avengers x male reader (requests are open)

GILGAMESH

The Arcadian forest was unusually still that day.

The cicadas had hushed. Birds circled high but did not sing. Something rippled in the trees—a quiet tension, like the land itself was holding its breath.

Gilgamesh moved through the underbrush with heavy, silent steps. Despite his enormous frame, he barely made a sound. Behind him, Athena—Ajak’s favored warrior—traced symbols into a tree bark with a dagger. Protective runes. Old language.

“They’re getting bolder,” she said without looking up. “The Deviants. Two villages gone in the past three days.”

Gilgamesh exhaled, a low growl in his throat. “We’re too exposed out here.”

“We needed to rest,” she replied. “You haven’t slept in days.”

Gilgamesh grunted. “I don’t need rest. I need to end this.”

That’s when they heard it—a soft rustle in the leaves. Not a Deviant’s lurch. Not the clatter of armed humans.

No. This was… careful. Purposeful. Human.

Gilgamesh stepped in front of Athena, arm raised, gold light crackling faintly beneath his knuckles.

And from the brush…

You emerged.

You, a traveler and healer. Dressed in simple linen, a satchel full of herbs over your shoulder, and a scroll tucked at your waist. You paused the moment you saw them.

Your eyes narrowed. “You’re not from around here.”

Athena stepped forward. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I could say the same,” you replied coolly. “This grove is sacred. Mortal or not—you’re trespassing.”

Gilgamesh’s brow raised. He tilted his head at you.

“You don’t seem afraid.”

You looked him dead in the eyes. “I’ve seen worse than a broad-shouldered stranger and a war-goddess.”

That amused him.

“You know who she is?” he asked.

You glanced at Athena, then back to him. “I know stories. And I know when something divine lingers in the air.”

Athena kept her hand near her blade. “Who are you?”

“My name is Y/N,” you said evenly. “I’m a physician. A scribe. Sometimes, when the stars are clear, a prophet. And you two… are far from ordinary.”

Gilgamesh slowly lowered his arm.

“I like him,” he murmured.

Later that night, near the fire

They let you stay.

You sat by the fire, carefully mixing powdered root into a clay bowl while Gilgamesh watched with curiosity. Athena was nearby, ever alert, sharpening her blade.

“I’ve never seen anyone make a pain draught like that,” Gilgamesh said, his voice warm. “Where did you learn?”

“My mother taught me herbs. My father taught me the stars,” you said. “But the rest? I learned from watching the world burn. You learn quick when there’s no one left to stop the bleeding.”

There was silence for a beat.

“You lost people,” Gilgamesh said gently.

“We all have,” you replied. “But I’ve found that sometimes the ones left behind are the ones who make the world better. Or at least… quieter.”