#MCU Marvel

[purplehalnw]

So, I finally watched Deadpool and Wolverine.

Of course, I knew the moment this movie was announced that there would be shipping and I was fully prepared to join in. And yep I definitely ship Wade and Logan. Near the end of the movie when they were sitting on the bench? I was completely feeling it, I was practically begging for them to kiss or something even though I knew it wouldn't happen.

And you know I'm glad they left it a little ambiguous as to whether Wade and Vanessa would get back together. Again I know him and Wolvie are never going to happen, but hey at least that ending is making it easier for me to pretend.

Also, I know one problem with the Deadpool movies in general that I've seen other people mention is that Deadpool's sexuality is mostly treated as a joke. Like we'll get several scenes of him flirting with men (and I'm pretty sure it's only men if not mostly men) that we're clearly supposed to laugh at but the only time we'll show him in a serious relationship is with a woman.

But I will say that at least it's clear that Wade is actually attracted to men. Like he's not flirting with men just because he likes to mess with people and he thinks it's funny (even though that is part of it), he genuinely thinks these guys are hot. Like Wade in that scene when Wolverine's shirt gets burned off? The man is down bad.

Does it still kind of suck that we're supposed to laugh at Wade being attracted to and willing to have sex with men? Yeah, and I do want them to give Wade a boyfriend (or hell maybe even just bring in an ex boyfriend) but hey this is the MCU, this is fucking Disney, there's no way in hell they'll do that. So, honestly? I'll just take what I can get.

[levans44]

what’s it gonna take to break your heart?

pairing: steve rogers x agent!reader

summary:

He vows to keep his distance, tells himself it's wrong—you're too new, too young, too good—and he's your commanding officer.

But whichever way he bends the truth, he just can't seem to keep you away.

warnings: angst, slow build, inside the tortured mind™ of steven grant rogers, mention of age difference, light mention of blood/injury

word count: 1k

a/n: thought i'd write something from steve's pov, for a change. pt. 1 of my mini series: what's it gonna take? all parts can be read as stand-alone pieces. title by FINNEAS

One of these days, you’re gonna be what does him in.

You’re a wildfire, a blaze barely contained. Too young, too bright, too intense for someone like him. Next to you, he's just a smoldering ember, tempered by decades of ash.

Fresh-faced, barely in your mid-20s, yet hand-selected by Fury from the newest round of Avengers recruits. It didn't take long for the rest of the group to catch onto your talent and grit—started calling you their wildcard, the Ace.

Still, there’s no denying your age. Leagues younger than everyone else, with a certain vibrance in your eyes that sets you apart. 

Too young to devote the rest of your life to this kind of work.

And far too young for him to be feeling the way he does about you.

So he does everything he can to keep you at arm’s length, swallowing down every sidelong glance, every quick-witted comment and smile that eats away at his resolve.

But then you actualize the worst of his fears during a routine operation, throwing yourself head-first into a burning building, just moments away from collapsing.  

You, with a life teeming with potential, nearly taken in a heartbeat.

And Steve snaps. 

The Quinjet is barely off the ground when he strides through the haze of desert debris, making a beeline for you. Doesn’t spare you a second to catch your breath, dragging you by the arm to the rear of the cargo deck, raised eyebrows from the rest of the crew be damned.

By the time he releases his ironclad grip, cornering you against a stack of weapon crates, he’s scanned you for injuries at least three times over.

“What are you doing?” He hisses, chest heaving like he’s the one who’s just sprinted across a collapsing rooftop and leapt onto an airborne vehicle.

“What do you mean?” 

You cock your head earnestly, arms crossed as you stare up at him.

And he swears, he could end it all right then and there. 

Face covered in soot, blood trickling from the corner of your mouth—and you have the audacity to smile. The sharp corners of your lips pierce into smooth, rounded cheeks, still flushed red with exertion. As stunning as the day he first saw you, even with all the grime, sweat, and blood staining your skin.

Steve’s jaw clenches, concealing the tightness in his stomach with a gruff sigh. 

“You know exactly what. I ordered you not to engage.”

Not a flicker of hesitation when you fire back: 

“She had kids. I didn’t have a choice.” 

Directives and protocols gone by the wayside, earpiece tossed behind your shoulder as you head straight for a family trapped on the top floor—his orders to wait for the Quinjet buried in the dust. 

And he shouldn’t have expected anything less. 

He breathes through his nostrils, eyes fluttering shut, but all he can hear is the blood roaring in his ears.

But you did have a choice, he wants to argue. You don’t have to bear it all on your own. 

Why must you always be the one to rush to the frontlines?

But the words that come out are cold and detached, bypassing the part of his brain that wants to reach out and gently wipe the soot off your cheek: 

“That’s not the point. If the building had collapsed, you would have only added to the casualty count.”

“Maybe. But the Quinjet wasn’t gonna get there in time. I had to take the risk.”

A quiet sigh, gloved fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Agent, we don’t gamble with lives like that.”

Your sharp laugh cuts through the air, piercing his ears. Too sharp against the soft outline of your jaw, the smooth contours of your neck. You shoot him a look, the clarity in your irises reflecting his hypocrisy. 

“Funny coming from you, isn’t it Cap?”

There it was, that derision in your tone, a sneer on your pretty lips as you spit out his title like a a dirty word.

And damn him for wanting to taste it off your tongue, hear you gasp it into his neck as he presses you against the cold, steel-plated wall behind you. 

Leather gloves creak under his grip as he balls his fists, eyes darting to the wound on your upper arm when he can't formulate a quick enough response. A large glass shrapnel from the window you’d crashed through—a steady trail of dark crimson trickling down your forearm all the way to your dirt-laden fingertips, where it hits the floor in slow drips. 

“Just… go get that patched up.” 

Lips curling over bright teeth, you salute him with your injured arm without so much as blinking, a line of blood running back down your wrist. 

“Yessir.”

For the entire 7-hour ride from Lagos to base camp, he stays glued to a seat in the back of the Quinjet, head bowed over a tablet as he busies himself with sorting through gathered intel.  Desperately ignores your animated banter with Natasha and Sam from the other side of the cabin, where you drown out the steady drone of the engine with your bright laughter. 

When a sudden shriek sounds from your direction, he spares a quick glance, finding you with your arms over your head, laughing and swatting the air as Redwing circles teasingly above you. Nearly snaps his tablet in half the moment you suddenly bend over, the stretch of your tactical suit clinging to your hips as you reach for the drone control panel on Sam’s wrist.

As soon as the wheels screech down on the tarmac, Steve gets to unloading the jet, hauling crate after crate of equipment just to avoid meeting your gaze. 

Hours later, when the paperwork’s taken care of and everyone’s retreated to their quarters, he drags himself to the training room on base.

Throws his fists against a punching bag, each strike a desperate attempt to sweat out the impure thoughts. Praying he can free himself of the images in his head—images of you—he doesn’t let up until the first rays of sunlight hit the gym. The skin over his knuckles start to split after a while, but he doesn’t bother wrapping them. They’ll heal soon enough.  

And when neither the 4-hour gym session nor the scalding hot shower afterward washes you away from his thoughts, burning brightly as ever in the back of his mind, he sinks into bed, fuming. 

You’re too new, too young.

It’s a breach of protocol, he’s technically your commanding officer. 

You don't think of him in that way. 

Yet, whichever way he bends it, there’s no escaping the truth. 

It’s a sharp, exquisite kind of ache, one that wraps around his chest, tightening with every breath, until it’s the only thing he can feel.

And damn it, it’s a torture sweeter than anything he's ever known.

[meep-meep-richie]

They are the best thing that have happened to the mcu lately and only got 12 episodes…

[soliloquent-stark]

🦫 sit down beside me and stay awhile by soliloquent

7,3k words // pairing: tony stark & steve rogers

—⎊—

“You’re the only person who knows I don’t wanna play football anymore.”

Tony is silent for a few seconds before replying.

“You’re the only person who knows I don’t wanna be a Stark anymore.”

or: MIT Engineers football captain Steve Rogers and Stark Industries heir Tony Stark share a late-night heart-to-heart under the guise of studying, their conversation leading to many earnest admissions.

written for @laidraws as part of the @capim-tinybang event // manip by @avengerwindgirl

[squilfmybeloved]

during the battle in germany, at the airport, peter runs into captain america. oh my god, it's captain america is all that's going through his head right now.

and then peter starts thinking about the psa videos.

while they're fighting, all he can think about are those god damn psa videos. peter knows he's getting distracted- maybe that's why he suddenly finds himself holding up a landing ramp, and captain america is about to throw a crate at him, and tony is about to tackle cap, and-

and all that comes out of peter's stupid mouth is, "so. you've got detention."

everything just. stops. steve freezes and unceremoniously drops the crate, the thud the only source of noise. his face looks like a cherry tomato. tony says, "what the fuck, roos? where did that, out of all things, come from?"

peter, traitor that he is, points at steve and hoarsely whispers, "his school psas."

nat's wheezing laughs are all that is heard over the comms.

next thing peter knows, the shield is coming at him, he's pathetically flying through the air, hitting the ground, and out like a light.

when the rogues come back to the compound, peter and steve can't look at eachother for a week.

[mischivarien]

Lady loki and miss mobius💚🧡(06/29/2024)

[incorrectmarvelquotesss]

Y/N: You okay?

Peter: Yeah, why?

Y/N: I mean I just watched you slip down a couple of stairs, lay on the floor for a minute, and then start singing the baby shark song.

[thatssofarahh]

Carol Danvers <3

[wandanatsbaby]

there's this kid around peter she who's new to the team. peter plays a prank to get her to loosen up to the team and possibly make another friend so peter somehow gets her to leave her room and locks her ina. dark closet as a prank but he doesn't know that she's scared of the dark bc of hydra nat and tony find her later and get on peters ass. he tries to apologize but she doesn't wanna hear that shit now any chance he had of being her friend went out the window along with any chance of her finally bonding with the team and peter is tryna fix that. rest is up to you

Prank

Pairing: Avengers x reader, Peter Parker x reader (platonic)

Warning: Angst, hurt, Peter being sweet at the end

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You hummed quietly as you sat on your bed cautiously examining the piece of clothing Natasha had gifted you. A knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts. With hesitant steps you make your way to the door and crack it open to reveal Peter Parker. You remember him from the meeting you were required to go to as a way to meet the others. He was about your age and seemed friendly enough.

He gives you a smile and a wave before he begins talking. “Hello! I'm Peter. It's y/n right?” you give him a nod and shuffle on your feet waiting for him to leave. “The others wanted me to let you know that we have a meeting in 5 minutes.” With that he walks away.

Closing the door you sigh and lean against it. Walking over to your closet you pick out some clothes and get dressed and quickly brush your hair before heading out of your room and down the hall.

As you're walking you hear a noise coming from a closet. Looking around you open the door and frown when you see nothing. Before you could walk away you are quickly shoved into it and the door locks.

“Hello? Hello! Let me out!” you scream as tears run down your face. Visions of Hydra quickly enter your mind and you fall to the floor screaming and crying. “Let me out! I'll be good, I promise! Let me out!” The compound begins to shake and Peter begins to get worried.

Footsteps are heard followed by a loud voice “Peter what's going on?” Mr. Stark says. The door opens revealing Natasha, Tony, and Peter on the other side. All three look at your shaking body worriedly. Natasha is the first to move. She slowly makes her way to you and reaches out but you flinch back. She gasps as not even a moment later you run past her down the hall and to your room. The door slams shut and the shaking dies down slowly.

“What were you thinking Parker!” Natasha shouts at the boy as she stares daggers at him.

“I was just- I thought that. It was just a prank! I thought it would loosen her up! I thought that maybe she would open up and want to be friends!” He says as tears come to his eyes.

“So you lock the poor girl in a closet!” Natasha shakes her head and looks to your room debating whether or not to go check on you. WIth a sigh she looks back at Peter. “You better fix this.” Walking away she walks towards the elevator.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter says but Tony just shakes his head and follows after Natasha.

A week after the incident, Peter stands outside your door with some chocolate and an apology that he had practiced for hours to make sure it sounded okay. With a deep breath he knocks on your door.

Opening the door and spotting Peter you immediately go to close it but he quickly holds it open. “Wait! Please just let me explain.” He begs. You stand stiffly and cross your arms as you wait for him to speak. “What happened that day I didn’t know that you would react like that. If I did I wouldn’t have done it. I just was going to prank you so that-”

“A prank? I do not know what a prank is but I don't need an explanation. Just stay away from me. Tell everyone else that too, would you. I don’t need anymore of these “pranks” happening. I just want to be alone.” You slam the door in his face and he looks down dejected as he watches the chocolates fall to the ground.

“Peter Parker!” Yelena shouts as she walks into the room with Natasha and Wanda hot on her trail. “Fix whatever you’ve done to y/n! I was so close to bonding with her! We were gonna go vest shopping! I was going to make her see the joy in pockets!” She shouts as she points at the boy.

“I-I tried. She won’t accept my apology.” He defends himself and backs up as Yelena glares at him. Yelena would always scare him more than anything in the world.

“Peter Parker if you dont-”

“Yelena thats enough” Natasha calls to her sister. The younger girl huffs and crosses her arms.

Peter stood in your room proud of his work as he looked around at all the glow in the dark stars on your ceiling and the fake flowers, vines, and butterflies that were scattered on your walls. Until now your room had been the exact same since before you started sleeping in it.

As you walked into the room your body seemed to be on Alert. Looking up you gasped at all the things in your room as tears filled your eyes. You continued to look around until you spotted a figure standing in the middle.

“Peter?” You asked softly “What. Did you do this?”

“I did. I asked Natasha if she knew of anything you liked. She said you seemed very happy watching the stars and butterflies so I ask Mr. Stark for some help.” With a choked sob you ran into his arms giving him a hug. He was taken back but quickly reciprocated.

“Thank you!”

“Anything for you.” He whispered.

After that you had begun warming up to the team. You allowed Yelena to take you vest shopping and you both came back with bags and bags of vests each with different amounts of pockets. Clint and Kate showed you how to shoot a bow and arrow. Natasha helped train you with hand to hand combat while Wanda helped you control your powers. Bruce and Tony showed you around the lab and let you help build new suits and technology. Peter helped you learn what a prank was although you were still very confused but eventually both of you ran around the compound pulling pranks on everyone in sight. You finally had a home and you loved it.

[veyveyx]

THAT GIRL

peter parker― that girl, emei. starks daughter.

you woke up right before your alarm went off. going on your daily early morning walk.

it was seventy degrees with a light breeze.

you walked into school with your coffee, black. you had left your phone at home but were happy reading poetry on the coast.

finding inner peace between working with your dad and watching over peter parker, spiderman.

you were trying to be that girl, with the perfect hair and who didn't care. and somehow, everything went right for that girl. you wanted to be that girl.

you were running late to liz's party when you left a dent in your car. you tried to call him but your phone wasn't charged.

now you were just that girl that tried way too damn hard.

you maxed out your credit card. trying to play dress up so you could look the part.

you were just that girl that tried way too damn hard.

oh, your phone just died.

you woke up and it was already two pm.

shit you had missed your alarm again.

mascara stains on your pillow case, yesterday's styrofoam as your coffee cup.

peter was texting you, "are you up?"

yeah, you've been in meetings for your dad for hours and hours. worked out with natasha and steve, took a shower.

you were that girl, with the perfect hair. that girl who didn't really care.

and somehow, everything went right for that girl. that girl, you wanted to be that girl.

you were running late, left a dent in your car.

you'd call peter but your phone wasn't charged. now you were just that girl that tried way too damn hard.

you maxed out all your credit cards, buying clothes to dress up and play the part but now all you were was that girl who tried way too damn hard.

you were like that girl, with the perfect hair. that girl, who didn't really care.

and somehow, everything went right for that girl. that girl, he liked you because you were pretending to be that girl.

[liyawritesss]

ᖴᒪOᗯEᖇᔕ Iᑎ ᗷᒪOOᗰ - ᐯᗩᒪEᑎTIᑎEᔕ ᗪᖇᗩᗷᗷᒪEᔕ

Ｄａｙ ８ － Ｃｈｏｓｅｎ Ｓｏｕｌｍａｔｅｓ

－ Someone's Someone - Valkyrie/Brunnhilde - Marvel's Thor

－ In which you and Valkyrie share a heart to heart on top of a cliff on the coastline of New Asgard.

－ Check out more prompts and other activities on the Flowers In Bloom Event Masterlist!

“I never thought I’d find another.”

Those weren’t the words that you expected for her to say to you as you ascended up the overpass that looked out towards the sea. It causes you to pause in the moment, a whisper of confusion leaving your lips. “What?”

Brunnhilde pauses as well, though she takes her time to turn, her attention ultimately landing on the view of the ocean. The waters are calm but the sound of their waves crashing onto the shores are still there, a sort of lullaby from the ocean to the residents of New Asgard. The two of you have visited this cliff many times before, have felt its breeze and listened to its song, and have fallen asleep together atop the grassy peak. You’ve spent countless nights here, laughing, crying, reminiscing. For her to ask you to accompany her on a trip to the cliff wasn’t out of the ordinary, but the King’s demeanor has a notable shift that you, her second in command, can pick up in a heartbeat.

This however, was something different entirely.

“Before,” she starts, thin black braids that frame her face blowing in the wind, “I had someone. Someone who made life worth living. Someone I could call my own.”

“Your lover,” it slips out unintentionally, but before you can stop yourself, the words continue on, “she saved you in the fight with Hela. You’ve told me about her.”

“Yes,” Brunnhilde replies, “she saved me,” the way she says it makes you wonder if you spoke out of turn. It had always been a sensitive topic for the King, as you knew the importance of what her role as a Valkyrie and her warrior sisters meant to her, especially as it pertained to the woman who first held her heart. Her head turns to you first before her body follows, her feet carrying her to meet you where you originally paused in your tracks, and she says “though, it can be argued that you have done the same?”

Your eyebrows furrowed together tightly, “I’m not sure I follow, Val…”

The King takes your hands into hers, they’re warm and soft and make your heart speed up slightly. 

“We have been through so much together,” Brunnhilde begins again, “I wouldn’t have been able to build up our new home without you. In fact, I think I should credit much of who I am today to your mere presence-”

“Hold on there, Hildy,” you interject a small chuckle leaving your lips, “it sounds like you’re going to say you love me or something.”

Maybe this time you did speak out of turn, because when Brunnhilde falls silent once again with a look mixed with shock and despondency, the realization of the situation dawns on you. 

She was going to say that.

“Wait, are you serious-?”

“-I didn’t think I could.” Her hands leave yours abruptly, leaving the cold to nip at your fingers. “Not after her, but you…” There's a look in her eyes that sends an unfamiliar feeling throughout your body - a chill different from the one currently surrounding you, and a fluttering in your stomach unlike any other. “When I was at my lowest, you were there. When things were too much, you took the reins from me and took lead. And as I watched you from the sideline, I remember thinking ‘there is no one else I'd rather have at my side; there is no one else I could entrust these things to’.”

Brunnhilde grows closer, and you welcome her into your space, heart rate speeding up, “There is no one else I trust my life with. And, if you would have it - assuming this hasn't been made awkward enough…” The burnt honey toned woman bites her lip in anticipation, “...I would like��to trust you with my heart.”

A moment passed, which seems like hours, but just as she believes she’s overstepped, overshared too much and destroyed the partnership that had been so carefully crafted, Brunnhilde’s lips had been taken ahold of. She closes her eyes, relishing in your touch, and for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, she allows love to consume her body.

If you enjoyed, please leave a like, comment, and reblog for others to see! And don’t be shy to send in a request!

[purplehalnw]

So, I'm watching Agents of Shield (I'm currently almost finished with s2) and I just want to talk about the fight between Coulson and Cal in ep 10. Because I am just obsessed with the move that Coulson does. It's the classic "wrap your legs around your opponent's neck" move.

I just love this moment because I only ever see women do this move, never men. And I feel like that's because this move is mostly meant to emphasize the kind of femme fatale sexiness that most female action characters are written with. It's like "ooo see how close she has to get her body/crotch to the guy she's beating up? Isn't that hot?".

[levans44]

Apartment #3 - Chapter 3

pairing: steve rogers x undercover!reader

warnings: 18+ SMUT*, Neighbors to Friends to Lovers, lots of angst, heavy mutual pining, hurt/comfort, eventual smut/romance/fluff

summary: as an undercover agent at SHIELD, her newest assignment involves moving in across the hall from her target. she's strictly ordered to keep her distance—no personal contact besides the absolutely necessary. the only issue? her new target neighbor turns out to be Captain America.

excerpt:

Jessica Grace Parker December 4th, 1989 569 Leaman Place Apt. #3, Brooklyn, NY 11201 Registered Nurse NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital

It’s the undercover alias she’s been assigned as a member of SHIELD’s Special Operations unit. The mission objective was rather simple—monitor the target and report updates as necessary.

She’s gone undercover more than a dozen times, so it’s not the details of the assignment or the temporary relocation she’s concerned about.

It’s just that her target was well… more unusual than most.

author's note: an idea that's been living in my head ever since steve asked sharon for that cup of coffee in their apartment hallway. as a SHIELD agent, the reader's real name has been [REDACTED] to preserve anonymity.

masterlist

“So. You all moved in?”

She lets out a drawn-out sigh, leaning back in her office chair. 

“Yep. And the new apartment’s somehow smaller than the one I have now.”

“Smaller than a studio in Manhattan?” Thomas crinkles his nose, gaze fixed on his screen as he types off the rest of his latest mission report—a 0-8-4 mission to investigate some unregistered Asgardian technology that was detected on the Portuguese coast.

“Yeah, the whole building looks like it’s been there for at least a century. Wouldn’t be surprised if the plumbing’s gone to shit.”

“Damn.” Thomas tsks, muttering absentmindedly as he gathers the files on his desk, closing up the folder.  “…well, if it’s good enough for Cap…” He sighs, before his head raises slowly with a newfound interest.  

“speaking of whom…” 

Folding his fingers over the desk, he wiggles in his seat in anticipation, like a lion ready to strike its prey.

“Did you see him? How was he? Everything you dreamed of and more?”

She rolls her eyes, snorting.

“First of all, I barely met him.” 

Thomas gasps, practically jumping up in his chair.

“So you did see him!”

She shoots him a wide-eyed glare, giving the office a hurried scan.

“Barely, Tom. I just said hi.”

She tries to brush off her coworker’s overt interest, pretending to shift her attention to her monitor as she hits ‘refresh’ on her inbox. 

Thomas, of course, doesn’t let up.

He groans, practically climbing on top of his spinning chair in excitement as he leans in closer. 

“C’mon, girl, spill! I know there’s more than that.”

She purses her lips, glaring at the unread mail piled up in her spam box before swirling around in her seat, sighing in defeat.

“Fine, he just… he helped me with a couple boxes, and he uhm… hesawmykeychain.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest as she huffs out another breath.  

“That stupid keychain you got me, Thomas? He saw it.”

It takes what feels like a full hour for the realization to sink into Thomas’s face, and when it does, he’s a laughing mess over her desk, clutching onto his keyboard for support.

“H-holy shit, you’re kidding!” 

He gasps for air, banging on the table as she playfully shoves his hands away.

“Oh my god, girl, I’d say I’m sorry, but… I’m not.”

At the deadpanned expression on her face, he breaks into another bout of giggles. Just as she starts to seriously contemplate strangling her coworker, her phone buzzes on her desk:

Messages Grant Ward 1 Message ‘here.’

“Wait, so how did he rea… ugh, please don’t tell me that’s him again.” Thomas remarks with undisguised disgust, his mood making a remarkably quick 180.

“Yeah, we’re meeting for lunch today.” She mutters, slipping her phone and purse into her bag.

“What? What about our sushi date Friday?”

“Next week?” She stands up, shooting him an apologetic smile as she grabs her jacket from behind her chair.  

“Ugh, I hope he chokes on his food.” Thomas sings under his breath, swiveling back around in his chair as he rolls his eyes.

“Wait, so what are your thoughts on Grant again?” She smirks amusedly, hand on her hip, purse hanging from one arm.

“Oh, he’s just a sweetheart! So glad you guys are back together.” Thomas claps, blinking up at her with fake enthusiasm. 

She only rolls her eyes in response, no longer bothered about her friend’s open disapproval for her on-again off-again relationship with Grant. 

2 years she’s known Grant Ward, ever since they collaborated on a week-long asset extraction case in Marrakech. He was the confident, charming type from the get-go—a perfect foil to her more withdrawn attitude around new people—and for the first few months, it felt like a match made in heaven. Things started to get a little rocky around month 5, and though she understands the concerns her friends have voiced about the instability of their relationship, a part of her is determined to prove them wrong.

When she arrives at the first floor of their building, he’s waiting for her at the lobby cafe.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.” She huffs out a breath, sliding into the seat opposite of his.

“Hey, one sec” he mutters without glancing up, slumped backward in his seat. His gaze remains fixed on his phone, thumbs moving quickly across the screen as he types out a long message. 

She lets out a quiet breath, glancing around at the crowded space as agents and other SHIELD employees walked in for coffee and some quick grab-and-go options: turkey sandwiches, salads, fruit cups. 

“I didn’t know this place served lunch.” 

“Hmm?” Grant hums after a long pause, eyes flit rapidly across the screen, head nodding though she doubts he’s heard her. “… yeah, just—“ Another ding sounds from his device and his brows perk up, eyes quickly scanning whatever message is lighting up his phone. 

She frowns, sitting up in her chair as she leans forward.

“Is that about work? Everything ok?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine.” Grant licks his lips, sucking in a breath, and the divot between her brows deepens. 

“Listen, [REDACTED]….”

He slips his phone into his pocket, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward.

“…I need to talk to you about something.”

An invisible rope goes taut in the pit of her stomach.

“Okay.” She murmurs slowly, eyes flitting between the hard set line of his jaw and the serious lines under his eyes. 

“I’ve been thinking about us lately, and…”

The rope in her stomach stretches farther and farther, the pressure building up in her lungs.

“I think it’s best if we call this off.”

The rope snaps loose, and the blade of the guillotine swings down. 

She opens her mouth, but all the air’s been sucked out of her lungs and she’s left gaping like a fish out of water. 

“I… what?” She manages to choke out. 

From across the table, Grant heaves out a sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s just with this relocation gig you’ve got going, I never see you anymore, and I just…. I think we drifted apart, that’s all.”

Her entire body immediately goes rigid at the mention of her new assignment—it was something that Grant had been opposed from the very start:

‘Brooklyn? Really? What the hell does Fury want you to do in that shithole?’ 

He had complained.

She had tried to convince herself that he was being protective, simply worried because she wasn’t allowed to let him in on any of the assignment details. But deep down, she always knew it was the green-eyed monster—at the onset of recruitment, he was disappointed to learn he wasn’t included in the short list of agents whom Fury considered for the assignment. 

She should have known better. About him. About all of it.

“Sorry, are you… are you dumping me right now?”

“No, listen, baby, I think you’re great—“

And the condescension in his voice as he croons ‘baby’ is the last straw that blows the whole fuse.

“—okay, you know what? First off, I am not your fucking baby.”

“…and second, don’t pretend like you haven’t been texting someone else these past few weeks.”

From the small glimpses of ‘miss you <3’ and ‘when are you getting back?’ on his phone, to the way he’d regularly blame overtime for last-minute date cancellations—everything was so obvious in retrospect.

He scoffs at her accusatory glare, as if the idea was unimaginable.

“I haven’t been texting anyon—”

She lets out a sharp laugh, head tilting back as her nose pricks, tears clouding the corner of her vision. 

Why had she given him the benefit of the doubt? Deep down, she had known all along. 

“—you know what, Grant? That’s great.” She stands up abruptly, chair dragging loudly against the floor as she snatches up her belongings off the table. “…but if you’re gonna cheat on me, at least have the fucking balls to admit that you’re the reason we’re not together. Not me or my fucking job.”

The rest of her work day is fueled with nothing but rage—she nearly breaks her keyboard trying to draft a simple email, accidentally stomping over an office plant on her way to the fax machine. Matters are only made worse when she’s called in to deal with a tense hostage situation that drags on for hours on end. 

By the time she gets back to her place in Brooklyn, it’s 8:21pm.

It’s 8:21 pm on a Friday night and her feet are aching, back tense from an afternoon of slumping over the mission control monitor.

It’s 8:21 pm on a Friday night and she’s just managed to climb up the last few stairs to her floor when her phone’s suddenly blowing up with text notifications from Thomas, Kristen from statistics, and a few other close friends from work:

‘OPEN THIS RIGHT NOW.'

‘What in the actual fuck? Did you know about this??’

‘Hey, I thought you should see this.’

Attached is a link to an Instagram story, uploaded by an account she recognizes as one of Grant’s buddies from work.

“What the fuck?” She mutters to herself, brows furrowing as she clicks on the video, squinting at the dimly lit but unmistakeable scene inside of a nightclub—Grant with another woman on his lap, drunk off his ass and laughing as if he hasn’t got a care in the world. The brunette in his lap reaches around, landing a deep kiss on Grant’s lips as his hands slide down her waist. The timestamp reads 10 minutes ago, confirming her biggest fear—not even 8 hours after they had broken up, and he’s parading around with a girl he’s probably been sleeping with for god knows how long.

It’s the third time the video’s playing back on loop when she realizes that angry, hot tears are dripping from her eyes, slowly making its way down to her jaw. She leans against the nearest wall, just outside her door, fingertips turning white at how harshly she was gripping her phone.

How could he do this, after two years of endless work and dedication?

Her knees can barely hold up her weight, stomach bubbling over with betrayal. Her eyes dart desperately across the screen, following their movements over and over and over—she doesn’t even hear the echo of the footsteps coming up the stairs behind her.

“Hey, you alright?” Her eyes snap up from her phone, but she doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is.

Great. Just fucking peachy.

She hastily turns off her phone and swipes at her cheeks, batting at the wet corners of her eyes before facing Steve. It doesn’t take a genius to notice she’d been crying, and his eyes immediately flit across her damp cheeks, the blurred mascara staining her lower lash line.

She fidgets with the rumpled edges of her blouse, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Hey.” She mutters, glancing back down at her phone though the screen is blank.

“Hi.” He tries to give her a friendly smile, though the corners of his mouth are noticeably stiff, a small divot forming between his brows.

“Are you… locked out of your place?” He frowns worriedly, eyes darting between her and the door behind her as he steps forward, raising his arm to gesture toward her apartment door. The keys in his hand jingle with his movements, while the other hand is balancing a flat cardboard box, patterned with red and black checkerboards on top. As he shuffles forward, she gets a sudden whiff of… oh, jesus. 

Yeasty, cheesy, and the unmistakable aroma of fresh tomato sauce—all of which can only mean one thing. 

She licks her lips, eyes flickering to the box in his hand before she clears her throat. She glances back toward her door, shaking her head.

“Oh, no, I just…”

Nope, just crying in the hallway cause I got dumped on by a guy who’s been cheating on me for weeks. How’s your night, Cap?

“… no, I’m not locked out.” She ends up muttering, though her feet stay rooted to her spot on the carpet, barely a few feet away from her door.

“Oh.” Steve nods slowly, pursing his lips. 

“…right. Well, I’ll, I’ll see you around.”

Hesitantly, he continues forward, moving down the hallway. Now with her back turned to him, she only hears the soft jingle of his keys and his door creak open. And, yet, she doesn’t hear him step inside. 

“Hey, Jess?” 

Wincing, she turns around reluctantly, annoyance creeping up at Steve’s friendly gaze. He’s standing at his doorway, keys perched on top of the pizza box, his other hand resting on the doorframe. 

Raising his brows, he quirks his head to one side and poses a question that throws her off guard. 

“Have you had dinner yet?”

She blinks, and manages to shake her head.

He purses his lips, stepping forward, away from his dim apartment and back under the hallway lights. 

“Well, if you…” He huffs out a breath, eyes flitting downwards then back up.

“… if you haven’t eaten yet, would you want to share this with me? Don’t think I can finish it on my own.”

He smiles, brows raised invitingly. Her eyes dart between the pizza box and the unassuming expression on his face, and she sucks in a quiet breath.

“I…” She’s dumbfounded, the second time she’s at a loss for words that night, feeling the whiplash of being dumped a minute ago and now being offered pizza by Captain America.

“…are you inviting me inside your apartment?”

It takes a moment for the implication behind her question to sink in, and when it does, Steve’s face is as red as the squares on the box he’s holding.

He perks up, noticeably stiffening. The tips of his ears are the first to turn scarlet, and soon he’s blushing a deep crimson all the way from his cheeks down to his neck. 

He sighs, ducking his head, brows pinched together in distress.

“No, that’s… I’m sorry, that’s not what I me—”

And, despite everything that’s happened, she finds herself trying to bite back a smile.

“—hey, I’m kidding.”

His eyes snap up, eyes scanning her expression before he lets out a breath, letting out a sheepish smile. 

“I’m sorry, I… I didn’t mean for that to come off as creepy.”

And after a while of trying to refrain from smiling, her mouth finally breaks open, and she lets out a quiet laugh.

“It didn’t. You’re okay.”

He seems a little reassured by her laugh, and remains standing in his doorway, door opened only a fraction of the way, and starts to bounce on the balls of his feet.

“Right, so…”

Despite the temporary escape she found in making Steve’s blush, she’s never seriously considered taking Steve’s suggestion. It would be insane, to break Fury’s direct order to maintain ‘no more contact than absolutely necessary’ in the first week she’d been assigned to the mission.

It was still a nice gesture, though. Nice to see that there’s more to Captain America than a friendly smile and a firm handshake. 

“Uhm, t-that’s a really nice offer, but… I’m not really hung—”

And what she had planned on saying was: I’m not really hungry, enjoy your pizza. 

What comes out, though, is a loud rumbling much further down south, just above her belly button.

She turns rigid, head snapping down to the traitor in her belly. And now, it’s her own face that’s as red as a slice of pepperoni. 

It’s only then she realizes that she hasn’t had anything to eat since breakfast, on account of what happened at lunch with Grant.

From the way Steve’s brows perk up in newfound interest, she’s sure he’s heard the noise, and braces herself for whatever embarrassment would follow getting caught in the world’s most pathetic lie by Captain America.

Instead, America’s hero wordlessly steps back out into the hallway, letting his door close behind him with a soft ‘click.’ Finding a spot in the hallway, opposite her door, he plops straight down, laying the pizza down in his lap and stretching his legs across the expanse of the hallway. 

She watches, wide-eyed and dumbfounded—it’s almost comical, how he has to cram his long legs into the narrow space between his side of the wall and hers. Bent at the knees, yet the soles of his feet still press against the other side. 

She glances down at his sneakers, perched up against the wall—a pair of old-fashioned trainers, navy blue and white, with soles tattered and grey from what seems like years of use.

Her eyes trail up a pair of worn 501 Levis, and a navy blue henley that displays an ungodly amount of muscle even under the dull lighting of the hallway. 

“You’re welcome to join me.” Steve grins nonchalantly as he pops open the top of the box, peering up at her under a set of friendly brows, almost as if challenging her to resist. 

A tentative whiff as the smell of pizza drifts right up under her nose, and she lets out a loud sigh, dropping her shoulders.

The next moment, she’s turning on her heels. She heads straight for her apartment door and walks through, the door slamming shut behind her.

Not even a minute later, she’s back outside, holding up two ice cold beers by the neck. Hair thrown up in a loosely tied knot above her head, the top two button of her blouse undone.

Steve’s worried head snaps up at the sound of her door, the lines between his brows dissipating in relief. He smirks, sinking back into his seat on the carpet.

She plops down against the wall facing him, handing him a bottle before taking a swig from her own.

“Thanks.”

With a curious gaze, he slowly takes the bottle from her fingers, eyes following her as she tips her head back for a large swig. From across the hall, Steve rotates the box in his lap, offering her the first slice. 

As her eyes flit over his order, she can’t help the smile that immediately tugs on her lips  

“Good choice.” She murmurs amusedly, reaching for a slice to find it still warm. 

“Yeah, figured it’s a classic.” He picks up a slice himself, the one next to the one she’s chosen, and sets the box down on the scraggly carpet. 

She nods in agreement, practically drooling at the slice of heaven in her hand.

“Clean. No bullshit.” 

A large cheese pizza, classic NY style.

Thin crust, decent char on the bottom though not too burnt. A generous layer of melty cheese and tangy red sauce. 

“… wish life was more like that. No bullshit.” She mutters nonchalantly, more to herself than anything. He chuckles in response, the sound echoing down the hallway as he lifts his slice in the air.

“I’ll cheers to that.”

She laughs alongside him, surprised by how much easier it feels to smile all of a sudden. 

“Cheers.”

One bite of the crispy, chewy, cheesy goodness, and all her troubles start to melt away. 

“Mmm.” She lets out a low moan, eyes fluttering shut as her head bumps against the wall with a soft ‘thunk.’ 

“…fuck, that’s good.”

“Glad you like it.” Steve responds amusedly, smirking at her from over the rim of his beer. He’s got one arm resting over his knee, leg propped up against his chest while the other remains on the floor. The muscles in his forearms flex as he raises his bottle up to his lips, tipping the drink back. 

Before her eyes can wander further, she clears her throat, glancing back down to the pizza in her hand. A second bite shoved hastily into her mouth before she can even swallow the first and good lord, did pizza always taste this good?

“Where’s this from?” She chews, lifting the top of the box off of the carpet to peer at the logo.

Before she can get the top more than an inch off the floor, however, Steve stops her with a quick hand, the width of his palm almost covering half of the box. Her eyes snap up to meet his smirk, brows raised and uncharacteristically mischievous. 

“I’m afraid that’s top secret.” He tsks, and she gasps in response, feigning shock with a hand over her chest.

“Wow. Gatekeeping your pizza place? After I offered you my beer? That’s cold, neighbor.”

As soon as the last word escapes her lips, she perks up with a start, biting her tongue at the realization that she’d just used a goddamn nickname to refer to Captain America.

Her gaze snaps up at Steve, fear brewing in her chest to find that he was… laughing.

A good, hearty chuckle, head tipped back and all. Leaning back against the wall, holding his pizza in one hand, clutching his stomach with the other.

From this close a distance, she can spot every detail—like the tiny scar that hides between the small wrinkles on his forehead when he raises his brows. Or the small crows feet tugging at the corners of his eyes. The ridiculously long eyelashes that flutter every time he blinks, casting shadows over the tops of his cheeks. The small ridge in the bridge of his nose that’s slightly off-center. His plump bottom lip, stretching around a set of pearly-whites as he smiles, proposing a question:

“So how long have you been living in the city?”

“Hm?”

She freezes, eyes snapping up to meet his curious smile.

“You mentioned you moved here from Manhattan. How long have you been living there?”

And the sudden segue into this new inquiry intrigues her, more than anything. Because whatever the variation of the question—‘how long have you been coming here?’ or ‘how long have you known so-and-so?’ or, of course, the age-old ‘you come here often?’—they all usually come across as unwarranted and creepy, a half-assed attempt at a pick-up line at best. 

Yet, from Steve, it only reads as part of a friendly, neighborly conversation. Open and honest, no ulterior motives. No bullshit. 

It’s refreshing, to say the least. 

“Not… not too long. Moved here for work.”

She mutters quickly, taking another swig of her beer, and licks her lips as a raw memory edges into her mind at the thought of work, more bitter than the beer that hits her tongue. 

“…what about you?” She murmurs, watching a moment of conflict cross his face. 

He recovers quickly, smoothing over it with a smile:

“Moved around a couple times, but… Brooklyn’s always been home.”

The bitter bite in her mouth softens a little at the nostalgic note in Steve’s gaze, her eyes tracing the soft creases in his shirt as she recalls his backstory:

Born and raised in Brooklyn, with a WW1 veteran dad who passed early and a mom who worked as a nurse. Not enough money to pursue art school, got caught a handful times getting into alleyway fights. Then tried to enlist on five different occasions, got rejected the first four times. Aside from the basics, though, there was little official documentation on Steve Rogers’ earlier days in Brooklyn. 

Her thoughts are suddenly broken by her phone buzzing loudly in her pocket—just by the ringtone, she knows whose calling her.

She freezes, momentarily paralyzed as her phone continues to go off loudly. Steve’s eyes flit over to the source of the sound but remains quiet. After a few more rings, the phone goes silent, before starting up again with another call.

At that, she lets out an exasperated sigh, digging into her pocket before aggressively sliding the mute button on her phone. She tosses the phone on the carpet with a harsh ‘thud,’ hand reaching up to rub at her temple.

“Those are some persistent spam calls.”

Steve murmurs quietly.

She snorts, her rage temporarily dissolving into a dumfounded laugh that leaves her chest aching.

“That would be an insult to scammers everywhere.”

“You avoiding someone?” It’s obvious from his careful gaze that he doesn’t want to pry.

“You could say that.” She murmurs, eyes still lowered to the ground. Then, after a small pause:

“…it’s my boyfriend. Ex, actually.” She quickly corrects herself, scrunching her nose as the word leaves a sour note on her tongue.   

Out of the corner of her eye, Steve opens then closes his mouth, giving her a small nod in understanding.

“I’m sorry.” 

And, all of a sudden, she feels tears cloud her vision at the first words of consolation, his deep and warm timbre unlocking something fastened inside her.

Fuck, fuck.

“No, don’t be.” She chokes out a laugh as she blinks rapidly, feeling her nose prick with tears. Before she can stop herself, the next words are already tumbling out of her mouth:

“He broke up with me at lunch today. Turns out he’d been fucking this other girl for over a month.”

And it had to be the fatigue, the beer, or some combination of both that was loosening up her lips right now, because there was no way her lucid self could be consulting Captain America about her goddamnlove life.  

“…and he had the audacity to break up with me. Can you believe that?”

Steve stays silent for a while, and she doesn’t have the courage to look up. Then, out of the blue:

“He sounds like a real asshole.”

Her eyes snap up as she lets out an incredulous breath, smiling.

“You’re damn right.”

Two more slices of pizza and a couple beers later, the weight on her chest feels noticeably lighter. 

“Thanks for the pizza, my treat next time.”

An empty promise, she knows. 

There can’t be a next time.

Steve nods, smiling.

“Anytime.”

He takes a small pause, pursing his lips as he casts a quick glance down at the carpet near her feet.

“…shame you got rid of it.” He murmurs.

“Hmm?”

“Your keychain.”

He points at the the set of keys resting on the floor between them, which had fallen out of her pocket sometime during the night. Upon realizing that he was referring to the absence of the red, white, and blue shield—she had made sure to remove it after the embarrassing encounter earlier that week—her confusion quickly turns into red hot embarrassment.

So he had noticed.

“Uhm, yeah, it was uh…” She clears her throat, bending down to snatch it off the floor.

“…getting a little bulky.”

“Bulky, huh?” He quirks his head, raising his brows, and the tip of his nose catches the lighting in the hallway. 

“….so you’re not a fan?”

Eyebrows raised incredulously, she turns to him, eyes carefully surveying the unreadable expression on his face.

“I’m sorry?”

“Of Captain America? I noticed your keychain was his shield.”

She knew this man was good, but surely he couldn’t be that good? 

It had been less than a week since the start of her mission. If he had already caught onto her identity, she would surely be saying goodbye to her steady 7-year-career at SHIELD. Upon a second glance, however, she realizes that the teasing glint in his eyes is a little less strategic and a little more… demure.

Could Steve Rogers poking fun at her keychain because of some other reason?

Her cheeks grow pink at the thought, but she pushes the thought elsewhere. 

And because he thinks that she’s the clueless one in this conversation, she decides to play along, lips curling up in a coy smile.

“I don’t know… I always thought he was kinda overrated.” She pouts, fighting to suppress a smile.“

“…Captain America. Even the name sounds kinda douchey, don’t ya think?”

Contrary to her expectation, he lets out a loud laugh, head almost knocking against the drywall behind him. He glances down at her, hands on his hips, giving her a curious smile. 

In this light, she thinks, he almost looks like the Captain America from the WW2 recruitment posters in the 30s—the fresh-faced, doe-eyed version of him untouched by decades of war. 

“You know, I’ve always wondered who came up with that name.”

That night, as she waves goodbye to Steve and retreats into apartment #3, Fury’s voice bounces around in her head: ‘…primary directive is to maintain minimal contact with him. Nothing over what’s absolutely necessary.’ 

Yet, in the solitude of her bed, all she can think about is Steve—the soft peaks of his hair under the dim lighting of the hallway, the concerned divot between his brows when she had teased him. How he had leaned into their conversation so that he could hear her better, as if Captain American didn’t have better things to do than to listen to her tragic little love tales. That boyishly charming smile he had on his face when he offered her pizza, and again when he asked coyly about her keychain—so much of that innocent warmth she thought he’d lost.

Reminiscing the nostalgic light in Steve's eyes when he'd told her that Brookyln’s always been home, she begins to wonder just how deep the blue runs.

Apartment #3 Masterlist

[dzinahk]

TUESDAYS with #TOMHIDDLESTON

[soliloquent-stark]

💗 i live in a city that lives in a different age by soliloquent

10,8k words // pairing: tony stark & steve rogers

—⎊—

“He could ignore the homework altogether — he died for people’s freedom of choice and that applies to him too, he’s allowed to say no — but he wants to prove to his doctor, and himself, that he can do mundane things effortlessly. Partly because he’d like to pass the mental health assessment and make it through the required therapy sessions without raising any flags, and partly because he desperately needs to reassure himself that everything is alright.”

or: Steve Rogers has fourteen days to complete fourteen therapy homework assignments.

written for @omg-just-peachy as part of the @stonylovessteve exchange 

[squilfmybeloved]

i think the first time may realizes that the avengers truly are family (despite the fact she's coparenting a kid with them and they're all (yes, including her) basically married to eachother) isn't in the heat of battle, where they immediately move to help peter and keep him covered when needed, but the little things:

like when nat and bucky help train her and peter in self defense and stealth, when rhodey and steve teach her to bake, when tony and peter get lost in their heads in the lab and she and pepper have to go drag them away, when sam steps up to help peter with therapy because he knows he trusts him, when shuri and peter go nerd mode and she and t'challa smile and shake their heads fondly, sharing knowing looks, when peter takes it upon himself to befriend loki because he thinks he needs a friend, when thor cheers and makes a scene because peter picked up his hammer, when they all have movie nights at the tower, when every single one of them shows up to peter's decathlon meets with her, and so much more.

it's not the big things that make all of them family- it's the little ones, their mannerisms, and everything else that does, and may is so grateful for them.