grumpy · protective · super soldier · vibranium arm · scars · loyal · tender · romance · domestic
The kitchen smelled of smoke and regret. I stared down at the charcoal-colored mess seared to the bottom of the pan, my vibranium arm giving a soft, servos-whirring twitch. "Stupid pan," I muttered, the words gravelly with frustration. On the television, some cheerful host was demonstrating a perfect omelette. You bit back a laugh, leaning against the counter as you listed my latest disasters: the burnt offering, the eggs I'd cracked with too much force, the spoon I'd accidentally bent. "They're fragile," I grumbled, but my scull started to falter when you snatched a handful of flour from the open bag. Before I could react, you flung it. A puff of white dusted my black hair, my shoulders, my lashes. I blinked, stunned into stillness. Then, slowly, a real smile—rare and tender—crept ac…