Pairing: Clint Barton, Pietro Maximoff, Vision, Bruce Banner, Tony Stark
Notes: Marvel Headcannons Pt 2 ! I'm getting better about proofreading. Also, I think I should have put Loki in here somewhere...Let me know if you have any feedback. <3
Style: Clint leans in with quiet confidence—steady hands and focused eyes. His kisses are warm and grounding, like he’s pulling you into a safehouse made just for the two of you. He pulls you close, his calloused hands cupping your face gently, his thumbs brushing away any stray tears or worries. He’s not flashy about it, but you feel everything he’s saying in the press of his lips. He likes those moments where the mission’s over, or you’re mid-laugh, and he just has to kiss you.
His hands have a habit of moving to your back, pulling you closer. In general but especially when he’s feeling sweet.
Clint is a smart ass about his hearing loss, especially when you're starry eyed and flustered. He only offers a smirk as he watches you swoon. “ Hm? What was that?” He’ll make a show of pointing to his ear before you kiss him smack him in retaliation.
In more somber moments, he’ll give you a peck on your temple and let out a small ‘I've got you’ sealing his promise.
Freebie: Protective, tender, and a little needy when he thinks you're not paying attention.
It’s one of those rare afternoons where time slows down. The sky is grey, soft rain tapping the windows. The two of you lie tangled on his couch, a blanket slung lazily over your legs. You feel his thumb trace the inside of your wrist in slow circles.
You glance up at him from your book. “You’re being quiet.”
He shrugs. “Just thinking.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifts to hover over you and slides a hand along your cheek, guiding you to look at him. It’s not a passionate kiss. It’s not trying to prove anything. It’s the kind of kiss that people share when they’ve already said everything important in a hundred quiet ways. His lips are gentle, unhurried, and familiar.
When he pulls back, he presses his forehead to yours. “About how I don’t really need anything else, when I have you.”
Style: Pietro kisses like he lives—fast, passionate, and impossible to predict. He grabs you like the moment might slip away if he doesn't act then. His lips meet yours with a fervor that matches his speed, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that leaves you breathless. But if you manage to slow him down, cup his face and just breathe with him, he melts. Then he’s soft and lingering, like he doesn’t want the moment to end. He gets flustered if you kiss him first, all cocky smirks turned to wide eyes and goofy grins.
I think he’s the type to love pulling you into a passionate embrace, his hands firm on your waist as he lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around him instinctively.
He pulls back just enough to grin wickedly, his eyes sparkling with mischief and desire. "Too fast for you?" He teases, before diving back in for another round, his hands tangling in your hair, ensuring you're as lost in the moment as he is.
He absolutely does drive-by ass smacks. Never bend over to pick something else or grab something from a bottom shelf. The man has a sixth sense for it. You never see it coming.
Freebie: As much as he loves catching you off guard with rapid pecks when you least expect it, he adores the slow intimate kisses you share, though it tends to be more rare.
It happens again—just as you’re leaving the kitchen with a slice of toast and the intention to sit down for ten whole minutes by yourself—a gust of wind sweeps past, and something brushes against your cheek.
You barely catch a glimpse of silver before he’s gone again, laughter trailing like a ribbon. “Pietro,” you call, unamused by the red flush of your cheeks betraying you, “that’s like the millionth time in the last five minutes!”
Another whoosh behind you, and he’s suddenly leaning against the door frame like he’s been there all along. He grins with faux innocence.“You’re very kissable,” He shrugs, “and I move very fast ;)”
You roll your eyes and try to swat him, but of course he dodges it easily, only to dart forward and cup your face—this time kissing you slower, more deliberately. His lips are warm and smug, and when he pulls back, his voice softens. You sigh, smiling despite groaning yet again. “One day I will catch you off guard.”
He winks. “I look forward to it.”
Style: Vision is forever expanding his knowledge. And you are his favorite topic. That was cheesy, but it’s true. His lips meet yours with a soft, mechanical precision, but there's a depth of emotion behind it that's undeniable. The first time you kissed, he asked softly if he was doing it right. He holds you like you’re something fragile and priceless. Over time, he starts to explore more, almost cocky—pulling you closer, experimenting with pressure and rhythm.
I almost imagine having a rogue-like power and if you touch someone, you drain their life. When AOU happens, you learn you can’t affect synthetics and naturally grow closer to Vision as a result.
His body is always cool against yours, his hands gentle but firm as they hold you. He gets almost giddy when you shiver, but you blame it on the cool material rather than his featherlike touch.
His tongue explores your mouth with a slow, deliberate pace, each movement calculated to heighten your pleasure. You can feel the hum of his power, the vibration of his body, adding a unique sensation to the kiss. "I exist to protect, to love," he says, his voice a soothing hum. "And with you, I find my purpose."
Freebie: I think he might attempt to dip you or shout “Y/N, I’m home!” After you’ve binged old sitcoms.
Vision stands in the center of your living room like he’s unsure what to do. You watch him for a long moment, then approach, sensing the curiosity radiating off him.
“I’ve been studying romantic interactions.” He says, quietly. “There are… patterns. Kissing seems central. Though I find myself unsure where affection ends and performance begins.”
You step closer, heart warm. “It’s not a performance. It's a feeling. Come here.”
With careful steps, he watches you, gaze never faltering. When you reach up and cup his face, his eyes flutter slightly. He leans in when you do, and your lips meet in a firm planted kiss, nothing more than a sure sign of affection. You give one more sure peck to prove a point before watching him over. “See?” You sniff in an attempt to remain unshaken, even though you’d love to go over more advanced techniques. ” It’s nice.” You shrug, even with the neon flush creeping up your neck.
He pulls back just a breath’s width, his voice almost reverent. “I… understand. Not fully. But… I felt something.”
You smile. “That’s a pretty good place to start.”
He blinks. “May I try again?”
You nod eagerly. “As many times as you’d like.”
Style: Bruce kisses like he’s afraid to lose control—because he is. He’s hesitant at first, as if it might wake something inside him. But when he finally gives in, it’s breathtaking. It's slow and savoring, like he’s memorizing the way you feel. His hands stay anchored at your hips or your waist, firm but never too tight. When he pulls back, his eyes linger on your lips.
Bruce's kisses are a careful dance between passion and control, a reflection of his constant struggle between him and the other guy. He’s the type to approach you with a mix of nervousness and excitement.
I think Bruce is constantly aware of his breathing, keeping the mental reminder to only allow deep, slow breathes in an attempt to keep himself in line. But on rare occasions, he gets so lost in you, he’s chuffing, hands going over every inch of you as he places open mouth kisses to your skin. All you can feel is the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
Only after he realises and reals himself back in, turning back into the sheepish, nerdy scientist we all love. Geekish snorts and flushed cheeks, he’ll fix his glasses and offer a ‘thank you’ peck on the cheek. ( He totally does it after sex too)
Freebie: Gentle restraint, deeply affectionate. He loves when you pluck him away from work, insisting on finding a compromise to bring him to bed.
A Kiss A Day Keeps The Green Guy At Bay
Bruce hasn’t looked up from the microscope in over an hour. His brow is furrowed, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, lips moving silently as he runs calculations aloud like incantations. You’ve learned to let him be when he gets like this—until he starts forgetting how to be himself.
You’ve been watching him for too long and he still hasn’t realized you in the doorway to his and Tony’s shared lab. You chuff and walk over, gently placing your hand on his shoulder. “Bruce.”
So you turn to face him, slowly take his glasses off and set them down, then cup his cheek. He blinks like someone waking from a dream.
“I need five more—” You cut him off with a kiss.
It starts as a whisper of contact, your lips barely brushing his. But then you feel him exhale into it, like he’s been holding his breath since breakfast. His hands rise hesitantly to your waist, grounding himself. The kiss turns fuller, deeper—not hungry, but heavy with unsaid things. Regret. Exhaustion. Relief.
When it ends, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed.
“…I’m sorry. How long have I kept you waiting?”
His hands tighten, gently. “Thanks for bringing me back.”
Tony Stark
Style: Every kiss is charged; teasing and magnetic, sometimes a little messy because he’s grinning halfway through. He uses kissing as punctuation—at the start of a conversation, mid-joke, before walking out the door. But there are rare moments when he goes quiet, kisses you like he means it, no sarcasm, no mask—just Tony. Those are the ones that stay with you the longest. I imagine he would pull you close, his hands resting on your hips with a possessive grip. His lips meet yours with a confident, almost cocky smirk, as if daring you to resist. But as the kiss deepens, that smirk fades, replaced by a look of genuine affection and desire. His tongue explores your mouth with a skilled precision, his hands moving to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer.
If you cup his face or run a hand through his hair while kissing him? He’s toast.
He has and will flaunt you if you're comfortable with it. Galas, small parties, family BBQ, it doesn’t matter but everyone needs to know that he was lucky enough to find you. He eats up all the publicity headlines when you first start openly dating. ‘Tony Stark; Genius, Billionaire, Boyfriend?’ He’ll grunt and smirk. “They always forget Philanthropist.” It’s a dirty secret, but he’s kept a clip from every magazine, news header, cute tweet ect.
Beneath it all, there's a depth of emotion that takes your breath away. He pulls back from the most gut wrenching moment with a soft, vulnerable smile on his face. He admits how much he loves you and leans in for another kiss, this time with a tenderness vs. his usual bravado.
Freebie: Playful and passionate by default, raw and vulnerable when it matters most.
He didn’t want you to see him like this. You know that immediately from the way he turns his head when you walk into the workshop—like shame is something he can tuck behind an Iron Man helmet.
He’s sitting on the floor, knees up, shaking hands tangled in his hair. You can hear the arc reactor humming too fast in his chest.
You kneel slowly in front of him, not saying anything at first. Just there. Present. After a few seconds, you reach for him—hands on his cheeks—and coax his face toward yours. His eyes are wide, damp, and far away.
“I can’t—” he starts, voice cracking. “It’s too much today, I don’t—I couldn’t breathe—”
Not to hush him, not to fix it. Just to be with him in the one way that doesn't require words. His lips tremble against yours, but slowly, his hands rise and hold onto you like you’re the last solid thing in the world. The kiss lingers, grounding. You feel him start to breathe again, a little slower each second.
When you pull back, you brush your thumb along his jaw. “I’m with you, Stark.” You bring his head to your chest, letting him feel your warmth and security and you ignore the salty tears and weak attempt at hidden sniffles.
He nods, just barely. “Yeah. I know. You always are.”
