prompt: MCU, Bruce/Natasha, I trust you (103w)
She has learned to read the signs--the shift from green to gray to warm human skin, how he subsumes the raw power into himself, curling on the ground in the tattered remains of his pants and nothing else. It is snowing in the middle of January at an unspecified location of her motherland; she holds onto his big puffy neon green jacket and stands there and watches as Bruce wrestles for control, her heartbeat as even as that of a metronome.
"Thank you," Bruce says as she helps him get into the warm jacket and Natasha, shaking her head, says "No problem."
MCU, Bruce/Natasha, twist yourself around me/I need company, I need human heat (133w)
Bruce is cold and Bruce is still somewhere lost inside himself, green-skinned and naked and no reinforcements in sight; the black-ops helicopter he swatted out of the sky lay in three distinct smoking pieces in the snow and the pilot has lost his head in the splotch of red and crunched metal.