seen from Türkiye
seen from Australia
seen from Bulgaria
seen from China
seen from India
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Netherlands
seen from China
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from Argentina
seen from United States
marvel fancast pls pmg <3 1) A 2) B 3)B 4)B 5)D 6)B
Of course! (:
You got: Bucky i-am-free Barnes
You’re tough as hell and extremely determined. Nobody and nothing can stop you, you will always break free. You’re also incredibly loyal and kind and loving and would do anything for your loved ones.
Buzzfeed fancasts | no more please!
chanty idk if you're opening prompts but how about some angst because im terrible like that (“No, it was my fault for thinking that you might care.” + “I think I’ve been holding myself back from falling in love with you all over again." + “Those things you said yesterday… Did you mean them?”)
also “Steve and Natasha break up. After 3 months, Steve is still miserable but trying to move on. Natasha is still miserable but stubbornly refusing to admit it and pretends everything is okay. One day, the other Avengers start acting weird around her and then she finds out it’s because Steve is going on a date.” left by @bloodredmoon87.
Read on: [ ffnet ] [ ao3 ]
She hasn’t seen him since…
Well, since he told her he loved her and she picked a fight with him and walked away.
She doesn't know what ever compelled her to think that they could ever work. He's another lifetime away from her and she doesn't think she could ever absolve for the horrible things that happened at her hands. She hates herself for believing that she even really deserved his trust to begin with, let alone his total admiration. He looked at her like she was everything and she didn't know what to do with that. She still doesn't. She doesn't know how she let herself get caught up in the illusion of him, but she did, and she hates herself for falling for it.
She kind of hates him for it, too. For falling for her. All she knows is how to trick, how to lure, and he's supposed to be too good to get caught up.
They needed space. She needed space, so she ran, and he didn't follow. She doesn't know which one of them she hates more for that.
... ...
Maria gives her space, too. The kind she wouldn't give anyone else. Natasha knows it's selfish, but she's the one person Maria wouldn't say no to, and that's why it was Maria's door she showed up at that night.
It isn't decided or anything, but Natasha starts staying in her guest bedroom and Maria comes back one day with a box of Natasha's stuff from Steve's apartment and neither of them talk about it. She doesn't know what the woman knows, if Steve told her anything. He probably wouldn't. He'd answer her questions if she had any, but Maria wouldn't have asked.
She knows Maria sees him often. Natasha isn't around the facility as much, which is an easy thing to do when the woman giving your orders happens to be your roommate.
Maria's going over debriefs on her tablet and Natasha catches his name on one of the files. She doesn't say anything, but Maria tells her, "He misses you."
She knows. There are fewer each day, but there are still a few texts, a call here or there, usually late into the night. He hadn't been relentless before, but he'd been more insistent. He called often, but the only messages he ever left were asking her to answer, to see him. His texts were the same way. Whatever conversation he wanted them to have, he wanted it to be in person. She's always admired his strength, the way he never backed down from something he believed in. She kind of wishes he'd stop believing in her, though, which is stupid when that's kind of the one thing that's always made everything okay. But she can't have this conversation with him, and the only way he'd stop insisting on it is if he's given up on her.
It's what she wants, but it's also the one thing that would break her heart more than anything else.
... ...
Love is for children, she'd said once.
Maybe that's why she feels like crying all the time. She's far too stubborn for that, though.
... ...
"I just – I don't understand," Wanda says, and Natasha pauses in the doorway to Maria's office. "What happened?"
"I wish I knew," Maria answers. She sounds upset in a way Natasha hasn't heard since she moved in. She wonders exactly what Maria feels about all of this.
Wanda says something else, but then a hand is on her shoulder and Natasha turns to meet Sam's eyes. This isn't the first time she's seen him since that night, and part of her really believed that he'd hate her for what she did to Steve. It was hard to tell at first, because she hadn't been around the facility those first couple of weeks, and then she'd only ever see him in passing. He hasn't acted any different around her, though, because he's too good a man to do something like that. Everyone in her life, it seems, are more than she deserves.
He pulls her into a hug, which she doesn't really understand at first. They didn't used to hug before, but then he squeezes her shoulder ever so slightly, and she blinks and her chest sort of tightens at the gesture, because Steve used to do that same thing when he hugged her.
(She wonders, briefly, if maybe Steve had told Sam to do that. Then she feels absolutely pathetic for even thinking that at all.)
"How are you?" he asks.
"I don't know," she says, because she's never lied to him before, and she's not about to. She doesn't know if that counts as being moral, but at this point, she doesn't care.
He nods, tucks his hands into his pockets and holds her gaze. "He's miserable," Sam say, and she knows he's not being spiteful. He just wants her to know.
She just presses her lips together and glances away. She doesn't know what to say to that.
... ...
She's miserable, too. But that's pretty much a given.
... ...
"What the hell are you doing, Nat?"
Laura angles a look at Clint, but the guy just brushes it aside, spooning more yogurt into Baby Nathaniel's mouth. Honestly, one of the reasons why Natasha hasn't visited them since the breakup until now is because she knew Clint wouldn't let her get away with not talking about things the way Maria has. She knew she couldn't stay in New York over the Fourth of July weekend, though, so she packed a bag, sent Maria a text and then showed up on their doorstep unannounced. She knew they wouldn't mind. They hadn't even looked surprised.
"I'm doing what I do best," she answers, gripping her beer bottle too tightly. "I saw the situation going south so I opted out."
"Bullshit." Laura hisses his name and he murmurs an apology, still staring at Natasha. Despite the frustration in his tone, though, his expression is soft. "You're in love with him."
"That hardly means I'm what's best for him," she points out. "It's better that I get out now than to be too far gone when he figures out how he actually feels."
"I've seen the way he is with you, Natasha," Laura tells her. The girl hardly ever cries, but she sounds like she could right now. "He's in love with you. Those feelings are true."
She swallows, hard, and glances away. "Truth is a matter of circumstance."
... ...
She learns it from Sharon, and she knows that the girl was trying to be careful about it, because she kept stopping herself from even mentioning Steve, and as soon as the words are out, she has this sort of stunned look on her face, like she can't believe her own slip-up. Natasha isn't mad, though.
Who is she to judge on a lapse of control?
"Natasha," Sharon says, tilting her head a little. She kind of looks like she wants to say something, but then she presses her lips together. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"
She shakes her head, though, gives the girl the best smile she can muster. It must be at least a little convincing, because Sharon eases ever so slightly.
"It wasn't his idea," she tells Natasha quickly. "He just – it's a blind date. He's too nice of a person to say no." She wants to laugh. Yeah, she knows. "He still misses you."
"He shouldn't," Natasha says, and Sharon looks as hurt by this as Natasha feels.
... ...
Tony, she learns, is the one behind the blind date. Part of her feels like she should be pissed, maybe even a little betrayed. But she hardly has the right to feel either of those things.
He has a party at the penthouse that Maria talks her into going to, and she sees Steve half an hour after arriving. She should've left right then and there, but she didn't.
She's far more self-destructive than she thought, apparently.
Someone hands her a glass of something dark and bitter that she hates the taste of, and she takes gulps of it between casual conversations that she makes to keep herself distracted from keeping tabs on Steve across the room. It works, for the most part, and she lets the alcohol numb the rest of the world away. It's a little easier to lose herself in the atmosphere of the party, at least until someone tries to put their hands on her hips, and then she feels someone's arm around her shoulders, sweeping her away from the bar and into the hallway.
"Tony," she starts to say, but then he's talking before she can get anything else out.
"Okay, confession time," Tony says, taking her elbow and turning her so that he can look her in the eyes. "What happened between you and Steve?"
She blinks. "Why would I tell you?"
"So we're playing that game, huh?" he asks. She doesn't respond. "Okay, maybe because, one day you two just decided to stop having anything to do with each other and everyone went along with it and I don't get that. Or maybe because, when I decide to cheer this miserable fellow up by introducing him to a nice lady, he tells me that he had a great time and then never calls her back and I don't get that. Or maybe because both of you are at your worst without each other but you're not together and I don't get that. So explain it to me."
She just stares at him. The funny thing is, she kind of does want to give him an answer, but she doesn't know how to get the words out anymore.
"You still love him," he says. It's the truth, and she's known it all along. She doesn't know why it's still so surprising to hear it, but maybe that's because she hasn't dared let herself even think it in the last three months, let alone say them out loud.
"Of course I do." Her voice barely comes out above a whisper but she knows he heard her.
Tony holds her gaze. "So do something about it."
"I am," she hisses, and then yanks her elbow from his grasp and walks away.
... ...
He calls her a few hours after the party, at 4:00 in the morning, and she sort of just stares at his name on her phone and watches it ring. She should just let it go, which is what she's always done, but she still hears Tony's voice in her ears – You still love him – and feels her heart tighten in her chest as she stares at his contact picture that she hadn't changed. The two of them together on the couch, her face pressed into his shoulder as he held her close, his dimpled smile angled at the camera. He'd taken it, of course, in his habit of taking her phone and snapping pictures of her for no particular reason, and she'd pretended to hate it more than she really did. There was something about this picture that she'd loved, though.
(He looks so happy.)
"What?" she asks, and maybe she had tried to sound annoyed, but her voice comes out in this soft, uncertain whisper.
"Natasha," he says. He's surprised that she even answered, she can tell, and it's unfair for him to just rasp her name like that, the way he used to when they were pressed together under their sheets, her legs wrapped around his hips as he pressed as close to her as possible, whispering sweet things into her ear.
She swallows, tries to calm herself. It doesn't really work, though. "What is it?"
"I just," he starts, but then blows out a breath. It's quiet for a moment, and neither of them say anything, and she wonders if she should just hang up. "Did you mean them?"
"What?"
He exhales another breath, the way he does whenever he's trying to pull himself together. She wonders if he had been crying earlier, or if he is, right now, the way she's trying not to. "Those things you said earlier, to Tony at the party," he goes on, and she feels herself hold her breath, stomach fluttering. He heard them? How did he— "Did you mean them?"
"Steve," she breathes. Her eyes are watery and she hates it. She hates this. "Can we not talk about this right now?"
"Why not?" His voice is hard, stubborn, and so very him that it draws a soft, sharp breath from her throat. There's a pause, and she knows he just heard her little cry. "Natasha?" he asks, softer now. She inhales shakily, tries to speak, but she can't get the words out. "Fuck," he mutters. She shakes her head. "Don't…" Don't cry. "Natasha—"
"Stop. Just stop." He can't keep saying her name like that. She can't handle it.
"Stop?" She can hear the shift in his tone, and there's an edge to it, now. One he's never used with her before. "Is that what you want? You want this to stop?"
She hadn't meant it like that, at all, but she sort of feels like she can't breathe right now, and she can't correct herself soon enough. "Steve—"
"No, it was my fault for thinking that you might care." His voice is harsh, but she can hear him breaking a little, too. "Sorry for bothering you," he says, and then the line goes dead before she can respond.
... ...
She cries, and it's hardly the first time since they broke up, but she thinks it's the worst yet.
Maria brings her coffee in the morning, sits with her on the bed as she cradles the mug in her hands and sort of just stares out the window. It's bright, too bright, just the way Steve always likes his mornings to be. She looks away.
... ...
It's rather ironic, really, that as many times as she's flirted with death on missions, her closest encounter is because of a drunk driver in the city.
She feels like shit when she comes to, maybe worse than she's felt coming home from most missions, and she only vaguely remembers the whole thing – headlights blaring at her through the windows, the force of the impact, the sound of glass shattering, and then nothing. She sees Helen hovering at her bedside when her vision blurs back into focus, blood staining her gloves, cheeks red and dried with tears. Her voice shakes as she's filling Natasha in, but Natasha barely notices. She's too busy staring at the person standing behind her.
"Make sure she doesn't move out of this bed," Helen tells Steve, and Steve nods, murmurs a thank you as she leaves the room. The door slides closed, and then it's quiet.
He exhales slowly, glances up at the ceiling. He won't look at her. Somehow that makes this all worse.
She thinks she should say something, but she doesn't know what. She doesn't know. That's kind of been the problem since the beginning.
Then he meets her eyes and she thinks the impact hits her a hell of a lot harder than the crash did, because he looks devastated, and it's stupid that this makes her feel relieved, but it does and she hardly cares. The thought of losing her had been too much.
He presses his lips together. She can't quite read his expression right now, but it doesn't frustrate (scare) her like it used to. She just stares right back at him.
Then he lets out this little breath, relief tugging ever so slightly at his features. He moves to sit down in the chair at her bedside and her heart flutters. "Get some rest," he tells her.
She nods. For once, she doesn't question him, doesn't question anything. She just listens.
... ...
When she wakes up again, she feels his hand gripping hers over the sheets, thumb smoothing over her knuckles. She always loved it when he did that.
"I think I've been holding myself back from falling in love with you all over again," he says, voice so soft that she almost doesn't catch it even with how close they are. He pauses, and she thinks that maybe he still thinks she's sleeping, but then his eyes meet hers, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. She swallows, blinks her eyes at him. "Well, maybe that's a lie," he adds, holding her gaze. "I never fell out of love with you. But I was mad. You walked away from me so easily." His voice breaks. "You just walked away from me like I was nothing."
Her chest tightens. He'd been heartbroken. She can hear it in his voice, and it's worse than him being angry.
"You're everything," she says. Her voice sounds as shitty as she feels. He swallows a little, worry touching his expression, and she doesn't get it. She doesn't understand how this man can love her so much. "That's why I had to walk away."
"Why?"
She lets out a breath and closes her eyes, but then he squeezes her hand and she blinks them open again. "I don't know how to be gentle, Steve."
He shakes his head, lifts her hand up and brushes his lips to the back of it. "Then give me your worst," he murmurs against her skin. "I know how to take a punch."
This man is ridiculous. Completely, utterly crazy. She's no better, though.
"Anything precious would be taken away. That's what they taught me." She shakes her head, her throat tighten, but then his thumb is smoothing over her knuckles again, easing her nerves. She takes in a shaky breath. "You're too important," she says. Her voice is practically a whisper now. "I love you, and I don't know what I'd do if they took you away."
His lips twitch into a smile. "As if anything could get through you and me," he says, and she's sort of crying as this laugh bubbles out of her, but she hardly cares.
... ...
She tucks herself against his chest when he sits back down on the couch, drawing the blanket over their shoulders. She's always cold, and he's always had this ridiculous body heat. They're perfect for each other, really.
She presses her hand flat over his heart as she smiles. "I love you," she tells him.
He hooks a finger under her chin, tips her head back a little. "Promise?"
"Promise," she echoes. Once upon a time, it might've terrified her that he doesn't say the words back. But she doesn't even notice, because then he's kissing her, pressing her as close as possible, and he tells her that he loves her over and over again as he lowers her back against the couch.
soulmate au for the prompt? :D
for @iavenge. Work sucks. I’m sorry about the lag in getting this out, but I fell in love with this au so hard and I hope the result was worth the wait!
Read on: [ ffnet ] [ ao3 ]
He remembers the way the mark seared his skin, ghosting over his ribcage and causing him to wince – not quite at the pain (or, not just at the pain) but at the sensation in general because—well, now he knows. Now he knows why his mark never came in his first life, the way it had for all of his classmates. Not that this brings him any closer to knowing who his soulmate is supposed to be, because the marks don't show right away. His mother used to say it was a lot like falling in love – you meet your better half, but that doesn't mean you know just how much they're supposed to change your life. No one really knows what it is that causes the mark to finally show when it does, and right now, he wants to know why.
Why, with the city crumbling around them, his every muscle aching with his effort not to collapse—
Why does it appear now?
A squeak of metal brings him from his thoughts, and he watches as Natasha slumps against a car, taking a moment of quiet to catch her breath. It's a luxury neither of them has had in the last few hours, and, somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders if it's selfish of them to steal it for themselves.
"Captain, none of this is going to mean a damn thing if we don't close that portal," Natasha tells him, tilting her head up to the portal overhead, and the moment is gone.
"Our biggest guns couldn't touch it." He says this, but his mind is already going elsewhere, taking in their surroundings, their resources, and he thinks—
"Well, maybe it's not about guns," Natasha muses, echoing his thoughts. His eyes snap onto her as a twinge of something shoots through his side. It can't… but maybe…
Not now, he tells himself, and he glances away.
... ...
He sees the mark later, as he dabs a wet cloth to the dried blood over his bruised side, and he lets himself get distracted by it. No one knows what the importance of the shape is, if there's any importance at all, yet, he's not all that surprised by the small hourglass stamped over his ribcage.
Man out of time, he muses with a shake of his head. The Lord has a sense of humor, at least.
... ...
They broach the topic of it in the middle of brunch, while they're gathered on the patio of the penthouse, lounging in the summer sun. Clint is the one that sees, of course, and he gets this bemused expression on his face as points the neck of his beer bottle to the collection of dots on Tony's shoulder, poking out from underneath his muscle shirt.
"Are those supposed to be for Pepper?" he asks, squinting his eyes at the mark.
Tony blinks at the sudden change in conversation. "Yeah," he replies, hooking his thumb underneath the material of his shirt to tug it aside, giving them a better look.
Steve glances but doesn't stare. He's always believed that there's something incredibly intimate about the marks, about having this part of you so exposed to the world, and perhaps this is just another thing that time has changed. He remembers how private marks were as he grew up. It was almost taboo to have them bared so easily, and it was not uncommon for kids to have a new Band-Aid on their arm or leg at school every day just to keep them hidden. He's come to realize that there are very few people that still carry this belief today.
"Hers is right here," Tony goes on, tapping his Arc Reactor.
"Fitting," Bruce says.
"Poor girl must've been traumatized once she realized what it meant," Maria comments. Tony scoffs.
Steve chuckles, and beside him, Natasha shifts in her seat, dabbing at the sweat at her collarbone with a napkin. "You alright?" he asks, soft enough for only her to hear. She grins and nods, but the flush on her cheeks tells him otherwise. It's hot, even under the large patio umbrella, and the fact that she has her hair down probably doesn't help with anything.
He frowns. Maria has her hair up, and Steve is about to ask Natasha if doing the same might help, but he stops as Natasha brings her napkin up again to dab at her neck.
It's a careful motion, fingers curling just so to keep her hair in place, but it's also an absent gesture, as if she's done this time and time before.
As if she's always careful to not expose her neck.
... ...
He catches himself staring sometimes, his impulse going against his beliefs as he searches, trying to catch a glance for any sort of mark on Natasha's neck.
He hates himself a little every time he does it, because—it's rude, he thinks, trying to see this part of her that she's obviously being careful not to show. And he has no real reason to believe that that's where her mark is, but he has a feeling, and so he keeps looking, trying to see. It's a little ridiculous. He thinks that he and Natasha are close enough that she might show him if he just asked. But she's a private person, just like him, and he respects that. He wants to respect that, which is why he tries so hard not to look. But he can't help himself.
"It's forbidden to show it," Clint tells him. It's usually Natasha who spars with him, but today Clint showed up, too, and Steve just went with it.
"What?" Steve asks.
There's that bemused expression of his again. "The mark," Clint clarifies. "Natasha—when she was being trained—she was taught it was forbidden to have it exposed." Clint tips his head back to chug some of his water, then licks his lips and shrugs. "Now it's just habit."
Steve wipes a towel over his face. "Guess I wasn't being all that subtle."
"You were. But I'm still a spy." The way he says it sounds almost like a joke Steve probably wouldn't understand. "She wouldn't mind if it's you asking."
Steve feels a spark of something at the idea of Natasha being comfortable with that, with him being the one to ask, but he shakes his head. "It's not that important," he says, which is the truth—it isn't, and no matter what her mark may be, he's sure it's not going to distract him any less from his urge to always be around her, to get to know every part of her.
... ...
When SHIELD – Hydra – comes after them, they run, and they end up at Sam's, and it isn't until he's standing in the bathroom and staring up into the reflection that the mark even crosses his mind again. He probably had his fair share of opportunities over the last few hours with her to get a good glance, but that was the last thing on his mind given the situation they found themselves in. But now, tucked into the safety of Sam's guest bedroom, the two of them stealing another quiet moment to catch their breaths, the mark crosses his mind again, and this time he can't bring himself to ignore it. He watches as she tugs at the ends of her damp hair with the towel, his eyes following the motion as she pushes her hair back—
And his eyes are drawn to her face, to the ever so slight quiver of her lips, the flutter of her eyelashes as she blinks a little too quickly.
She's shaken, and he knows she's been ever since Nick died. But seeing it on her face is something he wasn't expecting. Not in this moment, at least.
He sets his towel down, makes his way over to her, and his chest squeezes a little at the way her face calms completely as soon as she realizes the attention that's now on her. You don't have to hide, he thinks – wants to say – but he doesn't, and he hates that he can't.
"What's going on?" he asks instead, meeting her eyes, and any thought he has about her mark is already gone.
... ...
He feels the press of her kiss on his cheek even after she's pulled away, stepping away from him, and his first urge is to reach for her and pull her back. But he's not selfish enough to do so, so he just watches as she steps away, and there's a stupid flutter of something akin to hope in his chest when she pauses her stride.
"Be careful, Steve," she tells him, turning to meet his eyes again. Her smile is gone, expression serious, but her eyes are overwhelming. "You might not want to pull on that thread."
Then she turns again, his eyes drawing to the hair grazing her jacket collar as she leaves.
... ...
"First time I've seen yours," Sam tells him as he stands to the side, out of Maria's way as she cleans out the gash on Steve's chest. It's already healing – he can tell – and before, he wouldn't have bothered to do anything with it, but between Maria and Tony and now Helen in his ear about proper treatment, he doesn't put up much of a fight anymore when one of them insists on cleaning his cuts. Steve furrows his eyebrows at Sam, and even Maria pauses for a second, following his gaze downward until she realizes what he's talking about.
Steve lifts a hand, touching the pad of his thumb to the hourglass.
"Really?" he asks. Steve doesn't make it a point to show it or anything, but the marks are kind of common knowledge amongst their growing circle of friends by now.
Maria has the silhouette of a wing on her right shoulder blade, Sam a curved slope above his right ankle. Helen has this sort of asterisk-like shape high on her left arm, Clint a laurel branch inside his left wrist, Thor an X just above his right hip. They even know that Nick's is a jagged line under this left eye.
Maybe because of the placement, Steve's is the only one that isn't exposed rather easily. His, and Natasha's, he realizes with a sort of tug in his chest.
He hasn't seen her in weeks, which is still the most he's seen her in the last year since SHIELD fell. After that day at the cemetery, he'd gone three whole months before seeing her again, and it was almost by accident, because he happened to be in New York visiting Pepper and Tony when she was in town, dropping files off to the guy from Nick.
He's not arrogant enough to believe that she's avoiding him, specifically. She wanted to leave everything behind, if only for as long as she could hold out, and he understands why.
But he can't quite get rid of this feeling that she's distancing herself from him for as long as possible.
"You alright?" Maria asks, casting a strange glance at him. She prods gently at the bandaging now placed above his chest. "Does it hurt?"
"No," he tells her, maybe a little too quickly. "No, it's fine."
... ...
She's cut her hair the next time he sees her, which happens to be a year after that day in the cemetery, almost to the date. (Not that he's been counting or anything.) It's shorter – the shortest he's seen her hair since he first met her in New York – yet her curls still manage to cover her neck, grazing the collar of her dress. Somehow he's not surprised.
She's barely said two words to him all night, and that doesn't really surprise him, either. He isn't any less bothered by it, though.
"Okay, what's up?" Sam asks, handing him one of the scotches from the bartender. As extravagant as Tony's parties always are, Steve will admit to liking them if only for the quality alcohol he manages to unearth for the occasion.
"What?" Steve asks.
"You know what," Sam says, and Steve does. Sam is by no means a nosy person, but he's taken a particular interest in Steve and Natasha as of late, right around the time Steve stopped talking about her altogether. Before this mission, he'd gone a little over a month without seeing her, though she knew she was around. He heard as much from Maria. He knows Sam has hung out with them in the city whenever they ventured downtown, too. Steve was invited, of course, but he copped out every time. "Why are you avoiding her?"
"I'm not." It sounds unconvincing even to his own ears, but he can't really help it. "We've been busy."
"Even right now, at the exact same party, and no excuse in the world to not go up to her and catch up?" Sam gives him a look. "Did something happen?"
"Of course not," Steve says, and the truth of those words hits him harder than he expected. Nothing happened. Nothing will ever happen.
Sam shakes his head, glancing over at Natasha, and Steve can't help but follow his gaze. "You two," he starts, but then trails off, letting out a breath as they watch Natasha busy herself behind the bar, eyes shifting every so often to where Bruce is hovering. "I don't get what happened."
That makes two of us, Steve thinks, taking a gulp of scotch.
... ...
He watches them flirt all night, and he wasn't lying. It is different, the way she flirts with Bruce, and as reluctant as he'd been to come to terms with it, Bruce is still his friend. He's not about to lie to him over the sake of some fleeting connection he probably just imagined. But it's fine. He tells himself it doesn't matter anymore.
Then she smiles at him, thin-lipped and unlike any smile she's given him before, and he meets her eyes, something he hasn't quite done since that day in the cemetery—
And his hand almost slips on the handle of Mjolnir.
"Nothing," Thor teases, a deep chuckle rumbling from his chest as Steve steps away, hands up in surrender.
Natasha's smile eases ever so slightly, eyes sparkling with amusement and something else he can't quite place as he holds her gaze again before turning her attention to Bruce.
It doesn't matter anymore, he tells himself. It's his most unconvincing lie yet.
... ...
He stands with her on the edge of a falling, crumbling city, a bittersweet wave of nostalgia in the air as they steal quite possibly their last moment of quiet together. Her gaze is fixed on the horizon, and he can't really argue with her words. The view is beautiful. But it's certainly not the last thing he wants to see when he dies.
He turns his head to her, studying her gentle expression, the slight curve of her lips, the wind blowing her curls into her face. She looks serene. She looks completely at peace.
He can't stop himself from staring.
... ...
She shows up on his doorstep with a bottle of whiskey in hand and that slight smile of hers that has been his undoing since they stood together in the ruins of New York, the world opening up overhead. She doesn't ask to be invited in – she doesn't say anything, really, other than a soft hey that he barely catches – but of course he lets her in. Not only because things have bridged between them since Sokovia, or because she's become his partner again in this new chapter they've found themselves in—but because he'll always let her in.
She sits on the couch with her legs tucked up underneath her, body angled towards him, gripping her glass of Jack Daniels like a lifeline.
"I'm sorry, you know," she says after a long moment. She's gazing past him and into his kitchen, but her stare is unfocused. "I screwed it up."
I screwed us up, he knows she wants to say.
He nods slightly, still staring at her face, until her eyes slide slowly to meet his, and then his curiosity gets the better of him. "Why?" he asks, voice barely coming out. It's the question that's been lingering in the back of his thoughts over the past year.
Why did she pull away from him? Why did she avoid him? Why did she walk away from him so easily?
Why?
"Because you scared me."
He blinks, taken aback by her answer. Her lips tug into a bit of a grin.
"I saw," she says quietly, and before he can ask what she means, she reaches the small distance between them, fingertips pressing against his chest. His entire body tenses at her touch, feels a warmth against his skin through the material of his shirt where she presses her fingers, ghosting over his skin as her hand settles over his ribcage. "In D.C. when they had to operate on you—I saw your mark." She presses a little harder and he swears he holds his breath. "I saw, and then I panicked and ran, because I knew exactly what it meant."
He furrows his eyebrows ever so slightly. He knows – he thinks he knows what she's talking about, but he needs her to say it. He needs to be sure.
"Out of time," she breathes, pressing her thumb right over the spot he knows his mark is, and he brings his hand up to cover hers, squeezing ever so slightly. "Don't know how I knew that it meant me, but…" She shrugs a shoulder, a smile playing at the edge of her lips. "I just did."
"How did you know that your mark meant me?"
He asks this, but then she leans in closer, hair falling from her neck with the motion, and his senses are entirely distracted by her.
"I just did," she echoes, and when she kisses him, he tucks his fingers into her hair, thumb smoothing over her neck.
... ...
He crowds into her space, bodies flushed together as he presses as close as physically possible, and she – every time – will let out this little sound that he loves when his lips graze her mark at the curve of her neck. She clings to him a little tighter, one hand tightening its grip on him as the other skims down his front, circling over the side of his ribcage.
He takes his time loving her, just as he'd taken his time falling in love with her, and she likes it that way. They really are perfect for each other.
hey, i saw your post about the picture you took from aou, with them standing next to each other and i was wondering where did you get a higher quality picture? is it in a new tv spot or what not? thanks c:
It’s from this site. Here you go (X)
oh my goodness! your ca: tws commentary gifsets hooked me so much <3 please continue to make them! it's such a refreshing thing to see it pop out on my desk once in a while c:
Aw, thanks so much for the message! I’m glad you like them! I still have about 1/3 of the commentary left to gif/upload (the interesting non-technical parts of it, I mean), so it will definitely keep on coming for some time xx
url graphic for iavenge
I'm also an IB kid, but I'm still in the MYP programme (grade 10). I love your blog! thanks for sharing good things in here <3 #followed
Hey there! Thank you so much :) How is it going for you? Are you planning on doing the IBDP as well?
hey, just wondering if you got my submission form thing :) just wanna make sure c:
Yes, I have you on the list!
If anyone else wants to double check their submission, feel free to ask!
