❝𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐥 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬❞
𝟣𝟣. 𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝒹𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒸𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝒷𝒶𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒/𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃, 𝑒𝓉𝒸…
Pairing(s): Marvel Characters x Female! reader
WARNING: THIS CHAPTER INCLUDES DEATH AND BLOOD
tags: l content: fluff, jealousy, blood, death, Comfort Fic, Mission Gone Wrong, Kidnapped Reader, Injured Reader, Possessive Love, Emotional Support
AN: HEYY GUYSSS, I hope u like it! SORRY FOR EVERY MISTAKE HAHAH, ALSO my requests are stillll opennn so feel free to ring me up!
Steve Rogers / Captain America
You were wrapping up a busy morning at the flower store when it happened. The bell above the front door rang, indicating another customer, but this time, a bunch of guys jumped in. They were harsh and definitely not here to buy flowers. They did not say anything, but grabbed you and demanded to know where Captain America was. You attempted to struggle back, but their hold was too powerful. One of them held a pistol to your side, which silenced you quickly. You were afraid.
They pulled you out of the store and threw you in the back of a vehicle. Your thoughts and heart were racing.
They wanted Steve, and they knew exactly how to find him. As the van raced away, you realized you wouldn't be able to get out of this alone.
Hours passed, and Steve had no idea. He was in the middle of a meeting with the Avengers when his phone rang with an unfamiliar number. His stomach fell just when he replied, when he heard your voice shaking on the other end of the line.
Steve was a man of action, therefore, there was no time to spend. He dropped everything and instantly began planning to get you back. The drive to the destination was a haze. Steve's hands gripped the wheel tightly, his thoughts racing through every possibility. He was aware of the risks. He knew that the guys who were capturing you would not hesitate to hurt you. However, there was no turning back. He was not going to lose you like that.
He eventually arrived in an abandoned warehouse, as the kidnappers had described. It was disturbingly silent. Steve crept inside, his senses on full alert. He went fast and quietly, taking down every guard in his way. His concentration was focused on one thing: bringing you to safety.
When he finally found you, you were trapped in a small room with your wrists tied and your face pale from stress and a lack of food. You looked up, shocked to see him, but the relief rushed over you and caused your chest to constrict. Steve raced up to you without saying anything, his hands quickly reaching for your shackles. He mumbled your name and looked you over quickly.
"It's okay, I'm here," he murmured, his voice raspy with emotion. "You're safe now."
You nodded, too overwhelmed to say anything, tears welling in your eyes. He drew you into his arms, clutching you hard as if proving to himself that you were indeed present, alive, and in his arms.
Steve's Protective Nature: After the kidnapping, Steve becomes extremely protective of you. He's constantly checking in on you to make sure you're well and nothing else happens. If you are out of his sight for too long, he becomes nervous.
Steve's physical affection has grown more intense, particularly in public places. He does not mind showing affection, but it is obvious that he is still dealing with the fear of losing you. When you're together, he'll make a point of holding your hand or wrapping his arm around you, especially if others are there.
His Guilt - Steve feels terribly bad about the incident. He hates himself for not defending you sooner, which often leads to times of silent meditation in which he simply stares out into space, thinking. He may even apologize repeatedly, regardless of your assurances that it was not his fault.
The First Time He Lets Himself Sleep- Steve struggles to sleep after settling in for the first time. He is terrified of losing you, and he is often up at night, keeping an eye on you. He eventually comes to trust that you are secure. The first time he falls asleep in your arms, he gets his first complete night of sleep in days.
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You used to joke with Tony that dating a millionaire Avenger was a combination of luxury and near-death incidents. You never believed you'd be proven correct.
It started as a routine day at the Stark-Malibu mansion. The sun was beautiful over the water, the AI was playing your favorite music while you prepared breakfast, and Tony had just stepped in wearing nothing but sweatpants and his smug little smirk.
"Good morning, gorgeous," he replied, stooping down to kiss your forehead before pouring his coffee.
You expected another quiet day. You were wrong.
The windows smashed first. A missile, followed by another, struck the cliffside property with terrible power. You shouted as glass rained down around you, and you ran behind the bar just in time. The house is shaking. The alarms boomed.
"JARVIS, suit!" Tony shouted, and in an instant, bits of his Iron Man armor rushed towards him from across the room, clamping onto his upper body.
He looked at you while explosions shook the floor of your house. "Stay down. No matter what, don't leave this area."
But he was already gone, flying into the sky to stop anybody who tried to harm his house. You shook, your heart pounded, and your ears rang. The mansion crumbled around you. Smoke engulfed the air. You couldn't breathe.
You crawled into Tony's hidden panic room, murmuring prayers under your breath that he would be well.
Not until the door was wrenched open and Tony appeared in the entrance, covered in soot and grime, eyes wild until they landed on you.
"You're okay," he whispered, falling to his knees in front of you. "You're okay."
After the attack, Tony activates Hyper-Protective Mode, providing complete protection. He replaces your phone with Stark-level technology, provides you with AI security, and insists on putting defensive procedures anywhere you go, even your favorite bookshop.
Tony sleeps with one eye open and struggles to sleep properly for weeks afterwards. When he does, it's just wrapped around you, with fingers continually touching some part of your body—as if he needs constant confirmation that you're real and alive.
Shower Moments: Tony often avoids talking about his feelings, but the post-traumatic stress brings them to the surface. You'll be standing under the water as he carefully washes your hair, murmuring how sorry he is and how he'll never allow you to be in that type of danger again.
Guilt and Fear: Tony has deep guilt and dread. He had always feared that his opponents would target those he cared about, and now it has come true. He gets nightmares about it. He even considers shoving you away for your own safety, but the moment you see that expression in his eyes, you shut it off immediately.
"Do not even think about it, Stark. We are a team. You and I."
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Bucky Barnes / Winter Soldier
It was supposed to be a regular infiltration mission. Inside and outside. Minimal contact. You and Bucky had done this a hundred times: two shadows moving as one. Professional, crisp, and focused.
But it didn't matter when the information was incorrect. While the enemy was waiting.
You didn't even hear the gunshot. Just feeling the sting in your side and the way your legs collapsed beneath you. You landed hard, your breath seizing in your throat as your fingers brushed against the cut, wet with blood.
Bucky was at your side in seconds, diving to his knees, eyes wild, one hand cradling your face and the other clamping down on your wound.
You attempted to speak, but your voice broke, and sorrow shot through your body.
"Hey, hey. Don't talk. You're okay. You're going to be fine," Bucky whispered, his voice low and angry, as if he was forcing it to happen.
The following few minutes were blurred. Gunfire. Screams. And Bucky transformed into something unrecognizable, as if his Winter Soldier instincts had snapped into place and the only thing that mattered now was to defend you.
He snatched you into his arms as if you weighed nothing, clutching you to his chest as he tore across the property. You could hear his pulse racing, feel his breath on your hair, and the way he repeated your name like a prayer.
"I've got you, doll. You are secure now. Please hold on. Do not close your eyes, okay?"
You awoke hours later in an Avengers. Medical facility, you're side stitched and bandaged, painful as hell, but alive. Bucky sat near your bed, slumped over, clutching your hand as if it were the only thing holding him together in the world.
He appeared to have remained still.
"You scared the shit out of me," he said, his voice scratchy. "Don't ever do that again."
You smiled weakly but sincerely. "I didn't plan on getting shot, Buck."
He did not reciprocate the smile. Instead, he leaned in, placed his forehead to yours, and breathed you in.
"You are everything to me." I can't lose you."
Human Body Armor: Bucky refuses to let you lead the front line after that incident. Even during missions, he puts himself in front of you, metal arm ready, eyes continually searching. Even if you object, he will protect you.
Overprotective but Soft: He is both overprotective and soft, keeping a close eye on you without overwhelming you. Always be sure you eat, relax, and heal. He acts like a guard dog, yet he wraps you in his sweatshirt and kisses you on the forehead before tucking you into bed.
Haunted by "what ifs": He has witnessed too much loss. Losing you would break him. Following the mission, he silently spirals—he rarely sleeps, checks on you every hour, and even sits outside the medbay at night to listen to your breathing.
Will Kill For You: No one talks about what Bucky did after you were shot. But everyone knows. There were no survivors left in that building. And he made sure your blood was the last one spilled.
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Loki Odinson/God of Mischief
In Asgard, victory was usually followed by a celebration. The palace sparkled with glittering flags and tables brimming with food and drink. The air was filled with music, laughing, and the heavy smell of battle-won pride.
You were not immediately involved in the celebration. As a maid, you had to move silently, clean fast, and remain out of the soldiers' path. However, the aftermath of conflict has delivered something else: prisoners, war-beasts in human form, bound and growling, hauled into the dungeons underneath.
Nobody expected them to escape.
You were merely in the wrong corridor at the wrong moment, on your way back to the servants' quarters, when you heard a sudden, violent crash behind you. You turned just in time to see one of the larger prisoners lunging out of the shadows, bloodied, wild-eyed, and enraged.
You hardly had time to scream before he grabbed your wrist and pushed you back into the wall.
"Pretty little thing," he scoffed.
Your heart smashed. You struggled and were frightened, but he was stronger. Too powerful.
Emerald glints. A burst of rage.
The opponent was leering at you one second, and the next he was gasping on his own breath, magically held in place. Loki showed up out of the shadows, his eyes glowing green and his power crackling in the air like electricity.
"I would think very carefully about your next breath," he said, his voice low and nasty.
The prisoner never got the opportunity to speak. Loki's blade slashed his throat in an instant—quiet, quick, and brutal.
He quickly turned to face you, his eyes still gleaming from the last pulse of power. "Did he touch you?" he said, his voice shaking with wrath rather than fear.
You shook your head, too stunned to speak.
His hand lifted, paused, and finally rested lightly on your cheek. "You are secure now. I am here."
Feral, Silent Protector: Loki does not make a huge statement about what happened. But from that day forward, you're never alone. As you walk the corridors, you observe how the shadows alter. Guards nod at you with odd reverence. You always get the feeling that someone is watching you, but not in a horrible manner.
Possessive to the Core: Loki is possessive and subtly claims you. There's no spectacular statement; he simply starts showing up more. Giving little grins. Standing by your side. Looking at everyone who speaks to you for too long, as if he's measuring them for a coffin.
Gives You Power: You discover that you have suddenly been granted new rights. Fancier chambers. Lighter duties. A lovely necklace adorned with protective runes - "a gift," he adds casually, yet the enchantment enters your skin like his promise.
Little Acts of Care: He's subtle, but not shy. He appears with warm tea when you're tired. Offers books you never told him you liked. One day, there's a knife under your pillow - enchanted, beautiful. "Just in case," he murmurs.
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Natasha Romanoff / Black Widow
Training sessions with Steve were usually tough, but you enjoyed the challenge. He was patient, motivating and pushed you just the right amount. Until today.
You were sparring hand-to-hand, deflecting his punches and dancing just out of range. But one step too late- one miscalculation, and his foot collided with your knee more forcefully than expected. You dropped with a sudden yell, pain shooting up your leg as you grasped the joint.
Steve knelt immediately, an apology washing across his face. "Shit Y/N, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"
But before you could respond, she was there.
Natasha burst into the training room like a red flash, her gaze fixed on you before switching to Steve with ice-cold precision. "What the hell happened?"
"She took a hit, wasn't meant to land like that," Steve said, raising his hands.
Natasha did not even glance at him. She crouched behind you, pushing your hair away from your face, her gaze sweeping across your entire body.
"You're done for today," she said quietly, slipping her arms beneath you before you could argue.
"No, Milaya. You don't get to debate. You got injured. You are mine. I am taking care of you."
You looked up at her, shocked, as she effortlessly grabbed you into her arms and took you to the medbay, ignoring everyone else in the gym, including a very embarrassed Steve.
"I'm not mad," she said softly into your hair. "But I am going to kill him just a little bit later."
Ultra-Protective Mode ON: She's already protective on a normal day, but the second you get hurt? She's locked in. No more training unless she's there. She even makes you wear knee pads when walking around the Tower as a joke, but deep down, she's serious.
Scary Calm with others: She does not shout. She does not throw punches. But her quiet is deadly. Steve maintains she didn't say anything after the incident, but he remains scared of her glare.
Shadows you for days: She stares. Always around the corner. Constantly keeping an eye on everything. Do you go to the kitchen? She's already prepared your tea. Do you wince when walking? She's already by your side, her arm around you.
Loves babying you: She won't say it, but she enjoys caring of you. She brings you to bed, rubs your knee, carefully bandages it, and kisses your forehead as if it were sacred.
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Wanda Maximoff / Scarlet Witch
It was supposed to be a straightforward observation mission. Inside and outside. No major clashes or shocks. However, those are always the messiest.
You were teamed with two fresh recruits (Wanda was not on the team this time), and somewhere along the road, a concealed Hydra sniper fired a shot. The bullet touched your side, drawing blood but not killing. Nonetheless, it was scary. You were able to patch things up and complete the assignment. Barely.
However, as soon as you returned to Avengers base, everything changed.
She did not speak when she saw you. Her hands trembled. Wanda ran across the corridor and held you in a tight, magic-warmed hug before you had time to catch your breath.
You could feel her body trembling against your own.
"You didn't call me," she muttered. "You got hurt. And I was not there."
"I didn't want to worry you..."
Her voice was soft. Almost childish. But there was something darker lurking beneath the surface of her gaze. The red mist wrapped around her fingers, like if it had its own awareness.
"I felt something snap in the air," she said softly. "And then I looked at my phone and saw your name in the mission report and—" She cut off, breathing shakily. "You're not allowed to do that. You don't get to be brave alone."
Before you could respond, her hands caressed your face. Gently. Carefully.
"I almost tore apart that compound just to find you."
Telepathy Check-ins: She starts using her powers more often, telepathically checking in on you without asking. You'll be brushing your teeth and hear, "Are you okay?"inside your head. She tries not to intrude. Tries....
Cries When You Flinch: If you wince or shift in pain, even a little? She looks like the world is ending. She apologizes a thousand times even if she didn't cause it.
You catch her reading spells: One night, you find her in the living room, surrounded by books on blood magic and protective sigils. She's talking to herself, her eyes burning.
"You're not allowed to get hurt again," she adds quietly. "I won't let it happen."
Sleeps Curled Around You: She won't sleep till you're in her arms. She's afraid of dreams. Yours and hers. So she stays up longer, simply watching you breathe.
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One moment, you were wandering along the edge of the forests outside town, the moonlight soaking your skin and the chilly night air keen with magic. You felt a rush of fury before you saw her. Not yours. Hers.
Agatha had met paths with a witch decades before, angry, bitter, and now brave enough to seek revenge. You didn't have time to respond before the air cut apart. Hundreds of sharpened wood spikes flew your way.
Right below your collarbone. Close. Too close.
You did not scream, but you stumbled back, your chest searing with sorrow. You reached up, your fingers dripping with your own blood. Even for a vampire, a cut this near to the heart may have been deadly.
The air crackled with blue lightning, a wild force. Something inside her cracked when she saw you.
"You," she hissed, charging towards the other witch like a hurricane on two legs. "You DARE touch my WIFE"
The other witch did not have a chance.
It was not a duel. It was a massacre.
You didn't know how long it lasted, how many times Agatha attacked her with spells you couldn't even remember, but when it was over, all that remained was smoke, shattered dirt, and Agatha standing in the dark, her chest rising and falling like she'd been hunting prey.
Her eyes were gleaming as she turned to face you. Her hands shook. Her fingers were stained with blood when she reached out for you.
"You're all right," she whispered. But she did not seem convinced. "You're alright."
You were still standing. Barely. "You should see the other witch," you attempted to joke.
Her lips touched your temple. Then, your jaw. Then the area around your wound. Her voice lowered to a whisper, almost reverent.
"She was half an inch away from taking you from me."
Possessive doesn't begin to cover it: She doesn't let you out of her sight for days. Follows you around the house. Watches you sleep, even though she knows you heal fast.
She cannot stop caressing you: Her hands are continually resting on your neck, wrists, and back, as if she needs to remind herself that you are there. That you did not die.
Love confession through rage: "You don't get it," she hisses one night as you try to calm her down. "You are the only thing I have ever loved without falling apart. If she had stolen that from me, I would have destroyed the world."
"I should've killed her centuries ago." She blames herself. She won't say it out, but she thinks about it every time she sees the wound. She feels that allowing the witch to live was her only mistake, and you paid the price.
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You were not even meant to be on the battlefield.
You'd simply come and bring herbs and assist healers in patching up the injured. That is all. However, conflict is unconcerned with your work, especially among chaotic people who would rather see the world burn.
A cursed soldier, blood-soaked and barely alive, struck out the instant you approached him. When his sword sliced across your ribs, you didn't scream; your breath just fled.
And for a little second, you saw her.
She stepped out of the smoke. Silent. Unmoving. Eyes like storms.
Death.
But rather than taking you, she kneeled alongside you.
"I told you," Rio muttered, her voice barely contained. "This world doesn't deserve you."
You attempted to grin. "Hey... look who showed up."
Blood dripped from your lips.
Rio did not laugh. She lifted your body with unbelievable gentleness, as if you were made of light and glass, and vanished with you into the fog.
The last thing you recalled was her voice in your ear:
"Don't die on me. If you do, I will personally drag you back. Even if I have to remove your soul from heaven."
Furious with whoever hurt you, Rio doesn't kill him right away. She hunts him. And when she's done, there's no one left to bury.
Takes you somewhere only the dead know: A world of peace. You are the only living being there. She keeps you covered in warm shadows, utterly safe and entirely hers.
You're never allowed to walk alone again: She appears whenever you attempt to travel alone. Even in the garden. Even into the kitchen. "Don't argue, mi amor," she adds quietly. "You're not ready."
Territorial behavior turned possessive: After your injury, she doesn't let anyone else near you. No medics. No friends. Only her. She bathes you. Feeds you. Heals you with her own energy.
