If this episode wasn't about zombies, 2012 Avengers Tower Tumblr would be all over this
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Hold Me Tight (Loki/Reader Lullabies #200)
Pairing: Loki/Plus-Sized Reader (like I don't go on and on about it; tiny readers should fit just fine here too, but I do specifically imagine this reader as plus-sized)
Category: Fluff. Fluff without plot.
Summary: When a promotional package from a toy shop arrives at the Tower, the rest of the Avengers are tickled to see their gifts--but Loki isn't so pleased.
Warnings/Notes: So this lullaby was inspired by the Loki bear that I got from Build-a-Bear’s website around this time last year. Since I got him, I’ve probably told myself almost exactly this story in my head a million times to try to get to sleep. This feels excessively self-indulgent because of that. I hope you like it? I don’t think that Build-a-Bear has bears of all the superheroes, but let’s say that the BAB counterpart in the MCU does have one of everybody. (Also I kind of desperately want a Hawkeye bear?)
New but Retroactive Reminder for this and all of my fics: I do not, have not, and will not give anyone permission to copy/paste, translate, or otherwise take or modify this story to post it anywhere else. You can find my stories here on Tumblr or under kaeorin on AO3, but nowhere else. This does not apply only to fics which hold this disclaimer--NONE of my works are to be stolen or modified. Additionally, please remember that Liking a post on Tumblr does not increase the author's exposure. I don't run your life, but readers should be reblogging the works they like.
Hold Me Tight
It struck him, in all honesty, as a bad joke. What else could it be? One afternoon, a large box arrived at the Tower. When Wanda checked the return address, she gave a rather uncharacteristic squeal of delight and immediately tore into it as Loki looked on. Gradually, the sound brought most of the others down to see what was going on. Just as Rogers entered the room, she pulled a stuffed toy from the box and hoisted it aloft for all to see. It was a stuffed bear, but dressed in some sort of imitation of Rogers’s suit. It even had his shield. Wanda grinned and pressed it into his arms, and then dug out another bear—this one in a skintight (such that stuffed bears had “skin”) black catsuit. There were bears for nearly everybody, and most of the heroes reacted with quiet, appreciative laughter. Loki wasn’t surprised, necessarily, when you appeared beside him and slipped your hand into his, but he did...well, twitch a bit.
Wanda reached into the box one last time, for one last bear, and pulled back with a surprised laugh and fixed her eyes on the two of you.
Neither of you really felt like a part of the team—it was the first thing that you’d bonded over, in fact. You didn’t mind so much: you said that staying back and working the computers from the safety of the Tower was much preferable to having to go out there in tights and risk your life every single day. And Loki, of course, held no delusions about exactly who he was. SHIELD sent him out on missions and the occasional farcical PR assignment, but he knew that Midgard would never see him as anything but the monster who rained down hell upon them.
And that was fine, really. He didn’t expect them to change their minds.
So he fully expected that the final bear that Wanda would produce would be one that looked like you: soft and plush and warm, perhaps with the glasses you wore when you had to be in front of your screens for very long, or maybe even with a determined little furrow stitched into your brows. Rogers’s bear had his shield; would yours have a laptop? A case file? Some small part of him wanted to squirm with excitement. Your face upon seeing your bear was sure to be one of wonder. Already he wanted to cup your cheeks in his palms and kiss you over and over again.
But the bear was not of you; it was Loki.
Unlike all the other bears that Wanda had given out already, this one had sharp, scowling brows. Or...perhaps it didn’t, but the design of the helmet gave it the illusion thereof. The effect was there, and surely that was what had made the witch recoil at first. The other bears were far more typical of Midgardian toys for children: warm, friendly eyes; mouths that curled up into soft smiles; overall appearances that would make children long to cuddle them and seek them out for security. His own bear just looked mean. When she held it out to him, he started to reach for it, but then thought better of it and crossed his arms instead. Already he could hear the snickers starting up from the heroes around him.
“Look at that, it’s got your eyes!” Barton typically kept a wide berth from Loki, but now he aimed his bear’s felt crossbow at him and grinned. Aware as he was of everyone else’s attention on him, Loki did his very best not to roll his eyes at the man, but it was...difficult.
“Loki, he’s so sweet!” You cooed from beside him and reached out to take the bear from Wanda. A quick, sharp stab of something rushed through him when he saw how tenderly you held the toy, but Thor’s quiet laughter made him shove that to one side. You caressed the plush’s belly, and then squeezed it softly before looking up at him with starry eyes. “Look at him!”
“It’s stupid,” he said. He knew perfectly well how his words, and the tone of his voice, would effect you. Sure enough, your face fell a little, though your grip on the bear did not loosen. “It’s a waste of resources. No one wants a toy like that, least of all me.” Still, he reached for it. He wanted to tear it apart, though of course he knew it would be foolish to do such a thing in front of all these people.
But you twisted away and held the bear close to your chest. “I want him. Please, can I keep him?”
He sighed. You were giving him That Look. For all his strength and powers and abilities, he was helpless against That Look. The two of you had circled each other for ages, bonding over your aforementioned outsider statuses, but by now you were pretty firmly entrenched in one another. Everyone in the Tower knew about it (mostly because you didn’t allow their presence to stop you from touching him or kissing him or just generally showing him that you cared for him), and, by now, everyone in the Tower also knew that there was nothing that he wouldn’t do for you. He allowed his hand to fall away from the plushie and fixed you with a steady glare of his own.
“You can keep him. As long as I never have to see him again.”
And if a lovely warmth flooded through him, at the excited little giggle you gave just before throwing your arms around him even in front of all the others, well...who was to know?
It was a long mission. Not difficult, necessarily—it was hard for Midgardians to come up with tasks that were too daunting for Loki—but...long. All that time spent in such uncomfortably-close quarters with Thor was just a lot to deal with.
And he missed you.
He didn’t like acknowledging things like that. It was more your style, really: you with your open heart and your utter lack of shame when it came to sentiment. Sometimes, in the dark of the night, he’d lie awake wondering if he was keeping you away from something—someone—better. After all, didn’t you deserve someone who could match your energy and take you into their arms and whisper things against your ear without having to think about it or build themselves up to do it? But every time his mind slipped down those sorts of paths, you were there to put your arms around him and kiss him sweetly and thank him for being yours.
It was late when the jet finally touched down, but they were still technically back early. He hadn’t bothered to try to get in touch with you even after the mission was over, which he was regretting now that he was back on solid ground. He was weary, but it felt like something that couldn’t be resolved with mere sleep. He wanted to see you. He wanted to touch your skin and kiss your shoulders and hear the sound of your voice. But you were sure to be asleep by now, and he hated to wake you.
So he headed to his own quarters. He’d made it this long without seeing or touching you; what was one more night?
He didn’t bother to turn on the light in his bedroom. He could see fine without it. As quickly as he could, he stripped out of his suit and traded it for clothing more suited for sleep. Perhaps he should have been paying more attention. It took him ages to notice the quiet sounds coming from his bed. Breathing. Somebody was breathing in his bed. He spun to check, half ready to attack whoever had intruded on his personal space in his absence.
It was you. You were curled up on your side with your head resting on his pillow. Something in his chest tightened as he looked down at you. Even in the dark, he could see the perfect way that your eyelashes curled against your cheeks. Without thinking about it, he reached out to caress your face. How were you here? How did you know?
It was somewhat of a regular occurrence, now—you winding up in his bed. Sometimes you’d go straight there with him, as though you didn’t care who might come across the two of you in the corridors and give you a hard time about it, and sometimes you’d knock quietly on his door in the middle of the night. He liked having you in his bed. That went without saying. He liked falling asleep with you in his arms, listening to the sound of your breathing in the night. He liked waking up in the morning with his sheets and blankets and pillows carrying your scent. He liked catching your gaze as you woke up and kissing you despite your protests that you looked awful.
You never looked awful.
He looked at you now. Helpless. Delicate. Perfectly trusting, here in the lair of a beast, that you would not be harmed. He was torn between the desire to sweep you up into his arms and kiss you awake, and the desire to protect your sleeping form the way you deserved. It was like you knew not only that he’d be back tonight, but also that he’d want so desperately to see you. You were warm. You were everything that he’d needed on the jet. You were everything he needed right now. He leaned down a bit to kiss your forehead, and it was only then that he noticed the odd little horned creature in your arms.
The bear. The one that was meant to look like him. You were holding it close even in your sleep. As he watched, you shifted a bit, likely becoming aware of the weight of his gaze, and you pressed your face against the back of the bear’s head. It was such a tiny gesture, but it took his breath away. Something about the innocent way you held the toy as you slept gave it a slightly different air. It didn’t look conniving or sinister here, but pleased. Maybe even protective. He did his best not to sigh even as he finally pressed his lips to your head.
You gasped a little, and he felt the way you jolted beneath the covers. Even before he’d begun to pull away, though, he also heard your sigh of relief and the soft, sleep-raspy way you murmured his name. He gave you the best smile he could manage at this time of night and moved back a bit so you could sit up.
It was then that you seemed to remember the bear. You pulled the blanket up to cover it quickly, and then gave him a guilty look from beneath your eyelashes.
“I’m sorry.” Your voice was still sweet, even though he could hear the way your heart beat was increasing. “I didn’t know you’d be back tonight. I like cuddling him when I have to sleep alone because he’s you and I love you. Please don’t take him away.” The guilt in your eyes shifted, then, to something wide-eyed and worried.
His chest tightened again. Even if he’d wanted to do away with the bear here and now, of course he couldn’t do it when you looked at him like that. As you gazed up at him like that, wildness and sleepiness warring in your eyes, all he wanted to do was hold you. Soothe that look off your face, maybe guide you gently back to sleep. Rather than trying to put that into words, he just leaned down again and kissed you gently before straightening and going over to ‘his’ side of the bed. He could feel the confusion in you, but you didn’t press him any further as he joined you beneath the covers.
When he wrapped his arm around you to pull you in closer to him, you helped to close the distance between you and shaped your body against his. As soon as you did, he pressed his nose to the back of your shoulder and drew in a deep breath of the scent of you. It didn’t even surprise him anymore, how something so small could make him feel so much better. He shifted so he could kiss you, then, once, twice, three times, over and over again like a meditation. Slowly, you relaxed into his arms. He treasured the sigh that escaped your lips.
You weren’t holding the bear anymore. When you’d moved closer to him, Loki realized, you left the bear alone by the edge of the mattress. With some of the very last energy that he could dredge up in himself, he reached out to take the bear, and then pressed it back into your arms.
“I don’t mind him so much when you’re holding him,” he said, pausing only to kiss your skin yet again. He tightened his grip on you for just a moment, like an embrace, and shifted to kiss the tender spot behind your ear. The soft little whimper you gave, and the way he could feel your muscles go limp in his arms, made him grin.
It matched the bear’s expression perfectly.
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umbrella academy fics but they have the same energy as 2012 avengers tower fics
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avengers game night headcanon/au thing.
• they have a seperate room for game night. tony made it superpower-proof. there is absolutely no furniture to destroy
• mainly coz drunk thor, loki, wanda and carol (and everyone else with immense powers) is not a good idea
• these bitches drink thor's asgardian mead
• so that eVERYONE can get drunk
• when they play truth or dare, wanda is the lie detector since she can read minds
• loki projects suggestions (aka stupid dares) into their minds
• they've all agreed to this
• "we have to spice it up guys!" "y'all arent fun" "cOmE oN iT'Ll bE gREaT"
• peter isnt drinking he just likes hanging from the ceiling
• they got bucky to admit he assassinated some president
• nat replied "cool" and that scared everyone more than the actual assassin
• "no its not cool nat what the fuck"
• "mr. steve says you cant say bad words"
• "i dare the spiderling to say fUck" "THOR STOP"
• they got sam to sing an entire taylor swift album- 1989
• in their defense, they told sam to sing all taylor swift lyrics he knew. they didnt expect her entire discography-
• "alright wilson thats enough" "loki make him stOp" "how do you even- im not even gonna ask"
• sam and bruce are passed out
• peter went to bed because dad!tony forced him
• "i dare you to sleep" "you dont even sleep tony" "hes a child"
• "its children free now. what should we do?"
• thats definitely nat talking
• worth mentioning that drunk carol is reckless as fuck- more reckless than she already is
• "lets see who can destroy the wall first"
• "carol shut the fuck up, i built this so you can't do that" "i bet you i could"
• before things could escalate, nat blurts out that sam and bucky are in love with each other
• "nO tHeY're nOt" "yEs tHeY aRe"
• its a long debate. they had an entire formal debate (while drunk) about whether sam and bucky are together
• while sam and bucky are right there
• like right there. sam is literally passed out on bucky and bucky is just staring at him
• clint and nat are pointing at them like "JUST SEE"
• even mind-reader wanda said yes
• steve is in denial that his two best friends are together
• "i might be deaf but im not blind- ROGERS I SWEAR JUST LOOK" thats clint
• bucky is laughing now "yeah, we are, why?"
• steve looks....confused
• "we're gonna have the worst fucking hangover tomorrow"
• hangover avengers are significantly worse than drunk avengers
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DC meets Marvel 3
Red Head Redemption 🌟🌟
I noticed, in one of my previous posts titled ‘Carnival of Rust’, people commented that Grayson has a thing for redheads. SoooOoOooOoo …
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Imagine Loki is hiding out on earth, the avengers are still after him but they can never catch him. Then, he finds out that the woman he’s been slowly falling in love with is working in avengers tower.
She’s kept this from him, but they met right before her first day and she tried to stay away at first. However, Loki was intrigued by the stranger and didn’t let her get away that easy.
Months go by and they are in a relationship. Since he’s a private man he wants them to be lowkey with their relationship, which works perfectly for her since the avengers don’t know and she would like to keep it that way.
One day he sees her walking into the tower and he’s furious. He wrongly assumed that she was just an undercover agent assigned to get close to him. But he doesn’t push her away, no chance, he decides to clearly demonstrate who she belongs to… no matter what or how long it takes.
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Happy Birthday, Tony!
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June 16, 2025
Avengers Tower, NYC
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Break My Back, Not My Heart(Pt1)
Loki x Reader
Warnings: Daddy Kink, Nicknames(pet, good girl, etc.), Smut, angst, choking kink, Lies (From the God of Lies himself) and a slight Cliffhanger.
A/n: Okay in case you don't know Sigyn is Loki's wife in Norse Mythology. I may follow this up with a part two later on. Once again I apologize for this.
Summary: You and Loki are engaged, your alone for a night in the Tower together, what was meant to be a sweaty, romantic night, takes a sharp turn in the wring Direction.
Word Count: 1.3k
(I love his face!!!!)
"And I care why? No. I said have it done."
"I don't care. I hired you for this reason."
"I am two weeks away from my wedding. You had the list of things to do. As my official planner you should get it done and if not. No pay."
"Alright, thank you so much Adrienne!"
You sit at your work desk typing a frenzy when you feel the cold stare of someone from the doorway.
"I don't have muck time Loke if your coming to say hi might wanna hurry up."
"Excuse me Miss but where is this attitude coming from. I don't like it." Loki stalks to you pressing his large hands onto your shoulders starting to work out the tension.
"Well I am sorry Your highness, I have a wedding to pull off. OUR wedding. So I'm a little stressed okay?"
" I just came to tell you I'm cooking tonight. So we aren't going out. We also have the tower to ourself so, nobody is here to bother us." He added obviously flirting but you were too caught up in choosing wither Pansys or Petunias would be a better choice you didn't even retain what he was saying.
"Y/n L/n, are you even listening to me."
"Oh course dear, sounds good" you reply mechanically.
Loki swivels your chair and grips your throat not too tight but enough to catch your attention.
"I guess I'll just have to fuck the attitude out of you then. See how much of a brat you are after I make you my little cum slut." He growls into your ear.
"Loki, baby. I'm sorry" you weren't scared but you also wanted to walk in the morning.
" Can I please just finish up. We can finish this" you run your hand down his fit, black button up covered, torso. "After dinner"
He sighed and muttered somethings out you trying to take charge. And he's in control, but you control him.
You love being his pet. Live for him to take care of you, fuck you senseless, but you also are your own person, your independent, it's what he first found so appealing about you. He always respects your boundaries.
An hour passes and your phone buzzes on the table beside your laptop
You lift it to ready the text
*Future Husband*- Dinner is finished. Hope your hungry....;)
You smirk at the cheeky message and shut your laptop, you finally made the last of the pre wedding day arrangements, time to spoil, more like get spoiled, by your man. Your God.
You step into the dining room, no Loki or food. You go into the kitchen and you spot the food, but you also spot Loki, stark naked, pouring wine.
"Hey my Queen, I made your favorite, Tika Masala and rice. And I brought dessert." He winked. Your face flushes and quickly you feel less hungry for dinner and more so for dessert.
"Lo-" he cuts you off.
"Sit. Now. Eat, and drink your whole cup of water. Or you may just have to sleep without dessert, understood pet?"
"Yes sir" you shake your head.
He brings your your plate and you go to sit at the table, before you do, you feel a tingle sensation around you and look down to find Loki has dissipated your clothing. So your both in the kitchen, at Stark tower, naked.
You whine a little to complain, but are met with reprimanding tsks.
"You should watch it and be My good girl."
Then you sit down and eat. Rather quickly.
"Y/n drink your water." Loki states.
"But I'm full and I can't." You whine.
"If your full then You don't need me to fill you up. So I guess we can go to bed after this and just sleep."
You whine as he smirks at you. You down the rest of the water.
"Daddy can You carry me to our room. I want you there tonight. Please" as much as it thrills you to have Sex on every surface in the tower, you just want the intimacy of your shared bed.
"Yes my love, if that will make you more comfortable."
You stand and walk to him he stands and lifts you effortlessly.
When you make it to your room it's like both of you just become primal. Your instincts and urges to be one take over.
Loki kisses you rough and deep hiking you together souls intertwining he moves his mouth down to your breasts being careful and deliberate. He then moves his long fingers down your body, he loved every inch of you, every roll, scar, stretch mark, every freckle, and everything you once saw as a flaw, he just sees you.
One night he spent 3 hours kissing you and telling you how beautiful you are to him. It took years for him to let his walls down for you, but every hour you spent crying or screaming because he wasn't open with you, was worth only a few moments of his tender love, his soft side, your Loki, the man, the God you were going to spend the rest of your life with.
But gentle was the last thing on either of your mins when he ran his hard cock through your wet folds before thrusting into you bottoming out. You scream out in pleasure, the feeling of his vainy girth moving in and out of you was too much to bear.
When you arch your back, he slams his hand down on your hip holding you down into the bed.
suddenly with no warning he lifted both your legs over your shoulder reaching not just your g spot, but every possible sensitive place.
"Oh Gods, Loki, so good." You yell out.
"Thats right baby, only for you, all for you." He grunts
Your both inching closer to your climax, you feel that coil tighten in your belly, right as you feel yourself clenching around his Godly cock, Loki yells out too.
"Sigyn, yes come for me." You stop moving. All arousal vanishes.
"What?!" you yell trying to push the man off you
"Who the FUCK is Sigyn?!" "Who is she Loki."
"What are you talking about, fuck, whats your problem?"
"You yelled another womans name Loki." You try not to, but tears start falling from your eyes.
"Pull out of me please, I cant. Just please."
"Darling, Sigyn is not a person, It is an Asgardian term, meaning Victorious partner. It is a complement, please calm down."
"Oh" You breathe out. "Im sorry, Im just so stressed I-" You dont finish your sentence because he cuts you off.
"Its okay. I understand.Do you wish to finish or do you want to rest?" he asked still in you, stroking your hair.
"Lets rest." You say still shaken up from the thought of him with someone else.
"Okay" He says pulling out and wrapping your body in his own.
You don't sleep much that night. And when you research "sigyn" the next day, you don't sleep for months.
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I Don’t Dance (A Request)
Word Count: 1658
Pairing: None, Platonic Avengers X Teen!Female!Reader
Warnings: slight swearing
A/n: Sorry for the long wait guys! I’m going to try to get back into writing steadily again but I don’t want to get your hopes up too high! so be patient with me please! Requests will still be closed until I am caught up with the requests I currently have sitting in my google docs.
Ps: Do you like my play on the title? :) If you know where it’s from then I hope you got the song stuck in your head now!
Request: Could I request an imagine with the avengers where teen!reader plays softball (shortstop maybe??) and they all watch?? Maybe it can be a close game. It’ll be up to you if reader’s team wins or not. But if you don’t want to write this thats ok too. I really enjoy reading your stories!! :)
You breathed out deeply, focusing on the white noise surrounding you and the feel and weight of the metal bat in your hands.
Your eyes met the piercing gaze of the pitcher and you smirked, egging her on.
Time seemed to slow as the pitcher wound up and then released, right away you could tell it was a curveball. But unluckily for her, you were one of the best batters’ in the league and with a well-timed swing, hit the ball straight out to the far outfields.
“Yes! Go [Y/n]! That’s our girl!” The loud voice of one Tony Stark rang out over the field as you raced around the bases, getting the final home run and winning the game for your team with a score of 7-5.
Dropping your helmet in your bag once back inside the dugout, you wiped the sweat from your forehead as you accepted the congratulations from your teammates and captain.
“Amazing as always [Y/n].” Your coach caught you before you could leave, patting you on the head, before she smirked and looked behind you for a moment, “Though maybe next time your friends can show up incognito and not distract your teammates, the score shouldn’t have been that close together.”
You laughed, looking over your shoulder at the Avengers who were all in their suits, covered in dirt and other questionable stains and bruises.
With a final good job, the coach sent you on your way and you jogged over to the Avengers, “Did you guys finish the mission? I thought you wouldn’t be able to make this game?”
Steve ruffled your hair, his smile lighting up the sky it seemed, “We wouldn’t miss a single of your games [Y/n]. Don’t worry about the mission.”
Wanda sighed, but she was smiling as she moved to your side, “What Steve means is that we finished the mission just in time. But until you're officially an Avenger, you should just stay focused on school.”
You laughed along with the Avengers. Ever since you had been a child, they had been your friends, like older brothers and sisters, as they helped raise you. You had been found alone as a baby wandering the streets without any memory of parents or a home when Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff had stumbled across you. A normal child by all standards, but they must have seen something in you because they never turned you into
Taken in by the Avengers, you never imagined you would have a normal life. And that was true to some extent. From the time you were a toddler to a pre-teen, you had been homeschooled and taught advanced science and mechanical engineering from Bruce Banner, Vision and Tony Stark. You had been given martial arts lessons and defence from Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton and Wanda Maximoff.
Then you met Peter Parker, the spider-man and Tony Stark’s apprentice. He was close to your age and you grew close to him, the first contact you had with someone young. Together you convinced the team to let you go to a normal highschool. So you entered Midtown high alongside Peter and soon discovered your joy and affinity for Fastpitch.
A beast at shortstop and a hell of a batter, you rose through the team until you were the youngest and apparently fastest player to hit Varsity.
“Hey [Y/n]! Oh!” Peter skidded to a halt beside you, a red flush on his cheeks as he rubbed the back of his neck, “Hi Mr. Stark!”
You punched the boy’s shoulder causing him to yelp, “What is it Peter?”
Peter jumped and then smiled, “Oh! I was going to ask if you wanted to play a quick round since the field is now clear.”
The Avengers immediately perked up and looked at you excitedly causing you to giggle and point at their suits, “Aren’t you guys tired from the mission? We can play on another day.”
Tony swung an arm around your shoulder and gestured wildly, “Today’s a perfect day though [Y/n]! And we’re the avengers! If we couldn’t handle an easy game of fastpitch what type of protectors would we be?”
You smirked, “Easy you say? Alright, let’s pick teams. Peter and I are captains.”
Everyone shifted uneasily, seeming to sense the shift of tension and your smirk grew wider. They may be the Avengers, but fastpitch was where you shone the brightest.
“I’ll take Bucky.” You started off the nominations.
By the end, the teams were decided with you as the captain alongside your players, Bucky, Steve, and Natasha, while Peter had Tony, Bruce and Wanda, and Vision deciding to be the referee with Clint as the catcher for both teams.
“We’ll take the field first.” You made the executive decision, deciding not to leave it to a coin toss. “One inning outfield and one batting for each team, the one with the most homeruns wins.”
Tony preened, “You already know who’s going to win.”
You tilted your head and asked, “Do we?” Before turning away and walking back into the dugout you had just occupied for the past several hours.
Your team took the field first, and you took your spot as shortstop. Steve took first base while Natasha stood in the far outfield and Bucky took up position as the pitcher.
Tony sauntered up to bat first, his Iron Man suit almost completely off except for the gloves and shoes.
He smirked as he swung the bat back and forth before taking up a stance, eyeing Bucky who took a deep breath and then wound up for the pitch, using his metal arm to pitch.
The ball moved so fast, you couldn’t track it with your eyes. The crack from the bat hitting the ball was as loud as thunder and you couldn’t hold back the flinch.
“Would you look at that!” Tony laughed, but he was interrupted by Peter shouting, “Run you old man!”
Tony looked back, affronted with a hand to his chest, “Who are you calling old?”
And then Vision called out, “Mr. Stark, you are out.”
Tony flipped around, “What?”
You laughed, pointing to where Steve stood on first base, a ball in his hand from where Natasha had caught it and thrown it to him. “Next time you should run around the bases before trying to brag.”
Peter’s team finally managed to get a homerun after Wanda manipulated the ball a bit, which caused a bit of a stir about whether abilities should be allowed or not.
Finally it was your team’s turn to be at bat and you started off strong with Bucky. Wanda pitching for Peter’s team as he stood on first, Tony was at shortstop and Bruce was out in the outfield looking distinctly uncomfortable holding the glove on his hand.
You went through your roster and finally it was your turn up at bat. The teams were tied and you were the last to bat, with two strikes against your team.
Taking up a stance, you breathed out deeply and focused on the weight of the bat in your hands, the sand under your feet, the sun on your face and the look Wanda gave you as she wound up the pitch.
You shouted out, “Don’t go easy on me guys just because I’m not an Avenger!”
The others exchanged looks and then nodded at you, making you pleased.
When Wanda released her pitch, your eyes tracked the ball. You didn’t have super strength, or flight, or were a trained assassin, but Fastpitch was your lifeblood and you knew from the bottom of your heart that you could hit this ball out of the park.
You mentally spoke to yourself, not yet, not yet….now! And swung with everything you had.
The ball made contact and though it didn’t create a thunderous crack, it did ring in your ears and hands as the bat vibrated from the force of the connection.
You dropped the bat and ran like the devil was licking at your heels. Your mind focused on the bases in front of you as you rounded them, but half an ear out listening as Tony yelled for Bruce to ‘Throw the damn ball already!’
You internally smirked, breathing evenly as you pumped your arms, getting to the last stretch towards home base.
A flash of red energy and Wanda stood over home base with her hand outstretched, ready to tag you.
But being the best batter wasn’t simply just about hitting the balls. With a short leap, you fell to the ground, the momentum carrying you forward still as you slid underneath the surprised witch.
“Safe!” Vision’s voice shouted out and broke the calm that had befallen the field at your slide.
“Yes!” You jumped up and fistpumped the air.
Your team came streaming from the dugout and Peter’s came in from the field.
Tony shook his head, sweat flinging from his hair, “Hate to say it kid, but you won.”
You smiled at the man, “Fastptich not that easy now, is it?”
Tony laughed, “Nope, definitely proved me wrong kiddo.”
You sighed, running your hand through your hair, “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m beyond tired now and ready for some greasy food.”
“Hell yeah!” Peter jumped up with a grin.
Clint gasped and slammed a hand over Peter’s mouth, causing everyone to look at him. Clint just looked around at everyone with a grave look, “Who taught the baby to cuss?”
Everyone stared a moment longer and then everyone broke down laughing. Even Clint broke his composure and laughed, releasing Peter.
As you all began walking back to the tower, you thought about your life. The abnormalities and the people in it. And realized you wouldn’t trade a thing about it. Your life may not be exactly normal, but with your friends and family, you knew your life would be amazing.
@rainydaysrnevergrey @platonic-plots @sociallyawkwardcircus-freak-hi @queenbbarnes @mythixmagic @chas-z @thefridgeismybestie @strangersstranger @princess-evans-addict @rororo06 @timelordhunterandmysterysolver @xxxtwilightaxelxxx
@jadepc @marvel-is-a-mood @brynnloh
Bold and crossed means I couldn’t tag you!
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Avengers in their downtime.
Credit: @Space_Wrestler https://twitter.com/space_wrestler/status/1071833535424708610
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Through the Flames, A Soothing Touch (Loki/Reader Lullabies #177)
Pairing: Loki/Female Reader
Category: Sickfic. Fluff without plot.
Summary: When a poorly-timed illness keeps you from joining the team on a mission, you find comfort in an unexpected place.
Warnings/Notes: This is not a COVID fic! I will NEVER write a lullaby (or even a regular story) that gives a character COVID. (I did write a lullaby a while back where the reader’s mother dies during COVID times, but not necessarily of COVID, but that’s the closest I will ever get.) This story takes place in a COVID-free parallel universe.
Through the Flames, A Soothing Touch
This wasn’t your first mission, not by a long shot, but you still felt like the team rookie. You hadn’t been trained since birth. You hadn’t been enhanced by science and technology. You weren’t a genius or an inventor or anything else. It was only natural for you to feel like you had something to prove to the others, and you used that as motivation to work harder and fight harder.
But maybe you went a little too hard one afternoon, and of course Captain Fucking America had to be there to witness it. It wasn’t a big deal: you just forgot to take a breather, so you got a little dizzy. You weren’t going to faint or anything—your legs just got a little unsteady and it took you a minute to find your footing. And, in that minute, Steve Rogers saw you and reached out to keep you on your feet, and then he gave you that disapproving look and told you to take it easy.
The next morning, you’d been all packed and ready to go. You’d even made it to the briefing early. But then Thor had to open his big mouth and ask if you were well, because you looked exhausted. Of course you assured him that you were fine, but the damage had already been done. Before you could say anything else, Steve was shaking his head and telling the entire room that you’d nearly passed out in the gym yesterday (a blatant lie) and then he’d had the nerve to dismiss you.
“Take care of yourself,” he’d said, those big blue eyes full of concern and worry. “You’re no good to anyone if you’re sick. There’ll always be another mission, but you’re irreplaceable. Stay here until you’re well again.”
He was clever, that one. He said all the right things to make it impossible for you to argue with him there in front of everybody. You couldn’t call him out or tell him he was wrong or swear that you felt fine, because all those sets of eyes were on you. They’d all heard the way he’d spoken to you. If you protested, you were going to look like a little kid.
So you’d set your jaw and sat back in your seat without a word. Maybe you weren’t going to be able to go out with everyone, but unless he was going to pick you up and carry you out of here, you weren’t leaving the briefing. Was it childish? Oh, absolutely. But it was hard to resist.
He let you stay. He didn’t look at you again as he went over the outline of the mission. Heat coursed through your veins. Anger. Embarrassment. It stung a little, having to listen to the extra work that the others were going to have to shoulder in your absence, but they didn’t look upset. If anything, they seemed sympathetic. Every once in a while, you’d feel someone’s eyes on you and look up, only to see them giving you a soft smile. When the briefing was over, they all stood up, ready to go, and only you remained seated there at the table. Steve walked over behind you and put a large, comforting hand on your shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I know it’s not easy. When you’re feeling better, let’s have a couple of training sessions. One-on-one. Okay?”
You both knew that he was, essentially, offering to absolutely beat your un-enhanced ass in the gym, but...it helped. You felt the corner of your mouth curl into something like a smile. Sparring with Captain America was always painful, but it gave you the opportunity to figure out how best to engage with someone whose strength greatly outmatched yours. You nodded, and he tightened his fingers around your shoulder.
By the time the rest of the team boarded the jet and flew off to work, you were beginning to feel like maybe Steve had been right. Not that you’d ever tell him so. But there had been a pressure behind your eyes all week and, now that you didn’t have anything to distract yourself from it, it felt like it was growing. Your whole body ached, and a bone-deep fatigue was setting in. And was it always this cold in the Tower? You pulled the sleeves of your sweatshirt down over your hands and made your way into the kitchen. All you really wanted to do was go to bed, but maybe tea could help a little.
The Tower was eerily silent, you realized as you stood there waiting for the water to boil. In all the time you’d been here, had there ever been this big a mission? Normally, there was always somebody somewhere around here, filling the space with the cheerful noise of existence. But all you could hear was yourself. Once again, you cursed your immune system for failing you at a time like this.
“You’re still here.”
The voice came from behind you and, as familiar as it was, it still made you flinch and cry out. It was Loki, obviously, but how had he come up behind you so silently? With burning cheeks, you refused to turn around to look at him. Probably he’d just be smirking at you, pleased at having startled you so badly.
“Yeah, Steve benched me. Said I was too sick and useless to be any help out there this time.” He may have mollified you a little with that offer of training, but that didn’t mean you were happy to be left behind. “Did you want tea? I’ll be done here in a minute, sorry.”
“You’re unwell?” His voice sounded so odd. Normally, Loki spoke with a tone that fell somewhere along the spectrum of neutral-to-icy. If you didn’t know him any better, you might almost think he sounded concerned right now. If you let your mind run with that for a few minutes, let yourself imagine what it’d be like to have someone like Loki actually worry over your well-being, who was to know?
Loki was perfect. He was, like, the epitome of every single thing you’d ever found attractive in another person. Sharp and angular, with those heavy brows that furrowed almost defensively when he was angry. Elegant. Sarcastic. Misunderstood. Cheekbones you could cut yourself on and hands you fantasized about when you were alone at night. The man had literal magic but he was also a serious threat in physical combat. And he was fucking brilliant. You’d known from the moment you’d first laid eyes on him that you were going to develop a stupid, immature crush on him, and the second he’d opened his mouth to speak to you, you’d been a goner.
“Yeah…” When the kettle was finished, you went through the familiar process of making your cup of tea. If you were maybe just a little bit more woozy, you might have turned around at some point to drink in the sight of him, but there was still enough of You left in your mind that you knew better. You stirred a bit of honey into your tea and put the spoon in the sink to take care of it later. “It’s just a human bug, I think, but I’ll keep my germs out of the common areas if you’re worried. See you later.”
You allowed yourself just a single look at him, more or less through your lashes as you passed him. His eyes were already on you. Maybe you filed away the look on his face into the back of your mind so you could explore that later.
When you got to your room, you crawled into bed under the covers and left the tea on your night stand to grow cold and bitter.
It was too hot. Everything was too hot. At some point in your nap, you’d kicked off the covers, but you were still burning up. Blearily, you tried to wrestle yourself out of your sweatshirt and, when you finally managed, you tossed it onto the floor. You barely had the chance to breathe a sigh of relief when the shivering started. You whined into the abyss while you ground your forehead against your pillow.
Time stretched elastic around you. Sometimes it felt like you were wide awake for hours at a time, but sometimes you closed your eyes for only a moment and, when you opened them again, the light coming in through your window had changed. Somewhere in your mind, you were screaming at yourself, telling yourself to get up and get some water or a cold compress or even a shower or something, but you didn’t move. It was like you were a prisoner in your own body. Steve appeared before you once, and spoke some nonsense about how he’d been right, before he morphed into a bald eagle and flew out your window.
Or maybe that was a hallucination.
Once, you opened your eyes to see Loki standing next to the bed, right where Steve had been standing. He was looking at you strangely, almost worriedly, and reached out to touch your cheek. You couldn’t remember making any noise, but someone whimpered. He was speaking, but you couldn’t hear what he was saying. Was that your heart pounding in your ears, or was that another hallucination?
Something cold pressed against your forehead. An ice pack? With fingers? Someone—Loki?—helped you up into a sitting position and pressed something to your lips. Cold water filled your mouth and you drank deeply, greedily, even when your stomach began to protest. Loki was still talking. You heard your name once or twice, but that was about it. He sounded angry.
The next thing you knew, he was sitting in your bed with his back against the headboard, and pulling you in close to him. Your body moved of its own accord, fitting itself against him. He felt so cold. Was he always this cold? Was he sick too? The feeling of him made you shiver, but you made sure to keep a tight grip on him so you could share some of your excess body heat with him. He wrapped his arm around your back and pressed your head down against his shoulder. Oh, he felt so nice. Except for the cold. That part was worrisome, and made you feel rather guilty for taking such pleasure in this position, but you knew you’d have to leave that to worry about later.
“Why are you so cold?” You were pretty sure you asked the question aloud. You could feel your mouth and lips shaping the words, right? You could hear them in the air between you? “Are you okay?” If tears of worry stung your eyes, that was okay, because you kept them tightly shut.
“You’re too hot,” he said into the top of your head. Most of your brain understood what he meant, but you couldn’t keep yourself from giggling a little. Jesus, this was bad.
“Not as hot as you are!” That one you’d definitely meant to keep inside your head, but you’d definitely said it out loud. You turned your head a little so you could hide your face against his blessedly-cool throat and begged the universe to let this all be nothing more than a fever dream.
Loki worked his fingers through your hair. You imagined that you heard him laugh.
The next time you opened your eyes, you felt like you’d been hit by a truck. If you thought you’d been sore and achy before, well...now your entire body felt like it’d been shaped from pure misery. Your throat hurt. Your eyes were scratchy. The sole and singular bright spot, the only thing you were currently experiencing that didn’t make you long for death, was the gentle, almost ticklish sensation of someone caressing your scalp. For a long time, you lay still and focused on that feeling. It made goosebumps erupt all over your body, but they had nothing to do with the cold. You were pretty sure your hair was sweaty and gross, but they didn’t stop, not even when you gave up holding back your contented sigh.
Loki was in your bed. Loki was practically beneath you there: you were curled around him like a child around her favorite teddy bear. You were lying there on his shoulder, with your forehead pressed just beneath his jaw. You had one arm wrapped around his waist, and his free hand was resting on your wrist. This was cuddling. You were cuddling with Loki. Were you still dreaming? The awful, rational part of your brain was screaming at you to pull away, but you couldn’t do it. He felt so nice…
“You had me worried.” His voice was low enough that you felt it more than you truly heard it. It rumbled through his chest, through his throat, and straight into your ears. “Are you feeling any better now?”
You remembered the last time you’d been awake: the heat, the confusion, the hallucinations. Some Avenger you were. Of course your best defense against whatever disease you’d caught would be the defense that turned you into a delirious mess. Rather than answering his question, you offered one of your own: “What are you doing here?” You could only hope that it didn’t sound accusatory.
He laughed, a quiet thing that made you smile to yourself. You’d always loved his laugh. You were just aware enough to keep from actually speaking that out loud. Thank goodness.
“I brought you dinner last night. But you didn’t open the door, so I came inside. I could tell that something was wrong immediately, and when I touched your face, you were burning up. I couldn’t remember exactly when a Midgardian brain would begin to overheat, so...just to be safe, I...stayed here to keep you cool. I hope that’s alright. I wasn’t sure what else to do.”
That last part, he delivered quietly, almost under his breath. Loki of Asgard, admitting that he hadn’t known something? That felt momentous. Rather than commenting on that, though, you held your tongue. If you turned it into a joke, maybe he would close himself off again. Or worse: Maybe he’d get up and leave.
“Of course that’s alright,” you finally said. Quite possibly, that was the understatement of the year. “Thank you for worrying about my brain. I need that.”
He responded only with a quiet hum that somehow sounded both fond and amused.
The two of you stayed like that for a long time. If you were feeling any better, you might have been just horrified at how comfortable you felt, or you might have taken more time to obsess over how uncomfortable Loki must have been feeling. For now, though, you allowed yourself to trust that, if he was uncomfortable enough, there was nothing stopping him from getting up and leaving you now that your body was no longer trying to cook itself and he didn’t have to worry any more. This was strange. Even with your silly crush, you had never once allowed yourself to daydream about what it might feel like to cuddle with Loki. He felt incredible. Rather than berating yourself for taking such pleasure in this, you just let yourself do it. Maybe you even spent some time desperately trying to catalog the feeling so you could come back to this memory on your worst nights. But that also felt a little scummy: drinking in the pleasure of this when he’d really only started doing it to keep you safe?
To distract yourself from your warring thoughts, you swallowed with a bit of difficulty and cleared your throat. It still hurt. “So—uh. You’ve been here all night? Did you get to sleep at all?” He’d spent all this time looking after you, apparently, so it was only right for you to ask after him.
“I dozed, here and there.” His voice sounded almost guarded somehow, but he did give another quiet laugh. “Has anyone ever told you that you talk in your sleep?”
You fought the urge to press your face even more firmly against his throat. You could only imagine the kind of garbage that your brain had come up with last night. Caught up in a fever. Curled this close around the man you’d been lusting over from the first day you’d met. How could you even begin to apologize to him for that? “I’m so sorry…” It was weak, but it was a start.
He laughed even louder now, something approaching a belly laugh, and tightened his arm around you. If you weren’t mistaken, you were pretty sure that you felt him shift so he could press a kiss to your forehead. Dizzily, you took about half-a-dozen mental snapshots of this very moment so you’d never forget.
“Don’t apologize, mortal, it was hopelessly charming. And when you’re well again, I’d rather like to see if what you said was true.”
It sound have been mortifying, but instead, something like hope swelled within you.
His fingers kept moving through your hair, even when you relaxed into him more fully and went back to sleep.
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One of the things I love about Avengers fic writers is that we all still write the everybody-lives-in-the-Tower stories, even though canon’s pretty well established that that didn’t really happen. And for some reason it just makes me really happy that nobody has the same Tower. Sometimes everyone has their own floor, sometimes everyone has their own wing on the same floor, and sometimes they all share a bathroom they fight over in the mornings. Sometimes explosions from Tony’s lab down the hall from the kitchen set off the fire alarm in the living room, and sometimes Tony has so many labs spread across the building that they could go for weeks without seeing him. Is the gym down in the basement? Does it have a view of the city skyline? Is the building laid out in a straight line inside, or do the hallways loop so Clint can run in circles when he’s had too much caffeine? Are there Stark Industries chefs who make all their food, and housekeeping staff to keep the place nice, or does Steve make scrambled eggs in the morning and Thor vacuums the living room? We have no idea how the place works, but that doesn’t stop us and I love it.
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SHANGCHIDAILY is a brand-new source blog dedicated to the Marvel character Shang-Chi, the Master of Kung Fu, and his comic book and film iterations, including the upcoming film Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings. Here you’ll find content made by fans for fans: fics, GIFs, graphics, art, and more.
Tracking #shangchiedit. Be sure to use the tag for your content to be shared on the blog! And please keep your content positive: this platform is 100% hate-free.
The tag #shang chi spoilers will be used from the film’s release date (starting on September 3) up until one full month after the Disney+ release date (until November 18). Please note that creations using film footage will only be reblogged from the Disney+ release date (October 18) onwards.
Signal boosts are appreciated!
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meet me in the hallway
Bucky Barnes x reader
Light angst, fluff || 5.1k
Your bad day gets worse when your less-than-friendly teammate catches you having a breakdown over your shitty morning.
A/N: So this is the second work I’m posting, but actually the first I wrote. Inspired by my own bad morning, lol. Nothing like a little cathartic writing. I’d love feedback!
You had to physically stop your whole body from tapping along with your impatient foot. If you didn’t get out of here and back to your sunny balcony soon, you might actually die of frustration. Sure, the whole sunny day stretched out in front of you, waiting, but it was the principle of the thing. Wasting sun is sacrilege to you. Still, the young woman behind the counter was only doing her job as she gathered your prescription and searched for the coupon you asked for. Why was healthcare so expensive?
As your body cooled from the workout you’d finished just before hopping over to the pharmacy, your thoughts wandered to the lazy hours of writing, tanning, and listening to music you had planned for the day. The team was between missions and somehow the stars aligned and your time off brought gorgeous weather and some much-needed you time. The thought relaxed you as the woman finally rang up your total; as you swiped your card you put your Starbucks order into the app and prepared to finally get home and enjoy your day.
That is, until the card machine gave a deep chirp and the cashier informed you your card wasn’t covering the entire purchase. You balked - how could this happen? The insurance debit was loaded up for the year, ready for any medical purchases. It rarely ran out so early in the year, and it was just April! Your brain scrambled to make sense of it. Had the account rules changed and some of your purchase didn’t qualify? No, that couldn’t be it, you’d done this same process just a few weeks ago.
Your cheeks bloomed with heat as you realized the declined card was the only one you’d brought with you, convinced it would be a quick errand and seeing no reason to bring your whole wallet for the short trip down the street from the Tower. Fuck. And there were people behind you; you shuddered to imagine what they might be thinking of you in your sweaty workout clothes as you stammered to the cashier you’d have to come back. Just fucking great. You felt your good mood at the prospect of a sunny day slipping as you left the store as quickly as you could, trying to save a little face.
Making your way around the construction - why did they need to close the entire sidewalk? - you hastily headed back to the Tower to grab your wallet from your personal quarters, wondering all the way how this could happen. Why do the simple things always have to go wrong? Rationally, you knew this wasn’t a big deal. You would just pay the balance out of pocket and deal with the insurance later. But it was embarrassing and annoying and just plain inconvenient. Sure, you had the time and the money to spare, but why couldn’t things just work how they’re meant to? Your swirling thoughts brought you through the private lobby of the Tower and to the elevators that led to the personal floors; angrily jamming the button for your floor, you whipped out your phone to check the balance on the insurance card.
Your jaw literally dropped as your eyes caught sight of the balance. There was more than enough to cover the charge at the store! Now you were really upset. Jesus, why was this happening to you? Stupid, simple nature of the occurrence aside, you felt tears of frustration welling to the surface as you berated yourself internally. Why did you have to be lazy and only take the one card? If you’d just taken your whole wallet and been prepared, you could’ve saved yourself so much humiliation and frustration. And time. You’d brought it on yourself, you always did. Your frustration with the pharmacy and your anger at the insurance company quickly turned to annoyance at yourself and your lackadaisical ways. Why were you like this?
You shoved yourself further into the corner of the elevator, letting your head fall back against the wall as it ascended to the personal floors. You could feel your face was still ripe with embarrassment, your throat thick with unshed tears. God, why did everything have to make you cry? Embarrassment, anger, and frustration brought tears to your eyes more often than not, while sadness rarely wet your eyes. Of course, no one else knew that and you felt like a dramatic cry-baby every time you got teary-eyed in front of your teammates and friends. You were an Avenger, dammit! As the elevator signaled your floor and the doors whooshed open, you could only hope the walk to your room would be deserted. You wanted to make a quick exit before anyone saw your despair.
The hope was short-lived. You walked out of the elevator with your gaze on the floor, and smack into a well-muscled chest.
“Oh, sorry,” you mumbled, trying to scoot around the body without making eye contact.
“Walk much?” and if that wasn’t the last voice you wanted to hear. Of course, your card gets declined and you get humiliated to tears, and not only could the universe not provide you a painless return to your apartment, it also brought you face to face with Bucky Barnes. You were hardly in the mood to deal with him on a good day, let alone today. He rarely acknowledged your existence except to quip mockery at you, it seemed. At first you thought he was just like that, but you soon realized he was perfectly funny and friendly with the others, if quiet. So it was something about you; what, you didn’t know. And you’d accepted it. You didn’t need him to like you, honestly. His attitude towards you might have brought you to tearful rages sometimes, but only in the quiet solace of your room where you could freely wonder why he despised you so. His devilish good looks and killer smile didn’t help. Avoiding him was the best strategy.
“Can you just not?” you snapped at him as he blocked your way down the hallway, apparently hellbent on making sure you knew he was making fun of you. As if you weren’t painfully aware of how he felt about you. It didn’t help your girlish crush, the little voice in the back of your head always telling you maybe he was mean because he liked you. Bullshit.
“Whoa there, no need to get in a twist doll. Was just havin’ a little fun is all. What’s got you so worked up?” you heard the teasing lilt to his voice but the question forced your eyes to his anyways. God, the asshole was smirking, those gorgeous blue eyes glinting with mirth. Horrified, you felt tears welling up in your eyes again because the universe liked laughing at you, apparently.
“God Bucky do you ever fuck off? Honestly,” your voice broke on the last word as tears threatened their way out of your glassy eyes. “Just leave me alone, why do you always have to be so mean? What did I ever do to you?” the words tumbled out before you could stop them, your anger and hurt getting the better of you.
Realizing your outburst, you floundered in the hallway as Bucky looked at you with a confusing mixture of shock and hurt on his face. Did he really have the audacity to be upset with you? After the way he’s treated you, so often making jokes at your expense? In the back of your head, you knew the jokes weren’t that bad, nothing more than you’d say in a harmless rib against your other teammates. But they were your friends; Bucky was a menace. Not knowing what else to say as the shocked silence stretched on, you averted your eyes from his now stony face and tried to will your tears - and your anger - away so you could get what you came for, finish your errand, and try to salvage the rest of your day. How did things go so wrong so fast?
You didn’t notice as Bucky’s expression morphed from hurt to cocky as he prepared to deliver his next blow.
“Oh, woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning I see, sweetheart.” His smiling tone grated on your nerves - of course he was still making fun of you even after you yelled at him for just that. He couldn’t just be nice, could he?
“At least I sleep in a bed,” you spat, meeting his eyes once more. You knew it was a low blow, immediately regretting it as a pained expression flitted across his face. You sighed - only you could end up feeling guilty for dishing his own mockery back at him after months of his unanswered jibes. “Sorry,” you muttered, your eyes falling closed in shame and frustration at your inability to contain your emotions.
“Yea, okay, I probably deserved that,” you stopped yourself from mocking his ‘probably,’ refusing to dig a deeper hole for yourself, though the eye-roll was unavoidable. “I guess I’ll get out of your way then,” Bucky acquiesced, his voice quieter now.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his flesh arm reach out as if to pat your shoulder, but he jerked it away as if he hadn’t meant it to move. He hesitated as he half-turned away; why wasn’t he leaving, and since when did Bucky get so unsure of himself? Usually he moved with a sure swagger that riled you right up knowing he thought so highly of himself. Of course, you knew he probably didn’t do it on purpose; your inner feelings about someone had always colored your observations of them and Bucky was no exception - sometimes you manufactured your dislike, but it was inescapable. He infuriated you.
Your head swirled with anger, leftover humiliation, shame at your words to Bucky, and confusion at why he was still in the fucking hallway. You stuttered, mouth moving without your permission but no words forming.
Bucky glanced back at you, and your downturned yet clearly turmoiled face brought an unseen soft, caring look to his chiseled face. It hurt him to see you upset, though you were unaware. He didn’t know why his words to you always came out so biting. He knew how to act around the rest of the team but for some reason you brought out his inner turmoil and apparently his coping mechanism was to just make fun of you. Was he protecting himself? But what did his feelings matter when he had so clearly hurt you? His heart broke realizing that your lack of response to his mocking over the weeks wasn’t good-natured but instead was silent hurt. Fuck, he’d fucked up.
“Honey, why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?” the softness in his voice was so foreign and surprising to you that you jerked your head up, meeting his eyes in shock. “Maybe…I can help,” he gestured awkwardly.
You must’ve pulled a face at that, because his head immediately rolled back as he quipped out, “what, is it so surprising I can be nice?”
“Well…yeah,” you half-whispered, your mouth once more speaking without your mind’s permission. Suddenly you couldn’t meet his eyes anymore, your gaze falling anywhere but his soft blues. Once again you felt shame flood through you, even though you had told the truth - it was shocking to see Bucky offer kindness, at least to you. Had you somehow misread him so horribly? Fuck, there were the tears of frustration again. As if you weren’t embarrassed enough, this time a few actually fell, carving their way down your burning cheeks as your breath hitched.
“Shit. Okay, please don’t cry sweet girl, I’m sorry. I know I’m an asshole. I - I don’t -,” he cut off, not knowing how to explain. At his saccharine tone and the pet name - this time caressed with gentleness rather than thrown with cocky disdain - you broke as tears fell down in rivulets, your body wracking with silent sobs. Why were you such a mess today? Sure, you wore your emotions on your sleeve, but even you could control yourself more than this. Bucky’s sudden softness had caught you off guard. Where on earth was it coming from?
Unsure what to do as you exposed your raw nerves to him like this, you wrapped your arms around yourself as Bucky twitched in front of you, hesitating before once more reaching out to you, with purpose this time. He tugged at your shoulders until you were pressed into his chest, hiding your face in his faded blue henley. You felt the tension bleed out of you as he slowly brought his arms around you, his flesh hand running up and down your back in comfort.
“Hey there, it’s alright,” he cooed quietly, “it’s okay. We can figure it out. I’m sorry sweetheart, I’m sorry.” It was tearing him apart, seeing you cry. You’d never reacted to his jokes like that, at least not to his face. He wondered how often you held your tears in until you escaped to your room, and his heart fractured. He hated who he turned into around you. He’d fix it, he had to. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t cry over a stupid guy like him.
You finally hiccuped to a stop, the tears no longer falling as his sweet ministrations calmed you down. Before more embarrassment over your breakdown could set in, Bucky grasped your shoulders and set you away from him so he could look you in your eyes.
“Now, you tell me what’s going on. I’ll fix it,” his hands gripped you tighter with his last words, assuring you. His sudden change of heart, while shocking, was strangely believable. You trusted his conviction that he wanted to help you.
Sighing shakily, you sniffled and began to explain. “It’s stupid really, Bucky. You don’t gotta worry,” you deflected, walls going back up even though you longed for his comfort, his friendship that you hadn’t allowed yourself to crave.
“Little darlin, it ain’t nothing if it makes you this upset. Please talk to me,” his soft eyes pleaded with you, the kindness floating in their depths piercing straight to your heart. Your resolve - built less from stubbornness now and more from niggling shame at letting him see to your core - crumbled.
“It was just gonna be a quick run to the pharmacy - I needed a refill - and then I was gonna come back here and sit in the sun and try to just enjoy my time off alone but my fucking card got fucking declined even though it has enough money and God, Buck, it was humiliating. And then I came back to get my wallet and -,” you cut yourself off, unsure, not wanting to accuse Bucky of making you cry. He had, but it was the whole situation that had really gotten you going. You didn’t want to point the finger at him when he was being nice for once.
Your sudden silence clued Bucky in to the rest of the story quickly enough, though he took sweet pause at the nickname that had slipped from your pretty mouth. He had the grace to look a bit ashamed, but continued on. “Okay, that’s not so bad then, huh? You can just go back and finish up, it’s still early in the day, plenty of time to relax,” Bucky assured you, thinking he’d figured this out pretty easily.
“Easy for you to say,” you grumbled. “You weren’t the one humiliated in front of multiple people thinking you couldn’t pay. I mean I basically ran out of there, Bucky. Why am I so - UGHHH.”
He very nearly laughed, covering himself by clearing his throat - now that you were talking to him and his dumb brain was letting him be nice to you, he wasn’t about to ruin things by upsetting you again. He wasn’t going to push you away. He found it endearing how open you were with your emotions, wishing he could be more like you some days when his melancholy got the best of him. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to suffer alone.
“I see…well I’m real sorry you had to face that. I’ve been there a time or two, it’s no fun. But it ain’t bad as all that - they weren’t paying you that much attention. It’s New York City, everyone is so self-absorbed I bet they didn’t even notice. That’s not to say you don’t deserve attention ‘cause you do - I mean - that’s not - …yea,” he trailed off, cutting his rambling before he really embarrassed himself. He met your eyes sheepishly, surprised to see a small smile there. His heart soared knowing he was the one to put it there, even at the cost of some embarrassment himself.
“Well, I don’t have much of a choice, I need the prescription today. And - fuck! Whyyyyyyy,” you groaned, your face scrunching as you whined. And damn if that wasn’t just the cutest thing, Bucky couldn’t help but think.
The lilting, light tone returned to his voice as he gently laughed at your groaning. “What is it now, then?”
You moaned, blood rushing to your face as you admitted the silly annoyance, “I forgot my drink at Starbucks. I ordered it while I was in line at the pharmacy, I was gonna grab it on my way back. God, it’ll be warm now - or gone. Icing on the cake, just what I needed,” you sighed, resigned to the wasted money.
Bucky smiled genially as he reached over to ruffle your hair, tucking a stray lock behind your ear with surprising softness. You weren’t sure you’d ever gotten this close to his metal appendage. Something deep inside you fluttered at the prospect of more gentle touches, exploring each other and - now where the hell did that come from? You were beginning to think this morning’s commotion had somehow addled your brain. You shook your head at yourself, emptying those thoughts and Bucky chuckled. This time, though, it felt like he was laughing with you rather than at you. That was….refreshing. Nice, even. You yearned to make him laugh more.
“Alright. It’s no big deal,” Bucky calmly spoke, again determined to bring that smile back to your face and maybe, just maybe, get to know you as a friend. Something about how you’d opened up to him gave him hope he hadn’t ruined things beyond repair with his boyish taunting. He’d treat you like you deserved, be a good man to you, if he could take this chance.
“How about this - you go back, get that paid for, and I’ll go get your drink. If it’s warm or gone, I’ll make them make you a new one. Then you can get on with your day, and I’ll, uh…get out of your hair, I guess,” Bucky trailed off, suddenly unsure. Would this truce be short lived, lasting only until you resolved your dilemma? He guessed he’d deserve it if so, but he couldn’t help but hope you’d stick around him. He’d just have to give it his best shot.
“That’s - wow Buck, you don’t have to go to all that trouble. It’s nothing, silly really, I told you,” you scuffed your feet along the floor, suddenly feeling burdensome. A fearful voice in the back of your head wondered if you were just giving him more ammunition for future joking.
“It’s no trouble darlin’. It’s…it’s the least I can do for ya. I guess I know it’s a miracle you even talk to me. I don’t know why I’m so..” he cut off again, still not sure how to explain without exposing his inner thoughts. “Now, what’s the order?”
“Oh, uhm…,” you balked, disbelieving at what you were about to have to say to Bucky. “It’s, uh, called a Pink Drink?” you let the name escape your lips uncertainly, waiting for the inevitable mocking. But to your surprise, the sweetest smile graced Bucky’s face, lighting up his eyes.
“Well, if that ain’t just adorable,” he gently joked to you as you gave a grudging smile. “One Pink Drink it is, honey.”
And wow, these sudden sweet names were getting to you. You felt your heart flutter as he winked at you before sending you on your way down the hall to your room, finally about to clean up the mess you’d made this morning. He even waited for you to get your wallet, escorting you back to the elevator and riding down to street level with you.
“Go on then,” he encouraged, seeing you hesitate again. “I’ll meet you back up there,” he nodded back towards the Tower.
You smiled softly, half at him and half at the ground you were once more staring at, before making your way back to the pharmacy.
You supposed the second trip was actually rather painless. Not a big deal at all, just as Bucky had assured you. Perhaps you could salvage your afternoon indeed, let the sun burn the frustration and embarrassment out of you. Though something told you your newfound confusion at Bucky’s kindness would soon take hold. You still couldn’t believe the gentleness with which he handled you, the kind softness of his words as he comforted you - was this really the same man who spared few words for you but for jokes and laughter at your expense? Something had…shifted. You pushed the uneasy, yet warm feeling away. No time to dissect that right now, you scolded yourself as you headed up the elevator once more, this time for good. You were determined to put this morning behind you and enjoy your rare sunny day off.
As you stepped off the elevator to head to your room, you absently wondered where Bucky was. Surely he had made it back before you - the Starbucks was much closer than the pharmacy. Yet he was nowhere to be found. You weren’t sure if you were bothered or relieved about that. Bothered that he might have abandoned his mission to help you, relieved you might not have to face him again. At least before, his unkindness was certain. You had learned to deal with it. Now, this new kind, gentle Bucky? Just what in the hell were you supposed to do with that? You didn’t know what to think.
These swirling thoughts stuck with you as you walked into your room; you were so distracted by your own internal monologue that the open door didn’t phase you, nor did the breeze coming in from the now ajar balcony door catch your eye. Absentmindedly you flitted around the room, putting away your wallet and goods. When the breeze coming in from the balcony caught a lock of your hair, blowing it across your face, you froze. Why was the balcony door open? You certainly hadn’t left it that way.
Peering out to investigate, you stopped right in your tracks at the sight that met your eyes. Your lounge chair was covered in one of your beach towels, bluetooth speaker already gently playing your sunshine playlist. And there on the table was your Pink Drink. You were flabbergasted - had Bucky come in and done this? For…you? The mere thought of him taking the time to set this up sent your heart soaring. But where was he? Perhaps your earlier thoughts were right - his sudden kindness had run out, and he was tired of being your friend already. Somehow, you couldn’t quite believe that to be the truth.
Determined not to let this chance go, because now that you’d had a taste of Bucky’s sweet side you would be damned if you couldn’t sink your teeth in, you set off in search of the brooding man. Wandering down the hallway, you steeled your resolve - you were going to thank him, and you weren’t going to get flustered this time. Maybe this could be a new start for both of you. Maybe he was more than you thought.
The door to Bucky’s room was open, and you heard the soft notes of Billie Holiday float into the corridor. You pushed your hesitation aside and walked in, not seeing him anywhere until your gaze fell upon a brunette head just peaking over the top of a chair on his balcony. Walking towards the glinting sunlight outside, you lightly knocked on the doorjamb to alert him to your presence, knowing he had probably heard you come in anyways.
“Hey,” he exclaimed softly, rolling his head to the side to glance at you. He seemed less…pompous than earlier, at least, but less energetic too. Like something had popped his bubble.
You stepped gingerly out onto the balcony, as if you were wary of startling him. As if you even could. Suddenly you were lost for words, the atmosphere awkward in a soft way. Unspoken words flitted between the two of you, both lost as to how to approach the new dynamic that crash landed in your laps earlier.
“Uh,” you started, lapsing into a giggle. “Thanks for the uh, for my drink. And stuff,” you finished uneasily, letting out a sharp laugh at your inability to articulate your appreciation for his earlier kindness. You still weren’t sure if there would be more where that came from, or if you had simply taken him aback with your tears and his sudden gentility was a stress reaction. You steeled yourself to be laughed out of his room, just in case.
“My pleasure, sweet girl,” he sighed, gazing out over the city. “Least I could do, really.”
“I - Bucky,” you heaved a deep breath and continued, “thank you, you really didn’t have to be so….sweet.”
He didn’t respond immediately and you wondered if you’d taken it too far, but before you could get too worried he spoke again.
“Darlin,” he started, the term of endearment dripping from his lips sweet like honey, “I owe ya a real apology. I never wanted to be unkind to you, but it felt like I couldn’t stop it. Whenever I see you I just…forget myself. It’s like I don’t know how to act, you scare the decency right outta me.”
Was this really happening? You gaped, “wha - Bucky, what?”
He held up a hand to stop you as he kept speaking, his words further shocking you yet sending a warm buzz up your spine at the same time. “I’m sorry I’ve treated you the way I have. I like joking with people but it’s not right that it hurt you and I kept on. I’m sorry I made ya cry. It ain’t an excuse but girl, you really terrify me. In a good way, I think, but I didn’t let myself see that. I hope it ain’t too late, you know…to be friendly?”
You were sure he could see the astonishment clear as day on your face, and you watched as his own expression contorted with unease. It wasn’t hard to see this admission was uncomfortable for him. But why? Because it pained him to admit he was wrong, or because…he was as afraid of rejection as you were?
“It’s not!” you blurted before you realized you had even spoken. ‘“It’s not too late.”
Bucky looked at you with a small smile, hope blooming in his eyes. You couldn’t believe your shit day had turned into this - who would have ever thought Bucky Barnes, the asshole next door, could be nice. Could apologize, even.
An idea struck you and before you could lose your confidence, you spoke, “Do you wanna come sit out with me?”
You left the invitation hanging desperately in the air as you shifted from one foot to the other, hoping he would accept.
“Only if you let me have some of that drink,” he laughed as he got up and ushered you back inside, through to your own room and balcony. You smiled to yourself but stayed quiet as you sat down on your chair; Bucky got comfortable in the chair next to you as the tune of a love song permeated the thick, warm air around you.
Silently grasping your drink, you handed it to him. It felt like a peace offering.
His rosy lips wrapping around the edge of the cup mesmerized you, a rivulet of condensation dripping from the cup down his arm as he swallowed.
His low laugh snapped you out of your reverie. “Well?” you inquired.
His lips stretched into a smile, “sweet drink. Perfect for a sweet girl,” a husky tone to his voice as he handed the drink back to you, your mouth agape once more.
A laugh ripped its way out of your throat, loud and boisterous and before you knew it you gasped out, “who are you and what have you done with Bucky? So charming, jesus.”
“Guess I have my moments. Gonna try harder to have them around you,” he let out a breathy laugh, still unsure how to act around you. But this felt better, lighter. For the first time in a while, he felt at ease within himself.
“I think I’d like that,” you spoke surely. Then a streak of courage hit you and you went on, “maybe next time, I could go with you? I mean, you could go with me - together, uh..”
Bucky smiled then, wide, “you askin’ me on a date there honey?” he cooed, joking but in kindness.
This time, you were ready to dish it back. “If you think one drink and some sweet talking is enough to get a date with me you got another thing coming, Barnes!” you jibed. “I was merely offering to return the favor,” you turned your face up with false haughtiness, but your laughter and the way you averted your eyes told him the truth. Turning over a new leaf and all that, he guessed.
“Well, I suppose that’s a start,” he laughed, hope bubbling in his chest. “That’s a start.”
As you watched the sun reach its midday summit, your mind wandered. What a day it had been already. You never thought you’d share such emotion with Bucky, that he’d be capable of handling it, or even sharing some in return. Maybe there was some truth to his words - you wouldn’t let the pain of his mocking slide so easily, but you felt he deserved the second chance he was craving. You deserved it, too.
You stole a quiet glance at him, your cheeks warming as you realize he’d been staring at you. He looked away quickly, but not before you caught a blush spreading across his cheeks. Perhaps, you thought, bad mornings weren’t so awful if they ended with afternoons like this.
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Imagine you live in the Avengers tower. You love wearing green, especially Emerald Green because it is your family's main colour. Loki did not think to ask but presumes that you wear it because you have feelings for him. Chaos ensues.
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MCU Lockscreens Locations
• Don't repost like yours
• Não reposte como se fosse seu
• ♡ like and reblog if you save
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Guys, Hear me out:
Avengers tower style tv show but it’s just the 3 episode Zemo Arc where he has to come and stay with them while he helps them on a mission.
And it’s just like:
Zemo takes Peter under his wing, introduces him to high fashion, gives him flirting tips, takes revenge on flash Thompson (starts out simple with toliet papering his house but by the end of it Zemo is forced to give up his construction of a car bomb)
we find out he’s the only surviving witness to what went down in Budapest. He has to testify in front of a grand jury. Both Clint and Natasha are extremely nice to him because of what he said (even if they are now required to obtain a special permit to enter the U.N.)
during team meeting scenes he’d be in the background making cherry blossom tea and giving everyone Turkish delight. Being a great houseguest/host
a Daniel Brühl/Chris Hemsworth interaction where we imply that Zemo is fully down to clown with Thor. Maybe he actually does who knows.
He keeps trying to give money to Sam and Sam’s like ‘NO I DONT WANT YOUR BLOOD MONEY’
both Zemo and Bucky exchange long intense stares at each other that makes everyone uncomfortable as they clean their guns. Together. In the living room. Rhodey being like ‘IM TRYING TO WATCH THE GAME HERE EITHER BLEEP OR NOT’
Tony comes home early and finds Zemo teaching Morgan how to fight with a knife. Later we find out he was only teaching her because Natasha was ‘busy and therefore couldn’t teach her’ and had asked him to fill in for her. Tony briefly takes up vaping to deal with this.
Zemo and Rocket bond over guns.
Zemo says hi to Maria Hill and Maria Hill giggles. This freaks out Sam Jackson Nick Fury to the he has no choice but to go “WHAT THE *incredibly long censored bleep*”
Zemo walks in at one point, Goose on his shoulder. Turns out he ignores Goose and Goose despite being a flurken, is a cat and therefore does not like being ignored. This distresses both Fury and Thor (for Goose usually sleeps on Thor and Thor enjoys ‘this strange Midgardian creature. Reminds me of Loki for some reason”)
Wanda had a major childhood crush on Zemo to the point that before the apartment was destroyed she had a poster of him on her wall and this makes Vision jealous to the point he tries to drunkeningly fight Zemo after hearing that Zemo was out ‘driving’ with Wanda until we find out that Wanda had never really learned how to drive so Zemo gave her a lesson. In one of Tony’s nice cars because of course.
Wanda: I drive stick now!!
Tony: *takes the jar of weed gummies and just starts shoving all of them into his mouth*
Steve: *seeing this, gasps* NO TONY!!
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Vices (A Request)
Pairings: Natasha X GN!Reader
Warnings: Mentions of blood, descriptions of drawing blood, talk of dangerous situations regarding blood, talk of trauma and abandonment and abuse
A/N: So this talks a lot about blood, and while it may seem like enabling a bad habit, I wrote this as people who have been exposed to trauma and ptsd and have no real coping skills to go to when they are in a difficult headspace. So please keep that in mind. As always, this may be triggering to some so please read at your discretion and do not read if you feel like any of the warnings may be triggering to you.
Request: Hello, I would like to order a Natasha x GNR where the reader is known to be the team artist and has several paintings scattered around the base, but one day Natasha discovers that the paint used to paint the paintings is the reader's own blood. I had this idea from an art I saw.
You held up a paintbrush, one eye squinting as your tongue peaked out from your lips. This painting was going to be sitting in the common room of the Avenger tower so it had to be perfect.
Sighing, you set the paintbrush down and left your room. You needed some fresh air to get your creative juices flowing again. There was just something missing and you couldn’t figure it out.
Stepping out onto the balcony attached to the common room of the Avengers tower, you looked out over at the sunset.
The orange and red glow had you thinking back to past paintings of yours. The paintings that were sitting in a gallery down in a small building near central park.
Paintings that have gotten you rewards and renown around the world. Paintings that no one knew held a dark secret from your past when you had decided to start painting as a release from your trauma.
The trauma of your parents abandoning you because of your mutant abilities, trauma from being hunted like an animal, from starving and stealing to survive.
The paintings that were all colored in different tones of copper, red and orange. The paintings that were done with your blood and not paint.
Thinking about it had you reaching up to grip your upper arms, where scars rested from the places you let bleed to complete your art.
Thankfully you weren’t in that dark mindset anymore from when you first started painting.
Your paintings had drawn the attention of the Avengers and then they learned about your mutant abilities and so soon you had been welcomed into their ranks due to your mutant abilities.
You breathed in deeply and let out your breath slowly. You knew what your current painting was missing.
Walking back to your room, you took a moment just to look at the painting. The canvas was covered in different shades of blue and in the front was a rough sketch of the Avengers tower.
Digging in your bathroom cabinet, you pulled out your first aid kit and found a needle, a blood transfer kit and a small blood collector tube.
Taking an alcohol wipe with you back into your room, you stripped off your shirt and methodically cleaned your arm and proceeded to enter the needle and release the pressure to allow the blood to drain. It was all muscle memory.
Once the tube was full, you disconnected it and inserted a new tube. Taking a small paintbrush, you dipped it in your blood and watched the bright red color smear across the blue canvas in a macabre imitation of paint.
The red traced the tower on your canvas and soon you lost yourself in the painting. Your mind not thinking, just letting your hand lead the brush. Red turning copper as it dried, with bright red dripping down to the floor.
Stepping back after what seemed like a couple hours, you finally took the time to look at what you had created.
Blue was barely visible behind the copper avenger tower and the splattering of red that looked like rain falling down around it.
Hissing a little in pain and knowing it would bruise tomorrow, you removed the needle and using the bit of blood on the tip, signed your name in the corner of the canvas.
“[Y/n]-” Your name ended with a gasp and you twirled around to see Natasha standing in your doorway with wide green eyes and a hand covering her mouth.
“Natasha!” You panicked, how much had she seen? Looking around you, you saw the blood splattered ground, your pants stained with copper and the needle and tubes with coagulated blood spilling on the ground. “ ...Shit.”
“Friday, please keep the team occupied and prevent them from coming into [Y/n]’s room for the moment.” Natasha’s voice was steady but you could read the concern in her emerald eyes.
You had gotten pretty good at reading your girlfriend’s expressions in the past year that you had been dating.
You stood still, not daring to move as Natasha walked around you to the bathroom where she grabbed a washcloth and a bandaid.
Walking back to you, she gently guided you to sit on your bed and then knelt before you, her eyes on your upper arm where the blood had slowed down until it was barely oozing from the puncture mark.
“...Natasha.” Your mouth felt like it was full of cotton as your girlfriend's name slipped from your lips.
Natasha’s eyes flashed up towards you before going back to her task.
One word from her and yet it spoke volumes.
You swallowed hard, “It’s…” You didn’t know how to explain it.
Natasha seemed to realize and now that your arm was wrapped and cleaned, she sat down next to you on the bed and pulled you to her side, her arm rubbing soothingly down your side as her head rested atop yours, “The gallery? The other paintings in the tower?”
You listened to the heartbeat near your head and tried to contain the emotions that wanted to be released through screaming and crying, speaking calmly as you answered her, “The gallery yes… the ones in the tower are all normal.”
The arm rubbing your side paused minutely in its ministrations before continuing.
“Why now? If you haven’t done it since you became an Avenger?”
You sighed, closing your eyes, letting the darkness prevent you from imagining how Natasha’s face might look. Disgusted? Pitying?
“I was… stuck. It’s… familiar. Using… blood… is a form of release.”
Natasha made a soft noise of understanding and you opened your eyes again, pulling away slightly, keeping your eyes down so that you wouldn’t see her expression.
A hand cupped your chin and gently pulled your face up. Green and red filled your sight as Natasha smiled gently at you.
There was no trace of disgust, or pity… only sympathy and love shone in those gem-like eyes that you loved.
“I understand. Everyone has their vice. I just wish you had confided in me about this so that I could help you be safe about it.”
That had you jolting in place, “You aren’t going to tell me to stop? Tell me to get help?”
Natasha’s laughter was fairy light and lit up a warmth in your chest. “[Y/n], Steve runs until he’s near the point of passing out from exhaustion. Wanda trains her powers until she faints. Tony and Bruce stay awake for days at a time working on their tech stuff… and I have to force myself to eat and drink instead of starving myself as a form of punishment for my sins.”
You gasped, hearing her speak of the self-inflicted pain that your teammates, your family, put upon themselves.
Natasha nuzzled her face against your cheek, her breath tickling your hair as she spoke, “So no, I won’t berate you. And neither will anyone else on the team. I just want to make sure you will be safe if you continue to do this.”
You smiled, your arms going around Natasha to hold her close to you, “I don’t think I will do this too much. Not when I have you and the team to remind me of how much I have changed and how much love I have in my life now.”
Natasha giggled and you pulled back just enough to see her face. Your eyes dropped to her ruby lips and she seemed to be on the same wavelength as you as her lips captured yours in a bruising kiss full of passion and want and longing.
A few minutes passed before you broke away gasping for air.
Natasha stared into your eyes for a few more seconds before she jumped off the bed and offered her hand to you, “Why don’t we go show off your recent award worthy artwork to the team?”
You smiled, not as nervous or worried as you had been just a few minutes prior.
“Let’s.” You grabbed Natasha’s hand and laughed as she pulled you towards the common room, your blood painting in her other hand, “Guys! [Y/n] made a new painting!”
“Way to go [Y/n].”
“I still say you should do a portrait of me next.”
“In your dreams Stark, [Y/n]’s talent would be wasted on painting you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean mr america!?”
“Guys! Stop arguing and get your asses on the bean bags!”
You found yourself laughing and relaxing in the arms of your girlfriend as you listened to the familiar banter of your family.
You all had your vices, but together, you supported each other and made sure no one slipped too far off the edge. You all had the love of family.
(Bold and crossed out means I could not tag you and will be removing you from the taglist you are one)
@rainydaysrnevergrey @platonic-plots @sociallyawkwardcircus-freak-hi @queenbbarnes @mythixmagic @chas-z @thefridgeismybestie @strangersstranger @princess-evans-addict @rororo06 @timelordhunterandmysterysolver @xxxtwilightaxelxxx
@ludwigvonbaethoven @kitten-q-p @morbid-gaymer @honeybadgerwhodoesntcare @sunnyandtwisty @zoeyknight @kurlyafro @thewomanofwonder-blog @5aftermidnight @myfemininelesboworld @gaytrashgoblin @marvelb00kwolf @multifandom-imagines-things @turtlelurky @mochamoff
@jadepc @marvel-is-a-mood @brynnloh
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Feeling is First (Loki/Reader Lullabies #174)
Category: Fluff. Fluff without plot.
Summary: There are plenty of ways to say “I love you” without actually saying the words. It takes Loki too long to realize that.
Warnings/Notes: This is kind of a long one, so I posted it a little bit earlier than usual for those of you who are able to read this before bed? I know it’s been done again and again, even within the context of these Lullabies, but I just felt like writing a little collage of moments in your relationship with Loki. This one was heavily inspired by several “Ways to Say ‘I Love You’” posts I’ve seen floating around Tumblr. The title is from an ee cummings poem, but I’m not sure it’s wholly related. It just got stuck in my head and wouldn’t let me go! Happy Valentine’s Day. If I could, I would give each and every one of you one of those grade-school Valentines and a heart lollipop. (Ooh, though now I’m toying with the idea of offering to send people postcards from Loki, if they’re willing to give me their addresses. Would there be any takers?!)
Feeling is First
Before you, Loki had never put much thought to the multitudes of ways there were to say something like ‘I love you’. Why would he? Not once in his long, long life had such sentiment done him any favors. In fact, from where he stood, it seemed a lot like the damned emotion caused more trouble than it could possibly be worth. It got people hurt. It lost them battles. It tied them up in knots inside and never offered any kind of relief.
At its best, love was foolish nonsense. At its worst, it toppled entire realms.
Life was difficult enough as it was—existing in Thor’s shadow, attracting his father’s ire and disdain, earning nothing but suspicion from the nobles and people of Asgard. When he dropped from the Bifrost, he did not spend long aching over some strapping young man left behind. When the Titan began to take him apart again and again, he did not cry out for a wide-eyed maiden’s gentle touch. In many ways, it made things easier. It served him well.
When he found himself trapped in the Tower with the so-called heroes who wanted him dead, it would be an understatement to say that he was displeased. Of course, he kept that to himself, unwilling to give them any more incentive to hate him, but he seethed inside. Too many men around him told him that it would be good for him, or that it would be good for Midgard, but Loki knew better. The others in the Tower were little more than overpowered babysitters, meant to keep him from stepping out of line. No one knew about what he’d survived, and he was dead-set on keeping it that way. But it made day-to-day life uncomfortable at best.
You had been a brand new face. The memory of his first time on Midgard was a blur at best, but something in the back of his mind told him that he would certainly have remembered seeing your face. When you looked at him, it was rarely with the skeptical, narrowed eyes of the others. You smiled at him. He wrapped his scorn even more tightly around himself, wore his disdain like a shield, but it did very little. You kept smiling at him.
One evening, he’d slipped out of his quarters in search of something to eat. Thor often invited him to join the others for dinner—the ones who remained in the Tower all gathered together for their evening meals like some ridiculous kind of family. The first and only time that Loki ever took him up on it, Banner gripped the edge of the table with white knuckles and Romanoff gave him the uncomfortable sensation that she was imagining what it’d be like to tear his throat apart. He did not join them again.
But he hadn’t waited long enough. The lights in the kitchen were still on, and, as he approached the doorway, he could hear movement from inside. Against his better judgment, he did not turn on his heel and retreat. He forced himself to step inside and go to the refrigerator as though it meant nothing, and he waited for the gasp of horror when you noticed him.
It didn’t come.
You remained quiet as you finished up whatever it was that you were doing at the sink. Washing something? It didn’t matter. He rummaged through the offerings on the shelves, but nothing held much interest for him. For one who had grown up eating only the finest delicacies prepared by the most talented chefs in Asgard, Midgardian fare was...disappointing. How Thor choked it down so happily night after night was a mystery to him.
“Hey, just the guy I was hoping to see!” You came up behind him, causing him to straighten up and spin towards you in a single jerky movement. When you stepped even closer, he wanted to cringe away from you, but held himself steady. Instead of touching him, though, you merely ducked a little and reached past him to retrieve a covered dish from the fridge behind him. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t quick enough at dinner to save any of the actual dinner for you, but this baker whose shop Tony saved last week sent over a strawberry pie and I did manage to save a piece for you before the rest of them scarfed it all down.” You pressed the dish into his hands and then stepped away.
And that was it. You didn’t hang around and wait for him to thank you. You didn’t linger as though you expected him to make some kind of fuss over your action. You just dried your hands on a dishtowel and offered him a soft smile before bidding him goodnight on your way out the door.
And that pie was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.
Not much changed—not that he expected it to. He kept hiding himself away, and the others kept imagining smearing the streets with his entrails. It was just the way of things.
It wasn’t often that he was sent out into the field with anyone except Thor himself, but, once, he had to team up with you to complete a mission somewhere out in the world. He was a little surprised at how fierce you were out there. In the Tower, he’d started to think of you as something as soft and sweet as that pie had been. You kept smiling at him, here and there, despite the way his face would always curl into a scowl, or just go cold and blank when you did. But you fought with a viciousness that he hadn’t thought to expect. You were ruthless and cunning and brutal, and it was a pleasure to watch you work.
He lost sight of you only once, but that was enough. Someone else got their hands on you and dragged you to the center of the room with a blade pressed to your throat. The man crowed out into the cavernous space, calling out to whoever had accompanied you, and mused aloud with barely-concealed delight about what information he might be able to extract from you before your body gave out.
Even from a distance, Loki could see how dark your eyes were, and how hollow. You told your captor over and over again that you were here alone, and tried to tell him that he wasn’t going to get another word out of you, but Loki could hear the way your voice trembled. Likely your captor did too. He laughed and pressed the blade a little deeper.
He acted before he had the time to come up with a plan. His only goal was to get you out of that man’s grips, preferably right before he absolutely tore him apart. He heard shouting as he charged at him, heard various projectiles whizzing past him in the air, but none of that mattered. In a haze, he took out all of the agents who were attempting to swarm him, and by the time he was standing above you with the scent of blood thick in the air, the room was quiet again.
He fought, hard, to hide the way his hands trembled long after the fight was over. Battles had long been part of his life; this one should not have affected him like this. You said nothing as the two of you completed what you’d been sent here to do and immediately headed back to the jet. You didn’t even seem to be looking at him.
But then you dropped into a seat beside him and, once again, pressed something into his hand. This time it was a glass with a rosy amber liquid. You held a similar glass of your own, and raised yours towards him with a grim smile. “Drink this,” you said in a low voice. “You’ll feel better.”
He took a sip, and tried not to laugh. It was some type of Midgardian liquor. He’d need a lot more than these few drops of the stuff to feel any different from usual, but he could appreciate the fact that you’d thought of him. He did not speak as you took a drink from your own glass and then tried not to watch as you trailed your tongue along the rim.
His hands stopped shaking.
That time, things changed a little. The others heard about the mission and about the complications, and perhaps the full report of what had happened began to circulate. Stark pulled him aside once and reached out to touch his shoulder as he thanked him for looking after you. Loki wanted to grit out something like “Isn’t that what anyone else would have done?”, but he didn’t. Stark just smiled with one corner of his mouth and then patted Loki’s shoulder again. There was a weight in his touch that gave Loki the sneaking suspicion that there was plenty more left unsaid, but he didn’t press the issue.
The others still didn’t like him, and that was fine. Midgardians didn’t live long anyway—he had, what, only a few decades before they were gone? It was not in his nature to worry about how they felt about him. But he did notice that things grew...less cold. With the exception of you, no one ever looked particularly thrilled to see him, and genuine smiles were just as rare as ever, but Romanoff stopped staring daggers at him. Sometimes Rogers would give him a stiff nod if Loki caught him staring, and the other one—Barnes—stopped watching him as though he were a target.
Thor invited him to join the rest of them for a movie in the sitting room. Loki laughed in his face, of course, and tried to send him off with a dismissive wave and a quip about how he’d rather flay himself alive, but his brother was especially bull-headed that night. With a sly look on his face, he said your name, and told Loki that you were sure to be happy to see him.
It didn’t change his mind, though, and Loki still wound up slamming the door in his face, but when he returned to what he’d been doing before Thor knocked, he found that he couldn’t shake the thought of you and how you might react if he came to join you.
He stayed there in his room for quite some time, very pointedly focused on whatever it was that he’d been doing before Thor’s visit, and most certainly not thinking about possibly seeing that warm smile curl your lips. But he did get hungry, after a while, and he knew without thinking about it that he was sure to find some sort of plate of food in the refrigerator. Over time, you’d gotten better and better at saving him something at dinner, and he’d gotten better and better about allowing himself to accept it.
So when he left his room, he did it only so he could go and get something to eat. He could get to the kitchen without even passing by the sitting room, and he planned to. But halfway there, he thought better of it. Why shouldn’t he stop by, just to peek his head around the corner and roll his eyes at whatever you were watching? No one would know.
Except for the blaring television, the room was quiet. Someone had turned all the lights off, and everyone’s attention was directed at the screen. Above the back of the couch closest to him, he could see the back of your head. You sat alone, folded into the corner of the otherwise-empty couch. He crept a little closer to lean stiffly against the couch. What harm could it do? No one would know.
It wasn’t hard to figure out the plot of the film. Midgardians were so predictable, after all, and their media was no different. What he hadn’t expected was how easily he would get caught up in the story. He found himself relaxing a bit as the characters moved about on the screen. He almost cared about what would happen to them. They were likable, after all, and smarter than he would have expected.
The joke caught him off guard. In the heat of an argument, one of the characters spat out some pun, some piece of wordplay, and the sheer unexpectedness of something like that made him laugh despite himself. Your head turned towards him immediately, but you did not flinch away. The laughter dried in his throat and he stood up a little straighter again, backing out of the room without looking at you.
He did his best not to think about what he’d done as he ducked into the kitchen. Sure enough, there was a plate of food waiting for him. Some part of him wanted to ignore it, perhaps as a punishment for being so foolish, but he couldn’t help but reach for it. You had a way of making even Midgardian food taste better. Just as he was uncovering it and trying to decide whether to heat it up or eat it cold, he heard you step through the doorway.
“I didn’t expect to see you down here tonight,” you said in that soft voice. He didn’t look at you. There wasn’t truly much to say in response to that, but it was beginning to feel wrong for him not to respond when you spoke to him.
“Well, I thought I’d come and see what passed for entertainment for Midgardians.” But that response was worse than not responding at all, wasn’t it? His voice sounded too cold, too aloof. No one should speak to you in that way. He forced himself to look at you, then, hoping that he could soften his harshness with an attempt at a smile, but you didn’t look hurt. You were smiling at him.
“I like the sound of your laugh.” You tugged nervously on your earlobe, but you didn’t look away. Something new swelled within him, something warm. Probably he was just getting overly hungry. “I wish you could laugh more often.”
He could practically hear the blood rise into your cheeks, and the quick way that you closed off your body language to him made him feel like he was missing something. You apologized under your breath, then, and wished him a good night, and then hurried away—not back into the sitting room, but away to your own room.
He tried not to think about how he might have liked to join you on the couch.
He began forcing himself to spend more time near you. He did not forget the strange ache he felt that movie night, when he went back to his quarters alone and ate in silence. In a way, perhaps he was trying to fill that loneliness, or else just make you feel better about your confession. It was awkward at first, and went against nearly everything he’d ever thought about, but he joined you in quiet activities in the Tower. The first time he found you in the sitting room and sat down to read alongside you, you did not leap to your feet and flee, but neither did you begin to blather on to fill the silence. Encouraged, he kept joining you, and now those quiet moments with you had become unexpectedly important to him.
The two of you were sent on more and more missions together. He got to see you work in the field, and came to trust you—perhaps not yet with his life, but certainly with his well-being. You were soft, but sturdy, and charmingly stubborn when you set your mind to something. All it would have taken was a single word from anyone else in the Tower and he knew he would have retreated again, but no one teased either of you about your increasing camaraderie. Later, he would suspect that you’d threatened them with bodily harm if they even attempted it.
One night, he was alone. You’d been gone for close to two weeks now, and he still had yet to get used to the emptiness of the Tower without your presence. Surely he wasn’t worried about you, because why would he worry over a Midgardian, but he could accept that he wouldn’t feel quite settled until you were back home. He sat on the sofa in the sitting room, reading to himself and trying not to think about how you should be there with him.
It was like he’d summoned you. He was just turning a page when he became aware of a presence in the doorway. Over time, his senses had become somewhat less acute. He no longer felt the need to be constantly on guard. That might have bothered him, if it wasn’t such a relief not to constantly be looking over his shoulder. He looked up and saw you leaning against the door. You looked exhausted. There was usually so much life in your eyes, and your face was usually so brightly-animated, but tonight you stood there with only the slightest smile at the corner of your mouth. He could tell from the way you held yourself that you were hurt, which made anger stab through him even though he could tell that it wasn’t truly serious. You were battered and bruised, but not bleeding out.
As soon as you met his eyes, you stepped into the room, and, without a word, you came to join him on the sofa. You sat closer tonight than perhaps you ever had, fitting yourself against his side. Without truly meaning to, he lifted his arm to drape it around your shoulders and hold you closer. It didn’t mean anything. It was clear that you needed some kind of comfort, and, if you were coming to him for it, you had to be desperate. It was only right that he offer you what he could. You sighed, a sweet puff of air, and rested your head against his chest like you’d done it a thousand times before. He felt your body relax. That should not have been as intoxicating as it was.
“You’re warm,” you murmured, your voice heavy with gratitude. It stirred something within him. But you didn’t say anything else, only closed your eyes and allowed your head to grow heavier against him.
You fell asleep there, in his arms, and he held you.
Things went on. More often than not, you were able to convince him to come to movie nights or Stark parties or simply walks through the city with you. There was something about you that made it easy to let go of his desire to continue holding himself aloof. Spending time with you was comfortable, it was warm, it was safe. And it was certainly better than turning you down and then spending the rest of the night alone in his quarters worrying that this time you’d be hurt enough to stop asking him.
For the most part, the others didn’t really say anything about it, but where before, it seemed that you had threatened them to keep their mouths shut, now it just seemed like there was nothing to say. Every once in a while, if someone came across him alone in the Tower, they’d ask him about you, but even that felt more like curiosity than like pointed barbs.
You still spent a lot of time reading together. Some time ago, he’d started to read aloud to you—when you came back from missions, you were nearly always exhausted like you’d been that first night, and he could tell that you appreciated it when he read to you instead of grilling you about how things had gone. But, slowly, he began to do things like that even without a reason. Having you as an audience made the stories feel so much more engaging. He was no longer stuck in his head on the verge of groaning about Midgardian literature: he could pay attention to the way you paid attention, and listen for your reactions. It was nice.
There’d been a new development in this tradition, however: you started to feel guilty about making him read to you all the time. Sometimes you refused to let him, and instead read your own book aloud to him. He tried to assure you that it didn’t bother him, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to tell you how much he liked reading to you. So, on the nights where your guilt grew too strong, he would allow you to force him to listen, and he’d focus on the sound of your voice.
Tonight, you had tried to wrestle his book away from him. He’d laughed out loud when you first threatened it—laughed at the idea of having to struggle against you—and you’d taken advantage of his momentary distraction to knock him down and sprawl out on top of him. You’d very nearly wrested the book away from him in that moment, and he would certainly need to remember this moment, should he go on underestimating Midgardians in the future. But it didn’t take much to subdue you again, just a well-placed hand to your ribcage, and you’d crumpled against him with giggles bubbling out of you. It seemed so unthinkable that he could do something like that to you, but you never gave him any room to doubt himself.
So you’d switched tactics, then, making your eyes go big and wide and sad at him, and you waxed poetic about how he was always reading to you and you didn’t want him to strain his beautiful voice. Your voice was just a little too theatrical, and of course that made him laugh again and roll his eyes, but he did stop trying to get the book back from you.
And so you read to him.
You sat there pressed against his side like you always did, lately, and the warmth from your body seeped into him and warmed him from the inside out. You felt solid. You felt unexpectedly permanent there next to him, and you just went on reading like you didn’t notice what it did to him. Over time, he began to realize how little attention he was actually paying to the narrative. You even smelled warm: light and clean like your soap or your shampoo, but with a lovely roundness to the scent that he had to assume came from your exertions with him only moments ago. He kept breathing you in.
At some point, he allowed his eyes to close. He let himself slip into something like a trance, focusing on nothing more than the sound of your voice and the feel of your body. When had this happened? When had he gone from that cold monster to this...whatever you’d turned him into? And why didn’t he mind it? More accurately: why did he like it?
Without thinking about it, he turned towards you, moved a little closer so he could press his forehead to your temple. You leaned into him without faltering in your words, and that was all he needed. He tightened his arm around your shoulders and tried to breathe through whatever it was that was happening in his chest.
You trailed off. You didn’t squirm to get away from him or even just move your head to look at him, but he did feel the way you reached to cover his hand with your own. “Are you okay?” As it often was, your voice was tender, concerned. He nodded.
“May I kiss you?”
He didn’t mean to think it. He certainly didn’t mean to say it out loud. Now that he had, he felt his heart stop, so certain that he’d ruined things forever. He forced himself to stay still, forced himself not to tighten his grip on you.
You barely moved, until you pressed your head a little more firmly against his own. He told himself that he felt you nod. Just the slightest little movement, but still unmistakable: a quick bob of your head. He looked up and immediately met your gaze. You weren’t smiling, but your eyes were soft as you looked at him. You worried your lower lip between your teeth and swallowed before speaking: “Are you sure?”
He responded in the only way he knew how: he surged forward to press his lips against yours.
You tasted a little like strawberries, like uncertain words spoken in quiet rooms and gentle affection with the slightest burn of Midgardian liquor. He knew, then and there, that he’d never tire of the taste of you.
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