When Thor fell, everything trembled.

Every office has a 'cute guy from Marketing with a great ass' that everyone wants to sleep with. Among the junior agents at SHIELD, that person is Phil Coulson. Clint would find it hilarious, but he just wants people to stop throwing themselves at his boyfriend.

"I’m trying to like you, Tony. You’re just making it very hard."

Fury's a beautiful princess. Clint's plotting a Communist revolution. Rhodey's not sexy. Wall-E's not a documentary. Clint's not gay but he does give a great blowjob. This fic is not an AU.

Bucky doesn't sleep that night, not for hours, staring at the long line of Steve's back and the numbers that he can see clear through the fabric of Steve's thin white t-shirt, 35-276-909, in Howard Stark's neat, precise handwriting, and Bucky thinks of all the nights before, the nights where he lay awake, and learned, and learned, and learned, and how he doesn't have to learn anymore, and Steve rubs at his face in his sleep and Bucky whispers, "Seventy years, and I still got no idea what's in that head of yours, sometimes, pal."