It had taken hours (although it felt more like days), constant reiteration of the rules, and so many practice rounds it would make a normal person’s head spin. But after all this time and effort, you knew Thor could do it.
“Ready?” you asked as you held out your fist.
Though he didn’t look as confident as usual, he reached out his own. “Ready.“
"Rock-Paper-Scissors-Lizard-Spock,” you chanted. At the end, you triumphantly thrust out a lizard.
Thor, however, continued to leave his fist in the air as he stared at your hand.
“Uh. Thor? You gonna stick with that rock there?”
“That depends,” he said slowly. “What does rock do?”
The rest of the group around you groaned. Even Natasha fell back onto the couch with her head in her hands.
“Really?” Bruce mumbled. “Really?”
“I am sorry,” Thor said, and had the grace to look sheepish. “I do not understand this strange Midgardian custom of choosing things.”
Steve heaved a sigh.
“Okay, you know what?” Tony got to his feet. “We’re done. You and Blondie here should have settled this hours ago. We’re just going to watch–”
“No one wants to watch another documentary about you, Stark,” Steve said into his hands.
The rest of the group made noises of agreement. Tony, apparently thinking that this was somehow your fault, glowered at you and gestured at Thor.
“By all means, spend the rest of our lives trying to teach an immortal dog new tricks.”
You glowered at him in response. Thor had to wave his free hand in front of your eye to bring your focus back to him.
“[Name]?”
This time, it was you that sighed. “Scissor cuts paper; paper covers rock; rock crushes lizard; lizard poisons Spock; Spock smashes scissors; scissors decapitate lizard; lizard eats paper; paper disproves Spock; Spock vaporizes rock, and rock crushes scissors.” You made a cutting motion with two fingers in the air. “Got it?”
He beamed. “I understand completely. Thank you, [Name].”
“No problem.” You sat up straight once more. “Let’s just get this over with before I have to listen to another eight hours about the Stark Expo. Ready?”
“Hey, I’m just saying,” Tony called. “This is your last chance. You guys don’t decide this round, we’re doing whatI want to do. My tower, my rules.”
“Ready?” you asked again without even showing any sign that you had heard him. Thor nodded.
“I am prepared!”
“Rock-Paper-Scissors-Lizard-Spock!”
You held up Spock. Thor continued to hold up rock. The only difference this round was that he looked delighted.
“I win!” he cried joyously.
“What?” You looked from your hand to his. “No, you don’t. Spock vaporizes rock.”
"But Spock is an alien not of Asgard.“
You nodded.
"And a rock is of Midgard.”
"Um…so?“
"The only things that can defeat those of Midgard are those of Asgard! Thus, the victory is mine.”
You stared. And stared. And stared some more. Finally, without taking his eyes off the still-blank television screen, Bruce spoke up:
“He still doesn’t get it.”
Looks like you’d all get to spend your night learning about Stark Industries again after all.
Loki had always been a bit different–a bit more magic than muscle, a bit more tricky than truthful, a bit more bitter than sweet. But for all your years in his company, you never imagined you’d have to see his face through the wall of a prison cell.
“So they decided to send you to break me. I should have known,” Loki breathed, his grin as fragile as glass.
You weren’t sure how long he had known you were there. Perhaps the entire time, as silent as you had been trying to remain. As his green eyes caught the little light that filtered into his cell, you stepped forward.
“Break you?” you asked. “Why would they ask me to break you?”
“Oh, I think you know.”
You shook your head, your fingers fluttering out to brush against the surface of his cell wall. “What happened to you?”
“What happened to me? What happened to me? What happened to you?”
“Getting Thor exiled,” you said without answering him. “Trying to kill him and our friends. Destroying the Frost Giants. Murdering hundreds of innocent Midgardians.” You lifted your gaze to meet his. “You’ve changed.”
That got his ire. Loki strode forward. “I have not changed!” His shout was so loud that you stumbled backward. Though he couldn’t get himself any closer to you, Loki clenched his hands into fists and grimaced down at you. “I have simply learned what I truly am!”
“A Frost Giant?” you said calmly, getting to your feet and gathering your skirts around you along with your wits. “Thor told me. Loki, you cannot believe–”
“They told you!“ He barked out a wild laugh. “Of course they did! You’re Thor’s little lapdog now, aren’t you?”
“Loki, you are speaking madness. I would never–”
“Don’t deny it! You helped them. You helped them all. And you would send me back to exile as soon as you could to be rid of me. Just like my damned family!”
“What are you saying? Thor loves you! He–He adores you. And Odin–”
“All of it was lies, wasn’t it, [Name]?” His voice dropped to regular volume and his smile returned to something close to normal as he stepped backward and away from you. “The truth comes out. Everything we shared, it was all a lie so you could watch me, spy on me for my family.”
“What?” Hurt colored your tone.“ No. Loki–Loki, I–”
“Don’t say it.” He held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear that you love me. Not anymore. You lied to me, just like everyone else.”
You pressed a hand to your heart and moved forward again. “Loki–”
He whirled around. “Get out of my sight! I never want to see you again!”
A shaky breath escaped your lips, but:
“If that is what you wish, your Highness.”
All he did was watch you as you bowed and left the room.
Today was just not your day, not your day at all. Despite your having been there for nearly three hours, Avengers Tower was a complete mess.
The banner you had so painstakingly painted the night before? Ripped slightly and hanging from only one part of the ceiling; the other part of the ceiling had nothing but a huge dent from Thor’s hammer. Apparently Thor hadn’t stopped there with his decorating, either.
Natasha and Tony? Nowhere to be seen. But there was a large amount of alcohol missing, and they’d been talking about a drinking contest for weeks. You’d seen them briefly earlier, Tony practically asleep and Natasha complaining of a headache.
The cake? Currently nothing but a smeared blast across the remains of one wall. The rest of the kitchen area had all the other telltale signs of a Hulk attack.
Clint? Still unconscious. One of his explosive arrows could be found near where Bruce had been carefully icing said cake that morning. The rest of his arrows were littered across the cabinets, walls, ceiling, and counters.
And poor Steve? He was still trying to understand the situation.
All you had wanted was a surprise party set up. That wasn’t such a big request, was it? They all liked Phil. You’d thought they would want to help celebrate his getting out of the hospital. Instead, all that was left was wreckage and some unsalvageable dessert.
The aggravation wasn’t even worth it. When Phil arrived when your note had directed him to, all he did was take one look around at the carnage and shake his head.
You opened your mouth to explain, but Phil held up a hand.
Summary: For nine years, you raised the little sister your parents would never see grow. For nine years, you put blood and sweat and tears—sometimes your own, sometimes that of others—into your gruesome work. For nine years, you promised your little family a better life. Then, on the eve of happily ever after, all that is snatched away in the name of revenge. There’s only one group of people capable of rescuing your sister from those who murdered your parents. The thing is, they might not be so willing to help once they discover who (or what) you are…or maybe, just maybe, they might love you in spite of it.
Ratings/Warnings: T (sexual references, mild foul language, canon divergence Post-Avengers (2012), violence, slow burn, France depicted by a non-French writer, no Laura Barton)
Pairings:Clint Barton/Female!Reader; Natasha Romanoff/Bruce Banner; Tony Stark/Pepper Potts
Posting Status: In-Progress
Notes:Now that I am feeling better, I want to write again (especially since I didn’t get any requests). Honestly, though? My old stories are…old. I’m not abandoning them. It’s just that I really wanted to write something new that reflects where I am as a writer now. This plot bunny has been gnawing at my brain since I wrote the “Factory” one shot for my “One Small Step” collection. Clint Barton isn’t the most popular Avenger, I realize, but I hope someone out there will enjoy this story. I thought about swapping Clint out for Steve or Bucky. That’s just not the story I wanted to tell.
One more Important note: I’m not French. I’ve never been to France. The only person I know who speaks French is my friend from Canada. I’ve done a lot of research for this, but that doesn’t mean I’ve got it all right. Please shoot me a note if you find any discrepancies that need addressed! I will be happy to correct them.
summary: a fun picnic day at the park turned into something more.
pairings:bucky barnes x child!ocs, fem!reader x child!ocs, bucky barnes x fem!reader
warnings/tags: fluff, slight angst, bruises, harassment ?, crying, swearing – lmk if i missed any!
author’s note: guess who’s back? JKJK SJDJDJDJ i just needed something to cope with, after all the shit this week :) i’ll be gone again after this, sooooo
likes, reblogs and feedbacks are greatly appreciated! please, please let me know what you think!
“Do you guys want some ice cream?” Bucky hollered from his place on the picnic mat. The kids, who were running around and playing with their ball, suddenly stopped at the mention of ice cream.
“Yes, please! I want mango, please!”
“Strawbewwy, p’ease!”
The both of you chuckled as they continued playing.
“Alright, I’m coming with Dada because I really need to use the restroom, so please don’t wander too far!” You told them. “I’ll be quick!”
Both the kids agreed, but Nari accidentally kicked the ball too hard. They watched to see where the ball was going, not wanting to chase it and risk getting lost.
Thankfully, the ball didn’t roll too far. Only, it hit a man’s foot and they watched as he picked it up.
Niko immediately started walking towards the man to retrieve the ball, but Nari stopped him.
“Bean, no! We can’t talk to strangers!”
“But,” he pouted. “Ball …”
They held a staring contest for a few moments until Nari gave in, unable to say no to his brother’s sad face.
Niko cheered and immediately ran towards the man as Nari followed quickly.
The toddler’s excitement died down when the man suddenly looked at him, causing him to squeak out and hide behind Nari, who just caught up to him and was catching her breath.
When Nari finally calmed down, she looked up at the man with an apologetic look. “We’re sorry to bother you, mister,” she then looked at the ball in his hands. “Can we please have our ball back?”
Instead of answering, the man just dropped the ball in shock and stared at the young girl.
Confused, Nari went to pick the dropped ball up when the man suddenly knelt and held her arms. Immediately, Nari tried wriggling out of his grasp, while Niko hid behind her more, gripping her shirt tightly as his eyes welled up with tears.
“Are you–” the man choked up. “Are you really Nari?”
“Please let go!” She didn’t answer his question and tried to get away instead.
“Listen to me!” By now, both the kids were crying. “I’m your– your dad! Don’t you know me? I’m Papa Nate!”
At that, Nari froze.
“Ayi?” Niko whimpered, seeing his older sister not moving. He waited for a few moments, not listening to the man as he continued to talk.
When Nari finally snapped out of her trance, she immediately tried to get his hands off of him. “You’re not my dad!”
“Yes, I am! Listen to me! Your mom is lying to you! Whoever she tells you your dad is, he’s not, so–”
“DADA!” Niko finally screamed out, crying loudly, making his sister and the scary man to suddenly look at him.
Bucky, who was paying the vendor, snapped his head towards the direction of his voice and when he saw his kids in distress, he told the vendor to wait and immediately walked towards them.
You, only finishing your business in the bathroom, heard this as well and ran in the same direction as Bucky.
Nate’s grip went loose and Nari took this opportunity to get her and Niko as far away from the man as possible.
You and Bucky got to the kids and you both immediately started checking up on the kids, both wincing at the slight bruises that started forming on your eldest’s arms.
Once you made sure they were both okay, Bucky nodded at you and took the kids.
You smiled gratefully before standing up and facing the man, your smile dropping.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Nathaniel?” You didn’t give him the chance to answer. “Were you stalking us?”
“What? No!” He shook his head. “That’s not even the point here! You didn’t tell our kid about me?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” You scoffed. “She’s my kid. She’s Bucky’s kid. You lost the right to even see her when you walked out of our lives that day, so no, I didn’t tell her about you.” He opened his mouth to speak, but you didn’t let him. “Don’t ever come near any of us again or I’m filing a restraining order against you. Do you understand?”
“But–”
“I said,” you interrupted loudly. “Do you understand?”
“Y-yes.”
“Good.”
And with that, you walked away, your priority now comforting your family.
—
It has been an hour since the incident and Nari still hasn’t uttered a word, but her bruises have been treated.
You put Niko down for a nap in your and Bucky’s room, while he and Nari were in the latter’s room, watching a movie in an attempt to get the girl’s off of what happened.
“Dada?” Nari spoke once the movie was over. Bucky hummed, so she took it as an opportunity to speak again. “Is he really my dad?”
Bucky didn’t speak at first. Nari thought he didn’t want to talk about it and was about to apologize when Bucky knelt in front of her.
“He is your dad by blood, bubba,” he started. “But I’ll always be your dada. No matter what happens, no matter what they say. I’ll be your dada for as long as you want me to be. Remember that, alright, bub?”
“Okay, dada.”
“Come give dada a hug then,” he smiled softly, making Nari smile as well as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
They didn’t let go of each other until Bucky felt her snuggle into him even more, a telltale sign of her being sleepy.
“You sleepy, bub?”
“Uh-huh.”
Bucky then laid on Nari’s bed with her still in his arms and she finally fell asleep, cuddling with the bestest dad in the world.
I Wish You Could Be Honest Chapter Six: Leaving is Only For the Faint of Heart
HYDRA didn’t die out when it failed to take down S.H.I.E.L.D. during the time of the Winter Soldier. Now, top enemy agent Y/N L/N has been sent to finish the job by killing Steve Rogers. When she’s captured by S.H.I.E.L.D., she doesn’t know what to expect, but it certainly doesn’t involve Captain America himself trying to win her over.
Moore leaves soon enough, and you’re alone on the balcony once more. You turn back to the landscape before you, hoping for something to distract you from the relentless surge of thoughts all crawling down your throat, but even the sky and sun can’t ease your mind anymore. The sunset has finished, the colors are gone. All that’s left is the gradual growing dark of night.
Steve comes back about five minutes later. You have to hand it to him, he tries hard to get you talking anymore, but the charm of your previous conversation has been lost. You feel restless, like you’re a junior agent on her first mission instead of the battle-hardened spy that you’re supposed to be. What happened to make you like this? Who stole your courage like a pickpocket snatching a purse?
You know, of course. Moore coming to tell you about the impending break-out attempt should have lifted your spirits, but it’s just sunk you back down into a wealth of shadows. You knew you would be leaving at some point, or you hoped as much, but now that you’re face to face with the truth, you almost don’t know what to do with yourself.
It’s good news, though. It’s meant to be good news. When Steve gives up and walks with you back to your cell, you force your mind to parade through every happy thing awaiting you back at the HYDRA base. Clean clothes that are actually yours and not just borrowed from the S.H.I.E.L.D. uniforms. Your best weapons. The friends you’ve made. The promotion that’s awaiting you, or at least the familiar burn of a chastisement. Everything about the organization that’s been your life for the past few years.
Yet, when you shut your eyes, alone in your cell once more, you do not see the faces of your boss, nor your coworkers, or even yourself. You see the blond man sitting before you, how he tilts his head back when he laughs and squints his eyes shut as if he can’t even believe himself for thinking what’s been said is funny, let alone you too.
This illusion of your mind shrugs his shoulders, tips his bottle forward against yours then draws it back just as quickly for a drink. He does not know you’re going, and he won’t, not ever. You can keep a secret, even if you don’t know how to keep it from yourself.
There’s a security camera in the corner, it is watching you with a relentless stare. You sit up slightly, staring it dead in the eyes. Who’s the agent on the other side, looking back at you? Is it someone you’ve hurt? Is it any one of the other friends you made before you betrayed them all when HYDRA reared its head? Hell, is it Steve? Did he see your furrowed brows and wonder what you were hiding from him?
The red recording light blinks once as if in acknowledgement, then shuts off completely. In the weeks you’ve spent in this cell, that has never happened once, not even when Steve was talking to you outside of the interrogation. It stayed on all along.
You stand slowly, wavering as blood rushes to your legs. Moments later, the door to your cell clicks open, a precise sort of sound like the whir of a machine. Your head jerks towards it, your hands clenched into fists. The lights click on about half a second later, revealing Moore standing in the doorway.
He raises his hands in mock surrender, grinning. “You can calm down, L/N. We’re skipping town, so if you’re attacking anyone, it shouldn’t be me.”
You force your shoulders to relax, but there’s still a churning sort of nerves messing up the rest of you. “What happened to waiting it out? I thought we weren’t leaving for a while. Has something happened?”
Moore shakes his head, casually strolling further in the room so he can pretend to check out the room like a potential buyer on a reality TV show. “That was so you would take it easy, like you should be doing now. If I told you that we were going tonight, you would have reacted accordingly. We can’t have you communicating anything to Captain America or his trusty thugs, even by accident. What, did you want to give him a little goodbye kiss?”
You walk closer to Moore, laying a hand on his shoulder and squeezing just enough that he squirms in your grip like a fish out of water. “I’m going to suggest you stop talking and just get me out, or I’m going to tear your arms off.”
Moore laughs nervously, although he does a quick sidestep out of your reach the second he can. He works his shoulder with a free hand, grimacing. “So pleasant, Agent. I can see why you have so many friends.”
At a sharp glance from you, he sighs. “Alright, alright. Let’s go.”
You follow him out of your cell, but you only make it a few steps outside before he stops walking again.
“Another detour?” You ask. “Why, are the security cameras on a loop or something?”
Moore has the bravery to scoff. “What? No, I know what I’m doing. No one can hear or see us unless they decide to take a trip down to the incarceration block for a fun nighttime activity.”
You give him a pointed look. “Then why are we stopping?”
Moore pulls a stack of key cards out of his pocket, handing half to you. “I’ve ordered some cell rearrangements. Everyone in this hall is a member of HYDRA. If we’re doing one jailbreak, we’re doing them all.”
You nod, grabbing the cards. Moore walks past you to the other end of the hall and begins to unlock another door. You were in the cell on the far left, so you move one door over and swipe a card against the lock. It opens with that same mechanical click, revealing an agent tied to a chair in the dead center of the room.
You recognize her, having seen this very same agent when you first arrived at the S.H.I.E.L.D. cell block. It’s Henrietta Clarke, the woman Steve took you to visit in the hopes of seeing whether you’d rat out anyone in HYDRA if given a chance at freedom. You hadn’t revealed her then, but upon coming face to face with her again, you can’t help but remember Steve’s words.
He had said that you were the only HYDRA agent who had refused to turn in a fellow agent, contrary to what you had been told in the past. It’s HYDRA principle to never betray your coworkers, yet not one of your captured agents had ever played by that rule. Steve could have been lying, of course, but you’ve memorized his tells like a gambler memorizing the day’s lotto numbers. You know when Steve is lying, and he wasn’t lying then.
You push the thought out of your head. You don’t have time to think about Steve, not now. If you’re captured at this point, no amount of tricks will save you from a true interrogation. You’ve been offered an olive branch, and you need to use it to escape now. If Steve finds out about your attempt to flee, he’ll never offer you the same kindness again.
You reach for the dummy S.H.I.E.L.D. badge on your arm, removing the hidden blade in one crisp movement. As you saw at Clarke’s restraints, though, you can’t force your thoughts from Steve any longer. Moore wasn’t wrong about the date change for the break-out. If you had known that you were leaving tonight, you would have–
Well, what would you have done? Would you have told Steve that you were leaving, would you have hoped for a goodbye? Not a chance. Steve is still your enemy, even if you think you can share drinks with him on a sunny afternoon. There is no future that doesn’t involve the two of you gunning for each other, and no amount of jokes and false pretenses can change that.
It’s over now, it’s done. This hasn’t been one of the worst lies you’ve told, and if you’re going to be honest with yourself, you might even miss it on late nights when the solitude of a spy’s life gets to you. Maybe you’ll reminisce whenever you see a man who smiles with eyes even half that blue, or when you delude yourself into thinking that you’ll ever be more than a killer. One man thought that you could be more than just yourself, and you’re proving him wrong right now.
You tug through the last of Clarke’s restraints with a savage tug of your blade, and she stands up. You can’t return her relieved smile, just slap another key card into her palm and tell her to start letting people out. You open door after door, and eventually, you meet up with Moore and a dozen or so newly freed agents.
From there, it’s relatively simple. Moore must have been planning this operation with other HYDRA agents for a while, because he’s got everything under lock. You can admit that much, even though you still think the guy’s a greasy asshole who’s far less slick than he thinks.
He manages to get you back your uniform and guns, too, even though your belongings are probably covered in trackers and have to be ditched soon enough. Well, the thought counts. Moore has identified specific corridors that are monitored by dead cameras, and you and your entourage of liberated HYDRA agents dash through the hallways as quickly as you can.
You’re running on adrenaline and the hope that you’ll get out soon, so when Moore starts directing you further into the S.H.I.E.L.D. complex instead of towards the doors leading out, you can’t help but feel frustrated.
You catch up to him, and mutter under your breath as you run. “Excuse my confusion, but I thought we were supposed to be leaving, not staying around even longer. Shouldn’t we be going the other direction?”
Moore smirks. “That’s if we’re going immediately, yes. We still have a shot to finish your mission.”
Something like ice starts to claw its way out of your stomach, freezing around your heart and crawling up your throat to tip your tongue with cold. “What does that mean?”
He chuckles. “Oh, come on. We’ll never get a chance like this again. Steve Rogers is going to come out of that door over there in approximately thirty seconds, and he’ll never be able to take on all of us, not when we have surprise on our side. I bet you twenty he doesn’t even have his shield with him.”
You turn to face him slowly. “We’re killing him now?”
This is too much. You were barely pulling yourself together when you thought you were leaving Steve with nothing, but now? You try to visualize what is about to happen. Steve comes walking out of those doors, coasting on the feeling of being safe for once in his life. He isn’t watching his back. He doesn’t have to, not in his own base.
What will happen when he sees you, out of your cell and surrounded by your own men? Will you watch those sky blue eyes flash with surprise, then grow cold when he realizes that you’ve betrayed him? You are the primary agent here, even though Moore’s been leading this rescue operation for a while. You will be the one expected to take your gun and pull the trigger.
It will be your hands stained with red, then. It will be your bullet piercing Steve’s skull. He will fall dead at your feet, because you never miss and you certainly won’t when he’s so close to you. Will you wait for him to realize the situation before you take the shot, or will you save yourself the torment of watching him understand, and kill him before he knows you’ve turned traitor once again?
All this flashes before your eyes in the space of about half a second. You blink, hard, to clear away the vision of Steve lying dead at your feet, and the linoleum clears itself of blood in about half a second. You have killed many times before, and murdered people far more innocent than Steve. You were ready to assassinate him weeks ago. You can do it again. You have no other choice but to do it again.
But Moore is shaking his head.
“No, not this time, I’m afraid. We’ll do it eventually, of course, but he’s been so open to you that it’s got me thinking. Why cut off a perfectly good lead if you can keep using it? I’m thinking we take Rogers back with us to base, glean every piece of information we can, then shut him up once and for all. I mean, I’ve been undercover here for a while, and they only let me know so much. I can’t imagine the wealth of knowledge Rogers is sitting on, and if he shares even half of it, we’re golden.”
You let out a slow breath, feeling oddly relieved. “Alright, then. Shoot to wound?”
Moore considers this, then frowns, disagreeing. “Why bother? The noise would only alert people. We surround him, maybe rough him up a bit to get him to surrender, then knock him cold. We’ve got enough people that we can get him out without too much fuss. There’s a vehicle parked right out that door.”
You nod. “You’ve certainly planned this out well.”
It’s a statement of judgment, but Moore just seems pleased by it. “Yes, I have. Gratitude looks good on you.”
You’re not certain that you’re grateful in the slightest, but you don’t have time to unpack that, because the doors at the far end of the hall are opening and Steve Rogers is stepping out into the corridor. As the door shuts behind him, he freezes slightly, noticing that there’s a crowd of people where there should be nothing but empty rooms.
His eyes meet yours, flash to the people around you, then back to you again. He tilts his head back slightly, knowingly. “I suppose there’s no way I can convince you to go back to your cells, then?”
Moore laughs, the sound strangely discordant as it echoes off the half empty walls. “Not a chance. Stand down, Rogers. We’ve got you outnumbered.”
Steve shakes his head once. “Not the way I see it.”
Despite Steve’s bravado, Moore isn’t wrong. Steve may be a supersoldier, but even he can’t take on more than a dozen HYDRA agents that have been spending the last few weeks or even months biding their time for a chance to strike. He puts up a good fight, but there’s nothing he can do.
Eventually, he’s forced to the ground, his hands on his head. Moore rummages around in his pack for a syringe, and you find yourself standing directly in front of Steve, looking down at him.
Steve’s gaze is unwavering, and you feel the need to speak, anything to get this sudden, looming weight off of your chest. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. You knew I was a bad guy all along. It’s not my fault if you wanted to believe something different.”
Steve’s expression doesn’t change for a heartbeat. “I don’t believe it anymore.” He says, and you rear back for just a second as if he’s slapped you.
At the same time, Moore, having located the syringe at last, jams the tip into Steve’s neck and pushes in the plunger, releasing the sedative. Steve’s eyes shut in a matter of seconds, but you swear you can still feel his gaze burning holes into your head.
Moore looks up at you triumphantly. “Well, we did it. Mission accomplished, I’d say.”
You smile back feebly, and you don’t think it’s ever been harder to fake such a simple expression. “Mission accomplished,” you repeat.
This is supposed to be a celebration, a chance for you to finally go home, but you can’t seem to stop one question from replaying in your head, again and again until you think you might go mad:
Based on this request: “A Peter Parker oneshot where the reader can put people to sleep with her touch, but she’s got something against the Avengers. As per usual, Spider-Man isn’t really that involved himself with the Avengers, but still helps them out, so they’re enemies. Yet she and Peter are friends in their normal lives, not knowing each other’s secrets”
It is dead silent in the school library. Perfect, blissful silence, something that happens about once every century and quite possibly not even that often. For once, everybody is working, totally focused on whatever math homework or group project has befallen them. Around you, the hum of concentration scarcely dares to make a sound. It’s fantastic.
Or, it is fantastic until your phone jolts to life with an alarm. You grab it within the span of about half a second, immediately silencing it, but the damage is done. You swear you get a dozen angry glares, even though your phone was only on vibrate mode. Never mess with the impeccable study schedules of high school students when they’re a few hours from a deadline.
Your best friend arches a brow from where he sits across a very small table nicked by its fair share of overly aggressive pencil strokes.
“You do realize you’ve ruined all of us, right? No one here is going to be able to concentrate for the next day or two.”
You glare at him. Peter Parker may be one of your good friends, but it’s not as if he’s any better. Not even ten minutes ago, he nearly caused a riot by cracking his back so loudly that he attracted the stares of a study group three tables down.
“You’re the one who’s talking. Shut up.”
Peter just grins. “It’s too late to bully me, everyone else is already talking anyway. I hate to break it to you, Y/N, but you’ve destroyed the entire atmosphere.”
Peter isn’t entirely wrong. Already, people are daring to voice their comments again, and you have no doubt that the entire library will break back out into conversation in a matter of minutes.
You roll your eyes. “My apologies for messing with the vibe. Anyways, I have to go.”
Peter frowns. “So soon? I’ll miss you terribly.”
You smirk. “I bet you will, Parker. I hate to separate you from my presence, but I have no choice.”
Peter waves a hand dismissively. “I’ll mourn for hours. Are you still up for our study sesh later tonight? If you abandon me the night before our history final, I will actually lose my mind.”
You grin. “Never, I need that as much as you do. See you tonight.”
Peter waves goodbye as you gather up your things and go. You leave with a smile, and not just because you’ve been able to have another productive study session with your best friend.
No, this particular source of joy has everything to do with the alarm that just went off on your phone. You created that reminder to make sure you were ready to go when the time came. Namely, the time when all of the Avengers would travel out of their facility and thus be unprepared for an attack. You’ve been tracking security cameras and exit patterns as best you can, and you think you’ve been able to successfully map out the one time of day when New York’s resident heroes are least likely to be in Avengers Tower.
To put it simply, you’ve got a break-in planned, and you’ve organized it so it’ll coincide when no one is there. You’ve got a bone to pick with the Avengers. Technically, they only know you as Nightmare, an inhuman with the ability to put someone to sleep with the mere touch of a finger. Every good villain has a secret identity, and yours has been striking terror into the hearts of the Avengers for the past couple of months.
See, it all started about a year ago. Life isn’t wonderful as an inhuman, especially not since the Avengers started racketing up their enlistment process. Basically, if you’re even rumored to have gifts, you’re brought in for all sorts of questioning and tests, and if they find anything on you, you can kiss your normal life goodbye.
That’s what happened to a friend of yours, a girl named Alyna. She was able to bend light, and the two of you were happy practicing your abilities together until she messed up and used her powers in front of a security camera near northern Manhattan. Next thing you knew, she had ‘moved to a different school,’ and you never saw her again. You know the whole thing happened because of the Avengers, she was able to tell you that much before she vanished.
Now, you’re doing everything you can to find her. You’ve been raiding S.H.I.E.L.D. outposts for a while, trying to find anything on her, but the real target is the Avengers complex. You’ve been setting this up for a while, and finally, it’s time to strike. You pull on a change of clothes in a nearby alley, tug a hood up around your face, and start to walk briskly towards Avengers Tower. It’s time to do this before you lose your nerve. You have to find your friend.
You have no idea how well this is going to work, if it’s even going to work at all. Suddenly, it occurs to you that this is a terribly stupid plan. You’re one person, and S.H.I.E.L.D. is a mammoth organization composed of thousands of trained killers. There is no David and Goliath here, more like one David and about twenty or thirty Goliaths all junked up on super soldier serum and thus resistant to stones. The odds are not entirely in your favor, to say the least.
However, you’ve already arrived, and the sight of the crimson ‘A’ over the door fuels you to keep going. You’re not doing this for you, you’re doing this for Alyna. You have to keep going for her. It’s what she would do for you.
So, you duck your head as you enter the doors, and walk briskly towards an information desk located in the center of the room. You can see two double doors at the far side, locked and in need of a key card. They’ll probably lead to the rest of the complex.
A tired looking woman raises her eyebrow suspiciously when you walk in. “Can I help you?”
You notice a key card attached to her ID and smile. “Yes, actually, you can.”
You lean close enough to the woman that you can reach over and tap her wrist ever so gently. The security cameras shouldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, as you don’t seem to attack her, just stand there. The woman slumps back into her seat, and you grab her key card as she falls asleep. You let yourself in through the doors, and then it’s time for the next stage of the plan.
You’ve learned one crucial lesson over the past couple months spent breaking into smaller S.H.I.E.L.D. facilities: if you look like you belong, you won’t get caught. Walk with confidence, and you’re pretty much bulletproof. Even though you’re dressed in a hoodie obscuring most of your face whereas everyone else is dressed in impeccable uniforms, no one casts you a second glance. They just assume you’re coming back from an undercover mission and haven’t yet had the chance to change. The stolen ID card casually pinned to your chest doesn’t hurt either.
You don’t entirely know where you’re going, but after a few good loops of the hallways, you find a room off the main promenade that’s full of computers. It’s only guarded by a couple people so it should be fine, right?
You close and lock the door behind you, which causes the two agents to look up from their computers. One steps forward, a hand reaching for a gun.
“What are you doing here?”
You smile at them, sweeping close enough that you can lay a hand in their pulses, one by one, and knock them out with your gift. “Getting what I want.”
Thankfully, one of the agents was already logged in, so you start searching for files on the open computer. Anything is good, and the further you scroll, the more you realize that you have no idea what you’re doing. Everything is labeled with long strings of identification digits, or hidden behind password protection.
Eventually, you manage to find an entry level subfolder on S.H.I.E.L.D. recruitment policies regarding inhumans. It’s the best you’ve got right now, so it’ll do. You whip out a flash drive to start copying stuff over, and that is when everything goes wrong.
Apparently, S.H.I.E.L.D. knows enough about foiling break-ins to regularly check in on agents guarding their doors. Your receptionist must not have woken up in time to answer a call, or somebody passed by and realized that she was slumped over her desk instead of monitoring new arrivals. Regardless, you’re suddenly running on far less time than before, and people are going to start searching for you. You need to hurry this up.
Already, you can hear the sound of footsteps pounding down the halls. Someone tries the knob on your door, jiggles it a few times, then calls for backup. They’ve found you. Swearing under your breath, you silently beg the computer to hurry up. There’s only one door in this room, which is currently facing opposition from agents trying to get in, so you obviously can’t use that.
There is, however, a window on the far side, which looks to be just wide enough for you to get out. You reach in your backpack and pull out your uniform, the one you use whenever you have to go out on Official Inhuman Activity Time without a disguise like the one you’re wearing now. It features a mask, which is the main reason you want to have it on. A hoodie will only do you so much good when you’re running for your life, and you can’t afford to be found out.
The computer beeps at you as you’re zipping up the last couple inches of your uniform. You shove your clothes into your bag and race over to it. The door splinters to your left and you quickly change directions, tapping the oncoming guards on any exposed parts of skin so you can force them into unconsciousness. It won’t last long, especially since more and more agents are pouring down the hallway towards you, but it can at least buy you some time.
You run back to the computer and grab your flash drive before exiting out of the file locations. Turning your attention to the window, you examine it for latches and levers, anything to let you out. There’s a knob on the side and you twist it, causing the pane of glass to pull out towards you. A fire escape style railing winds treacherously down to the ground, but you doubt you’ll have enough time to jog down the remaining flights of stairs before they find you.
Looking behind you at the rapidly approaching squadrons of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, though, you’re not sure that you have much of a choice. You fling yourself out the window before you can talk yourself out of it, then close the glass panel behind you in an attempt to disguise your exit, not that it will make much difference.
Guards are starting to amass on the ground beneath you, so instead of running down the stairs, you run up, towards the roof. From there, you’re able to start running across the flat tops of the buildings, hoping to make it towards a nearby commercial district before you’re caught.
Someone lands on the roof beside you before you can get very far, though. Judging by the flash of electric blue in his eyes, and the hammer clasped firmly in his hands, you’ve made an enemy of a very powerful Norse god. This is exactly what you’d been hoping to avoid.
Thor frowns at you. “Stop right there, mortal. You have something of ours.”
You nod. “Okay. Can I hand it over now?”
Thor’s eyes narrow. “Really?”
You smile as disarmingly as you can. “Yeah, really. Giving it to you as we speak.”
You walk slowly towards Thor, flash drive held up so he can see it, but just before you drop it into his awaiting palm, you reach for his wrist instead. Putting Thor to sleep is far harder than your garden variety agent, and it takes almost all of your willpower to manage it, but when you blink hard after a sudden bout of intense dizziness, he’s suddenly sprawled on the ground in front of you.
You laugh, elated. You just put a god to sleep. You just put a god to sleep!
There’s a whir of helicopter blades overhead, and you start running again. It’s sometimes hard to remember being chased by a massive government organization when you’ve taken down the crown prince of Asgard. Everyone has their own priorities.
You reach the edge of a building, and come to a hasty stop. The next building isn’t as close as you thought, and the thought of messing up a jump and having your mission come to a hasty end isn’t all that appetizing, but you don’t have much of a choice.
At last, you get a running start, and take off before you can stop yourself. You only manage to careen through the air for about a couple feet, though, before someone collides with you. This someone, as it turns out, would be Spider-Man, at least judging by the red and blue suit and the rope of spiderweb he’s been using to swing into you.
You glare at him, frustrated. “You’re not supposed to be here, you know.”
You’re fairly sure that he’s grinning. “Funny, I could say the same thing about you. You know, the last time we fought, you swore that you never wanted to see me again.”
“I don’t,” you offer, but he doesn’t seem to believe you.
“Then why are you at the Avengers complex? Honestly, I appreciate the attention, but we’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
You roll your eyes, trying and failing to knock him unconscious through the material of his suit. “Yeah, quit it. Give me your skin.”
You swear you can see the eyes on his mask widen. “What the fuckdoes that mean?”
You grin in spite of yourself. “This.”
You scan his uniform, searching for any inch of available skin, but you can’t find it. By pure luck, your eyes catch on a seam between his shoulders and his jawline, as if the suit itself separates out into a mask and torso piece. You seize upon the opportunity, yanking the bottom edge of the mask up just enough to reveal an inch or two of skin.
Spider-Man attempts to twist away from you, but it’s too late, and you’re desperately pressing your hand to the bare space above his collarbone. It takes just a moment for it to work, for his body to sag in your arms.
The two of you are definitely still swinging between skyscrapers, though, so you curl the fingers of your free hand around the webbed rope and hold on for dear life until you can come to a rolling stop on a nearby roof. Your arms ache as if they’ve been pulled out of their sockets, and your entire body is screaming in outrage, but you’re alive, at least.
So is Spider-Man, albeit asleep. You may be fighting the Avengers, and by extension, him, but that doesn’t mean you want to drop him off the side of a building. Contrary to anything you’d ever tell the masked hero, you have found yourself covering up a laugh or two at his sarcastic remarks, and he’s the only Avengers affiliate you think might actually win fights for the people of this city instead of a public victory for S.H.I.E.L.D. and their men.
You drag yourself over to the section of the roof where Spider-Man lies. He’s breathing, which is good. However, his mask has ridden up on his face during the crash landing onto the roof, revealing a sliver of a smile.
You freeze in place, hand extended to pull down the mask. You know that smile, that corner of a mouth just shadowed under the recesses of the mask. You saw it just an hour or so ago. This is—
Oh, no, this is Peter Parker. This is the boy you were studying with earlier today, the one who walks with you to your locker in between classes no matter how far away his next room is, the one who has been your best friend since the dawn of time and who has also been the masked hero trying to take you down for months.
You jerk away from him, crumpling into a tangle of limbs and folded arms and awful, awful realizations. You can’t take this, not now. Not with the heavy din of S.H.I.E.L.D. helicopters still clamoring overhead, trying to find you.
You’re not going to give up on trying to dismantle the Avengers’ stringent recruitment policies when it comes to inhumans, but this has definitely thrown a wrench in your plans. Peter is already starting to come to, so you force yourself to tug the mask back down over his face so he’ll never know.
You’re long gone by the time Peter Parker wakes up, already forced into the shadows by the agents combing the rooftops in search of the villain they’ll never capture. You’re forced to take a long, irregular way home due to search patrols, and by the time you finally make it back to your room, night has long since fallen. You change out of your uniform on the way back, then let yourself into your room.
At last, safe within the confines of your apartment, you let yourself relax. You draw a shuddering breath, squeezing your eyes shut tight. You nearly died about a dozen times, and for what? You have no idea if the information on your flash drive will be useful whatsoever, and you’ve got to grapple with the fact that you’re likely going to have to keep going toe to toe with Peter whenever you try to work on your Saving Alyna crusade. You can’t keep this up.
The door swings open, and you flinch. Standing over the threshold between the hallway and your bedroom is Peter Parker, as if you’ve summoned him there by mere thought alone. You remember fleetingly that you were supposed to have a study session tonight, which you’ve probably missed. Shoot.
Peter’s mouth opens, closes, then opens again. “Sorry for startling you, I let myself in. You’re only a couple minutes late,” he answers in response to your silent question, “so don’t worry about it.”
He takes a hesitant step into the room, then frowns, eyes casting searchlight beams over your skin. “Y/N, you’re covered in bruises. Is everything alright?”
You glance down at yourself and grimace. You took several hard hits trying to escape the Avengers complex, and it’s showing now. At least you’re out of your Nightmare uniform, but you look like you got into a fight with a brick wall and lost.
You rub a tired hand over your eyes. “I, uh, tripped going down a flight of stairs. Like, a really long flight of stairs. It’s been a rough afternoon.”
Peter nods slowly, although you can’t tell if he entirely buys your lie or not. “Yeah, I can see that. I’m assuming you were held up because of all the traffic in the area, it took me forever to get here, too. Someone tried to break into the Avengers facility and now it feels like the city is being monitored by police.”
A sudden light dawns behind his eyes. “Wait a minute. You left a couple minutes early from school, as set out by a specific alert on your phone. You came back late. You’re covered in bruises.”
You really, really don’t like where this is going. “Your point is?”
Peter clasps his hands together in front of him as if he’s about to deliver a killer presentation. “You’re an Avenger. I mean, it’s hard to tell which one, because I thought I knew who a lot of them were, but we seem to be getting more by the day. Really, though. Are you an Avenger?”
You laugh before you can stop yourself, the sound like that of a lunatic. “An Avenger? No, Peter. God, no.”
In fact, you couldn’t be further from being an Avenger. You’re literally doing your best to make sure there are as few Avengers as possible. Oh, if only he knew the irony of that very question.
“Well, put it that way, and it makes it seem absurd. I’ll still be holding out hope, though.” He says.
Peter has started to turn a faint red, but all you can think about is that this was a very, very near miss. You need to be more careful, especially now that you know Peter is Spider-Man. If you were smart, you would start cutting ties with him, and make sure that Peter has as few chances as possible to figure you out.
However, you need your best friend more than anything. So, you just laugh along with him, then start to pull out your notebooks for the study session. You consider him, sitting across from you, head bowed over the latest calculus homework, and make one decisive choice. You’re not giving him up. Not now, not ever. It might destroy you, but leaving Peter behind would kill you far faster than any secret identity reveal. You just hope that he’ll extend you that same courtesy if he ever finds you out.
[/]: ok,, so hi. I’m alive and I’m hyperfixated on the mental tentacle man. I had so much fun writing this and as always my wonderful partner and editor helped me — @lilliryth
[]: Love notes. Stupidity ensues.
[]: Otto Octavius x Reader.
[ ]: 5400k words.
[]: Angst with a happy ending. Mental illness mentions, suicide mentions. Overall, it’s really fluffy.
Otto Octavius had always been a man of logic and reason, a man with an inclination for science, and more importantly what made sense—even if the grey abstracts of the field themselves didn’t at first. Because, in the end, an explanation, a hypothesis would be constructed.
However, what doesn’t make sense, what has his brows knitted, lips drawn into a confused scowl is the pink piece of paper in his large, tremulous hands. Both forefingers and thumbs pinch the edges, his pinkies upturned with strain.
The writing glares at him, a sweet innocence contrasted with the bleak anaemia that is his surroundings. And, by extension, himself.
‘I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary.’
He’d found the curious note in his diary planner—well, it had fallen out, to be more truthful. It was a surprise to be sure, and from the moment his eyes processed the paper’s hue, he knew it wasn’t his own. Curiosity bloomed, fingers unearthing.
Absent, he shifts in his seat as the chair scrapes against the tiled floor. The distant paranoia, which feels like a lifetime ago, flickers the lights of his mind before the whispers are silenced just as fast.
There’s no more of that.
He’s reformed, even if he does deem himself unworthy of such… a note (it was certainly a note, yes). Even if he does believe it is just that — a joke — one set up to frame him as a laughing stock. There’s no more of that behaviour.
The probability of that occurring, anyway, is slim and, once more, borders on the line of the delusions he suffered from the AI’s influence.
Yet, the thorned coils which had wrapped and solidified their insidious hold around the organ that keeps his body moving, his brain working, year and years ago, won’t let him fumble for the threads of hope; of happiness. It’s too risky. He’s at a standstill, a stalemate with his own self—a meddlesome, pitiful thing. His logical mind screams:
Occam’s Razor.
And so, the natural presumption despite external opinions of himself is that someone is enamoured.
Maneuvering so that his left hand is holding the message, he places a fist against his mouth. His teeth bite into his knuckles with a tender force. His eyes remain fixated on the words, reading them over and over, expecting the mirage to dissipate—a hallucination conjured up by the deepest shadows of his mind, claws of the past.
Who—
“You alright, doc?”
Otto lets out a noise of surprise as his actuators react immediately. Taking up as much space as they can, they straighten out and he swears he can now sympathise with terrified cats.
He feels like a cartoon.
The crash next to him is wilfully ignored. His smile is half-hearted as he looks towards his co-worker, and as if caught doing something rather inappropriate, he shoves the tiny piece of paper into one of his coat pockets.
“Yes! Yes, yes… perfectly fine.”
The co-worker, Matthew, looks at him like he’s grown two heads, or perhaps a few more metal arms, and leaves without another word. It’s to be expected and yet Otto holds his head in his hands, rubbing at his eyes with haste.
They sting with the burden of sleepless nights.
While he’s been in remission for ages, has healed and had his inhibitor chip reinstated, there of course is room — the room being very spacious and able to accommodate an elephant, though a room nonetheless — for doubt. If it’s happened once, it can happen again.
And, in all honesty, Otto agrees.
There’s always going to be the stain of his background, the stain of his mishaps, the stain on his reputation as a scientist. Brilliant but reckless. Impulsive. Harbouring the grandiosity of the greats with nothing to show for…
Yes, this is his burden to bear. He’s never going to be trusted again, not with the mechanical reminder attached to him for the span of forever; and since he’s never gotten his way - such a forever will be a long time.
He’s getting distracted.
Swiping his thumb to uncrumple the paper, a glance downwards determined the reality of the situation.
Real. Very real.
The walls of the establishment with each flickering glance creep towards him. Further and further they close in until that electrifying card of freedom is being wrenched out of his pocket and shoved into the lab’s clock-in system.
He’s taking his break early.
∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ✦ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙
He notices you long before you notice him, the quickened strides you take are enough of an indication of where your head is at, and subsequently, your availability. Something settles in his chest at this conclusion, it’s not painful, though it’s not exactly comfortable either. There’s a heaviness there, a weight that he can’t quite shake.
Such a sensation deepens when you smile at one of your coworkers, making a small quip, he assumes, because they bark a laugh. It’s so surprising to you that your own amusement tangles with their own.
A lone star in the sky, tearing through the darkness with such a pertinacious conviction one’s free will to observe is obliterated. No, you demand attention, his attention, without even knowing, and it’s akin to the biological need to survive.
To breathe.
And now, it’s his turn to laugh. Rehashing poetry he’s been gifted to the local librarian was not a level he would stoop to.
The sigh he breathes is automatic and he drops his stuff in his usual spot, ignoring the holes that sear into him as he passes people by.
Soon, he finds himself in queue at the cafe nestled along the library’s front, glasses up and fixed (thanks to the trusty assistance of Mo), against the bridge of his nose. His research papers take a good chunk of his attention away from the vexing length of the line and the gawking, until the loud drawl from the counter, harbouring a mirrored resentment, interrupts his sinuous arithmetic.
Without looking up, he recites his order. A black coffee, no sugar, and a blueberry muffin. Within minutes he’s tucked away at the back of the library where no one ventures. The noise is rare, the whispers unheard and the halls gloomier.
He likes it that way.
“I always wished I could do maths. Aside from how awful and traumatic the teachers were, it actually seemed fun. Though, you do make it look easy.”
Otto’s eyes widen. His gaze darts from you to the notepad he’d apparently pulled out at some point. Hovering centimetres from the page are one of his actuators with the pen that he stuffs in his coat pocket in case of emergencies. One quick scan determines that his thoughts — which were purely hypothetical — have been transcribed for him.
Ah, the pros and cons of AI.
A smile takes over his surprise, and he shifts in his seat.
“Anyone can do mathematics, no matter the setbacks. There’s always time if you put in the work.”
You roll your eyes and sit on the table, a hand’s length away from his notepad. The movement is so delicate and with such grace Otto’s breath hitches. He tries not to notice the way your grey pencil skirt rides up your thighs, the floral seduction of your perfume so close it coaxes the subtle fluttering of his eyelids.
“Oh, come on. Otto, how long have we known each other now? You know there’s no hope for me.”
“Quite the contrary, my dear. I will admit the education system is very flawed, though if there’s a will, there’s a way.”
“Well, for most, the will needs to be created. And considering you’re loving my muffin so much there needs to be free muffins after math classes. That’s an incentive don’t you think? Muffins and math!” you grin with jazz hands and, to him, it’s near irksome how delightful you are.
Then, your forefinger swipes at your bottom lip and he can practically see the light bulb going off.
“Hell, maybe I should pitch that to my superior. It’ll get more of the kids involved in our programs.”
Once the words process — you had the tendency to shoot sentences like bullets — he gives a soft laugh. He almost wants to tell you how enamoured he is, though his mouth is pinned. The urge comes out in other ways, however, as before he can stop the movement, an actuator is giving you head pats.
Your giggles light up the near-abandoned end of the library.
To his surprise, you’re not scared of him. Sure, he’s known you for a while now, but there’s never been such an intimate form of contact.
Considering all things, it wouldn’t have shocked him if you got up and left screaming. It wasn’t too long ago he was out of his mind — and criminal — and the bad reactions have happened enough times to where he’s sure it’s to happen again in the near future. What would highlight this experience as different, setting the event in bold, red ink, would’ve been the pain. Yes, worst of all, the pain.
“You baked this?” Otto asks, opting to change the subject as he reels in the actuator with a mental tug that looks unnaturally rough—as if it had been held by a string and yanked. He’s just thankful there’s no one behind him, he didn’t want to be accused of being evil again after smacking someone into the wall by accident and ruining half the library…
Anyway…
Watching on with a fondness, your eventual nod is hesitant and shy. Slowly, it gains confidence.
“We’re a family! The staff is all really close so if one of us is having trouble, then we do the best we can to help. I bake as a hobby and I think because of that I’m the only one Olivia trusts to assist whenever she doesn’t have the time.”
“That’s lovely. How kind.”
Your smile has a blissful sway and Otto finds himself falling into it, lingering a second too long.
“I could bake something for you! I know how hard you work, you practically kill yourself.“
Ha! If only.
His lips quirk upwards.
"Oh! There’s just so much to choose from. I could make you tiny cakes! Or some more muffins! Or cinnamon rolls—you kind of remind me of them, actually,” you say, ending in a thoughtful tone.
The smile you wear is beaming, the passion for one of the oldest crafts humanity has engaged in, is inspiring. Words are not enough to measure the warmth he feels.
With what Otto can only pinpoint as a sudden realisation, the fear of coming on too strong about a special interest — which he immediately identifies with — your joy falls, and your eyes widen.
Freezing, your stuttering begins.
The display is adorable and sympathetic. The dull ache in his chest bubbles a series of compulsions, yet never truly do they pop free. Reaching out and lacing his fingers with yours is the most overbearing and he has to physically clasp his own together to stop them. So far, his actuators have not betrayed him and he thanks the heavens.
“Oh— uh— I mean only if you want to,” you waver. “Of course, I don’t want to force you and I don’t want to give the impression that I’m great at it. I just—”
Otto releases a laugh, and he hopes it’s more reassuring than seen as an interruption.
“Darling, I’d love that.”
∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ✦ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙
Curiously, when he gets home and checks his diary planner, there’s another note. The only places he’d visited were the library and his work—meaning the prolific, perfervid poet hovers around either area.
The only thing Otto is sure of is that it’s not you. He’d been watching you the entire time and there’s no possibility you’d slipped under his radar. Either way, the idea that the notes are coming from you is wishful thinking. A hope, a yearn which should have been quashed long ago.
He’s not a foolish, young boy anymore.
It read:
“Holding this poem
Close, like a mirror,
I breathe upon it.
I watch for some sign.
There is a faint mist
Spreading across it.
It takes hold. It clings
To the lean hollows
As the sun rises,
This sun that is going
To burn the mist off.
I give you chamois
To clear the surface.
I give you this sun.”
Otto feels his consciousness, along with his reason, leave his body. He’s now convinced this is personal, the stanzas, to his very limited knowledge of poetry and his inhibited talent despite all efforts of comprehension, call to his deepest sorrows. His regrets. Broken dreams. Still, what he gets from this is redemption, the idea of rebirth—forgiveness through the metaphor of the cloth. Of the sun’s rays signalling anew.
And somehow, it evokes something he hasn’t felt in a long time. The complex coupling of pain and release, the hope for a future. Even if one person has forgiven him, just one, he can live with that. Yes, he can press on and somehow that eases the weight. In the aftermath of all he’d done, awakening from that terrible abhorrent dream — for that’s what it had been, right? A dream? (Some days he’s not so sure) — he didn’t believe he was ever going to forgive himself. It seemed that such a luxury was off the table, not in the cards. Not for someone like him. And now, this tiny piece of paper who has no name, no indication of a presence, is telling him otherwise.
Again, he could always be misinterpreting it.
His own personal bias. Typically human. Typically Otto. Perhaps, he was seeing what he wanted to see because living with the pain is too much.
It’s all things Otto has no trouble with and, in fact, found himself enjoying quite often in his free time. At least you get a straight answer!
This, though?
Of poetry?
Of love?
The trials and tribulations of relation — saying the right things, doing the right things instead of standing like a dumbstruck statue — turned to stone by the infamous Gorgon herself, Medusa?
It’s overwhelming.
He’s never been good at it. Not even with Rosie, who’d had the misfortune of marrying him.
He can’t help the way his thoughts wander back to you, and he notes that their winding, spiralling, tracks aren’t making much sense right now.
At this time of night, what did you do? Did you have a family to come back to? Did you care for your kids with as much gentleness as the ones at the library?
He’s never been to your home, though he can picture you lounging on a daybed by your window, curtains pulled back with the shimmering beams of the moon trickling in. He can see the celestial light emphasising the glow of your features, he can picture it so vividly as if it’s happening right at that very moment; unfolding before his gaze while he floats from the melancholia.
Perhaps you’re the sole one awake in your household, once again — as you’ve recounted many a time — forgetting the importance of sleep, so engrossed by a novel you’re reading.
Every time he looks at you, there’s a new book in your hand. To be fair, it’s one of the many things he admires about you. You have such a thirst for knowledge, a will to learn, bestowing it to those willing to listen. Not once had he seen you bitter, resentful or condescending. You use your intelligence as a tool to help others — a pillar he very much believes in.
His thoughts are no longer focused on the papers he took home. And, like wandering insects, they have a determination of their own, no matter his pacific nudgings.
You, you, you.
It’s time for bed.
That much is clear.
With a puff of a sigh, he sheds his clothes leaving his chest bare while swapping out his slacks with pyjama pants. Once he’s in bed an actuator tugs on the thin chain of his lamp, plunging his room into darkness.
The war against insomnia is a harsh and unwilling one, creeping into the early hours of dawn. The all but few hours he spends sleeping on his stomach is the only solace his back gets.
He’s unsure where he musters up the will to move again.
But, he does.
Swallowing his painkillers with instant coffee, he leaves.
The next few days pass with some ease and it’s something he’s thankful for. There’s an incident with one of the interns, though it isn’t enough to make him entirely lose his temper. All it takes these days is a look. The things attached to his back evoke more from people than what shouting could ever do. The fear of possibility, the fear that he wasn’t who he said he was — recovered and healthy — overtakes anything.
It’s as exhausting as the sideways glances.
By the time his last day rolls around, he doesn’t have the energy to visit the library. Seeing you would have been the highlight of his week. A break between the madness. But, with the ache in his bones, the heaviness of his limbs, the resolve never crystalises.
The sleep comes easier this time, bringing with it the passing realisation that he never received a note that week.
∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ✦ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙
In all honesty, he feels a bit ridiculous.
No different to three kids shrouded in a trenchcoat, incongruous, feigning the certainty and self-actualisation adults possessed (though, honestly, time has taught him this really is a facade), he leans against one of the rickety oak bookshelves, hat tipped downwards, nose buried in what was the nearest book he—
He never did check what he picked up.
One quick glance at the cover and his face falls in horror. With quick fingers, he slots it back into the nearest opening and finds something more… appropriate. From now on, he knows to always look at the titles he picks up—lesson learned.
So far, in the half-hour he’s stood there, no one has passed his table and his quest to find out his ‘secret admirer’ is no closer than when he started. His things lay dormant, calling to him, pleading with him to end this charade.
He’s going to have to think of something—
“What are you doing?”
“Gah!” Otto drops the book he was holding and it falls to the ground with a heavy, reverberating thud. An actuator clamps on the wrist of whoever was about to touch his shoulder and he spins to meet the perpetrator with a scowl.
The techiness vaporises as soon as his eyes land on you. There’s a wince in your expression and he lets go of his hold immediately—he hadn’t even intended to be rough.
“My dear, forgive me! It seems I’m a bit on edge, I’m terribly sorry.”
With the poise of a feather, he takes your wrist in his hand observing the slight indent in the softness of your skin. It’s the first time he’s touched you, the warmth forever imprinted into the coolness of his own. He can’t help but notice how small your hand is compared to his, and following that same train of thought, how your everything is small compared to his.
If only the contact was under better circumstances.
“It’s okay,” you breathe.
There’s a shallow quality to it and Otto quirks a brow.
“Are you sure? Are you hurt?” his voice lowers to a whisper.
One of his worst fears rears its ugly head, slithering from the shadows with a treacherous grin.
It promises torture.
He can’t have you afraid of him. He could not — would not — stand for it. The hammering of his heart assaults his ribcage and for the second time in the span of an absurd couple of weeks, he feels like he’s an animation brought to life.
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you reassure him, lips curling upwards into something so honeyed he melts. The soft noise of surprise that leaves him is accompanied by his own relieved elation.
“Oh. Good, good.”
“So…” you begin, sliding your hand back from his. “What’s with the get-up? You look like a spy who’s trying not to give away that he isa spy and is failing miserably.”
Otto shoots you a look before pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I’m looking for someone,” he answers plainly. He wants to elaborate but he already feels nonsensical.
“Ooo a stakeout! I love a good stakeout,” you form your hands into tight circles, placing them around your eyes. “Any luck, commander?”
Otto rolls his eyes and with a huff, he admits defeat. He can’t believe he’s in this situation.
Nonetheless, you’re cute.
“No, nothing.”
“Who are you looking for anyway, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Someone has been leaving me these… notes. And I’m trying to work out who it is.”
“By conducting a stakeout in the library?”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“Depends. What are these notes?” Otto feels a fire spreading in his cheeks and his jaw tenses.
“It’s poetry. They’re love notes.”
This is humiliating.
You gasp, hands flying up to your face, voice high-pitched and whiney, “Otto you never told me you had a secret admirer. How very high school!”
“Shush, shush! You’re going to give me away!” Otto whispers harshly, arms raising up in a frantic attempt to lower your voice.
Some librarian!
“Oh honey, you didn’t need my help with that,” your gaze looks him up and down and he squirms. The pet name does not go unnoticed.
“Alright,darling,” he smirks. “I’m asking again, what do you propose?”
He takes a step forward and you have to crane your neck all the way to meet him. He swears he sees you swallow, yet the hues of your cheeks he believes are delusory.
He fights the urge to take you by the chin, choosing instead to lean down.
"I-I— oh. Um. Well, I can keep watch,” nervous laughter punctuates your speech. “I’ll be your eyes and ears!”
With your hands on your hips, the stuttering leaves, “that way you don’t have to dress like a Looney Tunes villain in the middle of mylibrary.”
“Oh, it’s your library now, is it?”
“Yes,” you very innocently exclaim, batting your eyelashes.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” you rock your form sideways, looking beyond him.
“I have important librarian things to do! Besides, it looks like you have a visitor!”
Otto swivels around so fast he can hear the wrinkling of his coat. When his eyes latch onto his table there’s no one there and neither are you when he revolves.
As he reaches his table, he quickly finds there’s another note:
“Love starts as a feeling,
But to continue is a choice;
And I find myself choosing you
More and more every day.”
In the wise words of Sylvester himself—
Sufferin’ succotash.
∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ✦ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙
The stinging in his eyes and the cramp in his hand could perfectly describe the day he’s having. Aching fingers release the pen from its confines and Otto stretches his back.
“Heavens,” he grunts.
He goes to return to his work and yet a tiny part of him screams to take a break, demands to be heard after being snubbed for so long. One quick glance at the pile of paper in front of him determines the small, squeaking voice is right. The dread making its home in the pit of his stomach will not ease with perseverance. Only with time.
A coffee would fix the problem.
Probably.
He’s almost on the opposite end of the library — which in the early hours of the night is a ghost-town, who would have thought? — when he realises he’s forgotten his wallet. Blaming the lack of sleep and his obsessive work ethic he makes a sharp u-turn. The lack of people is a blessing and he tells himself if he’s working late or can’t sleep this would be the perfect place to venture.
No interruptions, no weird looks, no bitter weight on his shoulders.
He’s about to take a detour, to stroll and loosen the ridged hinges of his knees when he spots movement at his desk. It’s unbelievable. Hilarious with the right dashes of irony. He’d wanted nothing more than to catch this anonymous little poet and because of such will, he had never gotten it. Not even close to it.
And now, because he’s not seeking — at least for today — to find what he desires, to solve the riddle which has been haunting him for more than a week now, he’s gotten exactly that.
Time to put an end to the cat and mouse game.
As he steps closer, he can see them better.
The hue of their hair is familiar, their frame, their body, their little idiocracies identifiable even from behind; the fidgeting of their fingers, the rocking on their heels. Movements that highlight the activity in your brain, a big beautiful world in which he wished was laid out before him and he could, with some sort of magnification, watch the magic unfold—real magic.
A childlike enamour. A true love with all the sparks and the hope.
Whimsical.
“It’s you,“ he whispers under his breath and he begins to walk forward, a pilgrim seeking the divine.
"It’s you,” he repeats once more, a means to convince himself or to announce the processing of such a fact, he’s not sure. Perhaps both, sprinkled in with the desire for your attention.
It works.
You jump, knee slamming into the table followed by your shaking palms which fall onto the wood surface. You spin on your heels with a grimace, fast, harsh and evidently disorienting. He watches your form sway, eyes wider than an owl’s, blinking furiously.
He’s sure you’re in pain but you don’t voice it.
“Uh… me?” you grin and it’s tumultuous as you wring your hands.
“You’ve been leaving the notes all along,” he says, inching closer.
“Oh, whaaat? Noooo… no wayyy…” you scrunch your face up in what can only be perceived as a horribly forced look of confusion. “What notes?”
Otto wants to laugh, but he’s swamped by shock.
“But there’s something I don’t quite understand. How did you leave one for me yesterday? I was talking to you the whole time.”
He continues to close in on you.
“I asked someone else to do it while I had your attention. You had your back turned,” you say, shifting your weight from foot to foot. “Not even they noticed.”
You nod towards his actuators and he hums in agreement, the pieces coming together.
“Yes, it seems even they were too occupied with you.”
Otto shakes his head, finally releasing a laugh intertwined with disbelief.
“I agreed to you keeping watch, and all along… it was you,“ Otto muses as he closes the distance between your bodies. Pressed against the table, you look up at him.
The restraint he’d felt in all your interactions evaporates.
His thumb swipes your bottom lip and he watches as it trembles. Your shallow breaths caress the back of his hand and his wrist, its warmth shooting through him as if directly accessing his nerves and suddenly it all makes sense.
The sound of the table creaking as you lean backwards, the scraping of your nails into the wood are enough for him. With a smirk, he leans down, centimetres from your mouth. Otto fails to notice his actuators cocooning you both.
"Not so eloquent now, are we?” He chuckles deeply, pressing his chest to yours when the actuators coiling around your forms tighten. Without looking, an actuator unwinds and the arm brings the new note forward.
He reads aloud.
“I hurt the most when lost, yet also when not had at all. I’m sometimes the hardest to express, but the easiest to ignore. I can be given to many, or just one. What am I?”
Otto quirks a brow before chuckling, “oh? How very highschool.”
He pauses for a moment, already knowing the answer. There’s a vulnerability to it, a hurdle he must cross for beyond is the green grass he’s always dreamt of. The dried weeds of the past have held him back long enough. In this, he realises he does want redemption, salvation—forgiveness. Nothing a God could ever provide, but a choice he has to make for himself.
“Love,” Otto breathes. "The answer is love.”
When he looks back down at you, your eyes are closed. Waiting patiently—just for him.
“Otto,” you whisper with a lull so sweet he groans with fluttering eyelids.
His nose brushes against yours and he’s keenly aware of the way you hold onto him, fingers curled around his arms, nails digging into the charcoal wool of his coat.
“My dear.”
Finally, he kisses you.
Lips in sync, hearts beating, the flitter of his eyelashes against your cheek. Their pairing is as tender as he’d imagined, the light almost hesitant nature of your reciprocation says more than anything he could ask—and he’s glad for it. For he, too, hasn’t done this in a while.
So long, in fact.
Your hands move from his arms and one rests against the fullness of his cheek, while the other travels through his umber curls. There’s a slight tug and he leans into the motion with a whispered, mellifluous moan. You slip in your tongue then, and Otto’s actuators unwind. Two latch onto the carpet with a carefulness to ensure no damage is done, and he assumes they’re reacting to the dizziness he feels, while the other two grip the table in a similar manner. There, he lowers you with a tilt. He hovers over you, kiss yet to be broken as you rest against the wooden surface. While your legs go to wrap around him, Otto pulls away with a lovestruck smile. It’s light and his brows are lifted at their tips, eyes hooded.
“How long?” He asks.
He’s so gentle, he can’t help it—he doesn’t want to misstep, make the wrong move or harm you in any way. There’s such a deep, intrinsic need to keep you safe it’s overwhelming. Suffocating.
Once you open your eyes, delayed as if still soaring from the kiss yourself, he feels the warm giddiness in his stomach intensify. Part of him expects the scenery to change, to morph into the darkness of his room, far from you; without a light.
“Since the beginning,” you confess.
He recalls the early days of his healing. While he had gotten his inhibitor chip fixed, the psychological damage was done. And so, for a long while he struggled. With the looks: suspicious, fearful, disgusted. He struggled with his co-workers’ opinions, the hecklers, the random acts of unkindness. In a way, at the start, it was as if he hadn’t changed at all, the irritability, the impulses, minus the lack of impulse control, were still there. He wasn’t as stable as he is now, he had to get there. And so, logically, this did not make sense, for how could someone love a monster such as he?
“How were you not scared of me?” He says, honestly. Wearing his heart on his sleeve, he hangs on your every word.
“Otto,” you ease, thumb reaching down to stroke his bottom lip. “I don’t believe anyone’s more fearful of you, than yourself.”
He says nothing. He knows you’re right.
With a knowing look, you cup both of his cheeks and he leans down to rest his forehead against yours. It’s easy to get lost while in the entrancement of the library; a gentle giant. It really does feel like they’re alone there, just the two of them hidden in the clearing of the secretive shelves.
“You don’t have to be so afraid anymore,” she punctuates her sentence with a kiss. “You’re so full of goodness. You’ve always tried to do your best.”
Another kiss.
“You’re enough even if you think you’ve lost yourself.”
And another.
“But you don’t have to be alone anymore. We can find that, together.”
Otto is the first one to close the gap this time, and he tries to ignore the trails running down his cheeks which are swiped away by your thumbs.
Always so perceptive and so caring.
That night, he doesn’t go home alone and the blandness of his apartment doesn’t feel so bland anymore. Not with you near it.
And he finds, with you by his side, he falls asleep without difficulty.
Peter went back to the tower and received the needed medical attention. His aunt would show up and be so relieved that he was in one piece. She would hold him as he cried and tell him that everything would be okay while silently cursing the world for being so cruel to the young boy who deserved a break. After a while, she would have to leave with Happy to start sorting everything out. Other Avengers would come in and offer Peter their condolences, promising that they would be there for him if he needed anything. Tony practically moved into Peter’s room, not wanting to leave him alone. The worst part came when Y/n’s mother showed up. He expected her to scream at him for killing her daughter. But instead, she just told him how relieved she was that he was okay. She cried, he cried, she explained to him that the funeral would be held a week later and asked that he speak if he was up for it. She reminded him of how much you loved him and told him that he could come by any time.
Two days later he went back to his Aunt’s apartment. Everywhere he looked he saw you, memories flashing. He remembered the countless movie marathons (and maybe make-out sessions) on the couch. He remembered disasters in the kitchen and the flour fight you had when he discovered you trying to bake his birthday cake last year. He remembered chasing you through the halls, both of you laughing, him kissing you when he caught you in his arms. He slowly made it up to his room trying to keep it together. But, that was honestly pointless. As he opened the door, he saw the multiple shirts he had tried on before your date sprawled across his bed. He pushed them on to the ground and laid down just wanting everything to stop for a minute. But his mind refused him such pleasantries.
Instead, he thought about the nights you had spent studying together. The time that you had discovered he was Spider-Man. He replayed multiple conversations the two of you had had. He remembered the day he asked you out, your first date, the times he went to your house after a particularly bad night whether it was to be patched up or just to talk. His mind continued on like that until he eventually drifted off to sleep.
The next morning Aunt May came in and brought Peter breakfast which he hardly touched. She sighed as she was at a loss for what to do. He stayed in his room all day, only getting up to use the restroom. He just wanted to be left alone and she tried to respect that, no matter how hard it was to watch him push her away again.
After two more days of refusing visitors and ignoring the outside world, Peter’s aunt informed him that your mother had called and asked him to stop by. He honestly didn’t want to, but he figured he owed her that much. So he forced himself to shower and get dressed. He then proceeded to walk the too familiar path to your apartment, which again was accompanied by various memories that caused his chest to hurt. He didn’t know how he was supposed to do this. He eventually made it outside your door, thinking about the first time he kissed you, right there in that hallway. He hesitated, and finally knocked softly.
Your mom answered and Peter could see how upset she was, not that anyone could blame her. She invited him to come inside and take a seat on the couch. He still didn’t know exactly why he was here.
“I went today to get her stuff- from the car. This- I think it belongs to you,” she said handing him the small ring box with the promise ring he planned on giving you that night. As he took it, his eyes closed as he tried not to cry again, not in front of your mom. She too was on the verge of tears as he pulled something else out of the bag. “Th-this was in the trunk, it was her anniversary gift for you, she’d been working on it for weeks,” she said taking a deep breath and handing it to him. It was very neatly packaged in blue wrapping paper with a red ribbon. He turned it over in his hands.
Noticing his hesitation, your mother reassured him that he didn’t have to open it now. He just stared at it.
“Can I get you anything, Peter? Maybe something to drink? Or to eat? People keep dropping off casseroles,”
“I’m good, thanks,” he replied clearing his thoughts.
“You can go up to her room if you want, I like to go in there. It makes me feel closer to her,” she added.
“Yeah, I think I might do that.”
He absentmindedly walked up to your room. It looked exactly the same as it had when he had last seen it. He looked over your photo wall, glancing through the pictures mostly of the two of you. You were smiling and/or laughing in 99% of them. Seeing them brought a smile to his face. He walked around the rest of your room thinking about the time the two of you had spent together there. He took in your familiar scent and felt if only for a moment at peace.
After a while, he made his way back downstairs. He thanked your mom and told her to reach out if she needed anything. She asked him if he planned on saying anything at your funeral on Saturday and he told her that he would. Though to be honest he had forgotten that that was even a thing. Not the funeral, just the speaking part. He would have to start thinking about it.
When he returned to his apartment, he wasn’t entirely surprised to find one of Tony’s cars was parked around the corner.
“Hey kiddo, how are you doing?” Tony asked as Peter entered.
“As well as can be expected,” he replied setting down the boxes from your house before sitting across from Tony.
“I wanted to check-in, and bring you this,” he said handing him a small shoebox,”
Peter was confused, to say the least. “Mr. Stark you didn’t have to get me anything,”
“I didn’t, it’s from Y/n. She gave it to me a few months ago, made me promise to hold on to it just in case something ever happened,” he explained waiting to see how Peter was going to react.
“She’s unbelievable,” Peter chuckled, the stopped was he thought.
“Have you eaten anything today?” Tony asked most likely at Aunt May’s request.
“Not really, but I’m fine,”
“Are you sure, I can have Happy can go pick something up and bring it by, he’s been worried about you,”
“I’m good, thanks though”
“Peter I’m sorry, I can’t imagine how hard all of this is for you, especially right now. You know that I and everyone else are here for you. If there is anything that any of us can do, all you have to do is say the word and we’re here.”
“I know Mr. Stark, thank you,”
“Okay kid, I’m going to give you some space so you can open that -when you’re ready. Make sure you eat something, if not for you, do it for your aunt who’s worried about you. Let me know if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll see you Saturday.”
“See you Saturday,” Peter mumbled before taking the three boxes upstairs to his room.
He sat and stared at the anniversary gift and the apparent contingency plan. He debated which one to open first or whether he wanted to open either of them. Okay, that was stupid, obviously, he was going to open them. It was just a matter of when and in which order. After some thought, he made up his mind and picked up the blue box unwrapping it carefully. Inside, was a scrapbook. It had pictures from kindergarten to the present, but that wasn’t all that it had. It also contained some of your artwork and small memorabilia. For example, there were tickets from various movies, the receipt from your first date, the ribbon from the science fair the two of you won, and other things that Peter had absolutely no idea that you kept. His favorite part though was your handwritten additions. Small notes, song lyrics, quotes, and memories that you used to embellish the pages. You had narrated the entire story and it was beautiful. He spent hours going through it carefully, not wanting to miss anything.
When he finished, he put it back in the box and set it aside. He debated whether he wanted to also open the shoebox tonight as he had just been on an emotional roller-coaster. He hesitantly pulled it closer to him and pulled off the lid. There was a note on top which he read first.
Dear Peter,
I hope that this note never has to be read. However, it needs to exist. So, here we go I guess. In this box, you will find two things, first a Funko Pop! and secondly a flash drive with a video that I recorded for you.
The Funko Pop! is Kylo Ren. And you may be asking yourself why out of every character in existence, I would choose him. So here’s my reasoning: 1. You love Star Wars 2. I’m guessing that the world seems a little darker than normal right now, so I figured that he could serve as a reminder that no matter how far into the “dark side” you go that there is always redemption and light.
I love you Peter Benjamin Parker.
Forever and Always,
Y/f/n Y/l/n
Peter took out the Funko Pop! And set it on his desk as he retrieved his laptop and queued up the video. He tried to mentally prepare himself for it, but it was no use.
Hi Peter,
So if you are seeing this something happened to me. I don’t know whether it was Spider-Man related or not. I guess it really doesn’t matter. I just wanted to tell you not to blame yourself. And believe me, I know you well enough to know that you will try to. Even if I live to be 102 and die peacefully in my sleep of natural causes you’d still be looking for a way to blame yourself. That’s kinda your thing, putting the weight of the world on your shoulders. Anyways, no matter what happened, it wasn’t your fault. I knew exactly what I was getting into when I agreed to be your friend, partner in crime, and your girlfriend.
You are so good Peter. You are truly a breath of fresh air. While others actively ignore the pain and suffering in the world, you go out of your way to make a difference. You protect those who can’t protect themselves and you never expect anything in return. Your life has presented you with so many challenges and so many reasons to turn cold, but instead, they made you kind.
Please keep fighting. Don’t lose hope, find something that inspires you, and use it to make you better. Make the most of every minute because life is unpredictable, beautiful, and ephemeral. That’s kinda the whole point isn’t it?
I could keep talking to you for hours, but at the same time, I feel like there isn’t much more to be said.
I love you Peter, and I know that you will get through this. I believe in you and know that you will do great things in life. There is nothing that you can’t do if you put your mind to it. Keep fighting the good fight. Or should I say keep swinging the good swing. Maybe I should go for, ‘May the Force be with you’? Hopefully that made you laugh or at least smile. God, your smile can save lives. So I feel that it is my personal duty right here and now to remind you to smile everyday. More importantly be the reason someone else smiles.
The world can be dark and scary and cruel. But there is so much beauty and goodness. You just have to seek it out. I wish you the absolute best this world has to offer. I love you, always and forever.
Oh by the way, just in case there is any doubt, I am totally okay with you move on. In fact I want you to. Find a girl that makes you happy, who makes you more, and then allow yourself to enjoy it. Absolutely under no circumstance do I want you to use me as an excuse to stop living.
Stay Gold Spider-Man.
And with that, the camera clicked off and the video ended. Peter replayed it again, taking in your voice and smile. This whole thing felt so surreal, like a bad dream that he had simply yet to wake from. That video though, it was something he hadn’t realized that he needed until he had seen it. It was like the fog was beginning to clear and he knew that everything would be okay.
When he woke up, he ate half of his lunch, which satisfied Aunt May. He then sat at his desk to do the impossible task before him. He had to figure out what it was that he wanted to say at your funeral the next day. He must have written and deleted at least 10 speeches. Nothing was good enough. It needed to be perfect. He would sit there in front of that computer for hours. When he finished, he was entirely shocked to see that it was after 2 am.
May woke him up so that he had plenty of time to get ready for the service. The drive there was silent and Peter was thinking over his speech. When he arrived, Tony came to greet him. He wasn’t surprised to see many of the avengers in attendance. You were always with him at the tower and had become close to several of them. The service was short and sweet, your mom spoke, and then she asked for him to come up and say a few words.
It was in the moment that he reached the podium that he decided to entirely disregard his speech. And instead, speak from his heart.
“From the time I was a little kid, I always wanted to be one of the avengers. I wanted to have superpowers and make the world a better place. Y/n taught me that you don’t have to have powers to change the world. You just have to make a choice to be kind and do the right thing. She was one of the bravest and most beautiful people I have ever met. She always saw the best in people and went out of her way to make a difference in the lives of others. She radiated kindness, and inspired those who knew her. She always was there for me and never gave up on me. She taught me how to find the good in everything. She was the love of my life, my best friend, and my hero. She taught me how to become something more than I ever thought I could be. She saved my life in more ways than one and I will carry her with me every day of my life.” he finished quickly returning to his seat.
After that, you were buried and everyone went their separate ways. The following Monday, Peter finally went back to school. It wasn’t easy, but he had to start somewhere. It would take him three more days before he was able to put the Spider-Man suit back on. From there, he took it day by day. Some were harder than others, but he persisted. He walked at graduation and then swung by your grave to talk to you about his future plans. He was sure that you were proud of him. He spent most of his summer in the Avengers tower with Tony. In the fall, he’d be attending college. And from there who knew what would happen. But whatever life threw at him, he would remember to seek out the good and to do kindness recklessly as you had taught him.
A/N: This is sad, but that’s okay. There is character death and also a car accident. There will be a part two, named AFTER, coming out very shortly.
“When you can do the things that I can and you don’t and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you”
That quote was Peter’s answer when Tony had asked him why he was Spider-Man. He knew that he could use his power to do a multitude of things, but he had decided to use it to help people, to protect his community, to be a hero.
But what was the point now? What was the point of any of this if he couldn’t save you?
Every time he closed his eyes he was back in that car. The two of you were on your way to celebrate your two year anniversary. You were talking about your plans for college and your graduation that was right around the corner. Peter had been planning everything out about this night for weeks. He was nervous that he had gone slightly overboard, but Mr. Stark and Pepper assured him that it was going to be perfect.
He looked over at you as you were singing along to one of your favorite songs on the radio. His chest filled with adoration and eased any nerves that he had. He was about to continue the conversation when his spidey senses went off. He quickly looked for the source of danger but was cut off as a car collided with your own on the driver’s side.
The next thing he remembered was the smell. He couldn’t tell what it was exactly, maybe the car’s fuel, maybe the airbags. Then the pain. He reached up to feel the side of his head which was covered in blood. He seemed to be pinned to the seat. He was extremely disoriented and found it hard to focus. That was at least until the panic set in. He remembered where he was and who he was with. He looked over and realized that you weren’t in the car.
He struggled through the previously unrealized pain in his shoulder to reach his phone. He called the one person who could help him, the person who had always been there to help him.
“Hello Pete, how’s the big date going? Give her the ring yet?”
“T-Tony-”
“Peter what’s wrong? Where are you?” he cut him off already summoning one of his suits.
“We were- there was a car- and I-” Peter tried but he was freaking out.
“Friday track Peter’s location and notify 911” Tony said to his AI.
“Peter, it’s okay I’m on my way, are you hurt?”
“I’ll b-be fine. No-nothing worse than I’ve dealt w-with before,” he answered.
“And how’s Y/n?”
“I-I don’t know. She’s n-not in the car and I can’t g-get out,” he replied as his breathing started to get faster.
“It’s okay Pete, just try to calm down. I’m almost there and help is on the way,” Tony reassured.
“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” Peter breathed,
True to his word, Tony touched down moments later. Seeing the state off the two cars he was surprised that anyone was going to be walking away from the accident. He quickly went to where Peter was and started to get him out of the car.
“No, go find Y/n first. I’ll be fine. Just go help her.” he pleaded.
Tony moved around to where you were laying on the ground. He immediately knelt down and had Friday scan your vitals. You were seemingly unconscious with a large piece of glass sticking out of your chest and blood from where your head met the cement. Friday’s scan showed that you had multiple broken bones and were in critical condition with almost no chance of survival. Tony knew that he couldn’t risk moving you, especially since he had no way to stabilize you. He also knew that while help was coming, that it wouldn’t get there in time. Silent tears fell from his eyes as he returned to Peter.
“How is she? She’s okay right?” Peter asked hopefully.
“Kid- she,” Tony started.
Peter didn’t even need to see his face to know. That tone is the same tone every adult used when they told him devastating news. It was the tone from when his parents died. The tone from when his uncle was murdered.
“No, she has to be okay, she-” he started crying.
“Pete, she’s not-, I need to get you out of here so you can say goodbye,” Tony tried, his own emotion taking over.
He used the strength of his suit to pull the door off of the mutilated car. He then carefully readjusted Peter’s seat to free him. He had Friday do a scan to see the severity of his injuries. Besides the shoulder and concussion, he had bruised ribs and was experiencing multiple symptoms of shock. Tony helped him out and supported most of his weight as he led him to you.
Peter immediately sunk down and was debating the best way to hold you. He wanted more than anything to pull you into his arms, but he was so afraid of making things worse. Tears were gliding down his cheeks as took your hand in his and called your name. Despite how much he wanted you to be okay, somewhere deep down he knew Tony was right. This was it. He was drawn out of his thoughts as he heard your quiet voice.
“P-Peter?”
“Hey, I’m right here,” he said as he leaned over you so you could see his face.
“What happened?” you asked struggling through your thoughts.
“We were in a car accident, but it’s okay help is on the way,”
“Peter, you’re bleeding,” you say taking in his appearance. You made the mistake of trying to sit up and grimaced in pain.
“Easy Y/n, just try to lie still,” he all but whispered.
“I’m so sorry,” you said as tears escaped your eyes.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,”
“I ruined our date,” you tried
“What? This? This is still not the worst date I’ve been on,” he tried to joke.
You smiled. God he loved that smile. He wanted to spend the rest of his life making you smile. This was so unfair. Why? Why did this have to happen to you? Why now?
“Peter, what’s wrong?”
But even as the words left your mouth, you knew. You knew that you weren’t going to be okay. That this was how it would end. And, you realized that Peter most know this too. You didn’t want to go, you didn’t want to leave him. It was supposed to be the two of you against the world. You were supposed to graduate together, and go to college, and get married, and have kids, and make the world a better place. There was so much that you were supposed to do. But none of that mattered now did it? You braced yourself and decided to make the most of the few minutes you may have left.
“I love you so much, Peter Parker,” you started.
“Y/n, please don’t,” he cried.
“Pete, you are the bravest, kindest, person I know. You’ll be okay. It’ll take time but-”
“Stop it!”
“It’s okay Peter,”
“No, it’s not, I can’t lose you too,” he cried.
You were at a loss for words. The excruciating pain you once felt was numbing. You knew that you were running out of time.
“Peter, tell me you love me,”
“I do, I-I love you so-so much,” he sobbed.
“Promise- Promise me- you’ll move on. That you’ll be happy,”
“Y/n I-”
“Promise, that you won’t shut down. You have so many people who love you. Let them help you,” you struggled as it became harder and harder to breath, unconsciousness - no, death- was creeping in.
“I promise,” he replied.
“Good,” you whispered eyes closing and chest falling for the last time.
“Y/n? Y/n wake up. Come on I don’t want to do this with out you. Just-just stay with me. Help is coming. I-I love you. I love you so much.” Peter cried pulling your lifeless body off of the ground and craddling you in his arms.
Tony, who had returned from helping the people in the other car, minimized his suit and went over to Peter. He honestly didn’t know what to do, his heart broke for the kid. He gently went to his side putting his hand on Peter’s shoulder.
“She’s gone,” he whispered.
“I know Pete,” he said sadly.
“We should really get you back to the tower, to the med-bay, I can have Happy go pick up your aunt.”
“I don’t want to leave her.”
“The paramedics are here, they’re going to take her.”
Peter looked up for the first time since it had happened. The road was now blocked off. The police and ambulances were here. People were trying to see what had happened. He knew Tony was right. It was time for him to leave. So he hugged you one last time placed a kiss on your head and laid you down on the ground, pausing to close your eyes. He took once last glance before allowing Tony to guide him away.
This is the first imagine of my Steve Roger x Reader Series. For more of my writing check out my Masterlist!
You and Steve met on his first day of base camp. You were tasked to take him to the back to try to find an uniform that would fit him halfway decently. However, considering his size, that task was nearly impossible.
“This is the smallest kit I can find, I’ll keep looking though and bring you anything else I find tomorrow. I’m just going to need to take some measurements before you leave,” you spoke for the first time since receiving your orders.
“Thank you Miss-“ Steve replied.
“Y/l/n. Y/f/n Y/l/n,” you answered offering your hand.
“I’m Steve, Steve Rogers. Private Rogers” he returned.
“I know, you’re kind of the talk of the camp,” you turned to hide your blush.
“What is a girl like you doing in a place like this?” he asked as you retrieved a tape measure.
“I’m here with the SSR, when I’m not busy with work, I try to help out around the base as much as possible. Arms up.”
“Huh?”
“Arms up, so I can measure,”
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” he said lifting his arms.
After a few more minutes you got everything you needed.
“Okay private Rogers, your all set.”
“Thank you again, I really appreciate this.”
“No problem, good luck out there,” you smile as he shifts to leave.
He awkwardly made his way out the door. And you were stuck with that dumb smile on your face. Of all the men you had to choose from, you had to pick him. There was something different about him though, he had heart, you could tell… And that is why you stayed up late that night to alter a uniform for him. All the odds were stacked against him. No one really wanted him here and they wouldn’t hesitate to let that be known. His size would work against him, and he would have to work twice as hard as everyone else. The least you could do is make sure he was properly outfitted.
The next morning Steve woke up to find a new uniform sitting on the foot of his bed. He quickly put it on making a mental note to thank you later. He lined up with the others and went on out to train for the day. And it went about as well as you predicted.
It was later that evening as he sat alone eating dinner that Agent Carter paused at his table, “You’re a lucky man Private.”
“Why is that?” he asked surprised she was even talking to him.
“Every guy here has tried to gain Y/n’s attention, and you win her over with one encounter.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“The uniform,” she clarified.
“Yeah, she found it in storage.”
“They don’t come in any size below medium,”
“What do you mean?”
“It had to be altered, I’m sure it took her most of the night.”
“Really?”
“Yes, she must see something in you. Anyways, keep up the good work out there,” Peggy said as she walked away. She had planted the seed, and felt confident that she had completed her duties as your best friend. Now it was just a matter of time.
Steve quickly finished his meal and went to find you. However, after asking around he had discovered that you were off-base and he would just have to wait. But something in his gut was already telling him that you were well worth it.
Plot: Bucky comes home from a mission and you need to help to clean him up. Your daughter helps, too, in the sweetest way possible.
Warnings: mentions of blood/wounds.
W/C: 2.5k
Note: This is an old fic! It’s been in my drafts for a loooong time, over two years, but I thought I’d post it. The writing isnt great, but it’s something while I work on my next actual novel. Enjoy! <3
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You were watching TV alone in the living room, anxiously checking your phone every few seconds to see if you had any texts or calls from Bucky, Steve or Tony. The three of them were on a mission, but they’d never been this late coming home before. It was almost four in the morning, Bucky was usually home for eight, and would read your daughter, Mila, a bedtime story every night.
Warnings : one mention of kinky stuff but that’s all
You and Steve met, when Bucky decided to introduce you to his best friend
At first Steve was intimated by you, especially your unusual makeup
But even though you were looking a bit scary for him, he decided to try making friends with you
He wasn’t regretting it, you were nice to him and he absolutely loved your personality. Of course you liked him too, he was probably the most polite person you ever met
After Bucky introduced you two to each other, you started hanging out
At first you were scared that he might not want to hang out with you, because you were looking so differently than most people, but Steve assured you that he loves the way you look
After spending a lot of time together, you two understood that as different as you thought you would be
The biggest difference between you two is your dressing style, but neither of you minds that
After sometime, you start dating
A lot of cuddles
Sometimes you would do his makeup or give him some clothes so he could look like you
He absolutely loves it, but he still prefers wearing his clothes outside (he’s not ready to wear them outside his house)
Him buying you some clothes/accessories he thibk you would like
Dates in abandoned places
At first Steve was against that idea, because he was afraid of being caught
But then he decided to give a try, he loved it
At first it felt bad, because he was scared someone could see him, so he was careful about doing this and he still is
But besides that, he enjoys this kinds of dates
He tried doing your makeup once or twice, it wasn’t looking so good, it was messy, but you appreciated the fact he tried his best
If drink monster energy or any other kind of energy drinks, he’ll make sure you don’t drink too much, he don’t want you to get hurt
If you would ask him to, he can buy you some energy drinks
Him helping you save money to buy platform boots
If someone makes fun of you being Goth, Steve’s not going to be very nice
He has a thing for your chokers, he probably has a kink, but won’t tell you, a least not until he’s ready to do so
Steve’s favorite part of your looks are accessories, especially rings
Basically he loves you and he’s happy that you’re being yourself
Lately I’ve been more into writing headcanon than one shots so here we gooooo
Thor had a hard time understanding concept of video games, you tried your best to explain it to him
If you’re one of those gamers who like having their room full of led lights, Thor’s gonna love it
Believe me or not, but he finds your lights pretty comforting
Thor really liked to watch you play, even though he wasn’t understanding too much how it worked
It would be lie if he would say that he wasn’t fascinated by it
He asked you if he could try playing, of course you agreed
You asked which game he wanted to play, when he answered, you turned it on and turned on tutorial for him, so he could understand how it works and what he has to do
Of course you were telling him what to do and how (idk why but I see Thor trying Overwatch)
Let’s stay with the idea that he plays Overwatch
You tell him to go to the training area, so he can try his best with the characters he’s interested in
I feel like he could go for chosing Brigitte, Torbjörn or Reinhardt, but of course he tried others characters too, because he was interested in their abilities and skills
Thor had a lot of fun
Watching him play against others was funny
“How dare you attack God of Thunder?!”
At some point you were scared that he would destroy your gaming equipment
Luckily he didn’t
After playing for the first time, he wanted more
He really liked Overwatch, but wanted to try other games too, so without thinking much you introduced him to other games
Horror, adventure, role play, strategy, genre don’t matter, Thor wanted to try them all
His favorites are Overwatch, Minecraft and Witcher
Sometimes you two would play Minecraft and Overwatch together
In second game you would play against each other or together, depending on mood
When you’re playing on your own or with your friends, he likes to sit in the same room with you, but always ask if you’re okay with it
Being a twitch streamer and dating Thor
He always helps you with getting everything ready
Brings you snacks or anything you to drinks (besides alcohol) when you need
He likes spending time in your room with you during streams
Your audience loves him, he’s sweet and always says “hi” to them
He happens to read what people say in chat to him, sometimes even complementing him and he just chuckles and thanks
Sometimes you two play on streams, together or against each other, depends on game
Playing against each other looks basically like “The lower cleans the house” and etc.
He helps you clean after stream if you’ve made a mess
Some people in your chat split up into two teams when you two play games, one being on your side, one on your boyfriend’s
It’s not harmful or anything, it’s playful
Some people say Thor should make his own twitch account, but he has no interest in having one
In which Loki watches his future and finds you play a much larger role than he had expected… SPOILERS FOR LOKI SERIES!!! Send any requests my way :) I’ve got some free time and I’m ready to WRITE!
The screen showed a pixelated version of the Avengers… and you. You who he had seen mere hours ago fighting against him, and then whom he had seen two versions of. He had smelled the cologne of the two Tony’s, just as he had beheld the two Y/N’s.
He hadn’t originally noticed you dressed as a guard until he had heard the subtle, yet sharp intake of breath, a breath not all that different from the gasp he had made moments ago when seeing his mother on this damned screen, a gasp of pain. You were clearly older, a scar on your cheek that hadn’t been there mere moments ago at the top of Avengers tower as you had nudged Romanoff with a grin as you settled into the elevator. This older you had locked eyes with him for a fleeting second until being broken apart by the commotion of the Hulk smashing through the stairwell door and sending everyone scrambling.
It had struck him as odd at the time, yes, but he had been preoccupied with other details (such as escaping) rather than wondering why the mighty avengers had decided to play around with time. He’d had only a couple of conversations with you until now, and none of them entirely delightful seeing as you were on opposing sides, and the recognition held in future you’s eyes had unsettled him more than he’d care to say.
Glancing once more at the table before him, Loki pulled out a chair and sat. The round device before him was no more complicated than anything else he’d seen before, and a twist of a knob later, he was skipping through his life on film.
Stop. His mother, dead on the floor. His doing, according to Mobius. A manifestation of the pain and suffering he had been supposedly born to cause. A shuddering breath escaped him.
Twist.Images of Thor and… you for some reason flickered past like voices on the wind, glimpses of some life he had never lived, some life he was meant to live. And Odin, his… well, the closest thing to a father Loki had ever known.
Stop. “I love you, my sons.” He saw himself, an older Loki, beside his father. Another shuddering breath escaped him. My sons… Odin had seen this Loki, this version of him, as his true son. He had not hesitated, had not made him an afterthought behind Thor. Tears welled up in his vision, and try as he may, Loki could not stop them. “Remember this place. Home.” He watched as his father died before his very eyes, saw himself stand beside Thor as brothers once more, united in their grief. He saw You, coming to his side and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
Twist.
Stop. You, kissing him. His hands tangled in your hair. You pull away with a gasp for air, a smile playing on your lips as you trace a delicate hand across his cheek. “You are good, Loki Laufeyson, and you deserve good things.” His future self breaths a small laugh as he shakes his head, placing his hand atop your own. “You are the good in me, my love.”
Twist.
Stop. Thor, his hair cut and trimmed short, staring at Loki with… love. “Loki, I thought the world of you. I thought we were gonna fight side by side forever.” Loki drew yet another shuddering breath and looked away. Forever.
Twist.
Stop. You. You, on the Bifrost beside himself, Thor (missing an eye no less), and who appeared to be a Valkyrie from the stories his mother would tell them as children. You, weapon in hand and looking slightly worse for wear, sweat dripping down your face as you shot him a sly grin.
Twist.
Stop.Thor, a newfound patch on his eye, turning. “Maybe you’re not so bad after all, brother.” A sly grin on his future self’s face as he replied, “Maybe not.” A thanks from Thor, his voice deep and true, “If you were here, I might even give you a hug.” Loki can’t stop the incredulous laugh from leaving his lips as he watches the scene before him. His soft brother, still soft. A quiet response from his future self, “I’m here.” A soft click indicating the opening of a door, laughter from offscreen. Your voice rings out playfully, “Oh please, don’t let me interrupt. I’d like to see this.”
Twist.
Stop. Himself, panting and suddenly thrusting a knife upwards at Thanos… who makes no movement of defense, a glittering gold gauntlet already adorning his fist. Loki’s smile falls into a grimace as realization strikes him. “Undying?” The giant asks and he hears scraping from the sidelines. A glance of his future self’s eyes turns the screen on you, beaten and bloody, struggling on your knees with a hand of one of Thanos’ children’s clamped tightly over your mouth. Tears fall from your eyes as you flail against their grip, fighting. This future Loki merely nods towards you. Thanos’ voice cuts through the silence. “Undying? You should choose your words more carefully.”
Loki stands to his feet and watches as his future self is lifted into the air by the neck, choked forcefully. He sees himself struggle to no avail, his suffering long and drawn out. His words broken and strained, “You… will never be… a god.” The snap of his neck. His death. Gasping and taking frantic steps back, Loki watches as his brother and you grieve over his body. Thor crying silently while you frantically shake his body, begging him to wake up and come back to you.
An explosion marking the end of the tape. He scoffs, despair and regret boiling up in his chest.
After being locked up in the Raft for years, Helmut finally found an escape. Not without the help of a few friends, though. When Bucky broke him out of jail, he didn’t have the time to visit you no matter how much he wanted to. You heard what happened, though.
When you heard that he went back to prison, somewhere he cannot escape this time, you felt betrayed that he didn’t come for you while he was out. Soon you felt bad about that because you knew if he could, he would. Helmut always cared about your health and happiness more than anything and he knew that you needed him. He needed you just as bad, maybe even more.
You left your old apartment in his absence. There were too many memories and oh-so-sweet nostalgia there. At first, he panicked when he couldn’t find you there.
After a few days of research, he found out that you moved to a small town in Norway. You always told him how much you loved the country and that you two would be very happy there. He should have known. When he got there, he made small talk with the local people to find out information. It wasn’t hard to find an outlander in such a small place. Everyone he talked to knew who you were.
Eventually, he found you sitting on a bench, looking at the sea. In one hand what looks like an alcohol bottle and seed for pigeons in the other. You always loved animals. His sweet lover who wants to help everyone. Your pure heart was what he fell for in the first place.
He has never seen you like this before. Dark circles under your eyes, looking exhausted. He could easily tell that you haven’t properly gotten any sleep for a long time. He watched you from afar, not knowing how to approach you. He was hoping that he was not the reason you were in such a state. He felt his eyes burn. You did not deserve this. You always wanted a family. A husband who loved you and maybe a child one day. But he had his own demons, a lost family, a lost child… He considered just leaving you there at that moment. Maybe it wasn’t him that hurt you this way? Maybe you got used to his absence? No. He came all the way there to see the only person he cared for in this goddamned world and however selfish that may feel, he is going to make you his again.
When he started walking towards the bench, he realized that you were crying silently He started walking faster. He was standing beside the bench now. You didn’t look up. He was not moving, just waiting for you to look at him.
You spoke up in a cold tone, “Leave me alone.”, thinking that it was a random dude who saw you crying and decided to take advantage of it. He was surprised by your harsh tone. You were always kind to people even when they didn’t deserve it. Have you truly changed that much?
He spoke softly, “My love…” putting his hand on your shoulder hesitantly. You whipped your head up and looked at him with wide eyes, not being able to speak or move as if he would just disappear if you did. He waited for a few seconds but you were still looking at him without saying anything so he sat beside you, still holding your shoulder.
“My dear, I’m here. Please say something.”
You started sobbing then. He took you in his arms and held you until you calmed down. When your breath evened out, you looked up at him, still clinging to his torso.
“How..? How did you get out?”
He kissed your temple and sighed, looking out to the sea.
“That does not matter now. I’m here and I won’t leave you again.”
You nodded. That was enough for you. You knew he would come for you sooner or later but it still felt like a miracle. You got off the bench and started walking away together, the bottle in your hand long forgotten on the ground.
A/N: Contrary to what I thought at first, I had fun writing this. I can write a part 2 if you want but I still have a few requests in hand. Please let me know whether you want another part or not.
I couldn’t think of a proper plot so I decided to do headcanons, for now, I hope that’s okay. I’ll write for Zemo more in the future.
Hope you like it! ❤️
Warnings: extremely soft Zemo, sex, oral sex, Possessive!Zemo, implied jealousy, his lost family is mentioned briefly. I think that’s all.
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When we’re talking about daddy Zemo, we can’t ignore the fact that he is a sweet sweet man aside from being a terrorist in the past.
Having lost his family once, he knows how precious our loved ones are, so you can expect him to be affectionate 24/7.
Now that doesn’t mean that he is clingy. If you need some space, he’ll know it right away or he’ll ask you if you need to be alone.
If not, he is more than happy to keep you company when you’re feeling sad, angry, or overwhelmed.
Making you tea, watching your favorite TV show or movie together.
He will definitely comment on the unrealistic war or fight scenes.
Sitting on his lap while he is reading, hugging his neck, or laying your head on his chest, listenng to his heartbeat.
He knows you love his voice and he is very smug about it.
He’ll hug you from behind and whisper in your ear in a low husky voice. Sometimes dirty things like how he needs you so bad and what he plans on doing to you and sometimes just sweet nothings.
Calling you pet names in Sokovian. You like the sound of them but you don’t understand all of it. He likes to keep them a secret.
Now for the dirty part…
Heisgood in bed, and he knows it.
He will always put your pleasure first but he is also very eager to take his pleasure from you.
Eating you out for hours if he feels like it, which is very common.
Slow and sensual sex.
But also really reallyrough sex… Especially when he gets jealous.
Despite being a reasonable and confident man, Helmut can get jealous quite easily because he is very possessive.
He knows you’re not something he owns but nonetheless, you’re his and his only to love and cherish.
He likes to make you cum again and again until you beg him to stop. He is the only one who can make you feel this good.
He will also make you kneel and take him into your mouth.
Fucking your mouth roughly but also being careful not to actually hurt you.
He is not exactly afraid to be vocal.
He will moan and groan, chanting your name and telling you how good you are for him.
He will get gentle and loving again afterwards.
Asking if you’re okay and taking care of you, cuddling for hours and reading to you.
He will buy you everything you like.
Sometimes he sees nightmares about his past and losing you as well.
Then he wakes up and sees you there, sleeping contently.
He will embrace you tightly and go to sleep again, knowing that you will be there when he wakes up.
He is particularly clingy in the mornings and you’re not complaining.
Lazy morning sex.
Cuddling and talking for hours until you have to get up.
Making breakfast for you.
Sometimes you insist on helping him and even if he acts like he doesn’t want you to, it feels very intimate to just betogether and casually make breakfast. He loves it.
Okay I’m getting into writing again… Please send requests, I am open to anything. I mostly write for Loki but I am interested in many fandoms and characters so feel free to request any of them please ✨
Summary: Reader gets defensive when Clint gets physical with Loki.
Warnings: none
Thor insisted that you and Loki should tag along with him. He was pretty sure that it would be okay. He was going to visit the Avengers after a long time and he knew you always wanted to see other planets. Being their best friend as children and eventually starting to date Loki, you were pretty close with the Asgardian princes.
After the battle of New York, Loki was brought back to Asgard. It took a lot of convincing from you and Frigga to get him out of prison. Odin was a stubborn man but he always listened to his Queen. You were beyond happy that Loki was still alive. Despite being bullheaded and not wanting to admit it, Loki missed you so much. He couldn’t bear the thought of you being with someone else so he immediately proposed to you after getting out. Now you were engaged.
Thor was so excited to show you all of Midgard and his Avengers. You couldn’t bring yourself to hate them because they were just defending their home. I can’t say the same about Loki, though.
You wanted to go as well but didn’t want to upset Loki. He was aware of this so he said that you could go but with one condition: He has to come, too. You didn’t understand why he would want to see those people again after everything but he said he didn’t trust them. Even though you knew the Avengers wouldn’t hurt you (even if they tried, Thor could protect you) you accepted it. You were happy to have Loki with you.
From the moment you stepped into the Avengers compound, you knew that Loki was not forgiven yet. Everyone was sending him death glares but he didn’t seem to care. He was holding you very close to him. Thor showed you around and you met most of the Avengers. You heard bad things about them but it’s not like Loki would think very highly of any of them anyway. It was Natasha you liked the most. Despite being an assassin, she seemed pretty friendly and funny.
Sam was even better. Some of them were wary of you but you couldn’t blame them. They didn’t know Loki was being mind-controlled during the battle and in their eyes, you were in love with a murderer. You hoped that some day, they would understand Loki. Everyone.
It was getting late and Avengers decided that having dinner together would be a great idea now that Thor was back. You were heading to the dining room with Loki and Thor. All of a sudden you heard a man shouting.
“What the hell are you doing here?!” he pointed an arrow at Loki and he looked beyond pissed. That must be Agent Barton, you thought.
Loki rolled his eyes. “ I don’t mean any harm, Barton. Don’t create drama.”
The others came to see what happened and Tony stood in front of Clint. “Thor brought them here, bird boy. He is unarmed and point break is watching over him.” trying to calm him down. But Clint was having none of it.
“Bullshit. Did he just come here to visit us like a good friend? Do you really believe that this man can be any good? The last time he was here he killed thousands of people. He brainwashed me.” he pointed the arrow at Loki again but Steve took it from him. “That’s enough, Barton. If Thor says we can trust Loki, we can. This building is full of Shield agents and trained superheroes. We can defend ourselves if anything happens.”
He scoffed and started walking towards Loki. Now you were getting angry. Who was he to decide for everyone? Did he really think that he could hurt Loki with a fucking arrow?
No one was stopping him this time, kind of wanting to see what will happen. He put his hand on Loki’s shoulder harshly and before he could say anything. You pushed his hand off roughly. He almost fell backwards and looked at you with wide eyes, not expecting you to do that and definitely not expecting a small girl to be so strong.
“Get. your. hands. off.” You said through gritted teeth. Pulling out a dagger and pointing it at him. Thor was shocked. Everyone was shocked but Loki was smirking. You were always so sweet and calm, they didn’t see that coming. Thor spoke softly, not wanting to anger you further. “Lady Y/N…” You looked at him with questioning eyes. You still looked angry. Loki calmly took the dagger from your hand. “It’s okay, love.” You sighed, a bit calmer. You looked at Clint one last time and narrowed your eyes. “If you ever touch him again, I swear to Odin…” He was not talking. Tony laughed a little, easing the tension a little bit.
Loki kissed you sweetly and thanked you for defending him when everyone left. Even though he could easily defend himself against Clint, it felt good to know that there was someone who had his back.
You all had dinner like nothing happened after that but everyone was being a little more careful with Loki now.
when requesting, please try to keep the amount of prompts requested under or equal to five. thank you and happy requesting! + anyone and everyone is free to use these prompts for their own writing <3 + all pronouns are set as ‘they’ but are subject to change per requests !
Summary: James Buchanan Barnes broke your heart two years ago. Now, after settling down finally in college with your group of old and new friends, he ́s transferred into your school, and maybe back into your heart.
Word Count: 4k
Warnings: Angst galore, uhhh Buckys old house, more thor x reader a tiny bit tho
A/N: TAG LIST IS CLOSED!
Feedback is always appreciated! Thanks for reading loves, I hope you guys like it!
*Gif not mine, credit to owner*
College AU - Bucky x Reader
Summary: James Buchanan Barnes broke your heart two years ago. Now, after settling down finally in college with your group of old and new friends, he ́s transferred into your school, and maybe back into your heart.
“I don’t get why they have to practice so early, I mean classes just ended for the day.” Wanda groaned as you all sat on the bleachers, blankets around your bodies as you all huddled for warmth, trying to shield from the snowflakes that would grace your cheeks and hair.
“You’re tellin’ me, I have four more hours until it’s socially acceptable to go to bed.” You groaned, rubbing your gloved hands together, trying your best to create any form of friction for warmth. Wanda did the same, but instead clutched her hot chocolate to her chest and let out an annoyed mumble of words you didn’t understand.
The football team always practiced from three to eight. Five hours of drills, pain, and sweat. You grimaced at the thought. Now of course you didn’t have to be there. But it was tradition. No one missed a single practice since that time Steve had an asthma attack on the field in his freshman year of highschool. Vivid memories of that day replayed in your mind, the absolute terror on everyone’s faces as he gasped for air. No one knew where his inhaler was, until Bucky came racing out of the locker room with it in his hand. Of course you didn’t know who Bucky was until a year later, but that day you could have sworn you started to look at him differently.
So you all made a vow, you, Wanda, Nat, Tony, to never miss another practice, rain or snow. And now was the time when you all started to regret it. Whenever it got colder out, you all talked about how stupid of an idea it really was, complained about how you should end the stupid pact. Regardless no one ever did. You were all glad for the downtime, to just relax and chat over coffee or hot chocolates, and occasionally muffins from the stand outside of campus.
During highschool, it was also where you and Bucky could flaunt the amazing part of dating a football player. The quick pecks on the lips after he made a good pass, or kicked a practice field goal made your heart soar. Or when he’d run up to you, as you screeched trying to get away from his stinky self, and pick you up in his arms peppering sloppy kisses to your face when it was a good day.
But it also meant the bad parts. Him being stressed out after a practice gone wrong, the silence on the car rides back home, and tears shed because of one too many accidental cleats to the stomach during tackles.
“Hey anyone know what the theory for-”
“No Peter” Everyone mumbled out of habit as the brunette flipped you all off and went back to scribbling in his physics notebook.
“Tony why don’t you just help him. It’d save all of us a headache.”
“Natalia, my dear, sweet little Natalia, he is my prodigee. I can’t just go around doing things for him. Parker here needs to learn to do them himself, then we’ll talk.”
“Well if you would just-”
“Zip it. I’m trying to watch the game.” Tony hissed, only now paying attention to the practice on the field. Internally groaning, you rested your head against Natasha’s shoulder and let your eyes focus on the grey clouds moving above you.
About an hour of trying to see what shapes you could find, practice finally ended early.
“Thank god for Saltzman getting injured, otherwise I would still be freezing my ass off.” You muttered, tugging your maroon zip-up hoodie tighter around your body. Everyone nodded in silent agreement as you sat in the Student Union waiting for the guys to get back from the locker rooms.
The Student Union area was smaller than most colleges, but was packed to the brim with things to do. An air hockey table was in the back corner, along with a small ping pong table, bright orange and blue paddles laying on top of it. There was a small stand by the front doors, filled to the brim with various snacks, ramen noodle options, drinks, and hot beverage machines.
It was the center of the campus, but most people, obviously, shied away from it when giving tours. Does anyone really want to see where their kid is going to ditch off work to hang out with their friends? Didn’t think so.
Thankfully it was free of cameras and a majority of the staff didn’t care enough to stop any alcohol consumption that went on in there. Always muttering something about ‘At least they’re all in one place…’ Which you’d think would cause more concern, but apparently not.
“Whatever, I’m getting something to drink.” Standing up, you pushed through small crowds and walked your way up to the front of the coffee station. Your eyes scanned over the small menu for the third time, hoping anything different than your usual would jump out at you. Normally, you wouldn’t have given it a second glance, choosing to order a simple caramel latte, sometimes with two shots of espresso to wake you up in the mornings, but hey nothing stays the same.
“One hot chocolate please, with a kick.”
The student behind the counter nodded and began mixing together the packet with hot water. Following with a dash of vodka and cinnamon. He topped the mug with whipped cream and handed it over to you with shaky hands.
“Are you feeling alright? You never order hot chocolate.” A rough voice called out from behind you, turning around you rolled your eyes playfully and let out a faint chuckle.
“Just not feelin’ the caffeine today, ya’ know?”
“Oh but you’re up for a splash of happy water?” Thor asked, pulling out his wallet and handing the cashier the five dollar bill.
“I had that you know… you don’t have to buy my drinks all the time.” You scolded, poking your pointer finger against his chest. He simply laughed, and moved his hand to yours, choosing to interlock your fingers instead of just swatting your hand away.
Shooting him a timid smile you held the steaming mug in one hand, ignoring the possibility of small blisters, and chatted away with him about how practice went on your way back to the table.
“Anyone know where Rogers is, I need our notes from class back.” You muttered, plopping down against one of the plush red couches, joining the rest of your friends.
Bucky had seen your whole interaction with Thor, and there was a permanent scowl on his face the entire time. Of course he knew it wasn’t his place to say anything but it still made his blood boil in his veins. His chest felt constricted, heart beating furiously in his chest as he found it harder to breathe. The sight reminded him he wouldn’t be yours again, unless he somehow found a way to pull you back in again.
That used to be him on your arm. Laughing shamelessly at some dumb thing Steve did, or you playfully slapping his arm as he whispered something suggestive in your ear.
He let out a strangled sigh, and ran his fingers through his sweat stricken hair. “Sorry Doll, thinkin’ he might’ve gone up to the apartment to change and grab warmer clothes for the incoming storm.” He leaned back against the cushion and looked over at you. “I’m heading there now, I can drive you if you’d like.”
“I-uh no it’s-”
“Nonsense, c’mon I know you’ve missed Becc’s and my Ma.” He winked and held his hand out for you to take.
He wasn’t wrong, you did miss his family, maybe even more than him, and you and his sister had a lot to talk about. So it was either get your ass in gear and actually finish your homework, or stall and head out.
“Guess it wouldn’t hurt. I’ll see you guys later.” You said with a small grin as you grabbed your bag from the couch and swung it over your shoulder. Bucky gave you a small smile as he followed beside you out to the front doors, his hand ghosting over the small of your back, smugly grinning to himself, knowing Thor was watching.
“Fuck!” You hissed as you slammed the door of Bucky’s black Jeep shut and attempted to brush the now melted snowflakes from your hair.
“I hate this weather.” Bucky muttered as he slid into the drivers side and slammed his door shut. Quickly turning on the car and blasting the heat. As you waited for the car to heat up, you reached for the aux cord and plugged it into your phone, “Doll you better play something worthy of my ears, or I might just cry.”
“Oh hush, I always play good music.”
“Yeah like what? The Jonas Brothers?”
“You leave Nick, Joe, and Kevin alone!” You shrieked, reaching over and smacking his upper-arm, which drew a hearty laugh from him as he pulled out of the parking lot.
“Relax, you know I love a good jo bros song.”
“You better.” You hissed, shooting him a glare which had him raising one hand up in defense.
The car ride was long, and painfully quiet other than the soft sound of the radio, and the blasting of the heat. You brought your legs up to rest on the dashboard and leaned your head to the side to look out the window.
The snow was coming down hard and the wind only made it worse. Bucky had the windshield wipers going at their full speed, the car going slower than 25mph. Two miles away from his Ma’s house and it would take hours.
“So I never did get to ask, how was Europe?” You asked, glancing up at him from your phone as you scrolled through songs.
“It was great, beautiful even. Lots to do, and the legal drinking age is a plus, they certainly have much better beer.” His whole face seemed to light up as he continued on about his adventures, “When we actually get to my Ma’s I’ll have to show you the photos I took. The trip was great, albeit lonely but worth the experience.” He hummed, his fingers drumming along the steering wheel to the gentle sound of Dean Lewis playing in the background.
“I can imagine. I’d sell a kidney to go. I remember when we would talk about living there when we were older. You were so adamant about not living in London.” You chuckled as he rolled his eyes, bumping his shoulder with yours.
“Hey! It’s expensive.”
“Yeah but we would have figured it out… like everything else…” You paused and looked out the window, almost like a dumb rom-com cliche, “Almost…”
The car became eerily silent and you cleared your throat moving forward to switch the song to something more upbeat. “Anyways uh-”
“Fuck! No no no!” Bucky cursed and you felt the car slowly roll to a stop, sputtering out and then dying.
“Oh fuck…” You muttered, as he frantically dug through his pocket for his phone. Dialing a number, he brought the phone up to his ear and climbed out. “Stay here.” He mumbled before slamming the door shut.
Within a few short minutes the car started to get chilly again, and you groaned wrapping your coat even closer around you, if it were possible. The door was pulled open and quickly shut again and Bucky was sat there rubbing his gloved hands together and cursing under his breath.
Tentatively you reached over and brushed a few snowflakes from his now bright red face, nose and cheeks nipped at by the cold air.
“Tow companies can’t come out until the morning, so either we sleep in this old piece of junk, or walk the mile to my Ma’s.” You glanced out the window, braving for the worst and grunted, shoving the door open.
The second the harsh wind hit your face you winced, regretting your decision. But you decided against getting back in that car and walked around to the other side of the road. Bucky popped open the trunk and pulled out his and your bags, along with an old blanket. Your breath hitched as you ran your hands over the soft fabric.
“You kept it, for all this time?”
“To be fair I didn’t have my car and I forgot I even had it. You can have it back, not like I have any use for it.”
Okay that stung a bit.
He slammed the trunk shut and tossing it at you. You stared down at the dark blue fleece in your hands and let out a muffled sigh.
This stupid fabric held so many memories for you and Bucky. He had bought you it when you mentioned around christmas time five years ago that you needed a throw blanket that you could just have hanging around.
You would sit on it with him when he’d take you to the drive in movies, and you’d curl up against him, laughing as he made stupid jokes and comments about the movie that was playing.
Harsh winds ripped and pushed at one side of your coat, your body acting as a barrier for it. Bucky walked beside you, hands stuffed into his pockets, scarf pulled over his growing stubble, and occasionally bumping his arm into yours.
“I don’t t-think I’ll ever hate anything… more than… this.” Your teeth chattered as you looked over at him, blinking rapidly to remove snowflakes from your lashes.
“I know doll, we’re almost there…” He blew out and you watched as his breath seemed to freeze as it passed his lips, floating off into the sky, the wind taking it away.
The finals steps up to his mother’s house was filled with staggering feet, and hot tears seemed to freeze as they slid down your cheeks from the cold.
Bringing a hand up to knock, Bucky abruptly pushed past you and slammed through the front door, stumbling into the house and dragging you after him. You turned, and slammed the door shut, bracing against the harsh wind and snow pouring in as the smell of hot chocolate and warm apple pie filled your nose.
“Buck is that you? I- OHMYGOD!” And just like that you were being slammed into again and stumbled back, falling against the carpeted stairs.
Bucky yanked his sister off of you and hoisted her up to her feet, and then reached down and took your hand in his own. You jumped to your feet, and hastily brushed hair away from your face.
“Becca, I love you, but please don’t knock me over again.” You teased pulling her in for a proper hug. She giggled and you felt her shake her head against your sweater.
“Hey Ma?” Bucky called out, dragging his feet against the carpet in an attempt to remove the snow from his boots.
“Yes my love?” Winnifred called out, her familiar voice making shivers run down your spine.
You hadn’t heard from her in what felt like ages. Rushing past Becca, and Bucky into the kitchen you shyly looked up at her, a cheeky grin drawn on your features.
“Sweetie!” She shrieked, dropping the freshly baked pie to the counter and racing towards where you stood. Winifreds’ arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you flush against her. “How are you?! Goodness it has been ages!” She rushed towards you, tugging off her oven mitts in the process and pulled you in for a tight hug.
“How have you been darling?” She cooed and any bit of cold left your body at her silky voice.
“I’m hanging in there, what about yourself?” You spoke, voice cracking as you pulled away from her.
“Oh you two must be frozen! Here let me pour you some cocoa.” Winnifred rushed around the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove and preparing two mugs. “Bec’s why don’t you take (Y/N) upstairs, and help her get settled.”
“Ma I think I can-”
“Absolutely not mister, we are having a talk.” Winnifred interrupted her son and shot him with a cold glare motioning for him to sit at the kitchen island. Bucky grumbled a small ‘help me’ under his breath as he brushed past you, making you chuckle.
“So how’s college been?” Becca asked excitedly as she helped you set up the Buckys old room. However you zone out when the memories hit you like a freight train. The now blank walls cause tears to form in your eyes, lip quivering as your hand reaches down to brush against the familiar and plush bed sheets.
The warm light from the bedside lamp coats the room in a gold glow and suddenly you feel yourself floating with happiness, like you did in highschool. Happiness overwhelms you as you look around the room, slowly, to take everything in.
The stain where Bucky got the legendary nose bleed, that you and Becca tried to clean for what felt like hours. You guess it never did fully come out like you had hoped.
The crack in the window where you threw one to many rocks at in order to wake your then lover in the middle of the night.
Childish feelings that you’re still chasing the high of.
“Hey,” Bucky’s voice, slow and rough washes over you like a bucket of ice water. “Sorry, probably shoulda told Bec’s not to set you up in here…” He clears his throat, startling you as the floating feeling goes away and now your feet feel like cinder blocks, weighted to the shagged carpeting beneath you.
“N-no it’s okay! Unless you uh, want your room back…” He chuckles and shakes his head.
“Don’t sweat it doll, I’ll take the guest room.” And with that he turns and disappears out through the door.
Collapsing onto the twin sized bed, a sigh escapes you.
You had stopped counting the days since he left after about four weeks. He had reached out to you, just to check in but you ignored it. Your heart breaking at the sight of his dumb letter, so you hid it away.
Leave it to Bucky to send a fucking letter, you thought to yourself, as you tossed it into your desk drawer, never to be opened. He always was a hopeless romantic.
But in the days he was gone, and even now you miss the dip in your mattress where he used to lay. The soft kisses he’d leave on your skin, and the soft breaths in the crook of your neck. The way his hair fell over his eyes, laughing softly as you tried to fix it, but always giving up in the end. He was apart of you, he branded himself into your skin, and his love was a drug to you, seeping into your veins, and you were tired of the withdrawals, yet fearful of the risks.
You walk slower down the stairs than you’d like too. Eyes dragging over old photos on the wall, that held so much to the Barnes family. You pause halfway down the steps at a photo of you, kissing Bucky’s cheek at prom. He had insisted on a grey suit, with you in a red dress. He was more into fashion than you, so you went for it unknowing that you two were completely off theme for the magical night.
“Buck! Everyone is staring at us, you said we wouldn’t stand out.” Crossing your arms with a pout, your boyfriend let out a snort.
“Face it I lied, but you look radiant, better than anyone else here. Now come have a dance with me won’t you love?” He smiled, a genuine smile. One that he kept reserved for you, one that made you fall more in love than ever.
“Fine, only if you promise not to embarrass me.”
“Sweetheart, when have I ever embarrassed you?”
“In case you were curious, no Ma still hasn’t taken down the photos of us.” Bucky interrupts your flashback, a cold hand now resting on your upper back.
“Neither has mine,” You admit, eyes darting to your hands as you begin to pick at your nails in embarrassment. “Funny though, she always loved you a bit more than me.” He laughs at that, a full body one that has you worried you’ve said something wrong.
“Doll, your mom would put stars in the sky if it meant seeing you happy. So would mine actually.” He rubs the back of his neck, a shy grin on his face. You nod, staying quiet as you look over the photos on the wall once more.
“I’m still…” Bucky clears his throat, his hand tugging at the collar of his shirt. “I-uhm… fuck it, I’m still- here for you, yeah… a-always.” He mentally slaps himself across the face for chickening out. He stares down at you, this entire time. Him being back, the trip back to his old house, all he’s been wanting to do is grab your face and kiss you. So, fuck it, he thinks as he carefully grabs your cheeks and pulls you flush against him, his lips crashing into your own.
You don’t really know what to think, or do as you watch Bucky, almost in slow motion pull you closer and bring his lips to yours. Butterflies fill your stomach, your heart thumping wildly in your chest like a tiger wanting to break free of its cage.
Then everything turns to bliss, you feel younger, free, full of love and passion. So your fingers grab at his sweater, pulling him closer to you begging for more. Your lips move in rhythm with his teeth bumping and scattered breaths.
And then reality sets in. Here you are standing in your ex boyfriends stairwell, in his moms house, making out with him.
You whimper, pulling yourself away from him. And for a moment your brain and heart become one, urging you to go for more, urging you to jump back into his arms and kiss those delicious rosey lips again, have him pull you into his room and pin you against the bed like he would when you were younger. Your breathing picks up, and you shake your head shoving past him and into his old room.
“Y/N wait!” He calls after you, and the echoes of his heavy feet racing up the stairs makes you panic, slamming the door.
Bucky pauses in front of the door as he hears the soft click of the lock, his heart breaking in two. He should have waited, should have fucking waited.
He runs a hand over his face and groans, making his way slowly down the hall and into the guest bedroom.
hi lovelies!! i started watching tf&tws and got some pep back in my wanting to write. hopefully i’ll get over my writers block. i wanna finish up one of the other series i’m working on, hopefully heartbreak summer. heres the lil moodboard i did for my new series that i had previously talked about if anyone wants to take a guess on what it will be based in.
Lately I’ve been more into writing headcanon than one shots so here we gooooo
Thor had a hard time understanding concept of video games, you tried your best to explain it to him
If you’re one of those gamers who like having their room full of led lights, Thor’s gonna love it
Believe me or not, but he finds your lights pretty comforting
Thor really liked to watch you play, even though he wasn’t understanding too much how it worked
It would be lie if he would say that he wasn’t fascinated by it
He asked you if he could try playing, of course you agreed
You asked which game he wanted to play, when he answered, you turned it on and turned on tutorial for him, so he could understand how it works and what he has to do
Of course you were telling him what to do and how (idk why but I see Thor trying Overwatch)
Let’s stay with the idea that he plays Overwatch
You tell him to go to the training area, so he can try his best with the characters he’s interested in
I feel like he could go for chosing Brigitte, Torbjörn or Reinhardt, but of course he tried others characters too, because he was interested in their abilities and skills
Thor had a lot of fun
Watching him play against others was funny
“How dare you attack God of Thunder?!”
At some point you were scared that he would destroy your gaming equipment
Luckily he didn’t
After playing for the first time, he wanted more
He really liked Overwatch, but wanted to try other games too, so without thinking much you introduced him to other games
Horror, adventure, role play, strategy, genre don’t matter, Thor wanted to try them all
His favorites are Overwatch, Minecraft and Witcher
Sometimes you two would play Minecraft and Overwatch together
In second game you would play against each other or together, depending on mood
When you’re playing on your own or with your friends, he likes to sit in the same room with you, but always ask if you’re okay with it
Being a twitch streamer and dating Thor
He always helps you with getting everything ready
Brings you snacks or anything you to drinks (besides alcohol) when you need
He likes spending time in your room with you during streams
Your audience loves him, he’s sweet and always says “hi” to them
He happens to read what people say in chat to him, sometimes even complementing him and he just chuckles and thanks
Sometimes you two play on streams, together or against each other, depends on game
Playing against each other looks basically like “The lower cleans the house” and etc.
He helps you clean after stream if you’ve made a mess
Some people in your chat split up into two teams when you two play games, one being on your side, one on your boyfriend’s
It’s not harmful or anything, it’s playful
Some people say Thor should make his own twitch account, but he has no interest in having one
