Honestly just avengers finding out the truth about NYC after IW, probably from Nebula or Bruce.
Now they know. It doesn't matter anymore.
Thanos has won, and Loki is gone.
There are no amends to make, no comfort to offer, the dead don't care for their empathy, nor their regret.
Would they have saved him if they knew? Probably. But they didn't. Their first ever mission that they have believed to be a huge success turned out to being meaningless: the people who died in NYC stayed dead, the monster behind it wasn't stopped, and they put a tortured man behind bars.
Now the monster has torn up their world. And there is too late to do anything about any of it.
when you grew up as a lonely uncool girl it will never stop haunting you by the way. you will meet a cool person at a bar or the train station or at a friend's party and you can wear your most stylish outfit and striking eye makeup and you will swear that they can see through all of the facade and see the lonely terribly insecure teenage girl you used to be who desperately wanted to connect and you will swear that they know that there is like an insurmountable gap between you. this will happen forever
hilarious that oversized clothes and a shaggy haircut can make marvel fans forget that a man is literally a suicidal meth addict high school dropout with a history of attacking people while under the influence who donated his life to an extremely shady experiment in hopes of finding more/free drugs
Headcanon that some point in the 14 months, John has a huge crashout over not having any real hobbies or interests.
Like all of the thunderbolts got put into therapy (for obvious reasons) and were encouraged to cultivate their interests to help manage their trauma.
Bob reads/watches movies/does puzzles
Ava takes up gaming/tai chi/watches soccer
Yelena paints/also watches movies
Bucky also reads/knits/watches baseball
Alexei binges reality tv like its a fucking olympic sport.
And John?
He quickly realizes that he doesn't really have interests or hobbies in anything. When he was in the military, he had hyper fixated so hard on getting everything right that he never really learned how to unplug other than by scrolling on his phone.
And yeah he played football in high school, but that was mostly because it was what his family expected for him growing up in Georgia. And it's not like he kept it up after he had enlisted. Other than football, he mostly just did whatever Olivia and Lemar wanted to.
But now? Lemar is gone Olivia left him all he's been able to do is endlessly scroll on his phone. Which he can't even do anymore because Yelena somehow installed child locks limiting his screen time when he wasn't looking and he can't seem to get past them.
So now he has to find something to fill his time in between missions.
But, oh god he can't think of anything.
He tries to watch movies with Yelena and Bob, but can't seem to focus on them. Same with trying to watch sports with Ava and Bucky--like he can follow along, but he just doesn't care about the game at all. He is not gonna even try to watch tv with Alexei lmao
John keeps trying on more and more hobbies but just can't seem to get into any of them. And then he starts getting anxious about the fact that he is failing the most basic fucking task of just liking something.
Time for an existential fucking crisis where John questions whether he is even a person at this point.
Eventually everyone realizes that he is having a whole ass mental breakdown over this (it takes a hot minute, bc it is not something any of them expected).
Cue the thunderbolts gently helping john realize that liking things doesn't have to be a thing™ and eventually john gets his beret :)
Yk what's so fucking funny about Bucky knowing Walker's wife left him is Sam definitely told him that, or vice-versa he told Sam. Meaning they definitely gossip about Walker.
"BUCK YOU'RE NEVER GONNA BELIEVE IT OLIVIA LEFT WALKER"
Hii I was wondering if you had any Loki x reader headcanons for a scenario where reader is an avenger and gets injured on a mission and Loki is with them at the hospital/avengers medbay?
Hiii, I hope this is somehow what you thought. Thank you so much for requesting! <3
— Loki masterlist.
Loki was furious when he saw you get hit. He rarely loses composure in battle, but seeing you fall? His daggers and magic flew to the unfortunate enemy before he he takes you out of harm’s way with a burst of green magic.
At the medbay, Loki paces like a caged animal while the med team work on you. He says it’s because he doesn’t trust Midgardian medicine, but it’s obvious he’s worried.
You wake up groggy, sore, and vaguely annoyed by the sound of pacing; boots tapping rhythmically against the medbay floor. He notices the slightest shift in your breathing and instantly goes to your bedside. “Finally. I was beginning to think you enjoyed dramatic unconsciousness.” he'll will say, his voice teasing, but there’s relief flooding every syllable. His posture relaxes only slightly.
If you’re too weak to talk, he sits silently at your side, fingers twitching like he wants to reach for your hand but doesn’t quite dare. He will!!! threaten everyone to save you. “If they die, Midgard will burn.”
While you're recovering, Loki refuses to leave your side. “And leave them alone in this ridiculous sterile prison? I think not.” Thor insists on trying to drag him out to rest and ends up turned into a frog for some hours.
He magics your pillows to be more comfortable and conjures little illusions for you; floating stars, fireflies, or projections of Asgard, to distract you from the pain. Wanda calls him your "personal spell-powered watchdog."
As your strength returns, so does your usual spark, and Loki sees it in the way you roll your eyes at his dramatic monologues and tease him aboyt his bedside manner.
As your injuries heal, you begin physical therapy with a mix of Stark-tech machines and Asgardian enchantments. Loki supervises both, naturally. “Careful, fragile midgardian bones. Your femur is probably held together by chewing gum and sentiment.” Tony is so done.
You ask if he stayed with you because he was worried and he scoffs. “Worried? Please. I merely didn’t trust the mortals not to misplace a kidney or sew you up backwards.”
John Walker explores the traces of love he left on you the night before.
warnings: genderless reader, implied sex, bruising, reader is kind of a cuck. [0.6k words]
notes: please continue to leave john walker requests (or any other characters for that matter) in my inbox! if i’m familiar with the character, i will consider writing!
main masterlist
Dawn’s whispers of sun flickered through thick black-out curtains, New York’s sunrise sky finding consciousness.
Pinned beneath Johnathan Walker’s sheets, your lips were swollen, bruised pink with the pressure of his lips.
Your eyes traced his bare chest, auburn freckles scattering over his scarred skin.
He stopped wearing a shirt to bed as spring turned to summer, and you were eternally grateful for the passing of seasons.
The sight before you—Captain John Walker domesticated and flushed, the thin veil of sweat clinging to the roots of his pale tresses remnant of the night prior—it was enough to make your chest swell.
Your whole life you’d wished for something aggressive; the rough pressure of lips under a brewing storm, but like you and John had both learned, humans will drown in passion.
John’s careworn fingers brushed over the stretch of your collarbone, dipping into the hollows your anatomy made.
Being with John was antithetical to that fervour. It was quiet devotion; a natural instinct.
His touch faltered over a cluster of blooming bruises, bringing his thumb to trace the mulberry flush over your neck.
He admired the marks, physical proof of labour of his love, like words etched in your skin.
“Good-morning,” you whispered, beaming up at him like the soundless echo of the sun.
He dipped his head, blonde curls falling over his eyes as he pressed a deep kiss into the bow of your lips.
“I like these,” his tone just shy of nervous as he dragged a fingertip down the stretch of your skin, still enamoured with his work.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he murmured, doe-eyed, staring down at you.
A giggle erupted from your throat, giddy, “Well, get a good look now.”
He pursed his lips, pale brows knotting.
“I’ll have to cover them up when we go to work.”
He shook his head, his throat grating with a pent-up groan, “Please, please say you won’t.”
You pressed your open palm into the blonde stubble of his jaw, ignoring his plea, “You look really good right now, you know.”
His rough hands moulded against your hips, fingertips digging into sheer cotton.
“Yeah?” he asserted.
“Yeah.”
“You look good too,” he whispered, nipping the sensitive skin against your pulse.
He quieted as his mouth found yours, his begging silenced against the heat of your lips.
Your nails curled into the scruff of blonde tresses, leaving a swell of vermillion scratches down his neck.
Muscle wrapped around your waist as he slid you over his hips.
Each embrace of your mouth drew him into a fervour—growing feral, his technique diminished as his kiss grew sloppy.
John sighed into your ear, a growling rasp, “I’m going fucking crazy.”
His tongue moved with vehemence, softly running against the pink of your lips.
❝ I just want to look at you like this for a moment. ❞
❝ Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this? ❞
You won’t break me. I promise. ❞. For our Corporal
our corporal 🥹
Lewis didn't know how he ended up back home. Back in bed with you, but it didn't really matter. Not with you panting and blushing beneath him in nothing but that too short nightgown you knew drove him mad.
"Honey," he breathed his name for you and you smiled.
"Come here," you whispered back.
He felt your hands thread into his hair and it made him grunt, his eyelids flutter. Such a simple touch and he was already falling apart. His hips rolled forward into your leg, hard and aching, and it made you giggle. Then you pulled him down into a kiss and it felt like he could breathe for the first time since he crossed an ocean away from you. Your lips were so soft against his, perfect. But he grinned when he pulled back and you whined high in your throat.
"I just wanna look at you like this for a moment," he said, pushing your hair back behind your ear. "You look beautiful."
You just smiled and blushed, like you always did when he complimented you. But he couldn't just look at you forever. Not with you wriggling your hips and pawing at his chest like that. It made him smile as he ducked down to mouth at your neck.
"God, do you know how long I've been waiting for this?" he muttered.
"Too long, my love."
Wait, when did he get inside you? When did he take that nightgown off? When did you get so fucked out looking, glassy eyed and breathless and sweaty, like he had made you finish as many times as you could count? He thrusted slowly, cautiously, and your walls hugged him in a way he had only dreamed about. You whimpered beneath him and he couldn't stop the choked noise that escaped his throat.
"Fuck, honey, you feel so good," he spoke against your sweat slick skin.
You hummed in response, fingernails digging into his shoulders. Then you huffed and muttered: "You won't break me. I promise."
That broke something in Lewis. He had wanted this for so long. Wanted you for so long. Waited and waited and waited with nothing but your letters and his hand in the middle of the night to satiate him. He practically growled as he hooked your legs over his shoulders and pistoned his hips into. Rough and hard and making him see stars. You cried out, hands clutching at him as you chanted his name like a prayer.
"Lewis, please don't go," you begged him breathlessly.
"I'm not - I'm not goin' anywhere, honey."
But then his eyes snapped open. Darkness. The top of a canvas tent. The sounds of soldiers milling about outside. He wasn't home. You weren't with him. His jaw clenched and his fists tightened, ready to hit the next thing that entered his vision.
pixelskylines
tangentwithtanner
jimmyeatworldofficial
germansingergirl
areudirty
