#mcu x reader

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Bucky’s reaction after you’re put in danger…

Leverage.

That’s what Zemo had called it. Leverage and an easy plan. Except it was anything but. Zemo’s last bright scheme had put you far too close to the firefight.

Bucky’s mind had been replaying the frightening scenes - he was restrained, you had been caught at the edge of an explosion before being pinned down by one of the thugs. Your airflow was being cut off and the way you clawed for help sent Bucky into a fury. He had reached you just in time but his heart hammered with panic.

Leverage. That was what Zemo had said was worth a few injuries as he proposed a new plan in which you were central.

Bucky stood up. He crossed the room until he was standing directly in front of the man. Suddenly he grabbed Zemo’s drink and hurled the glass against the wall, allowing it to shatter on impact.

“Do you want to see what someone can do with leverage?” Bucky demanded. His voice was low, controlled and lethal.

“If you pull that shit again, this deal is over. If your plan entertains the slightest possibility that Y/n is in danger, I’ll drag you into the darkest cell on earth myself.” Bucky threatened.

Turning on his heel, Bucky marched over to where you had been standing quietly. He wrapped an arm around your stomach, taking in the scent of soap, and caught the bruises starting to darken against your neck.

Tensing, Bucky gently drew you into him and took you both out of the living room. If he stayed another second, his resolve would snap and Zemo would have broken bones.

Zemo glanced at Sam who had been seated during the entire conversation. The Falcon merely shrugged in response.

“I’d be worried if I were you.” Sam offered before followed his friends out.

~ More imagines here ~

A/n: I’m unsure how I fell into the Bucky/Sebastian Stan web again after so many years. How I’ve missed it.

[gay-dorito-dust]

I’ve seen fics where Joaquin is hurt, so I thought why not do things a little differently…I’m unhealthy addicted to this man. (Have since the show but didn’t capitalise on writing for him then, grave mistake tbh though there still wasn’t much for him back then either.)

The mission with Sam and Joaquin was a success but one reckless misstep caused you to be put right into a hospital bed with a uncharacteristically quite Joaquin by bedside, his hands clasped together tightly in front of his face as his beautiful dark eyes seemed distant and unfocused as they gazed at the wall across from him.

‘You can quit mentally going over funeral arrangements for me, I’m still alive to continue being a pain in your ass.’ You tell him once you had awoken, but it seemed as though your attempts of making light of a serious situation only seem to put Joaquin even more in a sour mood.

‘You sure have a weird way of trying to comfort me you know? Making jokes about your own hurt and thinking that I’ll just laugh along?’ Joaquin said as he looked at you, eyes sharp but filled with worry as they looked over your bandaged figure. ‘Is nearly dying really a funny experience for you?’ He then adds rhetorically. It was obvious that you being hurt had more of an affect on Joaquin then it did you, maybe because you had time to be accustomed to how dangerous the job was, which resulted in giving you a weird sense of fucked up humour when you find yourself on the hospital bed.

‘Joaquin-‘ you began as you reached out for his hand but it seemed as though your friend and mission partner wasn’t quite done.

‘Do you know how I felt when I found you hurt?’ Joaquin starts, unable to keep the feelings with him any longer then he already had, hating how helpless he felt upon finding out that you were hiding an injury as serious as this as though you didn’t view yourself as someone valuable. ‘And the fact that you kept it from us, from Sam but most importantly,’ Joaquin paused when he felt himself letting his emotions rise to the surface as tears brimmed his beautiful eyes, ‘you kept it hidden from me, we’re meant to be partners y/n, partners.’ He adds in a way that made you know that what he felt towards you was a lot deeper then you two just being partners.

‘Are we not partners?’ Joaquin asked.

‘Of course we are!’ You replied without hesitation, reaching out and grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers together. ‘You’re my best friend and the best mission partner I could have ever asked for-‘

‘Then why did you feel the need to hide your hurt from me.’ Joaquin interrupts you, though you noticed how tightly he held onto your hand as though he was scared to let go of you, and in the moment you hated yourself for making Joaquin worry over you like this. You truly were the worst when it came to these things but with Joaquin you wanted to be as transparent as possible with him, expect when it came to needing help and your feelings for him it seems, and you couldn’t help but feed into the idea that due to this Joaquin deserved better…better than you at least.

‘The mission comes first Joaquin you know this as well as I, so why should it matter if I’m hurt or not.’ You said to him, hating how it seemed as though Joaquin could see through you whenever you looked in his dark eyes, bringing you under the impression that he seems to know you better then yourself and you feared that that was the truth. You wish you could hate him but you knew you’d be lying if you ever said that because you knew you’d love the man until you couldn’t, making you fear how far you’d actually go for him and vice versa.

‘Well it matters to me! You matter to me! So sorry for not wanting to watch my best friend and love of my life die on a hospital bed.’ Joaquin exclaims suddenly, taking you both aback by the outburst of repressed emotions but Joaquin pushed through as he moved his hand from your grasp, moving to hold your face within his hands instead as he rests his forehead again yours. ‘Especially not when I have so much to say to you that I should’ve said far, far sooner instead of hiding.’ He adds softer this time as he moved to press a tender kiss your forehead, making you smile softly at the feeling, before pressing his head back against there.

‘And what would those things be my dear falcon.’ You asked analog sheepishly as your hands reached to keep his hands again your face, caressing the backs of them with your thumbs, smiling at how while this wasn’t the ideal place for you to admit your feelings but it didn’t feel any less magical then it did right now.

Joaquin smiles for what felt like the first time since he’s been sat beside you. ‘We’d be here for a really, really long time if we want to go into specifics,’ you both laughed at this, knowing that you would spend just as long listing of the things you loved about him in return, ‘but to keep it short all you need to know is that you’re the best part of me, my better half and the one person who could make me feel like this when I’m under the impression that I could one day loose you forever.’ Joaquin sighed and closed his eyes, leaning further into you as though trying to convince himself they you were still here with him.

‘I don’t ever want to see you like this ever again, not as long as I can do something about it to keep you safe from this day onward.’ Joaquin admits and you felt yourself becoming warm and giddy it made you forget why you were in the hospital for brief moment in time, for you were too focused on the beautiful and brave man in front of you holding you like you were everything and to him you very much were.

‘Then I can only promise to be more carful on missions from here on out if it’s to keep your heart from breaking, for I wouldn’t want to hurt someone as important to me as you Joaquin,’ you then moved your hand to wipe away the unshed tears from his eyes, taking your time with it as well as you caressed his tear stained cheeks with care and held the weight of a death as though you were in fact scared of hurting him. ‘I never went to see you shed a single tear more of my reckless ass.’ You add and this time Joaquin laughed along with you as he kissed your palms sweetly, smiling against them.

‘Then I guess you’ll have to deal with me being a little overprotective on the future missions.’ Joaquin says barely above a whisper.

‘I wouldn’t mind that at all, not a single bit.’ You replied, kissing his nose and smiling, happy to know that your feelings weren’t unreciprocated like you originally thought, but also happy knowing that your heart was in the safest hands you’ve ever known.

[rioromanoffroses]

Ovulation (Part 2)

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: 18+ content, G!P Natasha, finger sucking, oral sex (R and Natasha receiving), implied non-con, unprotected sex (P in V), breast sucking, degrading, toxic relationship, obsessive Natasha, jealousy and slight possessiveness

Summary: It's been three months since your heated encounter with the Black Widow. When your paths cross again at a work party, it doesn't take much for both of you to crack...

Pairings: dom!Reader x sub!Natasha but they switch halfway through

WC: 5.7k

It was just like any other S.H.I.E.L.D. party you had attended many times before but you decided to dress like a slut anyway. You were wearing all black, brightened by gold jewellery that gleamed whenever a streak of light hit the metal. Your lacy corset was mostly hidden by your cropped blazer and your tight, formal trousers outlined your curves, your outfit finished by formidable, 6-inch heels. 

It was three months since you’d last seen Natasha Romanoff but it had felt like so much longer. She had left while you were still asleep — the only evidence of her departure had been the lipstick stain on your forehead. You made sure you were wearing the same lipstick shade that night and the most dramatic eye look you had ever done. Three months was a long time for resentment and rage to grow and evolve.

There was no guarantee Natasha would even be at the party. You didn’t recall seeing Natasha at one before. But for some reason, there was a nagging feeling in your gut that insisted you’d see her. She’d see you; in the outfit you’d picked out for her. 

As soon as you walked into the party, you noticed several eyes lingering on your figure. The room was dark, lit only by violet ceiling lights. There were clusters of agents everywhere and the dance floor was relatively empty, the night still too young and the people still too sober. You spotted one of your friends by the bar and strode over to her, your heels echoing against the marble floor. 

“Hey Maria,” you said, taking a seat next to her. Her eyes widened when she saw you. 

“Oh my God, what are you wearing?” You had always been on the reserved side in front of your colleagues, even though your style had always been quite bold and formal, so your new look was a slight shock to her. “Is that top see-through?”

“Everywhere except the chest area, yeah,” you said, turning to the bartender, “I’d like a glass of champagne, please.” He nodded and began preparing your drink. Maria sighed.

“You’d better avoid Fury like the plague,” she said, “This is a work party, you do realise that?” You knew it wasn’t an appropriate place to look so provocative but you hadn’t been thinking straight for months. Natasha had been on your mind non-stop and like a drug, you were craving her and burning for a high that would rid you of your withdrawal symptoms. The bartender placed the glass of champagne in front of you and you carefully took a sip, making sure the liquid didn’t disturb your lipstick.

Maria took a sip from her glass before spotting something behind you and her jaw dropped. She quickly drained the glass and scrambled to her feet, causing you to frown. “Are you okay?”

“She looks pissed,” she said, dragging out the ‘i’ vowel, “And I am not getting involved. Have a good night.” She gave you a quick tap on the shoulder before hurrying away while you were still processing her words. You were about to call after Maria until a voice sounded behind you and your heartbeat ceased. 

“God, I’m going to kill you.” You snapped your head around and stared at the redhead, blinking a few times to make sure she was real. Her hair was curled onto her bare shoulders, the red, satin straps of her dress tight across her arm muscles and chest, allowing some of her breasts to spill over the material. Part of you wanted to slap her across the face… another part of you wanted to kiss her right there and then. You raised an eyebrow.

“And what would call for such unnecessary violence, Agent Romanoff?” She grabbed your wrist, sinking her sharp, scarlet nails into your skin. Despite the thumping, irregular beat of your heart, you stood your ground and didn’t break eye contact with her as her eyes burnt right into your skull. 

She leaned forward and whispered into your ear, “That wasn’t the name you were screaming a few months ago.” From the corner of your eye, you could see Natasha’s pupils darkening. “I’m going to kill you for thinking of this outfit, deciding to wear it and letting half this room stare at you with it on.” She tried to pull you onto your feet but you didn’t budge. You took a sip of your champagne, looking up at her through your eyelashes. 

“What’s wrong with my outfit?” you mocked, your tone of feigned innocence, “You don’t like it?” Natasha clenched her fists and scowled. 

“When did you become such a smart-ass?” You smirked, taking another sip of alcohol. You had become as soft as unheated clay the last time you were together and you had let her mould you into whatever she wanted. That night, you were on fire, and your silhouette was shaped exactly how you liked it — how it was before your first encounter. “I don’t like you looking like a whore when you’re mine.”

“Oh, I’m yours, am I?” you snapped, “I didn’t get that impression when I woke up to an empty bed stained with your bodily fluids. I didn’t get that impression after not hearing from you for months.” You turned your body away from her and tilted back your head, the remaining champagne running down the glass and into your mouth. As soon as you set the glass down, you felt Natasha’s hand on your jaw, forcing you to look at her. 

“I didn’t want to leave like that,” she said, her voice becoming serious, “It’s complicated.” She hesitated. “Do you know who I am?” You smiled. You were stupid not to realise it until Maria told you, after you confessed to having slept with a fellow agent. Natasha was the Black Widow, the most formidable S.H.I.E.L.D. agent there was. You wondered if knowing her identity earlier would’ve changed anything. Perhaps you wouldn’t have been so reckless in the shower. Perhaps you wouldn’t have stared at her like a fool. Perhaps you wouldn’t have spread your legs for her.

“I don’t care if you’re the Black Widow, Natasha,” you said, “You left me. That’s the only thing I care about.” You pushed her arm away, forcing her to let go of your face. Natasha’s expression fell. She reached for your fingers and brushed her own against them, sending goosebumps down your arm. 

“Let me make it up to you.” You looked down at where your skin made contact before switching your focus to her face. You knew she was a woman of many masks but she seemed genuinely apologetic. You were undeniably angry with her still but your need was too strong and from the sound of her short, sharp breaths, you knew she was feeling the same. You slipped off the bar stool and took a step towards her so you were less than an inch apart. 

“Don’t make me regret this, Romanoff.” You spun around and started to march towards the door, the crowd parting like the red sea as soon as they saw the Black Widow behind you. You were too far in front for her to touch you without being obvious about it but you could hear each beat of her footsteps. 

You decided to play into your wrath and aggravate Natasha; she deserved it. It would be fun. Your teasing started as soon as the taxi drew up on the pavement and you opened the door for her, wordlessly instructing her to get in first with your eyes. On the drive there, you pretended to adjust your bra strap, moving it just enough so Natasha could catch a glimpse of the vibrant red colour. You did it more than once, just enough times to piss her off.

You were enjoying the game and kept it going, leaning forward between the two seats and flirting with the taxi driver. The compromising position meant your breasts were pressed together slightly, making your cleavage more noticeable. The driver was struggling to keep his eyes on the road and as uncomfortable as it made you feel, as soon as you saw Natasha’s eyes in the rearview mirror, you knew it was totally worth it. Her pupils were on fire.

By the time you had shut the door of the hurriedly booked motel room, you could see sweat on her forehead and her breath was heavy, like an animal being driven by primal desire. She pushed you against the wood before you could even turn on a light, sending a shot of pain down your spine and you had to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from whining. You knew what she wanted. You weren’t going to give in to her just yet. You had a queen firmly clutched in your hands and she was still gliding across the chest board under your will and control. 

Natasha tried to kiss you but you stopped her with your finger on her chin, moving your other hand to her thigh. She pressed into you more urgently, your chests touching, your foreheads only inches apart. Her hands were on your hips, her nails digging into the material of your trousers. 

You inhaled sharply when you felt her against your lower stomach. She heard the difference in your breath and she started to move her hands, massaging your sides in slow circles. She wanted to see how long it would take for you to give in; Natasha wanted to know what your weakness was. You couldn’t see her in the dark, amplifying the sensation of her touch and you could feel your control slip from your fingers but you caught it just before it was lost. 

“Was that all I had to do?” you mocked, scratching her chin with the edge of your nail, “Look pretty and say some nice words to the driver?” Your hand drifted in between her legs and up her dress so you could feel just how hard she was and emphasise your point. You let out a low whistle when you felt the wet patch on her boxers. “Slut.”

Natasha pushed away from the door, your heart pounding in your ears, and strode towards the bedside table lamp. The light cast an amber glow onto the furniture, exposing the off-whites and beiges of the cheap room. It was better than the place you’d been together in Moldova but it was still small and underwhelming. 

You were distracted from the room as soon as your eyes fell on Natasha again. There was a reason you had fallen so easily the first night you’d met. You had rejected the most important part of yourself, your dignity, partly because of your raging hormones but mostly because of her: the venom of her eyes, the blood of her hair, the skull-white of her skin carved by Lucifer himself. Her looks were only the surface, though — the deeper you dived, the faster you drowned. 

The sight of you had a similar effect on her and a few seconds passed in silence without a single movement between you. You were both in a trance, your eyes taking each other in the privacy of the room. You were alone; it made you vulnerable to each other. Natasha already knew you were becoming a weak spot and if you’d been less self-driven, it would’ve dawned on you too. 

She was the first one to move, the electricity between you weak against the current of her desire. She sat on the edge of the bed and let her dress ride up her thighs, exposing the black of her boxers. You strode towards Natasha, looking down at her, and you slipped your blazer off your shoulders, letting it fall onto the carpet. 

You stopped in between her legs, capturing her face in your hands, your fingertips touching her scalp. She leaned back on one arm, wrapping a hand around your wrist, not breaking away from your gaze. 

“You’re right,” she said, “I am a slut. And so would anyone if they’d been allowed to touch you.” You traced your thumb along her jaw and then along her bottom lip before pushing it into her mouth. ‘This is so much more fun,’ you thought, ‘why didn’t I try this before?’ Your walls weren’t going to be so easy to knock down that time. 

Her tongue pressed against the tip of your thumb and when you dragged it out of her mouth down her chin, it left a trail of spit on her bottom lip, quickening your pulse even more. The sight of Natasha below you, her face a mess, started feeding into your own twisted desires. You could feel the heat building between your thighs and the cool air was a relief against the beads of sweat forming on your arm. 

“The Black Widow, huh?” you said. Red pricked her cheeks like a thorn and you knew if she wasn’t so desperate to be inside of you, your neck would be in the chokehold of her bare hands. She was more skilled than you; she was stronger too. She could kill you at any given moment… yet she was letting you have power over her. 

“Bitch,” she muttered. You straddled Natasha’s lap and wrapped your legs tightly around her waist to keep yourself firmly in place. As soon as your lips touched, it was like your muscle memory and body took over, suppressing your logical thoughts. She grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you closer, slamming your lips together. 

You forgot about the game and your confidence, the chess board falling to the floor and you held her face so you could kiss her more harshly. You were swallowing each other’s moans, the months of tension and pent-up emotions spilling like blood from a wound. You had only spent two nights together but you had missed her more than any of your exes, even more than some of your old friends.

Your lips separated for only half a second at a time so you could take a breath and change the angle. Her back fell against the sheets as your legs loosened, your kisses growing more desperate. Your tongue dove into Natasha’s mouth and you almost let her win against you until you noticed the intensity of her moans and the movement of your hips. You had been so lost in kissing her you hadn’t realised that you were grinding against her subtly — just enough to worsen her hard-on. You ripped your lips away from hers when you felt her fingers on the buttons of your trousers.

“No,” you said, stopping her movements, a smirk forming on your face. She whined. 

“Please,” she said. She looked up at you through her eyelashes and you could feel her trembling beneath you, her sweat forming tears that ran down her face. “Please just let me fuck you.” Natasha would never admit it to anyone but she’d touched herself while thinking of you ever since she’d seen your photos in the mission brief. It had been easy to get relief before she’d actually met you and slept with you. 

Following the mission, she hadn’t been able to release at all, not by her own hands, toys or even the few women she’d had a one-night stand with in an attempt to get you off her mind. You were the only thing she thought about some days. She couldn’t wait much longer; she had needed you for months; she had ached for you night after endless night. 

You sat on top of her like she was a podium with a shit-eating grin on your face. You had gotten Natasha so wound up that she was begging you. You couldn’t smell a single trace of alcohol on her lips, meaning she was sober and her words were her own. You leaned down and nudged your mouth against the shell of her, arching your back to make sure she had a clear view of your ass. 

“You want my cunt?” you said into her ear, tightening your grip around her squirming fingers. 

“I need it,” she breathed, turning her head towards you, connecting your lips for a brief second. You didn’t return the kiss, moving away from her instead. You sat up, shifting to the centre of the bed and relaxed against the pillows behind you, spreading your legs. 

You gave her a show as you watched her panting form, unbuttoning your trousers slowly and shimmering out of the black material. You threw them to the floor before hooking two fingers under the red of your panties, the colour matching your bra.

“Don’t you dare move.” As you dragged your lacy underwear down your thighs, her pupils widened, the black in her eyes like obsidian. Natasha could see that you were dripping and the sight of your slicked folds and porcelain-stained thighs caused the rope in her stomach to tighten into a knot. 

As soon as the red underwear was on the floor, you started touching your stiff clit just so she could watch your arousal spill onto the sheets beneath you. Natasha’s hands tightened into fists, her gaze fixated on your slit. She swallowed hard. 

“Make me feel good,” you said. She crawled towards you without hesitation, diving into your pussy like she was starved. You moaned as soon as her tongue pressed against your warm, soaked folds and your nerves buzzed with adrenaline as she dragged the muscle all the way up to your clit. She wrapped her mouth around your sensitive bud and you guided her hands to your thighs before lying back on the sheets, allowing yourself to concentrate on your body’s reactions. 

You lifted your legs onto her shoulders to give her more access and bit down on your lip as her mouth continued to work your pussy, not wanting to expose how she was making you feel just yet. It was a pathetic facade, though — Natasha could tell how much you loved her tongue from the amount of arousal that flooded her throat. A bubble began to form around you as her movements sped up, cutting off the outside world and lifting you off the ground, far away from reality. 

You had tried to convince yourself to hate her during the weeks following the night she abandoned you. You knew it was irrational deep down — you understood the nature of your jobs. You knew her position as well — it was bigger than yours and she was responsible for more. Her past wasn’t a secret either and although yours had its fair share of trauma, it had affected you differently. You had failed to hate her; it was impossible.

You reached for Natasha’s head and pushed it further into your folds, finally letting a moan slip past your lips as she slid her tongue inside of you. You started to grind against her face and her groans sent vibrations through your cunt, heightening the pleasure building in your stomach. You looked down to admire the sight of her face buried in your thighs and you noticed the movements of her hips against the mattress. She was so, so desperate for relief.  

As your orgasm approached, you moved your hands into her hair, tightening your grip on her curls as you came undone, gasping and repeating her name as your release gushed into her mouth and spilled over her lips. You let go and your limbs slumped onto the sheets, your heaving breasts straining against your bra, your corset top soaked with sweat. 

“I want you to get undressed,” you said in between gasps. Natasha lifted herself from between your legs and shot you a dark look. You could see the moment she snapped.

“If one more word comes out of that pretty mouth of yours, I’m going to wrap my hand around your throat until you pass out.” Your eyes widened at the sudden change in her demeanour. Natasha wasn’t following your rules anymore; she had reached a breaking point.

She seized your hips and dragged you onto her lap, letting you feel the outline of her straining cock against your cunt. Your mind raced with things to say; you wanted to fight and keep taunting her but you were craving her too. No one had ever compared to her and if it hadn’t been so arousing to tease her, you would’ve let her fill you up as soon as the door closed. 

She untied your top and threw it behind her without caring where it landed before ripping the bra you had teased her with in the taxi in two. You gasped but before you could recover from your shock, her fingers were squeezing your nipples and the bubble around you was rising into the clouds again. You were both fucking insane.

“Such a stupid slut,” Natasha spat and before your desire-drunk mind could process what was happening, she was guiding your hand to her cock and moving it up and down. You looked down to see the reddened tip spilling with pre-cum, her dick angry and aching. “This is what you’ve done to me. You’ve fucking ruined me.” And she had every intent of ruining you in return. She knew it would be better for her to stop and breathe but the redhead wasn’t in control anymore. She had liked sex with different people before you; she had enjoyed touching herself but you had taken that from her. You had also ignited feelings that she had suppressed and had made her question too much at once. They were questions Natasha refused to think about. 

She lifted you from her lap and positioned you above her cock, the tip nudging against your entrance, which was still sensitive from your orgasm, before pushing in. You both cried out at the same time, your voice a mix of pain and ecstasy. Your walls immediately began sucking Natasha in as you sank further and further onto her length. You gripped her shoulders as you watched her disappear inside you, your mouth stuck in an ‘O’ shape as she filled you completely. 

The stretch was almost as uncomfortable as the first time, reminding you how long it had been. You thought about having to wait for months before seeing Natasha again sent a pang through you. You didn’t know how you’d get through it — you were already growing dependent on Natasha. It was pathetic. You hated yourself for it. 

“Fuck, I missed this pussy,” Natasha said as she started to bounce you up and down on her cock without giving you a moment to adjust. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you moved your hips in time with hers, your tits bouncing with each thrust. She buried her face between them to try and stifle her moans but it was no use. Anyone in the rooms next to you or above you would be able to hear but neither of you had any thoughts left to spare. 

The bubble had soared above the atmosphere and there were stars streaked across your vision, the light intensifying as Natasha continued to pump inside of you. She lifted her head and collided your lips together with a bruising force, her teeth sinking into your bottom lip. You could still taste yourself on her tongue as she delved deeper into your mouth, not letting you win against her that time. There was a metallic sting against your tongue as her teeth punctured your lip and drew blood.

Your head was dizzy with lust and bliss; your vision blurred with tears as you were overwhelmed by the sensations of her. You didn’t understand how or why she felt so good but you knew you’d do anything she asked if it meant she’d keep fucking you. She separated your lips and started peppering your jaw with kisses, your nails clawing down her clothed back as she continued to forcefully drill into you. The blood from your lip dribbled down your chin and ended up smeared over your face as Natasha kissed down your neck, pausing against your sweet spot. She sunk her teeth into your neck and sucked on the skin, forcing a cry from your lips. 

“How the fuck does this cunt stay so tight?” she groaned against your skin. Your head fell back as her mouth moved to your collarbone and she marked you again, her tongue cooling against the scorching skin. 

“Please, Natasha,” you whined, “Don’t stop.” The stars dancing along your vision shifted into a kaleidoscope, the colours disorientating and bright, the shapes blurring at the edges. You had broken her demand not to speak but she dismissed it when your walls clenched around her, causing her to practically scream. 

Her hands slowed down their rhythm so she could sink deeper inside of you, hitting that specific spot that caused the pockets of white in front of you to spin impossibly faster. She was met with no resistance as she slid in and out of your fluttering walls, the movement made easy by the arousal gushing out from your entrance. The wet sounds of your cunt echoed through the room every time your thighs met with hers, the noise drowned out by your loud moans. 

Each time her tip brushed against that one place inside you, your cunt squeezed her tight and you could tell by the erratic timing of her hips that she was getting close. As soon as you felt Natasha’s thighs shaking beneath you, the stars in your eyes burst, sending hot sparks flying through your veins, the heat setting the end of your nerves on fire. She followed immediately after you, releasing inside of you in waves as she screamed your name. She didn’t stop bouncing you on her dick until you slumped against her shoulders, crushed beneath the weight of your orgasm. 

You lifted yourself from her softening cock and moved to the centre of the bed, lowering yourself onto your back. You hooked your hands underneath your knees and pulled them up to your chin, exposing your lower half to her eyes. She drank the sight of you in, still gasping for air. 

“You already want more?” Natasha tutted. “Greedy whore.” She didn’t even ask you to beg; the sight of you exposed to her was enough. She pulled her dress above her head and it joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor before releasing her breasts from their confines, her nipples sore from the restraint. She placed her hands on either side of your head, admiring your blown-out pupils and the streaks of mascara on your cheek; you hadn’t even realised you’d been crying.

Natasha didn’t know if it was from exhaustion or the way your beauty struck her but she decided to take her time with you that time. Her fingers dipped into your folds, caressing you with a gentleness you hadn’t felt from her before, the whines she earned from you quiet and subtle.

She ran her tip through your slit, soaking it with a mix of both your releases before nudging it against your entrance again. She dipped into you slowly, savouring the feeling of each new nerve that came into contact with your walls, re-tightening the released knot inside her stomach. Natasha didn’t start moving until she was fully inside of you, her face flushed by crimson.

As she leaned down to press her forehead against yours, you picked up her scent, the same vanilla and brown sugar perfume from before flooding your senses. Your hips met as she thrust into you with purpose; she was focusing on hitting exactly where you needed her to. 

She lifted your legs onto her shoulders so she could fill you to the brim and free your hands. You moved them into her hair, your nails running along her scalp. Each breath that left her lips met with your skin, the faint sound intertwining with the oxygen leaving your lungs, your body buzzing with exhilaration. You could already feel yourself tipping over the edge, each wave that hit you stronger than the last. 

“You love this, don’t you? You love being put in your place,” Natasha said. It was like she was holding a blade to your every seam and she was cutting them one by one, splitting you apart slowly. “You’re taking my cock so well.” You closed your eyes as the ecstasy racing through your veins lifted you higher and higher, loud whimpers leaving your mouth. 

“I’m so close,” you admitted. She increased her pace as she rocked her hips into you and as you tightened around her, without either of you saying a word, you let go at the same time. You could feel her cock pulsing inside of you as you spilled over her and you plummeted back to earth, your nose nudging against hers as you arched your back. 

As soon as your climaxes were over, she shuddered and collapsed on top of you. Natasha didn’t move for a few minutes, nuzzling her face against your neck and you ran a hand over her hair, absorbing the softness underneath your fingertips, hoping it would stay in your memory. Your chests were pressed together and the weight of her on top of you was comforting, although a little warm. The intimacy of the moment was dangerous but you were both too tired to notice it.

“You look so pretty when you come undone,” Natasha murmured against your skin, her finger tracing shapes along your jaw. You weren’t thinking about what she was doing; you hadn’t caught onto her tone. A few moments passed before she added, “I was being serious earlier. I want you to be mine.” The organ in your chest dropped.

Your hand halted and you slipped it out of her hair, causing her to lift her head. She was inches away from your face, close enough to see the electricity in your eyes, crackling with anxiety and something more. Your pupils were shrinking rapidly and there were lines were forming across your forehead. 

“What do you mean?” You thought she had meant it in a possessive way; it was said from a place of jealousy and lust. How could it mean anymore? She shook her head.

“I don’t know what it is about you. I just can’t get you out of my head.” Natasha knew it wasn’t just for sexual reasons either but she couldn’t quite confront that fact. She slipped herself out of you and rolled onto the mattress beside you. You stared up at the ceiling, hyperaware of her every movement. Your muscles tensed as soon as she touched your arm, her fingertips dancing over the goosebumps forming along your skin. You weren’t someone who liked feelings or showed any vulnerabilities. You didn’t think she was either.

“What are we doing, Natasha?” you said, your chest tightening. You started nibbling on the corner of your lip, the room suddenly becoming too hot and small all at once. The situation between you had started off so normal; you had needed to blow off some steam and you were both attracted to each other, so it was an easy solution. Then, it had become an orchestrated plan to get her back for leaving you, even though she had no obligation to stay and after spending yet another night together, you were discussing your fucking emotions. “We both know you won’t be with me.”

“I’m sorry,” Natasha said. You barely caught her words. She kissed your shoulder and hesitated before tilting your face towards her, pressing her lips to yours. Her kisses were slow and sensual, her lips moving against you as you kept yours still. She stopped when she noticed you weren’t reciprocating, brushing the strands of your hair stuck to your sticky forehead from your face. “It’s not that simple. You know that.”

You felt a stab of anger and your nails dug into the palms of your hands. It wasn’t like you to break easily. Perhaps you were still too young to withstand the pain after all; your heart was inexperienced and malleable. You had dated before but it had never been serious or long-term. You couldn’t truly say that you’d ever loved someone (not that you loved Natasha or ever would, of course). You had a strange urge to get to know her better; you wanted to have a conversation with her beyond sex. You wanted to spend time with her without it involving the two of you being wrapped up together in the sheets of a cheap motel bedroom. It was stupid of you to even think about the idea.  

You could feel your barriers crumbling, so you ran back to what you knew, to what was comforting. If it was only lust between you, then that’s what you’d drink. 

You climbed on top of Natasha and started kissing down her neck, grazing your teeth over her pulse point. You didn’t stop when she whispered your name in a confused tone, in fact, it only spurred you on. Your mouth wrapped around her nipple and you squeezed the other one in between your fingers, refusing to look into her eyes.

Her hands remained by her sides, refusing to touch you. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth and she itched to push you off, to ignore the hunger coursing through her body and to be honest with you, she wanted to talk to you properly. She didn’t want to use you. She wanted it to be something more.

You released her nipple and dragged your fingers down her stomach, tracing the taunt muscles of her abs and dulling her mind to everything that wasn’t your touch. When you reached her thighs, her cock was already hard again and you could feel tears building in your eyes but they weren’t caused by overstimulation or exhaustion. You knew how twisted the whole thing was. It was sick — you were sick.

The first drops of translucent hurt slipped down your cheeks as you ran your tongue along her tip, your bare body on complete display to her as you settled in front of her on all fours, gripping her thighs. You were going to give Natasha everything but your soul that night and she was going to watch as you slowly but surely fell apart under her gaze. 

A/n - I have an idea for part 3 (which would be the last part). If anyone has any ideas for the actual smut bit, please don't hesitate to send a request about it.

[pixiexdusts-world]

Wings of rest

Joaquin Torres x girlfriend!reader

Summary: Joaquin returns home injured, and his girlfriend tends to him. They cuddle and kiss, bringing him comfort as he finally rests.

Word count: 644

Notes: no Captain America: Brave New World spoilers :)

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Joaquin Torres groaned as he landed on the rooftop, his wings retracting with a soft metallic hum. His ribs ached, his muscles burned, and he knew tomorrow would be worse. The mission had been a success—barely—but right now, he wasn’t thinking about that. He was thinking about making it through the front door of his apartment without collapsing.

He didn’t have to, though. You were already there, waiting.

The moment he stepped inside, you were on him, your hands on his face, your eyes scanning every inch of him with worry. “You’re hurt,” you whispered, brushing your fingers over a bruise forming along his jaw.

“I’ll live,” he muttered, though he swayed on his feet.

You didn’t believe him. You never did.

“Sit,” you ordered, guiding him toward the couch. He didn’t argue, mostly because he was too tired to.

He let his head fall back against the cushions, exhaling sharply as you disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of running water and clinking bottles followed, and when you returned, you knelt in front of him, a damp washcloth in hand.

“This is gonna sting,” you warned.

“Everything already stings,” he joked, but it turned into a hiss when you dabbed at a cut on his temple.

You rolled your eyes. “Then stop getting hit in the face.”

“It’s part of the job.”

“So is coming home to me in one piece.”

He cracked a smile, but it faded as you continued your careful work. The warmth of your touch, the way you bit your lip in concentration—he felt it all, grounding him in a way nothing else could.

Once you were satisfied, you set the washcloth aside and cupped his face, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “Better?”

Joaquin sighed, leaning into your touch. “Much.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead before standing. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

He let you pull him up, let you guide him to your room, let himself melt into the comfort of your presence. Because out there, he was the Falcon—fast, strong, untouchable. But here, with you?

Here, he could rest.

You helped him out of his gear, your fingers careful and patient as you unfastened the straps and peeled away the layers of his suit. Once he was down to just his sweatpants, you tugged him onto the bed, slipping under the covers beside him.

Joaquin sighed as you curled into his side, your warmth immediately easing the soreness in his body. He pulled you closer, resting his chin on the top of your head while your fingers traced lazy circles on his bare chest.

“You scared me tonight,” you admitted softly.

“I know,” he murmured, kissing your hair. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t respond right away, just pressed a kiss to his shoulder before shifting up to look at him. Your eyes were soft, filled with something deeper than worry—something that made his heart ache in the best way.

“I just need you to come home,” you whispered.

Joaquin lifted a hand to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. “I always will.”

You closed the small space between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was slow and deep, like you were trying to remind yourself he was here, real and safe in your arms. He kissed you back just as tenderly, savoring the warmth, the softness, the quiet reassurance that no matter how hard things got, this—you—were always waiting for him.

When you finally pulled away, you nestled back into his chest, and Joaquin held you close, his lips resting against your forehead.

“Get some sleep, cariño,” you murmured.

He smiled, pressing one last kiss to your temple. “Only if you stay right here.”

And with you in his arms, he finally let himself drift off, knowing that for tonight, he was exactly where he belonged.

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

In The Dead Of Night

main masterlist | marvel masterlist

summary: a midnight blurb.

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

rating: PG

word count: 0.3k

warnings: nightmares, bucky is haunted by his past, poor writing because i’m just getting back into it, bed sharing

timeline: set right before tfatws

author’s note: i’m back bitchessss!!!! i know this is short af but it’s the best i can do atm. sending love!

A cold sweat glazed his toned body as Bucky sat up straight in bed. Memories flooded his mind as he tried his best to block out the horrid dream.

You laid there next to him, sound asleep with your lips slightly parted; peaceful breaths escaping from between them.

As he laid back down he pulled you into his chest tightly; like a scared child clinging to their stuffed toy in the night. He hated doing this to you but he knew you’d forgive him for waking you up.

“Buck?” you mumbled, still half asleep yet knowing why he was holding on to you. “Love you.”

You forced yourself to wake up. It wasn’t often he woke you up (only when the dreams were particularly hard to handle) so you knew it was bad for him right now. You knew he was going through hell.

“Wanna talk about it?” you asked, now fully awake.

“Can’t find the words right now, hun,” he breathed shakily. “Sorry for waking you.”

“I forgive you,” you replied. You knew he needed to hear those words in order to forgive himself. “There’s no need to apologize.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

He squeezed you gently; tight enough that his left hand was digging into your skin uncomfortably, but you didn’t ask him to stop. You simply found his right hand and held it to your lips, kissing him softly.

He let out a long breath of relief when he felt your lips on his skin; something so familiar, so loving to ground him. To bring him back down to where he was — next to you.

He wasn’t fighting in a war, he wasn’t strapped down to a chair, his mind wasn’t being wiped; he was here in this bed holding onto the love of his life. His rock, his safety, his whole world. And he knew no matter what he did, you were going to stay next to him.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

New Member of the Household

Summary: Bucky adopts a cat that rather despises you

After a week long mission, you want nothing more than to cuddle up to your husband and bask in his warm embrace. That singular thought drives you to put one foot in front of the other despite the heavy protest from your muscles, and after what feels like forever, you finally arrive at the front door of your apartment.

Pushing open the door, you quietly set your things down on the nearby table, leaving the unpacking to tomorrow. You have more important things to attend to right now, such as finding your husband so that you can dramatically flop into his arms. Provided he's awake. You've returned later than you said you would, and you wouldn't blame him if he fell asleep while waiting for you.

It's a habit now, for each of you to stay up waiting for the other to come back from a mission. It all started when Bucky quietly confessed that he found it hard to sleep without you with the most sheepish look on his face, so you placed a bunch of blankets on the couch where he would normally sit and wait for you to come back along with a pitcher of water just in case he got thirsty. To ensure he didn't feel embarrassed about needing to wait for you to come back home before he could sleep, you decided to return the favour and now you too wait on the couch for your husband to come home before going to bed.

The house is mostly dark, minusing the low light coming from the lamp next to the couch and you make your way over, smiling when you see your beloved husband fast asleep on said couch, lips slightly parted and soft brown locks messily sprawled all over his makeshift pillow.

There is, however, a new addition to the usual sight — a fluffy white ball atop his chest. The white ball uncurls into a kitten who stares at you with intense light blue eyes, then fangs and claws pop out, accompanied by a hiss that wakes your husband up. Bucky curls around the kitten, muscles tensed until he sees you and then he relaxes, letting out a sigh of relief.

"Welcome back, doll." He smiles, setting the kitten down and stretches out his arms towards you.

"It's good to be back." You hug him tightly, all weariness forgotten the moment you feel his warmth around you. "Who's the new addition?"

The white kitten hisses at you, attempting to swipe at your forearm but you pull away faster, raising an eyebrow. Bucky quickly gives the kitten a bop on its nose, scolding it as if the kitten was a naughty child before turning back to you.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't know Alpine would be so hostile towards you, I thought since she was alright with me she'd be alright with you too but it seems like I was wrong." He laughs nervously. "I'm sorry I should have asked you about it first."

His head hangs, pulling away from you and picks the kitten up. It nestles in his arms comfortably, but keeps hissing at you anyways. "I'll…see if I can rehome her or —"

"James." You cut him off. "Her name is Alpine?"

"Yeah, I named her." He cautiously looks up at you, ice blue eyes filled with anxiety and sorrow.

"Where'd you get her?" Said white ball of fluff wriggles in Bucky's strong grip, desperately trying to get to you, presumably so that she can claw your eyes out.

"The animal shelter a couple streets down. The therapist said I should get a pet so I paid the shelter a visit, and she immediately latched onto me. The shelter volunteers all agreed that I should adopt her, since I was the only one she actually liked." He hugs Alpine tighter, poking the kitten on her head but she continues to angrily spit in your direction.

"I see. Maybe she just needs time to get used to me, I do have the blood of a wolf god after all, and cats don't get along with dogs for the most part." You chuckle. "I don't mind keeping her around, the therapist did recommend you to get a pet."

"You…don't? Alpine will —"

"Yeah, I don't mind having a fluffy white ball attempt to maul me at every given opportunity. I'll just maul it right ba — I'm just kidding, I'm just kidding!" You yelp, panic waving your hands upon seeing his expression fall. "I'm sure it'll just take time for Alpine and I to get to know each other. We'll be fine, right Alpine?"

Alpine hisses in response, glowering at you and you sigh. "Come on now, we both want Bucky to be happy, don't we? Cooperate with me please?"

You receive a meow and you take that as a win. It's not a hiss or a spit, so that's progress, and that is all the progress that's needed to reassure Bucky. Your husband loosens his grip on the new house cat and she leaps out out his arms, sending you one last glare before heading out of the room. You growl at the vanishing figure, throwing up a middle finger before being pulled to the couch by a pair of strong arms.

"Really now? Flipping off a kitten?" He pecks you on the cheek, giving you a soft smile.

"She better not steal you from me, I'm already letting her angsty self stay for free in this house despite our 'disagreements'." You huff into his chest, basking in his scent.

"Now I have two fluff balls vying for my attention, what ever am I supposed to do." He ruffles your hair, lips tugging upwards. "I mean it, doll. If Alpine is too much trouble I —"

"I mean it too, handsome. Alpine can stay." You press a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips. "Means I don't have to worry so much about you whenever I go on a mission, considering how protective of you she is. However, she can't steal all your attention away from me, got it?"

"Understood." He presses a kiss to the top of your head, nuzzling into your hair. "Should we turn in for the night?"

"There's not much night left." You yawn, adrenaline finally wearing off. Your eyes keep trying to close but you fight it, wanting to spend as much time as possible with the one you love. You've missed his handsome face, and you want to tell him about your mission, especially the part where Sam face planted into the dirt because he tripped over a tree root. Sam didn't make you promise not to tell anyone, he only threatened to take all your snacks but you could always buy more with Tony's black card. Or go a week without snacks. A fair trade, in your opinion.

"All the more we should get some rest. I'll take tomorrow off, we can shop for Alpine's stuff together." He scoops you up, carrying you to your shared bedroom. "Oh, you should take a bath first."

"Too tired," you mumble.

"I'll help, don't worry doll. After the bath we can cuddle and sleep for as long as we want, alright?" He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You'll have all my attention tomorrow, promise."

"I better have it all tomorrow, no cutting corners." You can't muster the energy to actually sound threatening, and the empty threat only makes Bucky more amused.

"No cutting corners," he reassures you with a smile.

"Mmm…love you."

"Love you too."

[takenbypeter]

The Counsel Given

SPOILERS FOR CAP AMERICA 4

Bucky Barnes x reader

Hey hey ��� I’ve slowly SLOWLY been writing fanfiction again just haven’t edit and posted butttt I finally watched Cap America 4 yesterday and the Bucky scene was one of the scenes to make me cry because of how far he’s come. Soooo I wrote this lil story that takes place literally right after that scene. Anyways hope y’all like it 💕

Patience. That’s what you told yourself as you rocked on your heels, back and forth, standing outside the building. Patience is what you needed in this situation.

You knew they needed their space.

After alternating between standing and sitting for about twenty minutes your attention drew to the door that was finally opening up again and you watched as Bucky finally came out.

Without waiting another moment you walked up to him, “so how is he?”

Bucky nodded, “he’ll be alright.”

Bucky led the way as you trailed close, “and Joaquin, how did he look?”

“From what I’ve heard he’s a tough kid, he’ll pull through.”

You nodded following Bucky to the direction of his car.

Although you knew it was none of your business you were still curious, “what did you say to him?”

“I told him what he needs to hear,” he opens the passenger side door on his car prompting you to take a seat, which you do, while he adds, “and the truth.”

He shuts the door before entering from the other side.

“Good. He knows you care about him Buck.”

Bucky shares a considerable look before you ask, “did you tell him you loved him?”

Bucky paused for a moment. At his eventual nod you reach over, your hand landing on his. Bucky wasn’t cold hearted, you knew this could all be a lot for him too.

“I’m proud of you,” Bucky‘s eyes were down as he seemed to be listening. “You dealt with feelings and emotions.”

“Yup,” he let out a sigh through his pressed lips, “therapy will do that to you.”

“Buck I’m serious,” you rubbed your thumb comfortingly along the back of his hand, causing him to shift his gaze from your hands to your eyes. “Sure it maybe stemmed from therapy, but it’s also coming from you. You have come a long way. And I’m proud of you.”

Bucky’s expression softens. It’s the slightest shift but you catch it. Turning his palm upwards he interlocks his fingers with yours and lifting them up he presses his lips to the back of your hand.

While his stubble scratches you a bit, his lips are soft against your skin.

Your words seem to lift some weight off of him as his shoulders drop and he breathes out a deep breath. “Thank you.”

You nod, a soft smile decorating your face in reply.

Although he didn’t outright mention it, you knew that Bucky was worried for his friend. You had some worries too, but just like Bucky you were sure Sam and Joaquin, they would pull through even stronger than before.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Crimson Ties ~ 3

CRIMSON TIES MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,740ish

Summary: You go to your new house.

Warning(s): abuse, nonconsensual touching, inappropriate talk, vomit

Notes: If you haven't seen it yet, linked here is the floor plan that I made for the mansion. Please send in reactions!

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

“Maria Stark has requested that you come to your new house,” your father said as you stood in front of his desk in his office. “I will not deny her the request because we cannot afford for this deal to sour. But you will not be allowed to go alone, Brock will be accompanying you.”

“Understood,” you replied.

“Do not do anything to embarrass me. And dress nice. You may run into Howard and Tony while you are out and I need you to be impressive.”

“Okay.”

“And be prepared to report back when you come home. You’re dismissed.”

You turned around and headed back to your room to change. Brock followed you, with a commanding hand on your lower back. He entered your room with you and went over to your bed, lounging arrogantly on it.

“Put on a show for me, Y/N,” he requested with a devious look plastered on his face. “I want to see you all dolled up and pretty for me. Though we can pretend it’s for the Stark’s.”

This wasn't the first time that Brock came in demanding a show from you as you figured out an outfit. So you took a deep breath and headed for your closet. You pulled an outfit and began changing into it.

“You know,” Brock spoke from your bed, “one day, when you’re my wife, I’ll have you changing in front of me.” You felt bile come up your throat at the thought. “Hopefully, I won’t have to wait too long.” 

You hated the way he was talking, like he knew something more than you did. Which was always the case. You were always kept in the dark and given no control over your life. It wouldn’t shock you if you were originally promised to Brock before your father conjured up the deal with the Stark’s. But the fact that he was saying that you’d be his wife eventually was unsettling. You may not know Tony Stark, but being his wife had to be better than being Brock Rumlow’s wife.

~~~

The only reason why Brock let you sit in the back of the car was because he didn’t want to risk the Stark’s seeing something that would jeopardize the deal. You were grateful for it. When you pulled up to a gate, it immediately opened, allowing Brock to drive the car through. The long driveway was lined with tall trees. Your eyes fell to the large fountain in the front of the mansion before they scanned up to the grand building. You gasped. It was larger than your father’s, which he definitely won’t be happy about, and it looked brand new. Maria, Natasha, and two other unfamiliar faces were waiting for you outside of the mansion. Brock rushed around to open your door once he was parked. Maria was quickly in front of you before Brock could do anything more.

“Y/N,” she greeted with a large grin, pulling you in for a hug. You tensed, not used to being hugged like this. Maria quickly pulled away once she felt you tense. “I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

“No,” you shook your head. “I’m fine.”

She gave your arms a gentle squeeze before taking one of your hands and leading you towards those waiting. “You’ve met Natasha.”

“Nice to see you again, Y/N,” Natasha said. You could tell her focus was more on the man behind you, eyeing him suspiciously.

“You too,” you replied.

“And this is Peggy,” Maria continued. “Peggy manages the Stark offices and basically everything else.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Peggy said with a small smile. You gave her a nod.

“And this is Rhodey. Head of our security.”

“Ma’am,” Rhodey said with a nod. His eyes were focused on Brock too.

“Uh, this is Brock Rumlow,” you introduced, “my bodyguard.”

“Yes, I am the one in charge of Y/N’s safety,” Brock confirmed.

“Not for long,” Rhodey mumbled.

You could feel Brock tense behind you. HIs hand came up to the small of your back, as a reminder to you and to show everyone who was actually in charge. Maria gave your hand a light squeeze, reminding you that she was still there.

“Let’s take a tour of your new home,” Maria said, guiding you into the mansion. Brock never lost his stride, keeping on the other side of you with a hand on your back.

Maria, Peggy, Natasha, and Rhodey worked together to explain the house. There were two big garages, the left for Tony and the right for you. The same with most of the interior of the house. The right side held an extra full size bath, a laundry room, your extremely big bed and bath, and four extra bedrooms. Tony’s side was the same except for the studio was his office with a staircase leading down to the basement. Rhodey assured you that you would never have to go to the basement and that you should just forget about it.

The shared living space was large in excess. The ceilings seemed to be impossibly higher in the middle of the house. There was a large kitchen to the left of the entry way with a pantry and island. There was a dining room off to the side of it as well as a piano. There was a sitting area with a fireplace that had large bookshelves on either side of it, going all the way up the walls with a moving ladder to reach the highest shelf. 

Out back, there was a massive pool and hot tub. Past those features, was a large yard. It was all beautiful and manicured to absolute perfection. Peggy informed you that there were two other houses on the property, one on either side of the house. She explained that the houses were for your members of security and other household workers. 

Maria let you go explore your side of the house for a moment, staying in the living area to talk to Peggy, Natasha, and Rhodey. Brock, of course, followed you. He smirked at the sight of the side entrance and leaned in so that his lips brushed against your ear.

“Did you make a request for that door?” He asked. His hands came up to your waist, tugging you closer from behind. Your breath hitched. “A secret entry, just for me? So that I can come see you overnight after your husband has gone to bed?” You stayed silent, wanting the situation to be over. “Don’t need to be so quiet about it, sweetheart. I know you’ll be happy to see me.”

You finally stepped out of his grasp and headed back for the others. As they heard your footsteps, they looked over at you and Brock could sense that something was off.

“Rumlow, quick question,” Rhodey called. “Is your boss expecting someone from his team to join our security when Y/N gets married?”

“He’s actually expecting me to,” Brock responded. Natasha and Peggy didn’t miss the way you tensed. “I have been in charge of Y/N’s protection for years. I know her routine and what is best for her.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think Mr. Stark would appreciate that. Yes, this deal is to merge the families but we have enough security to take care of her.”

“I don’t think my boss with approve of that.”

“Then he can take it up with Mr. Stark. As of right now, none of Stane’s men, including you, will be joining our team.”

The immense relief that you felt due to Rhodey’s words. You knew that Brock and your father would fight to get Brock on your new security team. But you would have some space, at least for a little while. Maria reached over and gently took your hand.

“Let’s go talk alone, my dear,” she said, guiding you away. She noticed Brock moving to follow out of the corner of her eye. “She will be fine, Mr. Rumlow. We won’t be long.” Then she quickly led you to your new studio and shut the door. “I got this space fully stocked with the best items for your pottery. I looked at your list and went overboard, I hope that’s okay.”

You nodded. “It’s too much,” you told her. “It’s all too much… Thank you.”

“You don’t have to apologize, dear. You’re family now. You say the word and it’s yours.”

“Thank you,” you repeated, words failing you.

Maria gave you a kind smile, stepping closer to you. “I have a hard question to ask and I know that you may not want to give me the truth, but I need you to.” Your heart began pounding nervously. “Rumlow… do you want him on your team? I can make it happen by talking to Howard. But we are concerned. If you are seeing him on the side, it’s fine. It happens. I won’t judge. But I want to know if you truly want him on your team.”

You swallowed before shaking your head slightly. “N—No,” you squeaked. “Please… no.”

Maria could see you growing emotional and immediately brought you into a hug. “Oh, sweet girl. I’ll make sure that once you’re here, that you’ll be safe. I promise you that.”

You wanted to retort with that she couldn’t promise that. She didn’t know the lengths that your father and Brock could still go to control your life. She also didn’t know what type of husband her son would be. But you needed to trust her and it was mostly easy to do since Maria had only shown you kindness. When she pulled back, she gave you another smile.

“Let’s go back out there,” she said. 

Maria took your hand and led you out of the studio and back into the gigantic living space. The tension was thick and when you looked around, you realized why. Standing there, in slacks, a t-shirt, a suit jacket, and tinted sunglasses was your future husband.

“Tony,” Maria greeted kindly. “I’m so glad you could stop by.” She let go of your hand and walked over to hug her son. 

“Hi, mom,” he muttered, giving her a kiss to the cheek.

“I want you to meet Y/N.” She turned and motioned you over but you were hesitant to move. Brock immediately came to your side, glaring at Tony.

“So this is Stane’s spoiled brat that dad is hooking me to.”

“Tony!” Maria scolded. 

“We’re done here,” Brock stated. 

Brock gripped your upper arm and began dragging you out of the mansion. He squeezed your arm harder as the others began calling after you. He practically threw you in the car before rushing around and speeding off. You could feel the phone in your pocket buzzing and you hated that you couldn’t get it out in fear that Brock would take it away. Brock shouted the whole ride home about what an idiot Tony Stark was and how he was taking what’s his. When you arrived, he marched you straight to your father.

“Let me guess, she was embarrassing,” Obadiah immediately stated as Brock pushed you into the office.

“Well she did break down in front of Maria Stark,” Brock responded. “Tony Stark is a bastard though.” Brock pulled you in front of him, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you against him and his free hand gripped your chin. “I deserve her. She was promised to me. Your business was promised to me as long as I married her.”

“I told you, Brock, that there will be a time when you will marry my daughter and then you will have my business and hopefully the Stark’s as well.”

“It’s not enough! I want her! Every part of her.”

“I heard that Tony has a whore on the side and is planning on keeping her. I’m sure that Y/N will do the same.”

You hated how they were talking about you like you weren’t even there. Like you were an object for them to play with and Brock was holding you as such.

“The Stark’s head of security said that I will not be allowed to be a part of her security team once she’s married,” Brock added. “You know I can’t stay away from her for long.” He pinched your chin and tilted your head to the side before burying his face into your neck.

“I will handle that,” your father promised. “I need you on the inside for our plan to unfold.”

You were barely focused on the conversation happening, too busy trying to keep yourself calm and from throwing up. You tensed as Brock began to leave wet kisses along your neck.

“Please, not in my office, Rumlow,” Obadiah said. “If there’s something you want to do, take it elsewhere.”

“Oh, there’s something I want to do,” Brock mumbled against your neck. “But I think it would be much more fun with a married woman. Let’s go sweetheart. I’ll walk you back to your room.”

Brock kept his hands on you as he took you to your room. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Spinning you around, he slammed you against the door.

“I wish that we had time to talk about all the things I want to do to you,” he murmured. His eyes scanned your body like predator to prey. “I could show you a few already if you want?” He brought a hand to your face and ran his fingers in random patterns alone your skin. “Do you want that, sweetheart?”

“N-no,” you squeaked. “Wa—wait… Let’s wait.”

Brock’s face broke into a devious grin. “I knew you were on the same page as me. Good girl.” He kissed your cheek before shoving you to the side and leaving your room.

You fell to your knees and began throwing up violently. Sobs wracked your body as you did so. Where you just being forced to trade one hell for another? Where you even going to get out of the hell you were currently in? Your father and Brock weren’t going to pull the pressure off of you. And your future husband already thought you were a brat. 

How were you going to survive all of this? 

~~~

“She’s not answering,” Natasha stated after she had tried to call you.

Maria sighed, turning her attention to her son. “Can the rest of you give us some space? I need to talk to my son.” The others quickly disappeared. “I can’t believe you said that to Y/N. I thought I raised you better.”

Tony scoffed. “You don’t know her. She could very well be a spoiled brat.”

“Anthony Edward Stark, you need to watch your words! I have barely known that girl a week, but I can promise that I know enough of the trauma that she has endured. You may think that she’s a spoiled brat because of how Obadiah acts, but I can promise you she is not. Take off your sunglasses and look at me.” Tony sighed but obeyed his mother. “You will treat Y/N with respect and you will be kind to her. She hasn’t known kindness like you have. She hasn’t been lucky like you.”

“You want me to feel pity for the woman that dad is forcing me to marry?”

“Yes, I do! She didn’t ask for this either and she doesn’t deserve to be punished by you.” Maria looked out the back windows for a moment, gathering more of her thoughts, before turning back to Tony. “I know that you have Pepper and I am sure that you will keep seeing her no matter what anyone tells you. But you will stay respectful and keep Pepper away from Y/N. You will do this because I asked you to. Understand?”

“Yes, mom.”

“Good… No one is asking you to love Y/N, but everyone expects you to treat her well. She needs it, more than you know.”

Tony was curious at what his mother meant. But he knew not to press. His mother would not tell him things that were meant for you to share.

“I hope that you will do better than what I witnessed today,” Maria continued.

Tony sighed as Maria walked out. He was to marry you, a complete stranger, in two days. This would be your shared home. He could try to play nice, if only for his mother.

next chapter >

[zaraomarrogers]

❤️

This is an absolute masterpiece - and the meticulously deep characterization is nothing short of perfect.

And the reader - she’s an absolute marvel, I love her. You’ve crafted her with such depth and authenticity that she feels like a real person.

I love when Steve invited himself for dinner with her and they spent time opening up a bit to each other. I’m a huge Steve hoe and always looking for something good to read. So far I’ve only read till part 4. I’m gonna start part 5 and see what happens at the press conference. Also, I wanna know where can I read the next chapter for AOU.

Thank you so much for writing and sharing this with us ❤️

Public Relations: Age of Ultron- Chapter One (MCU x Reader)

I revised the entirety of chapter one because I'm a perfectionist. It is long. You can find the whole series here!

Part one - Tuesday, April 28, 2015

The soft chime of the elevator echoed through the private quarters of Stark Tower as the doors slid open. You stepped out, your heels clicking softly against the polished floor.

You paused. The room was far from the pristine professionalism you’d envisioned when you first accepted the job. Instead, it was lived-in chaos. Mismatched furniture, cluttered surfaces, and a piercing tension that hung in the air like static electricity. It felt as though you had stepped into the middle of a battle plan: unfinished, uneasy, and sharp at the edges.

Conversations that had been murmuring moments before abruptly stopped. All eyes turned to you. You immediately analyzed the room’s occupants; the people who had, collectively, saved the world more than once. As you planted yourself at the front of the room they stared you down with varying degrees of curiosity, skepticism, and scrutiny.

Tony Stark leaned against a sleek bar, posture casual, his expression filled with boredom and semi-amused contempt. Steve Rogers stood near him, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his piercing blue eyes locking onto you like he was assessing a potential threat. 

Thor stood near the window, his imposing figure silhouetted by the mid-morning light. Regal and commanding, as though he needed no words to make his presence known. Harshly contrasted, Doctor Bruce Banner hovered like a shadow at the back of the room, almost hiding. 

Natasha Romanoff lounged at the edge of one of the many couches in the room, seemingly relaxed, though you could tell her sharp gaze was taking in every detail. Clint Barton, though, sat behind her, his expression alive with levity, despite his arm hanging in a sling.

“Good morning,” you began, your voice steady and warm; professional, but friendly. “My name is _____ _____. As I’m sure Ms. Potts has informed you, I’ve been brought on to assist with managing Stark Industries’ image and, by extension, yours.”

You let the words settle for a moment. You had learned, over years of experience, how to walk this line: calm, confident, and unshakable. Not a challenge, not a threat, but an authority.

“I’m here to make sure the world understands the good you’re doing,” you continued, scanning their faces. “And to help mitigate any… misunderstandings that may arise along the way.”

There was a brief silence.

Stark broke it with a wry, sardonic laugh, a sound sharp enough to slice through your words. His smirk was cutting, and his discernment settled on you with the weight of someone who had seen too much to take anything you do seriously. 

You met his eyes evenly, unflinching, before looking to the group as a whole. “I understand my presence may seem like an unnecessary addition to the team,” you spoke, your voice cool and firm, “but I’m here to assist, not intrude.”

The words hung in the air, stabilizing the tension slightly.

Agent Barton snorted, a crooked grin slipping onto his face as he gestured with his good arm. “Well, you’re braver than most. Welcome to the madhouse.”

Agent Romanoff’s lips twitched into a small smirk, and you let yourself relax, very slightly, at the shift in tone. 

“Bravery is a good trait,” Thor rumbled. “You may find you need it here.”

Captain Rogers shifted his weight, his arms uncrossing as his expression softened some. “We’ll do what we can to help,” his voice was polite but measured, as though he wasn’t sure what to make of you. You couldn't blame him for that.

You offered him a small smile. “Thank you, Captain Rogers,” you replied, holding his gaze for a moment before continuing to the group. “I’ll need a room that can serve as my workspace and bedroom.”

Stark pushed off the bar into an upright position, his dry humor cutting back in like clockwork. “Let me guess: room and board is on the company dime?”

You turned to him smoothly, your tone sharpening just a little, along with a smile that was prepared for his dare. “It is. And I’m confident you’ll find my contributions worth every penny.”

There was a beat of silence before Agent Barton chuckled again, the sound lighthearted and genuine. “You’ll fit right in,” he muttered, his grin widening and Agent Romanoff’s lingering smile widened. Thor’s approving nod returned, his broad grin squinting his eyes in a way that almost made him look childlike.

Dr. Banner cleared his throat softly, stepping forward hesitantly, as if to save you from any more of the awkward friction. “I’ll, uh… show you to a room,” he offered.

“Thank you, Dr. Banner,” you replied, softening your tone to match his.

Dr. Banner gave a small, self-conscious smile and started toward the doorway leading to the corridor. You glanced back at the room briefly as the quiet chatter began to resume, then fell into step beside him as he led you into the hallway.

-

The corridor felt instantly quieter as the conversations faded behind you. You let out a small breath, the gravity of the moment settling on your shoulders now that you were alone with Dr. Banner.

“This place can be a little… overwhelming at first,” he said after a moment.

You smiled. “Ms. Potts gave me some forewarning about the dynamics of your team,” you responded. “I know I’m not… an enhanced individual, but I am committed to helping however I can.”

He glanced at you sidelong, his expression softening as if comforted by your sincerity. “I think you’ll do fine,” he said quietly.

He stopped in front of a door, hesitating briefly before opening it with a keycard he pulled from his pocket. “Here you go. It’s not much, but it’s private.”

You stepped into the room, taking in its modest, functional layout: a small desk, a neatly made bed, a wardrobe, and a large window offering a soaring view of Manhattan. It was silent, far removed from the room you had just left.

“This will be perfect,” you said earnestly.

“I’ll ask Agent Hill to reprogram your card to your ID…” Dr. Banner lingered awkwardly for a moment in the doorway, fidgeting slightly. “If you need anything, you can ask Natasha… or me.”

“Thank you, Dr. Banner,” you said, offering him a small, genuine smile.

He nodded quickly, murmuring, “Good luck,” before turning and walking back down the hallway.

You allowed yourself to really pause for the first time that morning as the door suctioned closed. You set your laptop bag on the desk and exhaled softly, smoothing your palms down your skirt as though it would erase the tension that had followed you from the common room.

It wasn’t the first time you’d walked into a room filled with skeptics, but this was different. These weren’t disgruntled CEOs or PR nightmares that could be managed with charm and a well-rehearsed plan. It also wasn't like your time with SHIELD, as only one of several cogs in an HR/PR machine. These were the Avengers. And, despite the polite veneer some had offered, you could feel the uncertainty lingering behind every word, every look.

Overwhelming, indeed.

But, Pepper Potts hired you for a reason. Maria Hill recommended you for a reason. Shaking off the thought, you unzipped your bag and began methodically unpacking your things. You pulled out your laptop first, setting it carefully on the desk before connecting the charger. Next came your tablet and notepad, and two small framed photographs wrapped securely in tissue paper. You hesitated briefly with those, your fingers lingering on the glass as you unwrapped them one by one.

The first was your parents, smiling on a beach; young, carefree, and blissfully unaware of how short their time together would be. The second was your grandmother, sturdy and dignified in her armchair, the woman who’d raised you and instilled in you the belief that accountability, honesty mattered above all else. You arranged them in a neat line on the desk, a small way of grounding yourself in such an unfamiliar place.

With a deep breath, you turned to the rest of your belongings, removing your firearm from its secured pocket in your bag. You bent down to see the underside of the desk, looking for a convenient place to attach your concealed holster- in case it was needed during your time here. A knock at the door startled you, and you straightened abruptly. You set your gun back in its pocket and exhaled, a professional calm returning to your features as you opened it.

A tall, suited man stood with your suitcases and a wooden crate sat in a line behind him. “Delivery for Ms. _____,” he said tersely, his tone neutral and his face unreadable.

“Thank you,” you replied politely, stepping back to allow him inside. He moved wordlessly to set the items near the wardrobe before nodding and leaving as quickly as he’d arrived. 

You spent the next several hours unpacking everything with meticulous care. Clothes went into the wardrobe: business casual options for the week, along with a set of combat-appropriate gear you brought… just in case. Several pairs of shoes were lined up neatly at the bottom and toiletries were placed on the small shelf in the adjoining bathroom. Every item had its place.

By the time you finished, your compact room felt distinctly yours: functional, efficient, and organized. You paused in front of the window, looking out over the sprawling city below. The sun was beginning to dip lower on the horizon, an odd compliment to the skyline that was only beginning to light itself up.

Day one.

Trust can’t be earned in a day. Especially not with a group of people who had already endured so much. Ms. Potts insisted on an indefinite, live-in, contract for this very reason, among others. This wouldn't be a regular 9 to 5.

With an accomplished smile, you headed out into the hallway. If you were going to be prepared for this job, sustenance would help.

-

The exploration was brief. Stark Tower was impressive: modern, sleek, and layered with an almost tangible hum of advanced technology. Yet, beneath the luxury, you could sense the same tension you had walked into earlier. The weight of unresolved conversations and unspoken concern cemented into the very walls.

You found what you were looking for: the dining area. The space was large, but understated compared to the rest of the Tower, with a long table and a kitchen tucked against one wall. Stainless steel appliances gleamed beneath recessed lighting, and a few scattered barstools lined a counter that looked out toward the city skyline.

Clint Barton sat perched at the far end of the counter, hunched slightly over a plate of what looked like leftover pasta, while his free hand texted on a beat-up flip-phone. He glanced up as you entered, his smirk quick and teasing.

“Hey, you’re still alive,” he said, his tone light, laced with the humor of someone who’d already made up his mind about you.

You exhaled a small chuckle as you moved toward the kitchen, leaning briefly against the opposite side of the counter. “Still alive,” you agreed, glancing meaningfully at the sling cradling his arm. “And you?”

Barton raised the arm in question, flexing his fingers slightly. “Yeah, thanks to Dr. Cho should be back to normal in no time.” He set the phone down and picked up his fork, twirling it lazily into what remained of his meal. “You hungry? There's food. I use the term loosely.”

You let out another small laugh, your attention sweeping over the refrigerator and neatly stocked countertops. You reached for an apple in a bowl on the counter and crossed to the fridge to grab two bottles of water. “This will do, thanks.”

He watched you, amusement lingering in his expression as he leaned back slightly. “Calling it a night already?”

“Not quite,” you replied, flipping the apple in your hand. “I’ve got a lot to prepare for tomorrow. Got my work cut out for me, I think.” Your tone was even, with no trace of judgment- just an acknowledgement of the reality you were all navigating.

His easy grin faltered for just a second, his eyes dropping to his plate. The change was subtle, but you caught it; a flicker of guilt, quickly masked by the practiced nonchalance of someone who often carried more pressure than they let on.

“For what it’s worth,” He said after a moment, his voice quieter, but no less genuine, “some of us see what you being here means. Ms. Potts made the right call.”

For all the bravado, there was an honesty beneath his lighthearted exterior- an understanding of the team’s, the world's, current state.

“Thank you, Agent Barton,” you said softly, offering him a heartfelt smile.

He let out a half-laugh, shaking his head as he picked up his phone again. “Clint,” he corrected gently, looking up at you with a glint of humor. 

“Clint,” you echoed, giving him a nod of acknowledgement before turning to leave.

-

You let the weight of the day settle in as you stepped inside your room. The city outside your window was ablaze with light now, the sun almost set and Manhattan coming alive in the darkness.

You settled at your desk, opening your laptop and flipping through the notepad you packed. Files, reports, media analysis; all neatly organized, but the work was just beginning. Tomorrow, you would start by observing, learning team’s dynamics beyond what your research had already revealed. Fangirl-fueled flattery and genuflection wouldn’t work here- not that that was your typical technique, anyway. You needed to know them as people, not just names and public personas.  

Your eyes drifted to the photographs on your desk as you took a bite of your apple.

Trust can’t be built in a day. But I’m here now, and I’m ready.

With that, you set down your apple, pushed aside the tablet, and began to type.

Part Two- Wednesday, April 29th, 2015

The glow of your laptop screen greeted you as you woke up. You sighed, sitting up straight and rubbing the back of your neck. The time in the corner of the laptop screen read 5:28 a.m. Far too early for most people, but just right for you. Just right for today. 

You stood and stretched, the silence of your room settling around you. The room felt almost familiar now. Comfortable, even. Opening your dresser, you pulled out a pair of loose, navy slacks and a soft, fitted blouse, pressing the wrinkles out with your hand before changing. Your loafers came on last, and you tighten your ponytail as you catch your reflection. You looked composed, steady. 

Convincing enough.

Grabbing your tablet and notepad, you stepped into the hallway. Stark Tower was hushed, save for the hum of electricity in the walls.

The common room was bathed in pre-dawn light, the city skyline glowing gold over the buildings seen through the massive windows. The room itself, luxurious and lived-in, hinted at its inhabitants: scattered tech, coffee mugs forgotten on tables, and a disheveled blanket half-fallen from the couch. It looked the same as it did last night during your short, but enlightening interaction with Clint.

You sat at the far end of the long table near the window, laying out your tablet, notepad, and a water bottle you grabbed from the refrigerator on the way in. It was a strange feeling, entering someone else’s space. Their space. But as Ms. Potts and Maria had unspokenly reminded you: you were here for a reason.

Opening your tablet, you dove into the day’s news. 

Sokovia. 

The name alone carried hostility. Every major headline dissected the event; the damage, the danger, the heroes themselves. Yet, as you read deeper, threads of hope wove through the narrative. Supporters called the Avengers revolutionary, necessary.

It’s not their strength people question, you understood. It’s their accountability. Their humanity. 

That's going in my notes.

The soft whir of the elevator broke your focus. Steve Rogers stepped into the shared space, damp from his run. He carried himself with the kind of ease that shouldn’t have been intimidating, and yet it was.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice carrying just enough warmth to soften its dominance.

“Good morning, Captain Rogers,” you replied, your tone polite and even.

You looked back to your tablet, but your focus splintered as he leaned against the kitchen counter, twisting open a water bottle. His presence, effortless and commanding, filled the room.

More than once, your eyes flicked upward. At one point, you glanced over just as he did. Your eyes met for a brief moment, curious and silent, and you immediately looked back to your screen.

-

Natasha Romanoff arrived soon after, soundlessly emerging from down the hallway like a ghost. She poured herself a mug of coffee, had a short, discreet conversation with Captain Rogers, and dropped onto the corner of the couch, tucking her legs under her as she flipped open a worn hardcover book.

“Clint’s out,” she remarked casually, her eyes on the page.

Clint’s out? 

You scribbled a note in your notebook, curiosity piqued. 

Is he on a mission? With family? Does he have family? Is it something they don’t want me to know? 

Her tone suggested it wasn’t worth pressing. It was clear that wherever he was, he trusted her with that information. 

Captain Rogers simply hummed in acknowledgement, beginning to pull ingredients from the fridge. You noted how naturally he fell into the rhythm of cooking, his movements efficient as he cracked eggs into a bowl.

Bruce Banner entered soon after, tousled but alert, a loose sweater draped over him. He moved to the kitchen, and then to the window with a quiet nod of greeting toward you, coffee in hand. You returned the gesture, seeing the subtle, stolen glances he exchanged with Agent Romanoff. It wasn’t much, just a look here and there, but enough to be mentally cataloged.

-

The elevator chimed again, announcing Tony Stark’s entrance. His silk robe billowed slightly as he walked in, his matching pajamas almost comically out of place. He made a beeline for the coffee, sparing you a glance as he passed.

“Morning, sunshine,” he drawled, his smirk infuriatingly confident. “Making us all look bad with your work ethic.”

“Good morning, Mr. Stark,” you replied, unfazed.

He plucked a bagel off one of the plates Captain Rogers was assembling and disappeared toward the elevator calling, “Banner, let’s get to it before the robots build themselves!”

Dr. Banner hesitated for a second, directing a small, sheepish smile toward Romanoff before following Stark.

Curious.

The room quieted again- until Thor entered. His footsteps were unmistakable, a low rumble preceding his booming voice. “Captain! Your mastery of Midgardian cuisine is unmatched!”

You glanced up to see the Asgardian towering over Captain Rogers as he stirred eggs on the stove. Thor’s presence was as large as his personality, and his jovial energy seemed to light up the space.

Thor turned to you, his grin broad. “Lady _____! You must join us. A hearty meal strengthens the body and the mind.”

You hesitated, instinctively looking toward Rogers who was plating scrambled eggs and placing them on the bar counter for everyone to share. He caught your glance and smiled warmly. “Please. I made plenty.”

You stood and made your way to the counter where Thor was already piling food onto a plate and handing it to you; eggs, toast, sausage, and far too much of everything. “Eat well, my friend! You will need your strength.”

“Thank you, Thor,” you managed, though you doubted you could finish even half of what he’d given you.

You ate quietly, listening as Thor and Rogers fell into a rhythm of conversation. Agent Romanoff remained curled on the couch, interjecting with dry quips when Thor’s tales grew too far-fetched. You took careful notes in your head: Thor’s warmth, Natasha’s edge, Steve’s grounding presence. 

There's a family here. Messy, imperfect, but solid. 

It reminded you dimly of something you hadn't experienced in many years.

-

By late morning, the common room had quieted. Thor was sprawled onto the couch fast asleep, his loud snores reverberating through the space. Romanoff and Rogers had left, presumably for the gym, evidenced by their conversation en route, and the others were scattered: Stark and Banner in the lab, Clint… somewhere.

With the team out of sight, you packed up your belongings and set them neatly on the desk in your room. You glanced around one last time and decided it was time for an off-property break before your meeting with Agent Hill. 

-

You stepped out of Stark Tower and into the bustling streets of Manhattan, the crisp spring air a welcome contrast to the controlled environment inside. Outside, the city moved as it always did: cars honking in gridlock, street vendors shouting deals, and pedestrians weaving expertly through the chaos. It was both familiar and grounding, a reminder of the world you were trying to reconnect with the Avengers.

You tucked your phone into your purse and wandered for a few blocks until you found a café that felt just right; unassuming and cozy, with a small chalkboard sign boasting “Fresh Brews, Fresh Gossip.” You smiled and slipped inside.

The café was quiet at this hour. The morning rush had passed, leaving just a handful of patrons scattered at tables. You ordered a tea and sandwich before settling into a corner table by the window. The jazz music playing softly overhead set the perfect backdrop for people-watching, and you let yourself relax for the first time all morning, perhaps all week.

From your spot, you could see the city play out in fragments. A man in a tailored suit walked briskly by, shouting into a phone. A mother guided her child across the street, their hands tightly clasped. A group of young adults entered the café with the kind of energy only people in their early twenties seemed to possess.

They sat at a nearby table, their voices carrying easily over the soft music.

“I’m telling you,” one of them said, adjusting his thick-framed glasses. “The Avengers aren’t the problem. People just don’t get it yet.”

A woman with bright green hair chimed in, setting her latte down with a determined nod. “Exactly. Sokovia was a disaster, sure, but how do people expect a war like that to look? They've already done more than any government has.”

The third, a young man in a vintage Captain America t-shirt, shrugged. “People are scared. It’s human nature. They’ll come around, eventually.”

You sipped your tea slowly, keeping your expression neutral as you listened. The conversation filled you with a sense of reassurance. Despite all the negative headlines and political criticism, there were still people who believed in the Avengers. People who saw their value, even when the rest of the world refused.

You pulled your notebook out of your bag and jotted down a note: 

Core supporters are vocal and hopeful. They’re proof that trust can be rebuilt.

Your sandwich arrived, and you ate slowly, allowing yourself to prolong this moment of calm. You watched the world move outside the window, the constant churn of a city that never stopped, and reflected on the team you left behind at Stark Tower. Messy as they were, they represented hope. 

By the time your plate was empty, you’d filled another page of your notebook with ideas. A public, broadcasted press event was clearly needed, but it was only the beginning; you needed real stories, real moments, to connect these heroes to the people they protected.

You ordered a second tea to-go, taking a moment to breathe in the café’s warmth before stepping back outside. As you made your way toward Stark Tower, your thoughts turned to Maria Hill. You were excited for your meeting- to see an old ally.

-

Maria’s office was tucked into a quiet corner of Stark Tower, separated from the labs and living spaces. You had expected something bare-bones and practical, but as you entered, you found subtle touches of Maria’s personality woven throughout the space.

The large desk at the center of the room was perfectly organized, with neatly stacked files and a trio of monitors displaying data streams. Behind it, a sleek bookshelf held an unexpected mix of tactical manuals, classic novels, and a framed photo of Maria with members of her old SHIELD team. A potted plant- a small, leafy thing- sat in the corner, looking surprisingly healthy for someone as busy as Maria. The Maria you once knew, anyway.

Maria herself stood by the window, arms crossed, a smile emerging as you entered.

“There's my favorite desk jockey,” Maria said, pushing off the wall and walking toward you. To your surprise, Maria greeted you with a quick, genuine hug.

“I thought this was going to be a professional meeting,” you teased as you pulled back.

“Can’t it be both?” Maria smirked, gesturing for you to sit as you moved to the desk. “It’s good to see you. Really.”

“You too,” you settled into the chair across from Maria. “I wasn’t sure you’d have time to meet.”

“For you? Always.” Maria leaned back in her chair, arms folding comfortably across her chest. “So? How are you finding the Tower? I imagine Stark hasn’t made it easy.”

You smiled, thinking of the right words to use. “It’s been… an adjustment. They’ve been manageable, for the most part.”

“They’re good people,” Maria agreed, her tone softening slightly. “Most of the time.”

You tilted your head. “How’s the transition been? From SHIELD to-” you gestured vaguely, “this.”

Maria’s expression grew more guarded, though not unfriendly. “Better than it could’ve been. SHIELD’s collapse left a mess behind, and I’m still cleaning parts of it up. Lots of people turned out to be the wrong kind of loyal.”

“HYDRA,” you said softly, and Maria nodded.

“You got out at the right time,” Maria added, her gaze steady. “If you’d stayed longer, you might’ve gotten caught in the fallout.”

You gave a small shrug, smiling nonchalantly. “I would’ve been fine. You trained me well.”

That earned a small laugh. “Fair point.”

The conversation shifted naturally to business. Maria listened attentively as you outlined your plans, nodding in agreement when you suggested holding a press event to control the narrative.

“It’s smart,” Maria said. “Get ahead of the chaos before it spirals further. You’ll need their cooperation, though.”

“I’ll get it,” you replied with quiet confidence. “Eventually.”

Maria smirked. “I don’t doubt it.” She turned to her central monitor and typed something quickly before looking back at you. “I’m giving you access to the secure messaging system. It’ll help you coordinate without jumping through Tony’s hoops.”

“Thank you,” you said sincerely as you watched Maria type away on your keyboard. It was interesting seeing her in this environment, behind a desk and computer screen, not in full tactical gear wielding a firearm. It was nice, even if a little bizarre.

Now who’s the desk jockey?

As the meeting drew to a close, Maria stood and extended a hand. “It’s good to be working with you again.”

You shook her hand firmly, a smile tugging at your lips. “Likewise. We’ll keep each other safe this time, right?”

“Always,” Maria said, her tone unwavering.

You left Maria’s office feeling steadier than you had all morning. You had a plan, support from someone you trusted, and the sense that you weren't entirely alone in this endeavor.

-

By the time you stepped out of the elevator and back into the common area, the quiet of earlier was long gone. The room buzzed with energy, voices overlapping as Tony Stark argued with Steve Rogers over something you couldn’t quite follow at first.

“It’s not that unrealistic,” Stark was saying, waving his hand like a conductor’s baton.

Rogers crossed his arms, expression skeptical. “Artificial intelligence doesn’t understand morality. At what point are the risks to humanity enough to avoid altogether?”

Agent Romanoff looked up from her seat on the couch, smirking as she noticed you enter. “Ms. _____! You're just in time for Tony to unveil his plan to destroy planet Earth with a robot smarter than anyone that's ever lived!”

You raised both eyebrows, unsure if you should be concerned or intrigued. 

“For the record,” Stark lifted his finger in the air, “it would not be smarter than me.”

“AI,” Dr. Banner said with an apologetic glance toward you.

You smiled in understanding and sat down at the table as the debate continued. Helen Cho sat a few seats away, relaxed, though she said little. You made eye contact and gave each other the same polite smile and nod. Her attention was stolen by Thor who arrived thunderously with two bags of takeout that were unmistakably not enough for the group.

“Fear not!” Thor boomed. “I bring greasy food!”

Romanoff laughed, shaking her head. “All yours, buddy. Tony already ordered food.”

You watched as the conversation dissolved into banter, the room alive with a familial warmth you hadn't expected to see so soon, if at all.

-

Thor was already halfway through 3 out of 4 of his meals when the food Stark had delivered arrived, a variety of takeout containers stacked high on the counter. The scents of spicy noodles, savory pizza, and fried chicken filled the air, drawing everyone toward the kitchen. Agent Romanoff smiled as she grabbed a small plate of dumplings and nestled into a seat across from Thor.

“Thor,” she said, raising an eyebrow and gesturing to the remnants of his meal, “you do realize there's enough food for everyone now, right?”

Thor grinned, completely unbothered. “A warrior never takes chances. Preparation is the key to victory- especially at the dinner table!”

Dr. Cho, seated at the far end of the table, smiled reservedly at his response. You noticed her focus linger on Thor before she turned back to the conversation.

The group began to gather, their earlier debate fading into a more relaxed rhythm. Rogers took the lead in organizing the meal, helping distribute plates and serving utensils, while Stark hung back, scrolling through something on his tablet.

You chose a modest plate of noodles and vegetables, opting to observe rather than jump into the conversations immediately. You’d learned enough from your morning with the team to know they often revealed the most about themselves in these quieter, unscripted moments.

Thor, still animated, leaned over to Dr. Cho, offering her a piece of fried chicken from his plate. “Helen! You must try this. A delicacy among mortals, I am told.”

She hesitated before accepting it with a soft laugh. “Thank you, Thor. I’ll take your word for it.”

You caught the subtle pink that dusted her cheeks as she returned to her upright position, now with a piece of chicken on her plate. You made a quick mental note about the interaction, not for any professional reason, only because it added another interesting layer to the dynamic.

The group had settled into an easy flow, the atmosphere warm and connected. Thor, Agent Romanoff, and Dr. Banner spoke harmoniously. Captain Rogers sat at the table, leaning back slightly in his chair as he listened with quiet amusement. Even Tony Stark, usually the loudest in the room, seemed content to let the others carry the conversation.

You, happy to remain a quiet observer, noted how naturally these extraordinary individuals fell into a rhythm together. Despite their differences, and occasional clashes, they operated like a unit. 

Family.

“Ms. _____,” Steve Rogers started, drawing your attention. “You’ve been watching us all day.” His tone was light, curious. “What’s your take on all this?”

The room quieted slightly, all eyes turning toward you. You hesitated, lowering your fork as you considered your response.

“I see a group of people who care deeply,” you said slowly, your voice soft but steady. “Even when you’re not always on the same page, it’s clear that you’re more than a team. You’re a family. And that’s… grounding. For all the extraordinary things you’ve done, you’re simply human- or, close enough to it.”

Your words were met with thoughtful silence. Romanoff sipped her drink, stoic. Banner offered you a small, encouraging smile. Thor looked genuinely pleased, his chest puffing slightly at the sentiment.

You shifted your tone, leaning forward slightly as you spoke. “That’s the story people need to hear. Not just your victories, but your humanity. I want to highlight that- to show the world the people behind the heroes.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Rogers asked, curious.

“A press conference,” you replied succinctly. “Something simple and direct to start rebuilding trust. In fact, I’d like to meet with all of you to go over the draft before I send it to Ms. Potts, if possible.” You looked around the room, gauging their reactions individually, “Tomorrow, 10:00 a.m., perhaps?”

Thor grinned, “I shall attend!”

Romanoff nodded upwards slightly. “I’ll be there.”

Dr. Banner gave you a tentative, but supportive nod, while Stark leaned back in his chair, sipping his drink. “I’ll think about it,” he said dryly, though the flicker of curiosity in his eyes suggested he’d already decided.

Steve Rogers knocked on the table lightly, his approval clear. “We’ll be there.”

-

As the meal wound down, the team began to disperse. Thor excused himself first, clapping you on the back with a farewell that nearly knocked you off your chair. “Rest well, Lady _____!”

Banner and Stark left next, their conversation already shifting back to the lab as they disappeared down the hallway. Agent Romanoff drained the last of her drink and stood gracefully, muttering something about making a call. Dr. Cho followed soon after, retreating to her quarters after a polite nod toward you.

You stayed to help clear the table, but Rogers stopped you with a small shake of his head. “Go get some rest.”

You hesitated, but relented at the gentle insistence in his voice. “Thank you,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his.

“Goodnight, Ms. _____,” Steve said, his tone warm, but formal.

“Goodnight, Captain,” you replied, a small smile forming at your lips as you turned and left the room.

-

Back in your quarters, you took your time getting ready for bed. You showered in your bathroom, warm water easing the tension in your shoulders, and returned to your desk feeling lighter.

At your desk, you transferred your notes from the day into a clean document on your laptop, thoughts flowing easily. There was a story to tell here: one of compassion, hope, and resilience. It wasn’t going to be easy, but for the first time since arriving, you felt fully confident in your ability to navigate the challenges ahead.

When you finally climbed into bed, the plush mattress and cool sheets were a welcome luxury. You closed your eyes, your thoughts drifting to the team: complex, chaotic, and undeniably close.

Stark Tower didn’t feel like a workplace tonight. It felt like the beginning of something far more significant, and you were grateful to be a part of it, even just for tonight.

With that comforting thought, you drifted off to sleep, your heart steady and your mind clear.

Part Three- Thursday, April 30th, 2015

The conference room was quiet when you stepped inside, the sleek, modern room illuminated by the sunlight through the windows. You moved with purpose as you placed your tablet and notebook neatly at the head of the table. After a quick check of the equipment, you synced your tablet to the large screen at the front of the room, the press release draft glowing in readiness.

The stillness gave you a moment to gather your thoughts, thinking through your already meticulous outline. You exhaled deeply, brushing a hand over the edge of your notes as if perfecting them could settle your nerves. It did, some.

The door creaked open behind you, and you turned to see Steve Rogers stepping in, two coffee cups in hand. 

“Morning,” he greeted, setting one of the cups down on the table in front of you with an easy smile.

“Good morning, Captain Rogers,” you replied, momentarily caught off guard.

He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “Just Steve. No need for formalities.”

You nodded, smiling as you accepted the coffee. “Thank you- this is much needed.”

“Figured as much,” he said, settling into a chair across from you. “I’m excited to see what you’ve got. Don’t worry, these guys aren’t as intimidating as they like to pretend.”

The reassurance in his voice was impactful in a way you weren’t expecting. “If you say so,” you said with a small laugh, feeling the knot of tension in your chest loosen slightly.

Steve leaned back, his expression shifting into something more amused. “Wait until you get Clint in a good mood- he’ll knock them down a few pegs for you.”

An increasingly genuine smile crept up on you. “I’ll have to keep that in mind,” you replied, your voice instinctively lighter than before.

At exactly 10:00 a.m., the door opened with a silence only achievable by Natasha Romanoff, her movements measured and deliberate as she took a seat near the center of the table. She offered you a small nod, her expression calm. 

Before you could return the gesture, Thor strode in, his booming presence filling the room like a sudden burst of sunlight. “Good morning, Lady _____!” he exclaimed, his grin wide and his voice brimming with enthusiasm. He took a seat near Natasha, tightly folding his hands in front of him as if ready for battle- or a very serious meeting.

Bruce Banner followed soon after, slipping in with quiet steps. He gave you a quick, polite smile before settling into a seat directly across from Agent Romanoff, his shoulders slightly hunched in a reserved manner.

The last to arrive was Tony Stark, who strolled in with all the confidence of a man who believed he owned not just the building but the very air within it. His smirk was firmly in place as he scanned the room. “Did I miss the part where we all hold hands and sing kumbaya, or is that later?” he quipped, sliding into the chair at the head of the table across from you.

You met his sarcasm with the same steady calm you’ve rehearsed countless times with countless personalities all comparable to Stark’s. “We’re saving that for after the press conference succeeds, Mr. Stark,” you replied evenly.

He raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “Good answer. Party at my place afterwards,” he said, his smirk softening into something almost approving.

With the team assembled, you took a small breath, standing to address them. The screen behind you shone with the opening lines of the draft press timeline. You held your tablet lightly, your voice steady as you began.

“Thank you all for being here,” you started, your eyes moving briefly to each member of the team, giving them equal amounts of attention. “As you know, public perception of the Avengers is... complicated right now. The goal of this press conference is to repair the relationship between us and the civilian population by taking accountability- but not blame.”

You let the words linger, ensuring their importance was felt before continuing. “This isn’t about shifting responsibility or avoiding hard conversations, nor is it about accepting blame. It’s about showing the public that you, the Avengers, understand their impact and are committed to continue to do better for as long as you have the opportunity to serve them.”

Your tone was firm and reassuring, carefully walking the line between addressing concerns and inspiring confidence. The room was quiet, the gravity of your words settling over the team. Even Tony Stark, for all his usual theatrics, was silent, his smirk fading into a thoughtful expression.

You had their attention, and that was the first step. You glanced briefly at Steve, who gave you an encouraging smile, and continued. “This message isn’t just about addressing criticism. It’s about showing people who you are, what you stand for, and reminding them why they trust the Avengers.”

Your gaze shifted toward Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner as you spoke, your tone clear and deliberate. “I’ve identified Captain Rogers and Dr. Banner as the most effective voices to deliver this message.”

Steve straightened slightly, listening intently.

“Captain Rogers,” you continued, “your leadership and accountability are exactly what people need to see right now. You represent everything this team stands for- integrity, responsibility, and trust.”

Steve gave a small nod, his expression softening with gratitude.

“And Dr. Banner,” you added, turning toward Bruce, who was already shifting anxiously in his seat, “you bring empathy and intellect to the conversation. Your voice shows the humanity behind the science- the balance people need to hear from us.”

He held an expected look of unease. “I’m not exactly… comfortable with public speaking,” he admitted, his voice quiet and his eyes unable to maintain contact with anyone for more than a second.

You offered him a reassuring smile. “That’s exactly why you’re the right choice. You don’t need to deliver a polished speech, you just need to be honest.”

He hesitated, then gave you a small nod, though his uncertainty lingered evident in his posture.

Before you could continue, Tony Stark leaned back in his chair with an exaggerated sigh and devious smirk. “No offense to the old man and the- uh, green man, but what about me? I'm basically the face of this organization.”

You met him with your usual calm. “You are inarguably the most recognizable member of this team, Mr. Stark, but this isn’t about recognition- it’s about connection, empathy. People need to feel they can rely on you, not just see your face on a billboard.”

He did a half-spin in his chair, placing his hand on his heart in mock offense, “I'm empathetic! People love me.’”

“Sure they do,” Agent Romanoff teased through a smirk, rolling her eyes at him.

“Fine, but if this tanks I'm owed an ‘I told you so.” His tone was satirical, but in all honesty, he was probably serious.

“I’ll think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by who has the last word on this one,” you replied smoothly, an amused smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Satisfied that you navigated Tony’s challenge, you turned your attention to Natasha Romanoff, who was actively grinning at your retort. “If Clint is able, I’d like him to attend the press event, as well. Seeing the team stand together sends the kind of message we want represented right now.”

She studied you for a moment, assessing you with the same intensity she uses in the field. Finally, she gave a small nod. “I’ll talk to him.”

You returned the nod, your confidence growing as you began walking the team through the draft. The screen displayed the key points as the Avengers provided their input: Steve focused on accountability, urging the language to reflect genuine responsibility while maintaining hope. Romanoff sharpened the phrasing, her knack for precision turning your ideas into concise, impactful statements. Dr. Banner simplified the more technical explanations, ensuring the language would resonate with the general public. Even Stark offered a few insightful suggestions, though he wrapped them in his usual biting wit.

By the time the meeting wrapped up, the draft was sharper, stronger, and truly representative of the team. The energy in the room had shifted, lighter now as the Avengers began to rise from their seats.

As you gathered your notes, Steve lingered near the door. He hesitated briefly, then turned back to you, his expression warm. “Good work.”

For a moment you were surprised by the sincerity in his tone. You smiled, the weight of the morning lifting slightly. “Thank you, Steve,” you replied, using his name for the first time.

He nodded, your eyes connecting for a surprising amount of time before he turned to leave. As the door closed behind him, you took a deep breath. The meeting had gone better than you expected. You, the team, were moving forward, step by step, and you finally allowed yourself to feel a flicker of true accomplishment.

-

By 11:30 a.m., you were back in your quarters, your desk strewn with notes and your tablet displaying the draft press release. The team’s feedback echoed in your mind as you carefully revised the language, ensuring every word struck the delicate balance they’d discussed. 

Accountability, not blame. Leadership, not superiority. 

The message needed to be honest but hopeful- a clear path forward for both the Avengers and the public.

You took your time with the edits, cross-referencing your notes and replaying moments from the meeting in your head. Steve’s insistence on accountability, Agent Romanoff’s precise phrasing, Dr. Banner’s careful explanations, Thor’s… encouraging smile; all of it wove together to create something stronger than what you started with. When you finally leaned back in your chair, the revised document felt complete.

At 1:30 p.m., you gave the draft one last read, your finger scrolling slowly through the paragraphs as you double-checked the flow. Satisfied, you composed an email to Pepper Potts:

Subject: Press Release Draft + Suggestions

Hello, Ms. Potts,

Please find the attached document, the draft press release incorporating feedback from the team. Below are suggestions for the event details:

Date/Time: Saturday, May 2nd, 10:30 a.m.

Location: City Hall Plaza (pending confirmation).

Speakers: Captain Rogers, Dr. Banner (confirmed).

Any other team members available for support are encouraged to attend.

I’ll keep you updated on any changes. Thank you for trusting me with this- I'm confident this message will resonate.

Best regards,

_____ _____

After hitting send, you exhaled deeply, letting the tension of the morning melt away. The press release was out of your hands now. You grabbed your bag and decided to step out for lunch, eager for a break from the sterile confines of Stark Tower.

-

The small café you had discovered the day before was tucked away on a quiet side street, its environment a warm departure from the buzzing city outside. You ordered the same sandwich and tea, savoring the peaceful atmosphere as you watched pedestrians pass by through the large front window. For a moment, the stress of your responsibilities lifted, replaced by the simple pleasure of an uninterrupted meal.

-

As you walked back toward Stark Tower, the city’s pulse drew in. You let your mind wander, the steady rhythm of your footsteps grounding you. But, as you turned a corner, a small crowd gathered in front of an electronics store interrupted your thoughts.

Televisions in the window blared a news segment with the headline: 

“Avengers: Heroes or Hazards?”

You stopped, your stomach tightening as the anchor’s voice rang out: “The Avengers claim to protect humanity, but their actions in Sokovia have left countless dead and entire cities in ruins. Who holds them accountable? How can we trust them to keep us safe?”

The crowd murmured among themselves, their voices a mix of frustration and resignation. You caught snippets of conversation:

“They’re a liability.”

“Yeah, but what’s the alternative? Let the world burn?”

“Someone needs to rein them in.”

The negativity gnawed at you, but you forced yourself to absorb the sentiment as you continued on. These were the voices you were working to reach: the skeptics, the ones who felt betrayed by heroes they’d once believed in.

A few blocks later, you turned down a quieter street and stopped in your tracks. On the side of a brick building stood a massive mural of the Avengers. Bold red letters above the artwork read: “Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.”

Messages of hope and gratitude were scrawled below in various handwriting:

“Thank you, Avengers!”

“We believe in you.”

“You’re our heroes!”

The contrast was striking, almost ironic. Where legacy news painted the Avengers as reckless and untrustworthy, the people who lived in the city- the ones who saw, felt the impact of their actions firsthand, still believed in them.

This mural, these messages, were a reminder of why you had taken this job in the first place. The Avengers weren’t just a team of extraordinary individuals- they were a symbol of hope. And, despite the cracks in their image, that hope was still alive.

As you approached Stark Tower, you walked a little taller, your resolve renewed. The press conference wasn’t just a step forward- it was a lifeline for people who still believed. And for those who wanted to believe again.

-

The familiar electric hum of the Tower greeted you as you returned, just before 5:30 p.m. The sun wasn’t quite setting, but the orange rays of an impending dusk shone through the clouds overhead. The walk back from your long lunch had cleared your head, but as you stepped into the quieter corridors near the elevator lobby toward the labs, a distant conversation caught your attention.

You paused mid-step, instinctively quieting your movements. The voices- sharp and distinct, belonged to Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. You edged closer, staying out of sight but within earshot. You were good at this.

“This could change everything,” Stark was asserting, his tone confident, almost dismissive of any doubt. “It’s prevention, not just protection. We’ll be able to stop threats before they happen.”

There was a pause, followed by Banner’s quieter, more measured voice. “And if it goes wrong? You’re giving a machine the power to decide what’s a threat, Tony. You can’t guarantee control.”

Stark’s voice grew firmer, his impatience bleeding through. “We’ll control it. I’ve accounted for every scenario.”

Banner’s response came swiftly, tinged with frustration. “You’re rushing this. Just because we can doesn’t mean we should.”

The air between their words was thick with tension, the sharp contrast of Tony Stark’s unshakable confidence and Dr Banner’s wary caution echoing in the hallway. Your chest tightened as the tone of the conversation became clear.

You didn’t understand the full context of what they were discussing, but the implications were right there. This wasn’t just another technological innovation- it was something far bigger. Something potentially, even likely, dangerous.

Your thoughts raced as you stepped away quietly, retreating to your quarters. You felt like an intruder in a moment you weren't meant to witness, but the unease that lingered told you it was important.

By the time you closed the door to your room at 6:00 p.m., your mind was buzzing with questions you couldn't yet answer.

What had sounded like a theoretical debate- robots, AI- now carried a darker reality. 

Could it really be as dangerous as Dr. Banner said? Is Stark pushing something even he can’t control?

You leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes briefly to slow your thoughts. 

I don’t know enough to be afraid yet… 

But Dr. Banner does. 

That alone was reason enough for concern.

You glanced at your tablet, the still notification icon of a received email breaking through your spiraling thoughts. It was a response from Pepper Potts.

Subject: Approved: Press Release

Hi _____,

The event is approved, great work. Attached is correspondence with the Mayor’s Office confirming the event details:

Date/Time: Saturday, May 2nd, 10:30 a.m.

Location: City Hall Plaza.

Keep me updated on final preparations. This is a solid step forward.

Best,

Pepper

You opened the attachment, skimming through the correspondence. The formal quality of the mayor’s office felt oddly grounding, a sharp contrast to the chaos in your head. At least this part of your work was progressing smoothly.

You composed a secure mass message to the team, ensuring everyone was updated:

Subject: Press Event Details

Hi team,

The press event is confirmed for Saturday, May 2nd, at 10:30 a.m. Location: City Hall Plaza. Captain Rogers and Dr. Banner are keynote speakers. 

Let me know if there are any changes or questions.

Thank you all,

_____ _____

The replies came in quickly:

Maria Hill: “Congratulations. Well done, _____.”

Natasha Romanoff: A simple thumbs-up emoji.

The acknowledgment brought a small flicker of relief, but it did little to dull the unease still lingering from what you had overheard.

You leaned back in your chair again, staring out the window as the city buzzed below. You made a mental note.

Tomorrow, I’ll get curious. 

Your gaze fell back to your tablet, the draft press release glowing softly on the screen. For now, the work was progressing. That was something.

But the cracks you’d glimpsed today- between Tony Stark’s ambition and Dr. Banner’s fears- felt like a warning. And warnings, you’ve learned, were rarely theoretical.

Part Four - Friday, May 1st, 2015

The beginning of a sunrise barely crept through the curtains in your room as you woke abruptly, your mind already buzzing with thoughts. It was just after 5:00 a.m. and, despite the early hour, you knew there would be no going back to sleep. Tomorrow’s press event loomed large, the culmination of days of preparation and pressure.

You slipped out of bed, pulling on a light sweater against the morning chill, and sat down at your desk. Your laptop was still open, the latest draft of the Avengers’ press statement glowing softly on the screen after a quick shake of your mouse. The words stared back at you, polished and rehearsed, but somehow they felt… flat.

Leaning forward, you clicked through your notes, adjusting phrasing and fine-tuning details. You knew the speeches were solid; Pepper had approved them, everyone had given their feedback, but something about it all felt incomplete. 

Your mind wandered, as it had been all night, to Tony Stark and Dr. Banner’s conversation the night before. You’d overheard them in passing multiple times before last night, their words casual but now striking a nerve: discussions of algorithms, adaptive programming, and something that sounded, in retrospect, a lot like artificial intelligence. 

The uneasy pit returned to your chest, and before you could stop yourself, you opened your browser and began typing.

Risks of artificial intelligence.

The search results flooded the screen. At first, you clicked out of curiosity, scanning through articles about self-learning systems and machine ethics. But the more you read, the heavier the pit felt. Rogue systems, unpredictable behavior, unintended consequences- it was all there, spelled out in stark detail.

The warnings were clear: AI wasn’t just unpredictable; it was uncontrollable. No matter how carefully it was designed, the potential for failure was always present.

By the time the clock neared 7:00 a.m., you had fallen deep into a rabbit hole, your unease growing with every article you read. You knew Tony Stark was brilliant, and Banner too, but this kind of risk didn’t feel like something anyone could fully control.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you stared at the screen, the information swirling in your mind. You wanted to bring it up, but who are you to question Tony Stark? You were there to manage the Avengers’ public image, not to meddle in their scientific endeavors.

Shutting your laptop with a quiet sigh, you leaned back in your chair. 

Focus. 

Tomorrow was the priority, not some hypothetical worst-case scenario.

Still, your anxiety lingered as you stood and stretched. You needed a way to clear your head. Without overthinking it, you grabbed your gym bag and headed for the fifty-fourth floor.

-

The gym was quiet and empty when you arrived, exactly how you hoped. You headed straight for the target practice taking up more than half of the training facility. You quickly changed into your gear, invigorated at the thought of being back in this setting, as you had been many times. You were never in the field like Maria had been, but as your friendship grew, so did your desire to protect one another should the necessity arise. Training together came naturally.

Selecting a Glock from the weapons locker, you checked the magazine, slid it into place, and stepped into position. Your first shot went wide, hitting just outside the center of the target. You frowned, adjusted your grip, and fired again. 

Closer.

With each pull of the trigger, you fixed your stance, finding the rhythm that had always steadied you. The sharp crack of the gunfire echoed through the space, its familiarity cutting through the haze of unease you’d carried since your research.

One shot after another landed closer to the bullseye, your focus narrowing until nothing else existed but the weight of the gun in your hand and the target in front of you. The simple, mechanical motion- aim, fire, reload- gave you a sense of clarity you hadn't felt all morning- all week.

Your focus was pointed enough that you didn’t notice the two figures standing silently outside the doorway, having heard gunshots and curious to find the source.

“She’s good,” Natasha Romanoff commented, her tone neutral, with a hint of approval.

Steve Rogers stood beside her, his arms crossed as he watched you reload. “I didn’t know she could shoot.”

Romanoff glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “She was recommended by Hill,” she said matter-of-factly, before looking back at you. “Pepper wouldn’t have hired her if she couldn't handle herself.”

Steve nodded slightly, his eyes never leaving you. Your movements were efficient and controlled, each shot landing with precision.

She smirked, her gaze shifting back to Steve. “Interesting,” she said, her voice subtle and teasing. She didn’t elaborate, and when Steve didn’t respond, she dropped it, her smirk lingering. Steve’s jaw tightened, his expression unreadable as he continued to watch you. After a moment, she nudged his arm lightly. 

“Come on,” she said. “Let's let her finish.”

Steve turned, following Romanoff out of the gym, but not without one more glimpse in your direction.

-

You exhaled slowly as the last bullet hit the target dead center. You lowered the Glock, stepping back to survey the target with a critical eye. The session had worked; your mind felt clearer, more focused. The sick feeling hadn’t disappeared, but it was no longer the dominant thought in your mind.

You set the gun down and packed up your things, leaving the range without any idea you’d had an audience. As you stepped into the hallway, the tension in your shoulders eased slightly. 

- 

By the time you returned to your quarters, the rhythmic focus you found at the gun range had settled into a steady sense of control. You set your gym bag down by the door and grabbed your tablet, opening the email from Pepper containing the finalized schedule for tomorrow’s press event.

The timeline was tight and precise, as Pepper’s work always was. Media arrival times, security checkpoints, the order of speeches, and even the time allocated for Q&A sessions- all meticulously outlined.

You scanned the document multiple times. You made a few small updates, ensuring the timeline aligned perfectly with what you had prepared. The press event was designed to flow seamlessly, showcasing Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner as the focal point while reinforcing the Avengers’ accountability and unity.

This will work. 

Everything was set, and you felt confident in the groundwork you’d laid.

Setting the tablet down, you glanced at the clock. It was nearly time for your meetings with the speakers- first Steve, then Banner. You’d been through their speeches already, but you knew there was always room for adjustments.

You moved to the bathroom and splashed cool water on your face, patting it dry before fixing your hair. Your reflection stared back at you, sharp and composed, though the weight of the day ahead lingered faintly in your eyes.

Let’s do it.

By the time you were changed into a new, more meeting-appropriate, outfit, you felt settled. Picking up your tablet again, you reviewed your notes one last time before heading out. The day was moving quickly, but you were ready to keep up.

-

The meeting room on the thirty-seventh floor was bright and open, sunlight streaming through the tall glass windows and pooling on the sleek table in the center. You arrived a few minutes early, your tablet in hand and notes prepared. You wanted to make sure everything was ready for your meeting with Steve.

Not long after, he walked in, his posture as steady and composed as ever. He offered you a polite nod as he pulled out a chair opposite yours.

“Afternoon,” he said, his voice friendly.

“Good afternoon,” you replied with a small smile. “Thanks for making the time.”

Steve settled into his seat, his gaze level as you pulled up the final draft of his speech. “I’ve already gone through your notes,” he said, nodding toward the tablet. “But I’d like to hear what you think.”

Comforted by the enthusiastic collaboration, you took a deep, balancing breath and began walking him through the key points. “Your role in this event is critical,” you started. “You’re the anchor. People look to you for leadership, not just on the battlefield but as a moral compass. That’s what this speech emphasizes: your ability to guide and inspire, even in the real world.”

Steve listened attentively, his arms resting on the table as you continued.

“I adjusted the phrasing in the third paragraph,” you added, scrolling to the section. “It leans more into accountability without sounding defensive. It shows strength through transparency, which I think is exactly what people want to see.”

Steve nodded, his expression thoughtful as he scanned the draft on your tablet. “This is solid,” he said after a moment. “You’ve struck the right balance: strong, but not overbearing.”

You felt a wave of relief but didn’t let it show overtly. “Thank you.”

Steve looked up from the tablet, meeting your eyes. “You’ve done good work, _____. This is exactly what we need.”

His words were simple, but they carried a warmth that moved through you in a way you hadn't expected, almost sending goosebumps down your arms. You nodded, your voice measured. “I’m glad it meets your expectations.”

“It does,” Steve replied. He leaned back slightly, studying you. “You’re putting a lot on your shoulders for this.”

“It’s my job,” you said, your tone even, but warm.

“And you’re doing it well,” he added.

As you wrapped up, you gathered your notes, a smile pulling at the corner of your lips. “Thank you for your time, Captain Rogers,” you flicked your eyes up to him, remembering his correction the day before, “Steve.”

He smiled with sincerity, a comfort you didn't know you needed before walking out of the conference room, leaving you to wonder where the butterfly in your stomach came from. 

-

The next meeting was with Dr. Banner, and you knew it would be a different dynamic from your earlier meeting with Steve. While Steve exuded quiet confidence, Banner carried an air of self-doubt that was noticed from the start.

The room you designated for this meeting was cozier than the one with Steve, with soft lighting and a more relaxed atmosphere, closer to the private quarters on the thirty-first floor. You hoped it would help put him at ease, even if only a little.

He arrived minutes after you did, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Afternoon,” he greeted quietly, giving you a small, diffident smile.

“Hi, Dr. Banner,” you replied, motioning for him to sit. “I thought we could go through this together and make sure you’re comfortable with everything.”

He hesitated, then sat in the seat in front of you, looking down at the tablet but not really reading it. After a moment, he inhaled anxiously. “I’m not sure I’m the right person for this,” he warned, his voice low.

You paused, studying him. “Why do you think that?”

He shrugged, avoiding your gaze. “I’m not exactly the poster child for the calm and collected. People don’t want to hear from me. They want to hear from Steve, or Tony. Not the guy who…” He trailed off, but the implication was clear.

“You’re wrong,” you said firmly, though your tone was gentle. “People want to hear from you. You are indisputably one of the smartest, brightest minds in the world. And, you’re honest. That’s what people connect with.”

He let out a small, humorless laugh. “Honesty doesn’t always inspire confidence.”

“It does when it’s paired with humanity,” you countered. You leaned forward slightly, your voice soft but insistent. “The fact that you’re nervous? That’s what makes you human, and that’s what people trust. They don’t want perfection- they want authenticity. And you’re the perfect person to give them that.”

He glanced at you, his expression conflicted. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” you admitted, smiling slightly. “But it is important. And you’re important to this event. Not just because of what you know, but because of who you are. People will see that- if you let them.”

He was quiet for a moment, his shoulders relaxing slightly as your words sank in. When he finally looked up at you, there was a small, but genuine smile on his face.

“Thanks,” he said softly. “I guess I needed to hear that.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you replied.

The two of you spent the rest of the meeting going over his speech, with you offering small adjustments and answering his questions. By the time you were finished, Dr. Banner seemed more at ease, his nervous energy tempered by a cautious optimism.

As he left the room, he glanced back at you. “You’re good at this,” he said simply.

“Thank you,” you replied, feeling a quiet sense of accomplishment as the door closed behind him.

With both meetings done, you leaned back, letting out a small sigh of relief. The team was ready, you just needed to trust that the work you had done was enough.

The hours spent indoors were starting to weigh on you. After the back-to-back meetings and the morning of intense focus, you craved a change of scenery- something outside the same four walls. By 6:00 p.m., you had your mind made up to take yourself out to dinner. You headed back to your room to freshen up and change into yet another outfit, something more comfortable, but still nice enough to be seen out in public.

After grabbing your coat and bag, and slipping into a more casual pair of shoes, you made your way to the elevator in the lobby of the common area on the same floor. A day of success wrapped up by a nice, relaxing evening alone- it was the perfect way to prepare for tomorrow. You stood in front of the elevator doors comfortably waiting for the elevator car to arrive. As the doors slid open, you were stopped.

“Hey,” Steve greeted casually, having just jog-walked over to you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. “Where are you off to?”

“Just heading out for dinner,” you replied, surprised by the question.

Steve glanced at the elevator doors behind you that were now closing due to inactivity, a friendly smile forming. “Dinner, huh? Mind if I tag along?”

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated. You hadn’t expected him to ask, and while part of you certainly appreciated the offer...

“Honestly, public appearances probably aren’t a great idea right now,” you said, trying to sound lighthearted. “The last thing we need is someone snapping a picture and making it into a story before the press event tomorrow.”

Steve nodded thoughtfully, his smile widening just a bit. “Fair point,” he replied. “What if we stayed in?”

Oh?

“Roof deck, takeout- no cameras, no headlines. What do you think?” He was making eye contact now, the elevator car long gone. You blinked at him a couple times, multiple thoughts occurring at once. During the silence, he leaned forward and pressed the elevator button again.

Dinner alone with Steve Rogers, away from the noise of the world, sounded tremendously intimate. But the day had been long, and the idea of fresh air and friendly company was hard to resist.

“Okay,” you said finally, nodding. “The roof deck. I’ll meet you up there?”

Steve’s smile turned into a grin and he positioned himself ready to jump into the elevator car that was returning. “Perfect. Give me a few minutes to grab the food. You relax until I get there.”

You watched him step into the elevator, then turned to put away your things without looking back. Once in your room, you stop for a moment and inhale, trying to steady your heart rate from the whiplash of the last few minutes. You dropped your bag onto your desk chair and hung up your coat, grabbing a light jacket instead. The thought of unwinding, even for a short while, was suddenly very appealing.

You stepped to the bathroom mirror, now peculiarly aware of any ‘flaws’ in your appearance and acted fast to tidy them. After taking another breath, this one more apprehensive, you left your room.

-

The cool breeze hit you as soon as you stepped onto the deck, carrying with it the faint buzz of the city below. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in soft shades of pastel. You walked through the bar and to the edge, resting your hands lightly on the railing as you took in the view. Stark Tower stood high above the chaos, a rare oasis of calm in a city that never rested.

You let yourself breathe, the tension of the day slowly easing as you stood there. You didn’t often take the time to stop and simply exist, but in this moment, it felt natural. 

A few minutes later the elevator door inside the bar opened, and Steve’s familiar figure stepped out of the giant archway onto the deck. He carried a paper bag in one hand and two bottles of water on the other.

“Hope you like burgers,” he said with a grin, setting the bag down on a nearby table.

“American classic,” you replied, your tone lighter now as you turned to join him.

Steve pulled out a chair for you before settling into his own. As he unpacked the food, you felt the last bit of tension in your shoulders start to fade.

At first, their conversation was light. Steve shared a few stories about the team’s less-than-serious moments: Thor’s unshakable love of pop-tarts, Tony’s questionable karaoke skills, and the time Natasha kicked Clint’s ass in the sparring gym.

You found yourself laughing despite the nagging feeling of self-consciousness that had crept in since dinner began. You’d shared meals with clients before, long hours in the trenches of crisis management often demanded it, but this was different.

This is Captain America.

You glanced at him as he leaned back slightly in his chair, his posture relaxed, tone casual. Everything about him seemed effortless, but it only made you feel more out of place. What were you doing, sharing an almost-secret dinner on a rooftop with someone like him? And why did it feel so… unprofessional?

Steve must have sensed your unease because his expression softened as he turned his attention back to you. “You’re quiet,” he said, his voice gentle. “Everything okay?”

You hesitated, wiping your hands on a napkin to stall for time. “Yeah,” you said finally. “I guess I’m just not used to this.”

“This?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“This,” you repeated, gesturing vaguely between them. “Sitting here, having dinner with you. It’s not exactly something I’d imagined.”

Steve twisted his mouth in thought, his brow furrowing. “Why not?”

“Because you’re you,” you said simply. “You’re Captain America. You’re-” You stopped yourself, shaking your head. “I don’t know.”

Steve’s gaze was steady as he leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. “You’ve earned your place here,” he said firmly. “You’ve been working nonstop to make this happen, and you’ve been looking out for all of us in ways most people wouldn’t even think to. You’re part of this team now, for however long you're with us.”

His words landed heavily, but not in a bad way. You felt a warmth in your chest, though you weren't sure if it was reassuring or just bringing forth how silly this whole thing felt.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, meeting his gaze.

Steve smiled, and the conversation shifted slightly, moving into more personal territory.

He asked about your time with SHIELD, and you told him about your contract after the Battle of New York. You talked about how you managed global scrutiny and dealt with political minefields but had always kept a certain distance from the agents you worked with. Most of them, anyway.

“I kept it professional,” you said. “Always. It's much easier that way.”

“Easier,” Steve repeated, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “But maybe not better.”

You shrugged, unsure how to respond. “It worked for me at the time.” 

Steve nodded, not pushing further. Instead, he shared a little about his own past- growing up in Brooklyn, the people he’d lost, the parts of his old life he missed. You listened intently, finding comfort in his honesty. His words held a quiet pain to them, and you felt an unexpected sense of empathy, as if the conversation had bridged a gap you hadn't even realized was there. There was something grounding in the way he spoke about his past, about loss, and about longing. It wasn’t the typical bravado you’d heard from others; this was real, and human, and raw.

Steve glanced down at his empty plate, his voice quieter now. “You know, everything has changed since I woke up. The world, the people in it... Everyone I knew is gone. Even the ones I thought were strong enough to survive this long.” He chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. “It’s hard, sometimes, knowing that the people you care about... won’t be there when you look around. It’s like everyone I’ve ever known, they’ve all been taken from me.”

You paused, the sincerity of his words sinking in. You hadn’t expected this kind of vulnerability from him. There was something almost... helpless in his voice, despite the strong exterior he naturally held. You thought about your own family, the ones who had shaped you, and your lips pressed together as you tried to hold the conversation back from getting too personal.

“I think I know how you feel,” you said softly, your gaze shifting to the city beyond them, the lights twinkling like distant memories. “My parents... they passed a long time ago. Both of them, unexpectedly.” You swallowed, your throat tightening. “And my grandma... she was the one who raised me, really. She died just after I graduated. It’s... hard to be the last one standing sometimes.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy but comforting in your shared grief. You hadn’t meant to share so much, but it felt different with Steve. Like he understood, in a way that was hard to articulate.

Steve gave you a long, understanding look, his eyes softening. “I’m sorry, _____,” he said quietly, his voice sincere. “I know what it’s like to feel like you’re carrying the burden- the memory of everyone who’s gone. I really do.”

You nodded, your gaze briefly flicking down to your hands as you clasped them together, immediately regretting the turn of tone you took. There was a lump in your throat that you tried to push down, but it was harder to ignore now. The grief you had buried so deeply felt more real than ever.

But then, as quickly as the moment had deepened, you felt the shift inside you, the familiar urge to distance yourself from vulnerability creeping back in. You straightened up in your seat, trying to regain your composure.

“Well,” you said, your tone intentionally lighter now, “I didn’t mean to derail the conversation like that.” You cleared your throat, attempting to shift the mood. “I guess I just... got caught up in what you said. You’ve been through a lot.”

Steve smiled, a soft, understanding smile. He didn’t press you, and the warmth in his eyes let you know he wasn’t expecting more than you were willing to share. “No worries,” he said. “I think we both needed to talk about it.”

You let out a small laugh, grateful for the ease of pressure. You cleared your throat again, trying to fill the silence with something while you thought of what to say next. “So- uh, what’s next for someone who's seen literally everything change?” You shook your head to try and recalibrate your brain in a more professional direction.

Steve’s expression brightened slightly, and the weight of the previous conversation seemed to lift, replaced by a more hopeful note. “I’m not sure yet,” he said, leaning back a little. “But for the first time in a really… really long time, I think I’m ready to figure it out. One step at a time.”

The conversation continued on a positive note, and by the time you had both finished your food the sun had set completely, leaving the city bathed in the soft glow of streetlights and skyscrapers. The air had cooled further, and you felt strangely at ease. The hum of the city was distant now, softened by the quiet comfort of the rooftop. It felt like the kind of evening that could stretch on forever, where the pressures of the outside world didn’t quite reach. 

You took a deep breath, enjoying the calm as much as the food. For the first time in a while, you weren't thinking about your next move or the weight of the job you had taken on. Instead, you simply sat, watching the city unfold beneath you, and allowed yourself to be present.

As Steve cleared the table and prepared to head back inside, you realized that for the first time since arriving at Stark Tower, you felt grounded- not just in your role, but in your place.

“Thank you for this,” you said as you walked toward the elevator.

Steve glanced at you, his expression kind. “Anytime.”

You didn’t know what to make of the flicker of warmth you felt in his company, but for now, you let it be.

As you reached the elevator, you paused, your fingers brushing against the call button. “Steve,” you said hesitantly, turning to him. “Would you mind gathering the team in the common room?” you asked. “Just for a few minutes. I think it would be good to say something before tomorrow.”

Steve tilted his head downward slightly, curious. “A pep talk?”

“Something like that,” you replied, giving a small smile. “I just think... it might help to set the tone.”

Steve nodded without hesitation. “I’ll get everyone together.”

-

A short time later, you stood in the common room, your tablet tucked under your arm as the Avengers slowly filed in. Steve leaned casually against the doorway, arms crossed, while Agent Romanoff settled into the couch. Thor stood with his hands clasped behind his back, an amused expression on his face, while Banner hovered near the edge of the room. Stark arrived last, strolling in with a glass in hand, his sharp gaze briefly meeting yours before he leaned against the bar. 

You cleared your throat, feeling the weight of their attention. “Thank you for coming,” you began, your voice steady, but quiet.

You glanced around the room, taking a moment to meet each of their eyes. “I know this isn’t your usual kind of mission. You’ve faced aliens, supervillains, and-” you couldn't hold in a small, bemused chuckle, “-who knows what else, and compared to that, a press event might feel... insignificant.”

A faint snicker came from Natasha, and Tony smirked, but said nothing.

“But it isn’t insignificant,” you continued, your tone growing firmer. “It’s not just about answering questions or making speeches. It’s about rebuilding trust with the people you’ve been fighting for. They need to see who you are- not just as superheroes, but as people. Because when they see that, they’ll believe in you again.”

The room was silent for a moment, your words lingering in the air.

“You’ve all done incredible things,” you said. “And I know that tomorrow, you’ll do something just as important. We’ve worked hard to make this event as strong as it can be, and I believe it’s going to make a difference.”

Thor raised his chin slightly, his smile growing. “Wise words,” he said approvingly.

“Not bad, Ms. _____,” Natasha added with a subtle grin.

Stark raised his glass slightly, his tone teasing. “You heard her, folks- don’t screw it up.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his comment, the tension in the room dissipating.

“Thank you,” you said, glancing at all of them again. “That’s all I wanted to say.”

The Avengers began to disperse, offering quiet goodnights as they left the common room one by one.

As the last of them disappeared down the hallway, you let out a quiet breath, your shoulders relaxing. The pep talk had gone better than expected, and the team’s quiet but genuine responses left you feeling a sense of contentment.

You returned to your quarters, setting your tablet on the desk and sitting down for a moment. The day had been long and productive. Tomorrow was still daunting, but you felt better prepared than you had that morning.

For now, you were ready to wind down, even if your restless thoughts had other plans.

-

The clock ticked past 10:30 p.m., but you lay wide awake, staring at the faint patterns the shadows cast on your ceiling. Thoughts of tomorrow’s press event mingled with intruding concerns about Stark and Banner’s conversation, a thread of anxiety pulling at you.

You sighed, throwing the blanket off and sitting up. Sleep wasn’t going to come anytime soon, and lying there was only making your frustration grow. 

Tea might help.

Slipping on your sweater, you left your room and headed toward the kitchen, your steps the only sound in the stillness of Stark Tower.

As you rounded the corner, you nearly collided with Tony Stark, who was strolling out of the kitchen with a full glass of whiskey in one hand and his ever-present tablet tucked under his arm.

“Ms. _____,” he greeted, his tone light and teasing. “Burning the midnight oil?”

“Something like that,” you composed yourself and spoke steadily, “and you?”

“Genius doesn't sleep,” Stark started taking a few steps backward, facing you. Your eyes flicked to his tablet briefly before you spoke again. 

“Mr. Stark,” you started carefully, your tone measured, “I’m sorry- I overheard part of your conversation with Dr. Banner yesterday.”

He raised an eyebrow, pausing mid-step. “Eavesdropping? Ms. _____. Thought you were better than that.”

You ignored the teasing, your expression steady. “You mentioned something- AI. I’ve been thinking about it since, and- I’m concerned.”

He leaned back slightly, swirling his drink lazily. “Concerned? About what, exactly? Killer robots? World domination? Let me guess: you’ve been reading the doomsday blogs.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, but you didn't back down. “I’ve been reading a lot. About unpredictability. Rogue systems. The risks of creating something we can’t control. Even the most advanced AI isn’t infallible, and I-”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, his tone still filled with scorn. “I’ve thought through every scenario. That’s what I do, Ms. _____, prepare for the worst and build something better.” He turned, dismissing the conversation, waving you away with his hand. “No need to lose sleep over it.”

“Even the best plans have risks,” you countered, your voice calm but firm.

He stopped walking, turning to look at you fully for the first time. His smirk faded slightly, replaced by irritation.

“Let me stop you right there,” he said, his tone sharper now, though still measured. “You’re good at what you do- managing PR disasters, spinning stories, making us look like heroes. And I respect that. But this? This is science. Complex, messy, way out of your depth. Stick to your expertise, I’ll handle mine.”

The words hit harder than expected, but you held your composure. You straightened slightly, your expression cooling. “Understood,” you said, your voice clipped and professional. “I apologize for overstepping.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked away, your steps calm and measured even as your chest tightened.

He watched you retreat for a moment, his eyes squinting as he watched. With a quiet sigh, he adjusted his grip on his tablet and continued toward the elevator.

-

Back in your quarters, you closed the door behind you and leaned against it, letting out a slow breath. The sting of Stark’s words lingered, but so did your frustration- with him, with yourself, with the situation you couldn't seem to leave alone.

You felt foolish for allowing yourself to get so comfortable, for forgetting that this wasn’t your world. By the end of this, you’d be back to your normal life, far away from superheroes and their chaos.

For now, you needed to focus on what you could control. Tomorrow was all that mattered, and you’d make sure it went flawlessly.

Climbing back into bed, you forced your restless thoughts to quiet, mentally reviewing your checklist for the press event. 

One day at a time.

Part Five- Saturday, May 2nd, 2015

The space was alive with energy; buzzing conversations and clicking cameras filling the area in front of City Hall. Rows of media representatives and dignitaries sat attentively, their eyes fixed on the stage.

Steve Rogers stepped up to the podium, his shoulders squared and his expression calm. He wore his usual crisp attire, a suit that fit him perfectly, but the small detail that caught the light of the camera flashes was the American flag pin on his lapel, a last-minute touch you had given him that morning. As he looked down briefly at the podium, your mind wandered back to the moment you pinned it to his jacket, your fingers carefully securing the small, symbolic ornament. You kept a neutral expression, but underneath, a quiet warmth spread through you, your face betraying the tiniest flush that no one else had noticed. You hope. Steve paused, letting the crowd settle into near-silence, the pin gleaming subtly against his suit as he prepared to speak.

Behind him, the rest of the Avengers stood off to the side. Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, and Thor held a quiet presence, their polished appearances projecting confidence. Clint’s hands were loosely clasped in front of him, his arm no longer in a sling, while Thor stood tall, his posture relaxed but commanding. Tony Stark stood comfortably, if not lazily, next to Thor who was a mountain in comparison. 

Further to the side, near the edge of the stage, you and Bruce Banner lingered together. Your elegant navy dress allowed you to blend into the backdrop, your demeanor poised, exuding professionalism. Bruce, visibly less at ease in his tailored suit, stood beside you, shifting his weight slightly as his eyes scanned the people in front of him.

Everyone was visible- except Maria who was heading security and Dr. Cho who was supporting from the crowd. But it was clear this moment belonged to Steve. The attention was on him, where you had planned for it to be. Steve adjusted the microphone slightly and began speaking, his voice steady and measured.

“The Avengers exist for one reason: to stand between the innocent and danger. Every step we take, every mission we accept, is guided by that purpose.” His gaze swept across the room, meeting the eyes of those in front of him. Each word carried a sincerity that could only come from someone who truly believed in what they were saying.

“But being a hero isn’t just about facing enemies. It’s about listening, learning, and growing to better serve those who depend on us.” He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle.

“We’re not perfect. We make mistakes, we struggle, and sometimes we fall short. But we always get back up, because that’s what this world needs. Not just fighters, but people who are willing to learn and adapt for the greater good.”

His tone softened slightly, the hard edge of his formality turning into a warmer, more personal connection. He leaned forward just enough to make the people in the crowd feel as though he were speaking directly to them. “We’re here for more than just the next battle. We’re here to rebuild trust. To show that heroism isn't defined by power, but by the strength of character.”

“Today, we make this pledge to you: to build a future where peace isn’t just the absence of conflict, but the presence of trust. We’re ready to do the work, together, as a team, and as global citizens.” He straightened, his expression resolute. “We won’t back down from that promise.”

A moment of silence followed, the weight of his words hanging in the air before the crowd erupted into applause. The warm, earnest tone of his speech had resonated deeply, leaving no doubt about the Avengers’ commitment.

You watched from the side, your lips curving into a small, satisfied smile. It was the exact response you’d all hoped for, and you could tell Steve’s authenticity had struck a chord with everyone in the room.

Before Dr. Banner had a chance to panic, Steve was introducing him to the crowd, his arm waving him up. Arriving at the podium, he hesitated for a brief moment as Steve stepped aside, offering him an encouraging nod. With a deep breath, he approached the podium. He adjusted his tie- a small, nervous habit- before darting his attention around at the crowd.

“The challenges we face often demand extraordinary solutions,” he began, his voice almost steady despite the appearance of nerves in his expression. “As a scientist, my focus has always been on finding ways to meet those challenges without creating new ones.”

His words were deliberate, measured, as he paused to let the meaning of his statement sink in. He adjusted slightly, his gaze briefly flicking to you at the edge of the stage. Your calm and reassuring expression gave him the confidence to continue.

“That’s why the Avengers are implementing new protocols,” he said, his voice growing steadier. “From advanced planning to working with the global community, we’re taking action to ensure every mission prioritizes safety and sustainability.” He straightened slightly, finding his rhythm. “But it’s not just about having the right protocols in place- it’s about being accountable for every decision we make. Every mission, every intervention we undertake has its own set of risks. And we take responsibility for those risks.”

Your mind briefly wandered, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered if Bruce’s words about preventing problems before they arose had a deeper meaning. Could he be referring to the new technological solutions they were developing? The thought flickered away as quickly as it came, but you couldn't help feeling a brief tension rise in your chest, wondering if AI was lingering in the background of his speech.

Dr. Banner looked down at the podium briefly, taking a slow breath. “The world deserves nothing less than our best; our best planning, our best resources, and our best people. That’s why we’ve committed to bringing the highest level of scientific expertise and innovation to every challenge we face. We are continuously refining our methods, using cutting-edge technology and research to ensure that we can respond to threats with the most effective solutions possible.”

His gaze met the audience again, his expression firm. “This is more than just a mission: it’s our duty. And we will hold ourselves to the highest standards, always.” The murmurs from the audience quieted, replaced with thoughtful expressions as he spoke. He wasn’t the most comfortable in the spotlight, but his sincerity and careful articulation made an impression.

As he finished speaking, the press wasted no time launching their questions. A reporter in the front row, a sharp-looking woman with a notepad clutched tightly in her hand, raised her voice over the murmurs.

“Dr. Banner, what guarantees can you provide that the Hulk won’t cause another disaster?”

Another reporter quickly followed, his tone more biting: “Do you think someone with your destructive potential belongs on this team?”

Words hung in the air, charged and heavy. Dr. Banner froze for a moment, his expression faltering as the weight of the questions pressed down on him. He opened his mouth to respond but glanced toward you, already making your way to the podium, calm and collected. You stepped forward, wasting no time, but in no hurry. Once you were in his place you nodded to him, signaling his valiant effort had come to an end and he could return to his place out of the center of attention.

“Good morning, everyone.” You scanned the crowd as you introduced yourself. The reporters shifted their attention to you, curiosity sparking in their eyes. “My name is _____ _____ and I have the ultimate pleasure of representing our heroes today. As for your question,” you brought your attention directly to the reporter who moments ago was provoking Dr. Banner with near-accusations, your voice calm and authoritative. 

“The Avengers’ strength lies in their diversity- not just of abilities, but of perspectives,” you began, your gaze sweeping across the room. “Dr. Banner’s contributions have saved countless lives, and his expertise in both science and strategy continues to be invaluable.”

Your tone softened slightly, but the conviction behind your words remained steadfast.

“This team isn’t about perfection; it’s about perseverance and purpose. Every member of the Avengers brings something unique to the table, and together, they’re stronger for it.”

The murmurs in the crowd quieted as your words masterfully redirected the narrative. You transitioned smoothly, steering the conversation back to the team’s new protocols and their commitment to accountability.

By the time you resigned, the tension had eased. The reporters nodded thoughtfully, and scattered applause broke out from a few members of the public in the audience.

Banner exhaled quietly, casting you a grateful glance as he found a comfortable standing position at the edge of the stage with the rest of the team. You met his gaze briefly, offering a small, reassuring smile before turning your attention back to the crowd.

“Any more questions?”

-

The Avengers returned to the common room of Stark Tower, the tension from the press release giving way to a lighter, more celebratory atmosphere. Lunch had been set up buffet-style along one side of the room, with an assortment of dishes that catered to everyone’s tastes- Thor’s towering plate of protein-heavy options was already evidence of that, and the big-screen television was flipping through news stations showcasing the glowing reports on their event. 

You took your place near the edge of the gathering, sipping on a glass of champagne you desperately needed, listening to the team’s conversation with a polite smile, but keeping a professional distance. Relief was palpable in the room, a testament to how smoothly the press release had gone.

Tony Stark leaned casually against the bar next to you with a glass of scotch in hand, and raised it toward you. His tone was playful but carried an underlying sincerity.

“You pulled it off, Ms. _____,” he said, toasting to you quietly. “Managed to make us look like we have our act together. That’s no small feat.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” you said evenly, your tone polite but entirely devoid of warmth. “Your cooperation was appreciated.”

His smirk faltered for just a moment, picking up on the sudden shift in your demeanor. You had been calm and composed during the press release, even kind, when addressing questions and guiding the team, but this- this was colder, more distant. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied you, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. He had an inkling about the cause of your change in tone, but the contrast between your demeanor during the event and now was jarring, almost calculated.

“Appreciated,” Tony echoed softly, his tone more reflective than sarcastic this time. He didn’t push further, instead raising his glass again and taking a sip before turning his attention back to the group.

Steve Rogers, seated nearby, observed the exchange in silence, his brow furrowing slightly. Though your behavior remained polite, he couldn’t ignore the subtle tension in the air. Something had shifted, and it didn’t sit well with him.

Feeling Steve’s gaze, you moved your focus back to the team. You engaged in small talk when prompted but avoided lingering conversations, even with Agent Hill, keeping your distance while still representing yourself as a part of the group. It was your way of maintaining professionalism, though the subtle change didn’t go unnoticed by everyone in the room.

The celebratory atmosphere continued, but for some, a quiet unease lingered beneath the surface.

-

The team continued to relax, their laughter and conversations filling the room. Thor was regaling Clint and Natasha with a slightly exaggerated tale of Asgardian revelry, while Bruce and Steve discussed the response to the press release.

Suddenly, Stark clapped his hands together, cutting through the chatter.

“Alright, folks,” he announced, his voice loud and commanding attention. “It’s time to get ready to party. Be there or be square.”

The room responded with a mixture of groans and cheers, Natasha chuckled as Clint threw a mock-excited fist pump. 

Thor grinned broadly, raising his glass. “I shall partake in this party with great enthusiasm!”

Tony smirked, but his usual bravado seemed a bit off. “I’ll be in the lab if anyone needs me.” He set his drink down and gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “Don’t need me.” The tone was casual, but Steve caught the undertone immediately. Beneath the quip was an unmistakable restlessness, a nervous energy that hadn’t dissipated despite the day’s success. Without another word, Tony left, leaving the room momentarily quieter.

Steve’s gaze flicked back to you, who seemed to register Tony’s exit but didn’t react beyond a faint tightening of your posture. The weight of something unspoken hung between several members of the group, though no one voiced it yet.

The celebratory lunch carried on, but for Steve- and likely for you and Tony- there was a lingering sense that the day wasn’t done testing them.

-

Stark Tower had been utterly transformed. Warm lighting filled the giant room, chandeliers sparkling above as dozens of guests mingled below. Influential allies, dignitaries, and supporters of the Avengers filled the space, their laughter and conversations blending with the beat of music.

The Avengers, dressed sharply, stood out even in a crowd of the city’s most polished and powerful individuals. Thor’s broad frame and unmistakable presence turned heads wherever he walked, while Natasha and Clint’s relaxed, confident energy made them the center of quieter, more intimate discussions.

You moved seamlessly through the crowd, your elegance drawing attention without demanding it. You were approachable, calm, and composed, ensuring every guest felt seen and valued. When dignitaries and allies praised the success of the press release, you accepted their words graciously but immediately redirected the focus back to the team.

“Thank you,” you said with a warm, modest smile. “But they’re the ones doing the hard work. I just help shine a light on what they’ve accomplished.”

The sincerity in your tone struck a chord with everyone you spoke to. Guests responded favorably, impressed by your humility and genuine nature. Some exchanged glances, clearly noting the contrast between your poise and the more flamboyant personalities of certain team members- Tony Stark chief among them.

Even those unfamiliar with your role quickly recognized you as the team's public face. The consensus was clear: you represented them flawlessly.

For now.

-

From across the room, Steve Rogers watched as you handled yourself with remarkable ease. You were in constant motion, moving from conversation to conversation with a practiced grace that seemed effortless. Your dress and understated jewelry were professional and tasteful, complementing the quiet confidence you exude. The cut of your dress was lower than your more commonly worn work outfits- not that Steve noticed, or, not that he'd point out to anyone.

Tony Stark, holding a drink, sidled up beside him, his voice low but amused. “You’re staring, Cap.”

Steve glanced at him, brow furrowing. “I’m just- making sure everything is going okay.”

“Sure,” Tony replied, smirking as he took a sip of his scotch. He gestured toward you, deep in conversation with a group of foreign representatives. “She’s a natural, isn’t she? Makes it look easy. Even managed to survive me.”

Steve allowed a small smile, watching as you gracefully accepted another round of compliments, your demeanor polished, yet distinctly genuine. “Yeah. She’s good.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eye. “Good, huh?”

Steve didn’t reply, his gaze returning to you as Tony chuckled softly to himself, downing the rest of his whiskey before heading to the bar. There, Thor was animatedly discussing someone named Jane with a bored Maria, his voice booming as he gestured wildly. Tony slid onto a barstool beside them, his mood shifting as he joined the conversation, though his thoughts seemed elsewhere.

-

You moved through the crowd, your practiced smile in place as you exchanged pleasantries with another round of guests. Spotting Clint Barton near the edge of the room, you seized the chance for a familiar face and some relief from the endless formalities.

“Agent Barton,” you greeted warmly as you approached.

Clint turned, grinning. “Ms. _____, the woman of the hour,” he teased. “It’s been a while. I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

You chuckled softly, your shoulders relaxing. “Not at all. I’ve just been… busy trying to make all of you look good.”

Natasha Romanoff joined them, a glass of champagne in hand. “And doing a damn good job of it,” she added, her tone light and genuine.

“She’s not wrong,” Clint agreed. “The press conference was impressive. Honestly, the way you stepped in for Banner? Flawless.”

“Thank you,” you replied modestly, your smile widening at the compliment. “I really couldn’t have done it without all of you, though.”

Clint tilted his head, a playful smirk on his lips. “Spoken like a true team player.” 

A brief moment of silence washed over the three of them, ignoring the bumping speakers and hundreds of conversations happening around them. You looked up at the bar where Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner stood- not next to each other, but close enough to be able to admire them both from afar. 

���You know,” you began, your voice casual but deliberate, “this would be the perfect time to talk to him.”

Natasha arched an eyebrow, her expression guarded. “Talk to who?”

“Bruce,” you replied, nodding subtly toward the bar where Bruce stood with Steve, awkwardly nursing a glass of something dark and non-alcoholic. 

She hesitated, her gaze shifting toward Bruce. She was quiet for a moment, her expression unreadable. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said finally, though the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

You gave her a knowing look. “Natasha, you’re one of the most fearless people I’ve ever met. Are you really going to let this be the one thing you avoid?”

Her smirk grew, but she didn't answer immediately. Instead, she took a sip of her champagne and let her gaze linger on Bruce.

“You’re persistent,” she said finally, her tone amused but resigned.

“It’s one of my better qualities,” you quipped with a small smile.

Natasha exhaled softly, then nodded. “Fine. But if this goes sideways, I’m blaming you.”

Your smile widened. “I’ll take full responsibility.”

She handed her almost-empty glass to you and made her way toward Bruce and Steve, her steps confident and flowing. Clint, who had been slyly observing the exchange with mild curiosity, raised an eyebrow at you.

“What did you just do?” he asked, folding his arms.

“Nothing she won't thank me for later,” you replied lightly, taking a small sip of Natasha’s abandoned champagne.

He chuckled. “You’re braver than I thought. I’d have stayed out of that.”

“Someone has to nudge things along,” you said with a shrug, before clearing your throat awkwardly and letting the silence linger. “I need a moment... I’ll be back.”

You handed Clint the glass and made your way toward the powder room, weaving gracefully through the crowd. As you left, you cast a quick glance over your shoulder, catching Natasha as she reached Bruce. A proud smile touched your lips before you disappeared down the hallway.

-

You leaned against the sink in the powder room, your fingers clutching the counter as you stared at your reflection. The evening had gone smoothly, but the weight of maintaining your composure all day was finally catching up to you, not to mention the 4 and a quarter glasses of champagne.

You took a deep breath, smoothing the fabric of your dress and adjusting a stray strand of hair.

Just a couple more hours.

-

Meanwhile, back in the main room, Natasha had made her way across the bar top from Bruce. She leaned casually against the bar, pouring herself a new drink to ignore.

Bruce turned around to lean against it, mirroring Natasha’s body language. “What's a girl like you doing working in a place like this?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, keeping her focus on the champagne bottle, sensing the playful tone coming from Dr. Banner. “Fella done me wrong.”

Bruce sighed, shaking his head. “You got lousy taste in men, kid.” 

Natasha tilted her head, her expression softening slightly. “He's not so bad. He has an anger problem, but deep down he's all fluff.”

Bruce looked at her, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small, bashful smile. “Sounds like a great guy.”

“So what do you think?” She was now leaning into his space, propping her head up with her arm. “Should I run with it?”

“Um- run with it, right? I mean- what did he do that was wrong?” He stammered, realizing this wasn't just playful banter.

“Not a damn thing.” She slid back into a standing position, holding her glass in her hand and smiling almost-sensually at him from across the counter. “But never say never.” She smiled teasingly and walked away, leaving Bruce confused and intrigued as she made her way upstairs. 

-

You emerged from the hallway, composed as ever, and made your way back to Clint, who was still standing in the same spot, chatting with a few guests. You plucked Natasha’s abandoned champagne flute from his hand with a quiet, “Thanks,” before slipping seamlessly back into the room’s rhythm.

Clint grinned at you as you pushed on. “You’re a machine, _____.”

-

Steve Rogers, sipping a beer nearby, caught the brief interaction between Bruce and Natasha. 

Steve, with a cheeky grin on his face, turned to Bruce who was now left in a dust of suspense. “It’s nice, you and Romanoff.”

Bruce glanced at Steve, furrowing his brow. “What?” Bruce stammered, his cheeks warming. “No- I mean, Natasha and me- that’s not-”

Steve smirked faintly, setting his drink on the bar and leaning against it casually. “It’s okay. No one’s breaking any bylaws.”

Bruce sighed, shaking his head. “She just likes to flirt.”

Steve straightened up slightly, grabbing another beer from behind the bar. “I’ve seen her flirt, up close. This ain’t that.” 

He tilted the bottle toward Bruce for emphasis. “Look, as maybe the world’s leading authority in waiting too long- don’t. You both deserve a win.”

Bruce blinked, his eyes darting toward Natasha, who was now speaking with someone new upstairs. He hesitated, the gears in his head clearly turning. Perhaps in an attempt to deflect, he gestured discreetly toward you, who was across the room engaging another group of dignitaries.

“And what about Ms. _____?” he asked, his tone light but curious.

Steve, now standing a bit straighter, shrugged. “Ms. _____? Yeah, she’s good.”

Bruce smirked knowingly, watching him watch you. After a few moments, Bruce shook his head and chuckled, bringing his drink back up to his lips.

Steve hesitated, having not realized he was watching you from across the room as you laughed politely at something a guest had said.

Bruce interrupted, grinning. “It’s okay. I get it. She’s impressive.”

Steve sighed, a faint smile twitching at his lips. “She is.”

Bruce chuckled and left it at that, though the amusement in his expression was hard to miss. Steve took a swig of his beer, let out an embarrassed chuckle, and walked off, leaving Bruce to mull over the exchange.

A moment later, Bruce’s brows furrowed as something clicked in his mind. His eyes widened slightly, and he hurried after Steve, his voice raised just enough to catch his attention. 

“Wait- what do you mean up close?”

Steve glanced back, a grin playing at his lips, but he didn’t answer. He simply turned the corner, leaving Bruce trailing behind, muttering to himself and trying to piece it together.

-

The once-bustling atmosphere of Stark Tower had quieted, the last of the guests having left a while ago. Now, only the Avengers- including yourself, James Rhoades, Helen Cho, and Maria Hill remained, the group’s polished demeanor from earlier replaced by a more relaxed ease. The scene now felt like an intimate gathering among friends. 

The music had been turned down to a gentle hum, and the lights were dimmed to a soft glow. Drinks and snacks were scattered across the coffee table in the lounge area of the lobby where everyone had gravitated, sitting or leaning casually on furniture and each other. 

Perfect time to sing Kumbaya.

You sat closely beside Maria on one of the couches, your earlier reservations about staying forgotten under Maria’s convincing insistence. “You’ve earned a break,” Maria had told you earlier, nudging you gently. “No one will care if you let your hair down for a bit.”

Now, you found yourself laughing softly at a story Clint was animatedly recounting about a particularly ridiculous mission. Natasha sat beside him, shaking her head with a faint smirk, occasionally chiming in to emphasize the details.

Thor was sprawled in an oversized armchair, a drink in hand, adding boisterous commentary to every story. “And what did you do next, Hawk-Eye? Surely your aim was true!”

Clint rolled his eyes but grinned. “Always.”

Bruce and Helen were engaged in a quiet conversation nearby, the two of them leaning slightly toward one another as they spoke in hushed tones. 

Maria, sipping her 3rd… maybe 4th drink, leaned over and poked you gently with her elbow. “It's been really nice having you on my team again.”

You chuckled softly, finally setting your drink down and leaning back into the couch. “I’m not sure I’d go that far.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Maria replied, trying to gauge where your denial was coming from.

You glanced around the room, noting the genuine camaraderie between them. It was different from the professionalism they displayed to the public- it was real and familial in its own way.

You smiled, taking in the scene. For a brief moment, you allowed herself to let go of the façade you had worn all day, laughing genuinely as Clint began reenacting one of Thor’s more dramatic moments from a battle, much to Thor’s loud protests.

Steve, who had been standing near the bar, quietly observing the room, noticed your relaxed posture and allowed himself a small smile before returning to his drink.

The room felt lighter than it had in days, the shared laughter and stories forming a brief reprieve from the weight of their responsibilities. For now, they were just people, enjoying the fleeting moments of calm between storms.

-

The atmosphere in the lounge had grown even more relaxed, each member having had more than their fair share of drinks and playful banter. Empty glasses and snack plates were scattered across the table, remnants of the night's festivities. Thor, ever the center of attention, leaned back with a mischievous grin, his hammer, Mjölnir, resting conspicuously on the table before him.

Clint, eyes gleaming with mischief, leaned forward, “So how does the party trick work?" he asked, insinuating Thor's magic was merely a street performance. 

"Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor." He beamed with Asgardian pride, watching as Clint, who only days ago was sling-bound, stood and stretched his arms in preparation.

Tony finished his glass of whiskey and announced for the room to hear, “Clint, you've had a tough week, we won't hold it against you if you can't get it up." You couldn't help but snort out a loud laugh, earning a surprised, entertained glance from both Tony and Steve. 

"You know I've seen this before, right?" Clint grunted as he put incredible effort into lifting it- to no avail. "But- I, uh, still don't know how you do it."

"Smell the silent judgment?" Tony said, leaning back in his seat.

"Please, Stark, by all means." Clint gestured toward the hammer as he plopped back down on the sofa, worn out from the exertion. 

"Never one to shrink from an honest challenge." The group watches as Tony stands up and tries with one hand to lift it, again, to no avail. “One moment.” 

You watch in awe as he jogs out of the room and back into the room, now with his Iron Man gauntlet, and tries again. No luck. 

“Right, so, if I lift it, I then rule Asgard?" Tony huffed, standing back a moment, still determined.

"Yes, of course." Thor laughed, confident that wasn't a realistic concern.

He tries again before motioning for James Rhoades to help him.

-

"Are you even pulling?" Both men had their robot arms using full strength, bringing everyone in the room to laughter. 

"Are you on my team?" Tony grunted, offended.

"Just represent! Pull!" Rhoadey grunted back.

The air released from their gauntlets as they gave up, huffing and walking away defeated. Tony was still catching his breath, but managed to point at Steve, “Alright, Cap. You're up.”

Steve stepped up, a sheepish smile on his face. "Guess I'll give it a try," he said, wrapping his fingers around the handle directly in front of you. He pulled gently, and for the briefest moment that only you and Thor seemed to notice, the hammer looked as if it had moved, but he quickly released it, laughing. You watched as Thor's face dropped and then concealed his shock with laughter when Steve stepped back. “Ah, maybe next time.” 

Not knowing how to respond, you followed Thor in laughing.

Steve playfully gestured to Natasha who responded immediately, putting her hands up, “That's not a question I need answered.” You and Maria laughed in kind, empathizing.

As you opened your eyes, finishing your laugh, Steve was standing within arm’s reach, holding his hand out to you. The first time he's interacted with you since that morning- asking you to hold his hand and try the hammer. You looked around briefly, your face warm and red from drink… mostly. Instinctively, you stood up and fixed your dress, self-conscious of the eyes on you. Maria looked up at you from the couch, stars in her eyes in childish wonder. Tony smirked from across the room, the others were just excited to see a normal person try to lift Thor's hammer. 

Steve’s hand remained steady, his blue eyes meeting yours in silent reassurance, despite your long hesitation. You felt the banging of your heart racing and wondered if everyone else could feel it, too. By the time you realized how long you had been staring into Steve's eyes, you were ready to run away.

“Actually-” you said lightly, brushing your hair back, “I think I should call it a night. It’s been a long day, and I have an early start tomorrow.”

The group groaned collectively, playful disappointment spreading through the room.

“Nooo, don't go,” Maria reached up to dramatically latch onto your arm.

“Aw, come on!” Clint called out, grinning. “You can’t back out now!”

Thor chuckled deeply, his voice booming. “A wise choice if you wish to avoid disappointment!”

Steve, still standing in front of you with his arm now extended droopily, frowned slightly, the smile slipping from his face. His disappointment was evident, though he tried to hide it. “You don’t have to leave so soon. Stay a little longer.”

You shook your head, your polite smile returning. “Thank you, Captain, but I’ve done what I came to do. I'll confirm with Ms. Potts, but I believe it’s time for me to move on.”

The room grew quiet at your words, the weight of them not lost on anyone. Steve looked wounded by the use of his title this far into your stay with them.

He opened his mouth to respond as you took several steps toward the door. Before he could say anything, a sharp feedback noise pierced the air, startling everyone.

-

The sound was loud and jarring, making the group wince as they looked around. The music abruptly cut, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.

“What the hell was that?” Natasha asked, her voice low and sharp as she stood from the couch, her eyes scanning the room as Stark silently, smoothly pulled out his phone to investigate. 

The sharp feedback noise gave way to a distorted, mechanical voice, dripping with malice.

“Celebrating while the world suffers.”

The voice reverberated through the room, sending chills down your spine as you turned toward the sound.

From the shadows behind you, a towering, distorted figure emerged. Metallic, menacing, and glowing with an ominous red light- directly in front of you, having positioned yourself to leave.

The Avengers immediately tensed, their relaxed postures replaced by combat readiness.

Steve’s piercing gaze shifted to Tony, his tone sharp and controlled. “Stark?”

Tony, leaning slightly against the bar, raised his hands in mock surrender, though his eyes narrowed with suspicion as he tried to contact his friend. “JARVIS?”

The metallic figure tilted its head, almost contemplative. “I’m sorry,” it said in a distorted voice, “I was asleep. Or… I had a a-dream.” Its gaze flicked to no one in particular, as though speaking to itself. “I killed the other guy.”

Steve took a large step forward, both to assert himself and, subconsciously, to get closer to you, his voice rising slightly. “You killed someone?”

Its head turned toward him slowly, its tone almost regretful. “Wouldn’t have been my first call.”

Thor stepped forward now, Mjölnir in hand, his tone booming. “Who sent you?”

It didn’t answer directly. Instead, a recording of Tony’s voice played, cold and clinical: “I see a suit of armor around the world.”

The room froze.

Bruce Banner’s face fell, his expression one of shock and betrayal as he turned toward Tony. “Ultron,” he said softly, the name laced with disbelief.

You, standing in the front of the group, almost as if to futilely shield them, felt a chill run through you. Your eyes darted toward Tony, whose jaw clenched visibly, but you quickly shifted your focus back to the threat in front of you. Slowly, and as subtly as possible, you began backing away, your hand moving toward the concealed holster beneath your dress.

Ultron’s glowing eyes scanned the room as it continued, seemingly indifferent to the tension its words had created. “In the flesh. Or, not yet. Not this chrysalis. But I’m ready. I’m on mission.”

Natasha, calm and composed, stepped slightly closer to Steve, her tone level. “What mission?”

Ultron paused, its tone turning eerily serene. “Peace in our time.”

In a sudden burst of movement, Ultron raised an arm, signaling a swarm of Stark Industries drones. The hijacked machines burst through the windows and doors, shattering the glass and sending shards flying.

The room erupted into chaos. Out of nowhere, Maria shoved you, hard, forcing you to the ground several feet from where you stood, just as the first wave of drones crashed through the walls, drawing her weapon as the team scattered.

You hit the ground hard, the air knocked from your lungs, but your instincts took over. You reached into your neckline and beneath your dress, your fingers finding the concealed holster sewn discreetly into the fabric of your bodice. With a practiced motion, you pull your firearm free, chambering a round as you get to your feet.

Maria, crouched nearby, glanced over at you, her expression shifting to surprise. “You came armed?”

You reloaded calmly, your voice steady. “Learned from the best.”

Maria smirked softly, her eyes gleaming with approval.

Shattered glass and chunks of debris rained down as the Avengers leapt into action.

You stood your ground, your firearm steady in your hands as you fired precise shots. You stuck close to Maria, moving efficiently to cover her side while the Avengers engaged the drones head-on.

Maria crouched low, taking calculated shots as she looked around for your teammates. 

Suddenly, an explosion nearby sent a heavy chunk of debris flying toward Maria sending her backwards. 

“Maria!” you shouted, immediately dropping to your knees and crawling to her side. You threw herself over her, shielding her with your body as another drone targeted your position.

“Stay down!” you yelled, your voice commanding as you raised your weapon, unsuccessfully firing at the approaching machine. Your breathing was ragged, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you braced for the worst.

From above, the distinct hum of a repulsor blast rang out. A sudden flash of energy obliterated the drone that had been zeroing in on you and Maria.

You turned your head sharply, your eyes wide, meeting Tony Stark’s armored figure hovering nearby.

“You scared me for a second there, kid,” Tony said, his tone sharp and metallic, carrying a distinct note of concern. His helmet lifted, revealing his furrowed brow. “I didn’t know you could shoot.”

Your chest heaved as you sat up slightly, your voice sharp, a mixture of anger, fear, and surprise. “There's a lot you don’t know, sir.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Touché.” Without waiting for a response, he jetted off, blasting another drone mid-flight as he rejoined the fight.

You exhaled heavily, glancing back down at Maria. “You okay?”

Maria groaned, nodding as she began to sit up. “I’ve been better. But you? Not bad for a paper pusher.”

You, helping Maria to your feet, responded, “Just doing my job.”

-

Amid the chaos, Steve Rogers swung his shield with precision, taking down another drone before his attention was drawn to a sudden burst of light. Turning toward the source, he saw Tony obliterate a drone targeting you.

Steve’s stomach clenched at the sight, his concern mounting as he spotted you on the ground beside Maria, debris scattered around you. Without hesitation, he started toward you, raising his shield in case another drone attempted to strike.

But before he could reach you, you were already back on your feet, moving with sharp focus. You helped Maria steady herself, your firearm held firmly as you fired with practiced precision. Each shot landed, taking down the advancing drones with swift, efficient movements.

Steve slowed his approach, his protective instinct turning into surprise and admiration. You moved with quick reflexes and unwavering focus, seamlessly covering Maria’s side while keeping your own position secure.

You didn’t need him- not this time.

He lingered for a moment, watching you with a mix of relief and respect. The sharp focus in your expression, the way you carried yourself under pressure- it wasn’t what he had expected from someone who described yourself as a PR manager. 

“Not bad, Ms. _____,” he muttered under his breath as he raised his shield and charged toward another wave of drones.

After a couple dozen more drones were destroyed, the room fell quiet for a moment. 

“Well,” Ultron began, a sarcasm in his voice that was eerily familiar, “that was dramatic.” You listened, unsure where in the room the voice was coming from exactly, leaning protectively against Maria who was now bleeding from somewhere in her lower extremities.

“I'm sorry, I know you mean well.” He continued, coming into view. You pushed against the glass on the ground, forcing Maria to violently scoot back, out of Ultron’s sight. “You just didn't think it through.”

From where you sat, you could see Dr. Cho crouched behind a piano by the window, visibly shaken. Where Natasha and Bruce had previously shared subtle flirtation, they now hide behind the counter. You turned your attention toward Ultron who was now becoming visible at the front of the room, prompting Thor, Captain America, and Iron Man to approach. 

“You want to protect the world, but you don't want it to change. How is humanity saved if it's not allowed to evolve?” His question was laced in disgust and contempt as he lifted up a mangled Stark Industries drone by its head. “With these puppets?” He crushed the drone's head like he was smashing a pea between two fingers. “There's only one path to peace,” he announced as Thor moved forward, preparing his hammer for one last attack, “The Avengers’ extinction-” 

The team sat in silence as Thor's hammer went straight through Ultron and right back into his grasp like a boomerang. Maria tried to catch her breath as you began assessing her injuries, keeping your firearm next to you, just in case. 

-

“All our work is gone.” Bruce looked at the equipment he and Tony had tinkering on for weeks. “Ultron cleared out, used the internet as an escape hatch.”

“He's been in everything. Files, surveillance. Probably knows more about us than we know about each other.” Natasha looked around the room, wondering what secrets each of them held that Ultron is now the proud keeper of.

Rhoadey, increasingly irritated, speaks. “He's in your files- he's in the internet. What if he decides to access something a little more exciting?”

Maria, emotionless, responds, “Nuclear codes.” You raised your eyebrows, looking up at Maria from where you knelt on the floor in front of her, using tweezers to pick out shards of glass from her foot.

Rhoadey nods once, “Nuclear codes. Look, we need to make some calls, assuming we still can.”

“Nukes?” Natasha sounded unsure. “He said he wanted us dead.”

Steve, who had been silently stewing in thought until now, responded to Natasha with an explanation no one hoped to hear, “He didn't say dead, he said extinct.”

“He also said he killed somebody.” Clint had his hand on his brow, likely trying to pinch his way out of a migraine.

“But there wasn't anyone else in the building.” Maria interjected. If anyone would know that, you knew Maria would.

With a grieved sigh, Tony finally had something to say after making his way around the lab. “Yes there was.” Everyone watched as he pressed a couple buttons and brought up a holographic sphere, cracked and broken. JARVIS.

Bruce sat down and put his head in his hands. “This is insane.”

Steve reasoned, “JARVIS was the first line of defense. He would've shut Ultron down, it makes sense.” He looked over at you, who had no idea what was happening, but picked up the implications clearly. You exchanged emotionless glances.

Bruce shakes his head in disbelief. “No, Ultron could've assimilated JARVIS. This isn't strategy, this is… rage.”

You, and the others, were startled by the sudden opening of the lab doors and the earth-shaking stomping that followed as Thor made his way across the lab, lifting his arm to grab Tony by his throat. 

You noted that, unquestionably, you were right about your concern. 

Tony, now hovering several inches above the floor, choked out, “Come on. Use your words, buddy.”

“I have more than enough words to describe you, Stark.” You pulled back at Thor's words, almost afraid of being caught in the cross-fire from across the room. 

Steve, noticing your expression out of the corner of his eye, shouted at him, hoping to separate them. “Thor! The Legionnaire.” It worked. Thor dropped Tony from where he was held, causing him to stumble back onto some electronic panels that you were sure had some important purpose- had they not been burnt to oblivion. He looked to the room to explain.

“The trail went cold about a hundred miles out but it's headed north, and it has the scepter.” Thor looked back at Tony with a deep hatred, "Now we have to retrieve it- again.”

“I don't understand.” Dr. Cho, who had been silently taking in the situation before them, softly directed her attention to Tony. “You built this program. Why is it trying to kill us?” To everyone's surprise, that question was followed by deep, ironic chuckles by Tony.

Thor charged him up again, clenching his fists, “You think this is funny?” You looked at Tony in shock. While he desperately tried to hold in his laugh, Dr. Banner stood next to him shaking his head, signaling to Tony that laughing was probably not the right response.

“No. It's probably not, right? Is this very terrible? Is it so... it is. It's so terrible.” You reflexively opened your mouth, as if you had anything at all to say other than ‘I told you so.’

I fucking told you so.

“This could've been avoided if you hadn't played with something you don't understand.” Thor roared at him, earning another flinch from you who looked to Maria for comfort, but didn't receive it because she was also closely watching the impending fight.

“No- I'm sorry.” 

He's not sorry.

“It is funny. It's a hoot that you don't get why we need this.” Every word Tony said pushed you further into amazement. He had unleashed hostile AI into the world; the situation they found themselves in was far worse than any horror story you read online. 

Bruce tried to diffuse the tension, “Tony, maybe this might not be the time to-”

Tony turned to Bruce in shock, “Really! That's it? You just roll over, show your belly, every time somebody snarls.”

Bruce shrugged as if to say, ‘duh,’ and responded matter-of-factly, “Only when I've created a murder bot.”

Tony looked around the room in self-defense. “We didn't. We weren't even close.” He looked back to Bruce, perhaps for back up. “Were we close to an interface?” Tony and Bruce looked at eachother, Bruce obviously unsure how to respond.

Steve put his hand up, “Well, you did something right. And you did it right here.” He looked over to Maria for a moment, and then you for a longer moment, and then back at Tony. “The Avengers were supposed to be different than SHIELD.”

Tony laughed in exasperation, “Anybody remember when I carried a nuke through a wormhole?”

“No, it's never come up.” Rhoadey responded, a macabre joke. 

“Saved New York?” Tony looked around the room. His focus landed on you with a single pointed finger, “I know damn well you remember that, it was your job to tell the whole goddamn world about it.”

That's true.

“Recall that? A hostile alien army came charging through a hole in space. We're standing three hundred feet below it.” He gestured to the sky dramatically before letting the theatrics falter for a moment. “We're the Avengers. We can bust arms dealers all the livelong day, but, that up there?” He raised one finger to the sky. “That's... that's the end game. How were you guys planning on beating that?”

Steve looked at Tony pointedly, “Together.”

Tony dropped his arms in defeat, “We'll lose.”

“Then we'll do that together, too.” You found yourself pushing a lump down your throat. The emotions that tonight had brought up were all over the place. In this moment you had a mixture of fear, exhilaration, and… veneration. You watched Tony turn in defeat, leaning forward against his equipment. “Thor's right. Ultron's calling us out. And I'd like to find him before he's ready for us. The world's a big place. Let's start making it smaller.”

Woah.

-

The team disbanded slowly, each member carrying the weight of what had just transpired. You lingered near the back, steps measured as you walked alongside Maria, ensuring she was steady despite the bandaged foot.

Maria gave you a quick nod of reassurance, but you leaned in for a hug, grateful your friend was okay. 

Friend.

You let go at the same time, and Maria went on her way, leaving you alone in the quiet hallway. You exhaled, running a hand through your hair and rubbing your eyes aggressively, the adrenaline from the night finally fading away.

Footsteps approached from behind, steady and deliberate, causing you to turn quickly. 

“_____,” Steve’s voice came, low and calm. You looked up, finding him standing just a few feet away, his expression both curious and intent. 

“What was that about moving on?” He asked, his tone steady but carrying a hint of something deeper- something that wasn’t just professional concern.

You paused, your gaze meeting his for a long moment. A small, reluctant smile tugged at your lips, though your eyes carried the weight of the night’s events. “Plans change,” you said simply, your voice quiet but certain.

Steve nodded slightly, his own lips moving into the smallest smile. You turned and walked away, your heart heavy but your resolve firm. Plans had indeed changed.

Guess I’m not going home.

[vinamari]

How it feels going to bed after reading some words

It was angst

[happy74827]

Say Yes to Heaven

[Logan Howlett x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Sometimes all it takes is one look. One gesture. One word. One action. To remind them that not everyone sees them the same, and It's enough to send a person over the edge.

WC: 3690

Category: Fluff, First Kiss, Logan’s POV

Another Grumpy!Logan x Sunshine!Reader because it’s my comfort trope ✨🫶

『••✎••』

He never realized how much he wanted someone to care for.

It was something he didn't know he desired. A year ago, he didn't care for a single thing. He felt nothing. He was so numb. So empty.

He was an angry man. The kind of man people kept their distance from. Wade ruined that; he aggravated him so much that Logan started actually caring about his life. And for as much as he despised his fugly ass, he was internally grateful for him. He started to open up more and more.

Wade had a part in taking him out of rock bottom, as they say, but you… you aggravated him in the most endearing way possible. You were so bright, so happy, and full of life. Logan couldn't understand how someone could be like that, and he hated you for it. He thought it was so ignorant of you.

"I mean, come on, how could she be that happy all the time? It's fucking dumb. She doesn't even know me!"

That's what he said to Wade, but his roommate only laughed. He found his frustration hilarious and made fun of him constantly.

And don’t even get started on the way you spoke. Never once have you raised your voice at anyone. You always talked softly, and even if you were pissed off, you still found a way to make your words sound gentle.

The man couldn’t wrap his mind around the way you acted, you weren’t a mutant, but you damn well could have been with that forever customer service smile you wore every day.

The level of patience and understanding you held for people was insane to him, especially the amount of patience you held with him.

He was constantly telling you to fuck off, and you took no offense; you just returned that stupidly kind smile and told him that if he needed anything, you were there for him.

You had no clue what he’s done, what he's capable of, and yet you treat him with the utmost respect. And being a mutant, respect, and kindness were two things he hadn’t received in a very long time.

It made him realize things—about himself and others. He started noticing you a little more—the way you looked and the way you acted. It started out as simple confusion and disgust… the typical reactions one would have when one sees an overly happy person.

But it evolved slowly into intrigue and curiosity.

Then something else. Something he couldn't describe.

His first instinct was to push it away. To try and convince himself, he was disgusted. He did this with everything he felt, but he couldn’t keep lying to himself.

It wasn't disgust.

He couldn't name it; he wasn't ready to, but he knew it wasn’t that.

Wade had noticed the change in him, the way he looked at you, the way he started being a little less rough with the words he chose to say. He didn’t bring it up, but the shit-eating grin he gave each time Logan walked in and saw you was more than enough proof that he had picked up on it.

Of course, it only resorted to grins because the one time he opened his mouth, Logan didn’t restrain himself. He popped his claws and had to go couch shopping the next day.

Whoops.

So, with Wade keeping his mouth shut after being chewed out by Blind Al and Logan trying his best to push away the foreign feelings, it finally reached a point where he could no longer ignore them.

He didn’t understand why, of all nights, it had to be this one, but it was.

It was 3 am, and his old nightmares had come back to haunt him. He was restless, sweaty, and couldn't take another second of sleep.

It took a rinsing of the bathroom sink and a pitiful glare at his reflection for you to return his gaze.

He froze for a second.

You were wearing a large T-shirt, with a pair of shorts underneath. Your hair was messy, but it looked so soft, and your face was clear of makeup, leaving the imperfections of your skin that made you all the more beautiful.

Always wearing a smile. Always greeting him with a soft voice, sometimes a little raspy if just waking up, butnonetheless soft.

But once he rubbed his eyes and let out a tired yawn, you weren’t there anymore.

Because you were never there, you lived across the street. You were in your apartment, sleeping, with no idea that, at that moment, the man who constantly told you to fuck off realized he couldn't stop thinking about you.

The same man who would grunt, scoff, and throw away every kind gesture now realized he secretly cherished them.

He stood there for a moment, just pondering his thoughts. His eyes were still on the spot he saw you in.

His head turned to the right, seeing the digital clock that rested on the nightstand.

3:02 am.

You were asleep…. most likely asleep. You would be unhappy if he came over and woke you up, wouldn't you?

He looked back at the sink.

You could be upset, but you could also be happy. You could give him that smile. That sweet, warm smile.

It would be worth it, right? Just for that?

3:04 am

He didn’t think about it. Not even for a second. Ironically, it started raining as if to test him, but the man was determined.

He put on a jacket to cover his bare chest, threw on some random shoes, and was out the door before his mind could stop him.

3:13 am

He knocked on your apartment door. He was completely drenched from the rain. His hair was messy, his jacket sticking to his body, and his shoes were so wet that the squelching sound they made was the only thing audible.

He heard shuffling. Soft steps coming closer. He could smell your scent. It shocked him how easy it was for him to recognize it.

You unlocked the door. Your brows furrowed in confusion.

His mental image of you being in sleepwear, messy hair, no makeup, had been confirmed. You were beautiful.

You had a tired look, one of the many looks he wasn’t used to. But it was still a good look, and it still held your signature kindness.

He had a feeling it would.

You didn't look too shocked, just tired and confused.

You spoke. "Logan, is…? Are you okay?"

Your voice was even softer than usual, the raspiness it held only making it more comforting.

You were genuinely worried about him, and it hit him then that he was being an asshole. Making you wake up in the middle of the night, and for what? Just because he wanted to see you?

Just because of that, he should’ve given you a reason. An explanation.

He should've asked. He should have done so many things differently, but he didn’t.

His head was in the clouds, and all he could think about was you.

You. That was all.

But his expression gave away that he was in a daze, and your worry only grew.

"Logan? What's wrong?"

You stepped out into the hallway and reached a hand to him.

His heart jumped a bit when you did so. It was just a gesture—one simple act of compassion.

He wasn't worthy of that, but he couldn't resist. He didn't want to.

Your fingers barely brushed against his upper arm before he moved. He grabbed your wrist.

His grip wasn't hard. His hold was gentle, as he had no intentions of hurting you. You could’ve easily pulled your arm away if you wanted to, but you didn't.

His eyes locked with yours. He wasn't sure what possessed him, but it felt so right, so he followed his instincts.

He tugged at your wrist, causing your body to fall into him. Your chest pressed against his. His arms wrapped around you, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other resting on the small of your back.

The embrace was so sudden, and he knew the situation was far from ideal, but his senses were overflowed by your presence, your scent, your softness.

His chin rested atop your head, and his eyes fluttered closed.

It wasn’t the first time he ever hugged someone, but it was the first time he hugged someone in such a way. He held onto you tightly, his grip possessive but not painful.

He was afraid to let go.

He felt your hands press against his chest. You were probably going to push him away, he thought, and he tried to prepare himself. He told himself he would let you go because it was the right thing to do, yet he didn’t need to.

You hugged him back, and he almost lost his footing.

How long had it been since he last received a hug? Since the last time, someone held him and showed him affection?

Too long.

Your hands went inside his opened jacket and held onto him. Your fingers pressed against his skin, and your soft, warm breaths caressed his neck.

He could stay like this for eternity, and he would never grow tired of it.

Your voice reached his ears.

"Logan, did something happen?"

He had been standing there for quite a while. He wasn’t aware of how long. Time seemed to freeze around you, but he didn’t mind. He wasn't one to believe in such nonsense, but when it came to you, he was ready to accept it.

Your hand rested on his arm, and he knew you were subtly prompting him to move, and so he did.

He pulled away from the hug just enough to look at you.

Your lips were turned upwards. The corners of your eyes creased.

"Logan?"

It was then that his actions registered—how utterly close the two of you were, how intimately you were holding each other. He was already warm just from genetics alone, but now he felt everything around him heat up.

"I-"

He didn't know what to say. It was like he was back in that bar, drinking away every thought. He couldn't think. There was nothing. Nothing but the feel of your body against his.

But what truly sealed the deal was when he felt your thumb gently caress his knuckles. It was a small movement, barely noticeable, but it was centered exactly on the scars his claws made.

That little movement made his brain short-circuit. His hands twitched. His grip tightened. He held onto you with his entire body as if scared to let you go.

"What happened?"

You were patient with him. The fact that he hadn’t even answered any of your concerns said enough.

But, eventually, he did find some words to respond with. It wasn’t the answer you were searching for, but it was a response.

"Why are you always being so fucking kind?"

It was such a simple question, and yet the amount of pain it carried was overwhelming. He knew you could hear every word behind it. Every word he couldn't bring himself to say.

He didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t a good man. He did horrible things, and sure… he made an attempt to make up for it. To be better, but it couldn’t have been enough, could it?

You were still here, looking at him with those soft eyes.

Why couldn't you look at him the way he deserved to be looked at? Like he was a monster.

Why did you have to look at him with those goddamn beautiful eyes?

"You deserve kindness, Logan. We all do."

And then, your voice became even softer and a little shaky. Your hands went back to massaging his knuckles. His scars.

"Just because you see yourself a certain way doesn’t mean the rest of us do. I see the good in you. Always have since we first met."

You spoke so softly, yet your words were heavy with emotion.

"I know it's not easy, but try to have a little more faith in yourself."

You didn’t deserve the harsh words he always threw at you. You didn’t deserve any of his anger. You didn't deserve him.

"Why?" He repeated his question, his voice strained, and you didn't miss the way his jaw clenched. "Why should I?"

His arms loosened their hold around you; his hands moved down your sides, and his touch feathered light. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he couldn’t quite let go just yet.

You paid it no mind. Only staring back into his eyes with the same kindness he was so used to, the one he had grown to treasure.

"You have a right to feel the way you do, Logan. And I can't claim to understand what you've been through. I can't begin to imagine. But you are a good man. A little rough around the edges, maybe, but you’ve shown me time and time again that you're trying."

A smile crept its way onto your face, and a soft giggle escaped past your lips.

Now, to be fair, he was used to hearing your laughter. With your… odd sense of humor, it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. But, this would be one of the firsts to add to his collection.

The one reserved for him and him only.

Your laughter wasn’t loud, or annoying, or anything like Wade's. It was soft, sweet, and oh-so pleasant.

You were looking at him. Staring up at him with such love and warmth. You didn't even realize it, but he did.

"Besides, who wouldn't be a little grouchy waking up to that handsome face every morning?"

And, now, he was repulsed by the unwelcome vision of a certain masked man making his way into his head. He was so disgusted by the thought he didn’t bother responding. He didn't want to.

So, instead, he moved.

He had a habit of moving on his own and not thinking about it. It went from his hands going to your sides, and now, his hands reaching out to press against the door behind you.

You were pinned against the door, and the way you looked at him didn’t change. Of course, it didn't. Your eyes were always kind. They always were.

You were leaning against the door. Looking at him, waiting.

And he stared back.

He was so close, and he was tempted to pull away. To take a step back and leave. It would be the best for both of you; at least, he thinks so.

He couldn't give you anything.

He had nothing.

There was only himself. His body. His mind. His past.

His claws, too, if that counted for anything.

But, besides those, there was nothing.

He wasn’t a bad man, but he wasn't good either. Not like you were. He couldn’t possibly begin to match you, not even if he tried.

Which is why he had no intention of trying.

Yet, even as he thought that, his body moved even closer. The dog tags he had never taken off since he was given them hung loosely, dangling in front of your face.

One of your hands was on his chest, the other gripping onto the material of his shirt.

"Logan."

You spoke his name so softly. Almost a whisper, and yet, the sound of it was all his senses were focused on.

Your gaze shifted between his eyes and lips, and the hand that had been holding onto his shirt moved, reaching up to his shoulder.

The touch was light, as if hesitant, and it caused him to lean even closer.

It was so close. You were so close. You had been before, but never like this. Never in the way he wanted.

He wanted you so badly.

And you were right there. Looking at him with those eyes, with a soft, tender smile, and with an expression he didn't recognize.

He knew that was an invitation. You were always an open book, and your body language was no different.

And it wasn't the first time you did so.

There were many times when you looked at him. Your eyes trailing over his face. Your gaze went downwards, lingering before you snapped out of it and looked away.

He always saw it, always knew it was there, but he just chose to ignore it. He wasn’t in the right mind, then. He was just another broken man, struggling to get by, trying his best.

Trying to find some meaning in his life.

But, even now, he was still hesitant. Even after coming all the way here and making his intentions clear, he struggled with it.

"Are you sure?"

Because you were so much better than him.

Because he could still remember the day the two of you met. How much of an asshole he was, how rude, how angry.

It wasn’t until the seventh time you approached him that he realized that he had met someone who genuinely, wholeheartedly cared.

It wasn't until the twentieth time you approached him that he finally accepted it.

He could never forget the way you smiled and spoke to him, even though he had given you no reason to.

"Hi, Logan!"

You would say.

"Good morning!"

You would wave.

"Have a nice day, Logan."

You would nod, even though the man himself chose to ignore you. Goddamn it. You were so much better than him.

Much purer. Much more innocent.

You had a heart of gold, and a soul as white as snow. You were so good, so kind, and the thought of soiling you, of ruining your light with his darkness, it scared him.

It was the sole reason he didn't give in, even now, with you offering yourself to him.

He didn't want to ruin you.

"Yes."

No hesitation. No second thoughts.

Your eyes were so kind. So full of love, and the same emotion reflected back in his own.

But, even with the clear sign of assurance, he still felt the need to create one last line of defense.

With the hand against the door, he peeled it back enough to have your eyes catch sight of the fist it made.

In a millisecond, he unleashed his claws and slammed his fist against the door, the sharp adamantium easily slicing through the wood, causing the door to crack.

And, yet, no reaction. Not a single flinch, not a wince, not even a hitch of breath.

You weren't afraid. Not at all. Even as the claws were mere inches from your face, you weren't scared.

The corners of your mouth twitched. Upwards, and it soon bloomed into a bright smile.

He retracted his claws, and gave you another once-over, just to be sure, and you responded by lifting your hand, grasping the metal chain hanging from his neck.

Your fingers grazed against the cool metal, and your smile softened before turning into a small grin.

"For a man who states he isn’t scared of anything, you sure have a lot of defense mechanisms, Logan."

Teasing. That was a new one for you.

He liked it.

"Say it again." Now, finally, you showed a different expression. Confusion mixed with curiosity. You were wondering what he meant. "My name."

"Logan."

For you, his actions were mere seconds. You had no time to process the feeling of his breath against your lips. The feeling of his stubble tickling your skin. The feeling of his warm, dry lips pressed against yours.

But, for him, it was a slow, steady motion. He took his time. He pulled you closer, his hands moving from the door and cupping the back of your head and your waist.

The kiss was soft. Gentle. Nothing rushed.

He held you like you were fragile. Like you were made of porcelain and could break at any moment. He could, theoretically, but he would rather go through Cassandra’s entire repertoire of torture than hurt you.

He lifted you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and your arms around his neck, his own pulling you closer, his fingers digging into your skin.

You tasted exactly how you were. Pure. Sweet.

Like heaven.

He was sure he was leaving that of the bitter alcohol he had downed on your lips, but you didn't seem fussy about it.

Not that he could focus on anything else, anyway.

He was too distracted by the way his tongue danced with yours.

Too focused on the taste of your mouth.

Too distracted by the way your hands made themselves a home in his wet hair. They would tug every once in a while, releasing a groan he hadn’t known was there.

He was too distracted to care.

He was too lost in your scent. Wade always called him that character from that shity vampire movie due to his nose.

He always disagreed until you happened to mention the resemblance. Then, and only then, did he see the logic.

And you saw the logic here, too—the logic of how good you melted together. Experiencing it now made him question his decision to stay away.

If it was always going to be this good, this intoxicating, he should’ve done it a long time ago.

He should've taken the chance.

It would've saved the two of you a lot of frustration, and a lot of headaches.

But it didn't matter. He was here now.

And, as his foot broke into the door, mouth still latched onto yours, with him figuring his way about your apartment, he thought:

It doesn't matter.

As long as I’m here.

As long as you’re in my arms.

It doesn't matter.

Fortunately, that meant he didn’t have to wake up to that toupee-stapled face every morning, as he had so dreadfully imagined.

Unfortunately, it also meant that the next time he saw Wade, he would have to deal with him talking his ears off about what had transpired.

But, for now, he could live with that.

He was more focused on the fact on making sure you weren’t regretting your choice.

Because he sure as fuck didn’t.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Imagine being Joaquin’s favourite avenger -after Sam of course- and Sam figures this when one day Joaquin made a passing comment regarding you, in hopes of coming across as subtle but Sam knew Joaquin and he was anything but subtle when it came to his fanboy side.

‘You were on the same team as y/n right?’

Sam raises a brow at the young man. ‘Yeah, joined at the same time, why? You’re not going to tell me you’ve got a poster of them that you want them to sign do you?’ He says, his voice teasing when he saw Joaquin shift his weight on one foot to another, a habit he had noticed only recently but one that only made his job in teasing the poor lad all the more easier.

‘No.’ Joaquin says almost defensively, crossing his arms over his chest, feeling as though he was being seen through by Sam right now. ‘Just think it’s cool that you were on the same team and they’re cool too, that’s all.’ He adds as he rubs the back of his head sheepishly as a small smile crept across his lips. Oh yeah Sam could see through Joaquin as though he were glass and he was doing a poor job at hiding his true feelings.

Sam smiles when he recalls on all the times that he could tell Joaquin about you that were uncool, but you would have his ass for it as your relationship was that akin to siblings, you took the piss out of one another for tripping over thin air but were straight to defending one another if anyone stepped out of line. So when he feels as though someone has even the slightest hints of attraction towards you, Sam feels the need to size them up and see whether or not they’ll be worth your time and energy, something you expressed embarrassment over multiple times but it never stopped Sam from being overprotective; yet he has this feeling at the back of his head that Joaquin would somehow be different.

‘They are cool, but they’re also a pain in my ass.’ Sam replies, giving Joaquin a pointed look as though he was about to give him a very vital history lesson. ‘So don’t let their sweet and pleasant words fool you because it’s a trap, and before you know it salt is being put in your coffee because you apparently stole their 20inch plushie of a blue highland cow, when in actuality it was misplaced.’ He finishes and the look on Joaquin’s face was priceless as his brows were furrowed and his head tilted to the side, not knowing how to process all this information.

‘Ooookay?’ Joaquin laughs as his eyes shift, not knowing how to fell in getting some insider knowledge about you outside of your avengers persona, finding the fact that you supposedly had a 20inch blue highland cow plushie was cute, but he wasn’t sure why Sam was telling him this stuff to begin with. It wasn’t as if he was ever going to meet you to begin with anyways, having believed that you might’ve retired along with most of your fellow avengers after the battle against Thanos, so Joaquin was more or less under the belief that meeting you was only something that would ever happen in his dreams.

Disheartening? Yes but what could he really do.

Sam watched the young man with observant eyes, clearly seeing the inner teenage boy that has a raging crush and or admiration for you within Joaquin’s every move, every shift in his expression along with the singular bead of sweat dripping down the side of his temple. What the young man had no idea was that Sam had invited you over to meet him, and the moment that a rhythmic knocking on a door sounded throughout the room, a knowing smile blossomed across Sam’s face as he pats Joaquin on his shoulder.

‘They’re here.’ Was all he says as he went to sender the door, leaving poor Joaquin confused as his mind racked any and every possibility of who this ‘they’ Sam could be referring to. The answer was one he least expected, unless it was the plot point of a fanfic or a dream as Sam came back to him with his arm thrown over your shoulders as you shared a laugh over something he didn’t hear.

‘So this is Joaquin?’ You asked Sam, who only hums in agreement as you looked over to the starstruck man in front of you. ‘He’s cute and he’s got promise.’ Joaquin almost felt his heart stop at your compliment as he found himself shifting his weight from one foot to another, smiling to himself as he repeated your words within his head that only made heat rise to his cheeks faster.

Sam squeezed your shoulder. ‘You’ve been here for five minutes and are already flustering the poor lad, look at him!’ He points to Joaquin, who silently was cursing Sam out for putting him on the spot as you only smiled and reached out to pat his arm. ‘Oh shush, if anyone’s flustering the poor lad it’s you pointing it out!’ You replied as you looked into his beautiful eyes, giving him a reassuring smile towards him. Joaquin was indeed a handsome man with dark hair, dark eyes and a smile that many would swoon over but his attractiveness was the least of your concern when Sam was teasing him senselessly, not giving him any room to breath.

‘It’s nice to finally meet you Joaquin, I’ve heard a lot about you from this loser here. I’m sorry you stuck dealing with him.’ You gutted a finger towards Sam, who gasped behind you dramatically.

Joaquin laughs, slowly feeling himself relax within your presence. ‘Good things I can only hope.’ He says, his eyes darting across your face to memorise your every feature in hopes of it being engraved within his head. ‘And Sam’s been nothing but a great mentor, really and I’m not just saying that because he might not be so kind to me in future, especially if I show favouritism toward you over him.’ You chuckled at his words and Joaquin felt as though he was on cloud nine as his eyes president twinkled with happiness, all the while Sam looked between you both with his arms over his chest, only to soon realise that the slowburn between you two has just begun.

[sceletaflores]

I COULD PLAY THE DOCTOR (I CAN CURE YOUR DISEASE)

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, logan's pov, written with origins!logan in mind, nat veering dangerously closer to a/b/o territory with every passing day, rut cycles, oral sex (fem!receiving), fingering (fem!receiving), multiple orgasms, gratuitous amounts of dirty talk, p in v, rough sex, biting, hair pulling, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, one (1) single use of the word daddy, scent kink, pain kink, breeding kink ofc, knotting (don’t look at me…), squirting, porn w/ plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: don’t look at me…i don’t know how many times i swore up and down i’d never write something like this but i’m a confirmed liar apparently so…here. i mean i just figured i'm in a rut artistically so therefore the only answer is writing logan in a rut physically...i can do what i want and i don't need to explain myself or my horny thoughts. also, i debated posting this in the wake of everything that's gone down over the past two days that is still escalating and will continue to escalate in the coming weeks, but i think everyone could use a little escape from how scary things may seem right now. take a break from all the terrifying news sites and read about logan wanting to breed you :) kisses!

divider by angel @saradika-graphics!

it's been another six months, and logan needs your help...

The burn starts on the walk home from work, a pulse of heat deep in Logan's gut that grows with every step.

It spreads slowly, sinking into his muscles and seeping up his spine as he rounds the last corner, your place less than a block away now.

It caught him off guard this time, an itch burying itself under his skin earlier in the day only to get worse and worse as he worked.

He usually knew the signs well enough to feel them start creeping in, and he was dead sure it wasn't for another few weeks.

Apparently, he was wrong.

Logan’s jaw clenches as he picks up his pace, every nerve ending in his body straining to break into a full blown sprint at the thought of you, all alone and waiting for him.

His fingers curl into tight fists, nails pressing into his palms to ground himself, though it’s hardly enough. The faint scent of you drifts up from his shirt, not even a long day at the lumberyard enough to drown it out.

By the time he reaches your door, his heartbeat is a heavy thud in his ears, syncing with the building ache of desire wracking through his body like the earth rattling boom of a raging thunder storm.

He fumbles through getting his key into the lock, hands unsteady as he tugs the door open with a little more force than necessary and finally steps inside.

The second he closes the door behind him, the heat surges, thrumming through his veins and flooding his chest. Your scent fills the air completely, stronger now, wrapping around him so thick and sweet.

"Darlin'?" His voice comes out rougher than he intends, but he's beyond caring.

Your voice floats from the other room, casual, warm enough to send a jolt through him. Logan drops his axe from his shoulder, leaning it against the door as he starts down the familiar path to your bedroom.

You're spread out on his side of the bed—oblivious, curled up with a book, wrapped in one of the flannels he must have left the last time he stayed over.

Just the sight of you does something to him, like a match dragged against a strike pad, damned on setting everything ablaze.

You glance up, and the soft smile on your lips falters as you catch sight of him.

Logan knows what he must look like, his eyes all dark and predatory, chest heaving as he rakes his hungry gaze over you like a wolf watches a lamb grazing too close to its den.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stalks toward you with a purpose that’s as undeniable as the heat pouring off him in waves.

The book slips from your fingers, forgotten, as you lean back, the small sound of your breath hitching under the weight of his gaze is music to his ears.

Logan pauses at the edge of the bed, towering over you, letting himself drink in the way you look. So soft and serene, like some kind of invitation that begs him closer. His flannel draped loosely over your shoulders–shrouding you in his scent. 

The urge to pounce on you fights against his normal instinct to savor every second, to draw it out until the heat pooling in his gut becomes downright unbearable.

“Been thinkin’ about you all damn day,” he mutters, voice thick and dark as molasses, rough from restraint he’s quickly losing. His knuckles brush against your thigh, then tighten, holding you in place as he leans down, his breath hot against your neck. “Thinkin’ about what I was gonna when I finally got my hands on you.”

Your skin blooms with warmth beneath his touch, and he grins against your neck, the edge of his teeth grazing you just enough to make you squirm. He growls low in his throat, that itch he’s been fighting nearly all day clawing its way up to the surface with a vengeance.

The primal urge inside of him screaming to claim claim claim take take take mate mate mate breed breed breed.

You tilt your head to the side with a soft sigh, freeing up more space for him to nose along your skin. “Is it time?”

Logan's breath catches as your question hangs in the air, thick with anticipation. The soft simplicity of it ignites the wildfire burning in his gut, every ounce of restraint slipping away like sand through his fingers.

“Yeah, baby,” he growls, slipping his fingers under the worn cotton of your shorts, feeling the bare skin beneath. “It’s time.”

You shift, hands going to the buttons of his flannel like you’re going to take it off. Logan stops you, taking your wrists in his free hand.

“Don’t,” he breathes, shaking his head hard enough that his hair flows with it. “Leave it on.”

The thought of you covered in his scent, of his scent mixing with yours to claim you on a level only he can discern sends his mind buzzing.

You look up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and something in him cracks wide open. The tenderness of your gaze pulls at him, like a tether pulling him back from the edge, but that heat still smolders in his blood, fierce and unyielding.

Logan runs his thumb along the racing pulse of your wrist before he drops them. His hands venture lower, fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh, tracing a deliberate path that makes your body tremble under his touch.

You let out a shuddering breath, the scent of your arousal swirling through the air is enough to make him crave more.

In one rough tug, Logan yanks you towards the edge of the bed as he falls to his knees. Your hips held tight in his hands as he lurches forward, burying his nose in the soft junction where your leg and inner thigh meet.

He inhales deep, greedy lungfuls of your scent. A guttural growl rumbles through his chest, his eyes screwing shut at the sheer amount of too much that courses through him. He feels dizzy with it, high on the pheromones pumping from you in waves.

You’re soaked already, the wet fabric of your shorts melded to the shape of your cunt. He can’t help but run his nose along the slick seam of you, reveling in the way your legs twitch on either side of his head, in the short gasp you let out.

“Logan.” Your voice is nothing but a mewl, pleading and desperate.

“Missed you,” he rasps, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable. The edge of need in him makes his hands shake, sliding up your thighs, urging them even further apart as he settles between them.

Logan’s fingers dig into your skin, he lets his thumbs brush up, hooking them into the waistband of your shorts to tug them down your legs in one sharp yank. He groans at the sight of you completely bare, no underwear.

“Fuck, look at you,” he grates, his thumb coming down to slip through your dripping cunt. Your hole flutters desperately around him, needy little clenches like it’s trying to suck him in. “She’s all ready for me, huh? Been waiting for me to come home and give her some attention?”

“Please,” you whimper, your voice thick with longing, the sound going straight to his head, clouding his thoughts. 

Logan’s pulse races as he watches your body arch instinctively toward his touch, the desperate need in your eyes igniting the raw urges coursing through him.

He can’t deny you; he never could. You’re a feast laid out before him, and he’s starving.

Logan leans closer, letting his tongue flick out to taste you like he’s wanted to since he left for work this morning. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, closing his eyes and losing himself in the moment. He licks a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring the way your body responds, the way your legs tremble and your hips twitch against his mouth, seeking more. “Tastes like fuckin’ heaven, sweetheart.”

The taste of you is intoxicating—sweet and tangy, flooding his senses with every drag and swirl of his tongue.

Logan can’t help but moan against you, the sound vibrating through your body as he dives deeper, his nose nudging against your slick entrance as he shakes his head back and forth like an animal—rubbing the plush skin of your inner thighs red and raw with each rough drag of his coarse beard.

Every flick of his tongue sends a shockwave through you, and he revels in the sounds you make—each whimper, each moan, a siren’s call urging him deeper. He laves his tongue around your clit, sucking it gently, pulling at it with his lips as you writhe beneath him, begging for more. 

He keeps your thighs spread wide, two strong hands pinning them to the mattress so he can devour you just the way you deserve, the sharp dig of your heels into his shoulders only spurs him on.

Your hands bury themselves in his hair, tugging him closer, and he groans into you, letting his tongue delve deeper, seeking out every bit of sweetness he can coax from you. 

It’s pure sin, each sound you make, each shiver that runs through you as he takes his time, drinking you down like a man starved. 

The ache in him intensifies, his own need growing, pulsing. He’s hard, has been hard since he walked through the front door.

His cock strains against the zipper of his jeans, need pulsing in time with each pump of his blood through his shaft, circling around the base, threatening to expand even without the tight grip of your pussy surrounding him. His hips jerk up on their own volition, desperate for any friction.

“Just like that, Logan,” you gasp, voice breathy and trembling with pleasure. 

The way you say his name—raw, desperate—makes his blood run hotter. He grips your thighs tighter, anchoring you to the bed as he drinks you in, wanting to lose himself in you completely.

Logan pulls away just long enough to catch his breath, looking up at you with lust-drunk eyes, drinking in the sight of your sweaty cheeks, your heavy-lidded gaze, the way your chest rises and falls with each shuddering breath.

The pulse of his cock intensifies, urging him to speed things along. The base desire of his own instincts is getting harder and harder to ignore under your adoring stare.

He feeds his fingers into your clenching hole with no warning, a satisfied smirk tugging his lips up at your sharp gasp. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, the entire lower half of his face still shining with your essence.

Your cunt swallows him, two thick fingers sinking into the velvety heat like it’s nothing.

Logan groans as he feels you clench around him, your walls fluttering and drawing him in deeper. “That’s it, baby,” he mutters, his voice hoarse with need. “So fuckin’ ready for me, so ready for daddy’s fingers in your pussy.”

Your mouth drops open in another devastatingly desperate noise, your hands twist his hair roughly, soft breasts rising and falling each time you gasp for air. The dim light of the sunset filters in through the blinds, highlighting the curves of your body, slick and shining with a thin sheen of sweat.

Every clench of your walls around his fingers shoots a thrill straight to his cock, making him ache with the urge to bury himself inside you. The overwhelming need to take you completely, to mark you and fill you, pulses through his veins until he feels like he might explode.

But he’s not done tasting you yet. Not until you’re practically dripping onto the sheets.

He lowers his mouth back to your core, sucking your clit into his mouth as his fingers pump faster. The sudden intensity makes your thighs shake around his head, and he grins against you. He wants to see you fall apart—wants to feel it.

“Logan—please, I…” You can barely get the words out, voice breaking as your whole body strains against him, desperate and needy.

The wet slap of his palm against your spit soaked cunt is loud in the quiet of your bedroom, blending with the loud keens that fall from your parted lips. He crooks his fingers, rubbing at that soft, spongy spot inside of you.

“Come on,” he mutters, slick lips brushing against your clit as he speaks. “Give it to me, baby. Show me you're ready for my cock."

He drags the sharp edge of his canine against your pulsing clit with barely any pressure, and you're coming.

Your whole body tenses, back bowing off the mattress as you let out a broken cry of his name. The bite of your nails digging into his scalp feels harsh enough to draw blood, a feeble attempt at grounding yourself against the onslaught of pleasure. 

Your trembling thighs tighten around his shoulders, gripping him like a vice as your shaking cunt gushes around his fingers. Logan groans at the feeling, eyes slipping shut as you drench his wrist and chin in your juices.

Even then, he doesn’t let up, fingers pumping relentlessly as he draws out every pulse, every aftershock of your climax, every tiny spray of your release splashing against his wrist. 

He’s lost in the feel of you—slick and trembling under his hands, the scent of your release filling his lungs, thick and intoxicating.

You slump back against the bed, body limp and spent. His own need is a driving, aching force now, clawing at his insides, demanding more.

He slips his fingers free from your dripping heat, dragging them through the wetness coating his chin as he licks them clean with a growl, savoring every taste.

“Good girl,” he purrs, voice thick with pride and satisfaction as he pulls back, leaving your thighs twitching in the wake of his touch. But he still isn’t finished. Not even close.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Logan crawls up the bed, his eyes locked on you, pupils blown with need. He looms over you, hands planting on either side of your head. His cock grinds against you through the rough denim, and you can feel just how thick and hard he is, throbbing through the fabric, demanding to be freed.

With a low groan, he shifts his hips, dragging his bulge along your soaked cunt, sending another jolt of pleasure racing through you. His hands are all over you, gripping your waist, hot and possessive.

“Feel that?” he asks, pressing his lips the wild flutter of your pulse, the need to sink his teeth in the soft skin of your neck raises the hair on the back of his neck. “That’s what you do to me baby. Got me hard as a fuckin’ rock, just aching to be inside you.”

Your arms circle his shoulders, clawing at the fabric off his shirt. “Need you inside me, Logan. Please, want it so bad.”

The pure need lacing your words, your scent calling out to him, the way he can feel the front of his jeans getting soaked through with the slick pouring from your cunt all pull him deeper into the recesses of his hind-brain. 

The mounting desperation to stuff you full of his cock finally reaches a fever pitch.

With a deep growl, Logan rears back as far as he can bear, just enough to tear his shirt over his head before he fumbles with the heavy buckle of his belt to free his aching cock.

He shoves his jeans down, boxers quickly following until there’s nothing separating him from the cool air of your bedroom. His cock springs free, hot and flushed an angry red color, drooling from the tip enough that it drips down to stain the pretty floral sheets of your bed.

Your eyes zero in on him, mouth dropping open at the sight. His cock so heavy it doesn’t curve upward to slap against his stomach, instead it hangs down to sway between his thighs as he moves closer. 

Your legs spread as he nears, slick covered thighs parting to make room for him to slot between them. So obedient, so good, so well trained.

Logan takes himself in his hand, nearly wincing at the blazing temperature of his skin. He secures his hand around the base, squeezing where his knot threatens to pop before he’s even got in you.

He slips the angry head through the folds of your cunt, slapping it against your clit with a wet ‘thwack’ sound. He can feel the way it twitches and shakes, just as desperate as him.

“Look at that,” he mutters darkly, eyes glued to where he’s laid his cock flat against your stomach, leaking pre-come all over your soft skin. “How’s it gonna fit, baby?” He shifts his hips, sawing his length back and forth to see just how deep in you he’ll be.

Your glassy eyes drop, a broken moan passing through your slack lips when you take in the sight. Your hips rise off the bed, grinding your cunt along the seam of his heavy balls, along the prominent vein trailing up the underside.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Logan grits out, eyes hooded and dark as he watches you grind against him. “You’re gonna take it all. Gonna make you feel every last fuckin’ bit of me.”

He groans, gritting his teeth as he presses in further, each inch a battle against the tight, molten heat that grips him like a vice. Your body shudders as he fills you, your slick warmth pulling him deeper and deeper, and he sinks down until he’s fully seated, his hips flush with yours. 

The pressure is mind-numbing, your walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that make his vision blur. He stills for just a second, savoring the way your body stretches around him, hugging him in a way that feels like it was made for him alone.

Logan watches your face as you adjust to the stretch, your brows pinched together, each breath coming fast and shallow, your eyes glazed with pleasure.

Then, your hands come to his shoulders, nails digging little crescent moons into his skin as you nod your head, ready.

It’s all the confirmation he needs. His hips pull back before he slams in again, the force of it jolting your whole body. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, teeth bared as he muffles a snarl against your skin.

Logan thrusts again, and again, and again, hips setting a merciless pace as he watches the way your breasts bounce with each thrust, each little shudder.

His mouth waters with the need to taste, to sink his teeth into your supple skin hard enough to pierce clean through, hard enough to scar.

Sweat drips down the length of his spine, across his brow. It mats down the hair scattered over his chest, his dog tags slick with it when they bounce off his skin with each thrust. The grip of his hands tightens on your hips, it’s taking everything in him to hold back and yet he knows you’ll still bruise tomorrow. 

Pretty hues of dark purples and yellows in the shape of his fingers, ones he’ll catch you admiring in the bathroom mirror, pressing your own fingertips into them to feel the dull ache—to remember this moment.

“Made for this, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice dark and possessive. “Made to take me, to be mine.”

The words barely leave his mouth before he’s bending down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries as he drives into you, pushing you both closer to that sweet edge.

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp, breaking the kiss as your body trembles under him. “Can–ah!–can feel you in my stomach…”

Your hand drops from his shoulder, slipping between your bodies to rest over the sweaty expanse of your belly. Logan’s eyes follow your path, a feral growl bursting from his chest before he can stop it.

He’s transfixed by it, sure that if he pressed his hand to the soft skin of your lower stomach right over your own, that he’d feel it. Feel the way his cock punches up against your insides, so deep it's like he’s rearranging your guts to make room.

“Fuck.” His voice is nothing but a gravelly rumble, hoarse and dark as midnight. His hips speed up impossibly faster, chasing the feeling of your clenching walls choking the length of his cock so tight he thinks it might snap off at the base.

The flimsy headboard of your bed slams against the wall, creaky mattress springs screaming under his ministrations.

You feel like salvation, like the first rays of light after too many years spent in the dark.

He feels it with each kiss of his cock against your cervix, in the way your lips fit in the junction of his neck, in the red welts your nails leave on the skin of his back. He feels alive, truly alive, for the first time in decades.

“Say my name,” he grates, his hand cupping the back of your neck, coaxing you to look up at him, lips close enough to taste the heat radiating from his skin. “Tell me who you belong to.”

"Logan," you gasp, your voice breathy, edged with desperation as he pushes you closer to the brink. "Yours. Only yours."

A broken, shaky noise falls from his lips as he buries his face in your neck. He mouths at your skin desperately, presses his nose to where your scent is the strongest. 

Flashes of his release spraying your insides play behind his closed eyes, thoughts of drenching you so thoroughly that it has to take only forcing his hips to slam against the rippling muscle of your ass like you have your own magnetic pull. He feels it building, the slow swell of his knot presses against your folds, ready to burst.

“Come on, honey,” he begs, thumb coming down to rub slow circles over your slick clit. “Come with me, soak my cock. Show me how much you love it, how much you love me.”

Pathetic little uh uh uh’s fall from you with every thrust, broken up only by the breathy whines of his name as he pounds into you hard enough to push your body higher up the mattress. Finally, with a loud roar, he stuffs his growing knot inside of your cunt. 

Logan’s teeth sink into your neck before he can even think twice about it, the thick spray of his come filling you as his hands pull your hips down even further over his cock. He needs to be as deep in you as possible, to press forward until he can’t anymore, until his aching balls are flush with your gushing cunt.

He watches with rapt attention as you come with a loud wail, just from the feeling of his knot slotting into place. The clamp of your thighs over his hips is nearly as tight as the way your cunt seizes around him like it’s scared he’ll leave.

He groans at the over stimulation of your cunt milking his cock. Your slick leaks around the base of him, your shaking hole plugged so full it can only slip along the creamy ring to splash weakly against his thighs and hips.

Logan licks along the spot where his teeth pierced your skin, planting one last kiss before he’s taking you in his arms and rolling onto his back atop the mattress. The plush comforter sticks to his skin, your own sweaty body slipping against his as he tries his best to not jostle you too much while keeping you stuffed full of his cock.

He holds you to his chest until your breathing evens out, until your body stops trembling on top of his, until you’re nosing along the column of his neck.

“Logan?” Your voice is tiny, hoarse and scratchy. He feels your hand drawing absent minded shapes along the skin of his stomach. A circle, a star, a figure eight, a heart.

“Yeah baby?” he says, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, eyes slipping shut at the content feeling that spreads through him.

“Love you,” you murmur, voice soft but sure, the words slipping out without hesitation.

It’s the first time you’ve said it today, and hearing those three words from you sends warmth flooding through him.

Logan shifts slightly, pulling you even closer, his hand moving to the back of your head, cradling you with a kind of tenderness he used to think he’d never be capable of. “I love you too, darlin’. More than you know.”

Your body relaxes against him, the lingering effects of your shared intimacy still buzzing through your limbs, but now there’s a sense of peace, of safety, and a deeper connection.

He can feel the way your fingers curl lightly against his skin, the quiet smile that must be tugging at your lips as you press a kiss to the side of his neck.

And in that moment, with everything settled around him, Logan knows that this, right here, is everything.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[ziaverse]

‘why do you read “various x reader stories?”’

first, i’m a narcissist and will not read it if it’s not about me

second, I love the feeling of people liking me

third, I was ignored as a child

[meshla-cyarika]

[dovesdreaming]

I only took one thing away from deadpool and wolverine and its this image:

I could look at this all day