#borrower!reader

ㅤㅤAs you spent more time in the mini-houses, you'd gotten comfortable being somewhat out in the open, until eventually you'd spend hours tucked away in someone's room, curled up in the window and watching them work on whatever it was they were doing.

ㅤㅤThis lead to you getting a bit... too comfortable, especially if one of your men had been off on a mission for a while. More than once you'd gone in to straighten up their beds only to be lured in by the siren song of the cloud-like pillows and their scents embedded in the sheets, finding yourself curled up atop their pillow and drifting off into dreamland.

ㅤㅤIt was during one of these that you found yourself snapping awake at the sound of the door unlocking. You barely had the sense to slide off the pillow and duck underneath it before the door was shoved open, Gaz trailing in and looking dead on his feet. You listened to the thump of his bag and uniform being tossed into the corner of the room, before you clamp down on a squeak, the entire bed shaking and nearly launching you out of your hiding spot when Gaz flopped onto the mattress, out cold within seconds.

ㅤㅤYou waited until his breathing had evened out for a while, slowly peeking out from your hidden spot, swallowing thickly at his face being just a few inches away, each of his breaths ruffling your hair. He looked... you wouldn't say bad, none of your boys looked bad even at their most worn out, but he definitely seemed exhausted.

ㅤㅤHe did shower shower, or at least he'd managed to wipe himself down with washcloths, but his wings were still dirty and unkempt, some of his plumage bent or sticking off to the side awkwardly, out of alignment with the others. You nibbled your lower lip, casting glances between his closed eyes and his unkempt wings. He certainly seemed more than just exhausted, so it wasn't like he'd wake up anytime soon, right?

ㅤㅤMind made up, you slip out from under Gaz's pillow, and carefully climb up onto the harpy's back. He shifts slightly when your paws land on the soft feathers between his shoulder blades, his breath hitching for a moment, but you lay still until he settles down enough for you to scurry down one of his wings, getting to work.

ㅤㅤYou straighten out the crooked feathers, removing the ones that have come loose, and very gently pulling out the bent feathers that couldn't be recovered. Its easy to slip into a rhythm, your little hands working over his wings and paying no mind to the way he gets twitchy around the feathers at the bases of his wings- the feathers are small and oh so soft, it only makes sense they'd be a bit sensitive.

ㅤㅤYour ears flick at the soft chirps that occasionally leave Gaz's throat, but you don't pause your preening, only slowing in your work when he tenses up beneath you. Was he having a nightmare? You peek at his face, noting that his brows were furrowed and he seemed distressed, a bit sweaty and panting, soft warbles leaving his throat ever so often as his feathers twitched under your paws. You frown, running your fingers over the soft downy feathers between his shoulders, hoping to calm him and soothe his sleep. ㅤㅤGaz's panting gets worse, before his breath hitches and he tenses, as if frozen in fear. You pet deeper, scratching your claws gently over the skin under his feathers, and all at once he relaxes with what almost sounds like a whine, going boneless under you as his feathers puff up.

ㅤㅤYou gently make your way off of his back, patting the top of his head before you scurry away to the vents, leaving Gaz to his rest, oblivious and happy to have helped him relax.

ㅤㅤThe next target of your post-mission care was Ghost, the wraith getting back from a 3 day op that turned into a 9 day shitshow, trudging into his room with wisps of smoke trailing off of his shoulders. The slam of the door woke you up from where you were napping in the small house he'd gotten around to placing in the corner of his room- from it, you could see the door to his bedroom, and his desk, but there weren't any windows facing his bed or bathroom door. ㅤㅤYou didn't mind, knowing the man valued his privacy above almost anything else, but now you listened to him toss his bag and luggage around, grumbling and growling under his breath, and you wished you could do more for him without him seeing you or you seeing him. You rested your chin on your windowsill, your eyes drifting to catch on the empty mug sitting on his desk, and your ears perked, gears beginning to turn in your mind.

ㅤㅤThe shower was on, running water audible through the wooden door, and you knew you had a bit of time before he would be out again. Letting out a long, slow breath, you concentrated, using your magic to plug in and turn on his electric kettle. While the water was boiling, you pursed your lips, tail quivering as Simon's desk drawer rattled, and opened, a box of earl grey tea hovering up and out onto the wood above. ㅤㅤYour nose was practically pressed against the plastic of your window as you squinted, carefully opening the box to delicately float a tea bag from the cardboard into the ceramic mug, closing the box and sliding it back into the drawer, which was closed with a thunk. You heard the water of the shower turn off immediately after, but didn't let it distract you.

ㅤㅤGhost whipped open the door of his bathroom, dark smog crawling up his hands in anticipation, only to falter and stand stock-still as his eyes tracked his kettle, floating wobbly through the air to gently pour steaming water into the mug on his desk. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he stepped closer, watching the scorching water pour over a tea bag up to the ceramic's rim before the kettle pulled back, settling back into place on its burner. ㅤㅤJust as he considered checking himself into medical for stress-induced hallucinations, his wardrobe opened on its own. An overly soft shirt that Johnny had gotten him flowed off its hanger, followed by a pair of boxers rising from their drawer, both articles of clothing floating over to refold themselves mid-air and settle onto his desk next to the mug of steeping tea. Simon squinted, the dark bleeding out of his palms and leaving only tanned skin.

ㅤㅤHe snorted slightly, shoulders losing tension. "What, this your way of sayin' I needa rest?" Simon asked aloud, a smirk coming to his face when the papers on his desk- that he'd been planning on working on- straightened themselves and proceeded to tuck under his lamp, out of the way. "Alright alright, I'll sleep once I finish the tea, deal?" The doors of his wardrobe swung as if waving at him, before gently shutting with a click.

ㅤㅤIt continued from there, getting more bold in your efforts to help them in some way, especially when getting home from a mission. Soap and Price especially seemed to be able to notice when you had been in their rooms, the werewolf unashamedly pouncing onto his pillow and snuffling at it, strong sniffs and short huffs as if he couldn't get enough of it, loud enough to echo slightly into the vents where your sensitive ears could pick up on it. ㅤㅤPrice is a bit more subtle, though if only because he typically gets to his room the latest out of them. He'll scoop up the pillow and bring it to his nose for a long, deep breath, his shoulders and wing drooping as if that was all he needed to finally relax. After getting cleaned up and ready for bed, he plopped onto the mattress, scooping up his pillow to burrow his face into it, the scales along his jaw scraping slightly at the fabric before he settled with a satisfied hum, nose positioned Just So that each breath brought your scent to his senses.

ㅤㅤAfter taking notice of Soap and Price's behaviors, how both men would nuzzle their faces into their pillows when you'd slept on them, you used some of the yarn the boys had given you to weave a large (to you) blanket, a square of woven fabric that you rolled around on and rubbed your scent into. ㅤㅤWhen you were happy with its scent, you left it on the table in the TV room for the boys to find in the morning, and had gotten front row seats when they'd realized it was there. ㅤㅤYou almost worried a fight would break out, but you muffled your giggles as you saw Price hold Soap back with a hand to the face, holding the square of yarn high above his head and out of the werewolf's reach.

ㅤㅤ"Ah ah ah, settle yourself Soap, as your Captain, I get final say, and I call first dibs," Price grinned, holding the deliciously scented yarn just a bit higher as Soap made one last swipe for it. ㅤㅤ"Ach, tha's no' fair, sir! I saw it first! Ye cannae keep the wee Darlin's gift tae yerself!" He yipped, stifling a growl when it just made Price puff a bit of smoke at him. The werewolf skulked off and proceeded to mope around for the rest of the day, side-eyeing Price any chance he got but just huffing passive-aggressively when he got any form of attention. Over all, just acting like a jealous pup.

ㅤㅤFortunately for everyone else's sanity, you took pity on the poor man, making him a yarn square of his own, saturated with your scent. He wouldn't put it down after that, keeping it tucked safely away in his chest pocket.

ㅤㅤOf course, their gifts didn't stop either, the men leaving you trinkets and bobbles they'd picked up on their missions. They went as far as to custom order "doll clothes" sewn from proper cotton fabric, all loose and light tunics and skirts and shorts that were big enough to not impede your climbing.

ㅤㅤIt was hard at first to keep from staring into the windows of the dollhouses, and it took their entire pool of concentration to keep from glancing over any time they saw movement from within, but as months passed it became just another part of their daily routine. Gaz even began making plans for an 'anniversary' celebration for the months after winter, to celebrate when they first 'met' you. ㅤㅤLife was different than before, but it was good. And they wouldn't have it any other way.

They turn over a bit, rubbing sleep out of their eyes. They didn't want him to wake up just yet, they still wanted to bathe in the comfort and peace and safety, something that used to be so rare for them.

Fiddleford had rescued them the previous month, from his partner in science or whatever. They had been in a jar, and any attempts of a plea, escaped as whimpers and sobs out of their throat. Until, of course, Fiddleford swooped in for the rescue. He had meant to release them, he really had; but the little borrower grew on him.

He'd call it southern hospitality; a simple excuse to wave off any other claims. But it was clear to the teenager. He missed someone. Someone that had been a lot like themself. His son? A sibling? It didn't matter. What mattered was that they felt safe.

The morning sun was pleasant. It cast a warm blanket over the two of them, and looked like the spitting image of what comfort was in the borrower's mind. Too many cold nights spent, shivering in their makeshift home in the walls. A home they had not seen in a few weeks.

They had the house to themselves, as the other scientist would be holed up in the basement for a few days building.. whatever it is they're building. Not that the borrower minds.

The warmth of the human hand is something very often overlooked by the beings themselves, but to a creature as small as a borrower, it was heaven. Depending, of course, on what the human is to you.

Even bugs must pray for a kind saviour.

Fiddleford’s hands — they were the perfect safe space to hide away. A few scars littered the skin, from misjudgements on welding or saws, stopped right in time to spare his digits, though not completely safe from the blade.

The hand, currently cupped over them, holding them close to his heart, was extraordinary. They had seen Fiddleford lift incredibly heavy things, push and shove the scientist in the attempt to save them, they've seen his knuckles turn white with how strong his grip was on a piece of machinery when he got mad.

And yet, they were always gentle. Not a single touch too hard, too invasive; he had always been careful with the little borrower.

They feel Fiddleford stir under them, and they relish in the warm comfort for a moment longer, before springing up and making their way to his face.

He had fallen asleep on the couch in his room again, so it was a bit of a hassle to climb up to where hid head was. But once they were there, they clambered onto his face. They were careful not to discomfort him, but pokes his nose to wake him up.

“Mr. Fidds. Psst. Wake up, we need to eat breakfast.” They poked his nose again, and he eventually opens his eyes with a soft laugh. “Mornin’ sweet pea. I take it ya had a good night's rest?” The borrower is gently lifted off of Fiddleford's face by his hand, the same one that was cupping them earlier, and they're encased by his fingers.

The loose hold allows them to grab hold of his thumb, linking their arms around it as he sits up. “I did! And I'm hungry.” The put on their best pouty face as he puts on his glasses, and he huffs a laugh. “Well, that just won't do! Let's get some food in ya.” They're lifted onto his shoulder, where they immediately cling to his shirt collar and sit as close to him as they can.

The trip to the kitchen is short, and the little teenager still can't believe how things look from this perspective. The fact that humans could see from this high up all the time made them a bit nervous, in all honesty. Sounds like a headache.

Not long after, the sweet smell of pancakes filters through the air, and they’re just about ready to jump at the plate when Fiddleford sets it down on the table.

They get set down on the plate, and he slices off a bit of pancake and pushes it to them with the knife. They eat breakfast with joyful chatter, and plan out the rest of their day. They would probably work on some general maintenance in the house, then go out to the shops looking for things to spruce up the little borrower’s new living space in Fiddleford's room.

The monsters had taken everything. Even your temporary base, which you had recently made camp in, had been destroyed. Blood-curdling screams shook the ground you stood on, piercing through the air like shrapnel. You needed to move from the rubble you were hiding by, but one slip up would put you in direct sight of the monsters. You swallowed another thick breath in an attempt to keep yourself from hyperventilating. A thick, pink, pulsing limb slithered past you, and your heart dropped.

This was it. This was goodbye. Goodbye to a world that tore you apart moment by moment, yet one you still couldn’t bare to leave. The monster growled, teeth grinding together, and you clenched your eyes. It shrieked, moving towards you.

One. Two. Three seconds passed.

Nothing happened yet.

You dared to peek open your eyes, wondering when the inevitability was going to come. But instead, you saw (and heard, oh so loudly), as moving blades on a stick tore through the flesh of the monster, which was clawing every which way in an attempt to fight back against… Whatever was tearing it apart. It thumped against the rubble-covered ground, blood still leaking from its unrecognizable form.

Its attacker killer was hovering over it. Like radioactive puddles dripping from sliced open barrels, it’s predatory, glowing eyes, surrounded by the darkness found only where the stars never shined, stared down at its fresh kill. Only for a second, though. Instantly, it started looking around. Shuffling, moving. Low to the ground and slow. Like stalking for its next victim. The blades of the stick held still, no longer emitting a violent buzzing noise (which you somehow hadn’t noticed while bating your breath. Likely drowned out by your heart beating so loud in your ears it could explode).

You followed it with your own eyes. Analyzing it. Afraid to let it out of your sight. You took in its appearance.

The skull-like mask (you had seen so many skulls, it was hard not to know what one looked like), the two red lines, one going down through each of the eyes (blood? Not monster blood, though there was plenty of that on its outfit. Blood like yours), the fabric of a cape over some undamaged-looking metal gear (the colour was too bright, too clean, for it to be scavenged material. How did it get it?), and gloved hands with (surprisingly blood-lacking) bandages around the arms.

Your analysis of the thing stopped, though, as its eyes locked onto you, far closer than you remember it last being. You felt sick. Going from one near death to another? You didn’t know if you could handle it. The rush of energy you felt earlier had worn, and you were exhausted. Maybe if you kept still, it wouldn’t take mind of you?

It approached. Slowly, still stalking. The way it held itself shifted, though, in a way you had crept many times before. As if it were prepared to run forward. Your mind screamed danger, but your body refused to function properly. You begged yourself to move, to hide, to do something to prevent yourself from becoming another blood splatter on the ground.

It was closer, holding a gloved hand forward. Palm up. It said something. Maybe? You couldn’t hear. Your heartbeat was too loud again. Your head thrummed, nausea and tears pooling inside of you. Shuffling back, barely making any distance, your body hit rock. The hiding spot that protected you from one fate trapped you to another. It could easily grab you, tight fist digging into you and crushing most of your body.

Thickness burbled up your throat, eyes burning. You tried to swallow your emotions. To not show any more fear than you already had. But it didn’t matter, because as soon as one sob escaped your lips, the rest came rushing out. Entire body shaking, you stumbled, falling forward to hit ground. Or, at least, it would have been ground, if the masked figure hadn’t shot a hand below you. You sobbed harder, which one wouldn’t think possible, but you managed to do it.

By clicking on the tags it should bring you to all the posts with that tag on my account

Part 1  (Avengers, Black Widow, Guardians of the Galaxy) Part 1

Part 2  (Shang Chi, WandaVision, Loki, Hawkeye, Moon Knight, Ms. Marvel, TLaT, Deadpool)

Spiderman and Venom (Holland, Maguire, Garfield, Venom, No Way Home)