#loki/steve
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Tagged by @marirah
Rules: Go to your published works on AO3 and list the first fic you ever published there, the last fic you published, any fic that you wrote for a fandom/ship only once, your favorite fic you wrote in the fandom/ship that has the most works, the fic you wish more people read, the fic you agonized over the most, the fic that sprang fully formed from your mind without any effort, and a work you are proud of- for whatever reason. <3
First fic I published: To Change His Fate Loki/Steve Rogers. Also my longest fic
Last Fic I published: Only Me Jay/Roy. My newest obsession
Fandom/Ship I only wrote once: So far Only Me. Jay/Roy, but only because this is a new ship for me. I did only write a few fics for Shiro/Lotor from Voltron. My favorite was If It Feels Real
Favorite fic in most popular fandom/ship: That's tough. I have several that I really like a lot from Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes. My favorite is The Best Boyfriend Bucky Barnes Never Had
Fic I wish more people read: Sight Lines It's first person so it doesn't get a lot of love, but I really like it. Dick/Tim
Fic I agonized over: Cut One Off Loki/Steve Rogers. A sequel to my longest fic. Also, my second longest. I struggled pulling all the threads together to finish it out, but I'm happy with it.
Fic that popped out fully formed: Meow Loki/Steve Rogers. Based on a true story.
Fic I'm proud of: Scars that bind Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes. Kind of sad, but with an upbeat happy ending
No pressure and I have so few followers so I'm only tagging @not-rude-ginger and @hanitrash
#dccomics#dc#tim drake x dick grayson#dick grasyon#dicktim#fanfic#tim drake#steve rogers#steve/bucky#steve rogers/bucky barnes#loki/steve#stoki#frostshield#stucky
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when y/n does something so bad/embarrassing you have to facepalm and close your eyes for a minute


#bucky barnes x reader#hannibal x reader#spencer reid x reader#dean winchester x reader#supernatural x reader#evan buckley x reader#wanda maximoff x reader#jasper hale x reader#sanji x reader#aaron hotchner x reader#criminal minds x reader#joe goldberg x reader#derek morgan x reader#mattheo riddle x reader#theodore nott x reader#sirius black x reader#remus lupin x reader#eddie diaz x reader#natasha romanoff x reader#fanfiction#x reader#y/n#sam winchester x reader#eddie munson x reader#steve harrington x reader#loki x reader#loki laufeyson x reader#tate langdon x reader#daryl dixon x reader#astarion x reader
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Pov: you're reading fanfiction and suddenly y/n starts to call him daddy


#steve harrington x reader#eddie munson x reader#spencer reid x reader#aaron hotchner x reader#derek morgan x reader#jj maybank x reader#john b routledge x reader#pope hayward x reader#rafe cameron x reader#steve rodgers x reader#bucky barnes x reader#peter parker x reader#loki x reader#thor odison x reader#tony stark x reader#pietro maximoff x reader#steven grant x reader#marc spector x reader#charles leclerc x reader#max verstappen x reader#lando norris x reader#oscar piastri x reader#carlos sainz x reader#lewis hamilton x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#shoto todoroki x reader#shota aizawa x reader#x reader
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When you're reading a fanfic and suddenly the reader has a name
#fanfic#fanfiction#logan howlett x reader#jake lockley x reader#marc spector x reader#miguel o'hara x reader#steve rogers x reader#steven grant x reader#anakin skywalker x reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barns x reader#din djarin x reader#dean winchester x reader#castiel x reader#peter parker x reader#loki x reader#natasha romanoff x reader#wanda maximoff x reader#james potter#sirius black x reader
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The Avengers 2012 era was the best time ever in the fandom
Thor loves pop tarts, Clint lived in the vents, Bruce and Tony did science together, Steve was the mom friend of the team and did art in his free time, Natasha was cool aunt of the team, Loki was there too and a bunch of other characters like Peter, Sam, Bucky, Vision and Wanda all lived in the Avengers tower together
It was a much simpler time where everyone in the fandom was chill and having fun together
#loki laufeyson#loki odinson#thor odinson#wanda maximoff#peter parker#vision#tony stark#bruce banner#natasha romanoff#steve rogers#clint barton#sam wilson#bucky barnes#the avengers#avengers family#domestic avengers#marvel
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#x reader#fanfiction is life#fyp#fictional men are better#fypage#sebastian sallow x reader#tumblr fyp#actually mentally ill#foryou#foryoupage#relatable#loki laufesyon x reader#theodore nott x reader#cillian murphy x reader#gojo satoru x reader#chuuya nakahara x reader#anakin skywalker x reader#kol mikaelson x reader#draco malfoy x reader#damon salvatore x reader#tom riddle x reader#mattheo riddle x reader#stardew valley x reader#stranger things x reader#harry potter x reader#marauders x reader#jonathan crane x reader#steve harrington x reader#dick grayson x reader#joe goldberg x reader
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The grind is taking over me
#marvel#marvel rivals#artists on tumblr#digital art#iron fist#luna snow#marvel mcu#my art#steve rogers#captain america#jeff the land shark#loki laufeyson#adam warlock#moon knight
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normalise making a list of character x readers u like to read so you can spin a wheel every night before bed to decide ur bedtime story xx
#arthurtv x reader#george clarke x reader#italian bach x reader#steve harrington x reader#edmund pevensie x reader#timothee chalamet x reader#peter quill x reader#daryl dixon x reader#carl grimes x reader#peter parker x reader#anakin skywalker x reader#finnick odair x reader#peeta mellark x reader#tangerine x reader#miguel o’hara x reader#carmy berzatto x reader#sebastian sallow x reader#ominis gaunt x reader#joel miller x reader#kaz brekker x reader#eddie munson x reader#loki x reader
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The only reason I haven’t slept with this man Is because he’s playing hard to get.
(He’s fictional btw)
#bucky x reader#matt murdock x reader#wolverine x reader#jason todd x reader#dick grayson x reader#loki x reader#peter parker x reader#erik lensherr x reader#x reader#x yn#x you#fictional men#fictional other#daredevil x reader#relatable#peter maximoff x reader#steve rogers x reader#logan howlet x reader#x canon#adrian chase x reader#deadpool x reader#frank castle x reader#bucky barnes x reader#mark grayson x reader
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any one else completely forget that straight men are marvel fans like sir these characters are for the girls and gays wdym straight men are the target audience?!?
#likeeee it just baffles me that straight men are the target audience#marvel#mcu#marvel comics#especially#x men#wolverine#deadpool#deadpool and wolverine#loki#steve rogers#captain america#bucky barnes#winter soldier#valkyrie#gambit#rogue
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I miss them 🥹🥲
#avengers#marvel#mcu#avengers x reader#natasha romanoff#clint barton#thor odinson#steve rogers#tony stark#bruce banner#loki laufeyson#black widow#hawkeye#thor#captain america#iron man#hulk#loki#natasha romanoff x reader#the incrediable hulk#clint barton x reader#thor odinson x reader#steve rogers x reader#tony stark x reader#bruce banner x reader#scarlett johansson#jeremy renner#chris hemsworth#chris evans#mark ruffalo
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Reposting a comment I made on a post and adding to it
x Reader fics need to handle writing “reader” better sometimes
As a 6ft afab person who’s built like a man and has never been super feminine and has a more unique haircut that’s shorter I hate to read about “readers” petite, small, pale body and her “long flowy straight hair”, etc.
Reader is meant to be ambiguous!! And if it’s important to the plot please mention it at the beginning!!! If it’s not important to the plot why is it being included???
Some people who are reading may be tall, fat, skinny, short, or even somewhere in between. The readers could have a hijab, 4c hair, locks, braids, long hair, short hair, wavy, no hair and even more.
Stop making all readers so sweet and innocent, I want a reader who’s petty and sassy sometimes. I’ve noticed also that so many readers are either too baby to do anything or over powered.
Personally I also hate reading about obviously toxic men and relationships that the reader goes back to because they are “so in love”, like no please let me deck that sucker and leave them in the dust and be happier.
Also, if you label your post with the tag “___ x reader” or titled with “___ x reader” and then make descriptions and then ADD A NAME!!! It’s not an x reader fic and I heavily want to block you.
Edit:
Hey hello! I just wanted to add that I heavily respect and love fic writers! So many have a talent that I will never reach or have and I appreciate your content being put out at all! I made this post as a 5 am ramble and was half delirious lol
People can write as they please and I’ll ignore it if I’m not interested or I’ll make slight internal edits to fit me if I am
#x reader#astarion x tav#matt murdock x reader#loki x reader#bucky barns x reader#sanji x reader#peter parker x reader#zoro x reader#miguel o’hara x reader#steve harrington x reader#eddie munson x reader#harry potter x reader#draco malfoy x reader#jason todd x reader#sam winchester x reader#dean winchester x reader#fred weasly x reader#george wealsey x reader#billy hargove x reader#billy loomis x reader#stu macher x reader#könig x reader#ghost x reader#rage#gender fluid#steven grant x reader#jake lockely x reader#marc spector x reader#daichi x reader#bokuto x reader
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shall I? SHALL. I.
#peter parker imagine#peter parker#peter parker x reader#loki x reader#loki imagine#thor x reader#thor imagine#tony stark imagine#tony stark x reader#steve rogers x you#steve rogers imagine#bucky x y/n#bucky barnes x you#bucky x you#bucky barnes fluff#bucky x reader#bucky barnes imagine
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Me when I get to the part of a fanfic that has me giggling and kicking my feet

#fanfic#fanfiction#logan howlett x reader#bucky barns x reader#jake lockley x reader#marc spector x reader#miguel o'hara x reader#steve rogers x reader#steven grant x reader#bucky barnes x reader#din djarin x reader#remus lupin x reader#sirius black x reader#james potter x reader#natasha romanoff x reader#wanda maximoff x reader#dean winchester x reader#castiel x reader#anakin skywalker x reader#obi wan kenobi x reader#loki x reader#x reader#reader insert#peter parker x reader#marvel fanfiction#fluff
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MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER
Marvel Comics Characters Receiving a Dirty Picture from You in Public
Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Marc Spector, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa & Elektra Natchios
God, I love Marvel Comics...
Peter Parker aka. Spider-Man
Peter has been through a lot. He’s fought villains, lost people he’s loved, and carried the weight of responsibility since he was a kid. But nothing—not Venom, not Doctor Octopus, not the Green Goblin—has ever hit him as hard as opening his phone and seeing you.
He’s perched upside-down on a fire escape, mid-stakeout with Daredevil, when his phone buzzes. He barely glances at it at first, assuming it’s an update from MJ or the Bugle. But then—his Spidey-Sense misfires. His stomach drops. And suddenly, he’s scrambling so fast that he almost falls off the fire escape.
“...Parker?” Matt’s voice is suspicious, brow furrowing beneath the red mask. Peter clutches his phone like a lifeline, heat rushing to his face, his entire body going rigid. “Uh—nope! Nothing’s wrong! Totally fine! Just, uh—gotta—go!” Before Matt can say another word, Peter web-slings away, heart pounding.
Later, in his apartment, he stares at the image, biting his lip so hard he might draw blood. Then, fumbling with his phone, he types back: You cannot just drop this on me in the middle of a mission. I almost DIED. You’re gonna make it up to me. In person. Immediately.
Tony Stark aka. Iron Man
Tony Stark is always the one making people flustered. He’s the king of inappropriate timing, the grandmaster of chaos. So when you flip the game on him? When you send him something completely indecent while he’s in the middle of a live press conference? Oh, he is in trouble.
He’s mid-sentence, standing in front of a sea of reporters, when his phone vibrates. He glances at it without thinking, because hey, it might be about stock prices or another alien invasion. But no. No, it’s you. In the filthiest pose imaginable.
He visibly freezes. Blinks. Blanches. Then—his brain blue screens. The entire room stares as Tony suddenly cuts off mid-sentence, clears his throat, and forces a smirk that’s absolutely not covering up a crisis. “Uh—ladies and gentlemen, I think that’s enough questions for today.”
The moment he’s offstage, he stumbles into the nearest private room, yanks at his tie, and pulls out his phone like it holds the meaning of life. He types back immediately: Oh, now you’ve done it, sweetheart. I hope you’re home right now, because I’m on my way, and I’m bringing consequences.
Steve Rogers aka. Captain America
Steve is not a prude. He’s been around, he’s seen things. But there’s something about you—about the way you know exactly how to knock the breath from his lungs—that makes him feel like a kid again.
He’s in the middle of a strategy meeting with Sam and Bucky, his shield leaning against the table, when his phone vibrates. He checks it without thinking, eyes flicking down—and then every muscle in his body tenses. His grip on the phone tightens. His ears burn red.
“You good, Rogers?” Bucky gives him a knowing smirk, because he immediately recognizes that look—Steve flustered beyond belief. Steve clears his throat, hard, locking his phone like it’s offended him. “Fine,” he says, voice a little too even. “Let’s, uh—let’s keep going.”
But later, when he’s alone, he exhales deeply, pressing a hand over his face before looking at the image again. Then, with slow deliberation, he types: I hope you know what you just started. Because I don’t break my promises, sweetheart. And I promise—you’re not leaving that bed when I get there.
Thor Odinson aka. God of Thunder
Thor has seen battles, has waged wars across the cosmos, has faced monsters and gods. But when his phone pings—when he sees the absolute sin that you’ve just sent him—he forgets how to breathe.
He is in the middle of the Avengers’ common room, laughing boisterously with Bruce and Natasha, when he pulls out his phone. He expects something simple—a text from his brother, perhaps, or a message from Jane. But instead? Instead, he sees you.
The entire room feels it when Thor’s laughter stops. There is a moment—just a beat of silence—before the lights flicker. The air crackles with static electricity. His fingers twitch around the phone, and then, in a low, very serious voice, he mutters, “By the Norns…”
Natasha raises an eyebrow, but Thor abruptly stands, clearing his throat. “I must depart. Urgently.” Bruce frowns. “What? Why?” Thor barely offers an explanation before storming out of the room, typing furiously: You dare tempt the God of Thunder? Very well, little one. You shall learn what it means to summon a storm.
Loki Laufeyson aka. God of Mischief
Loki is the undisputed master of control. He is calm, composed, always one step ahead of everyone else. But when you send him something so shameless, so brazen, in the middle of an important diplomatic event in Asgard—he nearly drops his goblet of wine.
He’s reclining on his throne, listening to some dull ambassador drone on about trade negotiations, when his phone vibrates. He lifts it lazily, expecting nothing of importance—until he sees you.
His entire body goes rigid. His grip tightens around the goblet, the silver denting beneath his fingers. His green eyes darken, and for the first time in centuries, he feels his pulse stutter. The ambassador keeps talking, oblivious, but Loki? Loki is seething.
Later, in his chambers, he lounges on his bed, turning the phone over in his fingers before smirking. Then, with slow, careful precision, he types: You dare tease the God of Mischief? Oh, darling, you are in such trouble. And you know how much I enjoy trouble.
Clint Barton aka. Hawkeye
Clint Barton is used to chaos. He’s fought alien invasions, taken down crime syndicates, and, most impressively, lived in a house with three dogs and somehow survived. But nothing—not the Avengers, not S.H.I.E.L.D., not even Kate Bishop’s endless sarcasm—could have prepared him for this.
He’s in the middle of a debriefing with Captain America and Black Widow when his phone vibrates. Normally, he’d ignore it, but boredom gets the better of him. He sneaks a glance, tilting the screen just slightly—and immediately chokes on his coffee.
“Barton?” Natasha’s voice is sharp, her suspicious gaze snapping to him. Steve looks concerned. Clint, on the other hand, is malfunctioning. He quickly locks his phone, pressing it to his thigh like it’s burning him. “Yep. All good. Just… wrong text thread. You know how it is.”
The second he’s alone, he whistles, rubbing a hand down his face before sending a text: You are absolutely trying to kill me, aren’t you? I’m a trained marksman, babe. You know I always hit my target. Hope you’re ready.
Natasha Romanoff aka. Black Widow
Natasha Romanoff is a professional. She’s endured psychological conditioning, trained with the deadliest assassins in the world, and can lie so well that even she forgets what’s real. But when you send her something so utterly filthy, in the middle of a high-stakes poker game with some very dangerous people—she nearly loses her composure.
She’s holding a perfect poker face, one leg crossed over the other, a cigarette between her fingers (purely for effect). Then, her phone buzzes. She never checks her phone during missions, but for some reason, she does this time.
The second she sees the image, her fingers twitch. She almost fumbles her cigarette. Almost. A single slow breath is all that betrays her before she locks the screen and smirks, adjusting her sunglasses to hide the flicker of heat in her gaze.
Later, after she’s won the game (because of course she has), she finally responds: You must be very confident, sending me something like that. I hope you know what happens when I catch my prey, моя любовь (my love). Because I always catch them.
Bucky Barnes aka. Winter Soldier
Bucky is already always on edge. He spent decades being controlled, his mind fractured, his instincts constantly telling him that danger lurks around every corner. But when his phone vibrates in the middle of a mission briefing and he makes the mistake of checking it—he nearly self-destructs.
He’s sitting next to Sam Wilson, arms crossed, trying to focus on the tactical discussion. Then, out of habit, he glances at his phone. And suddenly? His enhanced heartbeat spikes. His grip on the phone tightens, metal fingers creaking.
Sam immediately notices. “Dude. You okay?” Bucky doesn’t answer. He just exhales deeply, jaw clenching, and locks his phone like it’s personally offended him. “Fine,” he mutters, but the way his throat bobs betrays him.
Later, in the privacy of his room, he leans against the wall, pressing his flesh hand over his face before looking at the image again. Then, he types—slow, deliberate, full of promise: You are playing with fire, doll. And you know I don’t burn alone.
Matthew Murdock aka. Daredevil
Matt has learned to control himself. He has to, considering his senses pick up everything. The heartbeat of a liar, the scent of blood, the whisper of fabric against skin. But when he puts in his earpiece during a stakeout with Elektra and hears you—sultry, teasing, wicked—his composure shatters.
Your voice is a purr, warm and full of amusement, as you describe, in explicit detail, exactly what you want to do to him. Every syllable slides into his ear like a sin, and for the first time in years, Matt Murdock forgets how to breathe.
“Murdock.” Elektra’s voice is unimpressed. “Are you even listening?” Matt clenches his jaw, forcing his expression into something neutral as he slowly removes the earpiece. “Yeah,” he lies, his voice way too tight. “Loud and clear.” But his fingers twitch, betraying him.
Later, alone in his apartment, he plays the message again. And again. Until his own heartbeat is thunderous in his ears. Then, with a slow smirk, he records his reply—his voice low, gravelly, barely more than a rasp: Angel, you have no idea what you’ve just done. And I promise—you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.
Frank Castle aka. The Punisher
Frank Castle does not fluster. He’s a man who’s seen the worst of the world, a soldier who has lost everything. He does not get distracted. But when he’s sitting in the middle of a grimy bar, brooding over a whiskey, and his phone vibrates—everything stops.
He checks it absently, expecting intel from Micro or maybe a warning from Daredevil. But instead, he gets you. And just like that, his grip on the glass tightens. His jaw locks. His entire body tenses, muscles coiled, because you have just sent him something so utterly indecent that he has to set his whiskey down before he crushes the glass.
The bartender notices. “You good, man?” Frank barely glances up, his fingers white-knuckled around his phone. “Fine,” he mutters, voice rough. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and downs the rest of his drink in one go.
Later, in the dead of night, he finally lets himself look at the picture again. He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face, before sending a single message: You think you’re real cute, huh? Yeah. Keep that same energy when I get home. See if you’re still smirking when I’ve got my hands on you.
Marc Spector aka. Moon Knight
Marc has lived multiple lives. A mercenary. A vigilante. A fist of vengeance. But the moment his phone vibrates in the middle of a stakeout, and he sees you—he nearly blows his own cover.
He’s perched on a rooftop, watching a weapons deal go down, his mind sharp and focused. Then, out of habit, he checks his phone. His breath hitches. His grip tightens around the device, and he has to physically restrain himself from groaning. Khonshu’s voice rumbles in his mind: "Your mortal desires are distracting, Spector." Marc grits his teeth. "Yeah, no shit."
“Something wrong?” Jake’s voice purrs from inside his head, amused. “She send you something nice, hermano?” Marc rolls his eyes, exhaling sharply before locking his phone. “Mind your damn business.” But his pulse is thundering.
Later, back at his apartment, he leans against the wall, staring at the image before typing: You have no idea what you’ve just done. Hope you’re home. Hope you’re ready.
Johnny Storm aka. Human Torch
Johnny Storm is used to attention. He thrives on it. He’s a celebrity, a hero, a walking flame. But when you send him something scandalous in the middle of a live television interview, even he isn’t ready for it.
He’s laughing, flashing his signature cocky grin at the camera, when his phone buzzes. He checks it without thinking—because hey, it might be Sue yelling at him again—but instead, it’s you. In the filthiest pose imaginable.
Johnny visibly chokes. His entire body tenses. For the first time ever, he forgets what he was saying. The interviewer blinks. “Uh… Johnny?” His brain short-circuits. His face heats—literally. The tips of his ears ignite before he clenches his fists and forces himself to not spontaneously combust on live television.
The second the interview is over, he’s sprinting to his dressing room, slamming the door shut and typing frantically: Ohhh, you are in trouble. You’re really trying to set me on fire, huh? Hope you’re home, babe, ‘cause I’m flying over. Right. Now.
Reed Richards aka. Mister Fantastic
Reed Richards is a genius. His mind is constantly working at speeds beyond human comprehension. But when he’s mid-lecture at a prestigious scientific conference and his phone vibrates—his brilliant mind suddenly goes blank.
He absently checks his phone, half-expecting an alert from the Baxter Building. But instead, it’s you. Wearing almost nothing.
For a solid ten seconds, he is frozen. His eyes slightly widen. His fingers twitch. And then, very slowly, he locks his phone and clears his throat. “Ah—excuse me, esteemed colleagues, but I must—um—attend to an urgent matter.”
Later, he adjusts his glasses, staring at the image with a fascinated, almost scientific appreciation. Then, with methodical precision, he types: You are a very distracting woman. I will be conducting an… in-depth study on you as soon as I return. Expect a thorough examination.
Felicia Hardy aka. Black Cat
Felicia Hardy is a master of seduction. She flusters men for fun. But when she’s in the middle of a high-stakes casino heist, and you send her something utterly indecent, even she loses her composure.
She’s leaning against the bar, sipping an expensive martini, eyes locked on her mark. Then, her phone buzzes. She lazily checks it, expecting an update from her crew. But instead? Instead, she sees you.
Her eyelashes flutter. Her lips part just slightly. And for the first time in years, her poker face cracks. The bartender—oblivious—raises an eyebrow. “Everything okay, miss?” Felicia exhales, smirking as she locks her phone. “Oh, it’s better than okay.”
Later, she lounges on silk sheets, staring at the picture before purring into her phone: You really think you can tease me, kitten? Oh, sweetheart… you just made a very expensive bet. And I never lose.
Stephen Strange aka. Doctor Strange
Stephen Strange is not easily shaken. He’s fought cosmic horrors, bent reality, and wielded power beyond mortal comprehension. But when he’s in the middle of a magical duel with Dormammu, and you send him a sinfully explicit picture—he almost loses.
He’s mid-incantation, floating above the Sanctum’s rooftop, when his phone vibrates. Normally, he’d ignore it—except something in the back of his mind tells him it’s you. He flicks his fingers, glancing at the screen—and immediately regrets it.
His spell stutters. His fingers twitch. The fabric of reality briefly warps. Wong, standing below, yells, “What the hell was that?!” Stephen clenches his jaw, locking his phone immediately before snapping his wrist and repairing the timeline. “Nothing,” he mutters. “Absolutely nothing.”
The moment the battle is over, he retreats into his study, loosening his Cloak, before typing: You dare distract the Sorcerer Supreme? You have no idea what you’ve just unleashed, darling. And I do hope you’re prepared for consequences beyond mortal comprehension.
Namor aka. The Sub-Mariner
Namor is a king. He does not answer to anyone. He has waged war against the surface world, stood against the mightiest heroes, and commands the loyalty of an entire empire. But when he is seated on his throne, discussing politics with his council, and his communicator vibrates—everything else becomes irrelevant.
He glances down, expecting a diplomatic missive. Instead, he is greeted by you—a vision of temptation, captured in a way that only he has the privilege to see. His grip on the communicator tightens, his lips parting slightly. The light of the display reflects in his dark, narrowed eyes.
The council drones on, but Namor hears nothing. His golden gauntlets flex, his knuckles tightening as his jaw sets. A slow, deliberate exhale is all that betrays his reaction. But those closest to him—his most trusted generals—see the flicker of something dangerous in his expression. A storm, barely contained.
Later, as he stands upon his balcony, overlooking the endless ocean, he types a single response: You seek to tempt a king, my love? Then be prepared for the wrath of a god. When next we meet, you will drown in my devotion.
Johnny Blaze aka. Ghost Rider
Johnny Blaze has seen Hell—literally. He has ridden across the desolate highways of damnation, stared into the abyss, and laughed. But when he’s sitting in a biker bar, nursing a whiskey and half-listening to some guy ramble about the Devil, his phone vibrates. And when he checks it—he nearly sets the whole place on fire.
The image of you is burned into his mind, seared into his soul. He sucks in a slow breath through his teeth, his fingers tightening around the glass. His knuckles go white. Somewhere deep inside, the Spirit of Vengeance chuckles.
“Something wrong, Blaze?” One of the other bikers eyes him warily. Johnny forces a smirk, setting his whiskey down before he crushes the glass in his grip. “Nah,” he rasps, his voice a little too rough. “Just realized I got… unfinished business to take care of.”
Later, on his Hellfire-coated bike, he sends a text: You got a real bad habit of making me wanna sin, sweetheart. And I promise—I’ll make sure you repent. Over. And over.
Eddie Brock & Venom aka. Venom
Eddie Brock has been through hell. He’s fought monsters, been one himself, lost everything, and still kept going. But nothing—not a damn thing—could prepare him for the absolute carnage of getting that picture from you in the middle of a crowded subway.
He’s scrolling through his phone absentmindedly, Venom muttering in his head about wanting tater tots, when the image loads. For a solid five seconds, he is completely still. Then—
“Eddie.” Venom’s voice rumbles, amused. “Your mate is very… bold. We approve.” Eddie, red-faced, slams his phone against his chest like that’ll somehow erase what just happened. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, eyes darting around to make sure no one saw. A teenager across from him raises an eyebrow.
Later, when he’s alone, he finally lets himself look at the picture again. A slow, predatory grin spreads across his face as he types back: Oh, you think you’re being cute, huh? Yeah. Just wait till I get my hands on you. Hell, maybe we’ll even let Venom have a little fun, too.
T’Challa aka. Black Panther
T’Challa is a king, a warrior, a legend. His mind is a fortress, his will unshakable. But when he is seated in the royal palace of Wakanda, surrounded by dignitaries, and his Kimoyo Beads alert him to a personal message—his focus wavers.
He allows himself a discreet glance. And in that moment? His heart skips a single beat. His fingers—steady even in the heat of battle—tighten just slightly around his beads. His expression does not change. But to those who know him well—Okoye, Shuri—they notice the subtlest flicker of something dangerous in his eyes.
Shuri smirks. “Brother,” she murmurs, leaning in. “You look… distracted.” T’Challa exhales deeply, locking the message with a casual flick of his fingers. “I am merely… anticipating a conversation.”
Later, when he is alone, he reviews the picture once more, fingers grazing his jaw before he types: You are testing my patience, beloved. And you know I am a man of great discipline. But for you? I am willing to break my own rules. Expect me soon.
Elektra Natchios aka. Elektra
Elektra Natchios does not fluster. She has slit the throats of kings, danced on the edge of oblivion, and played cat-and-mouse with death itself. But when she is sharpening her sai on the rooftop of a New York high-rise and her phone buzzes—her grip falters.
The blade nicks her glove. Barely. But it happens. Her lips part in a slow, dangerous smirk as she tilts the phone toward the moonlight, drinking in the absolute audacity of your message.
“Something amusing?” A voice—a rival assassin, lurking in the shadows. Elektra does not answer. She merely tucks her phone away, standing smoothly, her stance lethal. “Yes,” she purrs. “Something… very amusing.”
Later, as she leans against the window of her penthouse, she finally sends a reply: You are so very reckless, my love. And I do enjoy breaking reckless little things.
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when im being asked a question, but i was busy daydreaming about __ x y/n
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