A/N: This was requested over on our Wattpad! I surprisingly enjoyed writing this. It’s been about a year since I’ve watched the Marvel movies so my memory is pretty rusty, please let me know if I’ve mixed anything up and I’ll give it a quick fix. Also, I’m not from America so I’m not sure with their states/cities so please point out any mistakes I might’ve made.
Y/N's POV:
Things used to be good between my dad and I, but ever since Peter had shown up, all his attention had stuck on him. It wasn’t all too noticeable at first, we would still hang out when he was free, spending our Saturday nights watching movies together.
Though it only took a few weeks for him to start to brush me off more. Similar excuses each time he rescheduled our weekly plans. “I have improvements to add to Peter’s suit.” “I’ve got work to finish with Peter.” “Peter needs help getting used to the suit.” Peter this, Peter that.
It was like Peter was his son and not me. Just like that, I was thrown into the background, a minor thought in the back of his mind, it was like he no longer cared for me.
~~~
We had a recital coming up really soon, one I had expressed my excitement to my dad before for. He used to be so proud, so ecstatic to eventually see me up on stage. I hoped this would be the push he needed to give me the attention I had so easily and so quickly lost.
Dad was downstairs in his workshop, that’s where he usually was, always working on something new to dazzle the public with. I slowly open the glass door, stepping in as he speaks up. “Peter, you’re finally here. Here, try this-” He turns around, a metal plate in his hand as he props it towards me.
“Oh Y/N. Sorry about that, what do you need?” He turns back around, placing the metal back down, keeping his attention on his creation. I silently sigh as I walk over to him, taking the folded poster out of my pocket. I hand the piece of paper to him, his eyebrows raised in confusion before reading through it.
“The recitals in a couple days, I know how excited you were to come see me, and I’d love for you to be there” He smiles, stuffing the paper into his shirt pocket. “Of course I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it for the world, kid.” I can’t help the smile that grows on my face, “Thanks dad. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
Dad sent a smile back my way before I swiftly left his workshop, excitedly practising my songs in my room for the upcoming day.
~~~
The day I had longed for had finally arrived. It was around 6:30pm and I was currently backstage, I was going up on stage in only half an hour. I had been practising the whole year for this recital and I was determined to perfectly execute it. I couldn’t wait for dad to see the progress I had made.
Some time had passed, the curtains would open in 5 minutes, parents and friends of the people performing with me had started to fill the seats. I looked out from the slight gap in the curtains, hoping to see my dad amongst the growing crowd.
My eyes darted across the plethora of seats, filled with unfamiliar faces. I deflate as I can’t find him, hoping, praying he was just running late.
We got into our places behind the curtains, a countdown being played in our headsets before the curtains swung open. I noticed my friends looking around for the people they invited, their faces lighting up when they did. I followed suit, taking another quick look over the crowd, never finding my dad though.
My heart pangs at the realisation, he wasn’t here, he didn't come to see me perform. Whatever. I could do this without him, I didn’t need him to make this my greatest performance. And so that’s what I did, I put my all into everything. Making it a performance he would regret not coming to see.
~~~
The recital lasted about an hour, my friends walking out with me into the cold night. The fresh air was a stark contrast to the heating anger I felt in the enclosed room. As my friends split up, they waved goodbye as they hopped into their parents cars, driving off to their homes.
I sat there, sitting on the staircase leading to the doors of the building. Usually dad would send Happy or even Pepper to come pick me up from things he wasn’t able to. But after sitting out on the chilling night, it became apparent that he wasn’t coming, no one was. I take one last look at my phone, the lack of notifications making me sigh.
Defeated, I picked up my belongings and started my journey among the dark streets of Manhattan. I dragged myself back home, walking almost sluggishly as my mind raced. Did he care? Why else wouldn’t he come? Did I do something wrong? Anger him? Maybe it was my fault he didn’t show up. Maybe something came up. But why didn’t he message me to let me know.
I’m brought out of my thoughts at the feeling of something escaping my eyes, and the taste of salt falls onto my upper lip. Fuck. I wipe my cheek, setting my mind on making it home, not wanting to fall apart on the side of the streets. I wasn’t far anyways, only another 20 minutes until I would be back home.
~~~
As I reach the front door, I unlock it with my spare keys before walking in. “Good evening, Y/N.” I hear F.R.I.D.A.Y’s robotic voice shoot from the speaker beside me. I smile slightly. “Hey Friday.” I walk to the kitchen to pour myself some water, after taking a sip I ask. “Friday?” “Yes Sir?” I look around the lit house. “Where’s dad?”
It takes a second for her to answer. “He’s in his workshop.” I nod, thanking her as I start to make my way there. Before reaching the stairs though, the sound of two voices makes its way through the glass. Dad’s laugh booming as a young boy’s follows. I didn’t even have to see him to know who was down there. Peter. I sigh, I guess I knew why dad didn't come now.
I step back up the stairs, ignoring the two as I bee-line to my room. I throw my bag onto the floor, changing my clothes as tears start to well up in my eyes once again. I curse myself, putting my clothes away before falling into bed, muffling my sniffles with one of my pillows.
“Friday. Lock my door please.” I hear her voice once more “Of course.” before the sound of a ‘click’ comes from the mechanical door. I groan into my pillow, lying to my side as I closed my eyes.
~~~
The whole night, I had thought long and hard, messaging one of my closest friends about what was going on. He offered to let me stay at his place, for as long as I needed to. We spoke about it all last night, planning for him to come pick me up tonight. It wasn’t too long of a drive, less than an hour. He lived in Hillsdale, a nice change in scenery.
I stayed in my room, packing my things in a suitcase I would use when dad and I went on his “Business trips”. Once packing all the things I wanted to take with me, I stuffed the case under my bed. I groggily walk into the kitchen, look around and not see dad anywhere. I mutter before cooking breakfast for myself.
He was probably in his workshop, working on god knows what now. He hadn’t bothered to check up on me last night, not even to make sure I made it home safely and now he hadn’t bothered to greet me. Finishing my food, I stomp back into my room, eating my food as all I can think about is how much I can’t wait to leave this stupid house.
~~~
When night arrives, I sneak to the front door, suitcase and an extra backpack in my hands. It’s not like dad would’ve noticed anyways, he was still busy ‘working’ I sigh as I open the front door, F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voice stopping me. “Where are you going this late at night, Y/N?” I checked my watch, it was only 9:30.
“I’m having a sleepover at a friend's place.” F.R.I.D.A.Y replies with something along the lines of “Have fun.” I scattered out the door and looked around for the car my friend drove, once it came into view, I made my way to it. “Hey man, you got everything?” I nod as I place my luggage in the back seat, hopping into the passenger seat.
“Yeah, thanks for this.” I buckle my seatbelt before turning to him. “Of course, I’m here for you man.” The ride to his house is mostly silent besides the quiet music playing from the car’s speaker. I lean my head back, taking out my phone as I distract myself on the long drive.
~~~
A week had passed when my phone started to blow up, messages from friends and people from school filled my inbox. “Hey, are you okay?” “Where are you?” “I haven't seen you in a while, are you alright?” However, nothing from dad. I make sure my location is turned off before continuing with my day, sitting down to watch some T.V. I scroll through channels, my eyes landing on my name on a news headline, I put down the remote as I read the whole heading.
“Y/N Stark, Son of Tony Stark, has been reported missing.” An explanation of the time of my ‘disappearance’ was reported, including the places I would most often hang out and where I was last seen, at the performance theatre our school had rented out for the recital. Shit.
I hear my friend’s footsteps behind me, “I think it might be time for you to go back, everyone’s worried sick.” My phone rings over and over again with messages, calls, mentions on social media. Everyone asked about the news and if I was okay. I shut down my phone, shoving it in my back pocket. “Yeah, maybe.”
I hear a familiar voice play on the T.V behind me, I shoot back around to face it as I see my father being harassed by paparazzi. Microphones and cameras in his face as he tries to get into his car. “Do you have any idea where he could be?” “Do you have anything to do with Y/N’s disappearance?” “Is he alive?” “Do you have any information on Y/N’s whereabouts?” A frown appears on my face as he looks at the camera, his eyes sunken and dark and his eyebrows furrowed.
“I know as much as you guys do.” He aggressively replies. “And if the lot of you don’t leave, I’ll have you all jobless by tomorrow.” The voices quiet down, interviewers walking away from the car he got into, the engine starting with a roar.
I sigh, I never meant for it to go this far. “Let’s go” I leave to pack my stuff back up again.
~~~
It’s late at night as my friend parks in front of my house, I see extra security put up to keep the paparazzi out. I turn to my friend, thanking him before stepping out of the vehicle, I pull out my luggage, walking towards the gate. As I open it, I trudge up the long driveway to the house. Making it to the top, I drop my bags beside me, taking deep breaths as the steep walk winded me.
I bring them back into my hands, pulling them to the front door. I try to quietly open the lock, keys jingling as I hear the slight ‘click’ to indicate the door unlocking. I push against the handle, pulling my bags in as I hear shuffling in the room near me.
I looked over to the living room, my dad curled into himself, maps, documents and holograms covering the table. My heart wrenches at his appearance, the lack of sleep evident on his face and scruffed hair.
I pull my bags over to the staircase. “Y/N?” Fast footsteps approach me as I turn to the noise. I can’t help the bittersweet smile that makes its way onto my mouth as he grabs my shoulders. His eyes darted across my face, looking for any sign of injury. His arms wrap around me, tightening as I feel his relieved breaths escape him.
I hug back, head shoved into his chest as I hold onto him. “I’m so sorry, so sorry. I didn’t mean for this-” “No, no, no, no.” He repeats sullenly “It’s my fault, I shouldn't have done what I did, I’m so sorry.” I chuckle as I shake my head. “Please forgive me Y/N.” I let out a short breathy laugh. “Of course, I’m sorry I didn’t just talk to you about it, I never wanted to worry you.”
He smiles, “I never wanted to make you think I didn’t care about you. You’re my son. So much more important than anyone, especially Peter.” He rubs a hand against my back. “You’re my top priority, and I’ll make sure you never doubt that again.” “Thank you.”
That night was spent in the living room, we spoke to each other, explaining how the situation affected us both. The both of us understanding the other’s view, making sure to talk about what’s going on next time. We talk for a while, sleep only falling upon us hours later.
As I start to yawn, dad brings my head to his chest. My eyes drift shut as I fall asleep in his arms, the same way I used to when I was younger.
~~~
It had been about a month since the whole ordeal. News of a new recital making its way into school newsletters and I was beaming. I couldn’t wait, this time being able to truly showcase my abilities with my dad being there to witness it.
Once arriving home, I quickly threw my bag on the floor in front of the door. I rush down the stairs after, opening the door with a little more patience so as to not startle my dad. “Hey dad!” I close the door behind me, making my way to his workstation.
“Hey kid, what’s up?” He turns from his work, leaning back against the table as he looks at me. I handed him the poster I had borrowed from one of the drama students. He reads through it, eyes tracing each word before lifting his head back up to me. “Another one?” He holds a wide smile on his face as he drops his hand down.
“Yeah, you better come to this one.” He laughs at my playful jab, nodding as he holds the poster close to him. “I’ll be there, I promise.” I nod. “Thanks dad. I really appreciate it.” “Of course.” He lightly responds, pulling me into a hug.
~~~
It was yet again, time for me to perform. I couldn’t wait, knowing my dad would definitely be out there this time. As we get ready on the stage, I take a quick glance at the crowd, my eyes landing on my dad, sitting in the middle of the front row. I chuckle to myself, of course he was.
As the curtains draw open, I can’t help but smile at the proud look he gives me. As the group starts to sing, I look down at him, both of his hands presenting a thumbs-up. My heart warms at the action. He turns to the parent to the left of him, whispering something. I only catch onto a couple words “That- -y son-.” He points up to me, a look of admiration plastered across his face.
A/N: I wrote this entire thing in one day, it only took me about 5 hours. And it’s somehow my longest fic yet. It's not proof-read tho so apologies for anything that doesn't make sense or anything like that.
Summary: During an intense training session, you seize your chance to catch Bucky Barnes off guard.
Warnings: physical combat, sparring, mild injury, suggestive tension, competitive banter, close physical contact, minor power play
The training room is eerily quiet, save for the distant hum of machinery. You're crouched low behind a stack of crates, heart pounding, eyes fixed on your target. Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, stands in the center of the room, his back to you. His broad shoulders rise and fall with measured breaths, the subtle tension in his muscles telling you he’s waiting for something—for you.
You’ve been sparring with him for weeks, and he never makes it easy. That’s the thing with Bucky—he’s always one step ahead, always anticipating your every move. But today? Today feels different. Your powers hum beneath your skin, crackling with energy as you steady your breathing, waiting for the right moment to strike.
He’s fast, no doubt about it, but you’ve studied him. The way he shifts his weight, the slight tilt of his head when he listens for movement. You know you’ll only get one chance to catch him off guard, and if you miss it, you’ll be on your back in seconds. The memory of countless failed attempts plays in your mind, but this time, you’re ready.
You push off the balls of your feet, launching yourself forward with a speed you know most people wouldn’t see coming. The air rushes past your ears as you move, silent and precise. Bucky’s head tilts slightly, just like you predicted, but it’s too late for him. You close the distance in an instant, your shoulder slamming into his side with enough force to knock him off balance.
To your surprise, he stumbles. His eyes widen, caught off guard, as your combined momentum sends you both crashing to the ground. You straddle his waist, pinning him down, and your hands press firmly against his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath beneath your palms.
A grin spreads across your face, and Bucky stares up at you, half-amused, half-impressed. His metal hand grips your wrist, not tight enough to hurt but enough to remind you that the victory is yours—for now.
"You finally got me," he says, voice low, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. His blue eyes are sharp, still calculating, but there’s a glint of pride in them.
You raise an eyebrow, panting from the exertion but too stubborn to let it show. "Took me long enough," you reply, keeping your tone light despite the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.
Bucky shifts beneath you, his free hand brushing against your arm as he pushes himself slightly upright. "I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting that. You’ve been holding back, haven’t you?"
You shrug, not bothering to deny it. "Maybe I wanted to make it interesting."
"Interesting?" His grin widens, and before you can react, he flips you over effortlessly, his speed and strength catching you off guard this time. In the blink of an eye, you’re the one flat on your back, Bucky looming over you with that familiar, cocky smile.
"Let’s see how you handle this then," he murmurs, leaning in just close enough that you feel his breath against your skin.
Your powers flare instinctively, a surge of energy rippling through you. But you stop yourself before unleashing it. Instead, you meet his gaze, matching his smirk with one of your own. "Oh, don’t worry, Barnes," you say, your voice confident, "I can handle anything you throw at me."
Bucky chuckles, the sound low and warm, and for a split second, the tension between you shifts—less competitive, more… something else. You’re both breathing hard, hearts racing, and the air between you seems to crackle with unspoken challenges.
But just as quickly as the moment arrives, it’s gone. Bucky pushes off of you and stands, offering a hand to pull you to your feet. You take it, still grinning, your muscles aching from the effort but buzzing with satisfaction. You finally bested him—at least for now.
As you dust yourself off, Bucky watches you, his expression softer now. "You’ve come a long way," he says, his tone quieter, almost thoughtful. "But don’t think for a second that I’m going easy on you next time."
You flash him a grin, your competitive spirit ignited all over again. "Wouldn’t dream of it."
Summary: You’ve been insecure as long as you can remember, mainly due to the trauma you endured as a child and a lot of the comments your parents and siblings threw at you. You found a family in the Avengers who loved and adored you for you, along with your skills of course. You’ve been dating The God of Mischief for a few months now, he doesn’t know about your past problems but he soon finds out after he makes a snarky comment during one of his moods.
Warnings: Insecurities, mention of an eating disorder and self harm, angst.
A/N: I don’t know why I wrote this. I wanted to hurt my own feelings. Loki is my comfort character okay? 🥺 Please don’t read this if you have any triggers! I love you all and you’re all perfect, okay? ♥ Also, not my gif above.
Word Count: 1118
Y/N = Your name.
It was another one of Tony Stark’s parties tonight and you really wanted to go. You hadn’t seen Thor or Loki in over a week since they had to go back to Asgard to deal with their father, which you understood. But it didn’t make you miss your boyfriend or your best friend any less.
For the occasion, you bought an elegant emerald green silk dress just for Loki, knowing how much he loved the color green, especially when it was on you. You weren’t really one for dresses due to underlying insecurities you had fought off for the most part. You never used to be able to go out without a sweatshirt or sweatpants but now you wore t-shirts, blouses sometimes, jeans, and shorts. Rarely you would wear a dress and tonight was one of those rare nights.
Pulling your hair into a princess braid, you smiled softly in the mirror. You had come so far and it had been months now since you had any sort of slips. You were proud of yourself. As you were admiring how far you’ve come, you heard Thor’s loud thundering voice from downstairs and smiled brightly. Pulling your long emerald green dress up a little, you made your way to the elevator in a rush. You pressed the button at least six times before it opened. Going inside the elevator, you impatiently waited for it to take you downstairs. As the metal doors pulled opened, you smiled as you saw all the Avengers and Shield agents gathered for the party.
Natasha was the first to see you and make her way to you, beaming already. “Oh my.. Y/N! You look stunning!” Natasha smiled sweetly.
“I second that!” Wanda said with a big smile and a soft giggle leaving her lips as she walked up with Vision.
“Beautiful as always, Miss Y/N.” Vision said politely beside Wanda.
You thanked them all sweetly before asking where you could find your boyfriend. Wanda instantly sighed at the question before pointing to one of the corners of the room.
“He’s over there sulking. You know how he feels about Stark’s parties.” Wanda said, rolling her eyes.
“He’ll get over it when he sees Y/N.” Natasha said with a half smirk on her lips before nudging you towards Loki.
You giggled softly and made your way over to your boyfriend, making sure to grab a drink for him on the way. Of course you asked Thor to spike it with Asgardian liquor so it would actually do something for Loki.
“Hello, darling.” You say sweetly as you walked up to your tall boyfriend. “I brought you your favorite.” You said with a hopeful tone, putting the drink out towards him.
An aggravated sigh comes from the God as he tore his eyes away from the party to the drink, not even glancing at you. He reluctantly took the drink before downing it. Whether it burned his throat or not, you didn’t know. He would never show it if it did. His ego was too big to show little things like that. A slight frown ghosts your lips before you speak again, trying to be careful with your wording.
“I take it didn’t go well in Asgard?” Your voice was quiet, almost as if you were retreating from a captor. Loki had never been mean or violent towards you. But you knew if he was in a mood not to push it. He would never mean to snap but he did have a temper, you understood that.
“No, Y/N! It obviously didn’t go well!” His voice was slightly raised but the music coming from the overhead speakers were loud enough to drown out his voice to everyone who wasn’t standing next to him. You flinched ever so slightly and nodded.
“I’m sorry, darling... Is there anything I can do?” You asked, your hand going to your necklace to play with it, something you did to help calm yourself down. It hung low, going well with your dress that hugged your curves and showed your cleavage a little.
Loki finally looked at you and when he did... You swore it was a look of disgust that washed over him and you felt that sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach start to come back. The feeling you hadn’t felt in months.
“What are you wearing?” His voice was cold and sharp. If it could, it would cut through you like ice daggers.
“W-What?” Your voice was soft and quiet, your eyes going down to look at your dress that you swore earlier looked amazing on you but now looked horrible. “What’s wrong with it?” Now you needed to know. Did it show off everything wrong with you?
“Are you trying to get all the attention? Really, Y/N? That dress doesn’t even suit you. It’s not your style. And that stupid necklace...” He growled. Jealousy, stress, internal conflict, and anger were all evident in the God of Mischief but you were too upset to notice it.
You continued to stare down at yourself for a moment before you looked back up, catching your reflection in the window. Earlier you looked pretty, small, perfect... Now you didn’t know what you were looking at but you didn’t like it. All of those horrible feelings, the self harm, the overeating, the hateful thoughts... All of it came rushing back. You could feel the tears starting to come and you shook your head.
“I-I’m sorry, Loki... I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted to impress you with your favorite color. Your pendant...” You whispered out the last part, yanking on the necklace hard enough so it came off but didn’t break. “Here.” You said quietly, voice quivering as you handed him the necklace before turning and walking away.
In his hand lay a gold chain that held a gold snake with emerald green eyes. Underneath the snake in cursive, small writing was Loki. He hadn’t realized what the necklace was, he was just looking for things to be mean about. Regret and sadness overwhelmed the god as he looked up to see you no longer in front of him or anywhere to be seen. Taking one last look at the necklace, he realized you had always kept a piece of him with you. You came up to him tonight trying to lighten his mood, being sweet, loving, and caring as always and he took that and squashed it. He needed to make this up to you, to show you how much you mean to him. You’re the love of his life, the only love of his life! But how will he make it up?
A/N: Okay, this is probably not THAT good but like I said above, I just wanted to hurt my own feelings. 😩 Let me know if ya’ll want a second part. I love Loki so much. Him and Bucky are my serious comfort characters ♥
Summary: Y/N and Joaquin work together to track down the Flag Smashers, but yet again, she is the middle woman between Bucky and Sam as they butt heads.
Author’s Note: Continuation of the story into Episode Two of TFATWS. Love the banter between Sam and Bucky, especially when Walker turns up and they team up to direct all of their anger at him. Joaquin is my man, my soft boi. I need more of him in the next two episodes, otherwise, I’m going to be a wreck for a while. Let me know in the comments if you’d like to be tagged! There will definitely be two more parts…who knows, maybe I’ll add more or individual one-shots!
Warnings: anxiety, the smallest drop of fluff
Pairing: Joaquin Torres x fem! Reader
You leaned back in your chair, feet crossed in front as Joaquin read through documents at his desk. Following up on leads was the top priority right now with the rise in communications of the revolutionaries’ known as the Flag Smashers.
Word Count: 2.4K
Joaquin stood by his word and incorporated Sam and Y/N in the investigation. They had been at the Airbase for a total of 3 hours and 49 minutes, reading through documents and following up leads using the database resources.
You rest your hands on your stomach as you shut your eyes for a moment. The bags under your eyes had become more noticeable in the past couple days, what with sleepless nights and long hours. All of which led you to grow closer to the coffee machine in your small apartment.
The nightmares had grown worse in the past week, haunting more than the occasional dream. Sometimes it was just the darkness that irked you, which you’d usually resolve with a bit of light. More recently, they formed into horrific events where you couldn’t save Sam or Bucky. The worst instance was last night’s terror.
This time, Joaquin showed up instead.
Instead of the usual guilt that strung you up, an aching sorrow and horror overwhelmed you as you lost control.
The fire was everywhere.
It burned until nothing was left.
Until the last edge of life was gone.
Even as you grasped for the tip of control to stop it, the flames extended further and further.
You couldn’t stop them,
And that terrified you.
It had its grip on your throat, ever-so-slowly compressing your windpipe as you clawed for the surface.
“Y/N?”
You inhaled sharply, opening your eyes to Joaquin’s concerned gaze as he leaned across the desk.
“You alright? You dozed off there.”
You nodded your head, slacking your jaw to recognise your feet touching the ground, the cabinets along the walls and lastly, the man sitting behind the desk.
His concerned gaze is glued to your widened eyes which scan the room, almost as if you weren’t completely aware.
“Yeah...I haven’t been getting much sleep is all.”
Joaquin nodded, returning to the words on the document,
“I’ve noticed. You’ve been a bit jittery the past couple days.”
“And...that’ll be the caffeine.”, you trailed, as you stood and stretched your limbs out.
“Don’t say what I think you’re going to say.”
Joaquin glanced up from the desk, shaking his head as a smirk grew on his face. The bruise under his left eye had slowly been healing from the past mission, along with a large cut along his forehead.
“I wasn’t gonna say anything.”
“Oh really? Then what’s the face for?”
“What face?”, he laughed and stared at you incredulously.
You leaned your hands against the back of the chair as pointed at him,
“That face that says I’m judging you.”
“This is not a judgemental face. This is the face of someone who is concerned about you.”
You’re quiet, allowing Joaquin to continue as you grip the back of the chair. Averting your eyes to the floor, your stomach plummets. Thumps palpate in your chest as your blood seems to pump harder.
“Are you okay?”, he asked.
You gulped down your anxiety, making eye contact with Joaquin so as to convince him and yourself as you spoke.
“...Yeah. I’m fine.”, you nodded your head and smile with the lack of enthusiasm that brings his attention to it. Joaquin cocks his head to the side, trying to see deeper into your mind.
“Y/N-”
The door bursts open as another uniformed soldier leans in the doorway.
“Lieutenant, I’ve got an update waiting for you, Sir.”
Joaquin stood from his seat, nodding his head at the officer.
“Alright, thanks, you can hand it over.”
The soldier nods his head, leaving the folder on the desk before shutting the door. You huff out a sigh at the tension and silence filling the office. Joaquin gathered up the remaining papers on the desk into neat piles, tidying the space.
“Look, it’s nothing I can’t handle. I’m electing not to sleep and I’m getting more work done.”
“You can’t live like this, Y/N, you’re gonna run yourself into the ground.”
“Yeah well right now, I’d rather not face those fears. Got bigger fish to fry right now.”, you purse your lips and nodded towards the folder.
You exit the office, wandering the first level of the base offices. Your arms press against the railing as you drop your head and listen to the bustling of people and machinery echo across the base. Slumped over the railing, you concentrate on counting your breaths as you hear Joaquin’s feet stomp closer to you.
Joaquin leans next to you on the border as you refuse to move, knowing that your façade of calm will chip as soon as you look at him.
“Y/N, if somethings bothering you, you should tell me. I know you feel that keeping it to yourself is better than admitting it but trust me, it’s a lot worse.”, he leaned down to meet your gaze as a stoic blank expression overcame you.
Your throat tightens and clench your jaw to suppress the sob building in your chest.
You’ve always been alone with your thoughts, threatening to crack under the constant pressure behind your skull. The Avengers had been an unconventional setting but you created close relationships with a few of them. Some you lost along the way because of uncontrollable things but you wonder.
You wonder if maybe something was wrong with you.
If it was your fault why they always left.
Why no one stuck around for long.
Tears glimmer, threatening to fall but you exhale a long breath out, turning to him. You twiddle your fingers, jaw clenched as you choke out the words in a whisper.
“...okay.”
Joaquin’s posture straightened as you stepped away from the railing and nodded your head in agreement.
“I’ll try. For you, Flyboy.”
He hummed and a small smile grew on his face at the nickname.
“That’s all I ask.”
Looking over his shoulder, you recognise a familiar face.
“Hey, Wilson.” you called over Joaquin’s shoulder, causing Sam’s eyes to flicker between the two of you.
“Hey, Y/L/N. I see you guys are spending extra time together…”, Sam implied with a smirk.
Y/N rolled her eyes at Sam’s implications, nudging his arm.
“It’s about time he kept me in the loop.”
He recognises the dark circles under your eyes and how tired you look but elects to ignore it.
“You alright?”, Sam asks.
You look up at Joaquin as his lips twitch upwards in a small encouraging smile. His hand slides across the railing, hovering next to yours as you reply.
“I’m right where I need to be.”
You trail off as you notice Sam’s stiff posture and tension as he glides his hands into his pockets.
“How are you?”
After the huge declaration of America’s new ‘Captain America’, you were infuriated with the SHAM. Walker had done nothing to deserve that shield.
It was Sam that Steve chose.
It was Sam that deserved the shield.
You can only imagine how upset he is feeling.
Sam almost shrugs, tilting his head as he doesn’t know how to express all of his feelings about the situation.
You all glance towards a screen as a poster of John Walker holding up Steve’s shield is shown.
“Seems like a good guy. You met him?”, Joaquin asks.
“No.”, Sam replied.
“Thanks for doing this on such short notice.”
“Yeah. No sweat. I’m just finishing up the checklist. You’ll be all good to go once you land in Munich.”
“I’ll be in the air with Joaquin so you can keep us updated…”
You trail off because your attention phases to Bucky Barnes’ entrance. With the fury in his step, you can practically visualise the daggers Bucky is sending towards Sam as you descend the stairs.
“Shouldn’t have given up the shield.”
“Good to see you too, Buck.”
“This is wrong.”, Bucky interjects.
Bucky follows Sam, cutting him off to interrogate.
“Hey, hey, look, I’m working, all right? So all this outrage is gonna have to wait.”
Bucky narrows his eyes,
“You didn’t know that was gonna happen?”
Sam is aghast, “No, of course I didn’t know that was gonna happen. You think it didn’t break my heart to see them march him out there and call him the new Captain America?”
“Steve didn’t want this.”
“Oh, my God. What do you want me to do? Call America and tell ’em I changed my mind? Huh?”
Joaquin rests a hand on your shoulder, bringing your attention back to him,
“I’m gonna go ahead and set up before we leave.”
You nod, acknowledging him, gripping his hand,
“I’ll be right there.”, sending him a reassuring smile.
You watch as Sam and Bucky tussle in an argument over the shield and then the mission.
You find yourself striding up to them as Sam stomps off alone towards the plane.
“Hey stranger.”
Bucky turns around and his eyes light up in recognition. He flicks over your tired eyes and sombre expression.
“Sam didn’t know this would happen.”
“Well, he shouldn’t have given it up in the first place. It doesn’t belong there.”
“Bucky… I know how much that shield means to you... But you have to understand that Sam did what he thought was the right thing. We have to accept that. It’s what Steve wanted.”
“This is not what Steve would have wanted, Y/N.”
Bucky is fuming at the thought of the man parading as Captain America.
“I know, I know, Bucky. But we gotta work together to solve this one.”
“Just like always.”
He hummed, looking at the plane.
“Fine, but it doesn’t change the fact I’m mad at him.”
You sigh but agree because you know your boys are stubborn.
*****
You sit up on a crate as the plane flies below the drop-off zone for Sam and Bucky. You were sitting this one out to surveil with Joaquin from above.
“One minute to drop off, Sam.”
You watch Joaquin as he assesses the distance below and the time on his watch. The cuts and scrapes on his face have mostly healed but the blue and purple bruising under his eye remains.
“So what’s our plan?”, Bucky asks Sam who ignores him as he positions his com in his ear.
“Great. So no plan.”
Bucky shakes his head in annoyance, sitting back down in his seat.
“Thirty seconds!”, Joaquin yells, looking out into the open air.
“I’m reconsidering sending those two out there alone.”
You glance anxiously between Sam and Bucky as the tension in the plane stirs.
“But they’re not alone, because they’re going together.”, Joaquin points out.
“That’s the part I’m worried about.”
You smile unconvincingly at Joaquin as you listen to the men bicker.
“Enjoy your ride, Buck.”
Bucky rejects Sam’s use of the nickname,
“No, you can’t call me that.”
“Why not? That’s what Steve called you.”
You roll your eyes at the childish banter between the two. You were considering the amount of logic and coordination between the two of them but then again, you were too tired to get on board for this mission.
“Steve knew me longer, and Steve had a plan.”
“Why couldn’t Steve be here?”, you whisper sarcastically.
“Fifteen seconds to drop.”
“I have a plan.”, Sam defends.
“Really? What is it?”
Sam ignores Bucky, jumping from the plane. Joaquin peeks his head out in amusement as Sam ignites his suit and flies off. He still wears that look of amaze on his face since the first time he saw the suit.
“Great. Where’s the chute?”, Bucky asked, looking around.
“We’re at 200 feet. It’s too low for a chute.”
“I don’t need it anyway.”
Joaquin perked an eyebrow, glancing at Bucky from the side,
“You sure about that?”
“No! I know that look Bucky and I swear-”
“Yeah.”, Bucky sighs, yelling as he drops from the plane.
You and Joaquin both stare out into the open air as Bucky plummets into a tree, slowing his descent.
“What. An. Idiot.”, you exclaim from beside Joaquin.
“That looks like it hurts too.”
Pulling your sleeves down, you shiver and pull back from the open door to return to your seat.
“He’ll be fine. I think.”
Joaquin slides the door shut as its seals with a hiss.
You retract back into yourself as your thoughts return in the quiet.
Luckily, Joaquin is there to push them back.
“Hey, join me upstairs? I’ve gotta track activities for Sam from up here.”, he waits for your answer.
“Sure.”
He steps aside to let you walk up the steps first, sliding behind you as you reach the second floor. His hand ghosts over you back, guiding you across to the computers.
You flirt around the screens, leaning your hands against the metal frame. Joaquin’s hand roams around different radars and dials as he reads them. You watch from your spot as he concentrates, although, his eyes float up to check on you, every so often. You’ll pretend not to notice the suppressed smirk that threatens to rise on his face at your stare.
You push that brewing anxiety aside but not without strain. Not without a little help from that pure and inviting calm that Joaquin brings.
a/n: inspired by my obsession with simplistic aus/scenarios. Also, for the sake of this fic, we're pretending Tom lives in New York for a time. He was actually living there for a time because of Betrayal (his play on Broadway). And you guys, cakes are EXPENSIVE in New York! I got the prices and cake flavoring by referencing an actual bakery that's in New York. It's a hefty price - but for a good reason. Their cakes are stunning and I'm sure they're as delicious as they look. gif not mine, found on google. dm to claim or remove.
DO NOT REPOST MY WORK.
summary: sometimes the simple kindness of a stranger can change the course of one's life. in your case, it meant getting a free cake in the midst of a lonely birthday celebration - and perhaps a little spark of romance to ignite the candles.
warnings: none
word count: 6.3k
music: Sisters by Christophe Beck
Tom's slender fingers plucked a tin of English Breakfast blend off of a shelf decorated with dozens of teas in dozens of differently colored containers. His eyes swiftly read the names of each one as he silently mulled over his next pick. After plucking a few more tins from the shelves, he turned and left the small aisle of the bakery, excusing himself politely between other customers. With a glance upwards at the signs that dangled above each designated aisle, he spotted one with a bright red arrow that directed him towards the front cashier.
When he reached the front of the store with his arms full of his carefully selected tea, he quickly took his place in line. Luckily, he was only third in line, so he would quickly be on his way back to his apartment full of books - and be able to continue his date with Shakespeare. He hardly noticed the woman in front of him, apart for the vague passing of his line of vision as he surveyed the menu of desserts and the working hands of bakers through the kitchen window behind the counter. From his place in line, he dropped his gaze to quietly admire the delicacies that were meticulously decorated in the display case by the counter.
He could feel his mouth water as he read the labels of individual slices of natural strawberry cakes topped with browned butter frosting and flecks of gold leafing, chocolate cupcakes filled with crème and doused with cream cheese icing, sugar cookies with the bright layers of royal icing and decorated with the steady hand of a professional artist. It was marvelous.
His vision blurred out of focus as the woman in front of him leaned in front of the display case, obviously tempted to taste the very desserts he had been admiring. He smiled at her, although it was only directed to the back of her head. He agreed silently with himself that coming to a bakery was one of the best experiences to have in New York - it was filled with people with a deep sense of passion for sweets, teas, coffees, and a plethora of fruit-based breakfast meals, typically sprinkled with crystalized sugar. In the late morning, it was the most enjoyable.
People were coming from their morning shifts, late shifts, from the comfort of their sheets, or for their break hour from their jobs - in Tom's case, it was his only day off from filming that week, which called for a day filled with tea, books, and possibly a box of sweets.
He took a slow step forward as the man two spots ahead of him took his pastry box and headed for the glass doors of the entrance. With the jingling of the golden bells above the door, the man was gone, and the woman in front of Tom began her request for her order. Tom couldn't help but eavesdrop as he waited.
"Um, hi, I need to order a birthday cake." You began with shy tint to your voice. Without a second's pause, the cashier pulled a piece of paper out from under the counter and pressed a pen to the paper as he jotted down the date.
"Who's ordering it?"
"Me."
"Yeah, but I need a name to place it under." The man looked up with an expectant expression, obviously unsatisfied with your vague reply.
"Oh! Right. My last name is (L/n)," You stammered, and Tom watched as you clutched your hands together behind your back, fidgeting visibly. He felt pity for you; a slip-up in simple conversation was always embarrassing, especially in public.
"Alright, what type of cake?"
"I'd like a cookies and cream cake with mocha cream filling, please." You watched patiently as he jotted the information down in the respective lines of the order form.
“Size?”
“Six inches.”
“Alright, and-“
“You know what? Make it an eight-inch.”
". . .Any additional icing?"
"Mm, how about cream cheese frosting."
My goodness, Tom thought with a smirk. She does have a sweet tooth.
"Color preference?"
"Uhm, what colors do you have?"
"Let me get you the booklet." The cashier excused himself and went to the edge of the counter, near the coffee machines. After a few seconds of perusing behind the counter, he came back with a spiraled book of laminated pages. He flipped it open and pulled on a labeled tab. "So, since you want cream cheese frosting, there's a limited color choice since it gets pretty watered down with regular food dyes and the gel dye only comes in so many colors."
"That's okay, I'm not picky." You feigned a bright smile, finally pulling your hands forward and placing them on the counter as you leaned forward to look at the swatches of frosting on the pages. Tom couldn't help but notice how you stood on the tips of your toes to lean across the counter, and it pulled his lips into a smile. When you turned your head slightly to peruse the colors on the right page, he admired the gentle curve of your cheek and the delicate shape of your nose.
"I'll take the green. With the gold accents. Oh! And those cream dollops on top," You pointed to the picture. "And do you have any logos? Like Marvel or something?"
Tom’s smile grew as he cocked an eyebrow, thinking to himself, A Marvel fan?
He pictured the finished cake in his mind; the colors resembled his counterpart Loki, who often adorned himself in lustrous shades of green and gilded armor. Had your choice in color been intentional? Or was it just a coincidence?
"Yeah, but we usually put them on kids’ cakes. Do you want a printed picture or do you just want this add-on?" He pulled an organized divider of decoration samples out and held up a plastic piece shaped like the Marvel logo, but the bright red sort of clashed with the shade of green you had chosen.
"How much extra for a print?"
"Twelve dollars." He replied blandly, still holding up the logo. You cringed at the hefty price.
"Ehhh...I'll just go without."
"Do you want to have something written on it?"
"Yeah, can you put 'Happy Birthday (Y/n)'? With some gold flakes around it?" He scribbled your request down on the sheet.
"Do you want the writing in the same color?"
"How about this one?" You pointed to a sparkly black icing swatch.
"I'll be right back with your copy of the order form, miss," As the man stood up to his full height from leaning over the counter, he glanced behind you. "Sorry sir, we're low on staff today, it'll be just a minute."
"Take your time." You followed the sound of the stranger's voice, only to accidentally make direct eye contact with its owner. As you took in the man’s features, you lost all ability to think coherently or breathe properly.
The man had wavy blondish-brown hair, with eyes so bluish-green they seemed like pure crystals. He was taller than you and had a slender frame, but obviously hid some muscle beneath his black button-up. He nodded down at you and smiled broadly, adjusting his grip on the tin cartons of tea sachets he held in his arms. You could make out the label of a few, one being an English Breakfast blend.
He was, in fact, Tom Hiddleston in the flesh. The very man who had played your favorite character for nearly a decade in the Marvel franchise; the one you had had in mind when designing your cake. He had been the leading man in almost all of your favorite movies to date and you knew that he was currently starring in a play on Broadway, and yet, nearly 8 miles away from that very street full of rising stars and shimmering stage lights, here he was. In a bakery not but a ten-minute walk from your very own apartment, granting himself the pleasure of indulging six different tins of tea, and looking you in the eyes as if it was nothing monumental.
"Sorry for taking so long." You gushed, embarrassed by how slow you had been in ordering your cake - you hadn't realized there was a line forming behind you, and that Tom himself was leading that very succession. Your nerves were in even more of a bundle knowing that he was even there, much less waiting for your order to finish up.
"Don't worry about it, dear! You're perfectly fine. I'm in no rush." He shook his head dismissively.
"Thanks." You managed to say before turning back to the counter as you felt your cheeks flush. You were used to the wide mix of accents in New York, seeing as the city was so diverse from people traveling from all over the world to both visit and find residence in the Big Apple, but the rich English accent mixed with the tone of his voice made your skin shiver. It sounded like the sweetness of warm honey as it dripped from his tongue - just as it always had in his films, but in person, it was even more intoxicating.
You pleaded inwardly with the cashier to come back soon - you were practically squirming under the pressure of your nerves. You hated holding up lines, even more so when you couldn't do anything to speed the process up – especially when a handsome actor was at the mercy of your leisure.
"Whose birthday is it?"
"Hm?" You turned back around and met those wonderfully bluish-green eyes again. "I’m sorry?"
"I asked whose birthday you're celebrating."
"Oh- uh, mine. Today's my birthday."
"Oh," You could see his face fall, although his polite smile still decorated his pleasurable features. It was obvious that he was doing his best to try and hide his disappointment. You didn’t blame him; a grown woman designing and buying her own birthday cake was a pretty disappointing situation. "You're purchasing your own cake?"
"Yeah, I don't have anyone to celebrate with this time." You forced a smile, but you could tell you weren’t selling it very well. Tom felt it was a rather sad smile, especially with the way your eyebrows dipped together. In an instant, he considered the exact meaning of your explanation; did you not have any family in the area? Or were you perhaps without a family at all? Had there been some sort of fallout? Or did you just have very selfish friends who hadn’t taken the time to notice your birthday? Amongst his vast assumptions of the situation, a sincere feeling of deep empathy arose in his heart, no matter the case. "That's a shame. I'm sorry to hear that."
"It's alright; I just live here alone is all. My family lives pretty far away." You explained with a courteous smile. Tom was relieved in part to hear that it was the more pleasant assumption that brought you here. The simplistic nature in which you held yourself reserved rather intrigued him, but the dullness in your mood and the lack of excitement in your tone made his heart dip with sadness. You seemed to be rather unimpressed with yourself, which made him remorseful for you, especially when you were standing in the midst of such a sweet-smelling bakery, unable to find even a limited amount of genuine delight.
You, of course, had been woken up that morning with a call from your family wishing you a happy birthday, and while it had easily been the highlight of your morning, the ecstasy of their voices wore off as you locked your apartment door and scrambled down the steps of your complex in an effort to arrive at work on time. You were expecting a call from your best friend as well, but it would most likely come in the evening when (he/she) got off work for the day.
But it just wasn’t enough, as ungrateful as that seemed. You had no one in the flesh to celebrate with.
"Well, happy birthday, then. I believe you deserve to good wishes from someone, even if it's from a stranger." He said with an almost wistful smile. Your mouth opened partly in shock and partly in an effort to form a decent ‘thank you’, but before you could speak, the voice of the cashier pulled your attention back to the counter.
If only you knew, you thought, realizing that he was far from a stranger to you. But I suppose he is sort of a stranger, even if I’ve indulged every one of his films and fantasized about a frost giant for the last decade. At the very least, I’m a stranger to him.
“Here’s your copy of the form,” He slid the form across the counter and you studied it mindlessly until he spoke again. “The total comes out to be fifty-three eighty-six, with tax. You can pay for it now or when you pick it up later.”
“Later is fine.”
“Can we get a number or an email so we can notify you when it’s finished?” He asked, his fingers twirling the pen around in his hand as he waited. You gave him your number and folded your copy of the form so it would slide easily into your purse. “Alright, Miss (L/n), it should be ready in a few hours.”
“Great, thank you.”
“Have a nice day, ma’am.”
“You too.” You smiled, stepping away from the counter and turning to face the stranger behind you. After shoving your wallet back into your purse, you smiled up at him bashfully. “And thank you for the birthday wishes. It was very kind of you.”
“Of course, love.” He stepped forward and began to empty the armful of tins in his arms. They clinked together onto the counter successfully, with the exception of one that clattered onto the ground. Swiftly, you bent down and picked it up as he muttered, “Ah, blast.”
When you stood and handed it to him, his fingers grazed yours just enough for his warmth to spread over your knuckles. You felt your cheeks burn as your fingers tingled from the sensation.
“Oh! Thank you very much. I seem to be a bit of a klutz today!” His laughter echoed in a strain of giggles, pulling a chuckle from your own lungs. Your lips parted absentmindedly in a quaint smile as you noticed how his laughter invigorated the gleam of happiness in his eyes and widened the bright smile he wore.
“Don’t worry about it, I’m always a klutz.” You smiled coyly, turning towards the exit once more. Your gaze fell to the ground as you fought the overwhelming sense of childlike infatuation as it made your thoughts swirl and prance around each other in an unbridled jumble of warm fuzziness.
When your fingers enclosed around the bar of the door, you glanced back in the direction you had come from just enough to assuage your curiosity. When you did, you noticed Tom as he turned his head to mouth a ‘goodbye’ and wiggle a few fingers in an effort to wave to you as he prepared to swipe his card. You dipped your head forward slightly and returned the gesture with a fluttering of your delicate fingers.
Did I really just meet Tom Hiddleston? Tom freaking Hiddleston?
The bells above the door chimed contentedly as you stepped outside into the noisy streets of New York City. You glanced up at the darkening sky as a gust of cool air blew tendrils of your (h/c) hair out of its neatly brushed style. As you watched the oncoming front of billowing storm clouds creep under the bright yellow hues of the sun, you dug your hands deeper into your jacket pockets. It felt as if a blackening weight had welcomed itself upon your shoulders in an instant, stealing the magic of meeting Tom and your skin brushing his. All too quickly, your thoughts returned to gloomier matters.
Of course it would storm today.
You typically didn’t mind the rainy weather on most days. In fact, you thought New York was most beautiful when rain made her flickering lights shimmer brighter and the streets glisten with the busy reflections of the city. But if there was one day you would prefer to be on the more pleasant side in terms of weather, it would be today. This time around, you were in need of at least one favorable turn-up; what with being alone in an overly crowded city, the unbelievably slow progression of the novel you were writing, and the dreaded responsibility of working.
You were in dire straits for at least one ray of hope.
A ray of hope, you smiled to yourself as you repeated the phrase in your head. In an instant, Tom’s gentle smile and calming laugh filled your mind. Those bright eyes pierced your memory and aligned with every scene from every one of Loki’s close-ups. You had dreamt of those eyes so many times. You never thought you would see them in person – you never thought you would see him in person.
A blushful smile painted itself delicately upon your lips, bringing a warm tint to your cheeks and brightening your sorrowful expression. As you thought more and more about the encounter, however, a sense of panicked regret twanged in your stomach in the same way that something sour bursts across your tongue - twisting your face into a contortioned mix of pleasure and pain.
Why didn’t I introduce myself? I only muttered a few meager sentences.
I should have complimented his career and told him about how much he means to me as an actor! How his words inspired me to become a writer!
And I’ll probably never see him again. That was my one chance and I spent it yammering on about my sad existence and eating a cake all alone.
Oh! What he must be thinking about me; a woman ordering an entire cake for herself?
I should have stuck with the six-inch.
With a discouraged droop to your shoulders and a heavy sigh, you flipped your hood over your already-askew hair and made your way back to work. On top of all of the social stress accumulating in your mind, you were aware that returning to work wouldn’t help matters any. You doubted your floor advisor would approve of your taking an extended break, even if today was your special day. Office hours still existed from 9 to 5 with expected punctuality and two minimal breaks, apart from your thirty-minute lunch hour, birthday celebrations or not – and you would be expected to uphold a bubbly appearance and carry on the “spirit of the company”.
But as the rain began to trickle down in plumes of chilled mist, you wished for nothing more than to be curled in your bed with every blanket in your possession, with a pleasurable book or movie to entertain you, and an entire cake waiting to be devoured with a single fork.
You most certainly didn’t feel motivated to return to work of all places.
The clicking of your shoes on the dampening pavement lulled your thoughts to a state of rest. With your mind already settled into a state of glumness, you resolved to accept the reality that this time, there was no surprise party waiting for you back home, no special dinner out with friends or family, and no unexpected gifts. Nothing was going to happen that didn’t mirror exactly what happened every day: minimal sleep, loads of unbearable work, and avid amounts of stress.
And worst of all, no one to help you forget it all, even just for a day.
“You’re all set, sir. Enjoy your tea.”
“Uhm, thank you, but actually, I was wondering, is there any way I could cover the expenses for the lady’s cake? The one who ordered before me?”
“Uh, I mean, sure, if you want to.”
“Yes, please. I’d like to pay for it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, quite.”
“Alright. Let me pull up her order real quick,” - the cashier mulled over the monitor, tacking away a few command codes until your ticket joined onto Tom’s - “It comes out to fifty-three eighty-six.”
Without hesitance, Tom swiped his card through the machine and waited patiently for his receipt. As it fed slowly from the printer into the cashier’s hand, Tom folded his wallet up and slid it into his back pocket. With a gentle tear, one copy of the receipt was Tom’s for the keeping, and another required his signature. As Tom quickly scribbled something resembling his name, the cashier offered one more option for him to consider.
“Would you like to leave a note with the purchase?”
“Yes,” a delighted smile spread across Tom’s face, “Yes, I think that’s a fantastic idea.”
“One-hour rush, people! Busiest time of the day! Remember to keep those smiles taut and those voices peppy! We’d hate to lose that five-star customer service review!” The voice of your floor manager echoed through the room as she walked from her office to the printing room, violating your eardrums with her overly-joyed chorus of passive-aggressive commands.
It was unhealthy, in your opinion; no human in their right mind should be that excited about managing a dingy lit office floor cramped with grey cubicles. You whiled away your last hour with the most polished manners you could muster, trying your best not to glance too much at the time on your monitor, and blocking out the voice of Effie Trinket as it issued pointless remarks throughout the floor.
As the hour dissolved into mere minutes, you tapped your pen against your desk, silently hoping this costumer would comply so you could both get on with your night.
“No, ma’am, I’m sure you aren’t lying. I just need to make sure that the receipt is in your possession so I can give you your rewards back in full. Without the receipt code there isn’t much I can do for you in accordance to our policies.” You said, listening intently for your costumer’s reply. You flinched as a barrage of frustrated insults blared over your headpiece. Thank the heavens this was your last customer.
“No, no, I didn’t call you a liar, miss. No, I- ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to calm down for me. I’m only trying to help you, here,” You planted your face in your hands, pulling the mouthpiece away from your lips and you groaned. The woman’s voice grew incessantly louder. “Yes, I am qualified to work this position, ma’am, I just can’t overlook the policy, even in this situation, or I could risk my own job. I’m sorry. Is there anything else I can d-”
Click.
“Well, there went one of our stars.” You mumbled, pulling off your headset and scooting away from your desk. You let yourself slouch as you mindlessly logged out of your monitor and quickly shoved your things in your purse. You lumbered out of your stuffy cubicle, flicked your desk lamp off, and made tired strides towards the elevator. You tried your best to avoid eye contact with your coworkers as the atmosphere of the room filled with the sounds of people shuffling about and making their way to the lobby. Just as your fingers pressed against the orange button of the lift, a bright voice rang in your ears. You turned to find Effie Trinket herself – your floor manager, Karen.
“I heard that last phone call, (Y/n), and I have to say, it was a little disappointing,” Karen said, her expression dramatically downcast with a pouted lip. “You could practically hear how tired you look! Just remember; the customer is always right, okay? Okay!” She patted your shoulder in a patronizing manner as she bobbed her way back into her office.
What I wouldn’t give to see that hair sprayed rat’s nest deflate just for one minute. Just one, you thought as the doors of the lift glided open and a dozen people shuffled inside. You reminded yourself to breathe evenly as your shoulders rubbed involuntarily against others. The air was hot, silent, and awkward, but everyone was thinking the same thing: Why do I even work here? The paycheck isn’t even that great.
With a ding, the doors opened, and you hopped out in a hurry to avoid being forcibly shoved out. The clicking of shoes echoed through the lobby as you neared the doorway and plucked your umbrella from the stand. With one fluent movement, you shoved the door open and held it behind you for a lingering moment for the woman after you, and shook your umbrella open before leaving the dry space of the concrete awning.
You had been right; it was raining, and with little mercy. Something about the gloomy downpour felt a little more appropriate now than it had several hours since you had left the peaceful ambiance of the bakery. Any hope of optimistic pleasure had been beaten out of you after nearly a hundred phone calls with impatient strangers.
Raindrops pattered onto your umbrella and dribbled off the edges, making small dashes of chilly water tickle your ankles as they hit the concrete. You walked in silence as you swiped through the notification center on your phone; nothing interesting had popped up in the last few hours, only weather alerts and another system update notice. No calls or texts. No birthday wishes or invitations.
It wasn’t until you dropped your phone back in your pocket and stared at the glittering reflection of the cityscape in the puddled streets that you remembered that an entire cake was waiting for you back at the bakery. The same bakery you had met Tom Hiddleston in the same morning – which you were still struggling to believe.
The ghost of a sweet voice enriched your memory of the day, even if it was mostly full of embarrassment and undeserved stress. Warmth flooded your cheeks as you recalled the richness of his velvety tone in person and his gentlemanly demeanor that lived up to his reputation.
Your shoulders shrugged together as your posture dipped in delicate cadence to the girlish fantasies rolling about in your mind, followed by a fond smile. You wondered if he had given your meeting a second thought, or if he had mulled over the conversation you had briefly shared as you had, or if perhaps he had thought you pretty.
But then you remembered that you had hardly made any conversation with the man, and what you had said had been vulnerable and awkward, and you felt a wave of fresh embarrassment flood your nerves. You huffed a bleary sigh into the chilly rain and felt your body slouch. You had a knack for ruining your own mood quite efficiently.
When you finally reached the café with soggy shoes, you caught your reflection in the tall windows, and your temperament deflated completely. Your hair was a damp mess, your foundation and concealer had long worn off, and the outfit you had chosen didn’t flatter you as well as it had in front of your mirror with groggy vision that morning. Had you looked this exhausted when Tom had seen you?
The bells chimed above you as you entered and shucked off the droplets of rain from your umbrella before the door closed behind you. You slipped it into the crowded vase beside the welcome mat, surveying the quiet bakery. A polite ‘hello’ from the nearest waitress floated in your direction somewhere in the mingling conversations of the room, which you replied to with a smile. The line was a little longer now that the after-work community had fluttered in, but in your slumped attitude, you felt no irritation in the matter.
You observed the bustling streets outside as the line slowly progressed, your eyes wondering to the personalities that filled the tables and short aisles of the spacious shop. Your mind wandered over the events of the day and to the rich flavor of sweets that awaited you until you were next in line. Promptly, after rehearsing your words in your head, you requested to pick up and pay for your order. It took only a few minutes for the clerk to bring out your cake.
When she popped open the lid to the paper box, you let out a pleasant gasp.
It was stunning.
“Is it to your liking?”
“Oh, yes, very much, thank you,” you gushed, admiring the Loki-inspired palette before she folded it shut and secured the edges to each other, “It’s perfect.”
You began to dig around in your purse for your wallet, ignorant to the tiny envelope taped to the top of the box. “How much do I owe you?”
“It’s already paid for, ma’am,”
“What?”
“Um, It’s been paid for. You don’t owe anything.”
“I’m sorry, but – I- I don’t understand. I didn’t pay for it when I was here earlier today.”
“Well, our bill shows that it was paid for shortly after the order was made, along with several tins of tea.”
Tea? I didn’t buy any tea.
Your eyes widened as you remember a certain handsome stranger with six cartons of tea in his arms, one of which you had helped him pick up.
The tea. Tom.
Tom paid for my cake.
“Whoever paid for it left a note for you,” she added, removing to the small envelope attached to the box lid and handing it to you, “Maybe the person behind you or something? There’s a trend for that going around online.”
With quick fingers, you opened the tiny envelope and pulled out the delicate little card which read,
“I hope this small gesture can bring a little joy to your day. Happy Birthday!
P.S. If you need help eating it, just give this number a call. (###)###-#####.
(I trust that you won’t give this number out.)
Tom Hiddleston”
Alongside his invitation for company was a quaint little doodle of a smiley face. And he trusted you with his personal phone number? A woman he had only just met? The air in your lungs thinned as your eyes darted over the loose penmanship and scribbled name several times before you glanced back up at the cashier.
“Um…”
“Do you know them?” Her excited curiosity pulled your gaze back to hers.
“Uh, no...not personally.”
“A stranger, then? That was kind.”
“Yes,” you murmured, reading over the card another time, “yes it was.”
In a dense phase of disbelief, you managed to return to your apartment with your gifted cake in hand. After dipping out of your shoes and dumping your accessories by the door, you set your cake in the fridge with timidly careful hands – the value of this delicacy had increased immeasurably. It was no longer just a simple treat you had decided to give to yourself. It was the result of something simplistically spectacular, a desert made a hundred times sweeter by the giving heart of a stranger.
Except that stranger didn’t feel like one. He felt familiar. He felt like a friend.
After you quickly showered the grime of work off of your body and freshened your rain-dampened hair, you donned a comfortable pair of sweats and made for your kitchen. You peered into the cabinets and fridge for quite some time, searching for something that piqued your cravings and also offered a bit of healthy influence to your growling hunger – but why not just eat the cake? It was your birthday, after all.
You pulled the box out from the cool shelf and set it on the counter, preparing a dish and silverware, and hunting for a set of small wax candles you remembered having stashed in a drawer. When you found a pair of neon-colored candles, you pulled the cake out of the box timidly and poked the tip of the candles through the cream cheese frosting. You dimmed the kitchen lights, and with the flick of a match, you lit the candles.
You watched them twinkle for a moment, your thoughts drifting to the handsome stranger who had graciously picked up the tab for someone he barely knew – and you were beyond grateful to be that someone. With a quick puff of air, you blew the candles out, wishing quietly you would be able to see him again.
After you cut through the cake and carefully set a slice aside for yourself, you sat on your sofa in the still silence of loneliness and tried to delve into the delicacy. But you couldn’t. You thought back to the generous offer written hastily on the small card…
“P.S. If you need help eating it, just give this number a call.”
Surely, he hadn’t meant it? Tom was an incredibly generous person; someone generous enough to donate to charities, give back to his fans, remain humble after a decade of hard-earned success, and buy a stranger and very expensive cake…and offer his company?
If it hadn’t been for the number scribbled beside the offer, you would’ve dismissed it entirely.
Your social anxiety told you that it was simply a gesture of kindness, equivalent to when someone inquires after your wellbeing, but not truly seeking the honest truth, happy or not, just a simple “good, thank you, and how are you”. It was a social normality to politely check in on others but never impose upon them by pushing your honesty too far, whether you were doing well or rather horribly.
So, was this the same? Had it just been a polite gesture of kindness? One he hadn’t intended on you following through with?
But he left his number.
You poked at the slice of cake, unable to push past the chance that maybe, just maybe, he had been completely sincere in his offer – and maybe even hoped you would call.
With a disheveled sigh of determination, you pushed yourself off of the cushions and stalked back into the kitchen where the envelope sat primly beside the cake box. You opened it up and with shaky fingers, typed in the digits on your phone’s keypad.
What harm could trying do, in all honesty?
The quaint melody of Tom’s phone echoed in his apartment, sending him in a frenzy of overturned pillows and disheveled cushions until he found it buried beneath a stack of scripts and thin poetry books. He wondered briefly who it could be before answering the unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Yes, hi, is this Tom? Hiddleston?”
You cringed inwardly, scrunching your face as you fiddled with the unused napkin in your hand. The familiar English accent was already enough to prove that it was him.
“This is he,” Tom’s expression was one of confusion from the unfamiliar female voice on the other end of the call, “To whom am I speaking?”
“Uh, this is (Y/n). From the bakery. This morning. You paid for my cake?”
“Oh, yes! Hello, darling! Was it as scrumptious as it looked?”
“Well, you see, that’s why I’m calling you…I wanted to thank you, it was so kind of you to do that, and I actually haven’t tried it yet? Um, It’s just that, well,” you inwardly chastised yourself for babbling, “I can’t seem to eat it. I’ve been staring at it for an hour and I just can’t seem to get up to nerve to celebrate by myself… I’ve never had a birthday alone, you see, and I was just wondering if, um, if I could take you up on your offer? To help me eat it?”
Tom’s lips bloomed into a full smile – he had hoped you would call.
“Of course, that sounds like a lovely idea. Would you like to meet somewhere?”
And so, after a few minutes of planning, you had agreed to meet Tom at a small café near his apartment building. You quickly changed into a casual outfit and packed the cake back up, climbed into your car, and found your way to the café – all while hardly believing that any of this was happening.
Would this be considered a date? Or was it simply a show of interest as a stranger who sought to become friends?
When you found a space to park, you felt your heart pounding harder with every minute that brought you nearer to Tom’s presence. With the cake box in hand, you stepped up the sidewalk to the café, and found Tom standing by the door like the gentleman he was.
“(Y/n), darling, there you are!”
“Hi, Tom!” Your cheeks flushed red as you approached him. Your shoulders dipped together in timid embarrassment – was it appropriate to call him by his first name?
“I trust you found your way safely?”
“Yes I did,” you offered a smile as he opened the door for you, “thank you.”
It was a quaint little place with a small crowd, dimmed with candles and warm rustic lighting, plants dotted every corner and table, a grey tabby cat mingled between tables, and the mix of rich drinks was overwhelming when you entered.
The table he led you to – with a gentle hand on your back – was in the corner, huddled by a shelf of old books and dangling vines. You had to admit, the air in the café was exceedingly romantic, but you held your hopes within your mind and focused instead on your grasp on reality itself.
You were about to share your previously isolated birthday dinner with Tom Hiddleston?
When two cups of tea and dishware had been brought to the table, you offered Tom a generous slice, which he took giddily. After a few moments of acquainting yourselves and nibbling politely on your slices, Tom attempted to assuage his curiosity.
“Now, I have to ask,” his smile was almost wolfish as he grinned at you from across the table, “Did you, by chance, plan to decorate your cake after a certain Marvel character?”
There was a hint of mischief in his eyes, which was all too familiar.
“Well, yes, actually. Loki has been my favorite in the MCU for as long as I can remember...he-well, you, helped me get through a lot in my life. I thought it fitting to spend my birthday with him.” You returned his grin, gesturing to the cake.
“In more ways than one, evidently.”
And so, in the generous gift that a stranger had bestowed upon you, a flicker of something wonderful, something beyond friendship, bloomed all around you.
You knew then that your life would never be the same - and perhaps Tom's wouldn't be either.
prompt: “Can you wear that dress I like?” + from this contest prompts list
summary: loki is reluctant to go to one of Tony’s parties and avenger!reader tries to convince him to go
genre: fluff
warnings: nervous loki? idk
words: 1,601 (sorry that this is really long haha)
notes/tags: this is for @caplansteverogers’s 4k challenge, congrats!!!!! #capswritingfarm + i spent so much time finding those dresses on weheartit lol and i know i said i’d post it yesterday but i fell asleep :/ hope you enjoy this!!!
song: That Dress - The Pale White
“But do I have to go?”, Wanda whined.
You chuckled and shook your head.
“Yes, Wanda, you do”, you replied in a reassuring manner, “I know you’re still uncomfortable around people, but I’ll be there with you the whole time, don’t worry!”
Loki snickered from behind his ancient-looking book, sprawled out on the couch.
“What’re you smirking at?”, you snapped sarcastically at his annoyed expression. “You know you’re coming too, right?”
The trickster’s grin suddenly fell as he put down his reading material and propped himself up on his elbow to stare at you intently.
“And by whom, pray tell, was this decision made?”, he asked with a snarl.
You shrugged and revelled in his furious gaze.
“Tony", you explained nonchalantly. “He wanted to keep an eye on you.”
Wanda flinched when the god’s nostrils flared violently as he kept his cold eyes trained on you. Slowly backing away from Loki’s stare, the witch bid you goodnight and swiftly stepped out of the room.
Turning to face the trickster directly, you crossed your arms and returned his glare, determined not to let his oversized ego win.
As strange as it seemed, the god quickly gave up on trying to intimidate you, preferring to rise and stride across the room until he stood only a few feet away from you.
Placing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, Loki let a devious grin spread across his features and the butterflies in your stomach flitted around inside of you.
“And what exactly”, he hummed, observing you, “could possibly motivate me to attend these ridiculous festivities?”
“Th-there’s supposed to be f-free food", you answered with stumbling words and a wavering voice, “w-works for me most of the time...”
The trickster chuckled at the obvious effect he had on you, but didn't push things further.
“You could- um…”, he started off, slightly what, nervous, maybe? timid?
“You could… can- can you wear that dress I like?” he whispered against the skin at the nape of your neck, his cold breath a welcome distraction from the heat quickly creeping up your cheeks.
“A-and you’ll come if I wear that d-dress?”, you inquired, any semblance of breath leaving your body.
“Hm… maybe”, he smirked against your collarbone, “or you could also wear no dress at all, I would be perfectly fine with that as well.”
“Loki!”, you huffed, pushing him away and angrily walking out of the room, though his words lingered on your skin as well as on your mind.
As you made your way to your room, you thought about the trickster’s request. He’d seemed… anxious.
You weren’t even aware that he could feel something like that.
Although, the more you thought about it, about him, the more you began to understand his situation.
Always a loner, he’d obviously never connected very well with many people, and he was now exiled in a world he tried to take over and surrounded by people too stubborn to realize that he hadn’t been in control of his actions.
Maybe he just needed a sense of familiarity, of comfort. Thor had mentioned that you reminded him of his late mother, Frigga. Maybe that was what Loki was looking for in you, for someone to be kind to him like his mother once was.
Had anyone really bothered to ask him why he came to Earth, and not another planet?
Was it out of spite? thirst for power? love?
Your heart skipped a beat at the idea that Loki could ever hold feelings for someone.
Pushing your thoughts aside, you walked into your bedroom and headed straight for your closet to start preparing for the party. However, once you opened the door, your eyes wandered between the dresses hung in front of you.
Your hand inadvertently moved to a gorgeous crimson tulle gown, tracing the sweetheart neckline and off-shoulder straps. Thor had given it to you a few months ago for your birthday.
Actually, Wanda had forced Thor to give it to you, because the bilgesnipe fang earrings he’d gotten “wouldn’t appeal to your skin tone”.
“Thank you Wanda”, you chuckled, as you eyed the rich fabric.
You gripped the dress’ hanger tight, before casting a look behind your shoulder at the other end of your wardrobe.
Hidden behind pantsuits and overalls, the slick green fabric seemed to call out to you, almost blue in the shadows cast by the lighting of your room.
You let go of the red dress and reached out to the teal gown.
As your fingers gently tugged at the silky fabric, you remembered when you’d worn it for the first (and only) time.
Congratulations passed around the room as you surveyed the source of the attention.
The couple, namely a certain genius philanthropist and his future supersoldier husband, were greeting family, friends and press as a practice meal turned out to feel much too real.
You hadn’t been with the group for a long while, but you could feel that Steve and Tony were perfect for each other from the moment you’d met them.
You shivered as the crisp winter air hit your bare shoulders and turned away from the door, only to find a particular trickster standing only inches away from you.
“Shit! Loki!”, you cried with indignation, swatting at his chest, “don’t do that!”
The god hadn’t reacted to your outcry, rather concentrated on the dress you were wearing, his brow slightly furrowed and lips parted.
“When did you acquire this... garment?”
He seemed distant, concentrated on your gown, and took a step back to admire it in its entirety.
As his eyes followed the edges of your dress, the silt in your skirt, and the bare skin it exhibited, you felt your cheeks heating up.
Having someone examine your body so meticulously was an awkward experience, but you felt comfortable enough with Loki to know that he didn’t mean anything devious by it.
He’d always held women in high esteem, according to his brother. If you’d known Asgard was such a feminist place, you’d have moved there years ago.
Lost in thought, you hadn’t noticed him moving closer to you, until he stood merely a breath away.
“I like it”, he whispered into your ear, and you could feel the edges of his grin on the outside of your earlobe.
Upon his declaration, a bright green light shimmered over the god of mischief and he disappeared in front of your disbelieving eyes.
A soft smile on your lips, you pulled the teal gown off of its hanger and started getting ready for the party.
“Hmmm… I seem to recall you saying that you’d be there with me the whole time”, Wanda mentioned over her drink as you smiled sheepishly, turning away from the stunning trickster.
“Well, I- uh, see-”, you stammered, unable to form a proper explanation.
You reaction pulled a laugh from Wanda.
“It’s fine, just go to him already”, she waved you off, “It’s painful to look at your puppy-dog eyes.”
You smiled apologetically over your shoulder as you quickly crossed the room.
The trickster was sprawled on a seemingly uncomfortable couch, casting a bored gaze over the room, until his eyes met yours.
He got up from his sitting position just as a massive pillar of muscle blocked your path.
“(y/n)! What are you doing here?”, Thor asked with a beaming smile, which faded as soon as he eyed your clothing, “and wearing my brother’s colors?”
“I’m sorry, your brother’s what?”, you quickly interjected, baffled by the god’s question.
“His colors!”, he continued, “On Asgard, during courting, two partners would wear the same color of clothing to indicate their interest in each other! I thought you knew…”
“That I did not”, you answered, pensive.
As you felt an arm snake around your waist, you drew in a breath and turned on your heels, coming face to face with a smirking Loki.
“I see you wore the dress”, he noticed, his smile widening at your evident surprise.
“Yes, and apparently you didn’t think to mention that my wearing green could be a mark of courtship?”, you quipped sarcastically.
The god chuckled and looked into your eyes with a softness you hadn’t known he possessed.
“Ah yes, that detail seemed to have evaded me”, he knowingly replied with a wink.
You gasped as you noticed the sarcasm in his voice.
He had known!
“What does that mean?”, you voiced your concerns. “Were you making fun of me?”
“Never!”, he answered instantly, then faltered as he explained himself, “I wouldn’t mock you. I just- uh- I didn’t know how to-”
There it was again, that nervous side of him.
The trickster sighed as he ran a hand through his hair, making you start to blush.
You knew what he was asking, you weren’t stupid.
He seemed to really struggle getting the words out, and the sight of a stumbling god of mischief gave you enough courage to pull him down by the collar of his shirt and plant your lips on his in a soft, light kiss.
“Yes, Loki”, you chuckled against his mouth in a playful tone, “I’ll court you.”
Letting out a small laugh, he slid a hand up your back and pushed your body flush against his own, this time in a more passionate embrace.
You vaguely registered a few party goers whistling around you, but all you could feel was Loki tugging at your hair and gripping the fabric of the dress you couldn’t wait to get off of you.
“So”, you asked when you paused for breath, “I take it you like the dress?”
thank you for reading and, as always, feedback is greatly appreciated and encouraged ;)
Summary: You’re Peter Parker’s best friend, Y/N L/N. You’re also known as the Ghost Spider, the female version of Peter. Being the older of the two, you taught Peter a lot and he was always more ready to fight and become an Avenger than you. You knew the danger that came with it all and spent most of your time making sure Peter was safe while he lived his dream. Now you have risked it all to save him and he is asking you to come home... but you’re tired.
Warnings: Angst, subtle mention of death, mention of murder.
A/N: This is a piece from a fanfic book with a Loki/Bucky/Peter {haven’t really decided which} love interest I dream of writing one day. Let me know what you all think. ♥ For this one specifically I envision a female main character so there are more female pronouns in it. If you all like it and want a gender neutral one let me know, I’d be happy to post it. Also, not my gif above.
Song Inspiration: Two Birds by Regina Spektor
Y/N = Your Name. L/N = Last Name.
As I held the infinity gauntlet in my hand, I felt the power surge through my veins. It hurt, fiery searing pain surging through me as I stared into the mad titan’s eyes. Nothing but spite and anger were in my eyes towards the titan. I could hear Loki’s last words in my head. “You’ll never be a God.” Thor had told me his brother's last words and I chose to stick by it.
“You’ll never be a God.” I growled at Thanos, my voice rough and ragged from the battle. As the last word slipped my lips, I snapped. A force of power, coming from all of the stones in the gauntlet Tony had made, rushed over the battlefield and coursed through all of Thanos’ warriors and Thanos himself.
The last thing I heard before the snap was a mix of Tony yelling “Kid!” and Peter’s voice “Y/N no!” Peter’s broke me the most. I was close with Tony, I mean hell, he was calling me kid. He doesn’t just call anyone kid. He had taken care of me since I was eight and ended up in Shield after my parents murders. I met Peter before Shield though, we had always gone to the same school and our parents used to be friends, along with Aunt May. Simpler times, I guess.
Squeezing my eyes, I heard Peter’s voice in a broken state. “Y/N... Y/N, please.. Please wake up... Don’t leave me here.. Not like this.” In between his words were soft, broken sobs and if my heart wasn’t already breaking, it was now.
I screamed at myself to open my eyes and with all of the strength left in me, I did. I opened my eyes to meet his, a broken, tired smile ghosted my lips as I looked at my best friend. “Peter...” I whispered out, my voice cracking.
“Come on, Y/N.. We’ve got to get you up. We’ve got to get you home! You’ll be okay. Come on!” Peter pleaded with me.
I knew there was no way I was going home. How could I tell him that though? Looking at the wounds that wrapped around my whole arm, stretching up my neck, and across my face, I sighed ever so softly. I held the hand he had placed on top of my good one before looking up into his hershey chocolate brown eyes. “I’m tired...” I said quietly, tears now brimming my eyes. “The sky is overcast and I’m sorry...” Saying this, I shake my head as I look back down at my war-torn body.
“Peter...” Tony said softly behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder in a comforting way to which Peter responded angrily and shook it off, shaking his head.
“No!” Peter cried out.
A/N: Aaaand that’s it for now. Okay, so I have many different ways it can go for different love interests. I don’t know which way I would/will? go yet. Is Y/N dead yet? 🤔 Is Y/N ever really dead? 🤔
Hey! This is my first work on tumblr. Thinking of making this a miniseries, what do you think?
Series Summary: Maggie Barnes, an ex-avenger, moves to Quantico Virginia with her husband, Bucky Barnes, and their two-year-old. What happens when she’s reunited with her long lost twin brother? Will she find a new family to replace the ones she’s lost?
Warnings: A little angst, mentally abusive fathers, alcoholic fathers, daddyissuesTM, TOO MUCH BUCKY FLUFF, maybe future pregnancy? Let me know if I need to add any more!
Tony Stark. He was my father figure for a long time. Met him when I was sixteen. We grew really close, he even helped me take my abusive father to court and have myself emancipated at the ripe age of seventeen. It was through him, that I met some of my best friends and the love of my life.
Peter Parker. My best friend. He’s much younger than me-- I’m 28 and he’s hardly 18-- but I see a lot of my younger self in him. Plus he keeps me updated on all the cool things these days. Wait, did I really just say that? Wow, I am getting old. Gross. Anyways....
Clint and Laura Barton are also some of my closest friends. Screw that, we’re family. They took me in for a while when a mission went wrong when I was 19. We hit it off and boom, friends. Plus, their kids get along with mine.
Wait wait wait, sorry. I kinda just jumped right in there. Let me slow down a sec.
Hi, My name is Maggie Barnes. I’m an Avenger, known to the public as Miss Magnum. I’m twenty-eight years old. Married to the love of my life, James Buchanan Barnes, who is also the father of our two and a half year old daughter, Brooklyn. But, that’s not all to my story.
For the past 11 years, I have lived in New York, as an Avenger. I’ven lived there with my makeshift little family, and it was great for a while. But now- it doesnt feel like home anymore. It just reminds both Bucky and I of the people we’ve lost. Of course- the compound has a lot of good memories. This is where Tony and Bruce taught me how to do sciencey things. This is where Nat shared her famous cookie recipe with me. This is where This is where Bucky and I met. We got married on the grounds just outside the compound. Brooklyn was born here.
But now, as I roam these empty halls for the last time, I’m reminded of Tony. And Natasha. And Vision, and Steve. I’m reminded of how these people that I’ve come to know and love over the years are gone, and how they’re never coming back. Bucky is happy for his best friend, but I know that deep inside of him, he’s hurt. Steve isn’t here to see his best friend live the life he’s always wanted. Just like Tony isn’t here to watch me finally get the thing he knows I’ve always wanted the most: Peace.
But that brings me to the reason I’m roaming these halls for the last time-- I’m leaving. With Bucky and Brooklyn, of course. And I’m not going too far, just to Virginia. Specifically Quantico, near the FBI’s main office. That’s where I’ll be working, of course.
I’ve been offered a job there as the Section Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, or the BAU. I have a masters in Criminology, among other things, and I’ve studied behavior and lectired about it occasionally for the past five years. I’m overqualified for this job. That’s not what I’m nervous about, though. To explain what scares me most about this job, I have to dive deep into my past, and I have to take you with me.
