#chubby bruce

**

Although the first test week was adequate, Bruce didn't get the results he'd wanted.

"Less than a kilogram? That's it?"

"Well, we're fightin' nature, Big Guy. I can adjust the formulas of the current weight gain drinks and powders but you still need to consume it fast enough to override your body's heightened abilities."

"It's still not...bad," Steve murmured. "It's some gain, right?" But even he looked a little disappointed.

"I know, I know." Bruce ran a hand through his curls and they toppled over his scalp like loose springs. "There has to be a faster way, though."

Steve gestured at the data pulled from Jarvis. "Is there anything else we could do? I mean, it doesn't look appetizing but you could try one of those heavy duty Vitamix blenders and liquefy your solid foods."

Bruce made a face. "I'd rather not vomit, thanks." He grimaced at his boyfriends. "The problem is trying to eat beyond my point of feeling stuffed. We have to increase my caloric intake but the gains don't last when I'm not physically able to eat enough or fast enough."

Tony rocked on his heels, leveling his steeliest gaze in Bruce's direction. "You know my thoughts, Banner."

Bruce held up a stern hand. "No. I refuse. I told you before it's not safe."

Steve frowned. "What's not safe?"

Bruce briefly glanced at Tony who made a curt go ahead, tell him gesture. "It's...possibly faster."

"Guaranteed faster."

"Allegedly faster," Bruce said a little louder, in case Tony didn't hear him the first time. "I'm not risking massive property damage just to gain a pound or two."

"We could use the Green Room in the basement."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Not you too, Steve."

"Well maybe I want in on the secrets. The two of you can't keep discussing options without me, because I'm as much a part of our family as you two are."

Bruce and Tony traded uncomfortable glances. "Sorry," Bruce muttered.

"Agreed. We should've included you in the science stuff." Tony made a face at Bruce. "We might as well tell him, mind if I--?"

Bruce sighed testily. "Be my guest. You were going to, anyway."

"Right," Tony murmured, and for penance from pushing his portly bf a little too much he gave Bruce a small peck on his forehead. "It's one option that yields good results: fasting."

"Fasting?" A scowl marred Steve's features. "Isn't that the opposite of what we're trying to do?"

"Yes and no. If we do it right it'll make Bruce hungrier and he'll overeat, even beyond the levels he's eating now. Every five days we can switch up his eating routine."

"And beyond that," Bruce said, sheepishly glancing down. "I've been...working on a few experimental compounds to quicken the results. But I haven't tested my hypothesis and I'm a little unsure of the outcome.

"But fasting..." Bruce paused and sighed. He ran a chubby hand through his curls and nibbled his bottom lip. "Fasting is problematic because it potentially riles the Other Guy. I hope the compound I'm developing works because I'm hesitant to try anything that threatens my calm."

Tony rolled his eyes. "We've got this, hon'. You know we do. We have the Hulk pod in the basement, and you could even stay down there while you get hungry. Not that you'd want to. And Steve and I'll get your favorite take out, after we're done. Double portions of everything."

Bruce's eyes narrowed, and Tony swore he saw a little green. "We've never tested the containment pod. I've never had a need to, and I've never felt in danger since I've been here. I'd rather not unless there are no other options."

"Suit yourself," Tony said, shrugging. "Five years is an awfully long wait for a goal weight, though."

Bruce made another face. "Too long."

"So go for broke," Steve sighed.

"Exactly,” Tony said. “What harm could it do?"

Bruce locked eyes with Tony. "You don't want the answer to that question."

Having heard enough, Steve sauntered over to his favorite scientists. He slung an arm over both their shoulders (though his reach strained over Bruce’s wide back), and gave both a peck on the cheek. "I think the answer is staring all of us in the face," he told them, and both Tony and Bruce gave him the side-eye.

"It is?"

"You know something we don't?” Tony snarked. “Impossible."

Steve chuckled softly. "Bruce, I know It's not something you really like doing, but the Hulk is part of you. And you eat more after a Hulk-out, don't you?"

Bruce folded his arms and planted his feet, as unyielding as a marble statue of himself. "But I also use up a lot of calories. It's a zero-sum game."

Steve nudged Bruce with his chin and immediately Bruce settled into his warm arms. "Muffin. I think both you and Tony will come up with a plan that'll work, but I don't want either of you over-stressing." His gaze flickered to Tony, who finally caved, lips breaking into a small smile. "We'll figure it out. I'm thinkin' maybe we try a little of everything, yeah? Can we start out slowly, just to see what'll happen? We have time. The answer doesn't have to come today."

"Hmm," Bruce sighed. "I guess so."

"Yeah, okay," Tony grumbled. "I guess he's right."

"You're welcome." He kissed Bruce's temple and held out his other hand for Tony to take it. "Tonight, let's enjoy each other's company. A little food, and fun."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Tony said, quickly shutting down their work station.

                                                         * *

Steve dragged Tony from Bruce’s room, pecking him on the cheek and murmuring something Bruce didn’t quite catch and, judging from the look on Tony’s face, didn’t need to hear. The scientist went through his closet, surveying the meager selection for a moment before deciding on his favorite shirt. It was purple. Soft from being washed a few hundred times, and still had all its original buttons. It didn’t hurt that a supermodel at a party had once told him that the purple complimented his eyes. Even if he didn’t expect anything to come of it, he still wanted to look nice. He figured you’d look beautiful no matter what you wore. He shrugged into the grey blazer that matched his slacks and decided to forgo a tie. It was a date. Not a press event and he hated ties. They felt like tiny nooses.

Bruce made it out of the tower avoiding any further dating advice. Clint had been marginally more helpful than Tony. He’d told Bruce that the dating universals still applied and instead of dinner, go for ice cream or something after the exhibit. Less pressure to make small talk. Tony had mostly given him a list of sex positions that wouldn’t strain his back, since, you know, he was robbing the cradle. Tony had teased him about it until Steve had made him stop, pointing out that it probably wasn’t helpful. He made his way to the museum and stopped at a flower vendor on the way, on a whim. He picked up yellow daisies that reminded him of your dress from that morning. 

When he saw you round the corner of the walk, phone cradled between your shoulder and your ear as you shift the strap of your tote to rest more comfortably, he smiles softly. You’re the most beautiful mess he’d ever seen. Your hair is still up, but there are little whisps and errant strands coming down, softly framing your face. You still don’t have much makeup on and your outfit is the exact same as it had been that morning. As you stop your feet a little away, finishing your call before walking up the steps, Bruce feels himself relax. You’ve clearly had a long day. A really long day. If you had canceled he would have understood but, here you were. That was something. 

He watches as you silence your phone and drop it into an easy to reach pocket of your bag before walking up the steps, “Hey,” you say with a smile that makes his heart skip. “You still look lovely,” he says. You kiss his cheek and he blushes, holding the flowers out, “I- I- I thought you might like these,” he said, “They reminded me of you.” You take them, blushing scarlet and smiling shyly, “I love dasies. Thank you, Bruce.” The Scientist feels like he can’t breathe for a moment as he takes your hand. You lace your fingers shyly through his and he grins, “Shall we?” he asks softly. You smile, eyes bright and excited as you nod. For a moment, Bruce can forget about the age gap. His heart hammers against his ribs and he gets so caught up in how soft and sweet you look that he loses himself in this moment. The quiet anticipation. The nerves. The elation of making a pretty girl smile the way you’re smiling now. 

He follows you around, watching you more than he’s looking at the pictures. He’d feel guilty but, god you’re just so fucking pretty. Holding his hand and wandering. Admiring pretty art and smiling shyly at him. Doing that thing girls can do where they glance up at you from under their lashes and their eyes look bigger. He likes that. As you wander through the exhibit and come back around to the front, Bruce squeezes your hand, “Ice cream?” he asks smiling. “That sounds really nice,” you say smiling, “I haven’t had ice cream in forever.” He smiles and leads you down the steps, “I googled a little place earlier,” he explains, “And a bar. And a coffee shop.” You smile, “You were a boy scout weren’t you?” you tease. Bruce laughs, “For about 10 minutes... But I got the big takeaways.”  You snort, “What are those exactly?”

“Forest fires are bad and always be prepared,” he answers easily, giving you a crooked smile. You giggle and he preens internally a little. “I figured you had a pretty full plate today,” he explained, “I didn’t want to keep you out late after a long day and on a school night.” You shrug, “It wasn’t too bad,” you tell him, “But I appreciate the thought. Sometimes it is really hard to be social after dealing with clients in crisis all day.” Bruce smiles a little, “I can imagine,” he says, “When I was in India, I was a doctor in some of the poorest neighborhoods. It’s not quite the same but, it was exhausting.” You look up at him, “Why were you in India?” you ask.

It’s an innocent question. There’s no malice or accusation. It still feels like the air just left his lungs and he just hopes his hands don’t start to sweat. “I was on the run,” he said honestly.

You make a soft noise. Non-judgemental. Encouraging him to say more. Clever, empathetic eyes fixed on his face. It feels like sipping hot chocolate or sinking into a thick soft mattress after a long day. Comfortable. Safe. “There were a lot of people,” he said, “mostly bad people that wanted to turn me... turn the other guy, into a weapon.” You tilt your head, brow furrowed, “The other guy?” you ask. “The Hulk,” he clarifies, kissing your knuckles. You make a soft sound of understanding and stop in the soft glow of a street lamp, “I’m sorry that that happened to you,” you murmur. Your eyes shimmer with empathetic tears and Bruce realizes with a jolt that you mean those words. He smiles and strokes fly aways out of your face tenderly, “It wasn’t all bad,” he says, “I got to see the world.” You smile and turn your head to kiss his palm before you start walking again. It’s quiet after that but there’s no awkwardness. It’s companionable and Bruce basks in it, hearing footsteps in time with his and relishing the feeling of a soft, feminine hand in his. 

At the ice cream shop he opens the door for you and smiles, “I love the smell of waffle cones,” he says taking a deep breath. You smile up at him and he’d love to kiss you right there in the sleepy little store. In front of the half-awake high school kid. In the too-bright fluorescent light that makes his eye burn just a little. But, he doesn’t. Something in the back of his mind tells him it isn’t time yet. “I always love the smell of popcorn,” you say, “I spent a lot of time at the movies as a kid.” Bruce files that information away for later, “Why’s that?” You shrug, “Not much else to do.” It’s an answer that isn’t an answer but Bruce doesn’t press. The clever, empathetic eyes that so easily offered him comfort were guarded. Not closed off, but cautious. 

He reads the menu and places his order before watching you ponder the board and order your own treat. You pay for the ice cream over his gentle protests and remind him that he paid for the exhibit tickets. He files that away too. That had apparently changed about dating. Or it was how ladies had learned to deal with certain men’s ugly tendencies when they felt they were owed something. He pulled out your chair and took his own seat, reclaiming the hand that you didn’t need to hold your spoon. It feels like he’s known you forever as he watches you fondly, smoothing his thumb over your knuckles. 

Outside the shop in the soft glow of street lights you look up at him, “Tonight was a lot of fun, Bruce,” you murmur. He smiles and cups your cheek, tracing your cheekbone with his thumb, “I’m glad,” he breathed, leaning in slowly and pressing a soft, slow kiss against your lips. They’re sweet and still a little cold and he smiles as he pulls away. “I’ve been waiting to do that all night,” he said sheepishly. You blush and bite your lip to keep from grinning, “Do it again?” you ask softly.

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You bite your lip and glance up at him, self consciously brushing hair out of your eyes. Bruce feels his mouth go dry and took a calming breath. Christ alive, you’re pretty. So pretty. And without the others around to distract him he desperately wanted to kiss you. To taste the sweetness clinging to your lips. Bruce tears his eyes away from the colors dancing in your eyes, the subtle shifts that reflect your moods and thoughts. This morning, they’re subtly more gray. Darker in a way he can’t define beyond that. The way they get when you’re sad. Or distressed. “How are you,” he asked, “after last night?” You sigh, “Off-kilter, but no major damage. My jaw is a little sore and I might be a little concussed.” Bruce frowned, “I’m sorry,” he said, reaching for your hand. “We should have all noticed you were missing sooner.” You squeeze his hand, “I just... I stepped outside for a moment to get some fresh air. I felt too hot and I just... I needed to breathe.” Bruce feels his cheeks heat, remembering how badly he’s wanted to find you. And what for. The sudden heat that had coursed through his body. The need to kiss you. You glance away and your heart skips. You’d been trying to collect yourself. You needed to kiss Bruce. You needed to run your fingers through his hair. 

“I- about last night,” Bruce started, “The Hulk, he, if he scared you...” You squeeze his hand, “Bruce, it’s okay. The Hulk... He was sweet. Concerned. He tried to fix my sweater and he really didn’t like that I was bleeding.” Bruce felt his mouth open and snapped it closed again. It was really difficult to believe that you hadn’t been frightened but he could believe that the Hulk had cared for you in his way. He might be a mostly mindless manifestation of rage but, he knew which people were important to Bruce. He would have known that you were someone he cared for. “I’m glad you weren’t scared,” he murmured. Bruce didn’t think he could take you being afraid of him. Either of him. “I could never,” you say softly, “I-” You snap your mouth shut and bite your tongue. The rest of the breakfast is quiet. Comfortable quiet and shy glances. The scientists basks in the warmth of your company. The glow that emanates from you. He loves this. The quiet and comfort. He desperately wants more of it. More of you. 

You pay for breakfast and kiss his cheek, “As a thank you,” you tell him when he objects. “I’ll get it next time?” he says, taking your arm. He’s not that much taller than you but he walks quickly. Holding your arm makes him slow down a little. “Deal,” you say blushing and looking away. You’re so giddy you could burst out giggling at any moment. Bruce smiles and stops under a shade tree, “Y/N?” he asks softly, tilting your chin up. “I need... I need to do something. I just. I need to know and if it crosses a line I’ll never do it again.” He gave you a second to object and when you didn’t, his lips pressed into yours. 

He kept the pressure soft. It had been a long time since he’d kissed anyone. Since he’d felt feminine curves under his hands. Somehow, he knew what to do still. One hand toyed with the curls on the nape of your neck and the other rested at your waist as he pulled you closer. You leaned into the kiss, your arms winding around his neck to be able to grip his hair. He sighed. You felt so good. As you kissed him back he took it as an invitation, licking gently into your mouth to get a better taste of you. He felt his heart racing and fought to keep himself from pressing for more. To keep his hands from wondering. This was the first kiss. Some tenderness was a must. He just... He didn’t want to rush. You were so young. So much younger than him. When he came up for air he searched your face carefully, cupping your cheeks. “Too much?” he asked, anxious. Your eyes are the color they turn when someone shows you videos of baby animals or brings you your favorite candy... The happy colors. The happy galaxy. You stand on your toes and kiss him again softly, “I’ve been dreaming of that for weeks,” you murmur. 

Bruce smiles and brushes hair out of your eyes, “Really?” he asks. You nod, blushing and smile up at him shyly. “This whole time I’ve just felt like a dirty old man wanting you so much,” he says. You giggle and snuggle into his chest and he hugs you tightly. Bruce feels the tension in your body relax as the pressure and warmth of his body soothes the rest of your discomfort. As it makes you feel safe. “Bruce,” you murmur, “Take me back home? I wanna get a cuddle in before the rest of the tower wakes up.” The scientist smiles and kisses your shoulder before kissing your lips again, “Your room or mine?” he says, teasing gently. “Mine, I think,” you say softly, “I probably have a more comfortable bed.” Bruce laughs, “Probably... Natasha buys you enough fluffy blankets.” He takes your arm again and walks you back to the tower. That kiss was more than he had ever wanted. He felt like he was on cloud nine.

Academically, Bruce knew that touch was incredibly important. That physical contact with another human could soothe any number of stress-related ailments. He just... until he was cuddled in your bed watching Nailed It on Netflix and drowsing comfortably, his belly full and your head on his chest that he understood just how... starved for it that he was. Your fingers found the hem of his sweatshirt and traced idle patterns into his bare skin. Ghosting over stretch marks and the soft hair tenderly. He didn’t think you were looking to arouse him, but you were. The soft touches and the press of your curves... He was hungry for more than just simple touch. He didn’t want to rush but he desperately needed more. He sighed and pulled you close, stroking your hip gently. It had been a long time. He’d not been with a woman in almost 10 years. He’d not wanted one. His guilt and fear. His shame. Had kept him from looking for one. You prop yourself up on your elbow and look at him, “Bruce, what’s wrong? Did I do something?” He looks at you and smiles, “No, Y/N,” he soothes, “Baby you’re fine.” He didn’t want to rush. He was still worried he’d embarrass himself. Or hurt you. “Bruce,” you murmur, kissing him, “Talk to me?”

He had your panties in his pocket. And his hand was circling ever so slightly higher on your thigh. Soft, lazy, aimless caresses. Your heart was pounding in your ears. For someone that didn’t think he had very much experience, he was really good at making your head turn. You glanced at Bruce and your cheeks turned red, “Too much?” he asked, his hand stilling. You swallow hard but shake your head, “I thought you said you weren’t experienced,” you said smiling a little before turning back to watch the road. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about things,” he said smiling a little. “I spend a lot of time thinking about you,” he admitted. You bite your lip to keep from smiling. Bruce didn’t caress any hight on your thigh, careful not to be overwhelming, but he didn’t stop stroking the silky skin either. 

He liked this. The heat he felt on your skin and the knowledge that you were burning for him the way he burnt for you. It put to bed insecurities that he never voiced. The worry that you didn’t really find him physically attractive. He knew you did, but that didn’t stop the anxiety that gnawed at him sometimes when he felt you get overwhelmed and pull away. He knew it was stupid. That’s partly why he never mentioned it. Any time you were with him, no one else existed for you. There was no flirting, not even accidentally. Your hand was never far from his and if he was separated from you for any reason, you looked for him. He knew. He was a safe place. Your place to hide. A soft place to fall. But the moment when your skin flushed and you cried his name softly as he brought you to pieces in his arms... He was proud of that. Proud of you for trusting him. For letting him take care of you the way he knew you needed him to.

When you pulled down the drive to the cabin and parked the jeep, you pulled him into a soft kiss. “It’s beautiful,” you murmur, “I love it.” Bruce carded his fingers through your windblown hair and grinned, “Not as beautiful as you, though.” He knows it’s cheesy but it’s worth the eye roll and the giggle in spite of yourself. He kisses your nose and lets you wiggle out of the jeep. Together you get the bags inside and Bruce pulls you into his arms gently. For a moment, he gets lost in the warmth and the colors flowing in your irises. It still catches him by surprise some times. He hopes that never stops. When you stand on your toes to be kissed, he obliges happily. You toy with the hair at the nape of his neck as he kisses you back and he shivers pleasantly.

“Where were we?” he asked, smirking. You blush and bite your lip, pulling him back towards the bedroom, “You put my panties in your pocket,” you answer quietly. Bruce smirked, “I do remember that” he teased. In the bedroom, his fingers find the hem of your tank top and he pauses, waiting for permission. You nod and help him get it off of you before you start working the buttons on his shirt. He doesn’t stop you. He knows how much you love his body, because it’s his and he’s yours. He stays very still and just lets himself enjoy your soft hands on his skin. The press of your lips on his shoulders and chest. “That’s so nice,” he sighed, relaxing under your touches. He only stopped you to lay you on the bed. A big soft bed, just like he promised. You look up at him, wide-eyed and he can see the anxiety bubbling just under the surface. “Shh,” he soothes, kissing your nose. “We have all the time in the world, baby. There’s no rush. The champagne isn’t even chilled yet,” that makes you smile and he caresses the ticklish spot on your side to make you giggle and he chuckles. “Bruce?” you murmur. “Hmm?” he answers, caressing your bare tummy, making you shiver. “How are you so patient about everything?” you ask. He grins and cuddles you close. He’d love to get you naked. Make you come until you’re a puddle a satisfied, boneless, lazy witch. But he can be patient. You’ve only been in the cabin for 30 minutes. “Good things take time, baby girl,” he says lovingly. “I know that this is important to you. That for you, it’s almost tantamount to getting married. Loving me that much, trusting me enough to even get this far,” he smiles when you nuzzle his chest. “Baby, I can wait. You need time and that’s okay. You’re the best thing in my life,” he continued, “I just... the one thing that bothers me ever, is how... anxious you get when we have to stop.” He tilts your chin up, “I’m sorry that anyone ever made you feel like you’re doing something wrong. You’re allowed to say no. I don’t care if we’re in the middle of making love. Too much is too much. If you need me to stop, we’ll stop.” 

He covers your face in kisses until you giggle and pins you underneath him playfully. He pins your wrists over your head gently and grins, “You understand me? Right?” he asks. You nod, blushing and he chuckles, “Good,” he said. Bruce kisses you and licks gently into your mouth, coaxing you into deeper kisses. He wants this. Anything you can give. He desperately wants this intimacy, the feel of the silk of your skin. He can feel the fire starting to burn and the heat sweeping over your skin. When you wiggle to sit up, he lets go of your wrists and moves off of you to let you up. He tries not to stare but he can’t help it. You’re taking off your bra and he’s very, very eager for that. Your cheeks color and he moves slowly. Caressing the soft skin cautiously. He groans in pleasure and you shiver as his fingers ghost over your nipples, “So perfect,” he praises, “So fucking pretty.” You look up at him and give him a shy smile, “Oh?” He nods and kisses your lips softly, “Lie back for me?” he requests. “Why?” you ask softly. “Because,” he answers, “I want you comfortable while I admire every bit of you.” He smiles as you do as he asks, “Good girl,” he soothes, kissing you tenderly and starting to kiss along your jaw and down your neck. 

He keeps himself in check. He’s never been allowed to get you this naked before. There’s nothing between you but the cotton of your skirt and his pants. When you reach for his hips and you pause at the button, asking him for permission, he blushes but nods. He realizes you probably feel a little too exposed. That you want to level the playing field a little. It’s fair, he decides. He helps you take his slacks off and hides his face in your breasts for a moment, basking in the feel of the softness and silk. He groans and sighs, “Oh, sweetheart,” he praises, “Please.” He sucks a soft mark into your right breast as he kisses down your body to nuzzle your belly. He finds the hem of your skirt and strokes your calf, “Baby?” he asked softly. “Yeah?” you pant. Your skin feels too tight and you need him to keep touching you. You can feel how wet you are and it’s making you self conscious. “Let me make you come again?” he asked, “Please?” You bite your lip and he waits, kissing your stomach tenderly. “I want you to feel good about this,” he encourages, “And... I want to show off. Just a little.” You laugh and card your fingers through his hair, “When do I get to show off for you, though?”

He looks up at you with a soft smile, “After we make love,” he said softly, “After we get to come apart together.”  Your cheeks color and he chuckles, “Baby, I’m a big boy. I’m more worried about you than I am me. Especially after I watched you come for me earlier.” He tickles your side and grins when you giggle, “It’s my job,” he reassured, “My favorite job. To take care of you like you deserve... To love you the way you love me.”

You can’t resist him when he’s like this. He’s so fucking cute. He loves you and you can practically feel it. You don’t know what it is, about this place. This moment. It’s perfect. Looking into Bruce’s face, you know he feels it too. “Bruce,” you start. He laces his fingers through yours and kisses your fingers, “I think,” you say, exhaling slowly, “I- I.” It’s absurdly hard to get the words out. He waits, trying not to hold his breath. Trying not to think ahead too far. “Make love to me?” you blurt out. He nods seriously, claiming your lips in a kiss that leaves you breathless and dizzy as he pulls your skirt off and his boxers, pushing it all to the floor. When he pulls away to admire you, you smile up at him nervously and he caressed your cheek, “Remember,” he murmured, “We can stop.” You nod and he fumbles for a condom out of the drawer where he put them. He hadn’t expected to need them right now. Not tonight in the dusky twilight air. The fading orange light making you glow with an unearthly light. 

You felt like magic under his hands. You crackled with energy and heat as he parted your thighs carefully. You’d talked about this with him before. Why it had such significance. It wasn’t the puritanical Christian idea of virginity he’d learned as a kid. It wasn’t anything like that. For you, it was a need for security. For trust. Feeling a soul deep connection with another human being before you gave them your body. It was a promise. An expression of love you only wanted to give to one person. Bruce was nervous. Trembling hands and shaking breath. He wanted you so much. To make sure you were comfortable and safe.

He kept it slow as he brought you off on his fingers first, careful to take the opportunity to stretch you a little to help you avoid pain. He heaps you with reassurances and praises as he brings you down a little and rolls the condom over his throbbing prick. “Are you sure?” he asked softly, kissing your nose. You nod, “I’m ready,” you answer, breathless. “I love you so much,” you tell him, “I want this. I want it with you.” Bruce is unexpectedly overwhelmed, tears welling up. You’re giving him this moment. All of your love. With no conditions. Handing him your heart and soul. Trusting him to protect them. You wipe the tears away and pull him down for a kiss. He pushes into you carefully as he kisses you. Going slowly so he doesn’t hurt you. You gasp softly at the sensation and he pauses, “Okay?” he pants. You nod, “I- yes.” you answer, hiding your face in his shoulder. When he’s all the way inside you, he stops. Giving you time to adjust, “You feel so good,” he murmured, “So good.” He waits until you nod before he starts moving. When he starts moving he touches your clit softly, eager to bring you to bliss again. To make you come for him as he comes for you. “Fuck,” you pant, arching into him, “Bruce- I- Oh god.” He knows you’re close. Moments away. and for that, he’s thankful. It’s been so long he’s struggling to hold back. He could have come the second he was inside you if he hadn’t stopped. When you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulder, he lets go and comes with you, saying your name. You look up at him, eyes shining with his favorite galaxy of colors and emotional tears. “Bruce,” you say, kissing him. He wipes the tears away and cuddles you for a moment as he softens inside you. He loved you so much he wanted to scream it from the rooftops. Ask you to marry him. Start talking about baby names. He soothes you softly, kissing and petting as he disengages from you. “Wait here,” he says, going to get a washcloth and take care of the condom. 

He’s careful, mindful that you might be sore as he cleans you up. He kisses your thigh softly and smiles. The room is dark now but, he doesn’t mind. He just wants to pull you close. Cover you in thick soft blankets and hold you tight. It wasn’t exactly champagne and smooth talk but somehow, he wouldn’t change it for the world. You’d been so honest and so sweet. Trusting. “I love you,” he said softly as you nuzzle into his chest sleepily. “I love you, too,” you yawn, starting to fall asleep. Comfortably tired and secure in Bruce’s arms.  You hadn’t expected it to be so easy. You never expected to love anyone this much, but here you were. It felt like heaven.

Bruce wandered into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around your waist, leaving your hands free as you worked. You seemed to be making a meal for a normal-sized family, “Didn’t we just do Family dinner?” he asked, “Not that I’m complaining, you’ve proven that the way to my heart is through my stomach.” You smile and turn for a kiss; Bruce obliges happily and hums, “What’s the occasion, sweetheart?” You smile a little  and relax against him, “Procrastinating, I guess.” Bruce feels his brow furrow, “Procrastinating about what?”

You sigh, “My Godmother and my Grandmother both want me to come home for a few weeks. We have a lot of Baby Witches about to come of age and get their powers... It’s always hectic. So I’m procrastibaking and thinking.” Bruce nods and kisses your shoulder, “Well,” he said, “Things have been quiet. What if I come with you?” You smile up at him, “You don’t have to, Bruce.” He chuckled, “I know I don’t have to. What if I want to? I want to meet the people you love. The people who raised you.” You wiggle out of his arms to put dinner on a plate for him and pour him a glass of sweet tea, handing it to him before fixing your own plate. Bruce takes a seat and waits for you to sit before he starts eating. 

You’ve never told him about your past. About why your mother didn’t raise you. You’ve always been a little taciturn about it, you answer questions in only the vaguest ways. Bruce tries not to press. He had decades and a horrible lab accident to come to grips with his trauma and pain. And why he isn’t “over it” because there is not “over it”. But you’re still young and still learning to deal with it. 

He takes a bite of the meatloaf you made and groans softly, “This is fantastic,” he says. You smile and card fingers through your hair, “I made apple pie too,” you murmur. He beams. He loves apple pie. You always seem to know when he’s feeling down and comfort him accordingly. You’re harder for him to get a fix on. Even with the galaxy of colors in your irises, you’re good at hiding your moods. You might feel all of your feelings passionately, but the negative ones, you feel privately. He doesn’t really know why you’re cagey about him coming home with you. He knows it might be the bit of an age gap. He also knows it might be that your family has expectations of who you’d choose as a romantic partner. Someone with some sort of magical talent that could be passed on to your children. You pick at your plate for a moment before pushing it away and going to start cleaning up. You’re restless and tired and you need something but you can’t put your finger on it. 

You’ve tried everything. You just feel out of place and prickly. Bruce gives you space for a few minutes while he finishes dinner. He doesn’t know what the problem is. Why you’ve been so restless. He knows it isn’t him. You’ve kissed and cuddled and melted into his arms any time he’s pulled you close. It feels like anxiety. Like something eating at you. He doesn’t like it. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, taking the dishtowel out of your hands gently, “How about I run you a bath? Hm? Then we can cuddle for a while.”  You thud your head gently against his shoulder and sigh, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He frowns but kisses the side of your head, “Everyone has off days, Y/N. Maybe you just need some rest. A little pampering and you’ll be right as rain.” You look up at him and nod, “Maybe you’re right. This time of year isn’t really my favorite.” Bruce tuts and kisses your nose, “Well, let's get you into the bath with a glass of wine and a book, huh? Then you can ramble at me about something on TV.”  You let him take you upstairs and start your bath. He gets you a glass of wine and your book off your nightstand but he turns to go, leaving you to undress and get in the water. He’s not made love to you yet and he’s dying to. He’s been thinking about it at inopportune times. 

He pauses, listening to you sink into the water with a sigh. It’s a little absurd how happy that makes him. Knowing the water is just the right temperature. “Bruce?” he hears you ask softly. He pauses just outside the door, “Yeah?” You sigh, “I don’t want to be alone,” you say. He nods, opening the bathroom door slowly and coming to sit on the step into the tub, “Then I’ll come to keep you company for a while, alright?” You smile at him and settle back into the water. Bubbles obscure all but your shoulders and he tries to be a gentleman but he can’t help but stare a little. He has to touch you. His mouth is dry and he aches for you. Especially now. “Lean up sweetheart, I’ll get your back,” he says softly. You rearrange yourself carefully and turn your back, hugging your knees to your chest. He’s never done this for a woman before. But as he watches the tension melt out of your shoulder and you rest your head on your knees, it feels right. You deserve this, he thinks. He doesn’t know what’s got you out of sorts, but you deserve comfort. “This is nice,” you murmur, “Really nice.” Bruce hums softly and kneads into your shoulders, “Good,” he says softly, “Just relax, baby. Let me take care of you for a little while. You’ve not gotten much attention this week. I’m sorry I’ve been so busy in the lab.”

“It’s fine, sweetheart,” you murmur, “You’ve got a conference coming up. And Tony... That’s a fulltime occupation on its own.” Bruce chuckled, “I’d much rather go with you, this week... Tony can handle the conference on his own. He might actually rather go alone.” You shake your head, “I’m going to be pretty busy,” you murmur, “Riding herd on baby witches.” He smiles and kisses the back of your neck, “Whatever you decide, Y/N. I know we haven’t been together long... I just. I really want to see where you grew up.” 

He’s quiet after that, letting you think until the water gets cool and you’re ready to get out. He tries not to sound too out of shape when he stands up but sitting on the step made his back get tight. He slips out so you can dry off and pulls up netflix and gets you a fresh glass of wine. It’s nice, fussing over you. It’s domesticity he’s not had before. And never thought he would have. He pulls you under the covers and kisses your face until you giggle. “Better?” he asks as you snuggle into his arms. “A little,” you say, nuzzling his chest. “Good,” he says. He presses play and lets you wiggle around so you can watch the show, your back against him. He watches you, stroking your hair softly. You start drifting off and he lets you. You sleep really well when he’s there. You can be unconscious two minutes into a tv show if he plays with your hair. 

He loves it. It makes him feel good. Like he’s keeping you safe. He’d hoped for at least making out and giggling over apply pie and Monty Python, but he’ll take you getting a good night’s sleep. It might help you to feel better. At least less prickly. He smiles and strokes your hair fondly, “You’re so beautiful, baby,” he whispered, “and god do I love you.”

He holds you close, breathing in the smell of you and burying his face in the silk of your hair. It was peace. He breathed you in and fell asleep smiling, happy knowing you were safe. Knowing those witch-finders would never be able to get to you here. If nothing else he could keep you safe from your childhood boogeymen. 

He’s not sure this was really a good idea. He’s the only adult male in the house and... There’s just so much he doesn’t understand. He’s not used to being around this many women at the same time. Or dealing with this many emotions and the casual disregard for boundaries. You’re all always touching. Adjusting clothes, hugging, holding hands... It makes a lot more sense why you’re so casually touchy. As he pulls on clothes and heads back downstairs, he pauses, not wanting to interrupt the conversation. 

“Y/N, really. He’s sweet. Quiet, but sweet.” It’s a cousin he’s not met yet be he recognizes the voice from walking in on phone calls on speaker. “But,” you prompt calmly. “He’s just... I mean. Do you really think he can take care of you?” The implication in her voice is clear. They don’t think he’s worthy of you. You sigh, “Clara, just because I haven’t fucked my way down the eastern seaboard...” There’s a shocked gasp and then laughter. Another cousin, one he has met and likes much better pipes up, “To be fair, while being a slut has never been a crime in this family... Y/N is a big girl. Bruce is a good guy. He might be older than her but he’s not acting like a total smarmasaur... Leave it alone.” He knocks into a table and you turn, cheeks coloring as you look down. His heart twists a little. It’s clear that the agitation from the last few weeks is wearing on you. You’re putting on a brave face but you’re getting tired. 

You brush past him and pause to stand on your toes and kiss his cheek. It’s time to get dressed and you need to get out of the house. You need to go. The other girls follow with giggles at Bruce’s blushing and he sighs, helping himself to coffee while he waits. “They’re overwhelming, I know,” a now-familiar silky voice says, proffering breakfast. He offers Lea, your godmother, a smile of thanks and takes the bagel, “A little, yeah.” She chuckles a little and sips her coffee, “It gets easier to deal with I promise. I’ve been around mortal witches for 400 years now. Surprisingly, they’re more tolerable now.” Bruce takes that information in, letting it roll around in his mind, “So. You’re not human.” Lea snorts, “Nope” she says with a sharp pop. He nods. He’s learned not to ask more questions. The answers tend to leave him more confused. She shakes her head, “Y/N is a good girl. My star pupil... You hurt her and not a force on this Earth can protect you. White Witch does not mean Doormat.” Bruce nods, “Star pupil?” he asks. Choosing not to focus on someone threatening him. That tended to make everything go a disastrous shade and this was a nice house. “Watching her write spells and make sigils is like watching Mozart compose symphonies,” she says. “She does it as easily as she breathes.” She touches the notches on the door frame and sighs, “Drove me to distraction trying to teach her... She was always so far ahead of what I thought she was ready for. Flying before I was ready for her to walk... Silly girl.” Bruce smiled a little, “That sounds like her,” he says softly. She nods, “And it stayed that way. Even after the Witchfinders got hold of her.” He stopped, bagel halfway to his mouth, “They had her?” Lea paused, listening to the chatter and flurry of movements upstairs, gauging how much time she had to relay this to your not quite lover. 

She nodded sadly. “They got both my girls,” she said, “Lenora, her mother tried to hide her but... Illusions were never her strong suit. It took everything Lenora had left to get her out of that... place... alive. And I still don’t think we got all of her back.” Bruce nodded. When he first heard about witchfinders, he’d done some digging all his own. They literally believed that they were going to torture the devil out of the witches they found. Torturing any of them that they could find. Indiscriminately. They thought they were knights but they were charlatans and frauds that had preyed on terrified people. Made a living persecuting marginalized groups and deluded themselves into thinking they were Brave. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Just the thought of those people having a hold of you made him feel the start of fury. “Bruce?”

The sound of your voice and the rustle of fabric made him turn. He couldn’t help it. The rage drained out of him. You stood in the doorway, dressed in a hunter green riding habit. Hat perched on your head as you pulled on your gloves. He’d hated history in school but seeing you dressed like you stepped out of a sepia-toned photograph might have changed his mind. He’d not seen a corset up close before and the thought of taking one off of you made him forget being angry. A split second and he wanted to be near you so badly he took an involuntary step forward. “You look beautiful,” he said softly. Your cheeks color and he holds out his arms, inviting you to walk into them. He needed to hold you. As much to comfort himself as to comfort you. You look so tired. Not leftover from yesterday tired. Soul deep tired. You take the invitation and nestle into him. He pushes what he knows out of his head and focuses on the fact that you’re here. That in this house, you’re safe. That with the Hulk’s help, he can keep you safe. He’s spent enough money on therapy. Spent enough time reading self-help books. Learned enough about secrets. 

You don’t know they ever had you. 

As far as you know, the Witchfinders killed your mother. She died to save you. And that’s where it ends. You were never found because you were never lost. He’s willing to bet that this is the time of year they had you. That your general, unexplained malaise is based in the awful fucking things they did. The gaping hole in your memory where you know there should be... something but there isn’t. That they told you was just your kid brain dealing with your mother’s death but you know. You KNOW in your heart it isn’t true and you’re too afraid to find out what so you don’t ask. He looks up as Lea ushers the cousins out the door to the waiting convoy of horse trailers and trucks. She knew. She knew exactly what she was doing telling him that story. She was begging him to keep that secret. Trusting him not to tear your mind apart out for some misguided sense of honesty. He hugs you tighter and nods slightly.

He doesn’t like secrets. They feel too much like lies. But even the Hulk isn’t strong enough to withstand watching you relive that. Their secret is safe. If only because the one person he’d tell it to is the one person he’s keeping it to protect.

Out of habit, he glances at the clock. It’s 9am and nothing good happens after midnight. Even in the middle of the morning.

Nat pets the small swell of your stomach gently and carefully kisses your head to avoid the tender spot, “I’d feel better if you’d at least lay down,” she coaxes. They’d not told Bruce yet. They were waiting until the mission was over. And all your test results came back fine so they’d have something concrete to give him. A quinjet and the Hulk didn’t tend to mix well, and where both Bruce and Hulk were concerned. Well. If anything could make Bruce of all people lose his head completely, it was something happening to you. Or the baby.  

You let her settle you on the couch and drink the sprite she handed you, hoping to help quell the anxiety. “It’s okay, Tasha,” you soothe, “It’s not that uncommon. Especially not when I’m working, remember? My sugar drops like that from time to time. Spell work takes energy... and so does growing a whole human. Except this little human will just barely let me eat anything before the afternoon.” She nods and puts your feet in her lap so she can sit next to you, “I thought that was better,” she says frowning. “Slowly better,” you say nodding and sigh. She tuts and smacks the bottoms of your feet gently, “You should be keeping an eye on that,” she lectures. “If Bruce sees you do that he’ll have a heart attack. Or tear the building apart. Possibly both.” You wince, “Needles, Tasha.” you say softly.

It makes you anxious just thinking about it and you have to set down the cup you’re holding. It’s glass and you’re holding it too tight. The last thing you need is for Bruce to come home to you getting stitches too. Tasha rubs your calf gently, “Shhh,” she says, “It’s okay. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I forgot.” You know it’s stupid and you can’t make the panic stop because now you can’t stop thinking about it. When the tears start flowing you can’t stop that either. Natasha scoops you up carefully and holds you to her tightly, rocking you gently. You curse hormones, witchfinders, and orange juice as you try to get a grip on her shoulder and the spy curses herself. You had one fear. 

It wasn’t death, snakes, heights, or taxes. It was needles. Pure and simple. It didn’t matter what for. But needles anywhere near your skin caused a wave of panic that nothing could quell. Even after years of therapy. Even if you knew you needed to do it. You couldn’t. They needed to knock you out just to put three stitches in your finger once. She doesn’t try to make it stop. She just lets you cry it out. Once you can calm down, she brings you a cool cloth and presses the cup back into your hands, “Take a drink,” she soothes, “Then we’ll order some food... Think the little one inherited your love of orange chicken?”

You chuckle and wipe your face, “One way to find out... we know they like eggrolls.” Nat smiled and touched your belly affectionately, “Definitely likes those... 6 of them later and you probably could have eaten a couple more.” You sigh and start to get up, “First things first. I need jammies. I’ve had enough of real pants.” The spy watched you go, watching your gait and making sure you were steady on your feet, “Ooo,” she says, “Good plan. I’ll go get mine too.”

______

“And none of you fucking told me?” Bruce yelled. Clint held up his hands and handed him a stack of blood work results, “Nat’s been with her. All day. It really is just blood sugar dropping. Just like before.”

Bruce was getting a little green around the irises and Tony tensed, “Nat had them run all the tests,” he said, “She’s fine, just tired. It’s been a long day. You know how she is about needles... she straight up begged them to just let her cut her hand open and do it that way.” The brought Bruce up short, “How did they get the blood test done?” he asked. Clint smiled a little, “Nat had her magic herself under for a little bit. Otherwise one of those techs was gonna wind up with a broken nose.” Bruce took a deep breath, “Where is she now?” he asked slowly. “Upstairs with Nat in your rooms,” Clint said quickly, “Pepper’s there too... Girl’s night, ya, know? They have dinner and they’ve been watching some baking show or something.” Tony glanced at him, “How do you know all that?” he asked, “All Pepper told me is that she’s not at the office.” Clint snorted, “Snapchat, duh.”

Bruce didn’t stick around after that. He hit the elevator, taking a minute to breathe. He wasn’t mad at you, not really. You hadn’t done it on purpose, kept that from him. Or if you had, it had been to protect him. He knew it. But he was still furious that he hadn’t been able to take care of you. 

He stops at the door, listening. You sound okay. Laughing, protesting eating anymore. “Pepper,” you protest, “Eating for two is a little bit of an exaggeration... If I eat anything more I might literally explode.” He can’t hear Pepper’s response exactly but he smiles a little. It’s something of a comfort that you haven’t just been alone and he makes a mental note to thank them both. It sounds like they’re letting you go to bed. Or at least that someone alerted them Bruce was on his way up. So he backs up to let them come through. Pepper pats his hand and Natasha pulls him aside, pressing a finger to her lips and walking him down the hall.

“Bruce,” she says quietly, “You have to make her test her sugar... Medical needs a baseline. They’ve been after her for one for years because of the way it drops.” He frowns, “What am I supposed to do? Hold her down and do it?” Nat sighs, “I don’t know... I tried to talk to her about it today and she had a whole meltdown.” Bruce rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m not pressing the issue tonight,” he said. He felt too old for this. “The stress isn’t good for her either.” The spy gave him a sympathetic look and smiled a little, “The good news is, she doesn’t have a concussion from smacking her head on the way down... It sounded worse than it was.” Bruce sighed, “Did she eat enough?” Nat grinned, “The baby likes orange chicken... and eggrolls. She ate.” That makes him smile a little, “Right so. Heartburn later.” She snorts, “Yeah. Lots of that.” Nat stands on her toes and kisses his cheek, “Go take care of her,” she said gently, “she’s missed you.” He doesn’t need telling twice.

“Baby?” he said softly, dropping his bag and crossing the floor to kneel next to the sofa, “How are you feeling? Are you okay? How’s your head?” You smile and pull him down to kiss him softly, “We’re fine,” you soothe, “Everything is fine. It’s just a few scary seconds and a knock on the head.”

Bruce looks over your scalp and kisses the bump carefully before kissing your lips and laying a hand on your stomach, rubbing gently. “Why didn’t you call me?” he asks. “Bruce,” you say, swallowing hard, “It’s bad enough when you’re away... I didn’t want you hurt because you were distracted. I told Nat not to say anything because I wanted to make sure you came home.” Tears start falling and he hugs you tightly, “The big guy wouldn’t have let anything keep us from you,” he said, “He’s really excited to meet the baby. And he loves you. Probably as much as I do... Trust me. No force in the universe could keep him from being here.” You nuzzle into his neck and breath him in. The smell of his aftershave and something else that was indefinably him. “Let’s get you tucked in, hmm?” he coaxes, “We both had a long day and you need rest... We just got you functioning without coffee. I’d hate to have to go back to leaving my mugs outside.” He relaxes a little when you snort and presses on, “It was nice. Those little afternoon naps though,” he teases. Your cheeks color and he grins, “Sometimes you still talk in your sleep, you know that?” When you blush harder he kisses your nose, “C ‘ mon, sweetheart. Let’s get you to bed,” he coaxes again, standing slowly and holding out his hands. You go willingly and he finds the hem of your tank top, easing it out of the way slowly and sliding it over your head, “Bruce!” you protest, and he stops, “Please?” he asked softly, “I missed you.” He touches your belly, tracing his fingers over the swell tenderly. You were bigger than you’d been when he left, he could swear to it. And he just wanted to feel you. All your warm silky skin and nothing in the way.

He wanted to admire his handiwork.

He feathers soft kisses down your neck and you moan softly. When you say his name again it’s a different tone and he smiles a little. Your hands are on his shirt, unbuttoning buttons as he’s stripping you of your pajama bottoms. “Good girl,” he praises, tucking you into the bed. He finishes undressing himself and pins you to the mattress gently, “What do you need, baby?” he asks seriously, “How can I help?” When you look up at him, all wide eyed and innocent still, just like the first time, his heart stutters and he kisses your nose.

 “Make the monsters go away,” you tell him softly.

And Bruce doesn’t need telling twice. He doesn’t need an explanation. He grounds you in your now as gently as he can. Reminding you that you are safe, and you are loved the best way he’s ever learned how. Anything he can do to keep the nightmares away.