fictivefrolic

Call me Ari. Libra. Bi sexual mess. Ao3 Username: fictive_frolic 18+ Ocassionally NSFW. Ocassional  Kink. 

Nothing Good Happens After Midnight: Twenty- Four

“Ask your mom,” Bruce said looking up from his computer at the two girls hovering in the doorway of his lab, hesitating to walk across the thresh hold. The girls recognized him as an adult. Someone to ask for permission but “dad” was still a struggle. Lyra hadn’t even known who he was. He’d not been there at all. And Harper, she’d been so little. So desperately tiny. Just starting to get a grasp on the world. And then he’d been gone. 

“Mama told us to ask you,” Harper said, “She’s still at the store.” Bruce took off his glasses and stretched, unused to being the authority in the house. 

You ran everything efficiently. Without him. For as long as the kids could remember. They knew you. They knew the rules, even if they bent them sometimes. Even if they tested boundaries. “Did your mom tell you when she was coming home?” he asked.

Harper shook her head, “She said she and Auntie Nat were getting lunch.”

Bruce nodded, “Well,” he said, standing up, smiling a little at the wide dark eyes that were looking up at him, “Let’s go see what we can do about it, hm?” 

There were happy kid giggles and tiny rapid steps on the wood floors. It made him feel warm. It was so easy to make them happy. Currently, they wanted to make cookies. You’d bought cookie dough when you did the shopping for the week. All they wanted to do was bake said cookies. And eat some. He could do that. It was just cookie dough.

_______

Nat looked up from chasing her last boba around her bubble tea with her straw, “So,” she said, “How’s Bruce doing?” 

You smile a little, “He’s… he’s trying. He loves them. Adores them but… Two years is a long time to be gone. Especially where kids are concerned. They grow and change so much… I mean. Last time he saw Harper, she was just barely potty trained. And he didn’t even know I was pregnant with Lyra. Hell, I barely knew I was pregnant with Lyra. I’d just taken the test the day before all the shit started.”

Nat made a soft sympathetic noise and patted your hand, “I’m sorry,” she says softly.

You shake your head, “He just needs time,” you say with confidence you don’t feel, “It’s not like he doesn’t love them… He’s just not had to do daddy things. He’s not had to parent. He’ll get the hang of it.”

“Do you think the house will be standing when you get back?” she asked grinning.

“Neither of them are getting powers yet… and I made sure I left cookie dough where Harper would see it. I’d imagine they’re getting along just fine.” you tell her, taking a bite of your salad.

____

By the time you get home, shopping bags in hand, the house smells like cookies and the girls are racing around the yard in tutus and pretend wings at top speed, giggling and waving toy magic wands. Being chased by Bruce who’s laughing and scooping them up to tickle them and cover their little faces in kisses when he can catch them. You watch the scene and lean against the doorframe, smiling. This is what he wanted. Giggly little girls and magic sparkles. Sweet kisses and soft curls. When he finally sits in the grass, panting, only to be tackled to the ground by his baby witches, you can hear the distinct timbre of the Hulk’s laughter under his. 

Lyra sees you first and climbs off of Bruce, running towards you as fast as her chubby little legs can carry her. Bruce watches the girls race towards you and grins as you scoop them up and kiss their chubby dimpled cheeks, taking a second to inspect them. They’re covered in chocolate and grass stains but happy. Chattering at you about all the fun they had while you were out.

They wiggle out of your arms to resume racing around the yard at top speed and you stand on your toes to kiss Bruce hello. “Good day?” you ask. Bruce smiles and cards his fingers through your hair, watching the silver at your part flow through his fingers. “Yeah,” he said softly, “It was nice… You made good kids.” 

“You helped,” you point out, “You were just a little late to the party with Lyra.” He sighs, “I’m still sorry. I just… I was so afraid.” You hush him and kiss his jaw, “Bruce, it’s okay.” 

He hugs you close and buries his face in your neck. It feels like home, still, hugging you like this. You smell the same. It makes him dizzy and if it weren’t for his daughters, lurking nearby. Watching. Deciding whether or not to find him wanting, he’d have nipped the spot on your neck that turned your knees into jello. But that was for later. After bedtime stories were read and the girls were fast asleep. 

When he had you all to himself again and got time to lavish attention on you. Remind you that you were his. 

______

“Why didn’t you move on?” he asked later, in the quiet. In the rumpled bedding, your head on his chest.

“No one could ever measure up to you,” you say smiling a little, “And it wasn’t fair to make them try.” Bruce cuddled you closer and popped you lightly on the backside, “So you were just going to be alone forever?”

“I knew,” you tell him, “Somewhere in the back of my mind, that you weren’t dead. You couldn’t be dead because if you were dead I’d have felt it… I could get a sense, sometimes, while you were on Sakkar. That you were stuck. Lost… I just had to trust that you’d find your way home to us.” Bruce nodded, “Were you ever angry at me?”

“Only every other minute while I was in labor with Lyra,” you tell him, “You were supposed to be there. You promised me I’d not have to do all this alone and then, you were gone. I had a newborn and a toddler and no you.” 

Bruce winced and you sigh, “Please don’t apologize, Bruce. Please. I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to be here with us. I don’t want you to feel like you’re an outsider.”

“I know,” he said softly. You move carefully to straddle his hips and pin his wrists above his head gently. He smiles up at you and chuckles when your hair brushes his face when you cover him in kisses. “You belong here,” you tell him softly, “You’re mine.”

“Yours,” he agrees, groaning as you sheath him inside you, impatient for him. You kiss him, slowing, licking into his mouth and leaving him with no doubts about what you wanted to happen. “Careful,” Bruce rumbled, “Keep kissing me like that and I’m not gonna stop, Y/N. Not until I put another baby in you.”

You smirk, “Think you’re up to it?” you challenge, teasing him.

He thrusts up, rolling his hips lazily, relishing watching you squirm on him, “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

Tags: @lancsnerd@stevieang@golddaggers@blameitonthecauseway @qxeen-of-hearts@process-pending@xmarveled@beautybyfire, @etherealwaifgoddess, @mschellehitt, @mistressoftorture @thorfanficwriter, @ctinadiva, @innerpaperexpertcloud @amalthea9  @cdwmtjb8 @notyourtypicalrose, @harrison-shot-first @everything-is-awesomesauce @geekysimmerthings

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itsclydebitches:

“Irritated fans produce fanfic like irritated oysters produce pearls.”

— Anne Jamison
(via pen-in-hand)

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This is the Life: Seven

“Penny Lane,” an authoritative voice behind you says, “put your hands behind your head and get down on the ground. You’re under arrest!” 

You stop and kneel slowly, hands going behind your head. Penny Lane. A name you hadn’t used in a little while. You don’t protest. You don’t move or speak. You take a deep breath and sink slowly to your knees, saying a quiet prayer to any god that hasn’t given up on you.

A red haired woman puts cuffs on your wrists, “HYDRA is coming,” she said in your ear, “Trust us.”

You don’t have time to respond. You’re vaguely aware of being read your rights. You’re too focused on breathing. Trying to manage the sudden fear and anxiety racing through you, reining in the sudden rush of power and forcing it down as they put you in the back of a police car.

Bucky glances at you in the mirror and smiles sympathetically, “Penny Lane, huh?”

You shrug, “It was better than Tulip… Worked better when I was running guns.”

“Jesus,” Nat snorted, “Tulip?”

“I’ve named myself twice now… Still named myself better than my parents,” you sigh.

Bucky smiled a little. He liked your sense of humor. It was dry. A little dark. You’d told him once that “That which did not make you quit this field tended to give you a fucked-up sense of humor.” Then told him about finding a client calmly sitting on their bed holding their own eyes when you did rounds in med school.

He could see your point. 

Now though, you were pale with the effort it took you to keep yourself in check. The little bit of talking you had done had set the both on edge. Bucky could tell just looking at Natasha that she’d become a believer. Steve, Tony, and Bruce thought that it was an exaggeration, the things Bucky had said he’d felt when you spoke. The trepidation and the feeling of being in the presence of a power greater than themselves.

Nat had reached towards her gun and Bucky caught her eye and shook his head. If you wanted them dead, they would be. 

“Sorry,” you say in a whisper, “It’ll get. Less. Soon.”

Bucky nodded, “I know. Just hold on. We’ll put you somewhere you can decompress when we get to the tower. Before we get the paperwork done,”

“Paperwork?” you ask, barely moving your lips.

“We’re making you our psych department,” Nat answered, exhaling slowly.

Bucky watches your eyes get more luminously red and the cracks start to surface on your skin, “Y/N,” Bucky tries gently, “Stay with me. We’ll explain everything as soon as we get you to the compound. Believe me. We aren’t just uprooting you for fun.”

Nat glances back and watches you pull yourself in line slowly, clinging to staring out the window and steadfastly ignoring either of them. 

________

The rest of the trip to the compound was quiet. No one spoke. Nat because she was listening to you, ears perked for any movement. Any sound. Adrenaline coursing through her body. Bucky because he knew there was nothing to say. Nothing that would make you feel better. He understood that it hurt and the pain made it harder to maintain control. There was no point in talking to you and trying to explain while you were desperately clinging to any semblance of control.

He pulled carefully down the drive and stopped the car, going around to open your door. He keeps an arm where you can grab him if you need to but otherwise doesn’t try to touch you. The cracks in your skin are still cherry red. You look like a stature someone has tried to piece pack together with red hot silver. You pause and pull  your phone from your pocket and hastily tap out a message, holding it out to him. 

Is there anything in that field over there? Anyone?

You point and he looks that direction, shaking his head, “We use it for outdoor training. Everyone is inside. Waiting for us.”

You nod and erase your previous message quickly, tapping out a new one.

Cover your ears.

Bucky complies and Natasha quickly follows suit. They watch as you walk forward several paces and close your eyes. The sound that bursts from you is a scream. Feral and primal. Inhuman. Loud. Even not facing them. Even with hands over their ears, it’s loud enough to bring them both slowly to their knees.

“Fuck,” Natasha breathed, “Thanks for not doing that in the car.” You turn and walk back towards them, nodding apologetically, “All that energy has to go someplace,” you explain in a hoarse whisper, “It’s usually better If I control it instead of letting it control me.” 

Bucky and Natasha watch as some of the luminous red glow on your skin and your eyes begins to dull and things fade back the shade they’re supposed to be. At least to a point. Angry scarlet welts still criss-cross your skin, looking raw. “Like a fucking Banshee,” Natasha says shaking her head to try and clear the ringing out of her ears. You nod, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky said quietly, draping his jacket over your shoulders. Trying to give you some semblance of security. Protect you from the curious eyes of all their peole milling about to see the cause of the ruckus outside. 

“That… that was really something,” Tony said strolling forward, holding out a hand, “Did they piss you off or were you just giving a demonstration. 

You exhale slowly and clear your throat, “Frustration,” you explain, “Mad is… Bigger.” 

“Hulk grammar too,” Tony said, clearly uncomfortable, “that’s good to know.” Bucky can tell he’s trying not to stare and he catches Steve’s eye, “I’m gonna take her to her room… Give her some time to settle in. Get calmed down.” Steve nods and gives him a guarded look, watching him lead you inside. 

“If you need anything,” he explains, “Just ask FRIDAY. She either knows where to find whatever it is or can alert someone who does… We’re packing up your stuff. Some good agents. They’re going to be bringing it to you… I’m sorry we arrested you. We had to make it look good.”

You stare at him a moment and he stops talking, nodding. He’s babbling. Nervous. 

It’s too much information and not enough at the same time. He stops at your door and waves away his jacket, “Keep it. For now,” he said, “It gets chilly in here.”

You nod quietly, instead of speaking and Bucky is thankful. He waits until you shut the door and exhales slowly. Christ you were scary.

Tags:  @lancsnerd@stevieang@golddaggers@blameitonthecauseway @qxeen-of-hearts@process-pending@xmarveled@beautybyfire, @etherealwaifgoddess, @mschellehitt, @mistressoftorture @thorfanficwriter, @ctinadiva, @innerpaperexpertcloud @amalthea9  @cdwmtjb8 @notyourtypicalrose, @harrison-shot-first @everything-is-awesomesauce @geekysimmerthings

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This is The Life: Six

Bucky wasn’t really sure what to do. You had pulled away from him and red cracks were appearing on the skin. “You okay?” he asked, keeping his distance. It looks painful. Angry red lines glowing softly. Like a too hot hob on a stove.

It screams “Danger”. Stay away. Get back. The lines, he knows, make pictures. Sigils. Arcane things. Things someone had drawn on you as a child. Trying to make you someone else. Like him. Like Steve.

You don’t say a word. Not a sound, despite the pain. You disappear down a short hallway and a door opens and shuts quickly. Bucky pulls out a chair and sinks into it slowly. He can hear the shower running. He wonders if it’s hot water or cold. He wonders what makes it feel better.  If anything can make that feel better. 

When you make your way back out of the bathroom in clean clothes. Things that touch as little of your skin as possible and still leave you decent. A sports bra. Some sleep shorts. Bucky winces. Your skin looks raw. The glowing red lines are no longer glowing but they’re red. Very red. 

Bucky winces in sympathy and offers you tea, pushing it slowly across the table towards you. “You okay?” he asks again. 

You sigh and nod. “Got a whiteboard?” he asked, guessing you weren’t able to speak or didn’t trust your voice.

You shake your head again and stand, getting up to rummage through a drawer for a notebook and a pen.

“Can’t talk right now. Not if you’re attached to your hearing,” you scribble, sliding it to him gently so he can read it.

“I figured,” he said after a moment, “You screaming at me the other day was a clue. That’s not a human sound.”

“Wasn’t screaming at you… Just. Screaming. It hurts,” you say with an apologetic look. Bucky nodded, “It looks like it hurts,” he said softly, “How long has that happened?”

“Since I was 16,” you answer. You let him read it and scribble for a second longer, “I figured nothing happened. That whatever they tried to do failed. Til my foster mom was trying to take a belt to my ass for being late home from school. TL;DR, that house isn’t standing anymore. The official story is a gas leak. They couldn’t find another explanation.”

Bucky whistled softly, “They got you all jacked up, huh?”

You sigh and nod, taking a sip of tea.

“So… what were they trying to do?” he asked.

You shrug and glance down at the backs of your hands, flexing your fingers slowly. 

“What starts all that?” he asked, gesturing to the fading lines.

“Intense emotion,” you scrawl, sliding the paperback across the table. He frowns, “How the fuck did you hide that from a husband?” he asked.

You shrug, “It’s pretty easy when they don’t care about you to start with,” you answer. Things heat up on your skin again and he holds out his hand, “It’s okay,” he tries, “Hey. Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay. He’s a fucking prick. About 10 minutes after he marries that girl he’s gonna miss having a decent conversation.” Your fingers curl around his metal hand and you rest your head on the table, taking a deep breath. You make a soft pained noise and he reaches over and pets your hair, “I’m sorry,” he soothes gently, “Is there anything that helps?”

“No,” you whisper. Even at that soft volume, Bucky feels the hair rise on the back of his neck and he forces himself to stay still. To not recoil away from you. 

He doesn’t doubt that if you wanted to hurt him, you would have already done it. You’re trying. Really hard. You were vulnerable right now. Hurting and emotionally distressed. Bucky just wants to make it stop. He wants you to look up at him and be snarky. He wants you to be okay. 

“You don’t deserve this,” He said softly, “I’m sorry.” 

“I’m okay,” you whisper, sitting up slowly. Bucky nods and gently wraps your hands around your mug. 

“So. If you do scream,” he asked, “Is it… Like. How loud does it get?”

You snort, “Loud,” you whisper, “Ears bleed. Tech shorts out… made it really easy to steal cars and shit.”

“Steal cars?” he asked amused.

“Right frequency. Broken police car. No tail.” you say, still keeping things succinct.

Bucky whistled softly, “Steal anything else?” he asked.

“Ran guns sometimes. Kept me fed,” you tell him. He smiled a little. He could see it. You’d not want to be in the system. You would have done anything to have a safe place to hide. That’s probably how you wound up on SHIELD’s radar. They would have seen potential in you. Organized. Smart. Driven. Good qualities in an Agent.  “You look tired,” he tries.

You nod, “Long day,” you answer as quietly as you can.

“I should go,” he said, “Let you get some rest.”

You nod and look up at him. The red glow of your eyes is gone and you only have Angry welts left on your skin. You look like you again. Like the you he knows. He wants to play with your hair until you sleep. To keep you safe against his chest. He wonders if you loved your husband or if it was an arrangement of convenience. He does know better than to ask. In the back of his mind, he knows you loved him. Even if he didn’t love you. Not the way you deserve. If he loved you the way you deserved he never would have cheated on you. Never would have left. 

He brushes hair out of your eyes and pulls a card out of his pocket, “Look. I know… I know you’re not wanting to be a hero. I get it. Just. If you ever want to talk. I know how it feels to get tortured by Nazis.”

You nod and take the card. Bucky nods and doesn’t say another word. There isn’t anything he can say after that. Not now. Not while your heart is broken. 

tags: @lancsnerd@stevieang@golddaggers@blameitonthecauseway @qxeen-of-hearts@process-pending@xmarveled@beautybyfire, @etherealwaifgoddess, @mschellehitt, @mistressoftorture @thorfanficwriter, @ctinadiva, @innerpaperexpertcloud @amalthea9  @cdwmtjb8 @notyourtypicalrose, @harrison-shot-first @everything-is-awesomesauce @geekysimmerthings

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chloesimaginationthings:

✨Bucky’s new arm feature✨

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thorfanficwriter:

captain-kelli:

thorfanficwriter:

shreddedparchment:

moonstruckbucky:

captain-kelli:

What kind of drunk do we think Sam Wilson is?

I need to know… for research purposes. Because I have it in my head that he’s an absolute blast.

DRUNK SAM HC??? COUNT ME IN.

My money is definitely on the goofy, giggly drunk. Always wanting to do karaoke even though he can’t even formulate the sentence properly, starts singing even without music.

Sam’s definitely the “get this party started” kind of drunk. He’s loud, but he’s happy.

I think he’s also the confession type of drunk. The one to come put his arm around you and tell you how much he loves you, even though y'all bicker all the time. He tells you you’re his favorite person and tries to get you to sing with him.

He’s singing Marvin Gaye tunes off key and dancing. He’s got a groove on and tries to teach Cap and Bucky modern moves. They’re having none of it.

Will the court accept a drunken Rolling Stones cover?

Yes bc he’s got moves like Jagger

“I love you, man.”

“Sam. It’s been two shots. C’Mon. Have Army Standards dropped that much?”

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Short Hiatus This Weekend

I’m not feeling well this weekend. Some Sinus nonsense, nothing major. But I can’t breathe and I’m miserable so… I’m gonna go get some sleep. I’ll be back on Monday.

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Color Spectrum Drabbles

If you sent me drabble requests today and I did not do them yet, I will do them tomorrow after some sleep.

Today was hard. I can’t think anymore.

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A writer’s inner thoughts

captain-kelli:

lancsnerd:

adorhauer:

“I used the same adjective twice in the span of six chapters. One’s gotta go.”

“Why is everyone sighing?”

“The characters talk like they’re having high tea with the queen.”

“Is it spelled right, or did autocorrect finally give up on me?”

“How many times can I google ‘define _’?”

May I also add “How many times can one character widen their eyes in one story?”

Let me add: “why are none of these verb tenses matching up?”

This is one thing I hate. Like I write as a stream of consciousness… this is the worst part

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Question:

hmmm my favourite festival is back!!! okay, lemme see, pale orange with thor (ofc 😂).

Answer:

petlaufeyson:

fictivefrolic:

Sunrise stretched forward slowly, reaching through the darkness of the night before like a lifeline. Pale orange and golden light streaked through the sky. Slowly at first and then more insistently as he watched. 

He sipped from a paper cup of coffee and remembered the last sunrise he saw. He’d been with you, lazing in a tent on top of a cliff. There’d been nothing and no one to disturb you and Thor had taken full advantage of that fact, glancing up from where he was lavishing kisses on the inside of your thighs. The sky had been red. It made him smile. It was as if the Norns were smiling on him. Praising his passion and prowess. 

It was a far cry from today. 

Today, he was sleepless with worry. Waiting for you to open your eyes. Promising himself that he’ll never watch a sunrise without you again. That you’ll never do a mission without him again. 

He listens to the beeping of the machines keeping you alive and prays to any god that might be listening. Pleading for them to just give you back.

Currently this is at the top of the tag aaaaamd why you gotta HURT MY FEELINGS?! I came here for a good time but NOOOOOO

Sorry! Feel free to send me a hero(ine) and a color in my ask box.

I’ll write yo the first thing that pops into my head

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thanks for the memories

sunmoonandbucky:

jamessdoll:

sunmoonandbucky:

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3,002

summary: Bucky’s lived a long life.

warnings: Some h*ckin’ words.  Angst with a happy ending.

a/n:  So like.  This is kinda short.  At least it feels like it is.  It’s also an idea from that fake fic ask meme I did.  But I cried writing this.  Let me know what you think!

Bucky took a deep breath as he came to a stop.  The trek became harder and harder to make every week, but nothing short of death could stop him from coming.  A bouquet of red roses hung from his hand.  The same flowers he brought every time.

“Hi, angel,” he said, his voice cracking.  It was the first time he’d spoken in a few days.

After all, his children and his friends were dead.  He didn’t have the energy to make friends with the new members of the Avengers or anyone else.  The most human interaction he got nowadays was when his grandkids called once a week to catch up.

But there was no one he wanted to talk to except for you.

Keep reading

Hann, THIS WAS SO GOOD!! I literally cried it was so great. Beautifully written 💖💖💖

THANK

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Hey Kids!

Just a quick reminder that I’m still taking Color + Hero(ine) requests for drabbles. 

Fair warning. This is the first thing that pops into my head and they’re written in 10-ish minutes.

Keep ‘em coming. Hope you’ve all enjoyed the ones that have gone up so far. They’ll all be tagged as #colorspectrumdrabble

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Question:

OOOH colour drabbles! Bright happy yellow with Loki or Bucky please 🥺

Answer:

Bucky looked down at the butter-yellow paint in the can and sighed, “Yellow? Really?” he asked.

He was tired. It had been a long day of painting and tearing up carpet. His muscles ached and more than once he’d had to remind himself that he loved you. He felt like an asshole the second he watched your face fall. “You don’t like it?”

He smiled a little, “It’ll be fine, sweetheart,” he said. 

“You don’t like it,” you sigh, “I’m sorry… I just thought it would look nice with the ceramic hardware we found for the cabinets.” You start to put the top back on the can of paint and he stops your hands, gently. “Baby,” he says gently, “I told you the kitchen was all yours. It’s not your fault yellow reminds me of snot.” You snort in spite of yourself and he chucks you under the chin, “Who knows. Maybe it’ll grow on me,” he says picking up a brush.

“Like a fungus?” you tease, remembering the dog. An Ugly brown mutt named “soy sauce” who’s arrival at the apartment had been heralded by a text “I got soy Sauce” after you’d both took turns forgetting to pick it up at the store. The dog Bucky now affectionately called “Fungus” after you’d caught him slipping a bite of steak under the table to him.

“Like a fungus,” he chuckled, putting paint in a tray and stealing a kiss.

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Question:

Yay!! More colors!! Could I get Loki with light blue :3 I’ve been re-reading a lot of your stuff all day today!

Answer:

The water of the lake was so smooth it was a perfect mirror of the sky. 

Not a ripple. Not a bubble. It felt as if he could walk off the pier he was sitting on and fall through to another world. Loki found it strangely soothing, and he was in sore need of comfort. 

You unnerved him. Your perceptive eyes that saw through his illusions. The way you challenged his superiority his claim on you at every turn. Odin may have given you to him as a bride but, like most wild creatures, you were not easily brought to heel. Unlike most beastmasters, Loki wasn’t sure he wanted to. It had been a long time since he’d not been bored. 

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Question:

hmmm my favourite festival is back!!! okay, lemme see, pale orange with thor (ofc 😂).

Answer:

Sunrise stretched forward slowly, reaching through the darkness of the night before like a lifeline. Pale orange and golden light streaked through the sky. Slowly at first and then more insistently as he watched. 

He sipped from a paper cup of coffee and remembered the last sunrise he saw. He’d been with you, lazing in a tent on top of a cliff. There’d been nothing and no one to disturb you and Thor had taken full advantage of that fact, glancing up from where he was lavishing kisses on the inside of your thighs. The sky had been red. It made him smile. It was as if the Norns were smiling on him. Praising his passion and prowess. 

It was a far cry from today. 

Today, he was sleepless with worry. Waiting for you to open your eyes. Promising himself that he’ll never watch a sunrise without you again. That you’ll never do a mission without him again. 

He listens to the beeping of the machines keeping you alive and prays to any god that might be listening. Pleading for them to just give you back.

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Question:

Pink and Thor! 💕

Answer:

Strawberry Icecream, Thor decides. That’s what your lips remind him of. He watches you sleep, tracing your lips with his thumb tenderly. Pink, kiss swollen and plump. Sweet. 

He loves those lips, the silky feel of them on his. The way you always find just the right spot on his neck to make him go weak at the knees. He smiles and brushes hair out of your eyes, admiring the reddish tones that are coming out in the weak winter sunlight, nodding to himself.

Definitely Strawberry icecream. Sweet and comforting. Tasting of the most sublime Summer fruit even in the dead of winter. Sweetly decadent. Tempting. He leans forward and brushes a kiss against them. Too tempted to resist the urge, chuckling softly when your eyes flutter open. 

“Good morning, my love,” he rumbles softly, stealing another sleepy kiss.

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Question:

Rose Gold and Bucky!

Answer:

A glimmer of something metallic caught Bucky’s eye and he turned slowly. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. 

You looked beautiful Rose gold taffeta dress, hugging curves he could still feel under his hands. Like it was yesterday. Hair piled on your head and makeup soft. You looked like a daydream.

It had been a dream, being with you. A beautiful dream that he’d turned into a nightmare. He’d broken your heart. He’d had it in his hands, and not been smart enough to hold it gently. To be brave enough, or smart enough to protect it like he should.

He wanted to be mad at Thor. He wanted to storm over there and break his jaw for kissing you. But he can’t. He’s rooted to the spot, staring. Oblivious to the Woman on his arm, hypnotized by the sound of your laugh.

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Question:

Black Widow Natasha and Turquoise!

Answer:

Turquoise, Natasha thought, is the ugliest color ever invented

It made her think of you. Soft cotton panties peeking out from under an oversized shirt. A spatula in hand as you hovered over the stove, trying to make breakfast as quietly as possible. Sunlight filling the kitchen and highlighting the soft gold tones in your hair.

It made her think of story nights and soft fluffy blankets. Cries of bliss answering cracks of thunder. 

A necklace brought back as an apology. One that missed you by hours while she was on her way back. Too late to protect you. The Blue-green stone that the thought would suit your favorite dress. One you’d wear forever. She could see that dress in her minds eye. See the way you’d looked in it. Soft. Ethereal. Like you were sleeping. Like if she called for you your eyes would open and you’d smile at her. They’d done a good job.

But the girl at the makeup counter didn’t know that as she proffered a bottle of turquoise nail polish. And Natasha didn’t tell her. She simply shook her head, “No, thank you. I hate that color.”

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Question:

Whoop, more colour drabbles! How about Tony and black? x x

Answer:

“I don’t see why I have to do this,” Tony said. 

You shrug, “Good PR,” you tell him, adjusting the black bow tie fondly, “After you made that bullshit ass comment about a ladies of SHIELD calendar, twitter fucking exploded.”

Tony sighed, “I still don’t see why that means I have to participate.”

“What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, Tones,” you say. “Now play nice for the camera and show everybody just how sexy a Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist can be.”

The genius in question looked towards the red velvet fainting couch and groaned, “I knew I should have fired you.”

“Nonsense,” you tell him, “That black speedo does good things for your ass. Just relax and enjoy the ride… The Children’s hospital will thank you later.”

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Color Spectrum Drabbles

Yo! Send me a color and a hero(ine). I’ll write the first thing that pops into my head.

Tags to start the party: @golddaggers @thorfanficwriter @lancsnerd @stevieang

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