Unbroken (Loki x Reader)

Chapter 19 - A Picture Worth One Thousand Words

Your stomach growls as you rummage around the pantry, fingers skimming over various bags of chips. "I know," you grumble, an air of irritation about your mumblings. "I hear you. Just...relax. I'm looking for something we'll both like."

You turn your nose up at Natasha's dried seaweed snacks, and cringe at Clint's garlic pita chips -last time you had tried either you had immediately gotten sick.

"Come on, where are you?" you huff, pushing a few boxes of Steve's protein bars around in search for what you know lies hidden somewhere at the back - Tony's salt & vinegar kettle cooked potato chips. The ones he started hiding after you chowed through three bags in a single night.

"Hiding food from a pregnant woman?" you frown. "Not cool, Tony."

You crawl deeper into the pantry, lifting one leg up on the first shelf to reach all the way in the back. But your wandering hands suddenly stop - frozen in mid air - when you spot the Fruit Loops box. It sits untouched and forgotten since Thor had left Earth. It sends a painful pang of nostalgia through you as your stomach growls again - louder this time.

"Weird," you say, placing one hand on your stomach. "I guess these are what you want, huh?"

You wander to the kitchen cupboard and pull out a bowl. Flipping open the top, you go to pour a healthy amount into your bowl when from the bag pours not Fruit Loops, but Cheerios.

You forgot that Loki had once switched all the cereal bags.

A pang of sadness plucks at your heartstrings remembering the gleam in his eye the first time one of the team had poured out cereal that didn't match the box. And how he had quietly chuckled to himself when they did it again. And again.

"Oh, Loki," you sigh as your bottom lip trembles.

"Oh thank God!"

You jump, startled as a voice calls out from the hallway. With a glance over your shoulder, you spot Clint approaching fast. He grabs your hand and slaps it on his face. You wince as your cheeks warm with your Perception, desperate to sink into his emotions.

"Okay, do the thing," he says impatiently.

You snatch your hand back. "Hey!" you frown. "Not cool. Ask before you grab, man. Come on."

"Yeah, yeah, sorry," Clint says crossing his arms impatiently. "Quick! Before it's gone!"

With a heavy sigh you abandon your cereal bowl on the counter, gesturing for Clint to go sit on the sofa. As he lies down, you kneel beside him. Ever since he realized that you could use your powers for mundane things like helping him remember the name of his favorite band as a kid, Clint's been taking advantage of the access he has to his buried memories.

"What are you looking for this time?" you ask.

"Nat bet me a hundred bucks I wouldn't remember her birthday," he says. "But she told me once. Swear to God. And it's right on the tip of my tongue!"

"Are you kidding me?" you frown. "You know I'm supposed to like, fight bad guys and save lives with my powers. Not help you win a bet."

Clint huffs, rolling his eyes. "Fine," he says. "I'll go 50-50 with you."

You arch a brow in consideration. You can use fifty bucks next poker night. "Fine," you relent, resting your left hand on his face, three middle fingers across his forehead, the other two by each ear. "When did she tell you? How long ago?"

"I dunno like...a couple months ago I think."

Relieved Clint isn't having you dig through years of memory, you lean into your Perception, willing it forth. But you don't stop there as you let a genetic link snap into place between you and Clint.