#steve stephens imagines

[urdreamydoodles]

MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER

Marvel Comics Characters Receiving a Dirty Picture from You in Public

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Marc Spector, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa & Elektra Natchios

God, I love Marvel Comics...

Peter Parker aka. Spider-Man

Peter has been through a lot. He’s fought villains, lost people he’s loved, and carried the weight of responsibility since he was a kid. But nothing—not Venom, not Doctor Octopus, not the Green Goblin—has ever hit him as hard as opening his phone and seeing you.

He’s perched upside-down on a fire escape, mid-stakeout with Daredevil, when his phone buzzes. He barely glances at it at first, assuming it’s an update from MJ or the Bugle. But then—his Spidey-Sense misfires. His stomach drops. And suddenly, he’s scrambling so fast that he almost falls off the fire escape.

“...Parker?” Matt’s voice is suspicious, brow furrowing beneath the red mask. Peter clutches his phone like a lifeline, heat rushing to his face, his entire body going rigid. “Uh—nope! Nothing’s wrong! Totally fine! Just, uh—gotta—go!” Before Matt can say another word, Peter web-slings away, heart pounding.

Later, in his apartment, he stares at the image, biting his lip so hard he might draw blood. Then, fumbling with his phone, he types back: You cannot just drop this on me in the middle of a mission. I almost DIED. You’re gonna make it up to me. In person. Immediately.

Tony Stark aka. Iron Man

Tony Stark is always the one making people flustered. He’s the king of inappropriate timing, the grandmaster of chaos. So when you flip the game on him? When you send him something completely indecent while he’s in the middle of a live press conference? Oh, he is in trouble.

He’s mid-sentence, standing in front of a sea of reporters, when his phone vibrates. He glances at it without thinking, because hey, it might be about stock prices or another alien invasion. But no. No, it’s you. In the filthiest pose imaginable.

He visibly freezes. Blinks. Blanches. Then—his brain blue screens. The entire room stares as Tony suddenly cuts off mid-sentence, clears his throat, and forces a smirk that’s absolutely not covering up a crisis. “Uh—ladies and gentlemen, I think that’s enough questions for today.”

The moment he’s offstage, he stumbles into the nearest private room, yanks at his tie, and pulls out his phone like it holds the meaning of life. He types back immediately: Oh, now you’ve done it, sweetheart. I hope you’re home right now, because I’m on my way, and I’m bringing consequences.

Steve Rogers aka. Captain America

Steve is not a prude. He’s been around, he’s seen things. But there’s something about you—about the way you know exactly how to knock the breath from his lungs—that makes him feel like a kid again.

He’s in the middle of a strategy meeting with Sam and Bucky, his shield leaning against the table, when his phone vibrates. He checks it without thinking, eyes flicking down—and then every muscle in his body tenses. His grip on the phone tightens. His ears burn red.

“You good, Rogers?” Bucky gives him a knowing smirk, because he immediately recognizes that look—Steve flustered beyond belief. Steve clears his throat, hard, locking his phone like it’s offended him. “Fine,” he says, voice a little too even. “Let’s, uh—let’s keep going.”

But later, when he’s alone, he exhales deeply, pressing a hand over his face before looking at the image again. Then, with slow deliberation, he types: I hope you know what you just started. Because I don’t break my promises, sweetheart. And I promise—you’re not leaving that bed when I get there.

Thor Odinson aka. God of Thunder

Thor has seen battles, has waged wars across the cosmos, has faced monsters and gods. But when his phone pings—when he sees the absolute sin that you’ve just sent him—he forgets how to breathe.

He is in the middle of the Avengers’ common room, laughing boisterously with Bruce and Natasha, when he pulls out his phone. He expects something simple—a text from his brother, perhaps, or a message from Jane. But instead? Instead, he sees you.

The entire room feels it when Thor’s laughter stops. There is a moment—just a beat of silence—before the lights flicker. The air crackles with static electricity. His fingers twitch around the phone, and then, in a low, very serious voice, he mutters, “By the Norns…”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, but Thor abruptly stands, clearing his throat. “I must depart. Urgently.” Bruce frowns. “What? Why?” Thor barely offers an explanation before storming out of the room, typing furiously: You dare tempt the God of Thunder? Very well, little one. You shall learn what it means to summon a storm.

Loki Laufeyson aka. God of Mischief

Loki is the undisputed master of control. He is calm, composed, always one step ahead of everyone else. But when you send him something so shameless, so brazen, in the middle of an important diplomatic event in Asgard—he nearly drops his goblet of wine.

He’s reclining on his throne, listening to some dull ambassador drone on about trade negotiations, when his phone vibrates. He lifts it lazily, expecting nothing of importance—until he sees you.

His entire body goes rigid. His grip tightens around the goblet, the silver denting beneath his fingers. His green eyes darken, and for the first time in centuries, he feels his pulse stutter. The ambassador keeps talking, oblivious, but Loki? Loki is seething.

Later, in his chambers, he lounges on his bed, turning the phone over in his fingers before smirking. Then, with slow, careful precision, he types: You dare tease the God of Mischief? Oh, darling, you are in such trouble. And you know how much I enjoy trouble.

Clint Barton aka. Hawkeye

Clint Barton is used to chaos. He’s fought alien invasions, taken down crime syndicates, and, most impressively, lived in a house with three dogs and somehow survived. But nothing—not the Avengers, not S.H.I.E.L.D., not even Kate Bishop’s endless sarcasm—could have prepared him for this.

He’s in the middle of a debriefing with Captain America and Black Widow when his phone vibrates. Normally, he’d ignore it, but boredom gets the better of him. He sneaks a glance, tilting the screen just slightly—and immediately chokes on his coffee.

“Barton?” Natasha’s voice is sharp, her suspicious gaze snapping to him. Steve looks concerned. Clint, on the other hand, is malfunctioning. He quickly locks his phone, pressing it to his thigh like it’s burning him. “Yep. All good. Just… wrong text thread. You know how it is.”

The second he’s alone, he whistles, rubbing a hand down his face before sending a text: You are absolutely trying to kill me, aren’t you? I’m a trained marksman, babe. You know I always hit my target. Hope you’re ready.

Natasha Romanoff aka. Black Widow

Natasha Romanoff is a professional. She’s endured psychological conditioning, trained with the deadliest assassins in the world, and can lie so well that even she forgets what’s real. But when you send her something so utterly filthy, in the middle of a high-stakes poker game with some very dangerous people—she nearly loses her composure.

She’s holding a perfect poker face, one leg crossed over the other, a cigarette between her fingers (purely for effect). Then, her phone buzzes. She never checks her phone during missions, but for some reason, she does this time.

The second she sees the image, her fingers twitch. She almost fumbles her cigarette. Almost. A single slow breath is all that betrays her before she locks the screen and smirks, adjusting her sunglasses to hide the flicker of heat in her gaze.

Later, after she’s won the game (because of course she has), she finally responds: You must be very confident, sending me something like that. I hope you know what happens when I catch my prey, моя любовь (my love). Because I always catch them.

Bucky Barnes aka. Winter Soldier

Bucky is already always on edge. He spent decades being controlled, his mind fractured, his instincts constantly telling him that danger lurks around every corner. But when his phone vibrates in the middle of a mission briefing and he makes the mistake of checking it—he nearly self-destructs.

He’s sitting next to Sam Wilson, arms crossed, trying to focus on the tactical discussion. Then, out of habit, he glances at his phone. And suddenly? His enhanced heartbeat spikes. His grip on the phone tightens, metal fingers creaking.

Sam immediately notices. “Dude. You okay?” Bucky doesn’t answer. He just exhales deeply, jaw clenching, and locks his phone like it’s personally offended him. “Fine,” he mutters, but the way his throat bobs betrays him.

Later, in the privacy of his room, he leans against the wall, pressing his flesh hand over his face before looking at the image again. Then, he types—slow, deliberate, full of promise: You are playing with fire, doll. And you know I don’t burn alone.

Matthew Murdock aka. Daredevil

Matt has learned to control himself. He has to, considering his senses pick up everything. The heartbeat of a liar, the scent of blood, the whisper of fabric against skin. But when he puts in his earpiece during a stakeout with Elektra and hears you—sultry, teasing, wicked—his composure shatters.

Your voice is a purr, warm and full of amusement, as you describe, in explicit detail, exactly what you want to do to him. Every syllable slides into his ear like a sin, and for the first time in years, Matt Murdock forgets how to breathe.

“Murdock.” Elektra’s voice is unimpressed. “Are you even listening?” Matt clenches his jaw, forcing his expression into something neutral as he slowly removes the earpiece. “Yeah,” he lies, his voice way too tight. “Loud and clear.” But his fingers twitch, betraying him.

Later, alone in his apartment, he plays the message again. And again. Until his own heartbeat is thunderous in his ears. Then, with a slow smirk, he records his reply—his voice low, gravelly, barely more than a rasp: Angel, you have no idea what you’ve just done. And I promise—you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.

Frank Castle aka. The Punisher

Frank Castle does not fluster. He’s a man who’s seen the worst of the world, a soldier who has lost everything. He does not get distracted. But when he’s sitting in the middle of a grimy bar, brooding over a whiskey, and his phone vibrates—everything stops.

He checks it absently, expecting intel from Micro or maybe a warning from Daredevil. But instead, he gets you. And just like that, his grip on the glass tightens. His jaw locks. His entire body tenses, muscles coiled, because you have just sent him something so utterly indecent that he has to set his whiskey down before he crushes the glass.

The bartender notices. “You good, man?” Frank barely glances up, his fingers white-knuckled around his phone. “Fine,” he mutters, voice rough. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and downs the rest of his drink in one go.

Later, in the dead of night, he finally lets himself look at the picture again. He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face, before sending a single message: You think you’re real cute, huh? Yeah. Keep that same energy when I get home. See if you’re still smirking when I’ve got my hands on you.

Marc Spector aka. Moon Knight

Marc has lived multiple lives. A mercenary. A vigilante. A fist of vengeance. But the moment his phone vibrates in the middle of a stakeout, and he sees you—he nearly blows his own cover.

He’s perched on a rooftop, watching a weapons deal go down, his mind sharp and focused. Then, out of habit, he checks his phone. His breath hitches. His grip tightens around the device, and he has to physically restrain himself from groaning. Khonshu’s voice rumbles in his mind: "Your mortal desires are distracting, Spector." Marc grits his teeth. "Yeah, no shit."

“Something wrong?” Jake’s voice purrs from inside his head, amused. “She send you something nice, hermano?” Marc rolls his eyes, exhaling sharply before locking his phone. “Mind your damn business.” But his pulse is thundering.

Later, back at his apartment, he leans against the wall, staring at the image before typing: You have no idea what you’ve just done. Hope you’re home. Hope you’re ready.

Johnny Storm aka. Human Torch

Johnny Storm is used to attention. He thrives on it. He’s a celebrity, a hero, a walking flame. But when you send him something scandalous in the middle of a live television interview, even he isn’t ready for it.

He’s laughing, flashing his signature cocky grin at the camera, when his phone buzzes. He checks it without thinking—because hey, it might be Sue yelling at him again—but instead, it’s you. In the filthiest pose imaginable.

Johnny visibly chokes. His entire body tenses. For the first time ever, he forgets what he was saying. The interviewer blinks. “Uh… Johnny?” His brain short-circuits. His face heats—literally. The tips of his ears ignite before he clenches his fists and forces himself to not spontaneously combust on live television.

The second the interview is over, he’s sprinting to his dressing room, slamming the door shut and typing frantically: Ohhh, you are in trouble. You’re really trying to set me on fire, huh? Hope you’re home, babe, ‘cause I’m flying over. Right. Now.

Reed Richards aka. Mister Fantastic

Reed Richards is a genius. His mind is constantly working at speeds beyond human comprehension. But when he’s mid-lecture at a prestigious scientific conference and his phone vibrates—his brilliant mind suddenly goes blank.

He absently checks his phone, half-expecting an alert from the Baxter Building. But instead, it’s you. Wearing almost nothing.

For a solid ten seconds, he is frozen. His eyes slightly widen. His fingers twitch. And then, very slowly, he locks his phone and clears his throat. “Ah—excuse me, esteemed colleagues, but I must—um—attend to an urgent matter.”

Later, he adjusts his glasses, staring at the image with a fascinated, almost scientific appreciation. Then, with methodical precision, he types: You are a very distracting woman. I will be conducting an… in-depth study on you as soon as I return. Expect a thorough examination.

Felicia Hardy aka. Black Cat

Felicia Hardy is a master of seduction. She flusters men for fun. But when she’s in the middle of a high-stakes casino heist, and you send her something utterly indecent, even she loses her composure.

She’s leaning against the bar, sipping an expensive martini, eyes locked on her mark. Then, her phone buzzes. She lazily checks it, expecting an update from her crew. But instead? Instead, she sees you.

Her eyelashes flutter. Her lips part just slightly. And for the first time in years, her poker face cracks. The bartender—oblivious—raises an eyebrow. “Everything okay, miss?” Felicia exhales, smirking as she locks her phone. “Oh, it’s better than okay.”

Later, she lounges on silk sheets, staring at the picture before purring into her phone: You really think you can tease me, kitten? Oh, sweetheart… you just made a very expensive bet. And I never lose.

Stephen Strange aka. Doctor Strange

Stephen Strange is not easily shaken. He’s fought cosmic horrors, bent reality, and wielded power beyond mortal comprehension. But when he’s in the middle of a magical duel with Dormammu, and you send him a sinfully explicit picture—he almost loses.

He’s mid-incantation, floating above the Sanctum’s rooftop, when his phone vibrates. Normally, he’d ignore it—except something in the back of his mind tells him it’s you. He flicks his fingers, glancing at the screen—and immediately regrets it.

His spell stutters. His fingers twitch. The fabric of reality briefly warps. Wong, standing below, yells, “What the hell was that?!” Stephen clenches his jaw, locking his phone immediately before snapping his wrist and repairing the timeline. “Nothing,” he mutters. “Absolutely nothing.”

The moment the battle is over, he retreats into his study, loosening his Cloak, before typing: You dare distract the Sorcerer Supreme? You have no idea what you’ve just unleashed, darling. And I do hope you’re prepared for consequences beyond mortal comprehension.

Namor aka. The Sub-Mariner

Namor is a king. He does not answer to anyone. He has waged war against the surface world, stood against the mightiest heroes, and commands the loyalty of an entire empire. But when he is seated on his throne, discussing politics with his council, and his communicator vibrates—everything else becomes irrelevant.

He glances down, expecting a diplomatic missive. Instead, he is greeted by you—a vision of temptation, captured in a way that only he has the privilege to see. His grip on the communicator tightens, his lips parting slightly. The light of the display reflects in his dark, narrowed eyes.

The council drones on, but Namor hears nothing. His golden gauntlets flex, his knuckles tightening as his jaw sets. A slow, deliberate exhale is all that betrays his reaction. But those closest to him—his most trusted generals—see the flicker of something dangerous in his expression. A storm, barely contained.

Later, as he stands upon his balcony, overlooking the endless ocean, he types a single response: You seek to tempt a king, my love? Then be prepared for the wrath of a god. When next we meet, you will drown in my devotion.

Johnny Blaze aka. Ghost Rider

Johnny Blaze has seen Hell—literally. He has ridden across the desolate highways of damnation, stared into the abyss, and laughed. But when he’s sitting in a biker bar, nursing a whiskey and half-listening to some guy ramble about the Devil, his phone vibrates. And when he checks it—he nearly sets the whole place on fire.

The image of you is burned into his mind, seared into his soul. He sucks in a slow breath through his teeth, his fingers tightening around the glass. His knuckles go white. Somewhere deep inside, the Spirit of Vengeance chuckles.

“Something wrong, Blaze?” One of the other bikers eyes him warily. Johnny forces a smirk, setting his whiskey down before he crushes the glass in his grip. “Nah,” he rasps, his voice a little too rough. “Just realized I got… unfinished business to take care of.”

Later, on his Hellfire-coated bike, he sends a text: You got a real bad habit of making me wanna sin, sweetheart. And I promise—I’ll make sure you repent. Over. And over.

Eddie Brock & Venom aka. Venom

Eddie Brock has been through hell. He’s fought monsters, been one himself, lost everything, and still kept going. But nothing—not a damn thing—could prepare him for the absolute carnage of getting that picture from you in the middle of a crowded subway.

He’s scrolling through his phone absentmindedly, Venom muttering in his head about wanting tater tots, when the image loads. For a solid five seconds, he is completely still. Then—

“Eddie.” Venom’s voice rumbles, amused. “Your mate is very… bold. We approve.” Eddie, red-faced, slams his phone against his chest like that’ll somehow erase what just happened. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, eyes darting around to make sure no one saw. A teenager across from him raises an eyebrow.

Later, when he’s alone, he finally lets himself look at the picture again. A slow, predatory grin spreads across his face as he types back: Oh, you think you’re being cute, huh? Yeah. Just wait till I get my hands on you. Hell, maybe we’ll even let Venom have a little fun, too.

T’Challa aka. Black Panther

T’Challa is a king, a warrior, a legend. His mind is a fortress, his will unshakable. But when he is seated in the royal palace of Wakanda, surrounded by dignitaries, and his Kimoyo Beads alert him to a personal message—his focus wavers.

He allows himself a discreet glance. And in that moment? His heart skips a single beat. His fingers—steady even in the heat of battle—tighten just slightly around his beads. His expression does not change. But to those who know him well—Okoye, Shuri—they notice the subtlest flicker of something dangerous in his eyes.

Shuri smirks. “Brother,” she murmurs, leaning in. “You look… distracted.” T’Challa exhales deeply, locking the message with a casual flick of his fingers. “I am merely… anticipating a conversation.”

Later, when he is alone, he reviews the picture once more, fingers grazing his jaw before he types: You are testing my patience, beloved. And you know I am a man of great discipline. But for you? I am willing to break my own rules. Expect me soon.

Elektra Natchios aka. Elektra

Elektra Natchios does not fluster. She has slit the throats of kings, danced on the edge of oblivion, and played cat-and-mouse with death itself. But when she is sharpening her sai on the rooftop of a New York high-rise and her phone buzzes—her grip falters.

The blade nicks her glove. Barely. But it happens. Her lips part in a slow, dangerous smirk as she tilts the phone toward the moonlight, drinking in the absolute audacity of your message.

“Something amusing?” A voice—a rival assassin, lurking in the shadows. Elektra does not answer. She merely tucks her phone away, standing smoothly, her stance lethal. “Yes,” she purrs. “Something… very amusing.”

Later, as she leans against the window of her penthouse, she finally sends a reply: You are so very reckless, my love. And I do enjoy breaking reckless little things.

[endofthelinegang]

guys i feel so behind

who r we fiending for

who r we loving

what do we want

please fill me in

[nessieart]

The Way Back. I

Summary: These powers were meant to help people. Help The Avengers, your family. It felt like every time you used them, something bad always happened. Maybe someone has the answers, somewhere.

WC: 5.5k

Eventual Stucky x reader. Waaay later.

An: I've been working on this off and on throughout the summer. There'll be multiple parts. I hope you enjoy!

Next

“I know that look,” you tell him, arms crossed over your chest, trying to hold yourself together.  You know what Steve is thinking, he’s been your closest friend for years now.  You’d like to think you know him better than he knows himself.  He spares you a sideways glance, arms bracing him on the desk in front of him, head bowed low between his shoulder blades.

Steve sighs, big and deep, before he straightens back up, “I don’t doubt it,” a small smile on the corner of his lips. He leans back against his desk, facing you, hands tucked under his biceps as he crosses them over his chest.  He’s trying to relax, but his shoulders are still too tense. Brows pinched and lips tight in a thin line.

“OK, maybe I don’t know that look,” you push off the door frame and make your way over to him, and stop between his feet that are extended in front of him. “What’s on your mind, Tough Guy?” Steve chuckles at the nickname you’ve called him since you met.

You see him ball his hands into tight fists, head turning away from you when he goes to speak, “Guess I’m just on edge about this meeting with Ross,” Steve shrugs.

You hum, nodding along with his reasoning.  After what happened in Lagos, you wouldn't be surprised if Senator Ross demanded your heads on pikes and the disassembly of the Avengers.

“Tony wouldn’t even give me details about it.  So you know it can’t be good,” you tilt your head, “and you know how much Tony loves to brag.” Steve’s eyes seem to soften a little, tension slowly lifting from his shoulders as you take his hand and drag him along behind you.

“C’mon, we don’t wanna be the last ones there,” Steve rolls his eyes as you open a portal and pull him through. As you both step through together, Steve visibly shudders, a chill running up his spine as he shakes his arms out.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” he shudders again as he takes a seat at the conference table.

*

You finished packing just as a knock sounded at your door. “Come in,” you called, pulling your suitcase off the bed.”

“Hey, y/n,” Steve leans against the door frame. He can’t seem to look up from his shoes.  When you stop in front of him, you place your hand on his cheek.

“I’m here,” your thumb wipes under his eye, catching the tear that threatens to fall. “I’m sorry about Peggy. I know what she meant to you.”

Steve leans into your touch, his eyes close for a moment before he speaks, “I’m - thank you, y/n. I’m heading to London with Sam in the morning,” his voice is hoarse and quiet. He swallows thickly, Adam's apple bobbing as he squeezes his eyes shut for a second.

“Do you want me to go with you? My bags are already packed,” you smile up at him.

When he opens his eyes, he looks over your shoulder at your luggage, “No. It’s okay. Natasha would probably kick my ass if I made you come with me.”

You remove your hand, fingers fidgeting with nothing to hold onto now, “Oh. I’m only a phone call away, remember?” Steve nods. 

*

There’s a butterfly bandage on your cheek. It's bruised and maybe a little puffy. Maybe you shouldn’t have tried to stop the Winter Soldier from attacking Tony. Tony was capable. But you panicked, and instead of Tony taking the metal fist to his chest, your face took the full force of it. You wouldn’t change your decision even if asked.  You’d do it again if it meant keeping Tony upright and OK.

After the explosion at the Embassy in Vienna, one head trauma per week was your limit, or so you thought.

“Kid, are you still with me?” Your eyes tried to focus on his face as he helped you sit up.  You had passed out for a while after taking the Soldier’s punch, Tony hasn’t left your side since.

“There's two of you. I feel like there would be world domination if there were two Tony Starks..” You rubbed at your head, eyes squinting shut to refocus and stop the world from spinning. 

“Double Starks,” you hear the smirk in his voice, “imagine all the things I could accomplish.” You squint at him and shove his shoulder. He just chuckles in response.

Tony helps you to your feet, his arm around your shoulders to steady you, “I had it handled, y’know,” he says quietly. “Did you not think to use your powers?” You just nod absentmindedly. 

*

You could see the hurt and betrayal on Steve from where you stood next to Tony.  He's never looked at you like that before. A freezing stare or a melting glare. It made your stomach clench.

You didn't blame Steve's decision. You understood his headstrong reasoning for defending his best friend, even if the evidence was stacked against him.

Steve shouldn't be surprised. He scoffs. He knows you're loyal to the team. To your friends. And most of all Tony. He sees the way you look at Tony, eyes sparkling with something he only wishes he could get for himself. 

He's loved you for so long. He just couldn't admit it to himself. He's been in denial for years. You were just best friends, is what he kept telling himself. He grinds his teeth just thinking about it. 

And then he found Bucky. He thought maybe, maybe things could go back to what they used to be. Before all this, before the war, and then Bucky was gone just as fast as he returned.

But after Peggy's funeral, he wanted to tell you. God, did he want to tell you how he felt. And then the bomb went off, and he thought he lost you, too.  The panic and heart aching fear was almost too much to handle. Then he heard your voice over the phone when he called Natasha. He could breathe again.

But now he's standing across the tarmac from you, and he can't even seem to look you in the eye.

“Stargate, y’mind?” Tony turns to you, and you nod. Stepping back into the cloudy portal behind you.

As you step through to the other side, you come to a stop next to Peter, “Boys,” you call out, they all stop and look at you. “Let's all play nice, OK?” 

“Y/N,” Sam nods to you. He tries to be nonchalant and friendly but doesn't drop his defensive stance. 

Beside Sam, you see Bucky Barnes. You've only heard stories from Steve about him. Childhood best friends. You haven't met him until now. Just the soldier with his steely glare under dark brows.

You can see the difference. There's a hesitation in Barnes’ eyes, and he shifts his left arm behind him as he peers at you. Eyes clocking the bruise and cut on your cheek from his metal fist.

Barnes moves his eyes away from you when you meet his gaze, mouth in a thin grimace.

“You don't have to do this, Y/N,” Sam tries to reason with you. “Just let us go.” 

You understand, you really do. But you signed the Accords. You had to do this by the books. Or else you'd wind up in a super-max prison with people like you, and you'd never see the light of day again. 

“I have to do this, Sammy,” eyebrows furrowing into a frown. You turn to wink at Peter and step back into a portal. As your foot lifts through the portal, it steps down behind Sam and Bucky. The two of them jump in surprise and try to scramble away from you.

“Shit!” Sam almost trips over his feet as you reach out to grab Bucky by his arm and drag him back through another portal.

The next step backward, you and Bucky are standing next to Steve. As soon as you let go, Bucky bends over, placing his hands on his knees and groans like he's going to be sick, “Steve…?” 

The man in question whips around, shield raised, “Wha- Buck?” He braces his hands on Bucky's shoulders, and then he sees you. “Y/n?” 

You shrug, avoiding his eyes, “guess you aren't the only one to not like instant travel,” There's a sad smile on your face that Steve hates to see.

There's commotion in your earpiece, yelling more like. Steve can barely it make out. It causes you to wince, your head turning to find Tony clad in Iron Man armor hovering across the tarmac staring at you.

“Oops, time to go,” the cloudy mist of your portal opens behind you, and you spare Steve and Bucky one final look.

*

Steve helps Bucky to right himself, giving a pained smile when his best friend sets him with a glare.

Steve sighs, placing his shield on his back, “I know. I don't want to talk about it, Buck.” 

Bucky scoffs, “you can't be serious? How is she here, Steve? That was - she looks just like -” 

“I know, Bucky,” Steve says with more force. He looks across the airport to find you waving your arms about as you try to talk to Tony. He sighs again, “God, don't I know.” 

Bucky knows that look, and it hurts a little. “How long?” He says quietly. He wants to take pity on him, if only for a moment. They both begin to jog.

Steve pretends to think about his answer, his stomach twisting into knots as he looks around the airport turned battlefield. He could see you trying to talk to Tony as he flew away.

Steve exhaled a deep breath through his nose, “The first time I saw her.” He grimaced at Bucky's glare.

*

“You know I coulda just portalled us here, right?” You say as you follow Tony.

Tony looks over his shoulder at you, “I think I'd rather get punched by a cybernetic metal arm than instant travel through one of your portals, kid.” 

You shove his shoulder as he laughs, “Hey it's not that bad!” 

As the two of you take the elevator down, you can hear Tony sigh. The tinny grating of his voice is soft as he looks over at you.

“I'm not angry with you, Y/N,” he shakes his head.

“But… but you're disappointed, right?”

The elevator stops, and Tony has to pry the doors open so you both can step out. You follow him down another corridor before he speaks again. There's another set of doors in the way, and he braces his hands on it.

“Look, I get it. Probably better than you, kiddo,” the heavy blast doors groan with the force Iron Man uses to push them open. You step under his arm, and he follows you out. “I know how you feel about him.”

You squeak in surprise, going to protest when you catch sight of Steve and Bucky, defensive and alert when they hear the door.

Tony straightens and walks forward, helmet retracting with a roll of his shoulders. You step up beside him, Steve and Bucky visibly relax, just a bit. You walk towards them with Tony. 

“You seem a little defensive,” Tony says. He brings a hand up across your body for you to stop. Tony continues walking, and Steve stands to meet him in the middle.

“It's been a long day,” Steve sounds almost surprised to see you both here.

“At ease, soldier, I'm not currently after you.”

“Then why are you here? Both of you?” Steve looks over Tony's shoulder at you before turning his gaze back to Tony. 

You notice Bucky hasn't taken his eyes off you since you entered. 

The chamber is massive as the four of you enter. The man who lead you here taunts Steve as you all get closer. Bucky seems tense and on edge, and Tony keeps close to you.

The video plays, and it brings tears to your eyes. Tony can't seem to catch his breath.  A whimper leaves your throat as Bucky- no, the Winter Soldier - chokes the life out of Tony's mother. A hand coming up to your mouth to keep it and any more noise from escaping.

You turn your body into Tony's, and the grip he has on you is bruising, but grounding. 

“Did you know?” Tony is shaking. You feel it. Your eyes find Bucky, and he looks just as broken. “Don't bullshit me, Rogers. Did. You. Know?”

“Yes,” Steve is quiet and defeated. Tony lets go of you, and you stagger away, tears falling. 

It all happens so fast that you have no time to react. The Fighting. Tony would kill them both. Kill Bucky for what HYDRA did, for what the man who had no control of his life was made to do. And happens to have the face of Tony's parents' killer. 

You appear in front of Steve as he staggers to his feet, Tony standing tall a few feet away. You raise your hands to stop him.

“This won't change what happened, Tony, please,” you try to reason.

“I don't care,” you can hear the hurt in his voice, “he killed my mom.” 

“Y/n, get outta here!” Steve shoves you away. Tony launches himself at Steve, and you're left on the sidelines as you watch your friends fight. 

Bucky has Tony pinned to the wall, metal fingers digging into the Arc Reactor on his chest. The next moment, it fires. Bucky staggers back, his metal arm blown off at the shoulder.

You rush to Bucky, catching him before he falls face first, “Hey, Sarg, you're OK, hey. Look at me,” his eyes are wide and fearful as he leans on you for support. There's blood leaking from a wound somewhere. Your fingers are sticky with it as you try to get him to focus on you.

His hand grips the side of your face as his eyes roam over you, like he's making sure you're really there. He runs his thumb over your cheek.

You hear the whine of the Iron Man gauntlet, the vibranium of Steve's shield singing as it takes the full force of repulsor fire. It deflects, and is redirected at you. An almost slow realization that the pain in your side is there as you and Bucky are thrown apart, and the searing pain is crawling up your side as you scream.

The taste of dirt and blood fill your mouth, you aren't sure how long your brain has been in the fog of pain, but you see Steve hoist Bucky up and place Bucky's flesh arm across his shoulders.

They're both beaten and bloody, and the slow shuffle of their feet causes you to turn your body, seeking out Tony. You can see unshed tears in his eyes as he looks up at Steve and then at you.

There's a large crack across his chest. The Arc Reactor flickers off more than on. The pain in your side is almost blinding, but you crawl towards Tony anyway.

Sometimes, you forget that the reactor in his chest isn't there to keep him alive. The fear still lingering in Tony's eyes tells you he thought so, too.

“T-tony?” Your voice is hoarse. You grit your teeth, sitting up to get a better look at him. You place your hands on his chest plate.

Tony lifts himself up on an elbow. Blood covers most of his face as he brings his other hand, clad in a broken gauntlet, to your face.

“I'm sorry, kid,” he chokes out. You shake your head, grabbing his hand in yours. 

There's more shuffling behind you, and you and Tony look to see Steve holding onto a barely conscious Bucky. 

“That shield doesn't belong to you,” you grip Tony's hand tighter. “You-you don't deserve it. My father made that shield!” 

The shield drops with a deafening clang.

Steve stops, he looks down at you, and Bucky's steel blue eyes stare at you through the fringe of his hair. They are both bloody and beaten. But so is Tony.

“Y/n…” Steve starts, “I-”

“No,” Tony grunts, sitting up more, “leave her, you don't get-ugh!” Tony gasps in pain as he doubles over. You catch his shoulders so he doesn't fall over. 

“C'mon, old man, let me get us outta here,” You don't spare Steve or Bucky another glance as you open a portal and take Tony with you. 

*

There's a hand on your shoulder, shaking you awake. You groan in protest, face digging more into the comfort of your arms.

“Hng,” you groan again, the hand shaking your shoulder harder. “Ugh, what?” You lift your head up from your arms, eyes squinting to refocus them.

“You were dreaming again,” his voice wasn't accusing. It was quiet and calm, his hand still on your shoulder.

You wipe off the drool on your mouth. You're sure it slips down your chin, “oh.  Sorry, Stephen,” you apologize, “didn't get a lot of sleep last night.”  Or the night before that, you think.  Come to think of it, there's been a lot of sleepless nights for you as of late.

He straightened back up, a knowing look on his face, like he could read your thoughts. 

“it's alright, we all have sleepless nights every once in a while,” Stephen Strange gives you a small smile, hands folding behind his back to stop the tremors.

Stephen clears his throat, “the Ancient One requested to see you,” he moves away so you can get up. “She didn't say why, but you know how she is.”

You chuckle a little, nodding, “Yeah, thanks,” you stretch, the ache of being hunched over in a wooden chair for hours creaking out of your bones.

You glance around the dimly lit library, eyeing the other desks and isles as you and Stephen exit.

“I'm surprised Wong didn't wake me. You know how he hates when people sleep in the library.”

You both laugh, making small talk as Stephen walks with you through the halls of Kamar-taj. The two of you didn't get along at first, but now you could say he was a close friend.

Two lost souls on a journey to be better and find what they lost. At least, that's what the Ancient One had said.

It seems like ages ago since you showed up in a small village near Nepal, the Ancient One likes to tell you it was fate that brought you to their door. But you haven't made up your mind about that yet.

It was late one evening, for a city that never sleeps, it was strangely quiet on your way back to the Tower. Tony may have been in the process of selling it, but he did tell you to stay for as long as it still had his name on the building.

The crosswalk had just turned green when you felt it. A pull so strong it stopped you in the middle of the street. 

“what the-” you felt it again. You step through a portal, not knowing where it lets you out. It's sunny here and a lot colder than New York this time of year. 

This definitely wasn't New York. Or the States, going by the building structures. You couldn't really see much from your perspective.

You turn down an alley, and the tugging on your chest is stronger here. Almost there, you guess.

There's a man down the alley, you notice. He's a bit scraggly looking if you're honest. But that's not what draws your eye. It's the men with weapons surrounding him. This can’t be good, you think. You edge closer, trying to gauge the situation better as they close in on him. The man in the center raises his hands, pleading quietly.

“Look, guys, I don’t have any money,” he sounds American, at least.

“Your watch,” one of them says, motioning towards the man’s arm.

“It's all I have left.” The three thugs are less than an arms length away now, and the man throws a punch first, yelping in pain when his fist connects.

In a heartbeat, they jump him, forcing him to the ground as they kick and beat him.

“Hey!” You rushed forward, “three against one's hardly fair, boys.”  One of the thugs lunges at you, but you dodge out of the way, your knee connects with his stomach, and he drops to the ground.  You follow through with stomping your foot on his stomach again. He groans in pain.

As the two remaining thugs come to their senses, they circle you before attacking.  One gets a punch across your cheek, you grab his wrist and twist it, making him double over to try and get away. Your free hand jabs at his throat, and you use the momentum to toss him over your shoulder with ease.

The last one standing raises his bat to hit you, but before he can, a man in a hooded robe grabs the end of the bat, and jabs the thugs in the face, causing him to reel and fall to the ground as well.  You haven't kept up with your training. You used to spar with Steve all the time. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth thinking about it. His goodbye note and the burner phone burning a hole into your back pocket at the remembrance. 

You're out of breath when you stand back up to your full height, "thanks," you huff at the newcomer. The hooded man nods, regarding you silently.

You to stoop next to the man that was attacked, extending your hand to help him up, "Are you OK, Mr..?"

"Doctor," he responds, looking at your hand for a moment before he places his shaky hand in yours.

You smirk, "Not a doctor, but you're welcome," you see him roll his eyes as you hoist him up and scan his figure to make sure he's alright, other than the tremor of his fingers, he seems unharmed.

The man nods his head to you, a small uptick of his lips, "Stephen Strange."

"Y/N, nice to meet you."

The hooded figure approaches you both, hand extending the watch the thugs stole from Stephen, "You're looking for Kamar-taj," he simply says.

That was months ago. You aren't really sure why you stayed at Kamar-taj. Maybe it felt right that being here was where you were meant to me.

"Well, this is where I leave you," Stephen pulls you from your memory. You should apologize for ignoring him. Before you could open your mouth, the doors open, revealing the Sorcerer Supreme. She offers you a kind, knowing smile, and before Stephen can retreat back to the library, the Ancient One calls for both of you to join her in her study.

You train with Stephen, both of you learning how to master the mystic arts. None of it is easy, Stephen struggles more than you, though, and you try to be supportive. He lashes out a few times, but he always apologizes later - in his own way. A cup of tea placed in front of you while you study in the library or a book you couldn't quite reach before is within your grasp - thanks to Stephen. And when you do finally form the intricate symbols that glow in midair and bend to your will, they are the color of the scar embedded in your chest. Bright blue, but no less beautiful than the orange glow of every other persons power.

You never bother with the sling-ring, you much rather travel via your portals. The Ancient One advised you not to use your native gifts in the Temple or around the others, if you could help it.

While you were staying in Kamar-taj, you met with the Ancient One by yourself once a week. She would help you with your natural powers. As natural as they had been, anyway. She never asked how you had gotten your powers, but there was a sparkle of intrigue in her eye whenever she glimpsed the bright blue crystalline scar on your chest. As long as your palm from your collar bone to sternum and a small matching one between your shoulder blades.

You had asked if she could remove them, she didn't humor you with a response. Instead, she had told you, in all her years on Earth, she had never seen anyone with powers like yours.

*

There was a book in your hands as you entered Stephen's study. The New York Sanctum recently became your new home after finishing your studies in Nepal, and after the Ancient One had passed. The words were in a language you couldn't decipher, so, naturally, you sought out the one person who could help you. You did enjoy bothering Stephen Strange quite a bit.

Looking down at the jumble of words, symbols, and pictographs, you entered the study, "Hey, Stephen, I can't find a translator on this tome. Could you -" You cut yourself off, looking up the words die on your tongue as you find Stephen not alone.

"Thor?" A smile breaks across your face as you look at your old friend. Thor leaps up from his chair, drink long forgotten as he rushes towards you and engulfs you in a bear hug. It's warm and familiar.

"Little Starlight! What are you doing here?" His voice rumbles through your chest as he sets you down. A heavy, comforting hand on your shoulder as you fidget with the book in your hand.

"I've - uh - been living here for awhile," you peak up at Thor, then look at Stephen. "The Avengers aren't really, um, together anymore."

Thor looks confused, his brows drawn together as he thinks, "Surely you jest? What about Stark? The two of you were attached at the hip! Father and daughter, more like. He would not abandon you." You go to speak, but Thor continues, "or Captain Rogers? Surely not," he scoffs, "he was very fond of you. Followed you around like a lost Hel-pup."

Your head tilts to the side, eyebrows creasing in question, Steve followed you around? Sure, the two of you did a few things together when there was downtime between missions. You introducing him to a lot of current TV shows or movies, cult classics you promised he'd love, but you're sure he never understood.

"What do you mean?" you ask Thor. He gives you a wide grin, and you feel your insides tighten just a little.

"He was in love with you, girl! Everyone could see it plain as the Golden Palaces of Asgard!" His laugh is hearty as he slaps your shoulder, the weight almost crushing now at the realization dawns on you.

Steve was in love with you?

A small squeak leaves your throat. But Steve was - is - your best friend. He even said so on multiple occasions. He has Bucky now, right? There was no way he thought about you anymore.

"Don't be ridiculous, Thor, Steve wasn't in love with me," your protest even sounds weak to your own ears, as your shoulders slump forward and Thor gives you a gentle pat.

Stephen clears his throat. You almost forgot he was even here. And thank the Gods for Dr. Strange, he waves his hand, and the low coffee table and chairs the two men had previously occupied vanished from sight. "Wait, hold on," he starts, fingers going to pinch the bridge of his nose, "you were an Avenger?" he looks at you like you were telling a joke, an amused expression on his face. "You were a lab assistant or something - a secretary maybe - surely," he chuckles. And that kind of stings.

Thor seems to grow larger in the small space between you. A low grumble rolling up his chest as he steps in front of you. The little hairs on your arm stand on end. A crackle of electricity in the air around the room. "Have a care how you speak, wizard. Y/N may look small and unassuming, but she can hold her own with many a great warrior. On Midgard or any realm."

Pride blooms in your chest, small popping bubbles seem to lift your insides at Thor's defense of you. You haven't used your powers since the Ancient One passed. Her and Wong were the only two at the Sanctum to know about what happened to you and your abilities.

So, with a big inhale, you summon a cloudy portal and step through it and then reappear next to Stephen in the blink of an eye. He suppresses a yelp, the Cloak of Levitation running the ends of its tail up your arm in greeting.

"Wh-what was that? How did you do that?"

"It's still a little fuzzy. All the details of how it happened. I really shouldn't be alive," you begin undoing your robes, the top half opening to show your tank top and the very bright blue glow of the crystalline scar on your chest. "The Ancient One knew. She helped a lot with getting a handle on how my powers work. Though I don't really understand most of it. Some of it comes naturally, like I already know what to do."

You fix your robes, Stephen's hand stopping you, his eyes quizzical as he examines your scar with surgeon eyes. "She understood my powers better than I could ever seem to hope," a sad smile pulls at your lips. "I couldn't do half the things I can now if it wasn't for her."

"This should have killed you, Y/N," Stephen finally speaks. He removes his hand from your arm, folding his arms across his chest. Thor hums in agreement as you tie your robes back together.

"The Infinity Stone clearly had bigger plans for her than we could ever imagine," Thor says thoughtfully.

"What? Infinity? No -" You shake your head. "The Tesseract isn't a -" you couldn't find the words. It did make sense, the longer you thought about it.

"The Space Stone, yes," Thor nods.

"Oh."

*

So there you stood, on the grand staircase of the foyer, with Stephen and Thor. It's a little bittersweet, having to say goodbye to Thor, but he promised you'd see him again.

"Oh, before I take my leave, if you would not mind," Thor motions to Stephen and then the empty foyer. Stephen hums, his hands quickly moving to open a portal a few feet in the air. You hear a loud thud at the bottom of the stairs, a well-dressed, dark-haired man lay prone on the floor.

He flipped his hair back, groaning, "I have been falling for 30 minutes!" As he stood to dust himself off, you launch yourself down the steps and engulf him in a hug.

"Mischief!" You laugh. You haven't seen Loki since after the Battle of New York. "I thought you died!" You punch his arm and look up into his shocked face.

"Hello, Starlight," his hands come to rest on your shoulders, long fingers curling around and squeezing. There was a small smirk on his face as he looked down at you. "I see you've finally left Stark and your doe-eyed Captain."

You groan, "not you too."

"Hold on," Stephen's hand flew to his face as he drug it back down, "How do you know Loki?"

Loki and Thor stood behind you as you faced Stephen, before you could answer, they both put a hand on your shoulders, Thor's voice swelled with pride, "Y/N was the one to notice the effects of the scepter on Loki," you felt your face heat up at his praise.

"If it were not for our dear Starlight testifying in front of the All Father, I would have spent an eternity in prison."

Stephen looks so confused. He's looking at you like he's never met you. His head shakes from side to side as he paces around the foyer, a hand on his hip, the other running through his hair. "Why were you in Nepal last year?"

You stiffen, Thor's hand squeezes your shoulder, Loki steps closer to your side, angeling his front to your side. They are here for you, supporting you in a way they know how. Thor's grounding touch and Loki's magic you can feel crackle along his fingertips.

You gulp down a breath and square your shoulders, "I felt this, this pull, I don't know how else to describe it," your hand comes up to your chest. "i didn't know what it was, but one minute I was in New York, and the next i was rounding a corner, and there you were."

"The thugs," Stephen's hands drop, and his posture slouches. The Cloak clings a little tighter around his shoulders.

"The Ancient One said we were meant to meet. There was a reason my powers brought me to you. At that exact moment."

*

You bid farewell to Thor and Loki as they step through Stephen's portal that would lead them to Odin.

"Stay out of trouble," you give them a stern look, "the both of you."

Thor gave you a wide grin and a wave as he stepped through the portal. Loki shoves his hands in his suit pockets, giving you a wink as he follows Thor.

And then they were gone.

Stephen turns to you, a thoughtful look on his face, "I have so many questions."

"I probably have the answers."

****

Next>

[ultralightpoe]

Ultralightpoe Masterlist

Requests are OPEN !

Last Updated : 5-16-25

“There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.”

Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen

~ ~ ~

-Marvel -

-House of The Dragon-

-Top Gun-

-Bullet Train-

-Stranger Things-

-Scream-

-Witcher-

-Ted Lasso-

-Twisters-

-Challengers-

-Hunger Games-

Midnight Album Event

~2024 Halloween Event Masterlist

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Marvel Masterlist

One Shots

Spook-vengers Tower - Reader, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Peter Parker, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson (all platonic)

Better Than Gifts - Reader, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Peter Parker, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Wanda, Vision, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson (all platonic)

New Years Eve - Steve Rogers x Reader ft. The Avengers, Doctor Strange, Peter Parker, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes (all platonic)

Not Making It Out - Loki x Reader

Love Is Sacrifice - Loki x Reader

Champion Selection - Loki x Reader

My Mistakes - Loki x Reader

The Task - Loki x Reader

Pulled From The Timeline - Loki x Reader

Poisoned Ice - Loki x Reader

Pompeii - Loki x Reader

Madripoor - Bucky x Reader

Why Would I? - Bucky x Reader

A Small Thing - Bucky x Reader

Not The Worst - Bucky x Reader

A Little Help - Bucky x Reader

When You Wake - Bucky x Reader

What We Started - Bucky x Reader

Kiss Her, Captain. - Steve x Reader

Attacked - Steve x Reader

Aftermath - Steve x Reader

The Drink Allergy - Steve x Reader

A Subtle Escape - Steve x Reader

A New Mission - Tony x Reader (platonic)

3am - Frank Castle x Reader (platonic)

Trick or Eat - Venom x Reader (platonic)

Halloween Cookie Surprise - Venom x Reader (platonic)

When Ghosts Hunt - Robbie Reyes x Reader

Under The Flame - Robbie Reyes x Reader

As Imagined - Ben Poindexter x Reader

Surprise Guest - Clint Barton, Reader, Kate Bishop

Earpiece Patch - Clint Barton, Reader, Kate Bishop

Imagines + Mini Fic

Imagine Steve wanting to propose but having to hold off because of the Civil War

Imagine Steve's surprise when you hit an entitled party guest

Imagine flirting with Steve much to his surprise

Imagine inviting Steve to the newly created Memorial Centre

Imagine a kiss from Steve to distract you from blinding pain

Imagine boldly telling Steve how you feel mid-mission

Imagine waking Steve up after being disturbed by a nightmare

Imagine being paired with Steve during the time-travel mission

Imagine Steve’s anger when you go off book during a mission

Imagine being the last person that Tony tells about 'moving day'

Imagine Bucky’s therapist asking about you

Imagine laughing at Bucky after his failed plane jump

Imagine getting caught in the crossfire of John Walker’s rampage

Imagine trying to talk John Walker down at Zemo’s apartment

Imagine waiting for Bucky and his cake delivery

Imagine convincing Bucky to get back into dating

Imagine taking Bucky to meet his dinner date

Imagine being ambushed by HYDRA while waiting for Bucky

Imagine Bucky being present when you wake up

Imagine Sam’s pleasant surprise when Bucky treats you gently

Imagine Bucky getting jealous on a mission

Imagine refusing to work with Loki at the TVA

Imagine Loki trying to explain his theory to you on a busy day

Imagine Loki being asked to let you go

Imagine discovering that Loki is to aid in the escape of Asgard

Imagine Loki falling asleep on your hand

Imagine Mobius shocking you with an idea regarding Loki

Imagine Loki hearing about your variants

Imagine sending Mobius to calm Loki after you’re injured

Imagine Loki stealing your pie at the TVA

Imagine your surprise when Thor brings Loki to Norway

Imagine learning that Hela wants you dead too

Imagine waking up on Sakaar to find Loki trying to help

Imagine Loki learning why you lied and faked your death

Imagine Loki accidentally time-slipping when you’re getting dressed

Imagine noticing Loki’s strange behaviour after he time travels

Imagine asking Thor about a gift that you gave him

Imagine Thor trying to grant you visitation with Loki

Imagine Thor learning that you’re in Norway with his father

Imagine Thor asking Loki about your whereabouts on Sakaar

Imagine finding Venom raiding your pantry

Imagine spending the holidays alone in Avengers Tower

Imagine checking on Robbie’s injuries

Imagine helping Matt escape the prison after Fisk takes control

Imagine Marc Spector inquiring about your hand injury

Imagine Khonshu trying to convince you to be his avatar

Imagine going present shopping for the Avengers

Imagine the Avengers when they learn that you and Bucky were attacked

Imagine Clint coming to you after a mission gone wrong

Imagine Fury asking you to be a diversion

Series

The Rider’s Guardian - Robbie Reyes x Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Stowaway Cloak -  Stephen Strange, Reader (platonic)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

(Return to the Easy Navigate Masterlist)

[brunchable]

The Morning After

Part I || Doctor Strange × f!reader × Steve Rogers

Word count: 7.5K Characters: Black Widow Reader, Strange, Rogers, The Avengers Summary: You wake up in Stephens bed after drinking the Asgardian Ale Thor brought from Asgard. Warning: One night stand, Love Triangle? A/N: The photo ain't mine, I saw it on pinterest and I thought. . . what if y/n woke up in Stephen's bed? Also inspired by this song lol. I think all of my fics is inspired by a song. HELP. This is a multiple part story. I hope you enjoy.

PART II [R18+]- Coming soon.

“Gather 'round, friends, it’s Thor, the God of Thunder, here to tell the tale of one fateful evening—a night when the legendary Asgardian Ale, brewed in the heart of the golden city. A brew so potent, it has brought down the fiercest of warriors, now, this tale is not of epic battles or heroic deeds, but rather of a night where this very ale claimed yet more victims from among the finest heroes of Earth.”

"Now, let me set the scene: it was a grand feast in the tower of the Man of Iron, where Midgard’s greatest heroes gathered to celebrate their triumphs. The mood was joyous, the laughter loud, and the drinks… well, the drinks were stronger than even the mightiest of Asgardians would dare admit!”

"Enter Doctor Stephen Strange, master of the mystic arts, and Y/N, the ever-resourceful Black Widow. Brave, cunning, formidable—yet even they were no match for the enchanting pull of the Asgardian Ale. Oh, they thought they could handle it, that it was just another drink… but little did they know, the ale had other plans!”

"And so, as the night wore on, the ale did its work. It loosened tongues, softened hearts, and—most importantly—muddled minds. By the time the moon had set and the sun was ready to rise, these two found themselves in a most… shall we say, unexpected situation.”

"For when the morning light crept through the windows of the Sanctum Sanctorum, the good Doctor and our dear Black Widow awoke to find themselves in a predicament that no amount of sorcery or spycraft could easily explain. There they were, side by side, both equally confused and—dare I say—horrified by the night’s unforeseen outcome!”

"What follows, dear friends, is a tale of confusion, awkwardness, and a series of events that might just lead to something more… or, at the very least, a very, very interesting morning."

× × × ×

The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow that danced across the ornate rugs and ancient relics scattered around the room. Doctor Stephen Strange stirred, his mind still foggy from the remnants of sleep, feeling an unfamiliar weight on his arm. 

The silk sheets, usually cool and comforting, felt oddly warm and heavy. He shifted slightly, the soft rustling of the fabric the only sound in the stillness.

As he blinked his eyes open, the grogginess quickly gave way to sharp clarity, and he was greeted by a sight that immediately jolted him awake: You, the Black Widow, your tousled auburn hair splayed out on the pillow next to his. The vivid auburn strands created a stark contrast against the deep blue of the pillows, and the way the sunlight caught the strands made them seem to glow. 

His movements woke you up, your eyes, wide with shock, were locked onto his, mirroring the panic that he felt.

Stephen’s mind raced, trying to piece together the events that could have led to this surreal scenario. The faint scent of your perfume, mingled with the familiar, comforting smells of the Sanctum, filled his nostrils. The warmth of your body next to his was both foreign and startling, a stark reminder of the unexplainable situation he found himself in.

Simultaneously, you both glanced down at the sheets, lifting them cautiously. The sight underneath made your eyes widen further. 

You exchanged a horrified look, your faces a mirror of disbelief. Quickly, you dropped the sheets, looked at each other again, and then, as if needing confirmation, peeked under the sheets once more.

"AHHH!" Stephen screamed, jerking away from you.

"AHHH!" You echoed, scrambling to sit up, clutching the sheet to your chest. "What the hell, Strange?! Look away!"

"What the hell, Y/N?!" Stephen shouted back, equally horrified but with his head turned away from you. "Why are you in my bed?!"

“Your bed?!” You looked around, recognizing the distinctive décor of the Sanctum Sanctorum, “Why am I in your bed!?"

“Shit.” Stephen rubbed his face, still trying to wake up fully.

You both sat there for a moment, the awkward silence, the sound of Wong humming a catchy tune as he walked past the door with a tray of breakfast pastries resonated into the room. He paused, glanced into the room, and then continued on his way without a word, though his eyebrows were raised high enough to practically touch his hairline.

"This is not happening.” Stephen groaned, running his hands through his hair. 

You remained quiet, looking traumatized while staring into space, forcing your brain to form any recollection.

"Last thing I remember, we were having that ridiculous amounts of Thor's Asgardian ale. Then we. . . we—”

Suddenly Thor laughing in ridicule echoed in his head. You Midgardians truly are a delicate lot, he said.

“We what?!”

“Underestimated it. . .?”

Just then, Wong finally walked in, this time holding a tray with teapots and cups. He paused mid-step, his eyes darting between the two of you. 

"I see the Doctor is taking 'house calls' a bit too literally now," he said, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Wong, this is not what it looks like!" Stephen exclaimed, scrambling to his feet, the sheets tangling around his legs and causing him to trip while trying to cover his bottom half. He flailed, grabbing onto a nearby chair for balance, only to have it tip over, sending him crashing to the floor.

"Very graceful.”

Wong shook his head, setting the tray down on a nearby table. "I've seen strange things in this Sanctum, but this... this takes the cake. Breakfast is ready, by the way.”

"Wong, I swear, I don't know how this happened.” Stephen managed to extricate himself from the sheets and stood up, his face a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. 

"Sure, you don't. Just like you didn't know how the Eye of Agamotto ended up in the fish tank last week?” Wong raised an eyebrow. 

“That was a magical mishap!" Stephen protested.

Wong chuckled, heading toward the door. "Well, whatever happened, you two might want to get dressed before the rest of the Avengers show up for the morning briefing. Can't wait to hear the explanation for this one.”

Without a word, Stephen quickly conjured a portal to another room, vanishing through it in a swirl of golden sparks to get dressed and, more importantly, to escape the awkwardness.

You hurried to get dressed as well, eager to avoid lingering in the uncomfortable silence, and made your way to the meeting room. 

As you head to descend the grand staircase, your mind is still racing, seeing Stephen without his clothes—an image you've never dared to imagine before. You turned a corner and—thud!—collided directly with Stephen, who had just stepped out from his portal.

"Whoa!" you both exclaimed simultaneously, your voices overlapping in a jumble of startled sounds.

There was a moment where you both froze, staring at each other, shocked to see each other so soon when you planned to avoid Stephen the rest of the day. . . or indefinitely. 

Stephen recovered first, awkwardly adjusting his cloak as though it might somehow smooth over the situation.

"Uh, sorry, I—didn't see you there," he stammered, trying to step aside and give you space.

"No, no, it's fine," you replied quickly, waving it off with a forced laugh that sounded more nervous than casual. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

You both tried to continue walking as if nothing had happened, but in your haste to act normal, you ended up sidestepping in the same direction, then awkwardly shuffling the opposite way, only to block each other again.

"After you," Stephen said, his voice a bit too high-pitched with forced politeness.

"No, no, you go ahead," you insisted, waving him forward, though your hand gesture came out more like a nervous flail.

Finally, after an excruciatingly long moment of shuffling and half-smiles, you managed to move past each other, continuing down the stairs at a brisk pace, trying to put as much distance as possible between yourselves. 

You both knew you'd failed miserably at playing it cool, but neither of you dared to look back or acknowledge it. As you reached the bottom of the stairs and headed toward the meeting room, you couldn’t help but wonder if this day could get any more embarrassing. Judging by the start, it seemed likely. 

× × × ×

As you entered together, Tony Stark was already there, phone in hand. He didn't say a word, just snapped a photo the moment you both walked in.

"Morning, lovebirds," Tony said with a mischievous grin.

You groaned, shaking your head. "Seriously, Stark?"

Tony laughed, pocketing his phone. "Oh, this one's for the highlight reel. Don't worry, I'll send you both a copy."

As you took your seats, trying to ignore Tony's teasing, Thor walked in, grinning broadly. "Well, well, looks like my ale claimed a couple more victims. Didn't I warn you about its strength?"

Stephen groaned. "We might have underestimated it a bit."

"A bit? I think I need a new liver." You grimaced, rubbing your right side.

"Next time, perhaps you two will heed my warning. Asgardian ale is not for the faint of heart!” Thor laughed heartily.

You rolled your eyes, still in a grimace. You didn't remember him giving an actual warning, "Thanks, Thor. We'll keep that in mind."

"Next time, we're sticking to the lightweight stuff. Like water." Stephen added.

"Wise choice. But where's the fun in that?” Thor shrugged.

Just then, Barton sauntered in, a wide grin on his face. "Hey, I heard we had a slumber party at the Sanctum last night. Everyone had fun?"

"What did I miss?” Wanda raised an eyebrow.

“Oh these two here tasted the might of my Asgardian Ale!" Thor declared proudly, slapping Stephen on the back so hard it nearly knocked him out of his chair.

You and Stephen exchanged a quick glance. "Something like that," Stephen said.

Thor nodded, grabbing a seat. "Ah, the joys of revelry. Once, I woke up in a field surrounded by screaming goats. No idea how I got there.”

"That sounds... interesting, Thor. Thank you for sharing." You say with your best sarcastic tone.

“You’re welcome. The best stories come from the nights you can't quite remember. Especially when you wake up in unusual company.” Thor laughed with cheer, obviously taking a jab at the situation.

Steve, who had been quietly observing with a smile at the corner of the room, suddenly narrowed his eyes, sensing the tension.

You sank into your chair, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. "Tony, what did you do?”

"Sorry," Tony replied with an unapologetic grin, "I think I accidentally sent your highlight reel photo to that unwanted group chat Banner created.”

“Wow, thanks Tony.” Bruce mumbled.

"Great, just what we needed," Stephen muttered, rolling his eyes.

Cap, ever the gentleman, quickly stepped in to steer the conversation back on track. “Alright, since everyone is here, let's focus on the briefing. Stephen, how's the mystical side of things?” 

× × × 

Stephen cleared his throat, trying to compose himself and focus on the task at hand. "Right, uh... mystical threats. So, recently, we've had some minor disturbances in other dimensions, particularly around the... um…”

He trailed off, his mind suddenly flashing back to the previous night. He remembered the two of you huddled in a corner, both of you giggling like kids, as you attempted to teach him how to perform a simple card trick without using magic. You had insisted it was a basic skill every “sorcerer” should know, and despite his vast knowledge of the mystic arts, Stephen struggled with the sleight of hand. Each time he messed up, you would burst out laughing, and eventually, so did he, the two of you caught in a cycle of laughter that seemed endless.

 Stephen blinked rapidly, trying to refocus. "Uh, disturbances... yes. There was an issue with a, uh, pocket dimension, near the, um..." His voice wavered as another memory surfaced.

This time, it was the two of you back at the Sanctum, stumbling through the portal he had opened, both of you laughing hysterically at something neither of you could now recall. You had accidentally knocked over a priceless artifact, and instead of being concerned, you both had fallen into fits of uncontrollable laughter. The sound of your laughter echoed in his mind, making his heart skip a beat.

He coughed, desperately trying to get back on track. "Right, so the, uh... the pocket dimension. We managed to stabilize it, but there were... complications. Minor, really…”

But his voice faltered again as another memory slipped through. This one was quieter, more intimate. The two of you were sitting side by side on the balcony, sharing a drink. The atmosphere was calm, almost serene, as you both watched the flamingos fly away. You had leaned against him, your head resting on his shoulder, and he remembered the warmth of your presence, the soft sound of your breathing in the quiet night. He couldn’t recall what you had said, but he remembered the way it made him feel—content, at peace, and something more that he wasn’t ready to name.

"Doctor Strange?" Steve’s voice cut through the haze, bringing him sharply back to the present.

"Uh, yes, sorry," Stephen stammered, feeling his face flush. "What I mean to say is... the mystical threats are... under control. Nothing major. Just a few minor disturbances that we've, uh, managed to contain.”

As he spoke, his eyes involuntarily drifted toward you, catching your gaze for just a split second before he quickly looked away, his face turning an unmistakable shade of pink. He turned his head abruptly, pretending to adjust his cloak to hide the blush that had crept up his cheeks.

"You sure everything’s alright in the mystical world, Doc?" Tony asked, the teasing tone in his voice barely concealed.

Stephen nodded quickly, trying to compose himself. "Yes, absolutely. Everything’s fine. No major threats. We’re good. All clear.”

But as he finished, another flash of the previous night’s events hit him—a quick, jumbled memory of you leaning in, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered something that made his stomach flip. He had no idea what you had said, but the memory of your breath on his skin was enough to make his heart race all over again.

"All clear," he repeated, though the words sounded hollow even to his own ears. His mind was anything but clear. If anything, it was more muddled than ever, filled with fragmented memories that both excited and terrified him.

Steve, sensing something was off but choosing not to press, simply nodded. “Alright then. If there's nothing else, we'll wrap this up.”

Stephen exhaled in relief, glad the briefing was over, but as everyone began to file out, Tony's grin only grew wider. He had clearly picked up on Stephen's discomfort. 

As you stood to leave, Stephen risked one last glance at you, his heart still racing. You were avoiding his gaze, your expression unreadable, but he could tell you were just as distracted as he was.

× × × ×

After the meeting wrapped up, the Avengers began to disperse, each heading off to their respective tasks. Just as you were about to leave, you felt a presence behind you. Turning around, you saw Steve Rogers standing there, his usual calm demeanor in place, but there was something softer in his eyes as he looked at you.

"Y/N," Steve began, his voice gentle but carrying that unmistakable authority. "Got a minute?”

"Of course, Cap. What’s up?” You nodded, though you felt your heart skipped a beat. 

Steve smiled slightly at the use of his nickname, "I couldn’t help but notice you seemed a little… distracted today. Is everything alright?”

"Yeah, just… you know, last night's party and all that. Still trying to shake off the effects.” You hesitated, trying to decide how much to share.

"I understand. But if there’s anything more to it, you know you can talk to me, right?” Steve nodded slowly, but the way his gaze was glued on you made it clear he wasn’t entirely convinced. 

“Thanks, Steve. I appreciate that. Really, though, it’s nothing major.” You offered a small smile, appreciating his concern.

Steve studied you for a moment, his blue eyes holding an intensity that made your heart flutter. He seemed to be debating something internally before he finally spoke again, a hint of hesitation in his voice.

"Listen, Y/N… I was about to head back to the compound, and I was wondering… do you need a ride?” 

"A ride? On your motorcycle?” 

Steve nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah. I know it’s not the usual mode of transport around here, but I thought you might like some fresh air. Clear your head a bit."

“That sounds nice, actually. I could use a little fresh air.” You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of riding with Steve on his motorcycle. It was such a classic, straightforward gesture—so very Steve.

“Great,” Steve said, and you could hear the relief in his voice, “Shall we?”

As you walked out toward the front of the Sanctum Sanctorum, your thoughts still spinning from the day’s events, you heard a voice call out your name.

“Y/N, wait,” Stephen’s voice, a little rushed and breathless, echoed through the hallway. 

You turned around to see him approaching, his expression serious but laced with something else—something you couldn’t quite place.

“Stephen?” you said, your hand resting on the doorframe. “What’s up?”

“I, uh,” Stephen hesitated, his eyes flicking from your face to somewhere over your shoulder, where Steve was waiting by his motorcycle. He seemed to be searching for the right words, but they didn’t come easily. His brow furrowed slightly as if he was wrestling with something internally.

You waited, feeling the weight of the silence stretching between you. There was a tightness in your chest, a nagging sense that something important was about to be said. 

You took a small step closer, trying to catch his gaze, but his eyes kept darting away, unable to meet yours for more than a fleeting moment.

“Stephen?” you prompted gently, your voice softening as you tried to encourage him. “What is it?”

He finally looked at you, really looked at you, and for a split second, you saw the vulnerability in his eyes. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a carefully guarded expression, but that momentary glimpse was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“I just wanted to have a quick chat before you head out,” Stephen finally said, though his voice was quieter than before, almost as if he was second-guessing his decision to speak up. “It won’t take long.”

The hesitation in his voice was palpable, and it only added to the growing tension between you. You could see the conflict in his expression—the way his jaw tightened, the way his hand flexed slightly at his side, as if he was holding himself back from saying something more.

You nodded, though a part of you was still trying to decipher the emotions playing across his face. “Sure, no problem.”

As you turned back to Steve, you caught a glimpse of him watching the exchange with a blank, unreadable expression, but it’s obvious that he was paying close attention. The realization that both men were acutely aware of each other’s presence only added another layer into your growing anxiety.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” you said to Steve, forcing a smile that you hoped would mask the unease that was creeping into your chest.

“Take your time. I’ll be right here,” Steve replied, his voice steady and reassuring, but his gaze lingered on Stephen for a moment longer before returning to you.

You offered Steve a grateful nod before turning back to Stephen, who had already started walking toward a quieter corner of the main hall. As you followed him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this conversation than either of you were willing to admit.

Once you were alone, Stephen stopped, his back to you for a moment as he seemed to gather his thoughts. When he finally turned to face you, his expression was conflicted, his usual confidence replaced by uncertainty since he doesn't know where or how to place himself.

"I just… I wanted to make sure everything’s okay between us after this morning," he began, his voice careful, measured. "I know things are a bit… awkward.”

There was a pause, and in that silence, you tried to read the emotions flickering across his face. His eyes, usually so focused and intense, were softer now. It was as if he was waiting for you to give him some kind of reassurance, something to ease the tension that had settled between you.

"I mean, everything's been chaotic," you replied, your own voice laced with a nervous edge, "but I don’t want it to make things weird between us either.”

Stephen nodded, though you could see the way his shoulders tensed slightly, as if he was bracing himself for something. "Yeah, I feel the same way. It’s just… I’ve been trying to piece together what happened last night. . .”

His words hung in the air, unfinished, as he hesitated again. You could sense the unspoken question lingering behind his words, the uncertainty that mirrored your own. But even as he spoke, his eyes searched yours, as if looking for an answer that neither of you were ready to give.

“It’s pretty clear what happened,” you interjected, your tone firmer than you intended. “I think it’s best if we just leave it as it is. . . My mind is already a mess, I just need some time.”

Stephen’s heart sank at your response, but he tried to hide it, his expression tightening for just a moment before he forced a nod. The disappointment that flickered across his face was subtle, but it was there, and it made your stomach twist with guilt.

He had hoped—needed—there to be more to say, a way to unravel the confusion that had been left hanging between you both, but your words made it clear that you preferred to bury the past, to move on without digging deeper. 

It wasn’t the answer he had wanted, but he couldn’t bring himself to challenge it.

“Yeah… maybe you’re right,” he finally said, though the words felt hollow as they left his lips.

A heavy silence settled between you. Stephen opened his mouth as if to say something more, but then closed it, his shoulders slumping slightly in defeat. The weight of unspoken thoughts and unacknowledged feelings hung heavily in the air, filling the space between you with a tension that neither of you knew how to break.

You searched his face one last time, trying to understand the depth of what he wasn’t saying, but his expression had shifted back to that carefully controlled neutrality. Whatever he had been about to say, he had chosen to keep it to himself.

Finally, you took a small step back, glancing toward the door where Steve was waiting. “I should probably go. Steve’s waiting.”

At the mention of Steve, Stephen’s heart gave another uncomfortable lurch, and this time, he couldn’t completely mask the flicker of jealousy that crossed his face. It was brief, barely noticeable, but you caught it.

“Yeah, of course,” Stephen said, his voice more strained than before. “Don’t keep him waiting.”

You offered him a small, apologetic smile, sensing the shift in his mood but feeling it was necessary to draw a line. “Thanks for understanding, Stephen. I appreciate it.”

He gave a nod, though the word “anytime” felt almost like an afterthought, his voice lacking the usual warmth. There was something deeply unsettling about the way this conversation had ended, but you knew that pressing further might only complicate things even more.

With that, you turned and walked out of the room, leaving Stephen standing there, his thoughts a chaotic mix of regret and uncertainty. 

He watched as you joined Steve outside, noting the way Steve’s face lit up slightly when he saw you. The two of you exchanged a few words, and then Steve handed you the helmet with a warm, reassuring smile.

Stephen’s heart twisted painfully as he watched you climb onto the motorcycle behind Steve, your arms wrapping around his waist as you settled in. The sight of the two of you together, so close and comfortable, stirred a deep sense of jealousy within him—something he hadn’t expected to feel so intensely. 

He had kept his feelings hidden for so long, not wanting to complicate the dynamic between you, but seeing you with Steve, even for a brief moment, made him wonder if he had waited too long.

As the motorcycle roared to life and sped down the street, Stephen stood there, alone in the quiet Sanctum, grappling with the realization that he might have missed his chance to tell you how he really felt—a part of him couldn’t shake the thought that maybe forgetting wasn’t the best idea after all.

And as Steve drove, he glanced briefly in his side mirror, catching a glimpse of Stephen standing in the doorway, watching you both leave. Steve’s grip on the handlebars tightened slightly, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to focus on the road ahead. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the ride back to the compound had become far more complicated than he’d anticipated.

While the motorcycle sped down the road, the world around you seemed to blur into a whirlwind of emotions—confusion, guilt, and something deeper that you weren’t ready to face. 

You tightened your grip around Steve’s waist, trying to ground yourself in the present, but your thoughts kept drifting back to the look on Stephen’s face, the things you didn't give him a chance to say. And with each passing mile, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had made the right choice—or if you were leaving something important behind.

× × × ×

The motorcycle roared down the winding roads, the wind rushing past you as you clung to Steve’s solid frame. The world around you blurred into streaks of color—trees, buildings, the sky—yet the rush of the ride did little to quiet the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind.

You should have felt the thrill of the ride, the freedom of the open road, but instead, all you could focus on was the conversation with Stephen. The way he hesitated, the way his eyes darted away from yours, as if he was hiding something—no, not hiding, holding back. The tension in his voice had been undeniable, and now, as you sped away from the Sanctum, you couldn’t help but wonder what he had really wanted to say.

Being Black Widow, you were trained to compartmentalize, to push emotions aside when necessary. But the events of the morning, combined with the tension between you, Stephen, and Steve, made it hard to keep everything neatly locked away. Stephen’s hesitation, his guarded expression, and Steve’s quiet concern—these were things you couldn’t easily ignore.

Your thoughts were interrupted as Steve turned slightly, his voice carrying over the noise of the motorcycle. "You okay back there?" he asked, his tone gentle, but with an undercurrent of concern.

You realized you’d been holding your breath and quickly exhaled, trying to shake off the lingering tension. "Yeah," you called back, forcing a smile that you knew he couldn’t see. "Just… a lot on my mind."

Steve nodded, though you could feel the way his body tensed slightly beneath your grip, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced by your answer. He knew you too well; he could sense when something was deeply weighing on your mind. "If you want to talk about it…"

His offer hung in the air, but you didn’t respond right away. What could you say? That you were torn between the memory of a night you couldn’t fully recall? That you were struggling to untangle your own emotions, not knowing if you should pursue them or let them go?

The motorcycle continued down a long, empty stretch of road, and you assumed you were headed straight for the compound. But after a few moments, you noticed Steve taking a turn down a road that didn’t lead in the direction of the compound. It wasn’t the familiar path back—this road led toward the outskirts of the city, a more secluded area.

"Steve?" you called, a note of curiosity creeping into your voice. "Where are we going?"

Steve didn’t answer right away, his focus on the road ahead, but you could sense the deliberateness in his actions. After a moment, he glanced back over his shoulder, his expression calm but with a hint of something more—something determined. 

"Thought we could use a detour. Clear your head a bit before we head back. I think you need it”

Steve continued down the road, the city slowly fading away behind you. The landscape became more open, with rolling hills and patches of forest lining the sides of the road. It was a route you hadn’t taken before, and the unfamiliarity of it was oddly comforting—a break from the routine, a moment to breathe.

After a while, Steve slowed the motorcycle, turning onto a narrow, tree-lined path. The air was cooler here, the dense foliage creating a canopy overhead. Eventually, he brought the bike to a stop in a small clearing by a quiet, shimmering lake. The water was calm, reflecting the sky and the surrounding trees in perfect stillness.

Steve cut the engine, and for a moment, the silence was overwhelming. You both sat there, the only sounds being the rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. It was peaceful, almost surreal, after the whirlwind of emotions and confusion you’d been dealing with all morning. He took off his helmet and dismounted, looking back at you with a soft hesitant smile. 

"I figured you might need a break. This place… it’s always been somewhere I go when I need to think."

You followed suit, removing your helmet and stepping off the bike. The ground felt solid beneath your feet, and the cool breeze off the lake was refreshing, grounding you in the present moment. 

"It’s beautiful," you said softly, taking in the serene surroundings. "I didn’t know a place like this existed around here."

Steve nodded, his gaze fixed on the tranquil water. "Not many people do. It’s kind of a hidden spot, but it’s been here for as long as I can remember. I come here sometimes. When things get… complicated."

You glanced at him, his words resonating more than he might have realized. "It’s peaceful," you acknowledged, though your tone was still guarded, your mind alert even in this serene environment.

Steve watched you closely, his expression understanding. "You don’t have to talk about what’s on your mind," he offered, his voice gentle. "But I’m here if you need to."

It was a simple statement, but it carried weight. You were used to relying on yourself, keeping others at arm’s length. But Steve’s quiet presence, his never-ending support—it was different. Disarming, in a way you weren’t accustomed to.

There had been a time, not too long ago, when you had harbored a crush on Steve—a deep, confusing mix of admiration and affection that you had tried hard to push down. He was Captain America, after all—the embodiment of everything good and noble, and for a while, you couldn’t help but be drawn to him. 

But you had convinced yourself that his heart belonged to someone else, that he was still in love with Peggy Carter, the woman from his past who seemed to cast a long shadow over his present. You had seen the way he looked at Peggy’s picture, the way he spoke about her with such reverence, and it had made you believe there was no room in his heart for anyone else.

So you had buried those feelings, told yourself it was better to move on, to focus on your work, on the missions. You had even started to convince yourself that those feelings had faded, that they were nothing more than a fleeting infatuation. But now, standing here with Steve, you felt them stir again, refusing to stay buried.

And then there was Stephen. Your growing affections for him had caught you off guard—what started as a mutual respect for his intellect and strength had slowly turned into something more, something you hadn’t quite been ready to confront. 

The way he could be both infuriatingly arrogant and deeply compassionate, the way he had made you laugh at the party, the way his presence had a grounding effect on you—it had all begun to carve out a space in your heart that you hadn’t anticipated.

"It’s not easy to sort through," you admitted, your voice low, almost reluctant. "There’s a lot to unpack."

Steve nodded, his gaze steady. "You don’t have to unpack it all at once," he said quietly. "Take it as it comes."

His words were kind, but there was an undercurrent of something more—a tension that hummed just beneath the surface. 

You met his eyes, and for a moment, the usual defenses you kept so firmly in place wavered. Steve’s patience, his willingness to let you take things at your own pace—it was a kind of understanding that you weren’t used to, and it made the knot in your chest loosen, just a little.

But as the silence stretched on, you couldn’t ignore the way Steve’s gaze lingered on you, the way his jaw tightened slightly, as if he too was conflicted by something. There was something he wasn’t saying, something that made the air between you feel charged, like the calm before a storm.

You felt a pang of guilt as you remembered the way Stephen had looked at you that morning, the way his voice had faltered when he tried to talk about what had happened. 

And now, here you were with Steve, who was looking at you with that same unspoken emotion in his eyes—only this time, it felt different. More complicated.

"Steve…" you began, unsure of what you wanted to say, but needing to break the silence that was becoming increasingly heavy. "I appreciate you bringing me here, but…"

"But you’re thinking about Stephen," Steve finished for you, his voice quieter now, his eyes darkening with something you couldn’t quite place—was it hurt? Jealousy?

You blinked, taken aback by his directness. "It’s not like that," you said quickly, but even as you spoke the words, you weren’t entirely sure they were true.

Steve turned away slightly, his gaze drifting out over the lake, but his expression was tense. "Maybe not. But something happened last night, didn’t it? Between you and him.”

You didn’t answer right away, the truth of his words settling heavily between you. "I don’t know what happened," you finally admitted. "It’s all a blur."

“But it’s on your mind,” Steve pressed gently, though there was a tension in his voice that hadn’t been there before. 

You tilted your head, sensing the shift but not fully understanding its source. "You’re acting a little… weird, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes flicked away from yours, out over the lake, as if gathering his thoughts. "Weird? No, not weird," he said, "Just… trying to figure something out.”

"Figure out what?" you pressed, genuinely confused. You knew Steve well enough to recognize when something was bothering him, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was this time. "Is it about the mission? Or something with the team?”

Steve exhaled slowly, his shoulders tensing as he processed your words. He wasn’t angry—not exactly—but there was a quiet intensity in the way he looked at you now, a mix of emotions that made your heart race. 

"It’s not the mission," he said finally, his voice low but steady. "It’s about you.”

"Me?" you repeated, caught off guard. "What about me?”

"You and Stephen," Steve clarified. There was no accusation in his tone, but it was clear that something about the situation was weighing heavily on him. "I saw the way he looked at you this morning. And I saw the way you looked at him.”

"Steve, I—”

"You’re on his mind, Y/N," Steve interrupted, his voice softening, but the tension in his posture remained. "And he’s on yours. I can see it.”

There was no use denying it, not when Steve was looking at you with that penetrating gaze, as if he could see right through you. “Yeah,” you said softly. “He is.”

"I can’t compete with that," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You frowned, still not quite understanding where this was coming from. “Why would you need to compete, Steve, what are you talking about?”

Steve’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. When he finally did, his voice was rougher, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it. "I care about you, Y/N. More than I probably should. But seeing you with Stephen… it made me realize that maybe I’m too late. Maybe I should've just been honest from the start.”

The air seemed to leave your lungs as his words sunk in. “Steve..”

“I didn’t want to say anything," Steve continued, his eyes still focused on the water, as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. “I didn’t want to make things complicated between us. But now… I can’t pretend I don’t feel this way. I can’t pretend that knowing that something happened between you with him doesn’t… doesn’t hurt.”

You stood there, stunned into silence. Steve’s confession was the last thing you had expected, and the weight of his words settled heavily on your shoulders. You had always known Steve cared about you, but this… this was something entirely different. And it brought all those buried feelings rushing back, feelings you had tried so hard to forget because you thought his heart was already spoken for.

But then there was Stephen, who had slowly, subtly made his way into your heart. The warmth of his smile, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the way he could make you laugh even in the direst situations—it all made it impossible to ignore the connection that had been growing between you two. 

And now, you found yourself standing at a crossroads, torn between the man you adore and the man who had become an unexpected part of your life.

"Steve, I didn’t know," you whispered, your voice shaky with the shock of his sudden confession. "I never thought…"

"I know," Steve said quickly, finally turning to look at you. "I know you didn’t. And I don’t blame you for that. But now that it’s out there… I just need you to know. I need you to know how I feel about you.”

The raw honesty in his voice made your heart ache, and for the first time in a long time, you felt truly at a loss for words. You had always seen Steve as your rock, your steady, unflappable friend, but now, standing in front of you, he seemed almost fragile, vulnerable in a way you had never seen before.

"I don’t want to lose you," Steve said, his voice barely above a whisper as he reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, and you found yourself leaning into his palm, the closeness between you suddenly overwhelming. His thumb brushed softly against your skin, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. 

"But I don’t want to stand in your way, either. If you have feelings for Stephen… if you want to be with him… I’ll step back. I’ll let you go.”

His words broke something inside you, and you felt tears sting your eyes, though you fought to hold them back. The way Steve was looking at you—so full of raw emotion, so open and unguarded—made your heart twist painfully in your chest. 

"I don’t know what to say— I don’t want to lose you either.” you said, your voice trembling.

Steve’s face was so close to yours now that his forehead touched yours and you could feel his breath on your skin, the warmth of it sending a surge of conflicting emotions through you. 

For a moment, you thought he might kiss you—there was a part of you that wanted him to—but he didn’t. Instead, he just held you there, his hand still cradling your cheek, his eyes filled with an emotion that you thought would look at you that way.

"You won’t lose me," Steve promised, his voice low and full of conviction. But there was a vulnerability in his words, a silent plea for you to understand just how much you meant to him. The weight of it settled heavily in your chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.

Your mind raced, caught between the intensity of the moment and the memories of everything that had led up to this. You remembered the times you’d watched Steve from afar, admiring his strength and kindness, wishing for something more but always telling yourself it could never be. And then there were the recent moments with Stephen—the shared laughter, the way he’d looked at you during the party, the connection that had grown between you when you hadn’t even been looking for it.

"I… I don’t know what to do, Steve," you admitted, chuckling as a way to cope. "I care about you, I really do.”

Steve’s eyes flickered with something—understanding, pain, maybe both. "It’s okay," he said softly, though you could hear the strain in his voice. "I just needed you to know. Whatever happens, I’m here for you. I always will be.”

The sincerity in his words made your chest tighten with emotion. How had things become so complicated? You had tried so hard to move on from your feelings for Steve, to protect yourself from the heartache of unrequited love. And then Stephen had come into the picture, turning your world upside down in ways you hadn’t expected. Now, the idea of hurting either of them made you feel sick to your stomach, but you knew that avoiding the truth wasn’t an option either.

You reached up and placed your hand over Steve’s, still cupping your cheek, and the warmth of his skin against yours was both comforting and confusing. 

"Steve, I… I need time to figure this out," you said, your voice shaking with the weight of your own indecision. "I’m so torn right now.”

Steve nodded slowly, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek one last time before he let his hand drop. 

“Take all the time you need,” he said, though there was a trace of sadness in his eyes, “Whatever outcome you choose, I won't change, I'll still care for you just like how I do now.”

× × × ×

Stephen paced back and forth in the Sanctum’s main hall, his thoughts tangled and uneasy. The morning’s events had left him shaken, not just because of the unexpected situation he had woken up to, but because of the emotions that had surfaced in its wake. He had tried to push them aside, focusing on the day’s tasks, but every time his mind wandered, it inevitably drifted back to you—your shocked expression, your voice as you insisted that it would be better to forget what had happened, and the lingering warmth of your presence beside him.

He needed to understand. Not just what happened, but to confirm he doesn't want to let this go easy. After last night. . . he thinks he’s now in love with you.

Stephen leaned back in his chair, his thoughts racing. There was a spell he could use—Memoratus Arcanum, a memory recall spell. It wasn’t a spell he used lightly, but this wasn’t a decision he was taking lightly either. 

The spell would allow him to relive the events of the previous night with perfect clarity, to see everything as it had happened, unclouded by the fog of alcohol. Most importantly, it would help him understand the feelings that had been awakened in him.

With a steadying breath, Stephen stood up and moved to a small table in the corner of the room. The study was filled with the familiar scent of old books and the faint, lingering aroma of incense—comforting smells that helped him focus. He gathered the items he needed for the spell: a small silver mirror, an incantation sheet and a candle to help center his thoughts.

He set the items on the table and sat down cross-legged in front of them, the silver mirror resting in front of him. Lighting the candle, he watched the flame flicker for a moment before closing his eyes, centering himself as he began to chant the incantation. The words flowed easily from his lips, a familiar rhythm that calmed his racing thoughts.

As he finished the incantation, the mirror’s surface began to shimmer, the room around him fading as the spell took hold. The mirror now showed the swirling mists of memory, and Stephen leaned in closer, his heart beating faster as the mists cleared to reveal the events of the previous night. . .

[blue-sadie]

No Interruptions

Imagine:

Being Steve's little innocent girlfriend who follows him around like a lost puppy and the one time you stray you find yourself interrupting a special campion of dnd that eddies arranged and he can't stand for it and decides to teach you a lesson and brings Steve in to help with your little punishment.

"Oh come on puppy you were ok to wonder around and come in without knocking didn't your mother ever teach you manners but don't worry me and Stevie are going to teach you doesn't matter how long it takes either"

[girl-of-many-fandoms]

Hey everyone!

I don’t come on here to argue or complain but it’s been brought to my attention that this user katepakulak is currently stealing and posting mine and other creator’s hard work as theirs, no credit being given to the original writer.

This is not acceptable by any means.

[st4rqirl444]

i’m gonna attempt to start writing up here again so please request because i have no clue what to write plot wise. also it’s mostly gonna be x men because im quite literally obsessed with them rn but its other ppl too mostly marvel tho for right now😼🤭

characters i’ll write for - logan howlett, young charles xavier, young erik lehnsherr, alex summers, scott summers, mystique/raven, hank mccoy, kurt wagner, deadpool, young colossus, remy labeau, pietro or peter maximoff, stephan strange, loki, jean grey, storm, wanda maximoff, steve rogers, peter parker (andrew’s version), dean winchester, sam winchester.

there might be people im forgetting but if someone you want is not on the list feel free to just ask! i can also write for celebs if you want like ryan reynolds, hugh jackman, pedro pascal etc.

anyways you can request one shots, headcannons or blurbs but i will most likely not write smut because i have never written it and im shit at it

anyways have a great day ! 🤞

[gemstone-roses]

I’ve just uploaded all my works onto A03, you can read them there, my user is Gemstoneroses. I will be posting new works on there too. I will not be accepting any requests.

At the end of the month I will no longer be checking this app or updating this blog . To my mutuals / friends I’ve made since the beginning of this blog in 2020. feel free to dm me and I’ll send you my insta.

Lots of love. 🫶

[greenandsorrow]

Welcome to Freddy's!

Multi chap

"I can fix him." - William Afton x fem!reader/ nsfw

Welcome to Gravity Falls!

Oneshots

Time - dad!Stan x gn!reader/ sfw, platonic (🦋)

Welcome to Hawkins!

Oneshots

You're my best friend - Eddie Munson x fem!reader/ sfw

Welcome to Derry!

Drabbles

Down the drain, Bittywise. - Pennywise x gn!reader/ sfw

Multi chap

If the monster under your bed never hurt you, maybe it was there to protect you. - Pennywise bonding with a teenager!reader/ platonic

Longlegs

Headcanons

Dale's (sexual) presence, hygiene, etc/ nsfw

Oneshots

Clove and Copper - Dale Kobble x fem!reader/ smut

Slashers misc

Headcanons

the slashers x fem!actress!reader/ sfw mostly <-(Pennywise included)

how to support the writer; click here

general masterlist

[urdreamydoodles]

MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER

Marvel Comics Characters Realizing They Are Jealous

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Marc Spector, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa & Elektra Natchios

Peter Parker aka. Spider-Man

- Peter Parker has always told himself he’s not the jealous type. He knows better. He’s seen what obsession does to a person, how it corrodes and twists and turns something good into something dark. He swore he’d never be that guy, the one who grips too tight, who loses sight of what matters. And yet, as he watches some stranger lean in close, flashing a smile that’s just a little too confident, he feels it coil inside him—hot, sharp, unexpected.

- His fingers twitch, and he clenches his fists like he’s bracing for a fight, even though there’s no real battle here. Just words, just glances, just you laughing at something someone else said. And Peter—who has fought gods and monsters, who has lost more than he ever thought he could survive—finds himself standing frozen, drowning in something far more terrifying than any villain.

- He tries to be rational. Tries to remind himself that you’re not his, that he has no right to this feeling clawing at his ribs. But then your head tilts, your lips part in that familiar, effortless smile, and it hits him like a fist to the gut: he wants to be the reason you smile like that. He wants to be the only one.

- The moment passes, the stranger moves on, and Peter still can’t breathe right. He should let it go, should shake it off, but when you turn to him, bright-eyed and oblivious to the war raging in his chest, all he can do is force a grin and hope you don’t notice the way his voice strains when he speaks.

- Later, alone in his room, he presses his forehead against his hand and exhales shakily. He’s in trouble. So much trouble. Because Peter Parker? He’s never been good at letting things go. And now, he doesn’t think he can let you go, either.

Tony Stark aka. Iron Man

- Tony Stark doesn’t get jealous. That’s what he tells himself, anyway. He’s been around the block too many times, seen too many people come and go, to let something as petty as jealousy get under his skin. He’s Tony Stark. He’s seen it all. So when he spots some smooth-talking nobody leaning into your space, flashing that kind of grin he perfected years ago, he should laugh it off. Should.

- But he doesn’t. Instead, there’s a flicker of something sharp and ugly curling in his chest, something possessive and unfamiliar. It’s ridiculous, really. He could have anyone, could fill a room with people hanging onto his every word, but none of them matter. Not the way you do.

- He swirls the whiskey in his glass, eyes narrowing as he watches the way you tilt your head, the way your lips quirk in amusement. It’s harmless, he tells himself. You’re just being polite. But his jaw tightens all the same, and suddenly, the ice in his drink isn’t the only thing cold in the room.

- He doesn’t make a scene. No, Tony Stark never needs to. Instead, he waits until you’re alone, leans in with a smirk that’s just a little too sharp, and says, “Didn’t know you had a thing for guys who wear cheap cologne.” You roll your eyes, laughing, but there’s something in his voice that makes you pause. Something raw beneath the bravado.

- Later, when you’re gone, Tony leans back against his chair, rubbing a hand down his face. Damn it. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. But now that he does, now that he’s seen what it would be like to lose your attention, he knows one thing for certain—he’s not going to let that happen again.

Steve Rogers aka. Captain America

- Steve Rogers likes to believe he’s patient. He’s fought wars, survived decades of loss, and carried burdens most men would crumble under. He’s not impulsive. Not reckless. He’s better than that. Or at least, he thought he was—until now.

- The sight of someone else standing too close to you, their voice too low, their gaze lingering just a second too long—it sparks something in him, something old and primal and dangerous. His fingers tighten around the coffee cup in his hands, his jaw locking as he forces himself to breathe.

- He knows he has no claim on you. No right to this feeling twisting inside him. But that doesn’t stop the way his chest tightens, the way his pulse kicks up in something too close to fight-or-flight. He’s fought wars, but this? This is different. This is personal.

- He doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t stake a claim—Steve isn’t the kind of man to do that. But when you finally turn away from the conversation, when your eyes meet his across the room, there’s something there—something in the way he looks at you, steady and unyielding, that makes your breath catch.

- And maybe, just maybe, you see it too. The truth of it. The confession that lingers in the space between you, unsaid but undeniable. Steve Rogers is a patient man. But even he has his limits. And when it comes to you? He won’t let someone else take what should have been his.

Thor Odinson aka. God of Thunder

- Thor Odinson does not know jealousy the way mortals do. He does not simmer in silence, does not let resentment fester like a slow-growing storm. No, when Thor feels, he feels. And right now, he feels the weight of something heavy, something possessive, something undeniable.

- He watches as another person captures your attention, as their voice fills the air where his should be. And though he does not doubt your loyalty, though he knows the strength of his own heart, something inside him rumbles. A warning. A storm brewing on the horizon.

- He does not shrink. He does not sulk. Instead, he acts. With slow, deliberate steps, he crosses the room, placing himself at your side with the ease of a warrior reclaiming his place on the battlefield. “Ah, my friend,” he says, voice rich with warmth, though his grip on his hammer is just a fraction too tight. “Are you enjoying my beloved’s company?”

- The title slips from his lips before he can stop it. Beloved. It is instinct, raw and unfiltered, and when you glance at him in surprise, he meets your gaze without hesitation. There is no retreat, no denial—only the thunderous certainty of a god who knows what is his.

- And in that moment, as realization dawns in your eyes, Thor Odinson understands—there is no turning back from this. And by the gods, he does not want to.

Loki Laufeyson aka. God of Mischief

- Loki is not a fool. He sees things others miss, reads between the lines of every conversation, every fleeting glance. He is a god of mischief, a master of deception. And yet, for all his cunning, he did not see this coming.

- He did not expect to feel the sharp sting of jealousy as someone else’s words make you smile. He did not expect the coil of irritation tightening in his chest as he watches you lean in, drawn into a conversation that is not with him. And above all, he did not expect the slow, creeping realization that follows: he cares.

- The thought unsettles him. Love, affection—these things are not meant for him. He has been cast aside too many times, burned by his own foolishness, by the cruelty of fate. And yet… here you are, undoing him with nothing but a laugh that isn’t even meant for him.

- He does not confront it, not directly. Instead, he sidles up beside you, his presence a whisper of silk and shadows, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “Surely, you do not find them that charming?” The words are laced with amusement, but his fingers twitch at his sides.

- And when you turn to him, curiosity flickering in your gaze, he holds it—holds you—longer than he should. He will not admit it. Not yet. But the seed has been planted, and gods help him, he does not know if he has the strength to pull it free.

Clint Barton aka. Hawkeye

- Clint Barton isn’t the type to take himself too seriously. Life’s too short, and his luck’s too bad for that. He rolls with the punches, cracks a joke when things get tough, keeps it light—because that’s what keeps him sane. But watching someone else flirt with you? Yeah, that’s not funny.

- He tells himself he doesn’t care. You’re not his, you don’t owe him anything, and really, it’s probably his own damn fault for never making a move. But still, there’s this tightness in his chest, a slow-burning irritation curling in his stomach, and suddenly, he’s gripping his drink a little too hard.

- He could walk away. Should walk away. But instead, he lingers at the edge of the room, watching, waiting, fingers tapping against his thigh like he’s counting down the seconds before he does something stupid. And when you laugh at something that guy says? Yeah, that’s when he snaps.

- He doesn’t make a scene. No, Clint Barton is too smooth for that. Instead, he saunters over, slides an arm around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and grins at the guy like he’s already won. “Hey, sweetheart. Who’s your friend?” His voice is light, teasing, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it. A warning.

- And when you glance up at him, confused but not pulling away, Clint feels something settle inside him. Something warm, something right. Maybe he’s been an idiot. Maybe he’s been avoiding this for too long. But he knows one thing for damn sure—he’s not letting anyone else steal what should’ve been his all along.

Natasha Romanoff aka. Black Widow

- Natasha Romanoff is a master of control. Of reading a room, of keeping her emotions locked behind an unshakable mask. But this? This is unexpected. This burn in her chest, this sharp, cutting edge of irritation curling along her spine as she watches someone else pull you into a conversation that should be hers.

- She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t let a single crack show. But her eyes follow every movement, her fingers tapping an idle rhythm against her thigh, the only outward sign of the storm brewing beneath the surface. It’s ridiculous, really. You’re not hers. You’re free to do whatever you want. And yet…

- Yet, when you tilt your head, smiling at something they say, something inside her snaps. It’s subtle, barely there, but she moves—slipping through the crowd with effortless grace, coming to stand beside you, close enough that her presence demands attention.

- “Interesting conversation?” she asks, voice smooth as silk, but there’s something dangerous in the way she tilts her head, in the slight smirk playing at her lips. The person flirting with you hesitates, suddenly unsure, suddenly feeling like prey in the presence of a predator. And Natasha? She enjoys it.

- Later, when you’re alone, she leans in, voice softer now, more real. “You should be more careful,” she murmurs, fingers brushing yours. “Some people don’t deserve your attention.” And though she doesn’t say it outright, you hear the truth behind the words. She wants you for herself. And Natasha Romanoff always gets what she wants.

Bucky Barnes aka. The Winter Soldier

- Bucky Barnes has been through hell. He’s lost more than most, suffered in ways he doesn’t talk about, and rebuilt himself from the ground up. He knows better than to let himself get attached. But when he sees someone else standing too close to you, when he watches them steal your attention, something inside him goes cold.

- It’s not anger. Not exactly. It’s something deeper, heavier, a pressure in his chest that won’t ease no matter how hard he tries to ignore it. He doesn’t like this—this feeling of being on the outside, of watching you smile at someone who isn’t him.

- He clenches his jaw, looks away, tries to focus on something else. But then, as if the universe is testing him, he hears it—your laugh. Soft, genuine, warm. And it wrecks him. Because that laugh? It’s his favorite sound. And he doesn’t want anyone else to have it.

- He doesn’t move right away. He’s still figuring this out, still sorting through the mess of emotions he doesn’t know what to do with. But when you finally turn to him, eyes bright and unknowing, he meets your gaze and holds it. And for the first time, maybe ever, he lets the truth slip through.

- “Didn’t think I was the jealous type,” he admits, voice rough, words meant just for you. And when your lips part, surprised, he only smirks, shaking his head. “Guess I was wrong.”

Matthew Murdock aka. Daredevil

- Matt Murdock is a patient man. He has to be. He’s spent his entire life walking the razor’s edge between control and chaos, between justice and vengeance. But this? This is different. This isn’t a courtroom battle or a rooftop fight—this is you, smiling at someone else, and it is unraveling him in ways he doesn’t expect.

- He can hear everything—the steady heartbeat of the person flirting with you, the subtle shift in your tone, the way your breath catches just slightly before you laugh. It’s innocent. Harmless. And yet, his grip on his cane tightens, his jaw locks, and he hates the way his pulse betrays him.

- He’s never been good at sharing. It’s not in his nature, not when it comes to things that matter. And you? You matter. More than he’s willing to admit. More than he should ever let himself believe.

- He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t step in. But when the conversation ends, when you finally come back to him, he tilts his head and murmurs, “They seemed… interesting.” There’s a sharp edge to his voice, something unreadable behind his glasses. And when you chuckle, brushing it off, he exhales slowly, forcing himself to let it go.

- But later, when it’s just the two of you, his fingers linger when they touch yours. His voice is softer, quieter when he says, “Just—don’t let someone else take what they don’t deserve, okay?” And though he doesn’t say it outright, you understand what he means. He wants to be the only one.

Frank Castle aka. The Punisher

- Frank Castle doesn’t get jealous. At least, that’s what he tells himself. Jealousy is for men who have something to lose, for men who still believe in the kind of love that doesn’t end in blood. And Frank? He doesn’t have that luxury.

- But then he sees you—sees them, standing too close, talking too smooth, and something inside him goes black. His blood turns to fire, his muscles coil tight, and suddenly, he has to remind himself not to break something.

- He watches. Silent. Dangerous. The kind of quiet that makes lesser men nervous, that turns a warm room cold. And when your laughter rings out, light and unknowing, Frank swears he feels something crack inside him.

- He doesn’t make a move. Doesn’t say a word. But when the conversation ends, when you finally turn and meet his eyes, there’s something dark and unreadable waiting there. Something that should scare you. But it doesn’t.

- Later, in the dead of night, he exhales smoke into the silence and mutters, “Should’ve killed ‘em.” And maybe he’s joking. Maybe he’s not. But either way, Frank Castle knows one thing for sure—he’s never letting anyone else think they have a chance with you. Not while he’s still breathing.

Marc Spector aka. Moon Knight

- Marc Spector has always been a man of war. His heart is battle-worn, his soul stitched together by vengeance and duty. Love? Love is dangerous. Love makes you weak. But when he sees someone else’s hand resting just a little too long on your arm, when he watches their eyes linger on you the way only he should be allowed to—Marc feels something snap.

- It’s not a rational thing. No, it’s visceral, instinctual, an old wound torn open and bleeding jealousy into his ribs. His fingers twitch, his vision narrows, and for a brief, fleeting second, the weight of Khonshu’s will presses against his skull. Hurt them. Make them regret it.

- But then, you laugh—soft, unknowing, untouched by the storm raging inside him. And that’s what stops him. That’s what saves him. Because you don’t need his darkness. You deserve something gentler than him.

- So he stays where he is, jaw tight, fists clenched, shadows curling around his thoughts like whispers in the night. He doesn’t interfere. Not yet. But when you finally turn to him, oblivious to the war he’s fighting inside, his voice is low, rough, edged with something he doesn’t dare name.

- “Let’s go.” It’s not a request. And when you blink up at him, confused but willing, Marc exhales. You’ll never know just how close he came to losing himself for you.

Johnny Storm aka. Human Torch

- Johnny Storm doesn’t do jealousy. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself. He’s too cool for that, too charming, too damn good-looking to ever feel threatened. But the second he sees someone else trying to steal your attention, the easy confidence he’s built around himself starts to flicker.

- He keeps it casual at first—leans against the bar, crosses his arms, smirks like he’s just so amused by whatever’s happening. But beneath that cocky grin, his fingers tighten against the glass in his hand, and the tips of his ears burn hot.

- He tries to laugh it off. Makes a joke at your expense, something playful, something light. But when you don’t immediately turn back to him, when you keep talking to them, the flames inside him rise, licking at the edges of his restraint.

- “Okay, that’s cute,” he finally mutters, before striding over and slinging an arm around your shoulders with deliberate ease. His smile is bright, a little too sharp, as he looks the other person up and down. “You make friends fast, huh?”

- He plays it off well. Too well. But later, when you’re alone, he mutters, almost to himself, “Y’know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to kill me.” And when you laugh, shaking your head, he exhales. Yeah, he’s in trouble. Big trouble.

Reed Richards aka. Mister Fantastic

- Reed Richards has spent his life solving impossible equations, unraveling the mysteries of the universe, conquering the unknown with nothing but his mind. But this? This is a problem he doesn’t know how to fix.

- He sees you—sees them—standing too close, exchanging words he can’t quite hear over the noise of the room. Logic tells him he has no reason to react. You are not a variable in an equation he controls. And yet, the sharp sting of possessiveness coils in his chest, irrational and unrelenting.

- He tells himself to let it go. There is no scientific basis for jealousy. It is an emotional impulse, a flaw in human reasoning. And yet, his fingers tighten around the pen in his hand, his mind fracturing into a thousand calculations, each one ending in the same conclusion:

- He does not want to lose you.

- Later, when he finally speaks, it’s careful, measured, spoken in that calm, analytical tone that betrays nothing. “You seemed… engaged in that conversation.” It’s not an accusation, not quite, but when you tilt your head at him, curious, he wonders if maybe, just maybe, he’s already lost the upper hand.

Felicia Hardy aka. Black Cat

- Felicia Hardy doesn’t do jealousy. She’s far too confident, far too aware of her own power, to feel threatened by someone else’s presence in your orbit. And yet, when she sees them flirting with you—sees their hand brushing your arm, sees your lips curve at whatever they said—she feels something sharp and territorial curl inside her.

- She doesn’t react immediately. No, Felicia Hardy is far too strategic for that. Instead, she watches, waits, lets them think they have a chance. And then, just when they start to relax, she makes her move.

- “Mind if I cut in?” Her voice is silk, smooth and effortless, her fingers trailing along your arm as she steps between you and the intruder. She doesn’t even have to look at them to know they’ve already lost.

- She leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, her voice dropping to something only you can hear. “Careful, kitten. You don’t want to get tangled up with the wrong person.” And when you shiver—when you look at her the way she wants you to—she knows she’s won.

- Later, as you walk together, she smirks, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You should be more careful who you flirt with.” And when you laugh, shaking your head, she only grins wider. You were always going to be hers.

Stephen Strange aka. Doctor Strange

- Stephen Strange has never been the kind of man to fear losing something. He has conquered the impossible, rewritten fate, bent the very fabric of reality to his will. And yet, when he sees you with them—sees you laugh, sees you lean in—he feels something disturbingly close to fear.

- He tells himself it’s illogical. That he has no claim to you, that what you do is none of his concern. But the words taste hollow in his mouth, and the air around him hums with restrained magic, with emotions he refuses to name.

- He doesn’t intervene—not at first. No, Stephen Strange is not a man of petty impulses. But when the conversation lingers too long, when he sees them touch your arm, he exhales sharply and moves.

- “I wasn’t aware we were entertaining guests.” His voice is even, his expression unreadable, but there is something unmistakably sharp in his gaze as he steps beside you. The other person stiffens. Good.

- Later, when you question him about it, he only lifts a brow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But the way his fingers graze your wrist, the way his magic lingers against your skin? It tells a different story. One he isn’t ready to say aloud. Not yet.

Namor aka. The Sub-Mariner

- Namor is a king. A warrior. A god among men. He has no reason to feel jealousy, no reason to regard anyone as his competition. And yet, when he sees another lingering too close, their gaze trailing over you with something unearned, his blood boils.

- He watches, expression composed but dangerous, as they speak to you, as they dare to bask in your presence. Do they think they are worthy? Do they believe, for even a moment, that they can take what Namor has already claimed in his heart?

- He does not interrupt—not immediately. No, Namor is patient, calculating. He waits for the perfect moment, stepping forward with regal, effortless confidence, his presence alone enough to command attention. His fingers brush your arm, a deliberate, possessive motion. “My dear, surely you do not waste your time with this one?”

- His voice is smooth, edged with something sharp. The poor fool who thought they had a chance swallows hard, sensing the shift in the air. Namor does not need to fight for you. He simply reclaims what is his.

- Later, when you tease him about it, his only response is a slow, knowing smirk. “You belong at my side, and my side alone.” And when you see the certainty in his gaze, you realize—he’s not asking. He’s declaring.

Johnny Blaze aka. Ghost Rider

- Johnny Blaze has never been a man of peace. His soul is battle-worn, haunted by fire and vengeance. But nothing—nothing—burns quite like the sight of someone else trying to steal your attention.

- His jaw tightens, his grip on the edge of the bar going white-knuckled as he watches. He tells himself to let it go. He’s not the type to get jealous, right? But the Rider in his chest—the monster wrapped in fire and bone—growls in warning.

- He doesn’t make a scene. He doesn’t say a word. Instead, he moves, slow and deliberate, stepping into the conversation like he was always meant to be there. His presence alone is enough to shift the atmosphere—dangerous, electric.

- He doesn’t glare, doesn’t threaten, but when his dark, firelit gaze locks onto the poor bastard who thought they had a chance, the message is clear. Back off. Now. And they do. Because everyone does, eventually.

- Later, when you ask if he was jealous, he scoffs, looking away. “Jealous? Nah. Just didn’t like their face.” But the way his hand lingers on your hip, the way his body hums with unspoken possession? Yeah, he’s a terrible liar.

Eddie Brock & Venom aka. Venom

- Eddie Brock knows jealousy. It’s been his constant companion—festering, clawing at his insides long before the symbiote ever took root in his veins. But this—seeing you smile at someone else, seeing their eyes linger on you—it’s a different kind of ache.

- “We do not like this.” The voice slithers through his mind, low and possessive, the symbiote pressing against his ribs like it wants out. Eddie grits his teeth, his fingers flexing as he tries to shove down the urge to tear something apart.

- He tells himself it’s fine. You’re not his. Not really. But when that idiot reaches out—when their hand dares to brush against you—Venom surges forward before he can stop it. A dark, twisted growl bubbles from his throat, something inhuman.

- The poor bastard nearly jumps out of their skin. “What the hell was that?” they mutter, backing away as a shadow flickers over Eddie’s eyes. And when you glance at him, brow furrowed, he exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders. “Dunno. Must be the wind.”

- Later, when Venom whispers, “We should eat them,” Eddie just mutters, “No, we shouldn’t.” But as you walk beside him, unaware of the war raging inside him, he wonders—what would it take for you to see that you’re already his?

T’Challa aka. Black Panther

- T’Challa is not a man ruled by petty emotions. He has been raised in the art of restraint, taught that a king must always remain in control. But when he sees another vying for your attention, when he watches their hand hover too close—his restraint is tested.

- He does not react immediately. No, he simply observes, his expression unreadable, his mind already three steps ahead. There is no need for outbursts, no need for crude displays of possession. T’Challa wins wars with patience and precision.

- And so, when the moment is right, he moves—effortless, calculated, undeniable. His voice is smooth as he steps into your space, his hand settling gently at the small of your back. “Forgive my interruption,” he says, gaze flickering to the would-be suitor, voice full of quiet authority. “But I believe I was promised this dance.”

- The other person falters, unsure, outmatched in a game they did not even realize they were playing. T’Challa does not need to fight for you. He simply reminds the world who he is.

- Later, when you tease him about it, his lips curve into something soft, something secret. “You are… precious to me.” And though he does not say more, the look in his eyes is enough. You are not just a passing fancy. You are a queen, and he will not let anyone take you from him.

Elektra Natchios aka. Elektra

- Elektra is not jealous. Jealousy is for the weak, for the foolish, for those who lack the confidence to take what they want. But when she sees them—sees you—laughing at something someone else said, her knives feel heavier at her hips.

- She does not make a scene. No, Elektra is far too skilled in the art of subtlety for that. Instead, she watches, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Not with violence—not yet.

- When she finally moves, it’s with all the grace of a predator circling its prey. She doesn’t touch you, not immediately, but she steps into your space like she belongs there. And when she finally speaks, it’s a soft, amused purr—“Surely you don’t find them interesting?”

- Her hand traces your wrist, feather-light, but the weight of it is undeniable. She doesn’t even look at the other person. They don’t matter. They never did.

- Later, when you tell her she was jealous, she only smiles, slow and dangerous. “Jealous? No. But if they touch you again, I’ll consider sharpening my blades.” And something about the way she says it makes you wonder—was she joking?

[nessieart]

The Way Back. II

Summary: These powers were meant to help people. Help The Avengers, your family. It felt like every time you used them, something bad always happened. Maybe someone has the answers, somewhere.

wc: 3.6k

eventual stucky x reader. its way way way later. an: here's part 2! i hope you enjoy!

Part 1

Stephen asked questions about your accident. Though it wasn't like his, he understood the trauma that came with it. You tell him there was a lot of support from your new friends - at the time, who you also bonded with - in an alien invasion.

Stephen manifested the Mirror Dimension so you could show him the full extent of your powers safely. At least what you could grasp yourself from your limited sessions with the Ancient One.

Inhaling a calming breath, you willed the powers from the scar on your chest to come forth. Summoning a cloudy portal was like second nature to you by now. So, instead, the tips of your fingers begin to glow a faint blue, creeping up your hands and forearms, then stopping right at your elbows.

You could feel the power of the Tesseract course through you, barely having to think about it. You slowly ascended off the ground. A trail of light blue energy followed behind you.

If only Tony could see me now, you thought. Would he be proud? You hoped so.

You spun in the air, a smile on your face as you loop around and around, and then you loop back to Stephen, stopping mid-air a few feet from him. There was a smirk on his face as he rose from the ground to match you, the Cloak billowing without wind.

He tapped his fists together, golden mystic symbols bracketing his hands, "Alright, now let's see what you can really do."

&

"How are the two of you still awake?" Wong crosses his arms in front of his chest, a disapproving look on his face. How does he always manage to make you feel like a little kid getting in trouble?

Stephen scoffs next to you, "Please, it hasn't been that-" Wong gives him a reprimanding look and then points to the clock on the wall.

"It's only 1:30, we've been in the library since 9am. What's the big deal?" You barely look up from the tomes in front of you as you reply.

"9 am, yesterday! Have either of you slept? Eaten?"

You and Stephen share a look. Now that you're actually looking at him, you notice the dark circles under his eyes and a little bloodshot. You're sure you're no better. You scrub your hands down your face, leaning back in your chair, and your back cracks as you stretch.

"Maybe we should take a break," you sigh. "Fresh coffee might help," You wiggle your eyebrows, and Stephen chuckles.

Wong gives an exasperated sigh, throwing his hands up in the air as he leaves the study and the two of you.

You return a short while later with a tray, a tea kettle, and mugs. A few snacks are arranged on a plate. Just as you place the tray down on the end table, a loud crash from the entrance hall came reverberating through the room. You and Stephen stare at each other with wide eyes. Stephen held his arm out, and within seconds the Cloak settled on his shoulders as he led you cautiously out of his stufy and to the foyer.

There was a giant hole in the ceiling, a similar one in the stairs below. The sun was streaming down and catching dust and debris in its rays.

Stephen's golden mystic symbols appeared as you both inched closer to the hole in the stairs, your hands glowing blue as you came to a stop. A hand reached up from inside the hole, then another, then a dark curly head of hair.

"Bruce?!"

You teleport to Stephen's room in a heartbeat, grabbing extra clothes for Bruce and then you were back in another beat. They were simple robes and they were better than the tattered pants he was in.

You ushered Bruce to Stephen's study, sat him down and handed him a cup of tea.

And waited.

After a few minutes of sitting in silence, you inched a little closer to Bruce on the couch.

"Bruce?…" you hedge.

He looks up at you after a moment, eyes focusing on you. There's something behind his eyes you've seen before. Fear, confusion. Anxiety.

"Thanos is coming."

A chill runs up your spine, the grip on your mug is tight in your hands. A power surge rushes through your fingers and the mug shatters, spilling hot tea and ceramic shards all over your hands. Stephen squawks in surprise, leaping from his seat to kneel in front of you, taking your hands in his.

"y/n?" he turns your hands over to examine them better, but there is no damage. The mug and its contents lay on the floor at your feet. You stand abruptly, causing Stephen to almost fall over.

"We need Tony," you say to them, Bruce nods.

The portal fizzes to life and you can see Tony and Pepper. "Tony Stark," Stephen steps through the portal, "I'm Dr. Stephen Strange. I'm going to need you to come with me. Sorry. Congratulations on the wedding by the way."

"I'm sorry, are you giving out tickets to something?" Tony steps in front of Pepper, squaring his shoulders.

"We need your help. Look, it's not overselling it to say, the fate of the universe is at stake."

"Who's 'we'?" Tony's eyes squint.

Bruce steps up next to Stephen, "Hi, Tony."

Tony's and Pepper's eyes go wide, Tony engulfing Bruce in a hug.

You stand back in the Sanctum, leaning against the ballistrade, waiting. A wedding? You scoff as Tony steps through the portal, eyes adjusting. You didn't even get an invitation. So much for friends. When his eyes adjust, they scan the foyer, you watch him like a hawk, arms crossed tight over your chest like armor.

He seems to stumble a step, he wasn't expecting you to be here. You've changed, he notices, his eyes searching you up and down. There's a heavy exhale, like he can finally breath again. In a heartbeat he's in front of you, and tugs your shoulders to him and you fall into his bonecrushing embrace. Your hands fall away and you hug him just as tight, face buried under his chin. When did you start to cry?

"God, I've been so worried about you, kid." Tony's voice strains, tight and thick as he mumbles over the lump in his throat. He pulls you back to look at you, eyes searching your face.

"hi, Tony," is all you could manage. How could he miss you? Be worried? He hasn't returned any of your phone calls, texts, hell, you even mailed him an actual letter when you were at Kamar-taj.

You avoid his gaze when his eyes come back to yours.

"I've been trying to get in touch with you for over a year," he tells you. your eyebrows scrunch up. "tried calling and sent a few dozen texts. Ok, maybe a hundred."

"But-"

"One day we were planning a move, and the next you were gone," his hand comes up to your face, thumb wiping under your eye to catch the tear. "thought you-" he cuts himself off, eyes falling over your shoulder.

"I wouldn't. I'd never do that to you, Tony." But you did, didn't you? All but abandoned him like everyone else. Why didn't you just portal to him, it's not like you could never find him. One short skip through your interdementional travel, and this feeling in your chest would be long gone.

But something always came up, some other excuse, more research. Stephen was the appointed Sorcerer Supreme now, and he kept you busy. Or he tried to.

"I've been trying to get in contact with you too, but- did you change your number?" When Tony shakes his head, he pulls his StarkPhone from his pocket.

Stephen steps forward, clearing his throat, "We have more pressing matters at hand, than catching up on what-could-have-beens."

He raises his eyebrow when him over Tony's shoulder. "right," you sigh, "fate of the universe."

&

After that, it all happened so fast. Like the feeling in the air right before storm. That always seems to be your favorite moment. The calm before the storm. But now? It makes your stomach twist, icy tendrils creep up your body in a slow agonizing pace. They climb up your torso, under your arms and then close around your throat.

You fought hard, flying after Tony as fast as you could. To say he was surprised when he saw you backing him up mid-air, would be an understatement. He was even more surprised when a pulse of blue energy flew out of your hand and hit the giant alien brute in the face. Though it hardly fazed it. Tony gave you an approving nod.

As the alien went to raise it's giant mace to swing down on you and Tony, it stopped. A little red mask with giant bug eyes peered at you both over the mace.

"Hey, Mr. Stark! Oh, hi y/n! Geez, I feel like I haven't seen you in ages. How've you been? OH," the alien whent to move its weapon away from Peter. He was tossed far away, you portalled to him and caught him mid-air before he could crash into a building.

"Hi, Peter," you smile at him as you set him on a roof. You were off in the blink of an eye before he could respond.

&

Space wasn't really where you saw the day going. Hell, it wasn't even in your top 10 things you wish you could do.

After sending 'squidward' off into the cold expanse of deep space, you, Tony, Stephen, and Peter, waited. Waited on baited breath as the spaceship continued on auto pilot and naviagted towards its destination.

The planet was barren, A little surreal. Meeting the Guardians of the Galaxy, was an experience, but they were nice. As nice as strangers and strange aliens went.

The plan was simple enough, get the Gauntlet off of Thanos. Win. Simple, right?

"So, you know Thor?" you ask the bug-like woman - Mantis, she said her name was.

She hums happily, 'Oh, yes! He was very handsome. And sad. Also, angry! Floating through space alone would do that, I guess."

"Wait, alone? He wasn't with anyone else? His brother?" There were a million questions running through your mind as Mantis tilted her head, huge bug eyes looking at you, waiting. The antenae on her head dropped slightly, eyes going a little sad.

"I sensed great saddness in him. Hurt, anger, sorrow. Death. Determination. He weeps, in his heart for all the lives lost because of Thanos," her sentence tapered off to a whisper as she spoke.

"Dead? Who-"

You're interrupted by Tony's call of your name. His look of determination sets a fire in your stomach.

&

It didn't work. Deep down, maybe you knew it wouldn't. If Thanos could overpower Thor, Loki, and The Hulk. What chance did you all have? A snowballs chance, you guess.

A large golden clad gauntlet catches you around the throat before you could land another punch to Thanos' smug purple face. His overly large hand dwarfs you, his thumb under your chin and two fingers holding your head in place. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a stone glow on his gauntlet. Your chest heaves and it feels like its on fire.

Thanos hums, eyes searching yours as you fight to get free. Everyone else is littered about the ground, beaten and exhausted.

Tony has Peter's arm wrapped around his shoulders. Both of them leaning on each other for support. Stephen can barely sit up straight without wincing.

Thanos' other hand pulls your robe apart, releaving the crystaline scar on your chest. The sports bra you wear does little to cover up the glow that matches the stone on his knuckles. They glow in tune, pulsing with your heartbeat. His brows crease, eyes filling with something you can't name.

"Oh, Little One, look at you."

You sneer, about to open your mouth, but he presses his thumb into your throat more. Silencing anything you have to say.

"A pity you're on the wrong side," he hums thoughtfully. His other hand comes up to pinch the raised scar on your chest and he tugs.

The scream that rips from your throat is loud and deafening. You think you hear your friends shout your name. Shout for Thanos to stop, plead with him. It feels like hes ripping your ribcage out of your body. The tug of his fingers is determined, the deep connection the scar has to your body feels like its ripping you apart. Your powers are connected to it, they fizzle at the edge of your mind, just out of reach.

Blood starts to trickle out of parts that pulled away from your skin. Thanos mumbles something about you being unique, and he really doesn't want to do this. "It's for your own good." He tugs again and your vision goes white.

Maybe you passed out, because the pain stopped, or you're completly numb to it now. Thanos drops you to the ground like a discarded toy. The hard thud of your body meeting solid ground makes Tony flinch.

"Please," you think you hear Stephen's voice. You turn your head towards his voice, coughing up a bit of blood as you exhale. Your next breath in wheezes. "spare her life, and…and I'll give you the stone."

Tony looks like he's going to protest, but there's tears in his eyes and Peter has to hold him back from running to you.

You grunt, rolling on your side. It takes more effort than it should to move your body. It feels heavy, like laying in molasses. It takes all your energy to find your voice, "N-no. St-Stephen. Do- don't.." your voice is hoarse and raw, you wince at the pain in your vocal chords.

The Space Stone on Thano's gauntlet lights up, illuminating your scar, he sticks his hand above your body and you feel weightless. His hand closes around your torso, squeezing ever so slightly. You have to gasp for breath.

"Look at your friends, Little One," Thanos says in your ear. You can hear his grin, "Look how they would sacrifice everything for you. The future of your world. The universe."

"F- Fuck you,

you grit through clenched teeth. He squeezes you tighter in response.

"Y/N," Stephen pleads your name, you meet his gaze and you can see the tear tracks down his dirty face. "I'm sorry."

You try to give him a reassuring nod, but everything hurts too much to do anything but hold his gaze. The Eye opens and Stephen floats the Time Stone over to Thanos. With his hold loosening, you use the last of your strength to slip free. You portal to the stone before Thanos could get his hands on it.

In a blink, you give Tony, Peter, and Stephen a sad smile. Trying to convey your love, and sorrow, to them. Your hands light up, cradling the stone in your hands, the crystalline scar on your chest burns bright. Maybe you could teleport far away from here, but before you think of anything else, you crush the Time Stone to your chest. You feel a crack, and a shudder runs through you.

It's almost like slow motion, green clouds spring forth after the stone makes contact with your scar. The blast wave knocks everyone around you back. The force creating a crater below your feet. One minute you were hovering above the shattered ground on Titan, and the next, you were gone.

&

Steve has this sinking feeling in his gut. He's trying not to think about it. Just shove it away, like the rest of his feelings and focus on what's ahead. He can worry about everything at a later time.

Steve hasn't seen Bucky in almost 2 years. Leaving him in Wakanda was difficult, to say the least. But maybe not as hard as it was to leave you. Bloody and broken alongside Tony in that cold Siberian bunker.

There's a knock on his door. He was packing what little belongings he had with him. Sam stood at the door, his arms crossed over his chest.

"You really think we can trust Rhodes? That distress signal could be a trap."

Steve heaves a heavy sigh, turning to follow Sam out to their rundown quinjet. Somehow, Natasha had found one, and then Sam and Steve. Wanda and Vision were already on board when the rest of the group arrived. Vision clutching his side as he sat close to Wanda.

"I think," Steve said after a while, "Rhoades wouldn't call us if he didn't have anyone else." And that thought makes his stomach turn.

Where was Tony? Where were you? Steve thought he was leaving the Avengers in capable hands. He even told Tony so in the letter he sent. He didn't expect to hear from him, that's for sure.

He wrote you one as well, but his hopes for a reply fell as the days went by. The months, then a year. He knew you were most likely mad, angry, upset…he could catalog a lot of things you probably felt towards him. Doesn't mean he doesn't miss you any less.

"I also got a call from Bruce," he says quietly to Sam. "Saying that Tony and Y/N were gone," his throat tightens around the words. He's not sure he wants to know what that means.

There's a twist in his stomach again. Get it together.

When Steve's group arrived at the compound, he was a little surprised with how empty it was. Only a few staff working and milling about. When they caught sight of Captain America, wanted fugitive, they scattered.

"Nice welcome wagon," Natasha smirked.

Steve led his group down familiar halls, Natasha, Vision, Wanda and Sam followed dutifully behind him. It was easy to find Rhodes. The confrontation with Ross was inevitable, but at least it was only a hologram.

Then his eyes landed on Bruce, and that feeling of dread wormed its way into his gut again. Bruce peered around the group, his eyes scanning theirs and then back to Steve. Bruce's shoulders slumped as he beckoned them all through.

Steve really wasn't sure what to expect, but finding out that Bruce - The Hulk - was on another planet for the last 2 years, wasn't it. Then he found out about you. Or at least where you've been since he last saw you.

"Thor is missing…or worse…" Bruce grimaced. "Loki he. He sacrificed himself to try and save the rest of his people. What was left of them after Thanos was through, anyway."

Steve was sure the pit in his stomach couldn't get any heavier.

"With Tony and Y/n missing, or." Bruce cut himself off, looking down at his hands before he continued. "with the two of them off world, I wasn't sure who else to turn to. Tony said that - well he gave me the cliffnotes, - what happened between the two of you." Bruce was looking at Steve.

"We know Thanos is after the Stones. If he gets his hands on Doctor Strange's, then there's only one left." Everyone in the room turns their gaze to Vision.

Steve had said they don't trade lives, no matter what. But he thinks he'd sell his soul just to see you one more time. He shouldn't feel this way, not after what happened and the way you looked at him in Siberia.

He was so happy to see Bucky, he looked good. Happy. The hug lingers a little longer than normal, both holding each other a little tighter. Steve didn't want to drag his best friend into another war, but Bucky assured him he'd follow him anywhere.

As Thanos' fist comes down on Steve's face again, he cant help but to grit out your name over his split lips.

Thanos stops, eyes searching to recall where he heard your name before, then his eyes light up and that pit in Steve's stomach wants to drag him under the earth.

"The girl with the scar," Thanos grins, it's not even a question. He knows.

"Where. Is. She?" Steve fights back with all the strength he can muster. After all, he could do this all day.

&

It's cold, was your first thought. It's cold and damp, and there's so much pain. Somewhere. Everywhere.

You groan, shoving your forehead into the gravel beneath you. Whatever happened, it hurts like hell. Placing one hand on the ground, and the other on your chest, you pull yourself up. Sitting back and finding a wall behind you.

Convenient, you think. So you lean back against it, resting your head that pounds with every breath you take and beat of your heart.

It's bright when you peek an eye open, and then slam it shut again.

Maybe I'll just rest here awhile longer.

&

Tony couldn't breath. You were right there. If Peter wasn't holding him back, he could have got to you, told you no. But when did you ever listen to him? God, he was so happy to see you earlier, he had to many things to tell you. He wanted to show you the cabin he had built for him and Pepper. Show you his garden, the new high tech equipment he has in his study. All of it, he wants to share with you.

You're his best friend, other than Rhodey. He has to tell Pepper he found you.

Found you. But now?

Tony filmed the wedding, just because he never heard back from you. To think you were still in New York this whole time. He shook his head.

"What just happened?" Peter muttered. "Wher-where did she go?"

Tony was silent, his eyes haven't left the spot where you disappeared. He takes a ragged breath in. He feels like he's suffocating.

The green and blue mist begins to settle, the last remnants that you were ever there, start to drift away.

"Mr. Stark?"

Tony can't seem to find his voice. He just shakes his head again. Maybe if he closes his eyes, you'll come back.

You had to come back.

"Please," is all that leaves his lips.

--

Next

[stuckasmain]

You know what? I AM going to do something for bunny lake… eventually…

[thehiddlebum]

hello everyone!

finally starting a marvel page after so long and i’m so excited to start writing again, so send in your requests if you like 🫶

my main masterlist is here!

who i write for: { fluff, angst, smut }

marvel ⚡️

loki laufeyson

bucky barnes

steve rogers

thor odinson

stephen strange

other 🌻

tom hiddleston - (jonathon pine, james conrad)

chris evans

sebastian stan

Prompt list

[caseuoiseau]

So lemme get this straight.

I've spent about two years listening to a podcast (Just King Things) in which they "read the works of Stephen King in publication order," which includes a number of films, comics, and other one-off pieces of media in their bonus episodes. That pod is currently up to the mid-late 90s.

I've also been--much more slowly--working my way through the archive of a much longer-running podcast (Jay and Miles X-plain the X-Men) in which the hosts read the entire run of the X-Men books in (mostly) publication order. In my listening, Angel has just been turned into Archangel within the past 10 or so episodes, so we are in '88 or '89.

How is it that this is the way that I find out that someone got peanut butter in my chocolate in

Nineteen Eighty-fucking-Five.

Midnight Pals: X-Men

Stephen King: Submitted for the approval of the midnight society, i call this the tale of when the X-Men fought the literal embodiment of hunger King: it was for a charity comic Poe: oh right right of course Lovecraft: of course Barker: gotcha Koontz: wowww! x men!!

King: so kitty pryde goes to the get some food King: but then suddenly King: she starts losing weight! King: now normally King: i think that sort of this is good King: usually i think the opposite is way scarier King: but this time King: it's bad

King: what's the cause of Kitty Pryde's unnatural weight loss? King: it's the evil mutant ghost embodiment of hunger King: the monstrous force known as King: "hungry" Barker: ba ha ha ha Poe: clive

Barker: "Hungry!?" King: yeah, his name is hungry Barker: like, the adjective? King: yeah i Barker: ah ha ha ha King: i don't see whats so funny King: yeah, his name is hungry King: see, this one time he said to his dad "i'm hungry" King: and his dad said "hi hungry, i'm dad"

King: anyway the point is that its about kitty pryde King: that super hero you all know and love Koontz: i like superman! superman is the best super hero King: ha ha well dean you're certainly entitled to your opinion King: there's no reason for us to fight King: King:

Alan Moore: [appearing in a clap of thunder] who dares call upon the arch magus? King: we need you to settle an argument Moore: speak your question, mortal, and gain wisdom King: who's the best superhero Moore: Moore: do you have any questions that aren't about that

Moore: the arch magus can see through time, control the very movements of the cosmos Moore: and you dare to ask a question about comic books King: well i just thought since you love comics so- Moore: the answer is herbie popnecker King: Moore: herbie popnecker is the best super hero

King: i'm sorry, herbie popnecker? Moore: yes herbie popnecker King: Koontz: Barker: Poe: Lovecraft: Moore: "you want i should bop you with my lollipop?" Moore: haha it doesn't get old!

Moore: i must now return to my mountain fortress [disappears in a clap of thunder] King: Koontz: Poe: Barker: Lovecraft: