#tony and bruce friendship

[darsynia]

I Know No Other Way Than This | Ch 6

(Bruce Banner/OFC, Tony Stark & Bruce Banner Friendship, post-Avengers 1 Soulmate AU multichapter)

MCU Masterlist | Tony Stark Masterlist | Prev | Next

Summary: Bruce tried to forget he had soulmate words entirely, but on the day of the Chitauri attack, he returned from his stint as the Hulk to find that his black words had turned silver. His soulmate must have watched him shift from the Other Guy into himself and said them while he was unconscious… Length: 3.1k

No pressure tags: @themaradwrites @ronearoundblindly @stellar-solar-flare

Excerpt:

The sound of snapping fingers brought his eyes back to Tony. “Out with it. I can recognize a percolating idea when I see one, Brawn Valdez.”

“What?” Bruce couldn’t place the name.

“I forgot you’re a tea man. Juan Valdez. Colombian Coffee mascot. Stop trying to distract me from the idea you don’t want to tell me about. I’m dying on the vine, here.”

Chapter Six: A Sixth Sense

Bruce’s conscience bothered him more than he’d expected when he woke the next morning. Everything inside him told him that he had no right to get ahold of the surveillance footage of Cicely’s meeting with Natasha that morning, even if he was doing it for what he firmly believed was her benefit. He told JARVIS he didn’t want to watch, left Tony’s messages on read, and almost pretended he wasn’t home when Nat dropped by after lunch. That would be rude, though, so he split the difference and answered the door without moving aside to let her in.

“I don’t want to know,” he said, before she got a chance to say anything.

“Is that any way to greet a teammate?” she teased, leaning her body against the doorway. Her open, easy body language was a direct contrast to his (arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed, shoulders tense, legs close together). “You gonna ask me to come in, or are you planning to have this standoff in the hallway?”

“There’s… there’s no standoff. Thank you for doing what I think you did, maybe, this morning,” Bruce stammered. Being at odds with a woman as beautiful and deadly as Natasha did not make it easy to remain coherent. He wasn’t afraid of her, he just knew she had skills in manipulation he could only dream of. Unfortunately, she was also ridiculously perceptive.

“Wow, okay,” she said, grinning. “I see my choice to change out of the leather didn’t help much.”

“Could you cut me a break?” Bruce begged. “I’m trying to do the right thing. I can’t have anything to do with her--”

“--which is why you’re arguing about it in a residential hallway.”

Bruce couldn’t help smiling sheepishly at that. “Give me, I don’t know, a day?” he suggested, feeling like all his intelligence was null and void if he couldn’t apply it to deflect her mind games.

“Can I at least tell you what color her hair probably is by now?” Natasha asks with a glimmer of amusement in her eyes.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he said, hoping his tone carried the right kind of polite finality. It wasn’t possible to tell from her reaction, because as Bruce shut the door, she actually waved her fingers at him in the gap.

He walked over to the wall beside the refrigerator and rested a hand on it, dipping his head down to settle his mind. Two sets of instincts warred in him-- one to learn everything possible about Cicely’s situation to better protect her, the other to disengage entirely from Cicely… to better protect her. The hidden third option was to disengage from the dilemma for a little while, and Bruce reached for that one.

He pushed off from the wall, then turned to smile at it. Bruce had lived so much of his life frugally, if not in dire financial straits, and it was nice to live in a space where every single possible square inch of the walls didn’t need to be in use.

If only Tony Stark’s generosity extended towards giving Bruce a break from all of the soulmate pressure.

“JARVIS?” Bruce said, pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses.

“I am here at your service, Doctor Banner.”

“Is it possible for you to do some more intensive monitoring of Miss Besnard and only inform me if there’s something of concern? I’m trying to strike a balance here, and having access to all of the information is clearly not working,” Bruce confessed.

It was a good thing that Stark’s AI couldn’t access his dreams. Ironically, Bruce’s fixation on Cicely translated to guilt even in his own dreams, which often meant he woke up in the middle of them-- thus guaranteeing he’d remember their content. It was a frustrating, entrancing Catch-22.

“Yes, that is possible. Would you prefer to choose the parameters, or would you like me to calculate those myself and offer you several options to choose from?”

“Tony has you running the tower, his home back in Malibu, and his Iron Man suit, doesn’t he?” Bruce asked, chuckling a little. “I’m okay with trusting you. Just let me know if she’s in danger. From someone other than me, I mean.”

“To be clear, Doctor: are you asking me to avoid telling you when I believe that Miss Besnard is in danger from your own behavior?”

“Maybe that depends on whether your model for danger is Tony or not,” Bruce said, more to himself than the AI. “No,” he decided. “You’d better tell me then, too.”

“Very good, sir.”

That sounded a lot like a pat on the back for good behavior. Bruce wondered how long he’d have to stay here before the benefits of the extra space and amenities outweighed the drawbacks.

Now that he had set aside the sense of responsibility he had to watch out for her himself, Bruce could focus on the threat itself.

“JARVIS?” he said, heading for the computer. “Can you access any employment and enrollment records for jobs I’ve held and conferences I’ve attended or spoken at since the accident? I’m hoping we can cross-reference that with New York City residency as a starting point, and go from there. I want to find out who’s using Cicely as a pawn in their beef with me.”

“I will place the names in a new file on your desktop. The search should take a few hours, perhaps you should take a walk? I would suggest a visit to Mr. Stark’s lab, but as it happens, he’s just completed a conversation about soulmates with Ms. Potts. I expect you’d like to avoid being notified about the conditions you’ve just asked me to monitor so early in your day.”

It sounded an awful lot like JARVIS was deploying calming suggestions on the off chance he might be getting upset. Bruce didn’t know how to feel about that. “You are a mixed blessing, that’s for sure, JARVIS.”

“Thank you, Doctor Banner.”

It was almost ten at night when Tony walked into the lab wearing a fancy suit. Bruce was just finishing up a scan of an alien weapon. Technically, this was Tony’s space, but that was because Bruce had moved over after Tony got lazy about walking back and forth to discuss things with him. Tony had put aside the component he was working on to design an apparatus he said would serve as a high-res holographic video phone. When the eccentric billionaire started measuring him for something he called ‘the carapace,’ Bruce had just packed up and moved.

Now, it looked like Tony was shedding his own carapace. Every ten seconds, he took something else off, draping each piece (silk tie, belt, suit jacket, and so forth) on whatever surface was nearby. Bruce half expected that he’d see Pepper come by looking for him and start following the trail of discarded garments. Finally, down to a white wife beater and black, unbelted dress pants, Tony threw himself onto a chair and glared at his socks.

“Successful fundraiser, then?” Bruce asked, laying on the sarcasm.

“I should have paid Clint to wear the suit and pretend to have Laryngitis,” Tony groaned. “You don’t know how lucky you are. I am the last person you’d call tactful, and Pepper won’t let me drink at those things. Worst part? I don’t even think it’s working.”

‘Lucky’ was a stretch, but Bruce knew he had a certain anonymity in his current form. “You can’t wrangle a suit for Rogers and bring him next time?” The city was only willing to fund so much clean-up. Tony and Pepper had been holding dinner party meet and greets to ask some of the more prominent residents to help, above and beyond what he and the company had donated already.

Tony looked up, aghast.

“No, not an Iron Man suit, I meant a cloth one. You know, for schmoozing.”

“Are you kidding? He works ten hours a day out there. I’d have to pour him into it, and then he’d just make me look bad with the aw shucksing.” Tony threw his head back, letting his arms go limp beside him, hands dangling against the arms of the chair. “I can’t believe I used to be jazzed up after this kind of shit.”

Bruce thought his real luck was that almost everything he’d been involved with outside the tower, even regarding Cicely, had occurred in parts of the city that weren’t as damaged. It wasn’t like he could show up at a party as the Hulk and make nice, though, and they weren’t learning as much as he’d hoped from the Chitauri remnants left behind in the devastation. 

He ran a hand through his hair, pausing halfway through at a stinging thought: his life had been materially made better by the attack.

He had actual friends and a support system, now. A place to live. A place to retreat to if he hulked out. Numerous labs. Work that felt worthwhile (despite their lack of breakthroughs in understanding the alien technology), and a state-of-the-art place to do it in. He’d also found his soulmate, so that lingering uncertainty had also been removed, despite being replaced by a few others. Bruce was grateful-- but he also felt guilty.

Surely there was something he could do? Something that didn’t require him to solidify the public’s understanding that he was both scientist and monster? Sure, a simple Google search would reveal his ‘secret identity,’ he’d even watched Cicely perform one. But that was a far cry from stepping in front of a cadre of reporters and admitting it, like Tony had.

“You’re thinking so hard it’s making my head hurt,” Tony complained.

“I’m just trying to come up with something I can do to help besides hole up here and enjoy myself. Feels like cheating,” Bruce admitted.

“People give Cap shit for his excruciating morality, but you’re the dark horse, I think. What, were you raised Catholic? Pretty sure we’re supposed to enjoy life.”

Bruce laughed. “No way are you qualified to judge.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. There was a ghost of an idea he was mentally circling, but it was risky.

The sound of snapping fingers brought his eyes back to Tony. “Out with it. I can recognize a percolating idea when I see one, Brawn Valdez.”

“What?” Bruce couldn’t place the name.

“I forgot you’re a tea man. Juan Valdez. Colombian Coffee mascot. Stop trying to distract me from the idea you don’t want to tell me about. I’m dying on the vine, here.”

“Fine, fine,” Bruce said, grabbing his glasses from the desk to put them on. He always thought better while wearing them, a kind of Pavlovian reaction. “It’s not fully fledged, and it depends on what’s left to do, debris-wise.” He paused, trying to gather his thoughts. There was a glimmer of something useful that was dangling just out of his mental reach, caught on a previous train of thought as it chugged away. He’d been remembering how Cicely had looked him up-- there. “So, there’s a ton of footage of us fighting that day. Heroic fighting, maybe, but we destroyed a lot in the process.”

“Destruction I am now tasked with paying to fix, yes.”

“What if there was a way to do some Search Engine Optimization and grass-roots fundraising at the same time? Some of the large pieces of debris are still in place because it’s too dangerous to move them. They’ve got to get all of the smaller stuff first, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, we’re probably going to have to rent a crane. Maybe two. Maybe two dozen.” Tony sighed.

“What if instead, we make a flashy webpage promising that for every funding goal reached, Iron Man and Hulk will show up at a clean-up site and do some of that work? It’ll save the cost of the machines, and who cares if it’s a little dangerous? What could happen to me? Nothing permanent.” Bruce said, actually getting excited.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Tony asked, his head practically sideways. There was an overlay of happiness on his face that hadn’t been there before, though. “I mean, can Hulk do PR junkets?”

“I don’t think you’d want him to. That’s why it should be both of us. You’re the bait for the techies, I’m bait for the Mythbusters crowd. You’re the voice, I’m the smash,” Bruce said. The more he thought about the idea, the more he thought it just might work. It was a shame it was already dark outside; he was full of energy, all of a sudden. He wanted to go look at some of the sites, pick out what chunks he could move with his alter ego. There was almost no chance he could get Hulk to drop chunks of building neatly enough into a heavy-duty vehicle, but there were a few options that might work.

For once, Tony was quiet. Bruce looked over, pulling his mind from the idea of running simulations that tested how much force some of the more sturdy transport trucks could withstand. “What?”

“I thought you hated being Hulk.”

“I do. But what I hate more is feeling responsible for some of that stuff without a way to make it right,” Bruce said quietly. “You and Fury, you’ve given me a new framing device. Hulk as a tool.”

Tony burst out laughing.

He really was a child, sometimes. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” Tony stretched and launched himself out of the chair as if that was the only way to get himself moving. “The SEO thing, that’s smart,” he said. “I’m all for filling the web with footage of us fixing shit instead of breaking it.” His gaze turned coy as he looked over at Bruce. “Think your girl might get curious and show up?”

Bruce pushed down the little surge of possessiveness that reared up on hearing his phrasing. “She’s not mine, Tony. I don’t even know what her words are.”

“Legally, there’s a claim there, Cold Feet. Generally doesn’t mean anything until it’s acknowledged, but take it from someone who knows: when my words turned silver, that went into my medical file. Pepper’s too. And once we knew whose they were, that became a fact of record.”

Bruce stared at him. “I… I didn’t know that,” he whispered, stunned.

“Yeah, be glad the ballot measure to make it illegal to lie about whose they are didn’t pass about ten years back,” Tony told him, draping various articles of clothing over an arm and toeing into his shoes. “It’s been national law for about twelve years that your soulmate has certain automatic rights, unless legally severed, including hospital and jail visitation.” He narrowed his eyes in confusion at Bruce, and Bruce felt his ears start to heat up in embarrassment. “You’re really surprised by this! You, the man who seems to have some inexplicable, arcane ruleset about even coming into contact with your soulmate? You never even looked into this? What, did you just stick your fingers in your ears and hum?”

“Basically,” Bruce admitted. He reached out for his rolling desk chair and sat down, hard. The chair rolled back a bit from the force of it.

“You really need to--”

“Yeah, getting that now,” he interrupted Tony. “Soulmates don’t get medical power of attorney, do they?” he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“No, but it’s fast-tracked for them.”

“Well, you’ve done it,” Bruce said. His heart was beating so quickly that he wondered if he should make his way down to the bunker, and his mind was similarly racing. The guilt he’d felt in regards to Cicely Besnard had doubled, something he hadn’t even expected to be possible.

She was absolutely in danger because of him. Because of his willful ignorance.

And you call yourself a scholar?

“What did I do? Perform the first verbal lobotomy? You look like you’re about to sneeze your brains all over my lab floor, Banner.”

“Changed my mind. We can’t let her stay at her apartment. If she’s being watched because someone wants to use her to force through some kind of medical power of attorney--” He broke off at the sound of Tony’s gasp.

“Shit. You’re right. JARVIS, is Clint Barton in position to watch Ms. Besnard?”

“He is indeed, sir.”

Tony’s hand was on the door to leave the lab. “She’s safe for now. I’ll set up a few options for housing, here and at a hotel I have pull at. Tomorrow we’ll figure out how to persuade her to accept a temporary move, and I’ll get on the fundraising idea you had. Try to get some sleep?”

For a second, Bruce didn’t even know what fundraising thing Tony was talking about. He was too worried about the amount of research into soulmates he needed to do ASAP. There was a little spark of excitement deep down inside him that threatened to spread. Tony’s meaning finally sank in as Bruce watched Tony trying to get his foot to slide properly into his shoe while balancing on one foot, half of his outfit precariously draped on his free arm.

“Tony, there’s no way I could possibly--”

“Are you still missing the cues, here?” Tony interrupted, his voice abrupt and combative but somehow still affectionate. He held out both hands like a scale, his still-draped silk tie swaying with the movement. “You dislike your alter ego, but Hulk helping out is one of the best ways to make up for the damage we caused. You stayed away from people for years to keep them safe, but you’re the happiest and most secure you’ve been for a long time in the middle of New York City. You run from your soulmate, but she’s safer here, where we can all protect her from whoever means her harm.” Tony let his hands drop, and the tie fluttered to the ground. “Did you ever consider that maybe your instincts are actually terrible?"

Bruce laughed helplessly. “That is one of the least encouraging things anyone’s ever told me, but somehow you come out looking like a great friend for saying it.”

“Sweet talker,” Tony said, blowing him an air kiss and heading out the door.

When he was alone, Bruce leaned over and rested his arms on his legs, letting out a long breath. His instincts were telling him that they shouldn’t wait, that someone should go right now and persuade Cicely to pack up a few days’ worth of clothes and get out of there. Then again, Tony’s words were pretty illustrative. He spun the chair around to the computer and logged out. On his way out the door, he picked up Tony’s red tie and wrapped it around his hand absently as he waited in the elevator. 'She’ll be fine,' he told himself.

Next chapter, Bruce is forced into the very situation he's always tried to avoid--speaking his Words to his soulmate.

to be continued...

[haveihitanerve]

That scene- where Clint makes more trick arrows… 😭 please just imagine for me Tony Stark and Clint Barton, the two insomniacs of the avengers team, huddled in the lab at four in the morning, Tony leaned against Clint, half draped over him, laughing at something he’s said as they both fiddle with tech, cracking jokes and coming up with more and more outlandish trick arrows to create, toasting marshmallows over the small fire they accidentally started and sharing thoughts and space and… just Clint and tony friendship for me please 

[emilythedog661]

Marvel Ponyfied Redesign

The List

1. Tony Roger-Stark/Iron Pony

2. Steve Roger-Stark/Captian America

3. Peter Roger-Stark (Tony and Steve's Biological Son)

4. Thor

5. Bruce Banner

6. Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow

7. Clint Barton/Hawkeye

8. Sam Wilson/Falcon

9. Loki

10. Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Anyway, that's the characters and Here is a link to Part 2 include some OC fan kids 😁

[spidergrotto]

platonic friendships that are basically just found family WOUND ME in ways that are not describable !!! harley and bruce friendship 🫤 tony and rhodey 🫤 what if i kms

[xoxoladyaz]

AU-gust, Day 9: Cleaning Crew

A/N: Avengers Crossover and allusions to smut, ahoy!

This ended up way hurt/comfort/fluff than I anticipated and there were almost no sexy times? And it was definitely the Avengers cockblocking Eddie and not the other way around so if there's still interest in that, I could see me writing THAT AU in the future! I just wanted Steve to be properly appreciated, you know? Anyways, happy AU-gust Day 9!

“This is the weirdest NDA I’ve ever seen.”

“Question, how many NDAs have you seen?”

Nancy Wheeler’s pinched face glared at Steve through his Starkphone. “Enough.” She rolled her eyes at Steve and restarted her perusal of the hefty contract Steve had emailed over to her (that she’d insisted on printing and making notes on, because even ten years removed from high school, Nancy Wheeler was thorough.) “There’s some things here regarding interpersonal relationships that seem a little unprecedented.”

“But?” Steve Harrington echoed, his eyebrows near his hairline.

“But you are dealing with the world’s first literal superhero team so these probably aren’t unreasonable requests,” she finished between gritted teeth.

“Great, so I can sign it then.”

“Steve,” Nancy sighed, and she pinched her nose between her eyes, “are you sure you want to do this? If it’s a matter of money - ”

“It’s not, Nance. Neither one of us has to work,” Steve argued back and hey, he wasn’t wrong. The government had been obscenely generous in their payouts after they’d finally defeated Vecna. And, okay, was it a little weird that instead of going to a fancy school or kickstarting his musical career or buying a weed farm that Steve rented a normal apartment and put the rest away into an investment fund? Maybe. Did he need to work, let alone work as a glorified cleaning service for the one percent? No, not at all.

But maintaining one of his (recently-divorced) mother’s properties had turned into a prosperous career because hey, it turns out all of those years spent cleaning up after the kids (and the interdimensional monsters they kept as pets) meant that he was, like, really good at cleaning. (And he was still incredibly insecure about his intelligence, or lack-thereof, and he didn’t want to be the only one who didn’t get into the dream school he applied for.)

And now he’d been personally asked – by Pepper Potts herself, of all people (who apparently played bridge with his mom?) – to take over the general care and upkeep of the personnel apartments at the newly re-christened Avengers Tower in New York City.

(Thank God he’d been out of town at one of Lucas’ basketball games when the whole attack happened; not that he wouldn’t have been willing to help but man, fighting monsters takes a toll when you’re not a superhuman. And he was only thirty.)

“This just feels like a cry for help, Steve. Do you really want to look after the world’s most difficult group of people?”

Steve stared at Nancy without blinking. “I babysat Henderson for years. I feel like I’m still babysitting Henderson.”

“I know, it’s just – I’m just worried that you’re not moving on, Steve.”

And, well, that hurt. Because sure, he didn’t have a doctorate like Robin or Dustin and he wasn’t playing professional sports like Lucas or spearheading global disability rights campaigns like Max or running a prosperous weed farm like Argyle or was part of the reporting and photography duo that was Nancy and Jonathan, nor was he part of a Grammy-winning rock band or a retired superhero or –

(It’s just, at the end of the day, Steve didn’t have really big dreams. After years spent fighting interdimensional monsters that liked to crawl their way out of walls, all of the other stuff – fame, fortune, money, a legacy – it didn’t really feel important anymore. All Steve wanted now, and truthfully, all he really wanted then, was a place to call home and people to belong to.

So honestly, it was really fucking rude of Nancy to judge him for just wanting that. And he was going to be working in close proximity with the Avengers of all people, like, how was that not success? Sure, he’d essentially be a live-in maid, but it wasn’t like he wasn’t doing important work.)

Steve didn’t say any of this to Nancy, of course; he didn’t need to. The looks on her face – shock, and then guilt – said enough.

“Steve - ”

“Thanks for your help, Nance,” he replied quickly, and then he hung up the phone.

(They were all split up now, they had been for years. And keeping them all together, staying together, being a family? That had been his dream for years.

But maybe it was time for a new dream now.

And maybe the Avengers Tower was the perfect place to start.)

/////

Working at the Tower meant that sometimes Steve felt like he was cleaning a frat house, mainly because the communal kitchen was usually covered in junk food wrappers and empty beer bottles and days’ old coffee mugs.

(“Trust me,” Pepper Potts had said drily the first time they’d had a check-in meeting, “this doesn’t come closeto a Tony Stark frat house party.”) 

Still, he was on time every day, kept to himself, and most importantly didn’t sell out any information to any of the many, many media outlets that sent him offers. That, along with the fact that apparently Steve had an obscenely high security clearance (thanks, Hawkins!) meant that he was asked to officially move into the staff quarters of Avengers Tower within his first month of work.

(Which had the added effect of him actually meeting the Avengers and, well, it was a little weird.

Because if Steve didn’t know any better, he’d say that they were flirting with him. Or, even worse, that they were staking some sort of claim, and that didn’t make sense, right?

Right?)

/////

1. Tony Stark

“Hey honeybun, how’s it hanging?”

“To the left,” Steve replied absentmindedly as he disinfected the industrial-grade espresso machine.

Someone choked behind him and – shit.

He’d just said that to his BOSS.

(His incredibly hot, incredibly wealthy, incredibly smart and powerful boss.

SHIT.)

“Mr. Stark!” Steve exclaimed as he spun to face his employer. “Mr. Stark, I am so, so sorry, that was so inappropriate - ”

“First of all, please for the love of god call me Tony,” Mr. Stark – Tony – ordered with a smirk as he leaned on the kitchen’s island. He was dressed in an old AC/DC tee that sent a pang through Steve’s heart because wowit reminded him so much of Eddie (although that’s where their style similarities ended, because Eddie always wore loose bottoms and Tony’s pants were always fitted to accentuate his ass.

NOT THAT STEVE HAD BEEN LOOKING.)

“And second of all,” Tony purred as he leaned further across the island, getting right up into Steve’s space, “don’t tease me if you aren’t going to follow through, sweetheart.”

Steve didn’t need a mirror to tell him that he was flushing bright red. “I – I - ”

“Mister Harrington, sir,” JARVIS spoke – which was a fully functional AI that Dustin would die to know about – “there is a call waiting for you on your personal line, a Mister Edward Munson.”

Speak of the devil.

“Oh,” Steve murmured, his face cooling off as quickly as it had heated and he spun around, hands shaking as he looked for a towel. “Yeah, let me just get a towel - ”

“JARVIS, put the call on my line,” he heard Tony order, and then a warm hand was at his back. “I’ve got this, handsome.”

Steve turned just in time to see Tony shoot him a wink and pick up his phone. “Eddie Munson, huh? I’ve heard a lot about you,” Tony started and then he was gone, disappearing out of the kitchen and towards his lab.

“I – JARVIS?”

“Mister Stark is a mystery to behold,” the AI replied with a sigh. “How about a glass of champagne?”

You know what? Fuck it.

“That sounds great, J.”

2. Steve Rogers

“ – and I said, ‘excuse me, but only one of us outsmarted some leftover commie bastards at the age of ten and it wasn’t you, Professor.’”

Steve snorted, listening as Erica detailed her most recent argument – and victory – with her prick of an international relations professor. (A few days after his weird interaction with Tony in the kitchen, he’d been granted access to accept personal calls in the main Avengers spaces, which meant that he had more time to catch up with his friends while cleaning which was a blessing because some of the dusting in this place? Took hours.)

“Doesn’t that break your NDA?”

“Please,” Erica snorted over the living room’s loudspeakers, “I’ve got Owens wrapped around my finger, just like you with a certain member of the one percent.”

“Sorry, what?” Steve paused mid-wipe, looking confusedly at the now-gleaming metallic coffee table in front of him. “What are you talking about?”

“Tony Stark, your knight in iron armor?” Erica replied in her best I’m-talking-to-an-idiot-right-now voice. “Or did you forget that he’s screening your calls?”

“He’s screening my what?”

“Please, we all heard about his little talk with the Nerd King,” she scoffed and oh yeah, he’d forgotten about that. (Honestly, he had no idea what those two had even talked about; when he asked Tony, the older man had changed the subject and ordered super fancy sushi instead.) “Now, if you had a bodyguard like that back at Starcourt, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten your ass kicked by the Russians.”

“What Russians?”

Steve didn’t scream, but he might have let out a high-pitched noise of surprise at the sound of Captain America’s voice. He turned around to find Steve Rogers standing at attention in the living room, his eyes glaring at the speakers overhead.

“Steve,” Erica’s voice echoed slowly, “am I hearing Captain America right now?”

“Just Steve Rogers, ma’am,” the tall blonde replied automatically.

“And just how long have you been there, Just Steve Rogers?”

“Long enough. Now, what is this about the Russians?” He asked, and his piercing blue eyes dropped onto Steve’s face and his heart was beating fast because he was nervous and for no other reason.

“Seriously? How do you not know? Haven’t you read Steve’s file?” Erica asked incredulously and okay, this conversation needed to be done immediately.

Piercing blue eyes grew shocked and Captain Rogers looked, well, sick to his stomach. “You have a file?”

“Okay!” Steve jumped up before this could spiral any further out of hand. “Erica, it was great talking to you, I’ll call you later, uh, Captain Rogers - ”

“Please, call me Steve.”

“Right, Steve, there’s nothing to be, uh, worried about - ”

“She said Russians,” Cap pointed to the ceiling, “so there’s definitely something to be worried about. Does Tony know about the Russians?”

“I’m sorry, did somebody say my name?” Tony popped his head into the room because of course he was also nearby.

“Did you know about this?”

“I know a lot of things, Cap, you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Did you know that Steve was attacked by Russians?”

“Steve was what?!”

(Steve was then treated to the sight of Iron Man and Captain America reading his security file, staring at him in shock, and then stomping off to do something about their fury? The last part of that entire thing didn’t make sense, but JARVIS sent him some whiskey so hey, it could have been worse.

And if he let Captain Rogers tuck an extra blanket around him during movie night, well, that was just his business.)

3. Natasha Romanoff (and Clint Barton)

“I heard you lost a fight with some Russians.”

“JESUS!” Steve startled, barely stopping himself from dropping Tony’s mother’s expensive China all over the floor. (The porcelain set hadn’t been looked at in years and Pepper wanted to use it for the next investors meeting, so of course this is when the infamous Black Widow approached him.)

“Okay, first of all,” he said after he had set down the dishware and turned to face the smirking redhead, “I didn’t lose the fight, I knocked one out.”

“And then you got surrounded, captured, and were tortured for a total of two hours in a hidden bunker,” she finished. (How did she get her eyebrow to quirk like that? And why did he feel like she was flirting with him but also being mean?)

(And how could he get that skill?)

“I – yeah, you’re not wrong about that,” Steve muttered, glancing away from Natasha. “At least we all made it out alive. And we survived the whole Hawkins earthquake thing.”

Natasha snorted and murmured something under her breath that sounded like Russian but also sounded like metal and frankly didn’t make a lot of sense. She cleared her throat and spoke up and, well, whatever she said before must not have been important. “It’s a good thing you have us to train you.”

“Yeah,” he murmured absentmindedly. Then – 

“Wait, what?”

Which is how Steve started spending two hours out of every afternoon “training” with Natasha in the official Avengers’ sparring room. Honestly, he wasn’t sure how much good it was doing, given that “training” mainly consisted of Natasha throwing him around the room and giving him bruises.

(Okay, that he was into, and she knew it too, judging by the wink she’d send him every time he headed off to the showers.)

After a few weeks, when she’d deemed him “competent” enough, she had Clint Barton start “assisting” as well, meaning there were two of them beating him up now which meant twice the embarrassment and twice the bruises.

(And twice the amount of time jerking off in the shower.)

(This was really starting to get out of hand.)

4. Thor and Bruce Banner

“This is really starting to get out of hand.”

“What is?” Robin asked as she poured the last of her Flaming Hot Cheeto dust into her mouth. She was the first person Steve had been able to secure a visitor’s pass for; Dustin was next on the list, followed by Max and Erica and then the rest of the gang (although according to JARVIS they were running into some sort of problem with Eddie’s pass, which could take up to an additional two months? He didn’t fully understand it, JARVIS had told him during breakfast a few days ago and he’d gotten distracted by Natasha throwing knives at Clint’s apple strudel and Steve accidentally breaking the toaster again.)

Steve grimaced as he watched her lick her fingers. “You mean aside from your Cheeto addiction?”

“Hey, this isn’t an addiction, I can stop any time,” she replied with a snort before tossing her empty bag at Steve. 

(Gross.)

“Sorry, what were you saying dingus? Something about things getting out of hand?”

“I don’t know, I just,” Steve set down his feather-duster (that he hadn’t even been using, he’d just been tossing it around like his old ice cream scooper) and got close enough to Robin so she could hear his whisper, “I might be reading things wrong, but I’m almost getting the feeling that they’re into me or something?”

Robin frowned. “Who, Eddie?”

“Eddie?” Now it was Steve’s turn to be confused. “No, the Avengers.”

“The AVENGERS?” Robin squeaked just as the door to the elevator banks opened. Steve and Robin whipped around to see Thor enter the main atrium with Dr. Banner on his heels.

“Steve!” Thor shot him a blinding smile and strutted over. Upon reaching Steve he wrapped him up in a hug and lifted him off the ground.

“Hey Thor!” Steve wheezed, trying to pat what he could of Thor’s back.

“How I have missed your countenance, my friend,” Thor boomed, and then he was setting Steve back on the ground – 

And kissing him on the lips. 

Thor leaned back and beamed, ignoring the fact that Steve was openly gaping at him. “It is good to be home.”

“Yeah? Yeah,” Steve breathed before shooting a quick look at Robin who looked completely and totally dumbfounded.

“And you must be the Lady Robin!” Thor said, turning his mega-watt smile upon Robin who flushed bright red. “Steve has told us of your exploits and your intellect. You would do well amongst the heroes of Asgard.”

“Thank you? I mean, thank you,” Robin squeaked.

(If Steve wasn’t in a state of complete and utter shock, he might have laughed at her, but he couldn’t move.)

“I have also seen the flag of your people,” Thor continued, like he didn’t notice Robin’s utter embarrassment, “and I have a lovely friend named Val who is searching for a paramour of her own. Do you think you would be interested? I could arrange a meeting.”

“Val. Val? As in - ”

“Valkyrie, yes,” Dr. Banner finally cut in sheepishly. “Also, hi, I’m Dr. Banner.”

Robin could only muster up a wave.

“Uh, hi, hi Bruce,” Steve shook his head, forcing himself to get it together it was only a kiss.

“Hi Steve, good to see you,” Bruce replied, and now he was bright red and well apparently Thor was the only person who wasn’t blushing right now and Steve needed to get a handle on this stat.

“That would be great, Thor!” Steve cut in, saving Robin from having to respond. “Robin’s going to be in town for a few more days.”

“Wonderful!” Thor said, turning back to beam at Steve. “I shall invite Val for dinner tomorrow but for now, I shall allow you to return to your revelry. Lady Robin,” he said with a bow towards Robin and then, turning to face Steve, he shot Steve a smug wink. “Steve.” And with that Thor was gone, headed towards Tony’s lab with a still-blushing Bruce Banner hot on his heels.

Steve turned to stare at Robin.

Robin stared back at Steve.

“Holy shit.”

“Holy shit.”

5. The Team

Surprisingly – or unsurprisingly – Robin’s date with Val had gone really, really well; in fact, it had gone so well that Robin transferred her graduate credits to NYU in a matter of days and moved into the Tower as well.

(“Steve. Steve. She’s a literal alien warrior goddess. Who cares where I work? I don’t even need to work.”

Still, the NYU transfer went incredibly smoothly, so smoothly that Steve confronted a certain genius billionaire playboy philanthropist about it. Tony had denied any input and distracted him with more sushi and a thorough tour of his sportscars which had ended up lasting for hours.)

Anyways, with Robin now living as an occupant of the Tower and the rest of the Avengers fully settled in and in agreement on a chore chart, Steve was starting to wonder just why he was still employed; like, what purpose was he serving? He really did try to stay on top of the cleaning, but the others were pitching in almost constantly, and it was a miracle if he was responsible for cooking even one meal a day.

“I just don’t get it,” he finally said to Robin on a particularly hot day in July. They were the sole occupants of the Tower’s rooftop infinity pool (as the Avengers proper were spending the day in a series of meetings), so this was the closest Steve was going to get to having a private conversation with Robin.

(Like, he was really, really glad that Val was so obviously head over heels for his best friend, but it definitely cut down on his and Robin’s cuddle time.)

“Don’t get what, dingus?”

Steve shrugged and ran a wet hand through his drying hair. “I don’t know, why I’m still here? I mean, they aren’t really using me as a cleaner anymore, and I mean, Bruce is a way better cook than me and he’s pretty much taken over so, like, what am I even doing here?”

Robin turned and pushed up her sunglasses so they were making eye contact. “Seriously? You’re serious right now.”

Steve nodded.

“You really don’t see it?”

“See what?”

Groaning, Robin slid her sunglasses back onto her face and turned back towards the horizon. “I’m not going to be the one to spell it out for you, dingus. You’re going to have to do this on your own. Or, better yet, why do you just ask?”

“Uh, maybe because I don’t want to get fired?”

(Robin shoved his head underwater at that which, frankly? Was incredibly rude.

He got his revenge later by knocking her into the pool after she’d finally dried off.)

+ 1 Bucky Barnes

Being fresh off of a highly-advanced plane-ship-thing from Wakanda meant that Steve hadn’t seen a whole lot of James “Bucky” Barnes. He’d sat next to him at dinner a few times, shared a couch during their re-watch of Game of Thrones, even sparred a bit at Natasha’s direction during Steve’s “training,” but they hadn’t really talked, which made the fact that after Steve’s un-helpful swim with Robin, he found said super soldier waiting for him in the hallway outside of his bedroom.

“Bucky, hi,” Steve nodded, rubbing his towel across the back of his neck. “Sorry, did you need something? Is there a problem with - ”

“No problems, doll, I just wanted to have a chat,” the dark-haired man purred, and Steve?

He felt his stomach tangle up in knots.

“A-about what, exactly?”

Bucky hummed and uncrossed his arms, the vibranium arm shimmering under the light. “Well, a little birdie told me you had some questions about what your place is here,” he said, a playful sparkle in his eye. “And,” Bucky stepped closer and backed Steve up until Steve was leaning against the door to his own apartment, “since it seems that my teammates haven’t made your position entirely clear, I thought I would take matters into my own hands.”

Steve didn’t even get a sound out before Bucky was surging forward, planting the sort of kiss on Steve that he knew he’d never recover from because for as forceful and passionate as it was, it was gentle too: the way Bucky’s cybernetic arm wrapped around Steve’s back and help him up; the way his other hand cupped the side of Steve’s face; the way Bucky hummed, like Steve’s lips were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted; 

The way he lifted Steve up and kicked open the door.

“I – I - ” Steve panted out as the door swung shut behind them. “I still - ”

“You’re home, doll,” Bucky murmured against Steve’s lips. “That’s what you are.”

And, well.

Steve couldn’t not kiss him then.

(And he couldn’t not give him every piece of himself in return underneath his silken sheets.)

Four Months Later

“Okay, now this is the weirdest NDA I’ve ever seen.”

Jonathan snorted from across the room as he fiddled with his camera. 

“Hey, you were the one that wanted the exclusive,” Steve replied. “I could have told you it would be more intensive.”

“Yeah, yeah, and who’s fault is that?” Nancy teased with a glimmer in her eye. “I’m not the househusband here.”

“Umm excuse me, that’s my job?” Robin piped up from her spot on Val’s lap. “Steve is obviously the trophy wife.”

“Hey!” Steve exclaimed, but then a pair of godly arms wrapped around his waist, a cybernetic arm wrapped around his shoulders, and a pair of expensive lips pressed a hot kiss to his cheek.

“Best trophy wife a guy could ask for,” Tony crooned in his ear and then laughed at Steve’s blush.

(His partners weren’t the good guys, they were evil.)

“Dude, Eddie would shit a brick if he saw this,” Jonathan said with another snort.

“Oh, how is - ”

“Who do you speak of? I am not familiar,” Thor cut Robin’s question off loudly, his thundering voice vibrating up and down Steve’s back.

“I think he said Freddie - ”

“Oh, like Freddy Krueger – Cap, we need you to watch A Nightmare on Elm Street - ”

“ – after the shoot! Do you think Tony will order us sushi again?”

“ – Steve first, Steve, are you in the mood for sushi?”

Steve felt Nancy nudge him, and he turned to see her smiling. “Hey. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Nance,” Steve smiled back.

“It’s good to finally be home.”

[shanastoryteller]

Shana, would you ever write DC comics / Batman stuff?

probably not anything longform, only because i really haven't consumed any of the source material

@unpretty is pretty much the only reason i care about batman at all

that said, i LOVE static shock. obsessed with that show. if i wrote anything dc, pretty decent chance it'd be about my boys virgil and richie

[iladkaren]

Avalon Assemble

The tension in the Avengers Tower common room was thicker than Thor's celebratory stew. Steve Rogers, ever the leader, shuffled a deck of cards. "Alright team, time for a different kind of mission. Tonight, we play Avalon."

Iron Man scoffed. "Avalon? You think chitauri diplomacy translates to a social deduction game?"

Black Widow smirked. "Let's see if Stark can tell the truth for five minutes straight, shall we?"

The game began. Steve, ever trusting, drew five cards, revealing himself as a loyal Servant of Arthur. Thor, predictably enthusiastic, slammed his fist on the table. "I too am a loyal servant! We shall crush the forces of Mordred!"

Bruce Banner, ever cautious, drew his cards with a grimace. "Uh, I'm not sure what I am..."

Suddenly, Loki, the resident trickster, cackled. "Excellent! A new pawn for my schemes!" He winked at Steve, clearly lying.

Steve, ever the optimist, beamed. "Don't worry, Loki. We'll see through any deceptions!"

The game devolved into glorious chaos. Black Widow, a proven strategist, played flawlessly, her stoic expression never betraying her role. Hawkeye, ever competitive, accused everyone (including Captain America) of being Mordred's minion.

The highlight came during a quest. Thor, chosen as leader, confidently picked Iron Man and Bruce as his companions. "Together, we shall vanquish the darkness!"

Iron Man grumbled. "Great. Just what I need, babysitting Banner."

"Wait!" Bruce interjected. "My card says I'm a Morgana supporter! I can't go!"

Thor's face fell. "But... but we need your science! And Stark's snarky commentary!"

"This is a disaster!" Captain America declared, trying to maintain order.

Loki, meanwhile, was rolling on the floor, tears streaming down his face. "Oh, the glorious dysfunction! This is better than any alien invasion!"

Somehow, through sheer luck and a surprising amount of teamwork (mostly to spite Loki), the good guys won the first round.

"See, Stark?" Steve grinned. "We can work together... even with a mischievous trickster in our midst."

Loki, still wiping away tears, bowed dramatically. "Oh, Captain Rogers, your faith is so touching. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a reputation for utter chaos to uphold!"

The Avengers, despite the near-meltdown, found themselves laughing. Maybe this social deduction game wasn't so bad after all. It was certainly more entertaining than facing Thanos, even if the stakes were much lower. As the game continued, accusations flew, alliances shifted, and Loki continued to revel in the glorious mess he'd helped create. In the end, it wasn't about winning or losing, it was about the hilarious journey of earth's mightiest heroes trying to decipher truth from lies... with a healthy dose of friendly bickering, of course.

[fanfictasia]

Avengers: Soldier's Thunder Chapter 4: Disputes, an avengers fanfic | FanFiction

Loki-Thor Role Swap - Avengers: Soldier's Thunder - Chapter 4: Disputes - Wattpad

[rocknroll2024]

“Game changer in Country Music!” Eric Church

[savvy-devine666]

Chapters: 18/? Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Marvel Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Loki/Sigyn (Marvel), Female oc/male oc implied Characters: Loki (Marvel), Sigyn (Marvel), Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner, Wanda Maximoff, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Natasha Romanov (Marvel) Additional Tags: Family, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Protective Avengers, Torture, Canon-Typical Violence, Friendship, Drama, Humor, Implied Incest, but they're aliens so does that still count?, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Series: Part 2 of A Trickster and His Bride Summary:

Thor has a favour to ask of his friends - someone has tried to assassinate a certain member of his family, Asgard is no longer safe for this person, but will the Avengers still help when they find out exactly who they will be helping?

[musicrunsthroughmysoul]

Purely to amuse myself I made some gifs from Big Country's "East of Eden" music video (which I am hoping to make at least one gifset of because the video is really cool! I believe it's the only Big Country video that's the most like a mini movie. Maybe someone would argue "Just a Shadow" or "Look Away" have a nice storyline, but that's different from being fairly movie-like, I think).

Anyway, in case you couldn't tell, I made these mostly inspired by Tony and Mark. I feel like they're my new...brOTP, if you will. Not even Stuart and Bruce were ever this cute. 😂

[emilythedog661]

Stony, Thruce and Winterfrost Fankids

1. Peggy Maria Roger-Stark - Steve and Tony's Daugter and Second/Last Child after Peter

2. Finnley (Finn for short) Odinson-Banner - Thor and Bruce's Son

3. Emily - Bucky and Loki's Daughter (This is also my OC Cat Character as a Foal)

Anyway, i hope you like my OC Fankids, Here is a Link to Part 1 and i'm going to a backstory fanfic on this soon (maybe)

[legalandnotease]

Ugh this. When Tony Stans and normies try to say that Steve and Tony were besties.

It is an utterly stupid headcanon. Not only were they not friends they lived entirely seperate lives.

In canon, Tony "retired" 2 or 3 times between movies. He doesn't even *see* his other team members for years at a time. In between Avengers 1 and Age of Ultron (which is a gap of 3 YEARS) he was doing his own thing with Pepper.

He never saw or had contact with Steve, Natasha, Thor or any of the others in that time. Its the reason why every time they get together the Avengers have to "catch up" with each other.

Then he doesn't see Steve for 1 more year until Civil War, and doesn't see anyone from Team Cap until Endgame. Its literally that long.

Put this in simpler terms: in universe, between 2012 and 2018 Steve and Tony only see each other 4 times, and 2 of those times they are at odds with one another. They spend what amounts to only 2-3 weeks together over **6 years**

This is hardly a friendship.

Steve was friends with Sam and Bucky. He was on friendly terms with Natasha and Thor. He was not friends with Tony at least until Endgame.

They were at best, only workmates.

Thunderbolts as a team is what everyone pretended the avengers were

[d4nshyp3r]

it’s not living if it’s not with you || bucky barnes one shot

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

summary: what happens if you ditch a party to smoke on a balcony with your best friend bucky barnes.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: MDNI!, porn without plot, smoking, drinking, a bit of swearing, p in v, unprotected sex, sub!bucky, softdom!reader, creampie, idiots in love

a/n: guys… i haven’t written anything since 2022 but this man is plaguing my mind i can’t do this anymore. anyways, i hope you enjoy!!

As you made your way to the elevator, you smoothed your dress down before hitting the up button. Tony was hosting his annual party commemorating the Battle with the Chitauri and additionally, the beginning of the Avengers. The tower was filled with handpicked reporters, chosen by their merit in journalism and how well they could make Tony look. Apart from that, anyone who had ever fought with the Avengers and knew them personally, socialites and politicians and other billionaires you couldn’t name.

The whole thing was a show for Tony and his friends; he always went all out but he made sure everyone had a good time. Regardless, you tend to feel overwhelmed in large and loud crowds so it was understandable that you had made your way downstairs to smoke on the balcony. You were secluded enough that no one could find you, but still able to hear the music and chatter a few floors up, so it was the perfect spot to get lost in for a few minutes.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened, revealing a concerned pair of steel blue eyes. Smiling softly you joined him,  the comfortable silence between you falling easily. James Buchanan Barnes, former Russian assassin, and one of your closest friends though you wouldn’t admit it to anyone. Truth is, you knew you were one of the few people he was close to and chose to trust, so that must mean he considers you his friend, right? Still, the topic of your friendship with him was one you avoided commenting on with everyone, because you couldn’t talk about him without revealing how in love with him you were. 

You weren’t embarrassed, but it was shameful how speechless he could make you, a grown woman, just by smiling and saying good morning. You hated feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush, but you couldn’t stop thinking about him if you tried; and you’ve tried. 

Trying to ignore the slight blush creeping up your cheeks by how good he looked, you turn to the mirror and pretend to fix your hair and make sure the straps of your dress were secured; already feeling too exposed as you caught his eyes roaming the open back your dress had. Thankfully he didn’t comment on it, choosing to start some light conversation for the short moments of silence you had.

“You know those things will kill you, right?” He glanced at you, sniffing slightly, noting the smell of cigarettes clinging to you. The light smile on his face telling you he was only half joking.

You slightly turned to him, leaning on the wall behind you, “Well, something has to eventually.” You both laughed lightly, remembering the countless missions and near death experiences you’ve shared. “Trust me, you’ll be begging for one as soon as you set a foot in there.”

“Oh, you know how all of Tony’s parties are, it can’t be that bad.” He stated, the doors opening and depriving you of answering and the sweet bubble you found yourself on with him. He was never one to be excited for parties or large gatherings, keeping to himself and his routine, but surprisingly he was very optimistic about any event that presented itself. 

The immediate roar of laughter and music and chatter filled the once quieter elevator. You look at him and catch his expression falter slightly, making you giggle to yourself. One should never underestimate Tony’s parties.

You stepped out before him, being pulled into a conversation between Bruce, Yelena and some woman shamelessly flirting with her. Not caring much what the topic of discussion was, you turned around to find Bucky, sad to discover he had already been pulled in the sea of overexcited party-goers.

A few hours had gone by and you still hadn’t found Bucky. To say you were disappointed was an understatement but you didn't make it that obvious, engaging in any conversation that emerged and inquiries from the reporters to keep you distracted. 

 You squeezed your way through the crowd and found yourself at the bar, thanking Tony for the endless supply of alcohol helping you get through the night. As you waved the bartender down and asked for the fourth refill, you felt someone sliding next to you.

“Sergeant Barnes, you seem to be enjoying yourself.” You said turning to him, noting the blush on his cheeks and the light smirk he couldn’t seem to shake. 

“Thor is to blame for that. He brought enough mead to share with the whole continent.” He commented, slightly leaning in. You had seen Bucky drunk probably a handful of times, since he usually chose to stay behind when the group went out. Still, it was an amusing sight.

You couldn’t help but notice how he mumbled more than usual and his eyes glistened a bit; along with the pink on his cheeks, the blue of his eyes seemed brighter than you had seen them before. The closeness and his unwavering gaze on you made your heartbeat pick up, your ears turning hot. 

You looked away trying to regain your composure, looking over at Thor entertaining Alexei and Peter with another one of his countless stories. The bartender brought your drink and as you turned back, you caught Bucky glancing at your back again. You take a sip of your drink, noting how he seemed to be enjoying the sight very much. You could use this to your advantage and play with him a little bit.

“So, what’s on your mind, Soldier?” You say as you set your drink down, slowly meeting his eyes and stepping a little closer. The alcohol was making you way more confident than usual, and he noticed yet didn’t comment on it. 

Instead, he copied you, stepping closer until your breaths almost became one, quickly glancing down as your tongue wet your lips. “Is that offer from earlier still on the table?”

Surprised, you only smirked before grabbing your drink and his hand, heading to the elevator once again.

The combination of the light breeze on the balcony and the smoke in your lungs soothed you immediately, although Bucky’s unrelenting gaze made you squirm in your seat.

“Told you so, by the way,” You say in hopes that some conversation might distract you from the way his half-lidded eyes would not leave you. “Admit it, I was right.”

His eyes trailed over to your lips as you took another hit, licking his own before replying. “Never in a million years, Doll.”

Choosing to ignore the way your heart sped up by the nickname rolling off his tongue like honey, you look away laughing, “Oh come on, your pride will still be intact. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

He didn’t reply immediately, and now, in the silence, you noticed that he wasn’t entirely drunk, but the drinks had clearly affected him enough to loosen his mouth. 

“God, that dress is killing me.”

Your smile dropped, unsure how to respond, you only looked at him.

He took that as his sign to continue. “I mean, wearing that in front of a hundred-and-ten year old man is just cruel. Are you trying to kill me?” He didn’t laugh, no smile in sight; just pure and honest. His gaze held yours, the words spilling out of his mouth shocking you even more.

“Boldness suits you, Soldier. You should try it more often,” You tried regaining your composure, joining him in the dangerous yet exciting dance that emerged between you. In any other situation, your words would’ve failed you, and thanks to the alcohol coursing through your veins right now, you found the confidence to follow his lead.

He had always been reserved, even with you. Keeping to himself and his thoughts, only speaking when necessary or when he felt comfortable enough to add something with the group. So many times had you imagined what it would feel like to cross the line with your relationship; stepping into the dangerous waters of seduction and flirtation. The darkness enhanced your feelings, imagining what he would say, how he would say it and how his reaction would be to your approach. Yet in the countless daydreams and hopes you held, you would’ve never imagined him to be so direct, honest and shameless.

“What can I say? You bring out the worst in me.” He smirked, clearly seeing through the brave facade you put on trying not to crumble at his feet. He leaned in as he said this, not caring about the shameless way he stared at your lips.

That’s all it took for you to give in, not bothered if this ruined your friendship any longer. If you were sober, you would’ve given it more thought, surprised by this new side to him you were unfamiliar with. But that was not the case, so without letting another second pass, you closed the mere inches between you and pressed your lips to his.

He wasn’t taken aback, eagerly reciprocating your kiss. It wasn’t messy or rushed. He took his time, letting his cigarette fall on the table before taking your face in his hands. It was slow yet rough, as if years of waiting and uncertainty finally came to a tipping point. He kissed you like he needed the very air in your lungs to breathe, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you as close as physics would allow.

He slowly moved the two of you near the wall, pressing you gently against it as one hand moved to the back of your neck, guiding your movements. The other gripped at your waist, as if it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Small whimpers left your lips, becoming overwhelmed with how his arms engulfed you entirely. You were both breathless but refused to pull away, getting drunk off of the kiss.

He moaned lightly, pressing his hips into you as he grabbed one of your legs and wrapped it around his waist. Always a gentleman, he pulled away heaving and pleading at you with his eyes. “Please, darling. Please, I need you. I need you so bad.” His lips then moved to your neck as he continued begging, making you moan with every word that left his lips. “Please, please doll. Don’t do this to me. I can’t handle it any longer.”

You knew he hadn’t gone out with many women after he got out, but you never expected him to be this needy. It was a sight you could get used to, the way his voice got higher, the nonsensical rambling and his eyes completely glossed over. You were enraptured by him and didn’t think once for a second to turn down his requests. 

His head dipped down to your cleavage, his composure completely gone by now as he kissed his way down your chest. He was falling apart, acting like a starved man; the way his pants shook his whole body and his head fell, eyes closed and brows furrowed. You had seen him this way before but strictly after particularly taxing missions, never once had you imagined the sight of him being this affected just by being so close to your tits.

Your hands fell from his hair, trailing their way down his chest and stopping at his belt. His head snapped towards you, before he helped you undo it. He removed his suit jacket and threw it somewhere behind him before dropping to his knees in front of you. His hands trailed up the back of your legs, finding your panties and pulling them slowly down your thighs as he kissed his way up your inner thighs. The sight made your knees buckle, his eyes held pure adoration and devotion, as well as raw desire and hunger. 

Although you wanted to keep him there as long as possible, you were as desperate as him, needing to feel him inside of you immediately. You grabbed his chin with your hands, pulling him up. “Come here,” The simple command had him standing up, as if he would do anything you asked of him at the moment. “That can wait.”

You grabbed the hem of his pants, undoing the button and pushing down the zipper. You took it upon yourself to push his pants and underwear down, just enough that you could pull his cock out. It felt heavy in your hand, the tip so red it was almost purple and already leaking precum. He was surprisingly trimmed, something you wouldn’t expect from such an old fashioned man. The sheer size shocked you, but you were wet enough that it could just slip in easily.

He helped you by pulling your dress up, grabbing the fabric and keeping it tightly around your waist. You guided his cock towards your weeping pussy, teasing yourself with his tip as well as him. “C’mon Doll, you’re really trying to kill me. Please stop teasing me, you don’t know how long I’ve been holding back. Please darling, let me fuck you.”

Cutting off his rambling, you pushed him in, letting him finish the job and bottoming out. A throat-rattling gasp left your lips, making you throw your head back at the feeling. Not only was his cock impossibly thick, but you hadn’t fucked in a while and the last guy was certainly no comparison. He whimpered looking down at where your bodies met, groaning at how your pussy pulsed around him, making him leak more precum into your soppy hole.

After a few seconds, he started moving. The stretch burned in all the right ways, making you grip onto him for support. You tried not to be too loud, not caring about the party-goers upstairs, but at the neighbors who might still be awake. He was fighting his own battle. After so many years he was practically a virgin again, trying his best to make the moments last and not cum too early. The once highly trained soldier now at complete mercy for your cunt.

He took it slow at first which you appreciated, slowly building up the knot forming in your cores. The feeling of his heavy cock being strained by your pussy was enough to make you cum, but it only got heightened when he brought his fingers down to your clit, slow and precise circles making you pull him even closer.

Your breaths mingled together, sharing kisses here and there and unintelligible phrases about how good it felt. Neither of you could form a proper sentence, completely lost in the feeling and sharing the same breaths. His head went back to your neck, peppering kisses from time to time and a breathless so fucking tight every few thurst.

Your breaths shortened and your moans became louder, as his movements became sloppier and the circles he made on your clit became faster. You were both close and you knew it, both disappointed by how quickly it took you to come undone, yet it was unstoppable given how long you had both waited for this. “Are you gonna come for me, honey? You gonna fill up my cunt with your cum? Wanna make a mess for me?”

He was too busy trying to remember how to breathe, nodding as he mumbled in agreement, whimpering as you pulled his hair, taking his head away from your neck. You kissed his forehead, then his cheek and finally his lips, grabbing his cheeks with your hand and making him pout. His lips were pink and his face flushed, completely fucked out and willing to do whatever you asked.

You moaned loudly as your orgasm took over you, kissing him as he followed right after. His movements slowed down as your cunt milked him for every last drop of cum, making him squirm from oversensitivity. He slowly put your leg down and helped you put your panties back on, before tucking away his cock into his pants. 

You grabbed his face and hissed him, this time gentle and satisfied, completely spent out by the events. “Fuck, I really wanted to take my time with you and make it last.” He sounded defeated but he laughed lightly, pressing his forehead against yours.

You giggled before kissing his lips once again, “Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty of time for that.”

“God, you’re perfect.”

[urdreamydoodles]

MCU characters and how they meet their soulmate ?

MCU CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

How they meet their soulmates

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker (Tom H.), Stephen Strange, Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson, T'Challa, Marc Spector, Steven Grant, Jake Lockley, Scott Lang, Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Wade Wilson & Logan Howlett

Tony Stark

- You do not meet Tony Stark the way people meet in books or movies. There is no slow unraveling, no lingering glances across a crowded room. No, Tony Stark arrives in your life like an explosion—sudden, blinding, impossible to ignore. He is a force of nature, all sharp wit and arrogance, a storm wrapped in designer suits and expensive cologne. And yet, beneath the flash, beneath the charm, there is something else. A tiredness. A weight he carries behind his smirk.

- He notices you before you notice him. And that is saying something, because Tony Stark does not spend time watching people—he is the one being watched. But you are different. You are not awed by him, not tripping over yourself to impress him. You challenge him. And Tony Stark, for all his genius, cannot resist a challenge. “Do I know you?” he asks, as if he hasn’t already run through every possible scenario of how to get you to notice him.

- You meet in the middle of chaos, because that is where Tony lives. A gala, a lab, a battlefield—it doesn’t matter. He sees you, and the world shifts just slightly on its axis. But love? No, love is not something Tony allows himself to believe in anymore. Love means loss. Love means pain. But you are persistent in the way the sun rises, in the way the ocean reaches for the shore. And maybe—just maybe—Tony Stark is tired of running.

- He flirts, of course. It is his armor, his shield. But there is something different in the way he teases you, in the way he watches your reactions like a scientist studying the most fascinating discovery of his life. “You must be new,” he says, tilting his head. “Because I’m pretty sure I’d remember someone like you.” And when you roll your eyes instead of blushing, when you match him word for word, something in his chest clicks into place.

- He does not call you his soulmate. That word is too soft, too fragile. But one day, when the world is quiet, when he is half-asleep and you are curled beside him, he murmurs, “I think… if I believed in fate, it would look a lot like you.” And in the morning, when he pretends he doesn’t remember saying it, you only smile. Because Tony Stark may not believe in soulmates—but he believes in you. And that is enough.

Steve Rogers

- You meet Steve Rogers the way a ship meets the shore—gradually, naturally, like something inevitable. He does not rush toward love, does not chase it down like a man afraid of time. No, Steve Rogers has patience. And when he looks at you, it is not with the urgency of a man who fears loss, but with the quiet certainty of someone who knows exactly what he wants.

- He notices the little things. The way you tilt your head when you listen, the way your fingers drum against your thigh when you’re thinking. Steve is observant, not just because of the soldier in him, but because he cares. He does not love lightly, does not give his heart in pieces. When he loves, it is whole. And that is why he waits. Waits until he knows you see him not just as Captain America, not just as a man out of time, but as Steve.

- You do not fall into each other. There is no whirlwind, no reckless rush. Instead, there is understanding, companionship. It starts as friendship, because that is the foundation of everything Steve Rogers believes in. “You’re easy to talk to,” he admits one evening, leaning against a doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. And the way he looks at you then—soft, steady, certain—it is a look that says more than words ever could.

- When he touches you, it is with reverence. Not because he is afraid you will break, but because he wants you to know—to feel—that you are something precious. A brush of fingers against yours, the warmth of his palm against your lower back. He does not need grand gestures, does not need elaborate confessions. His love is in the way he listens, in the way he stands beside you in a crowded room, in the way his eyes soften when they find yours.

- The moment he knows, truly knows, is quiet. No fanfare, no dramatic revelation. Just a moment—simple and perfect. You are laughing at something, a sound so genuine and free that it tugs something deep in his chest. And that is when it hits him. This is home. You are home. And Steve Rogers has spent too many years without one to let this slip away.

Natasha Romanoff

- Love is not something Natasha Romanoff trusts. It is a foreign language, a place she has never dared to call home. She has seen what love does—how it weakens, how it breaks. And yet, when she meets you, something shifts. Not in a way that is loud or obvious, but in the smallest of ways. In the way her walls do not feel as necessary. In the way your presence does not feel like a threat.

- She does not flirt, not in the way most people do. Her affection is in her attention, in the way she remembers things others overlook. Your favorite drink, the way you fidget when you’re nervous, the songs you hum under your breath when you think no one is listening. Natasha watches, learns, memorizes. Because that is how she protects, how she cares.

- You do not realize she has chosen you until one day, you find yourself safe in her presence. There is something unspoken between you, something steady. You do not have to ask for her loyalty; it is simply there. And when she does touch you—fingertips grazing your wrist, the ghost of a smile as she tugs you closer—it is deliberate. Natasha Romanoff does nothing by accident.

- She lets you see pieces of her that others do not. The way she tilts her head toward the sunlight, the way her laughter is rare but real when it comes. She lets you in—not all at once, but slowly, cautiously, as if waiting for the moment you will turn away. And when you don’t, when you stay—that is when she begins to believe in the possibility of us.

- One day, in the quiet of an empty room, she speaks—not with words, but with her hands, with the way she leans into you, with the way her forehead rests against yours. And in that moment, she is not Black Widow, not an assassin, not a spy. She is just Natasha. And for the first time in a long, long time, she is not afraid.

Bruce Banner

- Bruce does not believe in soulmates, not in the traditional sense. The idea that someone could look at him—at all of him—and not be afraid? That is not something he allows himself to hope for. He has spent too many years running, hiding, keeping his distance. Because love, in his world, is dangerous.

- When he meets you, he is wary. Not because he does not like you, but because he does. And that is terrifying. You are warmth, kindness, something soft in a world that has never been soft to him. And so he keeps his distance at first, watching from afar, convincing himself that he is only curious. But curiosity turns to admiration. And admiration? That is a dangerous thing.

- You are patient with him. You do not push, do not demand. You simply exist beside him, a presence that is neither overwhelming nor suffocating. And for Bruce, that is everything. One day, he catches himself reaching for you—without thinking, without fear. His fingers barely brush yours, but the moment feels monumental. Because for the first time in years, he is not pulling away.

- He falls in love in moments, in increments. In the way you talk about things you love, in the way you tilt your head when you listen. And one day, when you look at him—really look at him—with no fear, no hesitation, he thinks: Maybe. Maybe this could be real.

- When he finally says it, it is not a grand confession. It is quiet, almost hesitant. “I think… I think I’m in love with you.” And when you smile, when you take his hand without hesitation, he exhales a breath he did not know he was holding. Because for the first time, Bruce Banner is not afraid of himself. Not when you are beside him.

Clint Barton

- You don’t meet Clint Barton in a way that feels significant at first. There’s no dramatic music, no lingering glances across a battlefield. He’s just there, like he’s always been, like he always will be. Steady. Reliable. He notices you before you notice him, blending into the background like a shadow, like a ghost. But Clint Barton doesn’t waste time on people he doesn’t think matter, and the way he watches you—curious, assessing, interested—means that, somehow, without trying, you’ve already become important to him.

- He isn’t flashy, isn’t loud. He doesn’t sweep you off your feet or try to impress you. That’s not Clint’s way. Instead, he worms his way into your life so naturally that you don’t realize it’s happening until one day, you’re reaching for your coffee, and he’s already got one waiting for you. Until you’re in the middle of a conversation, and he finishes your thought before you do. Until you catch yourself looking for him in a crowded room, and the moment you find him, his eyes are already on you.

- He makes you laugh. Not in the practiced way of a man trying to win someone over, but in the way that feels easy. Like it’s second nature. “You’re trouble,” he says one day, shaking his head as he smirks at you. “I like trouble.” And maybe you should be wary, maybe you should tread carefully, but Clint Barton is the kind of man who makes you feel safe even as he leads you straight into danger.

- It’s in the small things, the details. The way he stands between you and an exit without thinking. The way he nudges his food onto your plate when he sees you eyeing it. The way he never quite lets you out of his sight, as if he’s already memorized a hundred different ways to keep you safe without you ever realizing. Clint Barton is a protector by nature, but with you, it’s personal.

- He never says the words soulmate, never makes grand declarations. But one night, when it’s just the two of you and the world feels quiet, he murmurs, “Wherever you go, I’ll find you.” And in his voice, in his eyes, you hear the promise: Always.

Bucky Barnes

- Bucky Barnes does not believe in fate. He does not believe in soulmates. He does not believe in a world that gives people things without demanding something in return. So when he meets you, when something deep inside him stirs in a way it hasn’t in decades, he does not trust it. Does not trust you. Not because you’ve done anything wrong, but because he has learned, over and over again, that good things do not stay.

- He tries to ignore it. Tries to ignore you. But Bucky Barnes has never been good at lying to himself. Not when you laugh and something in his chest tightens, not when you look at him like he’s just a man—not a soldier, not a weapon, not a ghost. And that? That is dangerous. Because Bucky Barnes does not know what to do with kindness, not when it’s freely given.

- You are patient with him. You do not push, do not pry. You simply exist beside him, letting him come to you in his own time. And it is that patience that undoes him. Because Bucky has spent too long being feared, too long being avoided. But you? You are not afraid. You meet his silence with understanding, his hesitation with warmth. You never ask for more than he can give. And that? That is why he wants to give you everything.

- The first time he touches you, it is tentative. Fingertips brushing against yours, brief but deliberate. It is a test, a question without words. And when you do not flinch, when you do not pull away, something in him shifts. He lets himself be closer after that. Lets himself want. Because maybe, just maybe, he is not as broken as he thought.

- He does not tell you he loves you. Not with words, not at first. But one night, when he is half-asleep, when the world is quiet and his guard is down, he exhales against your skin and murmurs, “You’re my safe place.” And that? That is enough. That is everything.

Sam Wilson

- Sam Wilson is warmth. He is laughter and easy smiles, the kind of man who makes strangers feel like old friends. And when he meets you, it is no different. He is charming, quick-witted, effortlessly magnetic. But beneath all of that, beneath the teasing and the grins, there is depth. There is steadiness. Because Sam Wilson does not love halfway.

- He flirts with you before he realizes he’s doing it. “You got a smile that could end wars,” he tells you, and when you roll your eyes and call him out on it, he just grins. But what starts as playful banter shifts into something real, something deeper. Because you are interesting, and Sam Wilson is a man who chases the things that make life worth living.

- He is observant. Picks up on things before you ever say them. He knows when you’re holding back, knows when you need space, knows when to push and when to stay silent. And that? That is what makes him dangerous. Because Sam Wilson does not just see people—he understands them. And when he starts understanding you, when he starts peeling back the layers, it is impossible not to fall.

- He makes you feel light. Not in the sense that he takes away your burdens, but in the way he carries them with you. He does not ask you to change, does not try to fix you. He just stands beside you, unwavering, unshaken. And that? That is what makes him different.

- The moment he knows is quiet. No grand revelation, no dramatic confession. Just a moment—a simple, perfect moment—where you laugh at something stupid, and he thinks, Oh. There you are. And from that moment on, there is no turning back.

Peter Parker (Tom H.)

- Peter Parker falls in love like he does everything else: all at once, headfirst, completely. He does not ease into things, does not take his time. No, Peter Parker feels—deeply, intensely, without hesitation. And when he meets you, it is immediate. A spark, a pull. Like gravity has just shifted, and suddenly, you are at the center of his universe.

- He is awkward, at first. Stumbles over his words when he gets nervous. But when he talks to you about things he loves—science, Star Wars, the feeling of swinging through the city at night—his nerves disappear. Because Peter Parker may be shy, but he is passionate, and when he lets you in, when he shares the things that make his heart race, it is the most honest kind of intimacy.

- He looks at you like you are the most fascinating thing he has ever seen. Like he is memorizing every detail, storing it away for later. The way your eyes crinkle when you smile, the way your voice sounds when you say his name. And when he falls, it is not gradual. It is instant. A realization that hits him like a train: Oh. It’s you. It’s always been you.

- He gets flustered when you touch him, no matter how small the gesture. A hand on his arm, fingers brushing his. It takes everything in him not to combust on the spot. But the first time you kiss him? He forgets how to breathe. Because Peter Parker has dreamed of a lot of things, but nothing—nothing—has ever felt like this.

- When he tells you, it is rushed, breathless, spilling out of him like he can’t hold it in any longer. “I love you,” he blurts out, wide-eyed and terrified. But when you smile, when you take his hand and squeeze, he exhales a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Because Peter Parker may not always know what he’s doing, but with you? He is sure.

Stephen Strange

- Stephen Strange does not believe in soulmates. He believes in logic, in science, in the tangible threads of reality that can be pulled and shaped at will. Love, in his mind, is chemical, nothing more. But when he meets you, something in him hesitates. A fraction of a second too long. A moment where time stretches and bends, and he is caught in it.

- He tells himself it is coincidence, this way you linger in his thoughts long after you’ve gone. That it is simple curiosity, nothing deeper. But then he begins to seek you. Subtly, at first. A glance across the Sanctum, a conversation extended a few minutes longer than necessary. And then, before he even realizes it, you have become necessary.

- He resists it. Of course he does. Stephen Strange is not a man who falls easily, and he is certainly not a man who hands over his heart without a fight. But you—you—slip through the cracks of his carefully constructed walls like light through ancient stone. And for all his knowledge, for all his power, he does not know how to stop it.

- He begins to notice things. The way your hands move when you speak, the way your lips curve before a smile fully forms. The way his name sounds softer when you say it. He hates that he notices. Hates that it matters. Because Stephen Strange is a man who has lost too much, and the idea of wanting something—someone—so deeply is terrifying.

- But one night, when the world is quiet and he is exhausted in a way that magic cannot heal, you touch his hand. A simple gesture, nothing grand. And yet, it is enough to unravel him. Because in that moment, he understands: he has already fallen. And this time, for the first time in a long, long while, he does not want to get back up.

Thor Odinson

- When Thor Odinson meets you, it is with the full force of a storm. He does not quietly fall in love. No, he crashes into it. Like thunder against the sky, like lightning through his veins. He sees you, and in that instant, you are known to him. A force as undeniable as the pull of Mjolnir in his grasp.

- He is immediate in his affection. In the way he smiles, in the way he speaks your name like a declaration. Thor does not hesitate. He does not play games. He wants, and he shows it. You are magnificent, he tells you. You are radiant. You are the sun itself, and he is not ashamed to orbit you.

- He watches you with reverence, as though you are something divine. He listens—truly listens—when you speak, as if every word you say is worthy of being carved into history. And when he laughs, it is unrestrained, full-bodied, a sound that shakes the air between you. He laughs with you more than he has in years, and it is then he realizes: he is home.

- He is protective, but never possessive. He trusts you. And that trust is sacred. He does not doubt your strength, does not seek to cage you. Instead, he stands beside you, a storm at your back, a warrior at your side. And if ever you should fall, know this: he will tear apart the heavens to catch you.

- One night, as the stars stretch endless above you, he turns to you, expression unguarded, voice low with certainty. “I have lived a thousand years,” he murmurs, “and yet I think I have only just begun. Because you—you are where my life truly starts.” And with that, the sky itself seems to hold its breath.

Loki Laufeyson

- Loki does not fall in love. That is what he tells himself. Love is a trick, a weapon wielded by the foolish, and he has long since sworn to never be such a fool. But then there is you. And suddenly, everything he has ever known begins to unravel.

- He resists you at first. Pushes, teases, taunts. If he can keep you at a distance, if he can make you believe he does not care, then perhaps it will be true. But you are not so easily deterred. You see through his sharp words, through his smirks and his laughter that never quite reaches his eyes. You see him. And that? That is dangerous.

- You match him, step for step, wit for wit. You are not afraid of him, and that is what terrifies him most. Because he has built his life around being untouchable, unreachable. And yet, here you stand, hands open, eyes steady. You do not ask for the parts of him he is unwilling to give. You simply wait, patient, unyielding.

- And then, one day, without realizing, he gives. A glance held a moment too long, a touch that lingers. A secret whispered between you, something sacred, something real. He does not say the words, not yet, perhaps not ever. But you know.

- Because Loki Laufeyson does not love lightly. His love is sharp, it is consuming, it is fierce and endless. And when he loves, it is not a fleeting thing. No, when he loves—when he loves—it is forever.

T’Challa

- T’Challa is a man who carries the weight of an entire nation on his shoulders. He is a king before he is anything else. He does not have the luxury of reckless love, of foolish infatuation. But then there is you, and suddenly, he begins to wonder if perhaps the gods have written you into his story all along.

- He notices you first in silence. The way you move, the way you are. Strength and grace intertwined. He is drawn to you, though he does not yet know why. It is not a matter of beauty—though you are, undeniably, beautiful. It is something deeper. Something that hums beneath his skin like an unspoken truth.

- He is careful, at first. Measured. T’Challa does not rush, does not leap without looking. But as the days pass, he finds himself seeking you out, lingering in conversations he once would have ended quickly. And when he speaks to you, when he listens, it is not as a king, but as a man.

- He is deliberate in his affections. Every touch, every glance, every word is given with intention. There is no hesitation, no uncertainty. He knows what he wants, and he chooses you. Not because of fate, not because of prophecy, but because he wills it so.

- One night, beneath Wakanda’s endless sky, he turns to you and says, voice rich with quiet certainty, “A king’s heart belongs to his people. But my soul, my soul—it belongs to you.” And in that moment, there is no crown, no throne—only him, only you, only the promise of forever.

Marc Spector

- Marc Spector does not believe in soulmates. He barely believes in himself. His life has been shaped by war, by violence, by loss. Love? Love is dangerous. Love is something to be taken away. And yet, when he meets you, something in him stirs. A quiet ache, a pull he does not want to name.

- He does not make it easy. He keeps his distance, walls high, gaze sharp. He is kind, in his own way—offering gruff concern, a jacket when you’re cold, a silent presence when the world grows too loud. But he does not let you in. Because he knows what happens when you love something. You lose it.

- But you do not scare easily. You do not demand softness from him, do not reach for the broken pieces and try to fix them. You simply stay. And that? That terrifies him more than anything. Because Marc has spent his whole life running, and now, for the first time, he wonders what it would mean to stop.

- The moment he realizes he loves you is quiet. Unassuming. A night like any other, the world reduced to nothing but your breathing beside him, the way your fingers brush against his own. It is not grand. It is not a revelation. It is simply true. And he does not know what to do with that truth.

- But love is not something he can fight—not this, not you. And so, in his own way, in his own time, he lets himself have you. A hesitant touch. A murmured confession. A love that is raw and aching and real. And when he finally holds you, truly holds you, he whispers against your skin, "I don’t know how to do this. But I want to." And for him, for you, that is enough.

Steven Grant

- Steven Grant believes in soulmates. How could he not? He has spent his life buried in stories, in myths, in ancient echoes of love that spanned across time. He does not think he is meant for something so grand—not him, not quiet, lonely Steven. But then, one day, he meets you, and suddenly, the world is not quite so lonely anymore.

- He falls fast. Hard. Like a man who has been waiting for a single drop of water in a desert, only to be given the ocean. He stumbles over his words around you, fidgets under your gaze. But oh, the way he looks at you. As if you are a wonder carved into history, as if he is memorizing every part of you like scripture.

- He wants to know everything. What makes you laugh, what makes you sad, what dreams live inside your head. He listens, truly listens, as if every word you speak is sacred. And when you ask about him, he hesitates, shy but eager, because no one has ever wanted to know him the way you do.

- He is gentle in his love. Soft-spoken confessions, hands hovering like he’s afraid you might disappear. But make no mistake—his love is fierce. It is unwavering. It is yours. And he would give you every star in the sky if you asked, even if he had to climb to the heavens himself to retrieve them.

- One night, he holds your hand in his, thumb tracing over your knuckles, gaze earnest. "I think, maybe, I was always meant to find you," he says, voice quiet but certain. "Like one of those myths, yeah? The ones where two souls are tied together, across lifetimes." And with that, his fate is sealed. Because Steven Grant does not love lightly. He loves forever.

Jake Lockley

- Jake Lockley does not speak of love. He does not believe in fate or destiny or the soft promises that come with them. Love, to him, is just another game. Another risk. One he is not willing to take. But then there is you. And suddenly, every rule he has ever followed begins to crack.

- He watches you before he lets himself know you. Observes. Studies. You are a puzzle he does not understand, and yet, he cannot stop looking. You move through his world like something untouchable, and yet, he aches to touch. To have. But Jake does not get to have things. And so, he fights it.

- But love, real love, is relentless. And you? You are patient. You do not push, do not demand. You see him, in a way no one ever has. And for the first time in his life, he does not feel the need to run. He does not feel the need to hide.

- When he finally gives in, it is not with words. It is in the way he stands closer than necessary, the way his fingers skim your wrist like a whisper. The way he shields you in a fight, not because he thinks you are weak, but because the thought of losing you is unbearable. His love is unspoken, but it is fierce.

- One night, after too much silence, after too many unsaid things, he finally turns to you and murmurs, "You’re mine." Not a question. Not a plea. A statement, low and rough with something he does not dare name. And when you do not pull away, when you only smile, he knows—he is yours just as much.

Scott Lang

- Scott Lang falls in love like he does everything else—with his whole heart, unguarded and eager. He is not subtle. He does not play it cool. He sees you, and suddenly, you are the best thing to ever happen to him.

- He flirts, shamelessly, but there is no arrogance in it. Just warmth, just affection. He wants to make you laugh. Wants to see you happy. Because, for him, there is no greater joy than making you smile. And when you do, when you so much as glance at him with amusement, he swears he feels lighter.

- He tells himself he is being ridiculous. That it is too soon, too much. But Scott has lost too much to waste time pretending. He wants to know you. Wants to hear about the things you love, the things you hate, the things that make you you. Because you? You are worth knowing.

- When he realizes he loves you, it is not some grand revelation. It is in the small moments. The way you roll your eyes at his bad jokes but laugh anyway. The way you remember the little things he says, even when he forgets them himself. The way you fit into his life like you have always been there.

- One night, without thinking, he blurts it out. “I love you.” Just like that. No pretense, no hesitation. And when you look at him, eyes wide, he only grins, shrugging. “What? I do.” Because Scott Lang may be many things—reckless, impulsive, a little bit of a mess—but when he loves, he loves openly, fully, honestly. And there is nothing in this world he would rather be than yours.

Matt Murdock

- Matt Murdock has always lived in the dark. It is familiar, predictable. He has built his world out of quiet suffering, out of whispered prayers and clenched fists. Love? Love is something distant. Something dangerous. And yet, when he meets you, he feels the earth shift beneath his feet.

- He does not know what to do with you. You are light, and he has spent too long in the shadows. But oh, how he wants. How he aches. He hears the steady rhythm of your heart, the way it stutters when he gets too close, the way your breath hitches when he says your name. And he knows. Knows that this, whatever it is, is real.

- But Matt is a man of guilt, of sacrifice. He convinces himself he does not deserve you. That his life is too dangerous, that you are better off without him. So he keeps his distance. Wears his charm like armor, keeps his touches fleeting, his words careful. But love? Love has never been something he could fight.

- One night, after a battle that leaves him bloody and broken, he finds himself at your door. He does not speak, does not explain. He just stands there, breathing heavy, hands shaking. And when you reach for him, when you pull him inside and whisper his name like a prayer, he realizes—he was always going to be yours.

- When he finally admits it, it is quiet. A confession murmured in the dark, between shared breaths and tangled sheets. "I tried to stay away," he tells you, voice rough with something fragile. "I couldn’t." And you do not tell him that you already knew. That you had felt it in every touch, in every stolen glance. Instead, you press your lips to his and whisper, "Then don’t." And he doesn’t. Not ever again.

Frank Castle

- Frank Castle does not believe in love. Not anymore. He once had a heart, a home, a future. He once had everything. And then, in a single moment, it was all taken from him. Now, love is nothing but a ghost—something that lingers in the spaces between grief and rage. Something he can never have again.

- And then, there’s you. And suddenly, the world is not so quiet anymore. Suddenly, there is something—someone—that makes him pause. That makes him feel something other than anger, other than loss. And it terrifies him. Because Frank knows what happens when he loves something. It dies.

- He tries to push you away. He is cruel, sometimes, in the way that broken men are. Short words, cold silences. He convinces himself it is for your own good. But you? You are relentless. Not in a loud way, not in a desperate way. Just in the way you stay. In the way you look at him like he is worth saving.

- The first time he lets himself have you, it is a surrender, not a victory. A slow, aching unraveling. He grips you too tightly, kisses you like a man who does not believe in second chances. And when he pulls away, when he looks at you like you are something holy, something his, he does not say "I love you." He does not have to.

- Frank Castle loves with his hands, with his body, with the way he shields you in a fight, the way he pulls you close at night like the world might steal you away. He does not speak of forever, because he does not believe in it. But when he looks at you, when he stays, you know—he would burn the whole world down before he ever lost you.

Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter

- Dex has always been searching for something. For someone. His whole life, he has wanted to belong. To be seen, to be chosen. And then he meets you, and for the first time, the world makes sense. Because you see him. You do not flinch. You do not run.

- He is drawn to you like a moth to flame, reckless and desperate. He wants you, needs you, in a way that is terrifying in its intensity. But Dex does not know how to love gently. He loves like an obsession, like a wound that will not heal. He wants all of you, wants you to need him just as much.

- He is good at pretending. At being charming, being normal. But with you? With you, the mask slips. And when you do not pull away, when you meet his darkness with steady hands and patient eyes, something inside him cracks. He has never been given love without conditions, without expectation. And he does not know what to do with it.

- The first time he truly breaks in front of you, it is ugly. A night filled with too much anger, too much pain. His hands shake, his breath ragged. "Tell me to leave," he whispers, voice raw. "Tell me you don’t want me." But you don’t. You never do. And that? That is what undoes him.

- Love does not fix him. It does not erase the sharp edges, the fractures in his soul. But it gives him something real. And for the first time in his life, he is chosen. Not as a weapon. Not as a tool. But as a man. And that? That is enough.

Wanda Maximoff

- Wanda Maximoff has always known loss. It is woven into her bones, into the very fabric of her being. She does not expect love. Does not dare hope for it. Because everything she loves is taken from her, and she does not think she could survive losing anything else.

- And yet, when she meets you, something inside her shifts. It is slow, hesitant. She does not trust it, does not trust herself. But you? You are patient. You do not push. Do not demand. You simply exist, warm and steady, a presence she never realized she needed.

- She loves you before she even realizes it. In the way she reaches for you first, in the way your laughter softens the sharp edges of her world. But Wanda is afraid of love. Afraid of what it could mean, of what it could cost. She tries to keep her distance, but it is already too late. You are in her veins, in her breath, in the spaces between heartbeats.

- The first time she says it, it is not in words. It is in the way she looks at you, magic flickering at her fingertips, a silent promise woven between them. It is in the way she lets herself need you, in the way she trusts you with parts of herself she has never shared before.

- Wanda Maximoff does not love in halves. She loves with her whole soul, with a devotion that is fierce and unyielding. She does not promise you forever—she has learned not to trust forever. But she promises you now. And for her, for you, that is everything.

Pietro Maximoff

- Pietro Maximoff has always lived like a storm—fast, reckless, untouchable. The world has never been able to keep up with him, and he has never minded. Until you. Until the moment he meets you, and for the first time in his life, something makes him want to slow down.

- He falls for you without realizing it. At first, it is playful—quick remarks, teasing smiles, fingers brushing yours for just a second too long. But then it is more. It is the way his body moves toward yours before his mind catches up. The way his heart races for reasons that have nothing to do with speed.

- Love terrifies him. He has lost too much, too many. His sister, his home, his past—all ghosts that whisper warnings. But you? You make him forget to be afraid. You make him believe, for just a moment, that maybe—maybe—he was never meant to run alone.

- The first time he realizes it, truly feels it, it is quiet. No jokes, no flirting. Just the way you look at him, like he is worth something. Like he is more than a blur, more than a joke made of speed and bravado. And in that moment, he knows—he is yours.

- Pietro Maximoff does not love in small ways. He loves like the wind—wild, consuming, everywhere all at once. He leaves notes in places only you will find, brings you flowers at impossible speeds, holds you like he is afraid you will disappear. And maybe, just maybe, for the first time in his life, he isn’t running away from something. He is running to you.

Peter Quill

- Peter Quill has spent his whole life with his head in the stars, chasing the next thrill, the next adventure. Love? Love is a complication, a risk. He has lost too much, and he knows better than to hope. But then there’s you. And suddenly, the galaxy does not feel so big anymore.

- He fights it at first. Makes jokes, turns everything into a game. But it’s a losing battle. Because you see through him. See the man beneath the charm, beneath the cocky smirk and quick wit. And worse? You don’t turn away.

- He doesn’t know how to handle it. He is reckless with his feelings, careless with his heart. He pushes, then pulls, then pushes again. But you stay. You match him joke for joke, but when it counts, when it matters, you are there. And that? That undoes him.

- The first time he calls you his, it is unplanned. A fight, a close call, adrenaline in his veins. "Don’t touch my girl," he growls, fists clenched, eyes burning. And when it’s over, when you’re safe, he looks at you—uncertain, hesitant. But you just smile, because you had known long before he did.

- Peter Quill does not love with caution. He loves in grand gestures and stolen songs, in whispered confessions under alien skies. He plays you mixtapes, sings to you when he thinks you aren’t listening. And when he holds you, it is with the quiet desperation of a man who has spent his whole life searching for something he did not think he could have. Until you.

Wade Wilson (Fox)

- Wade Wilson does not believe in soulmates. He does not believe in much of anything anymore. The world has taken too much, left him too broken. He is a man stitched together with bad jokes and worse decisions, and love? Love is for people with futures.

- And then there is you. And suddenly, love is not some distant thing. It is here. It is real. And Wade—God help him—does not know what to do with it. So he does what he always does. He hides behind sarcasm, behind crude jokes and exaggerated bravado. But you? You just see him.

- The first time he realizes he loves you, it is terrifying. Because it is not a loud thing. Not some big, dramatic moment. It is the way you look at him without flinching, the way you laugh at his worst jokes, the way you stay even when he gives you every reason not to.

- He tries to push you away. Tries to convince you that he is not worth it. But you are stubborn. You kiss the scars, touch the jagged edges of him without fear. And when you whisper, "I love you," he cannot breathe. Because for the first time in a long, long time, he believes it.

- Wade Wilson does not love easily, but when he does, it is all-consuming. He loves in stolen moments and whispered jokes, in fierce, desperate touches and ridiculous, over-the-top gestures. He calls you a hundred stupid nicknames, leaves you notes in the weirdest places, holds you like you are the only thing keeping him tethered to the world. Because maybe, just maybe, you are.

Logan Howlett (Fox)

- Logan has lived too long, lost too much. He does not believe in love. Not anymore. He has seen it ripped away too many times, left too many ghosts in his wake. He is a man built for war, for pain. And yet, when he meets you, something inside him shifts.

- He resists it. God, he resists it. He grunts instead of speaks, glares instead of softens. He convinces himself that you are better off without him. That he is a man made of blood and violence, and you—you—deserve something gentle. Something whole.

- But love is not something he can fight. It is in the way you touch him, like he is not a weapon, not a monster. In the way you hold his hand like it is not something meant for killing. And Logan? Logan is tired of fighting.

- The first time he says it, it is rough, almost angry. "I love you," he growls, like it is being ripped from his chest. And when you smile—when you accept it—something inside him breaks. Because he had never thought this was meant for him. Had never thought he could have this.

- Logan Howlett does not love gently. He loves in quiet, protective touches, in fierce, desperate devotion. He loves in the way he stands in front of you in a fight, the way he holds you at night like he is afraid you will vanish. He does not promise forever—he has lived too long to believe in it. But he promises you. And that? That is more than enough.

[eufezco]

HOW DID IT END?

How is it that Steve's departure only drove you further apart? How was it possible that the only thing left between you after all was hatred for each other? Maybe these questions could be answered in a therapy session or in a night together.

bucky x fem!reader (angst, smut with plot, lovers to enemies to lovers) + no use of y/n. english isn't my first language (!)

—James, condition of your release, session now.

You looked at Bucky and he looked back at you, pressing his lips together and starting to walk after his therapist, annoyed.

—You too, young lady.

—That's okay, I can wait here with Sam.

—It wasn't a request. Sam, you have front-row seats for the show if you like—. The demanding tone in her voice surprised you and you had no choice but to follow her.

The therapist sat down at the table and opened her notebook. You and Bucky were at the other side of the table, sitting next to each other and in front of the woman. You didn't look at each other, you had not even shared a word. Sam, who was leaning against the wall behind the therapist, looked at both of you and shook his head. Steve was right when he said that you were both equally stubborn.

—So, who would like to start?

—I don't even know what I'm doing here. This is ridiculous.

—Yeah, I agree —. Bucky added.

—See? Making progress already —. She waited a few seconds to see if either of you would like to talk but you and Bucky remained silent. Dr. Raynor sighed, if it was already difficult to deal with him alone, it would be twice as difficult to deal not only with Bucky but also with a copy of him as a woman. —It is my job to make sure you're okay. And yeah, this may be slightly unprofessional but it's the only way that I can see if you're getting over whatever's eating at you.

You huffed a laugh and Bucky rolled his eyes. Whatever's eating at you? What could possibly be eating at you? There was nothing that-

—So, why don't you both start by telling me what kind of relationship you had with Steve Rogers?

Your expression changed completely when you heard his name. Bucky looked at you out of the corner of his eyes, Sam's eyes also went to you as he tensed his back when Dr. Raynow brought Steve up out of nowhere. Bucky decided to start talking but you couldn't hear what he was saying, you could only focus on how tense your jaw was, the knot in your stomach, and all the anger you were feeling.

Just as it was a relief for Bucky to think and talk about Steve, it hurt you. There was never anything romantic about your friendship with Steve, it was purely based on your devotion to him and your mutual admiration and respect.

When you lost Bucky and Steve crashed into the ice, you had no reason to live but before your heart stopped beating, Howard Stark found you and injected you with the serum. And when you woke up there was only Steve, seventy years later and just as confused as you, living in a century that did not belong to you.

You were together during the whole process of readjusting to your new lives. For Steve, you joined a group of people who called themselves the Avengers and fought against the god of mischief in New York. For Steve, you were almost killed by a robot in Sokovia. For Steve, you fought the Winter Soldier. For Steve, you sided against Tony Stark, the son of the man who brought you back to life, and for Steve, you fought, lost, fought again, and won against Thanos.

They say there is no worse heartbreak than that caused by a friend and Steve Rogers stole a piece of your heart when he left.

—Thank you, James. What can you tell us about Steve? —Dr. Raynor asked you.

You shook your head, your eyes fixed on one spot. The feeling of betrayal when Steve didn't return within the five seconds set by Bruce still haunted you. —I will never forgive him.

Bucky shook his head as well, he turned to look at you. —You know, Dr. Raynor? I've met her for more than seventy years now and one thing that hasn't changed about her is how selfish she is.

—James, we are not here to make value judgments about the feelings experienced by the other person.

The condescending tone in Bucky's voice made you close your eyes and take a deep breath before you talked. —You were captured by HYDRA, tried to kill us, then went into cryogenic sleep and disappeared with the snap. I don't expect you to understand what I'm going through since you never lost Steve because you never had him.

—He was my best friend! —Bucky raised his tone and turned in his chair to look at you.

—You don't even remember a single thing of him before he became Captain America!

Sam called your name. That wasn't Bucky's fault.

—He left because that was the life he fought so many years for! That's the life Steve deserved!

—He was my best friend too! We were together all these years while you were killing people and I had to watch him go! —You did the same as him. That was the first time you looked at each other since the session started and you were yelling at each other. Sam didn't miss any part of the argument, he was with his arms crossed and paying attention to everything you were saying to each other. How could two people who had loved each other so much end up like this?

—Okay, that's enough —. The doctor stopped you before it went any further. You and Bucky rested your backs on the chair again, defeated, and your eyes focused on the therapist. —Since this isn't working, we're going to do an exercise. It's something I use with couples when they're trying to figure out what kind of life they wanna built together —. The doctor added. Bucky rolled his eyes and you closed yours while shaking your head.

—You are acting as if you were never a couple —Sam said.

—Back in 1940.

—Yeah, eighty-two years ago.

You both said at the same time.

—Come on, turn around, look at each other.

Both of you hesitated for a few seconds but finally turned to face each other. His blue eyes were fixed on yours, it was difficult to keep eye contact with him.

—The exercise is called Everytime I look at you and consists of saying something that you feel or see in the other person every time you look at them. Why don't you start?

As you looked at Bucky, you could see the young soldier, wearing his new uniform proudly and hanging a copy of his dog tag around your neck. Looking into Bucky's eyes you felt again the last kiss he gave you before falling from the train, you heard his last laugh before he was brainwashed by HYDRA, you could even feel the caress of his fingers on your skin before the vibranium covered one of his hands.

—Every time I look at you, you have that lost puppy look on your face, asking for people's sympathy. I can't even look at you because every time I do, your mere presence reminds me that Steve's no longer here and it makes me want to fucking die, and sometimes I wish-

Sam called your name and you stopped talking before you could finish the sentence. Bucky's eyes never left yours. You were saying all that to his face.

—Let her finish, Sam —. Dr. Raynor said.

There was a silence.

—And sometimes I wish you were gone instead of him.

As Bucky looked at you, he could see the young lady he fell in love with even though everything he remembered about her was gone. The sparkle in that girl's eyes could no longer be found in yours, but he couldn't forget how your eyes shone as he wrapped his arms around your waist to dance. Bucky did not forget the sound of your laughter when he told you that he would marry you after the war, even though he was totally serious.

—Every time I look at you I don't recognize you. You have changed for the worse and I'm not sure if I like this version of you. You are mean, you don't allow people to get close to you and you hide and say that it's Steve's fault for leaving. But let me just say...

Bucky could see how you dealt with sadness by turning it into anger, he knew it because he did the same thing. Your jaw tightened and you closed your fists so hard that your fingernails dug into the palms of your hands. You didn't want him to say it, but at the same time, you couldn't wait to hear it.

—... that being a bitch isn't going to bring him back.

As soon as Bucky finished the sentence, you got up from the chair and left the room slamming the door. He didn't react to you leaving, he just sat in the chair asking himself the same question as Sam. How did you come to this? How could two people who had loved each other so much end up like this? Sam tried to go after you but he could not keep up with your super soldier speed so he went back to the police station with Bucky and gave him the same look of disappointment that Steve would have given him.

That same night someone knocked on your front door.

You thought it would be Sam because he had been calling you nonstop since you left and you had been ignoring him all day long but when you opened the door, you found Bucky instead.

He took a step closer to you to go inside your house and your hand connected firmly with his cheek. The skin on his face burned right where you had hit him and your body was blocking the doorway. He was just as angry as you were so he gave you a strong push on your shoulders. You managed to keep your balance and he managed to get inside the house and close the door behind him.

Bucky towered you with a challenging attitude, keeping eye contact while forcing you to take a few steps backward. You, despite being shorter than him, did not lower your head. Your breathing was heavy, the tension was too much, you wanted to hit him again and you wanted to say worse things to him than what you said in the therapy session.

When you raised your hand to slap him again, he grabbed your arm with his vibranium hand and squeezed hard enough for it to hurt but you did not give him the pleasure of expressing the pain. The tension was overwhelming. There were only two ways to solve this, either he would let go of your arm and start a fight that wouldn't end until both of you were on the floor exhausted and bleeding, or...

Your bodies collided as you pressed your lips together. Bucky held your face with both hands while his lips devoured yours as your hands pulled on the hem of his shirt. He lifted his arms so you could take it off and in that moment you took a few seconds to admire his well-defined abs. He leaned in for another kiss but you pushed him by his shoulder, strong enough for his back to hit against a wall of your house and crack it. Before he could complain, you connected your lips with his again.

Bucky's fingers closed around your neck as a response. Your mouth opened against his lips, trying to get the air that he was keeping from reaching your lungs and Bucky's tongue went pass your lips.

You took a big breath of air once he let go of your neck and he began to unbutton your jeans. He would never admit it but he made sure that you were okay and that he had not taken it too far, especially when your hands went to his shoulders to keep your balance due to the dizziness. And when Bucky thought he had control over you, your fingernails slid painfully from his shoulders to his abdomen and he groaned.

Bucky threw his head back against the wall once your finger sneaked into his jeans and wrapped around his cock. You moved your hand cruelly slow, he had his eyes closed as he bit his lower lip to hold back his moans. You ran your tongue along his collarbone until you reached his earlobe. —I fucking despise you —. You whispered in his ear. He let out a moan and immediately clenched his jaw again. You felt his hips thrust into your hand.

—Fucking same, doll —. Bucky muttered through gritted teeth.

He brought his hands to your ass and squeezed it as he helped you to wrap your legs around his body. Your lips met again as he walked you to the big wooden table in your living room where he helped you to lie down. Bucky pulled his jeans down enough to free his hard cock while you opened your legs to him. He noticed the wet spot on your panties and you noticed the red marks that your fingernails had carved on his chest. As he pulled your panties to the side, your fingers ran over those marks and Bucky hissed.

The head of his cock was more than enough to stretch you open. You repositioned yourself at the table, now sitting up on your elbows to watch as he pushed himself inside of you. You thought he would give you a few seconds to get used to the feeling, but he didn't stop until he was balls deep inside you.

—Now you take it. Make it up for that attitude —. You whined at his words and Bucky rested his forehead against yours while his hips thrusted into yours.

You encircled your legs around his waist and hooked your ankles over the swell of his ass while he kept slamming his hips into you. At that point you couldn't even think straight, he was hitting all the right spots to make your mind foggy. His pace remained fast and hard, and you thought about the serum running through your veins and how you both could keep up with that pace all night long.

Bucky tucked his head into your neck and whispered the filthiest words into your ear, his hands were on your thighs, squeezing your flesh lustfully, he pulled his dick all way out and then pushed in again until his balls were against your pussy. Your fingers tugged his brown hair at the root, getting moans from him because of your tight grip as it encouraged him to fuck you even harder. If that was how hating you felt, he wanted to hate you for all eternity.

When he heard you moaning and whimpering uncontrollably, when your legs fought to close and squeezed his body, when he felt your nails digging into the skin of his back, Bucky pushed your legs up, hooking your legs over his shoulders, and kept fucking you in that position until it became harder and harder for him to keep going because of the tightness of your pussy. You came screaming his name and spasming around him, Bucky came a few seconds later, with a deep groan that made his chest vibrate and emptying himself inside you.

The next morning, when his alarm went off, Bucky was alone in your bed. He took his time to take a shower and grab something from your kitchen for breakfast before he left. Bucky walked to his therapist's office, trying not to give much importance to what happened last night and especially trying not to think about all the horrible things you said to each other earlier that day in front of Sam and Dr. Raynor.

When he entered the office, Dr. Raynor was not alone. Bucky almost apologized and closed the door again, thinking he interrupted someone's session, but then you turned around in your chair and looked at him. He looked back at you, surprised, from the doorway.

You were already inside, now it was up to him to decide whether to go in with you. Bucky didn't have to think about it, he closed the door behind him and sat down in the chair next to you. You wanted to give yourselves a chance, for your sake, for Steve's sake, and for trying to get back what you two once had.

—Let's try again, shall we? —Dr. Raynor asked with a smile.