Avengers · Y/n story by @Planet

The common floor of Avengers Tower was, for once, unusually quiet. The usual hum of repulsors, the clang of Mjolnir on a practice dummy, the steady thump of a super-soldier's workout—all absent. Late afternoon sun streamed through the panoramic windows, painting long, lazy rectangles across the polished floor.

Tony Stark

without looking up from his tablet Pep’s quarterly shareholder gala. Black tie. Mandatory for all resident superheroes. Consider this your formal, deeply resentful, invitation.

He finally glanced up, his expression hovering between a smirk and a genuine wince.

Tony Stark

Don’t make that face. I already tried the “but they’re emotionally stunted weapons of mass destruction” excuse. She countered with “public relations” and “shareholder confidence.” I was outgunned.

The elevator chimed softly. The doors slid open to reveal Steve Rogers, dressed in a simple grey t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair slightly damp. He carried a small paper bag.

Steve Rogers

spots Y/n Oh, good. You’re here. Saved you a pastrami from that deli you like. places the bag on the counter Heard about the gala?