for it.” He said and you punched him in the bicep.

“How do you know she's hot and not some old lady with a herniated disc who's obsessed with plants?” You opened a packet of mints, handing him another.

“Derek told me she's not old. And I know Mr. Banner doesn't date old ladies. Come on, Y/n, it's only been three times.” He replies, making you let out a laugh.

“Three times describes my father's character very well, Steve. Well, let's face it, there are a lot of hot old ladies out there.” You blink, feeling his critical gaze on your back.

“You're a fucking pervert. I didn't know you liked old ladies, man.” He laughs, pushing you slightly.

“I didn't say I liked old women! I'm just saying that there are some older women, in their forties and fifties, who are hot, depending on the individual. There was a friend of my father's, I think her name was Wanda, something like that, and she was in her late thirties or early forties. She looked like she was in her twenties, I swear to you, she was crazy as hell! Of course, not all women get to that age looking good, it's a question of grooming and vanity, you know.” You explained, kicking a few stones along the way.

“To me, that's like saying: 'I'm definitely into fucking an older woman's brains out', there's no limit to that, bro, you're an adult and single.” He winks and you laugh out loud. “Wait, why do I feel like something happened between you and this Wanda?”

“She gave me head in the bathroom at her nephew's birthday party. If that answers your question.” You smile mischievously and Steve shakes you like he's made a great discovery. “I knew it, you tricksome pervert! If she really is that hot, then I understand you.”

“You say that as if Carter wasn't a little older than you." Your eyes narrow and he shrugs.

“That's another matter, Banner.” He smiles smugly.

As soon as the two of you arrive, you stop to look around the house. It looks the same, but at the same time it looks like a different house. As if you didn't belong here. The house is still surrounded by orchids and tulips that you planted years ago in memory of your mother, something you did every year to remember well what she liked to do when she was alive. The house had worn-out paintwork, ajar windows and a tall lawn, which made you wonder if Bruce was so useless as not to mow a simple garden lawn. You walked up to the front door and knocked lightly against it, hearing some loud voices talking from inside.

“Just a minute!” A female voice shouted from inside and you slowly turned to face Steve, who had a small smile on his lips. “Time to meet Mom, Banner.”

You rolled your eyes deeply and tried to ignore him, scratching your moustache nervously as footsteps approached the door.

When the door opened, the first thing that came into your mind was that Steve was probably right. She wasn't old at all. Or she was Bruce's own age and she was fucking well preserved, which you thought, fuck, that's got to be it. The vision lit up before you, with a redhead opening the door of your own house with sweet wavy red hair down to her shoulders, big curious green eyes analyzing you as if she already knew who you were before you even said a word, her face as delicate as pieces of porcelain, her nose turned up and the most beautiful lips you could find. She was much shorter than you and than Steve, which meant that you had to look up to meet your eyes and that you had to move your head down to see her.

A black dress falls over her body with delicacy and a deafening elegance. There are a few buttons from the opening, which shows a little of her pale neck, to the middle of her waist, which has a belt around it. It's a simple garment. But it doesn't exude any kind of vulgarity, although this woman... she exudes lust through her eyes. She has slight expression marks under her eyes, almost imperceptible, but which give away the fact that she is much older than you. And she hasn't even said a word to you. A pearly necklace is around that elegant slender neck and you hold your breath, locking your jaw before you speak.

“May I ask who you are?” Your whisper is precise and firm, and you can see out of the corner of your eye that her cheeks are flushing.

“Natasha. Natasha Romanoff. You must be Y/n. I'm your father's wife.” She answers you just as firmly, although her nervousness shows through a little and Steve's eyes widen behind you.

You would never have thought that your father would get married so quickly, even if it was his way of getting into bed with any woman for one night and then telling you that he was in a relationship with her. But he had married her! That was too much.

“It's me, yes.” That's the only answer that came out of his mouth and Natasha seemed to swallow with some bewilderment.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Romanoff. I'm Y/n's friend, Steve Rogers. I hope you don't mind my presence, it may have been a little unexpected.” Steve greets her with a light handshake.

“It would never be a bother to receive you, please, the house is more yours than mine.” She smiles and turns to you.

Without a word, you lean in as Steve pulls away from her hand. Her nails are painted a bright red, which contrasts with her red hair. Your hand brushes against hers, which makes Natasha almost gasp and electricity runs through her body when your hand gently squeezes hers. Without further words or affirmations, this is much more than Natasha would have expected to feel. You raise your head and she quickly moves to the side, making room for you and Steve to enter.

You won't admit it, but you're fascinated by Natasha's beauty. You also know now that you were wrong to think that she was older than Bruce, he only went out a few times with some noble ladies full of money with arrogance stamped on their faces.

“Y/n!” A weak, childish voice shouts at you, and you laugh as you feel little arms go around your legs. “Hey, big boy.”

You greet Derek, feeling him cling to your neck and hug you tightly, as if he hasn't seen you for decades. Well, he hadn't seen you in almost three years, so it made perfect sense.

“Doesn't anyone miss me?” Steve mocked. “Stevie!”

You laugh and let them talk, quickly answering a few of Derek's questions before seeing Bruce off down the stairs. He's got his black hair tangled and all out of order, his glasses are crooked on his face and he's wearing a white coat, with a scruffy beard. He looks a mess, with dark circles under his eyes and a breath of something like campari. You look him up and down with judgment and press your hand on the strap of your backpack.

“Hey, big boy.” He approaches you and gives you a firm hug.

“Hey, old man. I thought you'd see me at the Fort.” You say, frowning with annoyance masked as irritation.

“Well, you're already a big man, Y/n. Not to mention I was looking after your brother, he needs to brush his teeth and do his homework.” He says, turning away and fixing his glasses.

“Of course, you're always worried about my brother stinking of pure alcohol.” You say firmly, your jaw locking with some force.

“Is that any way to talk to me, kid?” He looks at you, slowly approaching as Natasha comes back into the room.

“Oh, I believe you're both hungry. I'm making an apple pie before dinner, love, can you help me?” She grasps Bruce's shoulders, who turns away from you. “Of course, darling.”

Your eyes roll back and Natasha gives you a look as if she's analyzing you. It's a fact that, although much older, Bruce is shorter than you, and his bone structure is even smaller, as if you were the older one here. You cross your arms earnestly, feeling the tension start in your broad shoulders and work its way down your burly biceps. Yes, you really have become an even bigger man than your father and Natasha seems to be looking at this before turning her face away and entering the kitchen.

“Hey, man. Relax, let's just enjoy the night.” Steve grabs your arm, visibly tense, and pulls you over to the sofa.

You sit down with him, try to relax but it's almost unavoidable. Bruce Banner has always been the kind of guy who is a compulsive alcoholic. He goes to support groups every weekend to try to get some support from other people who suffer from the same problem, but he keeps drinking as if he depended on it. He wasn't exactly a friendly father to you, it's as if he was always there but absent. He didn't teach you how to shave, so you learned on your own – with support from Steve who has a great dad – he didn't teach you how to pick up girls or how to flirt or how to drive, let alone how to listen when you had any doubts. He's like a ghost who breathes, eats and sleeps. But he's never really there for his children.

That's probably why your mother divorced him in your teens before that accident. Bruce is a difficult person to deal with, something you clearly took from him, but you're completely different. You're a good man, you're there for Derek, you're good with children, you're civilized, patient – when you want to be – and you're everything your father would like you to be.

“Look, I drew a picture of my school friends, Uncle Stevie and Y/n/n!” He says, handing you a drawing.

In it, Derek is drawn wearing the same blue sweatpants and plaid shirt at the actual moment. His hair is messy and slightly disheveled, his round glasses are crooked and you straighten them on his pale face, seeing that there is a blond boy next to him and a girl in a pink dress with long red hair.

“Who's that, little guy?” You ask as you stroke his hair.

“That's my friend, Emily!” He says between jumps and Steve looks at you with a smile. “Friend, huh?”

“Do you fancy her, mate? It's okay to talk to us, it's boy talk here, we won't judge you.” You ask and then smile, listening to Steve chatter something. “Fancy? Is that any way to say you're into a girl? You Brits are funny.”

“Give it a rest, Steve, it's noble English. You can talk to me, mate." You stroke Derek's hair and he laughs nervously.

“I think so... Dad says that when you like a girl a lot, you start admiring her, praising all her tastes, her hair, her expressions and everything about her, I see Emily like that. But I'm afraid she likes another boy.” He closes his expression into a sad little beak and you lift him onto your lap.

“Listen, you're a young boy. You're handsome, you've got nice hair like the bloke here.” You look at Steve who starts bragging and you interrupt him. “Maybe Emily is your first love, but you're still very young, you've got a lot to live up to. You've got to finish school, get a good job, make new friends, find a hobby, something you enjoy doing. Life isn't just about girls or love, it's about you and how you want to live it. And if Emily ever lets you down with another bloke, send her home to the grumpy toad.”

“What's the Grumpy Toad's house?” Steve blinks in confusion and you lean in to whisper. “A polite way of telling someone to fuck off. He can't swear because he's still a polite little boy.”

“You're unpredictable.” Steve laughs, disbelieving what he's heard.

The conversation between the two of you continues between laughter and irresponsible advice from Steve, who makes you laugh every second at the absurdities he tells you about past relationships, and from Derek, who starts showing you a folder full of his drawings. Lovely doodles. Natasha enters the room after a while, pressed between the doorway and shyly clears her throat.

“Hi guys, I don't mean to interrupt, but dinner's ready.” She says and you stand up, ruffling Derek's hair. “Go brush your teeth, kid. Girls don't like guys with breath.”

Derek mumbles something but climbs the stairs to the bathroom, determined to follow any of your advice, because you're the oldest and he sees tremendous wisdom in you. When you enter the kitchen, you sit down and Steve sits right next to you at the square table, and Bruce is there, scribbling something down. Always working, never with time for his children. Or too drunk to care.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” He says, and barely blinks as Natasha places a plate of food in front of him.

“No problem, my love.” She says and her gaze settles on Natasha, who moves gracefully.

Is it wrong to be completely attracted to an older, more experienced woman who is unfortunately your new stepmother? Most likely, but you can't help it. Everything about Natasha is too sexy. Her light-lipped smile, her curves, which even covered by that very covered dress, manage to be somewhat naked. Her legs, the way her knees bend to grab something from the tallest cupboards in the kitchen. You can imagine the way her knees can bend in front of you... and fuck. Stop it, you tell yourself.

“How was your time serving, Y/n?” She asks you, and seems to be talking, or trying to.

“Same as always.” Your answer comes, it's short, but not rude, just disinterested.

The best thing is to look like you're disinterested in her. Not out of rudeness or rebelliousness. But because you feel the adrenaline in your veins that tells you it's dangerous to be so enamored of your stepmother, knowing that this is also something immoral and incorrect. You don't want to lose control.

“Men giving orders. Proud men doing what they want to do. Discipline masquerading as arrogance.” You prolong your answer, and you don't expect Natasha to understand, after all she is a woman and has never been in need of serving her country.

Natasha, on the other hand, is struggling to stay focused on getting more plates and cutlery to distribute to you and Steve during dinner. She's fascinated. Shocked. Silently drawn to you. The difference between you and Bruce is glaring. While he seems sloppy and uncivilized, you speak so calmly and politely that you don't even sound like his son. You're both very similar in appearance, hair, face, expressions, eyes a little, but the difference in size from your father to you is absurd. You're like a wall of muscle compared to him, who clearly makes sense as a fatally alcoholic and careless man.

She rubs her thighs discreetly as she places a plate in front of you and fork and knife on either side of the embroidered plate, hoping you haven't noticed her indecent act, but you're even watching the way her throat moves when she breathes. She feels impure, filthy. She shouldn't look at her husband's son as prey, as if she had never seen such a beautiful and majestic man, a man who, as soon as he entered the house for the first time, left her breathless.

No, you were younger. Perhaps more naive, too young. And you were her husband's son. Her stepson.

“If I may ask, does that make you uncomfortable? Taking orders?” She asks, placing her plate and cutlery in front of Steve.

You lick your lips slowly. Natasha stares at you. She likes that. An act so simple and ordinary that it made her almost drool all over that table. She was a depraved and incorrect woman at that moment. Natasha loses herself in you at that moment. The intense green gaze flees from your calm lips to your drawn jaw, sculpted beyond her comprehension. Your eyes are wild yet calm, they exude...a hard life. A life full of challenges. They're dominant and Natasha doesn't like the way they intimidate her without you even realizing it. But that's you, a mystery to her, silent and solid. A black ocean with no comprehensible answers.

“I only do what I'm asked. It's my job.” Her whisper comes, quiet, yet icy.

“A man who works without complaining becomes a good worker. I think that's what I taught you.” Bruce speaks for the first time, taking a bite of his food.

In front of you, the smell of food fills your stomach and you barely notice Natasha serving you as you are busy facing even the worst fears of her soul. Your hands move nimbly and you cut off a piece of meat, putting it in your mouth and chewing slowly. It takes her a few seconds to realize it's a stew and the salty broth with potatoes, carrots and peas melts in her mouth perfectly.

“First of all, you cook perfectly well, that's great, Natasha.” You say as she sits down to eat and you see her pale cheeks develop a slight blush. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

No one had talked about her food in a long time, not even your father.

“Secondly,” You take a few more mouthfuls, managing to eat half the stew in minutes, and then look at Banner with a certain disgust. “Is that why you sent me to the army? To teach me your own kind of passivity?”

“You seem to like offending me sometimes, kid.” He laughs dryly, helping Derek to sit down and assemble his plate. “What's wrong with being passive?”

“Nothing, nothing wrong with it. Except that whenever someone confronts you, all you know how to do is roll over and show your belly like a puppy.” You cluck your tongue, listening to Bruce grumble.

“I think we'd better calm down a bit here-” Steve begins, still starting to eat when you cut him off. “No, I won't calm down.”

“I sent you to the army to control your rebelliousness and lack of control!” Bruce replies, starting to get upset.

“My rebelliousness? Don't fuck with me, Bruce.” You spat, completely disbelieving that you had heard such a thing.

“You've always acted in a problematic way, breaking laws, coming home late without giving explanations, disrespecting your own father! What did you want me to do? Shake your hair and tell you how to act, as if you were actually going to listen to me?” He shouted back, pointing a finger at you.

“You never cared about me yourself. You send me to the army to control me by saying I'm a rebel and all that shit and now you treat me like some fucking bum you don't even know. You sit on your ass here all the time, you only go out to work or to drink like you always have, you think you're an example of something?” Your hand hits the table and Steve gets up next to you, trying to stop anything worse from happening.

“You shut up when I talk to you, kid!” He growls and Natasha grabs him by the shoulders. “Bruce, please, let's put this aside. Derek's here, sweetheart.”

“Enough, please, let's calm down, man.” Steve puts his hand on your arm, suddenly getting serious.

Your chest is rising and falling through the camouflage uniform, hitting your ribcage with some violence. Natasha is frightened, even though she tries not to show it, it's quite transparent. She's heard Bruce's stories about you, that you had the same explosive temper as him even though you were different, that as a teenager you got into fights frantically and that you were suspended from school for 'vandalizing' the bathroom walls and things like that. Most of that was true, but the only friend you had was Steve, you were both often chased by the good-looking guys and bullies for being "skinny and weird" and ended up being extremely excluded and beaten up at the time. As if the confusion came to you both on purpose.

In any case, Natasha didn't know you and became involved with Bruce shortly after you officially joined the army, where you were promoted to the rank of Private E-2 a year later. Although Bruce was her husband, he generally behaved unpleasantly some of the time, especially when he got drunk in front of Natasha, which also discouraged Derek and made him sad, wishing he had more time with his father. She wanted to get to know you better, she felt that you had a good heart and she didn't really want to believe all the absurd stories that Bruce told her as if he wanted to make you a bad son for his wife.

“I wish I didn't have to look at your face.” Your answer came, harsh, indifferent.

Bruce didn't move, however, as if it hadn't hit him. He really didn't care about you at all. You felt an extreme pang of guilt when you saw Derek at the end of the table, hunched over with his hands on his head. He hated arguing and shouting, and it often happened between you and Bruce, but you avoided fighting in front of the boy as much as possible to prevent that kind of thing from happening to him there.

“All right, darling, come here.” She called to him, hugging him and trying to calm him down.

The rest of dinner was a terrible, deathly silence that pressed down on her throat, absolutely wanting to break Bruce in half. But you wouldn't, you already felt bad enough for scaring your little brother. When you'd finished eating, feeling Steve stare at you in fear of another fight breaking out, you got up and put your cutlery and plate in the sink, emptying a glass full of orange juice that you'd barely touched minutes before.

“Oh, Y/n, you don't have to do that, I could really do it-” Natasha intervenes, but you respond subtly. “It's okay, I don't mind.”

She stops in place, her lips parted in shock. It was rare for a real man to be there to do something as simple and minimal as washing dishes without her having to ask. Because for that very reason, Bruce wouldn't do it on the grounds that 'he worked too much' and Natasha had to take care of the cleaning and everything else in the house on her own. But it weighed on her, she felt alone there, even if it seemed silly. Bruce Banner described himself as an old-fashioned man, but something about him pointed more towards a misogyny hidden under the carpet. You really were different from the man she married.

“Oh, all right.” She sighs, the corner of her lips curving slowly.

Putting a little detergent on the yellow sponge, you subtly scrub the plate and then the cutlery and glass. You turn on the tap and wash everything silently, watching a few bubbles of foam disappear down the drain and everything become clean, then you take a dry cloth and dry everything, placing it inside the cupboard in the proper places for each object. You knew how to do everything apart from washing dishes. Washing your father's rusty car, cleaning the whole house, absolutely everything that would be considered 'women's chores' that your mother taught you before she died. And he silently despised you for it, but it didn't matter, because there had been a helpful and very useless man in this house and now that man was back.

“Are you staying for dessert?” Natasha asks as she watches you dry your hands and Steve also wash his dirty plates and cutlery quickly.

“No, Steve and I are going to stay in my room for a while. We can eat later if there's anything left, thank you very much.” You shove your hands in your pockets, watching her nod a little tensely and pick up all the remaining dirty dishes when Steve gives her a nod.

The two of you climb the stairs and soon reach your room. It's not a small room, but it's spacious enough to hold everything you like. Philosophy books, art books, porn magazines that you used to swap with Steve when you were teenagers, – yes, this is kept secret – some toolboxes in case you needed them when something broke in the house, a collection of old CDs by the Beatles, Led Zeppelin and a thousand other bands and singers from the 70s and 80s. The room is still tidy, with a single bed lined with thin blue sheets and a gray pillow. There's also a desk and a medium-sized cupboard in the corner next to an old window.

The smell of your room and nostalgia is cozy, almost intoxicating.

“Hey, man, do you really keep them all? No kidding!” Steve laughs, picking up the magazines with the half-naked women on the covers.

Although you didn't have an addiction to this kind of thing, you and Steve were once two curious teenagers with hormones running wild in the middle of puberty. You'd get excited and buy these magazines on the sly, but even so, you weren't the type who needed to see a naked woman's body to get completely turned on. No, you were better than that, and you knew that real bodies worked better, were beautiful and much more objective.

“Of course, I left the army and ended up forgetting all this garbage.” You laugh, opening the drawers and leafing through some superhero comics, watching Steve laugh as he sees a cover with a blonde woman on one of the covers wearing pink lingerie. “No, no! Fuck, man that was the worst, I remember you gave it to me with the pages sticking together, you fucking pervert!”

“Sorry, man, I couldn't help myself! I still remember the look on your face when you got it full of life.” He says and you rolls your eyes.

“Jesus, that was disgusting. I'm going to throw it all away anyway, unless you want to keep it as a souvenir.” You laugh quietly and he makes a vomiting noise.

“No, thanks.” Steve shakes his head, walks over and picks up some comics to read too.

You put on a band CD while you lose yourself in conversation with Steve, remembering everything. You both laugh out loud when you remember the time Steve put a live frog on the head of a girl who was terrified of frogs, because she just thought it was funny to make fun of your worn-out shoes and said you couldn't afford new ones. He's never been so furious, no one could mess with you, only each other and all in jest, of course.

It was a great pastime for you to play pranks on bad students and grumpy teachers, or to skip important classes to drink cheap beer while listening to a small radio given to you by Steve's father. Those were incredible times, which only got old in the best way when Steve and you decided to enlist for the first time at the age of 18, getting kicked out because of arguments you had with some of the lieutenants. Anyway, you both found a way to get into the American army through the Kentucky fort, and obviously, together.

So Steve and you knew each other practically from your mother's womb. Joseph and Bruce met during high school before they got involved with their respective wives. They both served in the army, but only Mr. Rogers decided to make it a career, although he didn't succeed and decided to go into medicine. They were extremely close throughout your and Steve's adolescence, until one day they drifted apart over a mysterious fight in which you never really found out the motivation.

Even so, you and Steve could fight for centuries and still remain good friends.

“Hey, there's someone at the door.” Steve yawned, signaling the light knocks on your bedroom door.

With a light sigh, you put your comic aside, turning down the volume of a small, still-functional radio that was playing Black Sabbath in the background. When you opened the door, you saw her again.

Natasha. Your 'lovely' stepmother. She was standing right in front of the door, with two pieces of pie on a large plate and a tense, apparently shy look on her face. You still didn't understand why she looked at you as if she was going to dismount at any moment. She was wearing a beige apron over her dress and her hair was now slightly wavy at the ends, her face flushed.

“I know you may not be that hungry anymore, but I can't help trying. The pie is still warm, it's apple with caramel on top and blackberries and you know, I'm sorry about Bruce. Your father didn't have a good day, Y/n.” She sighs, looking away for a moment.

“Did I hear the word pie!?” Steve jumps out of bed already excited.

“I appreciate that. I'm sorry about the argument. I think he always tries to take it out on me, but that's okay. How's Derek?” You blink slowly, trying to ignore the feeling of Natasha staring you down to the core.

“Fine, I guess. I fed him dinner and some pie, got him to brush his teeth and now he's sleeping like a newborn after reading your stories about bigfoot.” She laughs softly, making you smile.

“He'll end up having nightmares about it. Thank you, Mrs. Romanoff.” You say, your voice already husky and slightly sleepy.

“Natasha, call me Natasha. There's no need for formalities here.” She replies, licking her lips slowly.

“Natasha.” You whisper back, hearing Natasha's breathing increase as you spell her name perfectly on the tip of her tongue.

“Have a good night. If you need anything you can call me and I'll be in the next room.” She says, almost stuttering, and nods as she walks away. “Good night, Natasha.”

“God, I thought you were going to eat each other and leave the pie behind!” Steve grumbles, picking up a piece with one of the forks and takes a bite, closing his eyes. “Wonderful!”

“Bloody hell, Steve, she's my father's wife!” you laugh incredulously, taking a piece of the sweet pie. “It's really good, it's fucking delicious.”

“But I know that. She's still got the hots for you, don't you see?” He shrugged, starting to devour the pie in seconds. “And even if she wasn't your father's, it must be worth losing yourself...you know, in that woman.”

“You're absolutely shameless. And I would never do that, no matter how much my father deserves it.” You roll your eyes, taking another piece of pie and Steve smiles. “I'm paying to see how badly this goes.”

Your wristwatch reads at least 6:10 in the morning. You don't know why you woke up so early on a Monday when you were on vacation from work, so to speak. Perhaps waking up at 5 a.m. every day at the Fort to paint walls and curbs, patrol, and other exhausting military services has made you accustomed to waking up at those times as if you were an uncontrolled robot. So you took a shower, brushed your teeth and ate an apple before going to Steve's house to pick up some cans of paint.

Your house was in a deplorable state, with the paint on all the walls outside peeling off, the garden with its extremely high lawn dirty with leaves thrown over it since last fall, dead plants and flowers everywhere and the appearance of the house itself sad and gray. You had to do something about it, since Bruce hasn't done it in two whole years.

Wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, the clock now reads 7:19 in the morning. You finish running the roller full of paint up to the top of the back wall of the house, not even needing a ladder because you're so fit. In an hour you've managed to paint the whole house and now you're going to rip down the wooden fences and put up new, clean ones.

“Y/n! What are you doing? It's so early and it's roasting hot out there!” You hear a familiar feline voice and drop the paint roller on top of the empty can.

You step away from the can and container and wipe the excessive sweat from your chest, your skin was probably all sunburnt, exposed to the bare torso and shapely legs on display. Natasha is at the door, dressed in a red sweater. Holy shit. You turn your face away, feeling deeply warmed, and run your paint-smeared hands over your face, clad only in baggy shorts and barefoot.

“I'm painting the house, Natasha.” You answer simply and matter-of-factly, watching out of the corner of your eye as she puts a thin blouse over it, certainly embarrassed.

“At 7 in the morning! You must be dying of heat! Have you applied sunscreen?” She asks, approaching quickly.

You missed the maternal concern and affection, but considering the current situation, it was totally inappropriate.

“We didn't use sun cream during our time in the army. Especially during patrols on the patio with direct contact with the sun, or anywhere else where it was necessary. They simply didn't hand out sunscreen to us.” You say and shrug, discarding the empty tin and the rest of the used items.

“That's horrible, you could get serious burns!” She replies and puts her hand to her head, making you laugh. "I'll be back in a minute."

Natasha leaves and you wash your hands in a sink at the back of the house, removing as much of the gooey paint as you can and wetting your head and chest to try and cool off. As soon as you've finished, you go down to the basement and get a box full of new fences that haven't even been used before. First you get the rest of the tools and put everything in the garden, then you get a lawnmower, which luckily isn't rusty.

You push the lawnmower as soon as the blades shoot out, starting to cut the grass quickly. Your hands are steady and nimbly, you're finishing off the first row of grass. Pressing the button on the side of the mower, you snort and sigh deeply, resting your hands on your waist.

“I'm going to melt like this, my Lord.” You say to yourself with a laugh.

Going round to the back, you find a sack and a shovel and start gathering up all that grass and throwing it into the sack. It could be useful or reusable at some point.

“Hey you! All right, take a break from that and come and eat properly.” Natasha appears as soon as you've collected all the grass in the sack and walks over to you gently.

She's now wearing a black tank top, which emphasises her perfectly marked collarbone and her pale neck, which is as delicate as any detail can be. On her legs are a pair of denim shorts, neither short nor baggy, but you can still see how her shapely thighs look so perfectly...thick in them. And she looks so natural, nothing forced, just there, for you, carrying a plate with a cut sandwich, a glass of juice and a bottle of water. I mean, your father was lucky but he was an idiot, why on earth would he deserve someone like that?

“Natasha, really, you didn't have to do that. I don't want you to bother with me.” You say, feeling your face very red, from the sun - and from a certain effect it has on you - and sweaty.

“I'm not bothered at all. I'm not going to let you die of dehydration in this heat, it must be 30 degrees or more!” She exclaims and you carefully pick up the plate, cautiously dropping the other equipment. “Wait, open your arms a little, don't let go of the plate please.”

You frown and open your arms, pushing the plate as far away from your torso and body as you can. Natasha approaches you, taking a plastic bottle from the pocket of her shorts and opens the lid, pouring some kind of cream onto her fingers. You stare at the words written in blue and white, trying to decipher the smudges, and your jaw drops in disbelief. It was sun cream.

“Natasha, look, it's okay, I've got used to the sun-” you say, but it's too late.

The woman is smearing sunscreen on your face, and you're so red that even under the sunscreen, you can see how flushed and hot you look. Oh, shit.

“The sun doesn't get used to any of us, though. Once when I was half your age, I went to a beach in Miami, Florida, with my parents and some friends. I slathered sunscreen all over my body except my buttocks and um... I definitely couldn't sit up straight for a week after that, the burns weren't kind to me and it wasn't the sun's fault.” She laughs lightly, gently rubbing the sun cream into her cheeks and forehead.

The heat in your cheeks spreads even more violently and you gently bite your lower lip, something that Natasha notices and strangely makes her legs wobble. I wonder what else makes her unable to sit down for a whole week. Fucking stop it, you cut off your thoughts before they spread, but they're dirty all the same.

“That must have been hard.” You answer, and your voice slowly begins to die.

What is she doing now, my Lord?

Natasha finishes spreading the sunscreen on your face and neck, her fingers still smeared with protector trailing down the start of your chest. Your skin is burning, but that's not what fascinates her, it's the hard, burly, extremely rock-hard flesh of your pectorals, covered in a very thin, sparse line of hair. She gasps as discreetly as she can, trying her best not to grab his every muscle and touch and squeeze. In fact, she knows now that you look like more than a wall, it's as if you were made completely of muscle and only a little 'skin' covering everything.

Romanoff's hand slides to the end of your chest on the right side, and she doesn't even know what she's doing, for her, she's just spreading the rest of the sunscreen on her fingers. But you feel it, you feel her grip, her electrifying, mundane, specific touch, as if she wanted to scratch every part of your skin as well as touch it, as if she wanted to do everything you could imagine there.

“I'm sorry.” She says, swallowing dry and trying to swallow her own shame as well.

But she still feels your warmth. She feels your minty fresh breath, pleasant and peaceful, she feels how affected you were by a single touch of her delicate, soft hand. You want more and maybe she knows it, but that's wrong, it's inappropriate.

“You can leave the sunscreen somewhere, I'll put more on after I've cut everything here.” You say and she nods quickly, hugging her own body.

“This is going to be a lot of work.” She says and you nod, taking a bite and moaning slightly.

The sandwich is a spicy mix of tomato, toasted wholemeal bread, smoked turkey breast, mayonnaise, a little mustard, bean sprouts, cheese and a spicy dressing. As well as being kind, intelligent, seductive, completely attractive, the woman cooks like hell, what more could Bruce want? Absolutely nothing.

“Fuck, this is fucking divine, the work will be worth it. Thank you so much.” You thank her without knowing what else to say, the scouse accent making Natasha wince.

She had time to notice your accent and your voice as soon as she arrived with Steve at the residence yesterday. She, however, had no idea that you were British or anything. Not least because all Bruce ever really said about you were the most unpleasant compliments in the form of criticisms. He proved to be a good father to other people, but it was different with you. You could see why.

“No need to thank me, really. I hope you didn't forget your sunscreen.” She says, raising an eyebrow as she tries to look serious and you laugh. “Sure, no problem.”

Your bites are precise and hungry, and you can tell that a single apple an hour ago would never have satisfied you. You finish eating, drink all the pineapple juice and hand it all to Natasha, taking the sunscreen again and spreading it on your fingers, your hands flying across your sweaty pecs, ribs and abs. Natasha walks away towards the house, her gaze lingering on you several times.

She's a married woman. Married to your father. That's not right, it's far from it.

But just taking a look is okay, right?

You hurry, organize everything and start up the machine again, cutting another row of grass. Then another, another, until you've finished with all that tall grass that could end up with some animal hiding there. You put all the grass in two sacks and put them in the corner of the garden, then you start to remove and tear down the old, dirty and soft wooden fences, which are practically falling apart.

After marking out the right height for the fences with lines and stakes, you make a quick calculation and grab a spade, digging the holes where the picket panels will be. It takes about some hours, between quick breaks, your feet are dirty with dirt and now your body is really bathed in sweat, but after lining up the pickets, checking that they're all in the same vertical position, digging non-stop and cleaning dirt off your grass, everything looks perfect. You even do a quick and precise finish, and smile when you see that your work has turned out perfectly.

“Great. I just need to replant the plants soon.” You whisper, feeling tired.

After putting away all the equipment, cleaning up all the grass and briefly painting the fences, you walk away and enter the house, dripping with sweat from head to toe. You wipe your feet on the carpet, imagining that Natasha is the kind of woman who will freak out if you get dirt all over the house and yell at you for hours. Now, however, she's sitting in the living room, with Derek by her side as she appears to help him with his homework.

“Looks like I'm late.” You smile, adjusting the black cap on your head and her gaze quickly falls on you.

She has to control herself, she has to. She's in front of a child.

But it's inevitable.

Bruce would probably show off if he looked like that too, but he's got the typical 40-something dad-beer-belly physique. You, on the other hand... you're majestic, even though you're completely sweaty and give off the classic manly odor of a man who does everything for his family, your muscles being highlighted by sticky sweat, probably swollen from working outside the house. She is silently awestruck, the heat rushes through the blood in her cheeks and her thighs rub together painfully.

“Y/n! Nat said you were painting the whole house.” Derek jumps up, running to hug your legs and you wave.

“I just went to give this house a new look, it was looking sloppy and abandoned. I painted it, put up new fences and now it looks decent, all that's missing is a few details on the inside. And you, big boy, go back to Aunt Nat and do your homework.” You kiss his forehead and the boy runs back to the woman.

“Aren't you hungry? It's practically lunchtime.” Natasha starts talking, looking tense.

“Maybe I'm a bit too hungry, but I need to take a shower and get rid of that skunk smell. Where's Bruce?” You cross your arms, looking around the house for your old father.

“He's gone out to sort out 'work matters', he said he'll be back in the afternoon. You can take your shower, when I've finished here I'll make you something to eat.” She says, smiling gently and you sigh.

You're definitely not used to this motherly treatment. You've always looked after yourself, but Derek first, and Bruce second. You always prioritized family, but that didn't mean you were at ease with Natasha doing it all for you. After all, you've never had anyone really care like that. Natasha seemed to want to take care of you like a newborn baby and that seemed strange, but you didn't want to give her so much trouble. You could look after yourself, so why worry so much?

You didn't want to be so close to her either. You were afraid of what might happen when you were alone, because that sexual tension was evident, it was dry and eager. She looked at you the way you looked at her, with silent desires that even without emitting sound, understanding, could be understood just by looking at you, by searching for you.

The warm water falls over your body, relaxing every tense muscle from your back to your exhausted chest. You lean your forehead against the wall and relax for a moment, allowing yourself to enjoy the feeling of relaxation and calm.

“Fuck.” You whisper softly, feeling a wave of warmth hit your body.

No. No dirty thoughts about an older woman. The problem wasn't that she was older, it was that she was your stepmother.

The foam-filled sponge glides over your stiff, tense body, your eyes closing as you imagine... Natasha on her knees, or lowered to the floor, or bent over with her face buried in the pillow as she smiles at you. A grunt leaves your lips and the blood rushes violently to your semi-hard member.

“Jesus, no.” You say, washing yourself and running some shampoo through your slightly overgrown hair, wiping away all that sweat.

After taking a few more minutes in the shower to get rid of a possible erection, you wash your face and leave the bathroom, drying yourself with the first towel you find there. You're still hot, but you have to control yourself. You want to take her right now, admit it. Your head shakes and you climb the stairs to your room with the towel around your waist, hoping you've been unnoticed, and enter the room, drying yourself quickly.

Passing through the open door, you put on sports shorts and boxer shorts underneath, quickly finishing drying your hair while putting on a tight compression T-shirt. Just wearing it makes you realize how much you've really grown physically.

“Hey, it's time to take Derek to school.” Natasha says as you walk down the stairs with running shoes in your hands.

“Sure, I can do that without any problems, my dad didn't use the car to go out today. Are you coming?” You ask, trying to understand the blush on her cheeks.

“I'd love to. I'm just going to finish tidying him up.” She smiles tensely, and you see your brother waving frantically as Natasha changes his clothes.

Derek then turns around, his hair combed back like his mother used to do with hers, the backpack a little bigger than him slung over his back and wearing a simple blue shirt and shorts, the sneakers identical to yours. Well, Natasha really was a good stepmother. You just couldn't see her the way you were seeing her, because that was incorrect and dirty, but it was almost inevitable.

“Ready?” You lick your lips and the two of you nod quickly. “Good, let's go.”

The road is quiet, peaceful. Natasha tells you where Derek goes to school because he was transferred not long ago and you drive along calmly, listening to them chatting about random, common things. Your hands turn the steering wheel skillfully, and through the rearview mirror you feel Natasha's gaze on you, although you can't say why.

The car stops and you park it in a wide parking lot, turning off the engine and taking off your seat belt. Stepping around the car, you help Derek out of his seatbelt and open the door for Natasha, who looks ecstatic about something but climbs down next to your brother, stroking his hair.

“Professor Carter!” Derek says, and runs out to a female figure standing a few meters away near a silver golf.

Natasha closes the door, giving you a grateful look, and the two of you approach the scene gingerly. Derek is hugging an older woman, she wears a long dress just below her knees in a wine color and her hair is straight blonde and well aligned, her brown eyes surprisingly calm, welcoming the boy and leaning down to hug him back. She... She's familiar to you.

“Hey, pretty boy, how are you? Natasha, good morning. Oh.” She greets the redhead and then looks at you, a surprised look filling her face.

More than a few years ago, you and Sharon Carter had a little fling together. You grew up together and had a lot in common. Steve introduced you to her at a party when you were 16 and she was 19. She's not that much older than you, and that didn't seem to be a problem, until Sharon said she'd fallen in love with you. And indeed, Sharon has fallen in love with you.

But you were the classic bad boy who liked to drive without a license, who spent the early hours of the morning away from home because your father constantly found any reason to fight with you, to complain about you as if it hadn't been his choice to have a son. You weren't the typical nice guy Sharon needed, like Steve for example, and you didn't know if you were in love with her, but you two had sex often, and that made her even more attached to you.

When you disappeared with the simple warning that you were going to serve in the army and didn't know if you'd be back any time soon, Sharon was disappointed. She wanted to spend time with you more than anything, but you had gone to serve your country and she had a career ahead of her, which she chose to become a teacher even though she wanted to be a psychologist. She liked you, she really did, but sometimes you acted like a bomb about to explode, just like Bruce did.

“Surprised to see me? Yeah, I knew you were going to become a teacher, Sharon. You always knew how to get along with children.” You say and squeeze Sharon's hand with a gentle but firm touch, which she blushes at before replying.

“I thought you were going to spend even more time in the army, Y/n. It seems to have done you a lot of good.” She says, biting her lip discreetly and smiling.

Natasha crosses her arms, an impassive expression on her face. She can already completely tell that the two of you know each other, that's for sure, but for some reason, the way Sharon looks at you and acts towards you makes Romanoff feel a big pang of discomfort in his stomach.

“Teacher, I have to show you my new drawings!” Derek says excitedly, hugging the woman tighter by the legs.

“Of course, darling, I'll look at them all, okay?” She says, running her hand over his bangs. “I thought Bruce was coming today.”

“You know how he is, always 'sorting out work stuff. Thanks for taking such good care of him, Sharon.” A minimalist smile curves your lips without showing your teeth and Sharon nods.

“No need to thank me, apart from being my job, it's a pleasure to look after this little one. We should have a coffee together one day, perhaps.” She says and makes you sigh, grabbing the car keys and giving Derek a kiss on the forehead.

“Yeah, maybe one day. Good morning, have fun, we'll be going for now, see you soon.” You nod and she agrees, expecting more from you, but turns and walks into the school with the boy.

As soon as you get into the car, put the key in the ignition and adjust the windows, Natasha gets in. Her face is slightly twisted with frustration, perhaps? That, and a hint of discontent. It looks like someone has stepped on her toes, but why?

“So, you and the teacher...” She says calmly, although her eyes seem distant and indifferent to you.

“What?” You turn the wheel, steering the car out of the parking lot and back onto the road.

“There seems to be something between you.” She replies and you laugh awkwardly, shaking your head.

“There's nothing between us.” You say and look at her out of the corner of your eye, Natasha's face turned completely towards you.

“She made it sound like there was, you know.” She shrugged, seeming not to want to bother you with the subject.

“Steve and I have known her since we were teenagers. Teenage parties, drinking, drugs, you know. Sharon was a fling of mine. If I can call it that.” Your voice answers quietly and you look at Natasha discreetly.

"Well, she doesn't seem to have forgotten you. You know how it is, when a woman loves, she's willing to do anything to make up for lost time, but it doesn't just depend on her." She says relaxed, still trying not to let her jealous face overflow.

“Sharon isn't in love with me. At least I don't think so. Even if she was, I'm not what she's looking for.” You say and on the one hand, Natasha reassures herself.

“And what is she looking for?” Romanoff looks at you from the passenger seat.

Her lips are pressed together, her breathing seems slightly unregulated. She's frustrated, yes. She's jealous, yes. She hated the way Sharon looked at you as if you were a toy she could ride on top of. Absolutely. Yes. But why should your stepmother be jealous of you? That was wrong, immoral, maybe a bit problematic, she'd only just met you anyway. It made your skin hot, but the hairs on the back of your neck were rising and your fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying to focus on the road before your eyes.

“What most women are looking for, I believe. A protective, self-assured, confident man. She wants a man who is one hundred percent there for her at all times. I didn't learn to be like that.” You brake at a red light and buckle up, your head resting against the seat.

“Don't you think she's the right woman?” Romanoff swallows, trying her best not to sound intrusive.

If anyone else were asking you these questions, it would be a different story. But her, she brought you comfort. She was...good. She was a good woman, as Steve assumed.

“I'm not in love with her, Natasha, even if she was right, what good would it do?” You look at her, and she nods quietly.

You've never found someone who makes your heart soar as if you were in one of those cheesy movie clichés, who makes time stand still around you, who makes you feel like the luckiest man in the world. No, you've never experienced any of that. You've only had nighttime adventures with older girls or even girls your own age, adventures with kissing, sex without commitment and conversations thrown away to be remembered. You never knew what love was.

And the only person who could teach you that was right there beside you, annoyed for some reason at the possibility of you falling in love with someone other than her.

“All right.” That was the only answer Natasha gave you, watching the car pull into the driveway of your house.

When you got in – and there was still a certain murderous silence in the air – you just took off your shoes, sat down on the sofa and picked up the remote control, looking for a live American soccer program, trying to distract yourself. Natasha went into the kitchen to do something, and the door creaked open a few minutes after you arrived, revealing Bruce's early arrival. He looked at you, but overcome by pride, said nothing and passed through to the kitchen.

“Hi, darling. How was work?” Natasha's distant voice said to him, who caught her kissing him, answering disconnectedly. “It was business as usual. I've never waited so long to get home and have my wife all to myself.”

You rolled your eyes, lay back on the sofa and turned up the volume slightly, watching two American league teams fight for a title. For some unusual reason, the sound of wet kissing bothered you deeply. You shook your head and tried to focus on the match, then you heard footsteps approaching the room and Natasha's warm hand touched your shoulder, making you turn almost instantly.

“Hey, do you want something to eat?” She asked, her lips slightly swollen and her face flushed.

You'd love to see her like that, but you'd love it even more to have that effect on her.

“No, thanks, Natasha. I'm going to take a nap, you can relax.” You replied and she nodded, smiling slowly before heading up the stairs, Bruce right behind her.

Your head pressed into the pillow and you let out a short curse, feeling uncomfortable and disgusted by the situation. It was your father's house too, but you were still there. Anyway, you forced yourself to sleep and it worked, your eyes became heavy and you completely relaxed your muscles against the not-so-spacious sofa, knowing that you would wake up with a sore neck as soon as you woke up.

“Fuck.” You cursed, rubbing your tired eyes.

The house was the same, but the afternoon was beginning to fade, making it clear that it would soon be dark. You grabbed the black clock on the table, seeing that it read 5:48 in the afternoon. There was still an hour or so before Derek would be released from school, so you were relieved to see that you weren't late to pick him up.

“What?” You sat groggily on the sofa, listening to a lot of noise coming from upstairs.

There were sounds coming from upstairs, and at first you thought there was something wrong there, since you were still groggy from sleep and tired. But gradually you noticed. The creaking of Bruce's bed, the loud sounds of skin hitting skin, of the headboard hitting the wall. They were having sex.

“Fuck, holy shit.” You say, completely lost in disgust and cover your head with your hands. “This can't be serious.”

But you could still hear it. It completely disturbed you. But it was also wrong, being jealous of your stepmother when she's married to your father. It's not as if Natasha hadn't been upset with Sharon about you too.

But she was married, you weren't. Still, that seemed contrary to morality.

“Fuck.” You cursed to yourself, getting out of there and going to the kitchen.

There was a case of beer in the fridge. You hated looking like your father, because whenever something bothered you or upset you, you always drank too, but not like him, he was worse. You grabbed two bottles and opened the caps with your teeth, spitting them into the trash can. Five minutes passed, and you emptied half the bottle of beer, lying on the sofa when Natasha came downstairs.

Your head turns subtly in the direction of the stairs and there she is, walking down the steps like an art exhibition that could never be bought. A misunderstood muse. Yet not something that could be conquered, but touched, felt. A woman, with a deceptive young girl's face, with an older woman's mature soul with gifts you could never guess. Married to your arsehole of a father. He didn't deserve her, that much was clear, but what could you do, if not mourn in the corners of the house, silently wishing this woman was yours?

Her skin was pale, although tanned by her own sweat. Her impeccable red hair was now dishevelled and out of order, falling in light waves to her shoulders. Her body, which could reveal to you many dangerous curves and paths to the most silent sin, was covered in a long black dressing gown, and you could see that she was wearing a baggy T-shirt that wasn't hers on her body. Her lips were swollen, dry. You could see a glimpse of her shapely legs, and wow, what legs. Although you knew exactly what she and your father were doing up there, she didn't look pleased. Her eyes looked confused, troubled, even sweaty, she was unhappy. And how could she not be unhappy with Bruce Banner?

But you couldn't look away. She was so well preserved, my goodness.

“I'm sorry, Y/n, I thought you were still asleep. I didn't want to appear like this, I must look like an unnatural stepmother.” She laughs, and it's so natural that you want to hear that sound more often.

“Yeah, well, I just had a nap anyway. It seems my father didn't take care of his work properly. I heard it, without meaning to, but I heard it.” You say, and as soon as you realise what you've said, you swallow bitterly.

Natasha looks at you deeply, she doesn't feel offended. But embarrassed? To the extreme. Bruce doesn't even look after the house, imagine if he could handle wife when they're in bed? He was an arrogant arsehole – and sometimes you were a bit arrogant yourself – but he was terrible at a lot of things. That made him a complete failure.

“Y/n. I wish you wouldn't comment on my sex life with your father.” She says, and she's not blunt, but firm and offhand, even.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to.” You reply calmly but you want to say much more to her.

Yeah, if I had you, you'd really moan, Natasha. In fact, you wouldn't even be walking unless your legs were completely weak and you wouldn't even be thinking. That would be having a real man.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you grab it, seeing messages from Steve inviting you out for a drink at a newly opened bar. It didn't sound too bad. And you weren't going to stand there listening to your incredibly hot stepmother having sex with your slacker father who didn't even know how to treat a woman. You answer Steve quickly and grab a camouflage jacket, put it on over your shirt and change your shorts for trousers and shoes before heading back down to the living room.

“I'm going for a walk with Steve, we're going to a pub with an old high school crowd. When I get back, I'll probably bring Derek from school. So don't worry, I'll take care of everything.” You say and walk across the room, but Natasha holds your arm.

“Hey, don't drink too much. You're driving and you're bringing your brother, Y/n.” She says, her green eyes clouded with worry.

“I won't. You can relax.” You whisper firmly, and the smell of her sweat hits you.

It's something like vanilla, but at the same time mixed with a specific sweet, fruity flavour. Delicious. She's delicious. Even when sweaty, her scent remains impeccable, and you've noticed it ever since you first saw her. You see a slight bite mark on her neck and you want to touch it, but something bothers your stomach, because you know it's not you who's caused it. And you can't. Natasha sighs, she knows you're so close that just by looking at you she could stop breathing, because you're like a masterpiece hidden deep inside her genius mind.

“I get it. You take care.” You say, forcing yourself to get away from her before you do something thoughtless.

Natasha regrets your departure. She wants you to stay, but it's your choice and you want to be with your old friends, it's your right, so she just watches you walk out the door. Your words are still jumbled and struggling in her mind. Bruce really wouldn't know how to satisfy her. But what about you? How deep could you go for her?

The place is cosy like being in an old cottage in the middle of a field away from everything, but it's a pub nonetheless. A pub, with the appearance of a pub, of course. With lots of chairs and tables spread out in an orderly fashion, with decorative signs with drink brands, with people laughing and exchanging small talk with each other, with a woman carrying more mugs of frothy beer than you can count. The smell is pleasant, a mixture of burning wood and live alcohol seeping through the walls, as well as jazz and blues playing in the background. Now that should be a lifestyle. You stick your hands in your pockets and catch up with Steve, who is chatting distractedly to Private Wilson, none other than Maria Hill and James Barnes, a school friend who has disappeared from your sight to go live with his parents in Germany.

Maria was a great friend of yours and Steve's, and he even told you that she liked you a lot, but you only saw her as a sister, something that annoyed her, but she would never push it.

“Hey, look who's here! When Steve said you looked like a wall, I couldn't believe it, I had to come and see for myself.” Barnes laughs and hugs you, patting you on the back. “And you look great, mate, if you were blonde you'd be considered a German citizen straight away.”

“You're impossible.” Maria laughs and hugs you too, as tightly as if she hadn't seen you for years, which was true.

The five of you get lost in conversations between the past and the present. Maria, who was a classmate at the school where you and Rogers studied, had completed her studies and was studying law for some time, something she was very proud of. Barnes, who was now living in Germany but took time out to see old friends, had opened a workshop in Stuttgart, one of the country's most influential industrial cities. Wilson was certainly in the army, as you already knew, but according to him, he planned to finish another year of service and open a carpentry shop to honour his late father's memory. Even Steve was planning to leave the army, he said he'd like to become a 'police chief', which didn't sound too bad. You, on the other hand, weren't even sure what to do.

All you knew was that you wanted your own car, to move out of your grumpy father's house and find a place of your own, even if it wasn't in the city centre.

But you would still happily visit Derek as often as you could.

“Hey, baby! Why don't you come round and give us a bit of attention? Let's have some fun!” A bald guy with yellow teeth exclaimed from the table a few metres away from yours on the left.

This guy was with two other men at his table, one of them had spiky hair and wore dark glasses, the other had gel-slicked hair and blue glasses. They were all wearing jackets and dark clothes, with helmets on the floor under the table where they were standing. They all looked fucking weird, though, and were already staring at Maria in a completely uncomfortable and sexual way that was putting you off. She paid no attention for the first few minutes, of course, trying not to care, but they were becoming increasingly unbearable to put up with.

“Hey, mate, stay cool. She's with us.” Steve said, noticing your shoulders tense with nervousness.

He didn't want to risk it, he knew you had a certain problem with anger but Steve was a man of order and hated arguments unless he felt it was 'necessary'. You, on the other side, had already downed three shots of straight whisky and were ready to blow the ugly faces off those ogre bikers.

“And who said I asked you anything, hero hair?” The frizzy-haired guy asked and stood up, passing behind Sam and subtly squeezing Maria's shoulders, who was startled. “Could you please take your hands off me?”

"You don't like it, do you?" He laughed and approached her.

You practically jumped out of your chair, using both hands to push the man's chest, who staggered backwards with your violent force and almost fell to the floor. He growled a dry laugh and approached you again, punching you in the air as you nimbly sidestepped him. Your group laughed and whistled in your direction, making him even angrier, and you drove your fist straight into his nose, hearing something break and fresh blood splatter on your skin.

“She said to let go of her.” You grunted, hardly caring about the pain.

“What the fuck, man!” One of them shouted and you felt the thud of something glass against your face. “Y/n!”

You punched the same man and kicked him in the stomach, hearing a loud grunt of pain, blood staining the refinished wooden floor. The second man approached and you head-butted him hard, feeling his blood splatter on your forehead and nose. The bald man pushed you, making you stumble with a bleeding part of your face, noticing that he had smashed a fucking glass bottle over your head. Fortunately, there was a single deep cut on your eyebrow going halfway down your pale cheek. He nearly blinded you. Steve pushed him hard and kicked him in the stomach, and you elbowed the third man who approached you in the face.

“That's enough! Out of my pub, NOW!” A middle-aged man with a full moustache said and Steve and the others pulled you out.

“Bloody hell, mate, you nearly fucked your face up for that! That was insanely crazy!” Barnes shouted, trying to analyse your bruise.

“It's okay, it's just a bit of blood.” You sighed heavily.

“What were you thinking! Jesus, Banner, you could have hurt yourself badly or something worse!” Maria grabbed your shoulders, visibly worried.

“Exactly! We need to take care of this.” Steve pointed to your bruised face.

“I wasn't going to let that disgusting worm harass you, Hill.” You whispered furiously, your fists shaking.

“And I didn't want you to get hurt because of me, Banner! God, you're so impulsive.” She shook her head.

“All right, Hill, I'll take care of it from here. Don't worry.” Rogers touched her shoulder and Maria nodded nimbly.

“Wilson, Barnes and I were thinking of going to a party a few blocks from here, are you coming? It's a friend's birthday.” She asked, brushing a lock of her fringe out of her face.

“I can't right now, I have to pick Derek up from school. I hope you have a good time, though.” You say and pull her into a tight hug, which she returns.

“And I'll be keeping an eye on this tough guy. Good night, take care, gentlemen and...lady.” Steve says goodbye to them and you look at him out of the corner of your eye. “Don't give me that look, you know I won't let you drive alone in this state.”

And Steve does. He drives to school as soon as you've said goodbye to the rest of the group, looking at you every five minutes as if you might jump out of the car if you had a mental breakdown. You were still bleeding, no matter how hard you tried to stop the bleeding, the cut had left a wide scar on your eyebrow sliding in a crooked loop to the beginning of your right cheek. It stung like hell, even, and there might have been a few shards stuck in there, but you'd convinced yourself to put up with as much pain as possible and Steve not to drag you to the nearest hospital.

“Stevie! Y/n!” Derek ran towards you both, hugging you and jumping into your arms.

“Hey, little brother.” You ruffled his hair, hearing voices all over the car park, parents gathering with their children and kids everywhere.

“What happened to your face?” The boy held your chin, his black eyes wide.

“Well, what can we say, mate? Your big brother took on a bad guy to protect a friend of ours and ended up with a war wound.” Steve smiled, crossing his arms as he looked directly at you.

“Hey, that's an honourable act. Let's just say it's what separates the men from the boys.” You shrugged, opening the passenger door for your brother and sitting him down, helping him buckle his seatbelt.

“In other words, he's a tough guy.” Steve laughed briefly, getting into the car and you patted Derek on the shoulder. “And we say...”

“We should always protect and look after women, sir.” The boy said before you could even think and you nodded positively, sitting down next to him and pulling on your seatbelt as Steve started to drive. “That's my boy.”

The journey home is a bit hectic. Derek tells you and Steve that the girl he's supposedly tremendously in love with, Emilly, has taken a liking to a guy who certainly loves to pick on him. She also seems to be ignoring him. You and Steve try your best to comfort the boy, who is quiet for a few minutes only until you mention that Natasha must be preparing something for him to eat when he arrives. The boy jumps out of the car as soon as you park it and helps him with his seatbelt, and you joke about it with Steve as you approach the house after locking the car.

“You're here, baby! How was class?” You hear Natasha's voice from inside and sigh.

The first thing that unfortunately crosses your mind is that she literally fucked your father while you were awake listening to everything.

But it's okay, because apparently Bruce didn't get the job done, but he should be calmer now.

“It was great, Nat! Emily kicked my arse, but it's okay because Stevie told me I'm a big guy who deserves better things and now I'm starving. Look at that, Y/n's got a new war scar!” He exclaims, pointing at you as you enter the room.

Natasha is now wearing neutral-coloured baggy trousers, a striped T-shirt and slippers that you've never seen before, but which make her even more adorable considering the situation. Her red hair is tied up in a messy bun and a few strands fall across her face, making her look completely and fucking ten times hotter than before. But no, you shouldn't see your stepmother like that, mate.

“What? My God, Y/n! What's happened?” Natasha moves away from the cooker where she was standing and switches off the fire, running over to you.

“Natasha, it's no big deal, just-” You try to explain yourself, but Romanoff is quicker.

“Oh, God. What's wrong? I told you not to drink, especially as you had to bring Derek back home! Say something, how did this happen?” She exclaims, practically on the verge of collapse.

You almost laugh at the situation, because you find the way she cares for you subtle and kind, but your smile falters when Natasha is so close that her breath brushes your face. Her fingers are on your jaw, some run over your ears, and you smell her, feel how close she is now, and her touch is simply the icing on the cake. It lights you up.

“It was just a silly bar fight, Natasha, it's fine. Steve and I were with some friends, Maria, our friend, was being bothered by some weirdos and I had to take action.” You explain, swallowing.

“And by that he means: he took on three men practically on his own and got his head bashed in. That's why he's bleeding.” Steve commented, not looking threatened by your fatal stare.

“Jesus Christ. You've got to be out of your mind, you should be in hospital right now! Hang on, I'll take care of it.” Natasha said, moving away to rummage through the cupboard drawers.

Just then, Bruce appeared, coming down the stairs. He had his glasses in his eyes, his hair crumpled and dishevelled, a crooked posture and a grumpy, grey look in his eyes. He didn't look very friendly for someone who'd had sex this afternoon. Well, it's not as if he's the type who knows how to leave a woman satisfied. It seemed to make sense.

“Leave the boy alone, Natasha, he can look after himself, he's practically a grown man.” He said and she replied. “No, he's bleeding, he won't know how to look after himself.”

“You're stubborn, just go and serve the dishes and stop voicing your opinion-” Bruce said rudely, but she cut him off.

“Shut up, Bruce. Sit down. I'll take care of Y/n's wound first.” She practically grunted, bringing with her a first aid kit.

Bruce looked static, probably furious that his wife had hit him for the first time, but he went to sit down at the table and remained silent.

“Natasha-” You sighed, feeling her sit you down in the living room armchair and shake her head.

“No Natasha, Y/n. You're hurt, the least I can do is clean it up and hope it gets a bit better, but if you were in hospital, you'd probably need a few stitches.” She shakes her head, opening the small suitcase. “And that's going to hurt a bit.”

You close your eyes and shake your head subtly, trying to ignore the way her breath was practically in your face and judging that her full breasts were so prominent inside her striped shirt, she was probably without a bra. Fuck, don't look over there, kid. Natasha takes a piece of gauze, her hands already clean and sanitised, and presses it gently on the cut, trying her best to stop the bleeding without hurting you.

“You know, I was a nurse when I was about your age. For a few years. I served in the army in Manhattan. I was good at what I did, but I didn't think it was for me.” She whispered softly, her eyes fixed on every part of your face.

“Can't stand the smell of blood?” You asked rhetorically.

“Not just the smell. I don't like seeing the consequences caused on the body of a man who is trying to defend his country. I didn't have the stomach for it.” She swallowed dryly and you nodded softly.

“What do you do now?” The question escapes her mouth faster than she realises and Natasha pulls out the bloodstained cotton wool, fiddling absent-mindedly with the case.

“I make cakes, sweets in general, it's been a long time since I married your father. I was unemployed anyway, so as I'm almost obsessed with baking, I put one thing together and that's what happened.” She replied, bending down to wipe the dried blood from her brow.

“Do you make them and have your own shop or?..” You stared at her.

“No, well, I cook them and prepare everything myself. Young Thor, from next door, delivers them on his bicycle, and I pay him accordingly. He's a great kid.” She says simply.

Your jaw clenches, the fingers of your hand squeezing the seat cushion indiscreetly. Annoyed? Certainly. But why? She's your stepmother, she's married and well-off, even though she has your idiot father for a spouse. Apart from that, you shouldn't be jealous of her.

“Got it.” Your eyes flash dangerously and Natasha suddenly blushes, looking away.

“I'll put a saline solution over the cut to make sure it's cleaner. Then I'll cover it with gauze, but please make sure you go and see the doctor, Y/n, I don't want you to get an infection or anything.” She asks and you nod.

Romanoff leans over and with a new piece of damp cotton wool, she dabs it over his still open cut with the utmost caution, cleaning the area as best she can. A grunt comes out of your mouth as the wound burns all over, the blood running cold through your veins. Natasha notices and pulls her hand away slightly, feeling your gaze on her.

“It's all right. Take a deep breath.” She says and you do as she says, your chest rising and falling.

She moves closer again, and feels your hand on her wrist, which makes her breathing increase slightly, intimidated by you. But you follow her every move, and she cleans the wound as much as she can, pulling away when she's finished. With a clean towel, she carefully dries around the wound and takes a piece of gauze, making a few improvised cuts because of the angle of your wound. She quickly covers the area and sticks the cotton fabric there, making sure it sticks well but also doesn't cover or obscure your vision.

“Thank you. That wasn't necessary.” You say, your heavy accent making Natasha's legs tremble discreetly.

“It was necessary. And please don't get into any more fights if you want to kill me and your father with worry.” She says, and her hand accidentally brushes against your broad shoulder.

“I'm sure he doesn't mind, but I really appreciate it, Natasha.” A crooked smile curves her lips.

“I care about you.” She says simply.

Natasha's gaze on you is surreal. Everything about this woman is surreal, her eyes, her voice, her completely gentle and naturally full demeanour. Fuck, she should be unwanted here, but you're starting to completely ignore the very rules you've built behind the wall you're hiding behind, because deep down, you want this woman in every way possible. It doesn't matter if she's your stepmother, or a forbidden woman.

“Aren't you coming round for dinner?” Natasha smiled softly, a bite on the lower lip being enough to end your evening.

[male-fictioner]

Marvel

Avengers

Steve Rogers

Bucky Barnes

Tony Stark

Hulk

Thor

Clint Barton

Peter Parker

Pietro Maximoff

Eternals

Ikaris

Fuck You! (smut)

Druig

Spiderverse

Peter B Parker

Miguel O'Hara

Nerdo! Miguel x GN! Reader Headcannons

Miles Morales

Pavitr Prabhakar

Hobie Brown

[defectivevillain]

comfort crowd

pairing: Bruce Banner/Reader

the reader is masculine implied. otherwise, race is ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used.

summary: “You could be hanging around any of the Avengers and you choose Bruce Banner?" your friend asks disbelievingly, glancing at you over the rim of their glass. You’ve been trying your best to ensure they aren’t staring at any of the heroes for too long, but it’s only inevitable. It takes you a moment to respond to their question. “We’re friends,” you respond. At your friend’s skeptical look, you frown. “What?” "Friends don't look at each other like that."

word count: 2.2k | ao3 version

notes: The reader is implied to be masculine (they’re said to be ‘fanboying’ over Bruce, but that’s literally it). Otherwise, race is ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used. Also, the reader works for Tony Stark but their exact career isn’t specified.

no warnings I can think of. hope you enjoy!

You usually ditch Tony Stark’s parties. Tony is many things: genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist—as he so eloquently states. But he’s not exactly the best at throwing parties. It’s not his fault, really. A bunch of superheroes in an enclosed space with alcohol is a recipe for disaster. Combine that with the general luxury of Stark Tower… and you’re faced with an event you’d really rather not attend.

But this time is a little different, because your friend is here. Your amazing, nerdy friend who loves the Avengers far more than any normal person should. Since the moment you revealed that you work with Tony Stark, they’ve been practically begging you for a chance to even be in the same room as the superheroes. And, well, after at least six or seven denied invites, you figure you have to show your face at this upcoming party for a bit. It’ll kill two birds with one stone: proving you’re not an unapproachable asshole, while giving your friend the chance to drool over the Avengers from across the room. It’s a win-win, you think. 

This is how you find yourself awkwardly lurking in the corner of the living room, spectating the madness from afar. A few of the guys are currently fixated on trying to lift Thor’s hammer, while Thor watches on with a smug expression. Wanda and Vision are discussing something quietly in the corner; Tony is ambling about, providing people with more drinks and just generally ensuring everyone is having a good time. Bucky and Steve are on the couch, the two of them looking somewhat out of their element until Sam approaches and gets them to loosen up a bit. Clint is speaking to Bruce quietly in the corner of the room. 

Bruce Banner is probably the Avenger you’re closest to, if you’re being honest. A few of the heroes are antisocial or prickly—cough, cough, Bucky, Natasha and Wanda, cough, cough—but you get along with most of them. Vision is cool; Sam is a good guy and the two of you have been known to watch movies together when time allows. Clint, Steve, and Rhodey are polite and friendly enough, but you’ve never really had long conversations with them. There’s Tony, of course: your indirect boss. He’s a piece of work, but he does have a heart buried underneath all that metal. (At least, you hope so.)

But Bruce? Bruce is the one you gravitate towards. He’s grounded in a way most of the other heroes aren’t. He’s a scientist first and a hero second. He’s wicked smart, of course—with a dry sense of humor that always amuses you. 

When your friend learns that Bruce is the one you’re closest with, they seem surprised. “You could be hanging around any of the Avengers and you choose him?” your friend asks disbelievingly, glancing at you over the rim of their glass. You’ve been trying your best to ensure they aren’t staring at any of the heroes for too long, but it’s only inevitable.

It takes you a moment to respond to their question. “We’re friends,” you respond. At your friend’s skeptical look, you frown. “What?”

“Friends don’t look at each other like that,” they say smartly, with all the wisdom of someone who has very little knowledge of the situation. 

“Like what?” you blink in confusion. 

“Like that,” your friend says, looking at Bruce pointedly. You follow their gaze to find him staring at you intently—he quickly looks away. 

“Please,” you scoff at them. “You’re losing it.” 

“I don’t think so,” they say, before raising their eyebrows suggestively. You both laugh at the gesture and soon forget about that particular subject of conversation. 

Eventually, your friend has to head home—and you walk them to the door, giving them a hug and reassuring them that they don’t owe you anything (despite their insistence that they do.) After they leave, you close the door and turn around—only to nearly run into Tony. 

“They were right, you know,” Tony remarks, apropos of nothing. 

“What?” you say. Is he talking about your conversation earlier? How does he know about that? “Hey, were you eavesdropping?” you look at Tony pointedly. 

“I’ve never seen Banner half as sociable as he is when he’s with you,” Tony says, completely ignoring your accusation. “What do you two even talk about, anyways?” he huffs. 

You shrug. “Depends.”

“Hm.” Tony looks contemplative, before a smirk rises on his lips. “Knowing you nerds, it’s probably mortality, existentialism, blah blah blah, naturalism, blah blah blah, uncanny valley, something something—”

“Okay, okay,” you huff, refusing to admit he’s right on the money. “Sheesh.” 

Tony shrugs. “Hey, I’m just making an observation.” He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Flirt all you want.”

“Flirt?” you echo incredulously. “We’re not flirting.” 

“Sure,” Tony says flippantly, clearly not committed enough to argue. “Well, maybe you’re not,” he adds casually.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you squint. Tony just shrugs, taking advantage of your confusion and promptly leaving the conversation. You watch him walk over to get another drink, feeling equal parts fond exasperation and irritation. For a moment, you wander about the party and exchange quick greetings with everyone. 

It’s inevitable, you think, that you find yourself gravitating to Bruce. He’s standing at a high-top table, staring off into the distance. You watch him for a moment, idly wondering if he even wants company. Eventually, you manage to summon the courage to approach him. 

“Hey, Bruce,” you say casually, standing across from him. 

Bruce blinks and drags his gaze towards you, his tense posture seeming to relax a bit. “Hey yourself,” he responds with a brief nod. He’s nursing an almost untouched drink in his left hand. “I’m surprised to see you here.” 

“Oh, yeah,” you acknowledge. You don’t usually bother going to these parties, after all. “My friend’s kind of an Avengers fan, so I had to bring them here to shut them up.” 

“It was a religious experience, I’m sure,” Bruce says jokingly. 

“Yeah, I had to watch them the whole night,” you admit with a smile. “Make sure they didn’t try to jump Steve’s bones or anything.”

Bruce chuckles. “I saw Tony talking your ear off earlier,” he points out. 

“Agh, yeah,” you sigh. “Everyone’s up my ass today, it’s kind of annoying.”

Bruce sputters at your somewhat vulgar honesty, laughing for a bit before composing himself. “And why’s that?” he asks, his eyes glittering. 

“I don’t know,” you admit, tapping your fingers against the table restlessly. Bruce’s eyes track the movement. “They keep asking me about you.” 

“Me?” he blinks. “Why?”

You shrug helplessly. At his confused look, you try to elaborate. “They seem convinced that we’re more than friends, that you’re flirting with me.”

“Hm,” he says calmly. Bruce is a composed guy, but you expected him to react a bit more skeptically. There are a few seconds of silence. “And what do you think?” Bruce continues, his expression impossible to decipher. The room around you almost seems to fade into obscurity. It’s just the two of you. 

“What do I think about it?” you clarify. Bruce nods. “I mean, I don’t think you’re flirting with me. Obviously.” The remark probably sounds a bit pained and stiff, but what else are you supposed to say? ‘Yeah, I really wouldn’t mind if you were flirting with me. Keep it up!’ You fight off a laugh at the thought. 

“Obviously,” Bruce repeats. He considers you for a moment. “You know, for someone so intelligent, you can be pretty oblivious,”

“Hey,” you huff indignantly. “Rude.”

“You think I’d spout off about my research to just anyone, in such explicit detail?” he asks. 

“…Yes?” you say weakly. 

Bruce looks unimpressed. He sighs, shakes his head. “I was trying to impress you,” he admits, looking at some unseen point over your shoulder. 

You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief. “You don’t have to try to impress me,” you manage to say, when you can gather your thoughts again. “I’m already impressed by you.” 

This time, Bruce is surprised. “Really?”

“Um, duh,” you say with a sheepish smile. “I’ve been borderline fanboying over you.”

“Our last conversation was you trying to justify nihilism,” Bruce recalls with amusement. “You call that fanboying?” That unfairly attractive, lopsided smile is on his lips again. 

“I don’t know!” you say defensively, once you can tear your eyes away from it. 

“You’re ridiculous,” he remarks, with a fondness you can’t quite dismiss as merely platonic.  

“I think we both are,” you respond. 

“Maybe,” Bruce admits with a slight smile. His eyes wander the room before finding you again. “Everyone else seems to think so.” 

“Maybe we should really give them something to talk about, then,” you say before you can stop yourself. The implications of that statement are clear, and you watch as comprehension dawns across Bruce’s face. The two of you are standing closer than socially appropriate now. 

“Maybe we should,” Bruce responds with a smile, placing his drink on the table. It’s unreasonably smooth, the way he enters your space with ease. His hand finds the side of your face and he pulls you into a kiss. At some point, your hand moves to rest at the nape of his neck. 

You’re certain you could linger in that moment forever, if not for the sharp wolf-whistle Tony lets out. It promptly cuts through the comfortable noise of the party, drawing attention to Bruce and you. The two of you break apart, 

“Finally,” Tony grins. “Jesus. Thought you two would never get your shit together.” A few of the heroes murmur their agreement; Bruce and you exchange a glance. 

“Shut up, Tony,” you both say in unison. Tony either has no awareness or simply doesn’t care, because he then heads over to you and wraps his arms around you two. You’re fighting off a smile regardless, still reeling from the admission that Bruce likes you too. 

“Tony, we were kind of having a moment here,” Bruce says pointedly, when the man doesn’t make a move to leave. 

“Right, right, right,” Tony sighs dramatically, twirling around and walking away. 

Bruce shakes his head in disbelief, before his attention returns to you. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” Bruce admits after clearing his throat. His hand lingers on your forearm, as if he doesn’t want to let go of this opportunity presented to him. 

“Me too,” you confess. “Probably too long, honestly.” Since you first met. But he doesn’t need to know that. 

“Not longer than me, I’d imagine,” Bruce huffs. You raise your eyebrows at him and he seems to have realized what he just said, quickly back-pedaling with a slight flush on his cheeks.  “I’ve— uh. Tony talks about you a lot.” 

“Really?” you question, struggling to fully believe that. “I can’t imagine he’s ever said anything flattering about me.” 

“Maybe not explicitly,” Bruce acquiesces, “but tolerating Tony Stark is more difficult than most people imagine.” 

“Oh, you have no idea,” you huff. You’ve known him long enough to recognize that. Rhodey once told you that you deserved a Medal of Valor for working with Tony as long as you have. The thought still amuses you. It takes you a few seconds to remember the subject of conversation. Bruce just admitted that he was interested in you before you even met, if you’re reading things correctly. “So, what, did you stalk me or something?” you joke. 

Bruce’s lips part for a moment, as if he’s about to speak. But he remains quiet. That small slip, that quick reaction, is all you need.

“No way,” you laugh. “You did?” It’s impossible to fight off a grin now. Here you were, thinking you were acting like a complete bumbling fool around him… assuming he never felt the same… 

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Bruce mumbles quickly, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“No, it’s cute,” you say before he can get more embarrassed. You put your hand over his in a spontaneous gesture—you’ve decided you’re being very brave tonight. Your courage pays off, because he squeezes your hand reassuringly, almost lovingly. “You have no idea,” you admit. “You could’ve done something as simple as friended me on LinkedIn and I would’ve fallen over.” Just the thought of your early days working with Tony… looking down at your phone to find a notification from Bruce Banner… You would’ve had an aneurysm. 

“You’re that easily impressed?” he jokes. “Good to know.” 

You roll your eyes. 

Despite the excitement of the evening, you’re fighting off exhaustion. It’s getting pretty late, and the superheroes show no sign of wrapping up. Yet another quality to envy: endless stamina for parties. Must be nice. 

You’re fading fast, and apparently, it’s pretty obvious. Bruce urges you to get rest, promising you’ll talk in the morning. He makes a compelling argument, and you can’t bring yourself to argue when he’s leading you to the door with a hand on the small of your back and an adoring look on his face. He kisses you goodbye and you go to sleep that night hoping that party wasn’t just one long dream. 

The next morning, you blink sleep from your eyes and look down at your phone. There’s a message from Bruce reading “Hope you’re sitting down for this.” Moments after you type a response, (“??”), your phone buzzes. It’s a LinkedIn notification, with a friend request from Bruce. 

You laugh.

©2025, @defectivevillain | @defectivehero, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

@connorhasabigtip tysm for reading this over! <3 excited to see you soon! here was her feedback for me, because it's funny asf:

thanks for reading! <3

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[livingdeadmlm]

Master list Requests:Open!

Fluff🤍

Nsfw🩶

Smut 🖤

headcannon format 🕸️

Oneshot format🌾

Kinktober 2023🪨

Kinktober 2024🪻

Characters with no links have no fics as of 12/15/2024

Also this is in no way every fic I have written as I went crazy when I made this blog so most Jojo fics are lost to time (and not good)

Red Dead Redemption

Arthur Morgan

"Painter" Drabble

Being a stepdad to Issac

AFAB Reader Smut

Domestic life with Arthur

Low Honor Morgan Priest Reader 🩶🖤🪻🌾

Werewolf Morgan HCs 🕸️

John Marston

"Lotion" Drabble

Javier Escuella

"Comedy" Drabble

"Serenade" Drabble

Giggling at Others Outfits

Voyeurism🩶🖤🪻🌾

Charles Smith

"Stars" Drabble

Dutch Van der Linde

"Faceless" Drabble

Hosea Matthews

"Carriage" Drabble

"Scone" Drabble

Kieran Duffy

Ticklish Kieran

"Cold" Drabble

Sean MacGuire

The First Shall Be Last, Switch Sean

Flustered Sean

"Credit" Drabble

Lenny Summers

NSFW Hcs

Josiah Trelawny

"Quarter" Drabble

Micah Bell

"Enjoy" Drabble

Multi

"Abundance" Drabble

VDLG Men and Sex Toys

VDLG Swooning and Love Language

Obey me!

Lucifer

Mammon

Pet Play🩶🖤🪻🌾

Tail Play🩶🖤🪨🌾

Leviathan

Diavolo

Breast Worshipping 🩶🖤🪻🌾

Solomon

Barbatos

Simeon

Asmodeus

Beelzebub

Belphegor

House MD

Gregory House

James Wilson

Robert Chase

Eric Forman

Mouthwashing

Captain Curly

Daisuke

Age Gap🩶🪻🌾

Metalocalypse

Nathan explosion

Table Sex🩶🖤🪻🌾

Pickles the drummer

Toki Wartooth

Charles offdensen

Blood Play🩶🪻🌾

Skwisgaar Skwigelf

Yandere Skwisgaar 🖤🌾

Dethklok

Nudes with Dethklok🩶🖤🪻🕸️🌾

Doing their Makeup before a Show🤍🕸️

After a Long Tour🤍🕸️

Breaking Bad/Better call Saul

Saul Goodman

General Dating HCs🤍🩶🕸️

Fake Dating to Lovers🤍🩶🌾

Lingerie 🩶🖤🪻🌾

Cuddle HC's 🤍🌾

Jessie Pinkman

Nacho Varga

Lalo Salamanca

Mortal Kombat

Kung Lao

Dating HCs 🤍🩶🕸️

Face Sitting🩶🖤🌾🕸️

Johnny cage

Face Sitting🩶🖤🪻🌾

Kenshi Takahashi

Newly Blinded

Reptile/Syzoth

Radian

Liu Kang

Hellsing

Alucard

American Psycho

Patrick Bateman

Creampie 🩶🖤🪨🌾

Complimenting his beauty

Working with Patrick

Big Businessman Reader

Fight club

Jack/ The narrator

Tyler Durden

Dating HCs 🕸️🩶

Stardew Vally

Shane

Elliot

Harvey

Scott pilgrim vs the world/takes off

Scott Pilgrim

Wallace Wells

Lucas Lee

Todd Ingran

Nu Carnival

Eiden

Aster

Morvay

Yakumo

Edmond

Quincy

Kuya

Garu

Blade

Dante

Rei

Other

Oral Fixation Bruce Banner 🩶🪻🌾

Vampire Midas Fortnite🩶🪻🌾

Hol Horse 🌾

Mike Schmidt with an Insomniac Reader🌾

Monster Fucking with Postal Dude🩶🖤🪨🌾

Ryo Asuka with Affectionate Devilman 🤍🕸️

Clingy Reader with Gyro Zeppeli 🌾

Hugging Miles Edgeworth🕸️🤍🌾

Akira Fudo with a himbo bf

[angel-2408]

His obsession

Yandere Bruce banner x male reader

All the Avengers were currently in the common room chatting about anything or everything, pizza and drinks were also present.

It was one of the team relaxation day even pepper and agent hill were also present.

You were snuggling up on Bruce chest on the sofa clearly fallen asleep mid conversation.

Bruce has a protective arm around you while he chat with the others.

Suddenly agent hill ask "Say Bruce have you heard about your boyfriend fans?".

Bruce frown not knowing where this conversation was taking , he knew you were popular, a bit too popular for his liking " Why? is something wrong?".

Maria shrug her shoulder "no it's just he's really and i mean really famous even among the shield agents you know, it's kinda funny because with how strict the agent's should be sometime it slip off about how many people has a crush on him".

Pepper also join in "yes indeed even among the staff in stark Industries it's really kinda scary and funny how famous he is, men and women alike pretty much very one has a crush on him". She laugh.

Bruce frown " I know what people think of him that doesn't mean i like it you know ".

Tony rub in smirking "oh is our Bruce jealous dont worry Brucie he's all yours he's too kind and nice to even think about cheating".

Bruce roll his eyes at Tony " Shut it Tony I know he won't cheat but that doesn't mean it won't worry me and you know how he is, he's too kind for his own good".

Bruce squeeze your delicate waist gently. Thor chim "Why? Do you perhaps not trust your partner?".

Bruce flinch " What?! No! Of course I trust him it's not him that i don't trust it's those 𝙨𝙣𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙨 around him that i don't trust".

Everyone was quite at Bruce word when rhodey started laughing "well seems like our residental doctor also know how to curse".

Everyone started laughing and Tony smirk " I mean Capsicle should seriously learn and loss some of his steam off".

Steve groan "your never letting that go aren't you stark".

Tony shrug acting innocent but his smirk betrayed his intention.

As everyone started to chat about other stuff Bruce look down at your sleeping form snuggling up to him he gently squeeze your waist liking how adorable you look sleeping on his arm.

Just as he had said it's not that Bruce doesn't trust you it's those people that he doesn't trust. He doesn't trust that you'll be safe around those snake who'll try to take you away from him.

Bruce doesn't know how his life would be if he hadn't met you , if you hadn't reciprocated his feeling.

Hulk was totally obsessed with you too and Bruce? Oh he is willing to use violence if it come to the point where he has to keep you all to himself.

But not on you though Bruce can never hurt you he loves you too much to see you in pain or do anything that can make you terrified of him, when it comes to you Bruce has a fragile heart.

Bruce heart will break if he ever see you be terrified or scared of him so because of that he tries not to show his possessive side too much and tries to be subtle about his obsession over you.

Bruce knew he wasn't a good person and he had never felt this way before. He wanted to hurt those who made you cry or those that tries to take you away from him.

Even in his past relation Bruce mind had never cross such thought but you oh how willing he was too hurt just to have you all to himself.

Bruce had never felt so love and cared for, you were like an angel which the heaven is so desperately trying to rescue from Bruce and Bruce was a devil or a monster that had lock the precious angel just for himself.

From the moment you agreed to be his lover you had become everything to Bruce, you had become the world to him.

Bruce wonder how you would react if you ever found out about his dark thought , will you hate him? Will you be scared of him? Will you try to escape him? He doesn't know and he's not willing to know.

He prefer how is it right now. How you don't know about his dark thought , how you don't know about his dark desire to lock you up away from everyone eyes only for him to see, only for him to touch, only for him to love.

[I know kinda sounds creepy but hey it's a yandere theme you know btw hope you enjoy this piece (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧]

[bigfan-fanfic]

Thesis/Antithesis/Synthesis (Male!Reader x Bruce Banner)

can I request bruce banner x male reader who possesses the power stone and like, bruce being like calmed whenever reader joins their missions (bc he doesn't usually/most of the time) because he knows reader is one of the few people who could control/defeat the hulk, and reader being a bit exasperated like "maybe we should try working on hulk Not throwing temper tantrums instead of trying to subdue him when that'll only cause more damage?"

Being completely honest, neither of you two look like much.

A nuclear physicist and a gentle therapist - and yet he was the Hulk, and you were the bearer of the Power Stone.

Ironically, Banner was one of the few Avengers that had not been deemed in need of your services, and so you hadn't minded starting a relationship with him. He found you calming. Enough that in the field, your voice was often enough to bring him back to his senses, and once you had acquired the Stone and the ability to use it without destroying yourself, you could use it to neutralize him as well.

But your preferred method is to relax him, and see if the two halves of Banner's psyche can be merged.

You've seen moments of more seamless transition between Banner and Hulk, watch him grow elegantly instead of ripping and tearing his way out of his clothes and painfully stretching his body.

So sometimes you try to speak to him through the Hulk, though often you just confuse the big guy enough that he shrinks and your boyfriend looks out at you.

But this time, the mission's gone awry.

"Extraction, T-minus two minutes. We need the Hulk neutralized!" Captain America barks over comms.

"Let the big guy have it!" Iron Man chuckles.

You grit your teeth and slowly move to bring Banner back to you, softly talking to him.

"What's going on, Doc?" Iron Man scoffs. "Could use a purple laser beam right about now!"

"Tony, we're in a residential district right now. I don't want to blast my boyfriend into anything structural."

"I'll pay for-"

"Hush."

"But we need to get out of here!"

"Then shut up and let me work."

The ride home is tense, with Banner restored and sleeping, leaning against you, and Tony and Steve giving you raised eyebrows and disappointed looks.

"Look, I'm not going to blast him if it's avoidable. It just doesn't make sense to. It's loud, it hurts us both, and it causes a whole lot of unnecessary collateral."

"But then how are we gonna reliably and quickly bring down the Hulk?" Tony asks, with the smug air of someone asking a question they know has no answer.

"I don't know, have we tried talking to the Hulk, even once?" you sigh.

Tony glances at Steve out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeesh, Tony, I thought you were supposed to be a scientist. You never once talked to him?"

He shrugs, and you scoff. "No wonder they want to shut us down. You really have to think about these things instead of throwing money at them."

"Hey, I-"

"If you don't mind, I'm declaring the Hulk unfit for mission until we can either definitively say there's no way for him to maintain control or find a method."

"But that's-" Tony splutters.

Steve steps in. "I'd ask you to reconsider that. The Hulk is a valuable asset when we encounter different forms of radiation and-"

"And is also a major wild card. It's insane that we've let him go this long without some kind of assurance." You interject. "My decision is final."

"Banner's gonna be livid when he wakes up." Tony grumbles feebly. "You'll see."

You know that your boyfriend's definitely been awake this whole time. But he still pretends to be asleep, nuzzling into your neck as if stirring.

You just chuckle and hold him closer, happy to advocate for him, and hopefully help him find a way to reconcile this other part of himself...

[pascalsummers]

Hey, could you please write Marvel men with a bf that likes to knit/crochet?

A/N: Here you go! Sorry this took so long I am trying my best to get back into the groove of things so hopefully I can post more stuff soon. Enjoy!

-

You Like to Knit and Crochet (Avengers x Male Reader)

BUCKY

Bucky wouldn't have much of a reaction to it but he would find it to be an interesting hobby to have. While Bucky wouldn't admit it out loud he really likes it when you make sweaters for him. The thought of you taking all that time and effort into making something for someone like him gives him a warm feeling in his chest. Whenever he is relaxing in the tower you can usually find him wearing one of the sweaters you made him. Eventually, you offered to teach Bucky how to knit and crochet. Bucky was actually able to pick it up quickly and while he doesn't do it in his free time he will sometimes join you whenever you are working on something.

STEVE

Steve was impressed by your knitting and crocheting skills especially since it seemed so time-consuming. He would generally accept anything you give him but Steve does tend to like your handmade sweaters and socks the most. He especially likes it when you add little designs to them but he will playfully roll his eyes if you add anything American flag-themed to them. Over time Steve would get curious enough and ask you if you wouldn't mind teaching him something. Steve would have a little bit of a struggle in the beginning but he would eventually get the hang of it. Steve would give you some knitted socks as a present and a thank you for the ones you made him.

THOR

Thor would think it was a nice hobby as some of it would remind him of how some people in Asgard would make their tapestries. One day Thor noticed you had made a crochet bee and was curious if you could make a snake for him. Thor loves it when you present him with another crocheted or knitted animal and he will make sure to show off your creation to the other Avengers. Thor was very honored when you offered to teach him how to knit and crochet. Despite Thor's enthusiasm to learn it was apparent that Thor wasn't that good at it as his creations tended to turn out lopsided and incomplete in places.

TONY

When Tony first heard about your hobby Tony made sure to add senior citizen jokes to his conversations with you. While Tony was appreciative of your gifts to him they didn't really fit his style. Usually, you can find the scarfs and hats you make for him on a couple of his suits in the lab. Despite his seemingly dismissive attitude about them, he does genuinely like them and if you really want to he will wear some of them on occasion. Tony turned down your offer to teach him multiple times but eventually you wore him down enough to give it a try. Tony after some time actually wasn't too bad at it but he would tell you it's not his thing plus it makes him feel old.

LOKI

Loki wouldn't react too much to the discovery but he would comment on your skill at doing such a task. When you first presented Loki with a scarf you made for him he was taken aback and didn't really know how to react to it besides a subdued thank you. Loki can be seen wearing the scarf from time to time which lets you know that he does appreciate the gift even if he would never say it out loud. Loki would be a little reluctant to try out knitting and crocheting but would decide to try it out at least once. After a little bit of time, Loki would actually get the hang of it pretty quickly but he wouldn't do it often since it doesn't interest him that much.

BRUCE

Bruce would be a little curious about your hobby and would ask you some small questions about it from time to time. Bruce tends to appreciate anything that you give him but the one gift you gave him that he holds close to his heart is a blanket you made for him. When he first saw it he was taken aback by it and gave you a genuine thank you for the gift. Bruce will usually bring the cover out for the two of you to lie under whenever you watch TV together. Bruce would actually be the first one to ask about you teaching him and while he may not be the best he does get a pretty decent grasp at it. The two of you will sometimes knit and crochet together to relax.

[cece693]

He's Cute

pairing: bucky barnes x male reader tags: you're Loki's brother, but actually nice and come in peace, bucky finds you adorable, humor, asking out a prince from another planet is hard, just ask bucky, part 2 can be done

Tony tapped his fingers on the conference table, wearing his best ‘well, here we go again’ scowl. In front of him, the Avengers were assembled, all shooting wary glances at Thor. “So,” Tony drawled, making sure to emphasize his skepticism, “we’re hosting another Asgardian prince. Is your father just collecting them at this point?”

Thor, doing his best not to look offended, cleared his throat. “I know you hold distrust after what Loki did, but (Y/N) is our younger brother. He’s quite the opposite from Loki.”

Clint quirked a brow, exchanging a glance with Sam. “‘Opposite’ how? Less shape-shifting and more interpretive dance, or��?”

Sam snorted. “I’d pay to see that, actually.”

Thor, for his part, stood straight-backed, looking earnest—and maybe just a little bit offended. “I assure you, (Y/N) is not here to conquer anything,” he reiterated. “My brother is gentle. He's nothing like our brother Loki."

Tony drummed his fingers on the table one more time. “Yeah, we’ll see. Might I suggest we have a ‘No Asgardian Shenanigans’ sign at the front door? We can hang it right under the ‘No Solicitors’ sign.”

“That might be a tad welcoming, don’t you think?” Clint drawled, lips curling in a wry grin.

Sam chuckled. “No illusions allowed, no staff-wielding illusions, no illusions about illusions.”

Bucky glanced around. They were all bantering, but he could sense the undercurrent of nervous energy. Finally, Steve caught his eye and nodded, inviting him to speak up if he wanted. But Bucky just gave a small shrug—he didn’t really have an opinion yet, beyond thinking that maybe it would be nice to have another level-headed god around. He’d heard Loki was a piece of work, but Thor—despite his bombast—had proven a decent ally.

“Well, guess we’ll know soon enough,” Nat said, pulling everyone’s attention back to her. She tapped her phone, checking the time. “Thor? When’s your supposed to show up?”

Thor’s chest swelled with pride, as though merely announcing your name was akin to proclaiming victory over the Nine Realms. “He will arrive today—shortly, in fact. Heimdall has secured him safe passage. I ask for your patience, my friends. He is not…accustomed to Earth.”

“Oh, this ought to be fun,” Tony said, pushing back from the table. “Alright. Everyone, let’s roll out the welcome mat. And by ‘welcome mat,’ I obviously mean ‘a healthy dose of skepticism laced with potential backup plans A through Z.’ Clint, let’s find a vantage point—”

“Tony,” Steve interrupted, sounding exasperated. “He’s Thor’s brother, not a Hydra spy.”

Tony shrugged. “Better safe than sorry. Or have we collectively forgotten the Chitauri fiasco?”

Thor let out a deep, put-upon sigh, and Bucky caught the flicker of guilt in the god’s eyes. Clearly, Thor was sensitive about all that had happened with Loki. Which in turn made Bucky feel a little guilty for automatically being wary.

About an hour later, the Avengers had dispersed, though most lingered in the main atrium of the Compound. Bucky hung back near a wall, arms folded, scanning his surroundings with a soldier’s vigilance. He had no idea what to expect. A second Loki? Another six-foot-something, muscle-bound, hammer-wielding Asgardian?

The air crackled with energy, and suddenly, a swirl of rainbow light appeared at the center of the room—a mini Bifrost. Out of it stepped you.

Your entrance was about as dramatic as one could expect from a swirling cosmic rainbow, but you looked anything but menacing. Clad in simple Asgardian attire (far less extravagant than Thor’s usual gear), you blinked, adjusting to the Earthly surroundings and then you bowed—actually bowed—deeply and respectfully.

“Good day,” you greeted softly, your voice gentler than any of them expected. “I am (Y/N) of Asgard. It's an honor to meet the team that has accepted my brother Thor with open arms. I know you might be wary of me with all that has transpired with Loki, but know that I deeply apologize for any problems he...” You paused, searching for a polite way to phrase it, eventually settling with, “…might have caused.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “‘Might have caused?’ Yeah, that’s one way to put an alien invasion.” He exchanged a look with Clint, who shrugged.

“(Y/N) is different,” Thor explained, laying a large hand on your shoulder with a brotherly sort of pride. “He will not attempt subterfuge or illusions.”

Bucky, observing quietly from his corner, noticed how you half-cringed at the mention of illusions, as if even the word brought you guilt by association. You glanced around at the assembled heroes: Tony with his pointed skepticism, Nat’s arms folded in careful assessment, Steve’s polite-but-guarded kindness. Even Sam gave you a sidelong look that said he wasn’t entirely sure he believed in second Asgardian princes yet. Only Thor, unwavering in his faith, and Bruce, gently curious, seemed at ease.

Clearing your throat, you continued, “I truly want to learn of your customs and help in any way I can.” Your voice quieted further. “I understand if my presence here makes you uncomfortable. You have already faced so much.”

Natasha eyed you, the corners of her mouth lifting in the faintest of smiles. “Well, you’re certainly more polite than your brothers,” she said, glancing at Thor pointedly.

“That’s not difficult,” Clint muttered, earning a huff from Thor.

Bucky only half-listened to the exchange; he was more focused on the shy curve of your posture—how you carried yourself with a subtle humility that was so unlike Thor’s boisterous confidence or Loki’s cunning. He realized then he was staring, so he forced himself to look away, crossing his arms over his chest to maintain some semblance of aloofness.

Steve, ever the one to break awkward silences, stepped forward to shake your hand. “We appreciate your honesty, (Y/N). I’m Steve Rogers. I promise no one here means you harm,” he said in a reassuring tone.

You took his hand carefully, as if unaccustomed to the formality. “Nice to meet you, Captain Rogers.” A flicker of surprise crossed your face as you felt the firmness of his handshake. “Your grip could rival Thor’s,” you murmured, almost impressed. Thor puffed up, beaming that you’d complimented one of his comrades.

Sam spoke up next, his voice colored with curiosity. “So, no illusions, no plans of world domination…I’m guessing you’re the ‘normal’ one in the family?”

You seemed flustered, but your lips quirked in an embarrassed smile. “I—I wouldn’t quite say that. But I have always strived for peace.”

Tony waved a hand. “Alright, Peace Prince, welcome aboard. We’ll see how it goes. Just don’t conjure up any giant space whales or open any more cosmic portals in the middle of Manhattan, deal?”

Thor looked positively mortified that Tony would even imply such a thing, but you only nodded politely. “Yes, sir. No space whales. I can assure you of that.”

At the “sir,” Tony’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, I like you. Please continue to address me as ‘sir’ in front of the others.”

Nat rolled her eyes. “You’re incorrigible.”

Thor cleared his throat, trying to steer the conversation back to calmer waters. “(Y/N) will be staying with us for a time—learning Earth’s ways. Please, treat him as you would me.”

“So we haze him with endless pop culture references and toss him in the deep end?” Sam joked.

Bucky saw you swallow hard, and something about your shy, uncertain expression tugged at his chest. Without meaning to, he spoke up for the first time in the meeting. “I’ll help,” he said bluntly.

Everyone turned to look at him, surprise etched on their faces—especially Steve, who arched an eyebrow as if to say, Didn’t know you were volunteering, pal. You brightened, relief shining in your eyes. “That is very kind of you. Thank you, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Just…Bucky,” he mumbled, cheeks warming the tiniest bit.

Natasha’s keen eyes flickered between the two of you, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Great,” she said lightly. “Now that we’re all introduced, who wants lunch?”

Over the next few days, you integrated yourself into Avengers life with unexpected ease. You asked Tony endless questions about Earth technology, took great care to help Bruce reorganize his lab (after you discovered you had a knack for meticulously alphabetizing everything from chemicals to coffee mugs), and politely sparred with Natasha, who grudgingly admitted you were surprisingly tough yet considerate.

Meanwhile, Bucky quietly observed you. He watched you cheerfully fix up the lounge furniture after Thor accidentally broke a coffee table. He saw you carefully water the potted plants in the hallway, eager to ensure none of Earth’s “fragile vegetation” withered on your watch. Little by little, Bucky found himself drawn to your presence—drawn to your soft laughter, your bright curiosity.

But one thing stood out above all else: you never once bragged about your title. You never boasted about your Asgardian heritage or demanded special treatment. You even seemed embarrassed whenever anyone called you ‘Prince (Y/N).’ Instead, you were humble—sometimes painfully so. And that humility, combined with that sweet, open-minded wonder, made Bucky’s heart do somersaults he hadn’t felt in years.

Bucky sat in the compound’s lounge one afternoon, pretending to read a newspaper while sneaking glances your way. You were studying a half-eaten bag of potato chips like they were the eighth wonder of the world.

“Steve,” Bucky murmured, beckoning his friend closer.

Steve, doing his best to hide an amused smile, leaned in. “What’s up?”

Bucky tilted the newspaper so Steve could see you turning the potato-chip bag upside down, letting crumbs tumble out onto your hand. “He’s cute,” Bucky muttered under his breath, so quietly it nearly dissolved into air.

“…Should I act surprised? It was obvious from the moment you volunteered to show him around the tower,” Steve finished, his voice just as low. He flicked his gaze from Bucky to you and back again, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Bucky rolled his eyes but couldn’t quite hide the hint of pink that dusted his cheeks. “I’m trying to be subtle, all right?”

Steve snorted. “That’s rich coming from the guy who’s sneaking glances every ten seconds.”

Bucky’s gaze drifted again to you—now tapping the bottom of the potato chip bag in an effort to extract the last crumb. The entire display was so earnestly adorable that Bucky had to bite back a smile. “Look,” Bucky sighed, voice dropping lower, “he’s Thor’s brother. A prince. And I’m—well—” He gestured vaguely at himself, as if that summed up a lifetime’s worth of complications. “You really think he’d be interested?”

“Yes,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I do.”

Bucky opened his mouth to protest—he’s just curious about Earth, he’s friendly to everyone, it doesn’t mean anything—but then, as if on cue, you turned around in your seat. The instant your eyes met Bucky’s, your face lit with delight. You waved at him so earnestly that you almost spilled the bag of chips.

Bucky swallowed. “Fine,” he muttered, giving Steve a pointed look. “Maybe there’s a small chance.”

Steve suppressed a laugh, nudging Bucky forward. “Then go talk to him. Ask about chips, or Earth cuisine, or literally anything. Just say something.”

Bucky tried to summon that stoic confidence that sometimes worked for him. Instead, he felt like a high school kid with a crush. “Right,” he mumbled. “Be casual. Real casual.”

He stood up, discreetly adjusting his jacket, and made his way over to you. You greeted him with a bright smile—still holding that bag of chips as if you’d discovered gold. “Hello, Bucky!” you said. “I didn’t realize such simple food could taste so addictive.”

Bucky felt his heart do a little flip at the sound of his name on your lips. “Yeah, uh…chips,” he replied brilliantly, jamming his hand in his pocket in a desperate attempt to appear nonchalant. “They’re a big deal around here. We’ve got, uh…like, 70 flavors, I think.”

Your eyes widened. “Seventy?!”

“Maybe more,” Bucky corrected himself. He cleared his throat. “So, you like them?”

“Very much. I fear I might become dependent,” you admitted, glancing a little sheepishly at the half-empty bag. “But enough about me—how’s your day? I noticed you’ve been reading that newspaper for a while.”

Bucky cringed internally. Busted. “Oh, yeah—lots of…uh…interesting articles,” he fibbed, holding up the folded paper. He glanced at the front page, realized it was yesterday’s news, and hastily lowered it again. “Anyway, I was thinking, maybe we could…you know, get out for a while? Go, uh…check out a café nearby.”

Your brow furrowed, confusion creeping across your features. “But the Compound has a coffee machine. It’s in the kitchen, right? I can fetch you coffee, if you like.”

“No, no,” Bucky corrected, trying to keep his composure. “I mean, we could go out. Just you and me. Kind of an…outing.” He struggled with the word date, but it hovered there, unsaid.

Your eyes went wide, as though another revelation had dawned upon you. “Oh! You need supplies? Are we on a mission?”

“No, not a mission,” Bucky explained, scratching the back of his neck. “Just hanging out. Relaxing. Maybe having a nice conversation—away from everyone else.”

You nodded, albeit slowly. “A private conversation…in a place that also serves coffee?”

“Right,” Bucky confirmed, trying not to seem too relieved. “It’s…well, on Earth, we call that a ‘date.’”

He finally said it—date. His palms were sweaty, but he held your gaze, waiting.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, brows shooting up. “I’ve read about dates in one of the Midgardian relationship guidebooks. Something about courting rituals and paying for each other’s drinks to demonstrate affection?”

Bucky’s cheeks felt warmer by the second. “Yeah, that’s…that’s the general idea. You interested?”

“Yes!” you said, then paused, a flicker of doubt crossing your features. “But do we need to bring my father into this? Thor mentioned father-gifts or is that just for official betrothals? I don’t want to be rude.”

Off to the side, half-hidden in the hallway, Steve pinched the bridge of his nose to stifle a laugh. Bucky shot him a quick glare—thanks for the backup, pal. Chuckling nervously, Bucky shook his head. “No father-gifts required. On Earth, it’s usually just between, well…the two people going on the date.”

Your shoulders visibly relaxed. “Ah, excellent. That simplifies things. I wouldn’t know what to buy your father anyway—does he prefer golden chalices or—?”

“No, no,” Bucky interjected quickly, biting his lip to keep from outright laughing. “Seriously, no father involvement. We just go, maybe sit down, order coffee, talk.”

You seemed to take a moment to let that sink in. Then, you grinned wide. “That sounds delightful. When do we depart for this coffee date?”

“How about tomorrow morning? Around ten?” Bucky offered.

You placed a hand over your heart, nodding firmly. “Ten in the morning. I will be ready. Should I wear armor, or is that too formal?”

Bucky glanced at Steve again, who was now silently cracking up. He smothered a grin, turning back to you. “Casual clothes are fine. Maybe just…I dunno…a shirt and jeans, if you have them?”

“Ah, yes! The mortal garb. I’ll do my best not to clash patterns.” You tapped your chin thoughtfully. “Though everything on Earth seems to clash with my Asgardian boots.”

Bucky let out a soft laugh, feeling tension he didn’t realize he’d been holding in slip away. “You’ll be fine, trust me.”

Moments later, you excused yourself to research casual Earth attire, leaving Bucky standing in the lounge with a strangely giddy feeling in his chest. That’s when Steve sauntered in, arms folded, his smile practically ear-to-ear. “You see?” Steve teased. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t quite hide his grin. “I almost had to explain father-gifts, so maybe a little complicated.”

Steve chuckled. “Looked like you handled it just fine. And if you need a quick escape route tomorrow, you know I’ve got your back.”

Bucky gave him a playful shove. “Thanks, punk.”

Steve shrugged, still grinning. “Anytime, jerk.”

[hattersrabbit]

GOODNESS INCARNATE

yandere avengers x kryptonian! reader | sfw

CW! male reader, can be seen as either platonic or romantic, toxic behavior, overprotective avengers, obsessive behavior, golden retriever! reader, ambiguous ending

Summary! at some point something fell from earth and crashed into earth. A new hero rises up in the city of Metropolis and catches the eye of Earth’s Mightiest Defenders, and it ends up getting a bit too far.

✎ᝰ.don’t ask about the timeline or anything call it an au where endgame doesn’t happen :D

next | series

˖꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷

Somewhere in Kansas a space shuttle fell to earth. It was never found, but the couple said to be incapable of having children had a child, and a dog too.

A child that was above from normal. That being you. An alien from the planet Krypton that had died. You and your dog, Krypto being the only one of your kind.

The last surviving Kryptonians.

Your new parents were a joy to have. You loved them and they raised you very protectively, and in return you cared for them.

With your strength, and Krypto you helped save your city Metropolis for the first time. The massive billionaire Lex Luthor caused massive damage and almost killed a bunch of people if not for you.

Dressed in blue and red you were a symbol of hope. The S across your chest being a family crest. One of the last of your parents own existence.

The people loved you, and you find the world was interested in you. A hero that came out of nowhere.

And certainly you were loved. Nick Fury couldn’t deny the need to get you on the team of train wrecks.

In fact, it could all be seen all the way to a Spider Boy who could only look at the footage in awe. The hero was someone who Peter Parker aimed to be.

Beside him was Wanda, the Scarlet Witch who looked on with awe in her eyes as well. As a woman who’s gone after bad thing after bad thing she couldn’t help but want goodness.

You were goodness. She could feel it, even if it was through a video.

Tony was apprehensive but even so he never seen someone so good. It was like you never faced horror ever. Your kindness and not a hint of showing off, or playing around while fighting.

Determination.

Captain America; Steve Rogers saw himself in you. Goodness that he could never achieve. One that smiled despite it all, while somberness swallowed him into a boastful mouth.

Bucky would have to agree. He was smiling once back then, and you were literal sunshine. A smile on those lips with such natural strength, and treating civilians with such kindness.

Thor found you adorable, and could feel that you were worthy of his hammer. Even through videos of you he felt like you were worthy. Absolutely beautiful he also thought. What man could fly through the air so gracefully like that. Without a care, and just as quick.

Natasha and Clint admired you. Albeit maybe it was a sense of something they never got. A man who hadn’t ever killed in his life, and was smiling. A sense of light they never got, and there you were.

Sunshine for them to bask themselves in.

Bruce felt wary but you were strong. No anger seemed to be in your body. Surely yes you seemed angry at Lex Luthor but that was for obvious reasons. You weren’t always angry like him. Angry only when necessary, unlike him.

Control of yourself is what you had.

A semblance of this world is that it was corrupt. A source of true good like you, and while you weren’t of them you believed in good.

Good in human beings.

The avengers knew better.

So when you’re recruited they aimed to make sure you’d ease into that reality. When offered the chance you jumped at it.

Imagine the surprise when Krypto arrived by your side. The avengers were no less taken aback and flustered.

You smiled big and wide. Nothing to hide and kind to them all.

Unbeknownst to you the immediate thought of you changed. A being that was good and needed to be protected. This group had been through terrible things, and it brought them down.

Made them turn darker.

Wanda knew that better than anyone.

Bucky hated himself for it.

Peter remembered the days when people knew of him, and how in those last moments back then he almost committed true murder.

They hid it well.

Steve would greet you with open arms and a welcoming smile, “Welcome to the team!” He would pat you on the shoulder. He would blink when it felt like metal.

You would laugh brightly, and saying a lot of people said that. Although it wasn’t like you were gonna say you were an alien. Not yet anyway.

They would find out anyway. Thanking Wanda for that, for she read your mind.

Imagine the wonder Peter had when he talked to you. Over the years now that he was Spider-Man he had lost his once happy attitude in being a hero.

You a little older than him was still hopeful, and hadn’t started as a teenager. You were hopeful and Peter couldn’t help but admire you. That smile; the one he lost and you still had it.

You can’t blame him when he stole one of your notebooks. The pages had tons of notes of your perceived faults and self-hatred. Don’t blame him when he shows Steve and Tony.

Don’t mind the confusion when the entire team is praising you more than usual. Any time you lift something instead of the Hulk Bruce smiles. His anger dismissed and he’s praising you despite his shy nature.

Don’t be surprised when you get hurt and spit blood that you get tested by the scientist. Tony even going as far as tweaking your suit to make sure you’re more protected. It was sweet, but useless venture to say you didn’t need it.

Of course you needed it. You were young, and even had fewer experience than Peter. You had no idea what you were talking about. Bruce and Tony were older.

They knew better, and told you that.

Naively, you shrugged it off. Krypto would only tilt his head at the them, and albeit he became much more close to you.

Wanda didn’t seem to like the change.

Once or twice Krypto would stare at her. ‘Try it.’ The dog was protective and a nuisance. He could feel the darkness. The woman was more susceptible to the darkness. The obsession of getting you to herself.

The others so far, Bruce and Tony already got hands on you when you got injured. Although never really seemed to look into your mind. What if you got brain damage?

She could fix it. Her magic would change it from affecting you. Peter had too much time with you. She was more your age, so you should be with her.

In a way you reminded her of Vision. Kind and understanding. Normalcy that she begged for and clung to.

Maybe she could change the dog but you would notice. It would make you sad, and she didn’t want that. Surely she was wanting you to herself, but your happiness also mattered.

She would be careful.

Get Krypto’s trust was her plan.

The two who have killed before were floored with the kindness. With the protectiveness you gave them.

In act of almost being killed you rang over them with your huge size and protecting them in the blast. Your scream of pain was loud in their ears.

Thor heard it loud and clear. The enemy was on the floor in seconds. Too brutal for normal, and you questioned Thor.

The god gave an excuse that you completely fell for. Too sweet and naive for this world. A sheltered kid in the Midwest fields, with protective parents.

Still too unforgiving of this horrible world.

Thor couldn’t tell you that he almost aimed to kill the attacker.

Natasha would share a look with him.

They knew. Murder was out of the question, but when you screamed like that they knew that maybe maiming was the move. Clint would talk to you as the two discussed what to do with the assailant.

Hearing the news Bucky would want to check over your wounds. There were none but it didn't stop him from getting those mental fingers on your bare skin.

You would shiver. Cold against your warm skin. Shining like the sun Bucky would think. Steve would look too.

A body like his own and invincible to harm.

At least they thought.

Kryptonite was horrible. Lex Luthor's laugh haunted them. You on the floor and holding your chest. Blood flowing from your mouth and a bullet in your chest.

Bruce was terrified.

Peter and Wanda beside themselves.

And so when you awake from your slumber don't ask about the disappearance of Lex Luthor. Don't ask why you can't hear his distinct heat beat.

Don't ask your still on bed rest, and Krypto is so much more hostile towards everyone now. Wary of Wanda and her glares to your dog.

Don't ask why Bruce's lingering touch stayed.

Don't ask why your mind seemed played with.

Don't bother with the protective members who've been known to kill before to be so close to you.

Don’t tell Peter to leave your side. Don't ask Steve to stop defending your city, Metropolis.

All the avengers ask of you is to keep that smile on your face no matter how confused you are.

To keep there goodness, and to never be corrupted.

To be good.

[reginaphalangelobster125]

Sweetheart

Steve Rogers x Reader feat. Avengers

Summary: A simple game slowly leads to a lifetime.

Warnings: a few swear words, some very hot scenes, fluffity fluff, mutual pining, mentions of nomad Steve specifically his hair and beard (yes! that's a warning), reader wearing Steve's hoodie (also a warning, gets me every time, and yes I did write a whole fic about it Hoodie)

Word Count: 3.5k

Notes: I wrote this with a female reader in mind but I think it works for any gender, there are no pronouns used and no use of Y/n, Steve calls reader sweetheart.

Everyone was drinking and having a good time. Tony remembered something he had seen earlier in the day and decided now was the best time to bring it up.

"Y-You know it's weird how fasc-cinated the public is with us" He slurred, waving his scotch around and spilling it slightly.

"How's that, Tones?" You questioned while blinking abnormally fast.

"I saw a-a thhhing on my phone, said vote on each 'venger's best look"

"Like Nat's 'I'm gonna kill you so bad' look?"

"No, ap-pearanceses"

"Ooooh, that's kinda strange, isn't it?"

"What?" Stephen asked as he flung his head up, only hearing the word 'strange'.

"Not you, Dr Otter" You and Tony replied at the same time followed by a small exclamation of acknowledgement.

"It's like a quiz" Tony continued.

"What?" Clint asked.

"The thing I was just talking about"

"Oh, right. A quiz?"

"Yeah, wanna do it?"

"I don't know, I'm not good on tests"

"It's not- It's opinions, not right or wrong"

"Okay, shoot"

Tony cast his phone to the large TV in front of everyone and started the quiz.

"What is the le-legendary genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, Tony Stark himself, 's best look?" He read off the screen.

"You always look pretty much the same" Nat stated.

"First one, little scruffy" Steve said simply.

"Yeah, his hair's cute when it's floppy, like you could run a hand through it and it'd still look adorable" You agreed.

"Adorable? Drunk you is pretty honest, this is gonna be fun" Tony smirked "Natasha Romanoff, the fierce woman of the avengers"

"Oh God" She sighed.

"The half red half blonde, super cute, especially in a braid" You smiled at her.

"I'd have to agree" Bruce added.

"Next, The God of Thunder and long hair, what's Thor's best look?"

"Ooh, the short one!" You exclaimed.

"How dare you?! That was not consensual!" Thor boomed.

"Sorry sweetie, but you've got to admit, it was hot"

"Pfft!" Loki laughed out.

"Did you just go pfft? You don't pfft" Bruce turned to him.

"My brother is not that hot"

"I think Happy's shirt would beg to differ" You counter.

"What about your mug?"

"I don't know what you are referring to"

"The mug that has 'This meeting would be a lot better if one of you were Loki' written across it"

"Oh, that mug. That and Happy's shirt were gag gifts from Tony, like Cap's Cap cap"

"Pardon?"

"Tony got Steve a cap with his Captain America logo on it, so it's Cap's Cap cap"

"You mortals are pointlessly confusing"

"Alright next question, speaking of Gods, Loki the God of Mischief and sexiness has great hair as everyone knows but what look suits him best?"

"I am beginning to like this quiz after all"

"Christmas tree" Nat states blankly.

"I am not beginning to like this. What do you mean Christmas tree?!"

"In New York, your hair had the outline of a Christmas tree. Don't look at me like that, they put tinsel in it" She points to you and Sam.

"ThAt WaS yOu?!"

"He dared me!"

"You said dare me to put tinsel in Loki's hair, I didn't do shit"

"Until I had the tinsel"

"Well it was already there"

"By the great heavenly kingdom of Valhalla I swear I will-"

"Tony, why don't we just move onto the next question?" Steve tried to diffuse the situation before Loki turned everyone into frogs, again.

"The question we've all been waiting for, the most gorgeous avenger, Bucky Barnes!"

"He's the most gorgeous?" Nat asked, a twinge of jealously in her tone.

"You're way prettier than Bucky" You reassured her.

"Hey?" Bucky lightly hit your arm.

"She is" You shrugged.

"Stevie, who's prettier?" Bucky looked to his friend.

"I don't want to choose between my friends"

"Come on, Captain"

"Uh, um.....neither"

"What?" They both blurted out in shock.

"You are" He said softly as he looked into your eyes.

"Th-thank you" You blushed.

"Of course he picked you" Bucky grumbled.

"And last but certainly not least, the very handsome face of the Avengers, Steve Rogers"

"Nomad Steve" You spoke a little too quickly.

"Really?" He asked you.

"Uh-yeah"

"Oh I toootally agree" Sam responded "That slightly long hair, a little unkept"

"And that beard" Bucky agreed.

"And the way he looks like he could just pin you up against a wall and-" You saw everyone looking at you and Steve's face covered in a bright red blush "I'm oversharring again, aren't I?"

"Yes" Bruce said, sitting in the corner, just a little mortified.

"I think that's enough for the night, I'm going to bed" You almost beckon from halfway down the hall already.

You thought that would be the end of the topic, after a while you didn't really think of it at all. Not long after, Steve had to go on a mission and boy did he have a surprise for you when he got back. The mission lasted about a month and you were really beginning to miss him. One evening you opened the door to your room and felt something behind you, someone. They pushed you into your room and slammed the door shut, they spun you around and you saw that it was Steve. You lit up instantly by just seeing his face, he had grown his beard back and his hair was a little messy and longer. Just as you were about to open your mouth to compliment him on the new-old look he pushed you against the wall, no, he pinned you against the wall. He held your wrists tight by your sides, you saw the look of desire in his dark clouded eyes. Before you knew it his lips were on yours, moving fiercely and hastily, full of passion and lust. As he pulled away he bit your bottom lip lightly, causing you to let out a soft whimper. The sound almost making him drop his tough exterior.

"This what you wanted?" His voice was deep and rough, making your body quiver.

"God yes" You breathed out shakily.

He transferred his grip on your wrists to your waist. He lifted you like you were nothing, like you weighed less than a feather. You wrapped your legs around his hips and grasped his neck in your hands, clinging on and keeping him close. He held you up against the wall as he continued kissing you roughly, deeply. You could feel your stomach aching, your whole body was aching, for him. He could feel the heat radiating off you as he trail open mouthed kisses down your jaw and it was addictive. You tilted your head back and to the side, giving him better access to your neck. He found that soft spot under your ear that made you moan so sweetly and his lips latched on. He sucked and bit marks that were sure to turn bright purple and he ran his tongue back over the spot gently, soothing your inflamed skin.

He kept up this pace, kissing and sucking and biting and licking all over your neck and upper chest. You tugged on his hair, rough enough that it made him bite your shoulder, hard. The sensation of his teeth sinking that far into you made you throw your head back even further and let out an almost primal, animalistic moan that just spurred him on all the more.

His fingers dug into your hips, certain to leave bruises you would admire for days. He pulled you off the wall and sat you on your dresser.

"Y-you know" You began, your words near breathy moans at this point "The bed's over there"

"Soon. First I want you on every surface possible"

His tone mixed with his words made your breath hitch, you could've sworn your heart stopped for just a moment. One of his hands came up and ripped your shirt off. He tossed it to the side and you toyed with the hem of his. You pulled it up slowly, running your fingers over the taught muscles of his body. You pulled the shirt over his head and when his hands returned to you they were on your thighs. His lips flew down your neck and to your chest. He kissed every inch of you within his reach, the feel of him all over you, hot and wet. He undid the top button of your pants and lifted you again. Your hands moved from his neck and discarded your pants on the floor. He carried you to the couch and laid you down. He hovered over you and you scrambled for his belt.

"Uh uh, not yet" The teasing in his tone made you squirm under him.

"Well that's not very fair is it?"

"Life's not fair sweetheart"

He continued his mission, his mouth was all over you. He moved down the couch, sitting between your legs. It was quite a sight, Steve Rogers, Captain America, America's golden boy, situated between your legs, looking up at you with the gaze of a starved animal. He took one of your legs, started at your ankle and kissed his way down. The contrast between your silky smooth skin and his rough scratchy beard made you grateful to be alive. He moved tantalisingly slow, never breaking eye contact for a second. It was like your eyes were tethered to stare at each other forever and you wouldn't have it any other way. You looked down past your heaving chest to see your knee slung over his shoulder. His chest was pressed up into the back of your thigh, pushing your muscles just right. His lips went so low, so close, so far down your inner thigh and he pulled away. The bastard pulled away. You never would have thought he'd be a tease. He did the same to your other leg, starting at the ankle and working his way almost all the way down. He laid down, his shoulders under both of your legs and he got so close. He kissed your lower stomach and he moved down. Finally, you thought. He kissed over the top of your underwear, taking the waist band in his teeth, pulling just a few inches away and releasing it, flicking against your body. He pulled even further away, devastating you.

"Steve" You whined "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Watch out or I'll have to put that dirty mouth of yours to good use"

"Please do"

He chuckled low, the sound reverberating through you and sending shivers down your spine. You kissed him again, this time soft and sweet, full of the love you had been hiding for so long.

He pulled away and stared down at you, at your beautiful face. He meant what he said that day, he thought you were beautiful, so beautiful it hurt. It hurt when he saw you get all dressed up for galas and charity events in those fancy clothes that fit your body so well. Or when you'd go out to clubs with Nat and Sam, those two always dragged you out, trying to get you to meet someone but you were never interested. For so long it had only been Steve. Wearing something outrageously short for the '40s like Steve was used to, but you looked amazing, you looked amazing in anything. He remembered the first time you trained together and you wore skin tight workout gear, he barely made it through the hour. But his favourite, his absolute favourite, was when you had just woken up. When your hair was all messy and your eyes were only half open. You'd say good morning in a raspy voice full of sleep and you'd smile at him so softly he thought he'd melt. All he wanted was to see that smile and hear that voice every morning for the rest of his life. One day was just, he didn't know quite what. It was an oddly chilly morning for that time of year and all of your winter clothes were packed away. You looked through the freshly washed laundry you had done the day before and you found a blue hoodie, it looked so comfortable and soft and most importantly warm. You pulled it on over your head and it fell halfway down your thighs, just covering the pyjama shorts you were wearing. You walked down the hall and into the kitchen like you did every morning. You greeted Steve and he greeted you back before noticing what you were wearing. It looked like you were wearing his hoodie, only his hoodie, nothing else. He blinked for a moment, opening and closing his mouth, trying to speak but not knowing what to say. You reached up to grab a mug off the top shelf and the hoodie rose up. He didn't want to look, no that was a lie, he thought he shouldn't look but he couldn't help himself. When he was met with the sight of your shorts you could say he was more than a little disappointed. You turned around and saw him staring at you.

"What?" You laughed "I can't have something in my teeth, I haven't eaten yet"

"I-is that my hoodie?"

"Oh, that's who. I'm sorry, it was in my laundry and I was cold. I can give it back"

"No you look nice. Nice and warm" He only just caught and corrected himself.

"Thanks"

He didn't know it yet but ever since that day, whenever you were feeling sad you wore his hoodie and it comforted you more than anything else.

He brought himself out of his memory haze and back to now, to you. He saw you looking up at him, wondering what he was thinking. He leaned down and whispered into your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

"Sweetheart, you've been so good, it's time for your reward"

He picked you up and you latched onto him once again. This time he finally took you to the bed. He laid you down so soft and gentle like he was handling something so precious, he was. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and his finger trailed down your cheekbone. His hand moved back to cradle your head and his thumb caressed your cheek so lovingly. His usually innocent blue eyes stared into yours, boring into your soul. The two of you truly connected, in a way neither of you had with anyone else, only each other.

You woke up the next morning, in his arms. You couldn't believe you were finally where you had dreamed of being for so long. In fact you actually pinched yourself, just to be sure. You couldn't help but smile even brighter when you looked back up to see him looking down at you. This was one of those moments you'd experienced so many times before. It took you completely out of the moment and you noticed just how pretty he really was. His eyes, full of so much hope and joy matched with pain and sadness. His eyes, full of time, years of time and he wanted to spent the rest of it with you. He laid on his back, his chest rising and falling with his steady breaths. His right hand was snaked around your waist, even in his sleep his grip never faltered. You laid on your left side, your cheek on his chest, snuggled up to him. Your right hand was laying across his body, tracing random patterns slowly.

"Morning" There it was, there was that sweet, soft, raspy voice he had longed for.

"Morning sweetheart"

You giggled slightly at the pet name, your pet name. He called you that because to him, that's what you were. You were so sweet he thought he'd get a cavity. You always did whatever you could for others, sometimes they knew and sometimes they didn't. Like the way you helped Bucky. When he first came to the tower he only had Steve, Tony was still upset with him and after hearing what had just transpired the rest of the team weren't very welcoming. But you were different. You trusted Steve's judgement and you welcomed Bucky. He stayed in Steve's room for a while, still too scared to be alone in a tower full of people who didn't much care for him. You decided the best way to get to know Bucky and hopefully help him was to get to know him in a setting he felt comfortable in. You brought a sleeping bag to Steve's room and explained your thinking. Bucky was offered the bed and the couch but he still chose the floor, so you joined him. Steve was in his room with the door open and you and Bucky were in the small living room attached. He was by Steve's door and you kept you distance, trying not to crowd him by sleeping on the other side of the room. He curled up and faced away from you. You heard him gasp for air as he came out of a nightmare. You slowly approached him and took his flesh hand in both of yours. You were gentle but your grasp was firm, reassuring him that he wasn't in his nightmare. Steve got up and came to the door but you shook your head and he stepped back. He trusted you too and he knew that you had a lot of experience with nightmares, you helped him after all. You slept with Bucky on Steve's floor for a month, until Bucky was ready to go to his own room. You slept on his floor for the first night, then you returned to your own room, next door. Sharing a wall, you were able to hear when he had a nightmare and you always came and sat with him like you did that first night. Thankfully, after some time, the nightmares were a rare occasion for him.

Steve loved how you cared for his friend, for everyone. He was the only one who noticed the small things you did. One of the simplest but kindest being whenever you would go to the grocery store you would buy a box of pop-tarts, a dozen plums, a bag of decaf coffee and a punnet of blueberries. Pop-tarts for Thor because he ate them at an alarming rate, plums for Bucky of course, decaf coffee because it always worried you how much coffee Tony drank, so you would replace it with decaf whenever you had the chance, and blueberries also for Tony, he liked having a snack while he worked and they distracted from the coffee.

There were other little things you'd do that just made Steve fall for you even more. If someone had a tough mission you'd cook their favourite meal for dinner, perfectly, and if their suit was torn you'd sew it up. They didn't ask you to or expect you to but you'd just take it and return it to them, fully mended and cleaned. Whenever you noticed his pencils were getting short or his sketchbook was getting full you'd go to the little store that had the supplies he liked. You wouldn't make a fuss about it, you usually just left a book and a box of pencils on his bedside table. And God, did he love to draw you. The first time he tried he obsessed over it, wanting the sketch to be as perfect as you. After a while it became almost mindless, if he didn't know what to draw he'd find himself drawing you.

He looked down at you now, lying in his arms with a huge smile on your face.

"I love you" It just slipped out, he meant it, he did love you but he didn't want to scare you off. He panicked for a moment when you didn't respond.

"I love you too"

He sighed a huge breath of relief "You know you're everything to me, right?"

"I do now"

You brought your hand up to his cheek, you thumb ghosted over his lips.

"You call me sweetheart"

"I do"

"Why?"

"Because you're so kind and giving, you always put the team first and you're well, sweet. Like with the pop-tarts and plums"

"You're the reason"

"What do you mean?"

"I saw your face when I got you a sketchbook or when I got Bucky plums, you know, small things. I saw the way you looked at me or at least the way I hoped you looked at me and I wanted to see that look again"

"Really?"

"Why else do you think we have plum pies every other week? Or enough Pop-tarts to feed an army, or I guess Thor for a couple weeks"

"You did that just to see me happy when I was watching you?"

"Yeah" You said nervously, hoping he wouldn't think you were quite as pathetic as you felt.

"God, I love you"

He pulled you into a kiss and you could feel his smile against your lips.

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@impetusofadream @goldfishthegr8 @avengers-official-recruit-agent @goreygirl03 @xenasolos @sparklyturtlefox @rios-sythe @nekoannie-chan @ilovemarvel12 @hayneyney @n3ponen @8812-342 @everyonesfriend @pinkthick @craftytacopiecash @meryuniverse @aliljaybird @yelldontwhisper @justhereforthememesnangst @lonely-core

[atlasthegreatest]

Breaking the Chains / Natasha Romanoff x Brother!Male Reader

Which, the Avengers embark on a mission to dismantle a sinister facility—a male version of the Red Room, designed to turn young men into weapons. Natasha Romanoff leads the charge, determined to save her younger brother— Y/n, who has been trapped in this program for years.

Word count: 2191

Warnings: PTSD. Red Room.

A/n: This was requested by an anon. I hope you like it!

The facility was crumbling around them, fire and dust mixing into the heavy air. The sounds of gunfire and explosions echoed in the background, but Natasha Romanoff’s focus was singular. Her feet moved with purpose as she scanned the darkened hallway. She knew what to look for—the same signs she once wore on her face and carried in her posture.

In this mission, the Avengers were not after weapons or secrets. They were after people—boys who had been subjected to something eerily familiar to Natasha. A male counterpart to the Red Room, hidden deep in the underbelly of the world. They had lived in the shadows for years, unnoticed, until an intercepted transmission tipped the Avengers off to the existence of this twisted program.

She pushed through the shattered remnants of a metal door and stepped into a cold, dimly lit cell block. A dozen pairs of frightened eyes met hers, boys barely in their teens and men no older than twenty-five.

Natasha scanned each face until she found the one she had been looking for: Y/n.

He sat huddled in the far corner of the cell, knees drawn to his chest, body folded in on itself as if trying to disappear into the cracked concrete wall behind him. His clothes hung loosely from his thin frame, and his hands trembled as they gripped his knees.

“Hey,” Natasha whispered, kneeling in front of him.

At first, Y/n didn’t respond. The years of training had taught him to suppress everything—fear, trust, and hope. But when he finally lifted his gaze, recognition flickered in his eyes. Y/n knew her, though not personally. She had been the ghost story among the instructors. The Black Widow—traitor to the cause, the one who escaped.

“I’ve got you,” Natasha said gently, her gloved hand hovering over Y/n's but not touching, waiting for him to make the first move. “We’re getting you out of here.”

Y/n flinched slightly at the sound of her voice but didn’t pull away when she rested a hand lightly on his arm. Her touch was steady—grounding.

“It’s over,” she said, her voice low and sure, like an unbreakable promise. “No more orders. No more missions.”

Y/n's lips parted, but no words came out. It was hard to believe it was real after everything. Freedom was a foreign concept, a dream too fragile to trust. But Natasha didn’t rush him. She crouched there, keeping her voice steady and calm as the chaos raged behind her.

“I know it’s scary,” she admitted. “But you’re not alone anymore. I’m here, and so are the others.”

When he didn’t resist, Natasha helped him to his feet. Y/n was shaky, each step slow, as if his body had forgotten what it was like to move without orders directing his every action. Natasha kept a careful hold on her arm—not tight, just enough to remind him she was there.

Together, they made their way through the collapsing facility, the flickering lights casting erratic shadows on the walls. Outside, the Avengers had cleared the area, and a Quinjet waited, its ramp lowered. Steve Rogers gave a tight nod to Natasha as she guided Y/n aboard, but the others knew better than to approach.

Natasha’s expression warned them all: Give him space.

————————-

The Avengers’ compound was vast, bright, and open—everything the cold, sterile facility had not been. But for Y/n, it was too much. Too big, too noisy, too unfamiliar.

Y/n rarely left the room they had set up for him, and when he did, it was always with Natasha at his side. The others tried to welcome him gently—Bruce offered books, Steve always nodded with quiet reassurance, and even Tony kept his quips subdued. But it was Natasha who knew how to reach him, because she had been where he was.

She didn’t push. When the others asked too many questions, Natasha would step in, redirecting the conversation with a subtle ease. She became Y/n's anchor, a quiet, constant presence that didn’t demand anything from him.

At night, when the nightmares came—and they always did—Natasha was there. The first time Y/n woke up gasping, covered in cold sweat, he thought she might be angry at being disturbed. But instead, she sat on the edge of his bed, her voice calm and low.

“Breathe,” she whispered. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

When Y/n couldn’t sleep, she stayed up with him. Some nights, she talked about her own past, sharing bits and pieces she thought he might understand. Other nights, the two of them sat in silence, watching the night bleed into dawn.

She never asked him to talk about what happened—not until Y/n was ready.

————————-

It was weeks before Y/n said more than a few words at a time. The trauma ran deep, and trust was a hard-earned currency. But Natasha noticed the small changes. The way he started sitting with the others in the common room, though he always kept a little distance. The way his gaze softened when Sam told a joke or when Clint teased him about beating him at chess.

One afternoon, while sitting with Natasha on the balcony, Y/n surprised himself by speaking.

“They made us fight each other,” He said quietly, his voice brittle and uneven. “If you won, you got food. If you lost… you didn’t.”

Natasha didn’t flinch. She just nodded, her gaze steady. “I know.”

“They told us it made us stronger,” he added, bitterness creeping into his tone. “Made us perfect.”

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line. “They were wrong.”

For a moment, Y/n looked out over the horizon, the sky painted in hues of gold and pink. He felt the weight of her words settle in his chest—not just the words, but the way she said them, with the conviction of someone who knew exactly what he’d been through.

“You’re not what they made you,” Natasha said softly. “You’re more than that.”

Y/n swallowed hard, emotions swelling in his throat, but for the first time in years, he didn’t feel the need to shove them down. Natasha’s presence was a reminder that he didn’t have to carry everything alone.

————————-

Day by day, the Avengers helped Y/n find pieces of himself that he thought had been lost forever. Steve taught him how to cook—simple things, like pancakes and scrambled eggs. Sam dragged him into a movie marathon, making Y/n laugh for the first time in what felt like forever.

And Natasha? Natasha stayed by his side through all of it, giving him the space to heal at his own pace.

One evening, after a quiet dinner with the team, Y/n found yourself sitting beside Natasha on the couch, Clint sprawled out on the floor in front of them.

“See?” Natasha said, nudging Y/n's shoulder lightly. “They’re not so bad.”

Y/n gave a small, tentative smile. It felt strange on his face, but not unwelcome.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice soft but genuine. “They’re not.”

Natasha smiled too—gentle, patient, and proud. And for the first time in a long time, Y/n felt like maybe, just maybe, he belonged.

————————-

The Avengers became a rhythm—steady, sometimes chaotic, but reliable. Y/n was still learning how to navigate the whirl of personalities and noise, but Natasha was always a steady guide. She seemed to know exactly when to push and when to pull back, letting him stumble without ever letting him fall.

The nightmares didn’t stop, but Y/n got better at managing them. On nights when the darkness crept too close, he didn’t feel ashamed to knock softly on Natasha’s door. Sometimes, the two of them talked. Other times, Y/n sat quietly on the floor beside her bed until sleep returned. It didn’t matter—Natasha was patient, always patient.

But adjusting to life with the Avengers was harder than it looked from the outside. Even though they gave him space, their camaraderie felt foreign. Trusting them—really trusting them—was an uphill battle, but Natasha reassured him that it was okay to take his time.

“You don’t have to be anyone other than yourself,” she had said. “They’ll wait.”

————————-

It was Sam who cracked Y/n's defenses first, though it took him weeks of gentle persistence. He had a way of being both laid-back and direct, not giving him much room to overthink. One afternoon, Y/n found himself sitting across from him at the compound’s kitchen island, awkwardly holding a controller as he taught Y/n how to play some old-school racing game.

“Don’t worry,” Sam grinned. “I’ll go easy on you.”

He didn’t. Y/n lost every race, but he didn’t mind. For once, losing didn’t come with consequences. Sam’s laugh was loud and infectious, and before Y/n realized it, he found himself chuckling along.

“See?” Sam said, nudging his shoulder lightly. “You’ve got a sense of humor in there somewhere.”

It was a small moment, but it was the first time Y/n’d felt… normal.

————————-

Training sessions with Steve Rogers were a different kind of therapy. He never barked orders or pushed Y/n beyond his limits. Instead, he treated each session like a lesson in self-control—teaching him to use his skills in ways that didn’t make him feel like a weapon.

“Strength is more than just force,” Steve would say. “It’s about knowing when not to fight.”

At first, it was hard to fight the reflex to be perfect, to push through every ache and bruise just to meet some invisible standard. But Steve never expected perfection. If Y/n faltered, he’d just nod and say, “Good. Now let’s try that again.”

One day, after a sparring match, Y/n hesitated as Steve packed up the training mats. “Thanks,” he muttered, the word feeling foreign but genuine.

Steve gave him that easy, reassuring smile of his. “Anytime.”

————————-

It was during one of Tony’s infamous pizza nights that Y/n realized how far he’d come. The team gathered in the common room, laughing and teasing each other over slices of greasy pepperoni. Y/n sat between Natasha and Clint, feeling oddly at ease even though he hadn’t said much all night.

At some point, Tony tried to rope him into a debate about who the best James Bond was. Y/n blinked, unsure if he was joking or not.

“C’mon, kid,” Tony said, grinning. “Tell me you’ve got an opinion on this. You have to.”

Before he could answer, Natasha smirked. “He’s still deciding if he likes any of us, Stark. Don’t scare him off with your movie rants.”

The team burst out laughing, and to Y/n's surprise, he found himself grinning too. Not because he had to, but because it felt right.

Natasha glanced at her brother from the corner of her eye, her expression soft and knowing. She didn’t say anything, but her small smile told him she was proud—and she realized he was too.

Bonus chapter:

Not every day was easy. Some mornings, the weight of the past dragged Y/n down like lead in his chest. Y/n still flinched at unexpected noises. Some nights, the nightmares left him breathless and paralyzed. But with Natasha, it didn’t feel like he had to face it alone.

One particularly bad night, Y/n couldn’t keep it all bottled up anymore. It was late—well past midnight—when the panic took over. Y/n found himself in Natasha’s room, pacing back and forth as he tried to control his breathing.

“They made us hurt each other,” he whispered, the words tumbling out faster than he could stop them. “Every day, every mission. If you hesitated, they punished you. They—”

Y/n's voice cracked, and he clenched his fists, furious at himself for breaking down. But Natasha didn’t look at Y/n with pity. She stepped closer, her hand resting lightly on his arm.

“They wanted you to believe it was the only way,” Natasha said softly. “But it’s not.”

The anger, the shame, the guilt—it all poured out in a rush, and Natasha let him feel every bit of it without judgment. When Y/n finally sank to the floor, exhausted and drained, she sat beside him.

“You’re not what they made you,” she repeated gently. “And you’re not alone.”

————————-

Months passed, and slowly, Y/n found himself carving out a place among the Avengers. It wasn’t perfect—he still had hard days, and some wounds ran too deep to ever fully heal. But he was learning that it was okay to not be okay all the time.

Natasha stayed close, always ready to catch him if he stumbled. But she also gave him room to grow. Y/n started spending more time with the others—training with Steve, playing video games with Sam, and even laughing at Tony’s terrible jokes. They weren’t just teammates anymore. They were friends.

And one day, as the team gathered for another chaotic dinner, Y/n realized something that hit him harder than any punch he’d ever taken: he wasn’t just surviving. He was living.

The thought was strange, almost surreal, but when Natasha met his gaze across the table and gave him a subtle, knowing nod, Y/n knew it was real.

He was home.

Any grammar mistakes will be fixed later

[defectivevillain]

recognition

there are snippets for: Tony, Sam, Bucky, Bruce, Natasha, Thor, Clint, Vision, Stephen, Loki, T'Challa, and Scott. the relationships between them and the reader can be interpreted as platonic or romantic.

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used. they're implied to be an avenger too 🤘

summary: A hero's work doesn't end after they take off their suit. Nope, it continues—even when they're walking to the grocery store, going to dinner, or just minding their business...

the heroes & getting recognized by fans! (and Loki's here too! lol.)

word count: 4.6k | ao3 version

author's notes: This started as headcanons for the Avengers getting recognized in public… and quickly grew to include a combination of MCU characters.

Steve’s not in this, because I like Sam much better. I wrote Sam to be queer and there’s a brief acknowledgement of the discrimination he faces (it’s not the focus of his snippet).

The order is: Tony, Sam, Bucky, Bruce, Natasha, Thor, Clint, Vision, Stephen, Loki, T’Challa, and Scott—in case you want to find your favorites. But you should read all of them, because I think they’re cute :3

Warnings: brief mentions of discrimination (Sam’s snippet; not the point of the fic), unwanted physical contact (Stephen’s snippet; not perpetrated by him ofc).

Tony will know when someone’s a fan before they even notice him. It’s unsettling. You’ll be walking at his side, maybe looking down at your phone, when he’ll just go, “Fanboy incoming, three o’clock.” And you’ll look up and to your right to find a guy walking up to Tony. 

Of course, Tony is extremely insufferable about it. He loves the attention; whenever you’re out in public, you’re forced to be the camera person: taking photos of him and his fans. It’s kind of annoying. It only gets worse when they leave, as Tony will proceed to taunt you for your nonexistent jealousy. (Because, really, who wants to be stopped every five seconds on their way to lunch?) 

Bonus: If you’re a hero too, maybe another member of the Avengers… and a fan approaches you… Tony is super jealous. He’ll lurk off to the side with a fierce glare, practically boring holes into the fan’s skin as you give them your attention. When he’s handed the fan’s phone and told to take photos, expect him to put in almost no effort—rolling his eyes through it. If Tony’s in a really shitty mood, he’ll scrutinize the fan’s flaws (murmuring “What an ugly shirt…” under his breath or something else shady). 

And rest assured, when the fan steps away, Tony’s wrapping an arm over your shoulders and bemoaning how exhausting that was. If you remind him that these interactions happen to him all the time, he’s quick to change the subject or whistle innocently. 

Sam isn’t really used to getting recognized. It was one thing when he was the Falcon. But now that he’s Captain America, he’s been the unwitting target of the public’s scrutiny. As proud as he is to defend the country and its citizens… Well, many of them aren’t happy to be saved by a queer Black man. 

That isn’t to say he always has horrible fan interactions. In fact, at least 90% of them are good. And all of the Avengers have their horror stories: Tony, Clint, and, hell, even Bruce (who is quite literally the most non-confrontational person on the planet). But the bad moments stick with Sam for longer than they should, making him flinch when he should smile. Of course, when he realizes his anxiety is irrational, he’s quick to slip on a bright grin or a mischievous smirk. 

When he’s met with a genuine fan, though… Things can get a bit crazy. You’ve known Sam for long enough to know that he doesn’t really recognize the sheer power of his charisma. He jokes about it all the time, sure, but he doesn’t truly know. You’ve seen people practically drool all over him, and Sam will just wave it off with a polite smile. He really has a knack for steering the conversation perfectly, striking the balance between getting to know the fan and maintaining his boundaries. 

You like poking fun at him after these fan moments, because there’s always a split second or two where he’s left staring after them with a slight smile on his face. (It’s such an endearing sight.) Of course, once Sam’s attention finds you again, he’s quick to rip into you in response.

Oh, and if you’re the hero getting fawned over… Sam will be entirely insufferable. Hell, he’ll usually join in on it, fake gushing over you and shaking his hands excitedly. He doesn’t go this far when he senses the other person is genuinely nervous, but if they’re a good sport, he’ll poke fun at them a bit. 

When he’s relegated to photographer duty, he’ll take it seriously, maybe saying a cheeky, “Smile!” like a school photographer. And of fucking course Sam will take selfies on the fan’s phone. It’s like they’re asking him to—just handing the phone to him unlocked. Amateur mistake, come on. 

Sam’s also just a super genuine guy. He’s a lot more attuned to the human experience than the other heroes are. And he’s super humble. Whenever people will offer to pay for him—coffee, dinner, whatever—he’s quick to deny. The waiter offers to pay for your dinner? Nope, Sam’s credit card is already on the table. The barista gives him a free drink? He gives them a tip that far exceeds the price of the coffee. Despite how often people will offer him things in gratitude, Sam will always refuse them and pay. Always. And that’s an admirable quality to have. 

Bucky doesn’t know what to do when a fan approaches him. It’s hard for him to understand why they would idolize him in the first place. Not to mention, he likes his privacy—the thought of people knowing things about him is unsettling. 

He’s probably the Avenger that has the firmest boundaries. He almost never says yes to pictures. He’ll stiffen and tighten up when fans get too close; the fingers of his vibranium hand will twitch and clench. 

When the mantle of Captain America is passed from Steve to Sam, though… Bucky’s image is different. The public doesn’t really see him as the Winter Soldier anymore—they just see him as the person who accompanies Sam. And, honestly, he much prefers that to the alternative. Bucky doesn’t want to think about what he went through in the past—being spared from the reminder is a relief. 

He’ll still be hesitant to take photos, of course. He’ll flash a super awkward smile, while still being stiff and tense. 

Of course, if you’re the hero getting recognized, expect to get teased relentlessly. Bucky will throw the fan’s words back at you, teasingly calling you the best hero, the coolest Avenger, the only thing that got him through final exams… It’s ridiculous. 

And Bucky is always thrilled to be the one taking the photos. He’ll take pictures from several different angles, until the fan’s practically tugging their phone back from him to preserve their storage. 

Bruce is so incredibly uncomfortable with fans. He still doesn’t really like being associated with the Hulk—it brings up a whole host of negative emotions in him. And it certainly doesn’t help when people will approach him asking for the Hulk, as if the guy’s some kind of party trick instead of a manifestation of his worst, most unsavory feelings. 

Bruce will be brief and almost blunt, his eyes frequently flitting around as he tries and fails to maintain his composure. With his hands shoved in his pockets and the restlessness practically dripping off of him, the fans are usually quick to sense he doesn’t want to speak with them. Bruce usually feels bad about it, and will apologize to them. You’ll tell him he doesn’t need to apologize, but he’ll just shake his head. 

If any fans are being particularly persistent, you’ll have to be the one to step in and tell them to back off. Because Bruce is the type to suffer silently, to endure discomfort until he’s nearly on the verge of a panic attack. And you’re not exactly the most confrontational person yourself, but it’s very easy to get irritated on his behalf. Defending Bruce is as natural as taking your next breath. It certainly helps when he shoots you that relieved glance of his, his shoulders relaxing and his confidence returning as the fan walks away. 

If someone’s a fan of Bruce Banner, though… he’s a lot more comfortable. You’ll see a tentative smile slowly work its way on his face as he’s asked about his publications and his research. Bruce will often get too absorbed in the conversation, to the point when you’ll have to drag him off and apologize to the fan—your lunch reservation isn’t going to fill itself. 

Natasha tries her absolute hardest to be completely unapproachable and intimidating. Hell, you don’t think she even has to try—she just gives off that kind of vibe. Most people are quick to realize she’s pissed. Of course, that’s assuming they even get so close as to speak with her. It would be more likely for them to get thrown to the ground then have a casual conversation with the Black Widow. 

You don’t know how someone would look at Black Widow and think she even wanted to associate with them… but there are always foolish people. Foolish, absolutely moronic people who think they can somehow sneak a picture of her or with her. Nat has really good peripheral vision and she knows when someone nearby is taking a photo of her. She’ll proceed to appear behind them, scaring the absolute shit out of them, before calmly and firmly saying, “Delete it.” This tried-and-true method never fails. 

If someone actually has the guts to get into her personal space, they’ll leave with an injury. And you don’t blame Natasha for that. Fans tend to think that they have a right to a celebrity’s attention and space, just because they’ve followed them for a long time. In the days of social media, these assumptions are only growing more common. Fortunately, Nat always deals a swift reality check to anyone and everyone stupid enough to cross her path.

Thor loves when people recognize him. At the end of the day, he’s a god—and gods like to be praised. The God of Thunder is no exception. He’ll definitely milk it a bit, flashing a blinding smile and flexing his muscles just so the fans react. 

He still doesn’t really know how Midgardian technology works—he doesn’t have a phone himself. So when Thor is tasked with taking a photo of a fan and you… Safe to say, he has no idea what he’s doing. He holds it the wrong way, holds it backwards. He accidentally exits out of the camera app and goes into something else entirely, borderline snooping through the fan’s phone without even realizing. Eventually he’ll give up and return the fan’s phone, at which point they’ll take a selfie of you and them. 

Thor will sometimes get perplexed when he’s not given any attention. Whenever he realizes this, he usually turns to the fan and says something along the lines of, “No love for the God of Thunder?” The situation then plays out in two ways: 

The fan looks mildly embarrassed and asks for a picture with him, even if they didn’t want one. Everyone leaves happy. 

The fan just blinks at him. Maybe they’re confused, maybe they don’t know who the God of Thunder even is. Or, hell, maybe they just don’t want a picture with him. Regardless of the reason, Thor will be completely shocked. He won’t let it show until they leave—at which point, he’ll whip around and look at you. “That Midgardian… they didn’t want my picture.”

It’s almost cute, how dejected he looks at the thought. At this point, you’ll have to cheer him up—which usually involves you saying, “Well, I want your picture.” Then the two of you proceed to take some selfies at a rather questionable angle, and Thor forgets about it. 

Clint is a bit of a wild card. Sometimes, he’s very patient and kind with his fans. Other times, he’s on a bit of a short fuse. He’s never rude, of course. He can just get a little… testy. You hardly blame him, especially when the two of you will get stopped before going to dinner, grabbing groceries… It never ends. 

Not to mention, Hawkeye doesn’t have the same… committed fanbase… that some of the other Avengers have. As Clint has said before, he slips into the background. He’s more than content with that. He doesn’t transform into the green giant or wield a magical hammer. He just has a bow and arrow—and to him, that’s more than enough. 

For whatever reason, this seems to convince people that he’s more friendly than the others. He’s more human than most of them, and can get away with looking ordinary if he’s wearing the right clothes. Of course, you know the truth: Clint is an absolute dick. In the best way possible, of course. That’s why the two of you get along so well. 

But the public doesn’t know that. The public is keen to think that he’s this sunny guy with a perfect home life and absolutely nothing to complain about. Fans will ask him borderline stupid questions about himself, before quickly pivoting to questions about the other Avengers. It’s as if Clint isn’t even there, and you know it pisses him off. (It would piss you off, too, if you were him.) 

And you can always tell the quality of the question he’s asked by how he answers. If it’s a mildly stupid one about one of the Avengers, he’ll pretend to think about it before shrugging and going, “You’ll just have to ask them.” If it’s particularly stupid, he won’t even bother answering. Sometimes, Clint will just stand there and let the awkward silence remain until the fan gets a hint. And on the rare, rare occasion that it’s an intelligent question, he’ll take a few moments to think about it before answering. And Clint will be the one to offer a picture during those rare times. Otherwise, the fans stand no chance. 

If you’re being accosted by fans, Clint is a constant presence at your side. It’s reassuring to know he has your back. And he’s a quick study—he’ll immediately notice if you get uncomfortable or want to leave, at which point he’ll speed things up. If someone asks for your autograph, he’ll respond before you can, “We don’t have a pen.” When the fan offers one, Clint just takes it and snaps it in half before going, “Oops,” in the most flat voice possible. 

Vision doesn’t really understand what’s happening. The first time a fan approaches him, they just stand there for several moments. And he stares back at them quietly, before eventually turning to you and going, “Is this a human custom?” At which point the fan will introduce themself and say they’re a fan. And… Vision will usually laugh. 

“A fan?” he asks. “Of me? I’m merely a program, designed by Stark Industries.”

“You know what I mean,” the fan will assert, strangely insistent on his sentience. Vision will look at them for a moment in disbelief, before politely remarking that he does not know what they mean. Yes, the conversations between him and his fans are always very awkward. Despite Vision’s time with the Avengers, he hasn’t gotten a perfect grasp on humans yet. Besides, he was designed to grow. 

He’ll slowly but surely get used to these interactions. He doesn’t have much of a choice: people will almost always approach him, fan or not. The pink skin, combined with the Infinity Stone firmly embedded in his forehead, is enough to make people very curious. 

Vision is very sweet to the older adults who will often approach him in confusion, calmly stating that he’s an android and quelling their nerves or fears. Children will point at him and whisper in the way they tend to do; if they’re too scared to approach him, he’ll send them a wink. Otherwise, he’ll stare down at them and speak somewhat stiffly. He has very little experience speaking with children, after all. 

These moments are cute. Whenever the kids leave, Vision will turn to you and ask you about his observations. Why was the kid staring so much? (Because kids do that.) Why did the mother look so apprehensive? (Because we’re strangers interacting with her child.) Why did he think you vanished when you put your hands over your face? (Kids don’t develop object permanence until they get older.) It’s pretty much ethnography for him—an immersive experience that leaves him with equal questions and answers. 

Stephen isn’t used to getting recognized. It’s kind of impossible for him not to get recognized, you tell him one day as you walk along the sidewalk. The robes and amulet speak for themselves. People are quick to jump to one of two conclusions: 1) he’s Dr. Strange; or 2) he’s cosplaying a character from a movie or TV series. You’ve attempted to explain this to him numerous times, but you get the feeling he secretly likes the attention. 

Of course, he’ll die before showing even the slightest hint of tolerance. He’ll huff and complain from the moment a fan approaches, his typical sarcastic attitude shining through. He’ll cross his arms over his chest and, after being asked for a picture, just go, “Oh? I suppose you think you’ve earned one. And what have you done for me, exactly?” Sometimes, you have to step in and tell him to cool it. But most of the time, the fans aren’t dissuaded. After all, Stephen has a reputation for being a bit prickly. 

He’ll adamantly insist that he has far more important things to be doing than stopping on the sidewalk for every person with a smartphone. And you’ll just hum and watch as he doesn’t make any effort to walk faster or evade the fans, almost as if he truly doesn’t mind their presence. You’ll keep quiet about it because, contrary to popular belief, you don’t have a death wish. 

If you’re the hero getting recognized… well. Well. Expect for Stephen to ditch you. He’ll stand there for a few moments—maybe a minute or two at most—before letting out a theatrical sigh and promptly disappearing. He has a particularly bad habit of doing this right as a fan is asking him to take a photo of you two, leaving the fan with their hand extended as they talk to… the empty air. Usually you have to apologize for your companion and offer a selfie. 

You’re not sure Stephen has ever stuck around during these moments—he’s always portaling ahead to meet you at your intended destination. You’re fine with that 99.9% of the time, until the one interaction that just kind of… throws you.

You like to think you’re a pretty self-aware person: you know your boundaries. And your boundaries? Well, they’re being completely broken by this… this… fan, if you can call him that. He has a hand on your forearm and is talking about something too quickly for you to comprehend. You want nothing more than to just push him away, but you’re frozen. 

“What are you prattling on about?” Stephen says impatiently, stepping through a portal to appear right in front of you. “It’s been nearly five minutes.” Despite his annoyance, he’ll be quick to survey the scene and figure out exactly what’s wrong. His attention quickly turns to the guy at your side. “Take a step back for me, will you?” Stephen will say calmly, drawing his attention. 

The fan will begrudgingly step away from you, finally giving you time to breathe. “I believe you have more pressing matters to attend to, no?” Stephen says pointedly, creating a portal behind the fan. 

“Wait, what—?” the guy tries to say, only to get sucked into the portal. 

Boom. Gone. Like he was never even there. 

And you’ll huff, wanting to object to the teleportation. But your relief and gratitude overshadows any of the grey morality of the act you just witnessed. Instead, you’ll look over at him and say, “Thanks, Stephen.” It’s kind of hard to get the words out, and you’re still feeling jumpy and restless. And frustrated with yourself, and annoyed, and uncomfortable—

Stephen’s answering scoff draws you out of your thoughts. He’ll study you for a long moment before heading into the portal, clearly expecting you to follow. 

In the coming days, you’ll notice that Stephen is never very far away. You think you even catch him staring at you once, but he’s quick to berate you for even thinking that. 

Loki is always infuriatingly smug when fans approach him. And they approach him quite frequently. Despite the fact that he’s a villain who nearly wiped out the entirety of New York City, he still has fans. And that never fails to remind you that humanity is completely doomed. 

You hate being involved in these fan interactions, because you have to spend the entire time watching Loki and making sure he doesn’t hurt the fan. It’s very stressful, and you just know that Loki’s using the situation to his advantage. He’ll purposefully reach out to the fan with an unnecessary hand gesture, if only to make your heart jump in your chest. It pisses you off. Not to mention, he loves the sound of his own voice—so you’re often trapped there, waiting for the one-sided conversation to end. He’ll interpret your impatience as jealousy and make a whole show of it. But if you actually walk away, you’ll soon find yourself standing right back where you started. Ugh. 

If the roles are reversed, and you’re the one with fans… Loki is inwardly seething. Outwardly, he looks a bit pissed too—but only to the knowing eye. Most would think he’s just impatient, eager to get somewhere. And he usually is. But he’s a god, and gods don’t like being ignored. 

…They don’t call him the God of Mischief for nothing. Expect trickery. Whenever someone approaches you instead of him, Loki will do anything and everything to ensure the interaction is as messy as possible. Whether that’s creating an illusion of you that berates them—or professes undying love to them—he pulls out all the stops. 

You don’t think you’ve ever had a normal interaction with a fan while in Loki’s presence. And it’s abundantly clear you never will. 

And if this fan happens to have a healthy level of attraction towards you? …Odin help you. Loki will catch onto it like a bloodhound, immediately noticing and bringing it up in the cruelest way possible. He’ll spend the rest of the conversation just standing off to the side and clearing his throat whenever he hears something suspect. If you get annoyed, he’ll only grow more encouraged.

Loki is always balancing between flattery and utter contempt. It never fails to give you whiplash. He’ll let some flirty remarks go and then glare at you with nothing but hatred. He’ll scrutinize you at every turn, but then begrudgingly agree when a fan compliments you (not without one-upping them, of course). It’s maddening. 

T’Challa is never out of his depth. The King of Wakanda is always composed, always calm in the face of uncertainty. 

So seeing him look so perplexed and bewildered is very amusing. 

Of course, it’s nearly impossible to tell he’s feeling like that—his eyes are just ever so slightly wide, and his gaze is shifting out a bit as if he’s restless. There’s just something about this situation that is very humorous: the Black Panther, standing next to a Dora Milaje warrior and wondering why he’s getting recognized as he walks down a city street. 

“I believe you said I wouldn’t be recognized,” T’Challa says calmly, glancing sideways at you. 

“I never said that,” you blink. “In fact, I think I said you would definitely get recognized.” People are only just learning of Wakanda’s existence, after all. 

“Ah,” T’Challa just says reluctantly. Even if people don’t recognize him as the Black Panther, the quality of his clothing and the intimidating spear carried by the warrior behind him are enough to draw attention. 

If people try to get too close to T’Challa, the Dora Milaje warrior will swiftly put them in their place. And T’Challa will still be respectful, sending people slight courteous nods.

If you’re the one getting recognized… T’Challa is just as confused. He’ll watch the person approach you warily, ready to step in if necessary. Before they reach you, he’ll quietly ask you, “Is this an acquaintance of yours?”

“No,” you respond. “They, um,” you say awkwardly, feeling a bit flustered. It’s easy to feel kind of… well… stupid, when in T’Challa’s presence. A lot of things that people do outside Wakanda seem almost… foolish… when you explain them to him. This is no exception. “They ask for pictures, sometimes. It’s kind of silly, but it makes them happy.”

“It’s not… silly,” he says, his eyebrows furrowing as he repeats the word. You resist the urge to laugh at the discomfort on his face. T’Challa takes a slow breath. “I apologize for overreacting.” 

“Overreacting?” you ask incredulously. “Hardly. You’re totally fine,” you reassure him, honestly touched that he’s even apologizing at all. He didn’t even do anything wrong! He was just questioning the intent of a stranger approaching you both—an entirely rational thing to do. 

“Good,” he says with a slight smile. 

“I’ll make it quick,” you promise him quietly. 

“Please,” T’Challa says with a shake of his head, “don’t rush on my behalf. I’ll be here waiting regardless.” 

You can’t help but smile at that. 

Scott is a complete sweetheart, and his kindness extends to his fans. He’s always very sweet and understanding. If a fan gets nervous, he’ll help calm them down. If someone says they don’t like him (which is bound to happen with all of the Avengers; people think their presence somehow allows them to express their unfiltered opinions), he shrugs it off and goes about his day. 

Truthfully, Scott will be excited when someone recognizes him. It doesn’t happen as frequently as it does with the other Avengers and he sometimes feels as if he’s being overshadowed by them. But all it takes is one quick fan interaction, and he’s quickly remembering how wonderful his fans are. 

Scott is the type to have full on discussions with fans lasting tens of minutes, to the point where you’ll grow tired of standing and have to practically drag him away. Even then, he’ll be waving goodbye to the fan and calling back to the conversation they just had. 

He pretty much always says yes to pictures, regardless of what kind of mood he’s in. You’ve told him he has the right to deny them whenever he wants, but he never takes you seriously. Scott is very selfless in that regard—he’ll bleed himself dry, exert all of his social battery… all to make a fan feel special and appreciated. This is a nice gesture, but it often means you have to take over for him after that. The second the two of you walk away from the fan, he’ll be quieter and almost withdrawn. Despite the front he puts on, these conversations can take a lot out of him. After all, there’s no telling just what a fan will say to him: sometimes, you’ve overheard them say really personal things to him, as if he’s a therapist instead of a public figure. You suspect those moments happen a lot, which can be draining for him. Still, Scott loves his fans and he has a reputation for being a really great guy. 

Unfortunately, you don’t often have the same kind of energy that Scott does when it comes to fan interactions. You’ll try to be casual about it, attempting to put a smile on your face. And Scott will just sense how you’re feeling. You’re not sure how he does it: you don’t think you’re a super open book, so he must just be good at reading you. And Scott will guide the conversation when he can tell you’re feeling off—can expertly quicken the interaction until the fan is walking away happily while you’re staring at him in amazed disbelief. 

He’s definitely the extroverted one out of the two of you. And Scott knows you don’t really love meeting fans, if only because it makes you feel strangely responsible for meeting their expectations. But he’s quick to distract you after these interactions happen, dragging you off to a new restaurant or asking you for your input on a present he wants to get for Cassie. You’ll soon be too busy debating between pastel purple and sage green to remember your distress.

©2025, @defectivevillain | @defectivehero, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

I won't be continuing this fic.

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[livingdeadmlm]

Hi! I just wanted to ask if you write for MCU? I would bark for Bruce Banner

I can do that, I will say I was more of an X men and DC (I don’t think spiderman/venom counts everyone likes spiderman) kid rather then the actual avengers so I tried do to plenty of research 😭

Oral fixation with Bruce Banner 8/31

Pronouns: None but it is implied reader is a man

Physical Sex: AMAB

How far are things going?: they touching each other and oral is implied

Warnings: I don't know Avengers settings or the story, bruce makes moves on the reader while bruce is passed out but reader is into it. Office sex, Bruce gets stupid

Outline: Bruce and Reader have been friends for so many years and, reader is confronting him on their odd relationship and they get freaky

What inspired me to write how I did: this fic on ao3 and this is me revealing i like House MD

Other: Nothing other than my requests are open!!

Every nerd has an oral fixation. Observe them closely as they labor over their projects, pens caught between their teeth, fingers absentmindedly brushing against their lips as they passionately articulate their ideas to their colleagues. Lips that were almost chewed raw to keep their mouth busy. And there was no better nerdy guy than your co-worker. 

Bruce Banner was a graduate of Harvard and Penn State. He was a super genius, humble, and almost shy about the extent of his work. When he asked you for a pen, he stared at you apologetically, avoiding your gaze as he chewed on his bottom lip.

"What kind of man would I be if I didn't lend you a pen?" you smiled slyly. "You're the reason I can afford these fancy ones." You winked, watching as a flush spread across Bruce’s face. He stammered as he reached out for the pen.

“Oh, come on, Dr. (name). You're good at what you do; you could have gotten here without me!” you chuckled, grabbing a new pen from your desk.

You would never tell Bruce, but since he had helped you land your job years ago at Stark Industries, you noticed he always found an excuse to visit your office. You didn’t mind; he was a long-time college friend from Penn State, and you had spent countless all-nighters working side by side despite having very different majors.

Whenever he needed a pen, he would ask his dear old roommate for one, unconsciously biting the end each time and returning it with a sheepish smile.

And just like those years before, he returned to your office again, asking for another pen.

“If I didn't know better, Dr. Banner,” you said playfully as you shut the drawer of your desk and pulled a new pen from a pack you had bought at the beginning of the week, “I think you just like putting things that are mine in your mouth." You maintained your average volume, but that seemed to horrify Bruce.

He had been standing halfway into your office, but when those words left your mouth, he abruptly shut the door behind him with force.

“I thought we were going to let go of that one time in college, Dr.- " " Five times, Dr. Banner.” Bruce huffed as he held the back of the chair, which was placed across from your desk for one-on-one meetings. 

In college, you would share a room in your one-bedroom apartment. It was cheap and close to campus. It was more affordable, and you weren’t known for bringing people home exactly, so sharing the room was easiest. 

One night, during a long and strenuous study session for winter exams, the plug-in heater that kept your apartment warm finally kicked the bucket as the two of you were tucking yourself into bed. You distinctly recall when you approached Bruce, your heart racing with nerves and excitement, asking him if he would share your bed for the night. The memory of his immediate, enthusiastic agreement still lingers in your mind as if it happened just moments ago.

“You don’t think this is, like, gay, do you?” The question slipped out playfully, accompanied by a light laugh that broke the tension in the air. “Well (name), it's only gay if you have sex with me.” As Bruce settled beside you, he dragged his thick, cozy blanket across the bed, the fabric brushing against your skin as he tucked it close to his chest. 

And just like that, you drifted off to sleep—Bruce on his side and you on your back, both enveloped in the quiet of the night. As the hours passed, your soft snores filled the air. Usually adept at navigating sleepless nights, Bruce lost himself in a different slumber this time. In the depths of his dreams, he rolled towards you, his hand gently resting on your chest, whispering your name with a warmth that lingered in the stillness of the night.

The room was only slightly lit up from the window in the middle, which offered just enough light for you to see Bruce was still out cold. He inched closer and closer before his face was right up against yours. As his lips hovered near yours, a rush of excitement coursed through you, igniting a warmth in your chest. You closed the distance, surrendering to the tenderness of the moment. Your eyes shut softly, taking in Bruce's lips' softness against yours. You leaned in, deepening the kiss with a low groan as Bruce's hand rested on your chest, gently running up and down. 

Your eyes finally shot open as his hand groped at your chest. You groaned as his hand became firmer in its grasp. His lips moved, planting wet kisses from your chin to your neck. His mouth finally settled against your neck, and that's when it started. Bruce groaned as his mouth finally latched onto your neck, softly sucking the skin. The soft glow of the moon illuminated his face briefly, allowing you to notice that the bastard was fast asleep as his hand and mouth continued to roam your body. 

Your legs felt fuzzy, and your stomach felt full of butterflies. Your hand traveled to the back of his head, gently pushing it forward. His loose curls tickled your jawline as his mouth kept on. You had finally fallen back to sleep at some point, knowing you would have a few dark marks as you woke up. And once you had woken up, Bruce was in shamble, seeing the scattered dark marks across your neck as you held a smug look.

Bruce was met with the same smug look now, and after the four other times, he had latched onto you while the two of you slept. 

“When are we going to do this, Dr. Banner? We aren’t getting any younger, and I’d hate for when we finally get our hands on each other to be when I have to start taking the little blue pill as preparation.” Bruce took the pen from your hand, holding your hand for a second, his face still flushed. 

His feet shuffled against the floor as he maintained eye contact with you. He still felt young and in college when he spent time with you. He was shy at seeing you around the shared apartment, unable to contain his smile as you two celebrated milestones together. “Well, what do you have in mind?"

He sat on your lap in seconds, whining as your ring and pointer finger pressed against his tongue, softly rubbing it. A small amount of drool pooled in Bruce's mouth, and his head was fuzzy. Bruce always kept his mouth busy while he worked to maintain focus, but now, your warm fingers and his tongue wrapped around them he could not think of a single thing.

Your hand pressing against his hard-on only made him all the more empty-minded. Bruce's glasses hung low on his face as his head turned. Initially, shame was the primary expression that painted his face, but any sense of shame went away as you kept his mouth busy and whispered to him. Your shadows dance across your office at your movements.

“You’ve always loved having stuff in your mouth, don’t you?”

Bruce moaned as your hand gave a slight squeeze to his dick, being restricted by his slacks.

“I bet this is all you could think about in college huh?”

Bruce keened as a third finger entered his mouth, your free hand traveling up his torso, rubbing up and down slowly. Your mouth peppered and kissed down his neck, nipping now and then.

“But I bet you wish it were my cock instead, right Dr. Banner?” Bruce wailed, his dick pressed against the stiff edge of your desk as you fully bit down onto the side of his neck.

The skin under your teeth held a slight green hue as Bruce fell onto his chest against your desk. Falling forward with him, you pressed kisses against his head. Hands wandering to his hips as you pushed yourself against his ass.

“Let's get you a mouthful, Bruce. Any more noise, and someone might come and check in on us.”

[angel-2408]

His light

Yandere Bruce banner x male reader

Bruce was looking out at the city from the tower. He was thinking about how irritating it was that people who act like sane , normal people are the one's that loves to criticized everything.

Bruce knew not all people do that but some those that were annoying as hell still does. He heard a soft and gentle call from behind.

"Bruce? What are you doing", Bruce turn away from the window showcasing the city and look behind him where you , his adorable, kind and gentle boyfriend lay on the bed looking at him sleepily.

Bruce smile walking towards his lover "Nothing love i was just thinking".

You tittled your head at him and snuggle up to him when he climb on the bed " Like what Bruce?".

Bruce smile kissing your forehead "Don't worry that little head of yours it's nothing important".

You pout laying down on his chest and start humming slowly, Bruce smile knowing you were trying to lulled him to sleep.

Bruce has told you about his nightmare and how he can't sleep and you were always trying to help him with tea,lullaby, songs and even honey milk.

Bruce loves you very much his sweet adorable boyfriend who's gentle and kind, it's just that he don't like the people around you, who's always trying to take advantage of you.

You were the only light in his endless darkness, an only star that shines so beautiful in his galaxy Bruce was lucky that you even felt the same as him, reciprocate his feeling.

He doesn't understand how can someone love Or even tolerate a monster like him but here you are, you not only love him genuinely but also accept his alter ego wholeheartedly.

There's one thing that Bruce or even hulk can't tolerate that it's you getting hurt or crying.

Everything that Bruce does always revolves around you from the moment he meet you.

When you first meet Bruce you had came up to him introducing yourself and had ask 'why he was angry' surprising Bruce.

You had look at him with interest and said "𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘖𝘩 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨".

Surprisingly when you both were introducing each other, shaking hands at that brief moment when he held your soft hand which was small and slender compared to his big and rough one, He felt calm.

An emotion confusing to Bruce during that short period of skin contact,he felt calm. Which has become a scared to Bruce since the moment he had become hulk.

Bruce wanted to know more about you so he ask Romanoff , the red head Russian. She simply shrug saying that she herself didn't know much about you and that you were someone who is with director Fury although the red head Russian seem casual he can also see for brief moment of curiousity on herself as to who you exactly where.

After the fight in the new York against loki and the chitauri , You were the one who had actually approach hulk calming him down and turning him back to Bruce.

Everyone was baffled and had tried to stop you when you approach the angry hulk but you didn't listen and help him transform from hulk to Bruce instead.

He had thanked you and had later ask why aren't you afraid of the hulk to which you simply smile charmingly and said "𝘏𝘶𝘭𝘬 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘭𝘬 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘭𝘬 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘺 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯".

It was understandable that Bruce was shock to say the least he had never expected hulk to tolerate much less like someone.

But Bruce can't help but smile seeing your gentle and carefree nature.

Bruce looks at you humming softly in his chest trying to lulled him to sleep he close his eyes smiling to himself hugging you Protectively in his arm.

You were one of the best thing that has ever happened to Bruce in his whole entire life.

[First time writing a fanfic (*´꒳`*)

Tell me if you like this if you do I may upload more (⁠人⁠⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)]

[reveryfics]

Insomnia

Pairings: Bruce Banner x Male reader

Summary: You keep having night terrors, scared Bruce will leave once you wake up which results in episodes of insomnia.

A/n: I wont lie i got drunk half way through writing this, so its incredibly short. Slightly based on my horrid insomnia as of late, and because Bruce needs some love. Basically angst with fluff.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The clock on the wall ticked relentlessly, its hands sweeping across the darkened room. A dim glow emanated from the television screen, casting eerie shadows on the walls. A male sat motionless on the couch, a half-empty mug of coffee clutched in his hands. His eyes, heavy-lidded and bloodshot, were fixed on the flickering screen, yet his mind was far away.

Recent nights had been plagued by nightmares, vivid and terrifying, that had left him shaken and sleepless. Tonight was no different. The images from his dreams still lingered, haunting his thoughts. He longed for the comfort of Bruce's presence, his warm embrace, and the soothing cadence of his voice. Yet he somehow felt it wouldn't make a difference.

He glanced at the clock again, his heart pounding in his chest. It was late, much later than Bruce had said he would be home. A wave of worry washed over him. Had Bruce actually left like he feared?

He stood up and paced nervously around the room, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. He tried to calm himself, to reason with his anxious thoughts. But it was difficult. The longer Bruce was gone, the more his fears grew.

The sharp click of the door lock echoed through the quiet apartment, startling the male from his reverie. A tired smile crept across his lips as he turned to see his fiancé standing in the doorway. Bruce, looking a bit surprised, returned the smile.

"Trouble sleeping?" Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow.

His fiancé sighed and sank into the couch. "Is it that obvious?"

Bruce set his belongings aside, kicking off his shoes and shrugging out of his coat. He wasn’t oblivious to his fiancé’s unease, nor to the late hour. Bruce knew all too well how past traumas could resurface in unexpected ways.

Excusing himself, he quickly changed into something comfortable, shedding the scent of the lab. Returning to the couch, he found his partner waiting.

“Want to talk about it?” Bruce asked gently.

The younger man leaned into Bruce’s embrace, finding solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “It’s the same old worries,” he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. “The ones that have haunted me since we first met.”

Bruce gathered his fiancé into his arms, his touch gentle and reassuring. As he stroked his lover's back, his voice was soft and comforting. "I'll always be here for you," he promised. "The thought of leaving you never crosses my mind."

“You shouldn't have to keep telling me just for my brain to believe it for only a while.” He sighed.

Bruce's heart swelled with each repetition. If his fiancé could feel the depth of his love, then any number of "I love you's" was worth it. "I'll never grow weary of saying it," he hummed contentedly.

They lingered in the quiet moment, their bodies entwined. As time slipped away, they surrendered to the comforting silence and warmth, drifting off to sleep on the couch.

[pascalsummers]

Can you do marvel men with a male reader that hide a pretty serious injury because he don't want them to be worried ? How will they find out and what will be their reaction ?

A/N: Enjoy!

-

You Hide a Serious Injury (Avengers x Male Reader)

BUCKY

From his training in HYDRA Bucky would pretty easily notice something off about you. He would wait until the two of you are alone to mention anything to you. Bucky would easily notice how serious it is and would take you to the nearest hospital. Once you get treated he would ask you why you would keep something like this away from him. When you tell him your reasoning he would somewhat understand but would tell you he would prefer if you just tell him when it happens.

STEVE

Steve would notice your weird demeanor and ask if everything was all right. If you said you were okay he would be hesitant but would trust your judgement. Though after still seeing you in pain, he would ask you to just tell him what's wrong so he can help you in some way. After he learns about the injury he would immediately take you somewhere to get it healed. When you tell him why you kept it secret Steve would tell you that he always worries about people he cares about so next time don't be afraid to tell him.

THOR

This man show's his love for you in very physical ways so Thor would instantly notice your wince of pain when he hugs you. He would think that he hugged you too tight and apologize but you would assure him that it's not his fault. You would eventually reveal your injury to assuage Thor's worries about hurting you and Thor would take you to Bruce or a hospital to treat you. Thor would understand your hesitance to tell him but would gently tell you that taking care of yourself is more important than Thor's possible worry.

TONY

Tony wouldn't notice right away since he tends to be hyper-focused on his work and forgets to pay attention to other things. Though when Tony has some free time he would go to hang out with you and would notice your weird behavior. Tony would question your behavior and though you would try to brush it off Tony would easily see through your lie. After you get treated and explain to Tony why you didn't say anything he would jokingly tell you to leave the ignoring of one's well-being to him.

LOKI

Loki is pretty good at reading people so it wouldn't take him long to notice that something is off about you. He would confront you directly about and the two of you would go back and forth for a little bit before you eventually give in and show Loki your injury. Loki would then take you to Bruce to get healed while slightly scolding you for not seeking help sooner. After you are treated Loki would tell you in a nicer tone that you need to look after yourself regardless of Loki's possible reaction to it.

BRUCE

While the two of you are hanging out Bruce would notice the pain you are in and would ask you if everything is okay. When you show Bruce the injury he would quickly take you to the medical bay to treat it. When you try to explain your reasoning Bruce would kindly tell you that the both of you will talk about it after he treats you since he needs to focus. Once you explain yourself Bruce would tell you that while he can understand your thought process you still need to treat injuries as soon as possible so they don't get worse.