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thephantomofthe-internet · 5 years ago

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Chapter 6: A Room with a View

Steve Harrington x Reader

CATCH UP ON THE SERIES HERE

Words: 3,359

Warnings: Swearing, slut shaming, death mention, crying

Author’s Note: So, I already answered this, but just in case anyone missed it: I update this series weekly and I am still editing the vast majority of chapters! Sorry if it’s coming out slower than expected!

Tags: @divinity-deos @wolfish-willow @scoopsohboi @thecaptainsgingersnap @herre-gud-nej @clockworkballerina @maddie1504 @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary @buckysarge @wildcvltre @stanleyyelnatsiii @n3wtscaseofniffler5 @peterparxour @linkispink1995 @a-big-ball-of-idk @used-avocado @mochminnie @sledgy14 @the-creative-lie @yall-wildin-like-siriusly @ggclarissa @voidnarnia @anonymousonion23

Steve had no idea what he’d done wrong. Not a clue. But you were ignoring him. You sat farther away from him in English the past two days, and you’d been blowing off plans with him. You’d say that you had other plans, but he’d see you sat on the bleachers after school, watching the girls soccer practise or drawing in that book again. He still didn’t know what you were doing in that book and he was irritated by the fact that he could see you sat in your room some days, caught in a lie without knowing it, your nose caught in the pages in front of you, pencil in between your teeth, focused but unaware of an audience. Steve could see right into your room from his when your curtains were open and you often sat at your desk, working in your pads.

On the day that Mr. Lawrence announced the start for the final essay, Steve had had enough. It had been a week of this behaviour and he felt as though he deserved an answer. And he was sick of watching through the window. Tommy and Carol were busy every damn day chasing Billy Hargrove, Vicki had gone back after him too after their awful date, and Tina wasn’t his friend. Sure, he could bug Dustin, but that made him feel like such a loser. His only friends were a rag tag group of preteens and a weird girl who wouldn’t even talk to him! This was getting pathetic.

The bell rang before Steve could make his move and you were out the door before he could even open his mouth. Tina rolled her eyes as she passed him by, grabbing Tina’s arm to whisper loudly “God, how tragic.” making Vicki cackle loudly.

Steve booked it out the door, scanning the halls for you, but you’d already disappeared from sight. He spotted Samantha, but she was on the retreat. He chose not to chase her down, they’d never even had a conversation before and using her to try to get her to spill on her friend felt a bit shitty. So he decided to just take a walk, no harm in a walk, it was a nice day anyway, out by the field. He wandered out the gym doors by the car park. He shoved his hands into his blue workman’s jacket. The weather was still a bit too chilly to go without a coat, but the sunshine made it easier.

He spotted you and Samantha at the top of the bleachers. You had your hair up that day and your lavender bomber jacket draped around your shoulders. Carol had something similar, or maybe it was Tina, he couldn’t remember which one the pair blurred into one being in his mind.

Samantha caught Steve’s eye before you did. She leaned over to you with a smirk “Lover boy’s watching.” She whispered cheekily, pointing slyly at him.

You turned immediately. Steve was standing in the car park, a few smattering of folks on car hoods, eating packed lunches and watching the scene go down. He waved, taking a step towards you. You turned your attention away.

Samantha was baffled. A week ago, you were telling her all about the weird fun you were having with him, all smiles and laughter, and now you wouldn’t even look at him for more than a second. You wouldn’t admit it, but Samantha knew that he was something more than a friend to you. Nobody was this upset when someone cancelled plans.

Steve turned away without a word. He wanted to scream at you, his mind demanding to know what he had done wrong. He made a plan that afternoon, one he was certain might ruin everything for him.

As soon as the three o’clock bell rang, Steve made a mad dash for his car. He didn’t leave immediately; instead he waited to see an expected sight. Once he saw you huddled and headed for the bleachers, he was sure that the girl’s team was practising. Then he drove off towards home, parking in his own driveway. His mother was home, a shock to him, but he still headed upstairs. The next part was tricky. He’d time out that practise ended at four thirty, but that you usually left at four since the walk was so long. At four twenty, he headed across the street. As always, the yellow Volkswagen sat in the driveway. He’d rarely ever seen it leave the driveway, but it gave him hope that someone was inside the house. You couldn’t be living alone as a senior. He bounded up the front steps, knocking on the door twice. He was nervous, switching his weight from his toes to his heels in a rocking motion forward and back, forward and back.

An older man opened the door. He had to be in his eighties, with age spots speckling him around his eyes like a second pair of wide frames behind his tortoise shell glasses. He seemed suspicious of Steve, although that was probably because he was staring.

“Hello,” he stuck out his hand for the man to shake “I’m Steve Harrington, I’m a friend of Y/N.” the man didn’t take his hand, staying silent as he looked him over.

Steve pressed on “I was wondering if she was home, we were supposed to study together today and she said that she’d call when she got home but I haven’t heard from her.” He chuckled awkwardly.

From behind the old man, a woman’s voice called “Harold, who’s there?”

“One of Y/N’s friends, she home yet?” he called back, opening the door wider. Steve could see the pale yellow walls, sun stained from the large three panel window at the front of their house.

Steve watched as an older woman hobbled into the scene, back hunched and skin thin. She looked frail, her hair dyed to what Steve assumed was its original shade, her grey roots visible from the top of her head. She greeted Steve with a warm smile. Steve was quick to offer his hand to shake, which she took carefully. “Hi, Steve Harrington, it’s nice to meet you both.” He said quickly, smiling brightly at the pair.

“Well hello there, I’m Maude and this is Y/N’s grandfather Harold, it’s lovely to meet you.” She said sweetly. “Why don’t you come inside, Y/N should be home any minute.”

Maude hit Harold’s arm roughly and he let go of the door, letting Steve into the house. He quickly kicked off his shoes, noting the pair’s socked feet. He looked around the house. Every house on the street was one of three standard box deals, with specified details. His parents hadn’t paid for the window seat like your family had, but you didn’t have the open kitchen that his did; an extra yellow wall separated the space. He looked to the fireplace, an exact copy of his family’s before their renovation last august. He missed the grey brick they used to have. You had a large family portrait on the mantle. You were sat in the centre in your Sunday best, your grandparents flanking the outside, two other adults stood closest to you. Steve assumed they were your parents. You looked like your father.

“You have a lovely home,” he said, turning his attention to the pair who were watching him intently.

“Thank you.” Maude smiled “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Sure.” Steve wasn’t much for tea, but he was taught not to refuse something offered by his host. Maude hurried off, leaving him and grumpy old Harold alone.

“Y/N doesn’t bring boys around.” Harold announced when his wife was out of the room. Steve didn’t really know what to say to that, luckily he continued “So what’re you trying to do with my girl?”

“Study,” Steve said with a shrug. The man scoffed, but Steve pressed on. “She’s my partner for our English final, we’re supposed to be working on it today, it’s due soon.”

Harold nodded gruffly “Alright…” he took a seat on the couch, turning the volume back on. The Love Boat was on, a rerun of the episode with guest stars the Captain and Tennille, and Steve was certain that they’d both seen it before.

Maude came in with a tray, handing her husband a mug. It was hand painted, thick script reading ‘Happy Father’s Day’ on the front, the year 1974 written in smaller script underneath in blue paint. She handed him a plain white mug.

“Well, Steve, you’re free to go and wait for Y/N upstairs, her room is two doors to the right of the stairs, you can’t miss it.” She said, gesturing to the stairwell. Steve bid his thanks and headed up the wide carpeted stairwell.

Harold mumbled something to his wife that Steve couldn’t hear, only catching her response. “He’s young, he doesn’t want to sit with us old folks.” She laughed at her own joke and Steve smiled at their friendly banter. They reminded him of his aunt and uncle, they always joked in that sort of way, laughing at themselves before anyone else. It made him feel as if he were at home in the house; he was comforted by the casualness of existence.

Maude was right that the room was impossible to miss. The door was covered in childlike butterflies painted in purple puffy paint. When he opened the bedroom door, he was transported into a small, private art gallery. The room was covered wall to wall in fabric canvases, canvas boards, and paper sketches. Your desk was covered in paint splotches and doodles carved into the wood, there were glow in the dark stars and moons on the blades of your ceiling fan. You’d painted your ceiling into a buttery sunset. It was as if for the first time, Steve was seeing all of you. And you were absolutely incandescent.

His hands went to roam your shelves, filled with sketchbooks and art books and worn copies of the classics. Greedily, he grabbed the first black sketchbook he found its pages heavy and curled. A piece of masking tape on the cover read ‘Still Life, 1980’ in black Sharpie. He flipped over the cover. Every page was the same bowl of fruit, some plain sketches, some painted in acrylics or water colours, but the fruit changed in shape and structure with every flip, rotting more with each sketch until the image switched to a vase of sunflowers, a prim and proper version of the Van Gogh he’d seen a print of in his freshman year art class. He wondered if you’d been there, silently making your own master pieces. He wondered how many masterpieces you had hidden away in your big black book.

The door opened behind him before he could put the sketch book away. “What the fuck are you doing in my house?” you snapped, bounding towards him. When your grandmother told you that your friend from school was upstairs waiting for you, you had a sinking feeling that you knew who it was. And seeing him rifling through your things made your blood boil.

Steve turned slowly, unsure what to say. You snatched the pad out of his hands “And who the fuck gave you permission to look at my stuff, you pervert!” You knew that he hadn’t done anything actually perverted, but you still felt violated.

“I can’t get you to talk to me, I figured coming here would at least make you see me.” Steve laughed a bit, unable to even process what was happening. In the back of his mind, he thought that this would be an effortlessly cool way to go about a solution. Like you’d see him in your room and think ‘wow…what an effort that was…’ Instead, you were furious.

“So, you thought that coming into my house without telling me, lying to my grandparents, and touching my stuff would make it better.” You raised an eyebrow, shoving your sketchbook onto the shelf.

“What was I supposed to do? You won’t answer my calls, you won’t talk to me, I can’t get you to look at me for more than a second and all I want to know is what I did wrong so I can fix it!” Steve cried, words tumbling out of his mouth. You both stared at each other for a moment, surprised by each other, your mouth hanging silently ajar.

You closed it fast, swallowing before speaking “You…you hurt my feelings.” You said softly, pushing past him to put distance between you, standing next to your desk and the window.

“How did I hurt your feelings?” Steve asked quietly, watching you carefully even as you stared defiantly out the window.

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest “You cancelled our plans. For Vicki.”

“So?” Steve asked.

“So, I don’t cancel on you. I never cancel on you, especially not the day of. It hurt my feelings.” You explained, picking at a bit of lint on your sweater.

“Yeah, but I…” he tried to catch himself before he said something terrible, but you already knew what filled in the blank.

“What? You have more friends than me? Is that it?” you snapped. It was Steve’s turn to look away, but you pressed on. “You’re right, you do have more friends than me. But don’t act like I don’t have a social life without you. I do. Do you know how many games of Samantha’s I’ve skipped out on to help you study? How many practises she’s asked me to come and watch that I’ve said no to because I already had plans with you?”

“I don’t know…” Steve muttered. Embarrassment crept up his face. He felt like such a dick. In truth he had forgotten about your plans that day in the excitement of a date with Vicki. With hindsight in full effect he could see that he would’ve had twice as much fun with you eating greasy burgers then he did with Vicki driving around Hawkins.

“Well, it’s been a lot. And it’s not the fact that you went out with Vicki that upset me, you are free to date whoever you want. But can you please at least tell me if you’re cancelling a little sooner than mere minutes before?” you asked, your voice cracking on the end.

“Sure, yeah of course. I should’ve been doing that before.” Steve stumbled over his words to apologize.

“Okay.” You nodded “Now, why are you going through my shit?”

“I wanted to see more. This whole room is incredible.” Steve breathed, plopping down on your mattress.

“You think?” you asked quietly. In truth, you didn’t think that you were that good of an artist. You loved art, but you didn’t think you were exactly talented.

“It’s so cool!” you couldn’t help but laugh, or else you’d cry. Nobody ever talked about your art with such enthusiasm. Teachers only criticized mistakes and your mother and grandparents saw it as clutter. Samantha liked some stuff but she didn’t talk about it much. Even a simple compliment from Steve made you want to cry. You covered your mouth to avoid the tears.

Steve didn’t seem to notice, wandering the room to point out pieces he thought were interesting. He pointed to a canvas depicting the quarry. You’d camped out there one night in the summer; drawing until the sun fades out of the sky and then painting it out once you had it exactly right. “This one is just insane I mean it looks like it’s going to eat you whole, like it has teeth or something.” He exclaimed.

“You can have it.” You replied quickly.

Steve shook his head “No, I couldn’t I mean don’t you want it? For college apps or something?” he couldn’t take it, he’d feel too guilty.

You shrugged “I have enough stuff for at least three portfolios, you should have that one if you like it so much. It’ll make your room cooler.”

“Hey, my room is cool.” Steve pouted, making you laugh harder. He liked your laugh, it split your whole face open into a smile. And your smile looked as if it sat on a bed of clouds. He wanted to float along with it forever.

“Oh yeah, your pee wee t-ball participation trophy is real slick, it gets you all the chicks.” You drawling, bouncing on your mattress.

“Hey, you didn’t run when you saw it.” Steve shrugged, sitting down next to you.

“Eh, your baby sports escapades don’t frighten me. It adds character to know that you suck at something.” You replied. Steve thought briefly of the bat in his trunk and the weight of it mid-swing, connecting with a heavy skull. Better with a bat now then he was as an elementary schooler.

You both lay back on the mattress, staring up at the slowly turning fan. Steve turned to you “What’d you think of Vicki anyway?” he asked.

“Honestly?” Steve nodded “I think she’s a bitch.” Steve laughed loudly but you pressed on “She is! She’s so mean for no reason!”

“Yeah, she’s not cool. She spent our whole date bitching about people, saying a lot of shit about you.” Steve murmured.

“What’d you…” you didn’t know if you could ask how he responded. You bit your tongue before finishing the sentence.

Steve understood anyway “I told her the truth. That you’re a really cool chick and that she shouldn’t be such a bitch about people she doesn’t know.” He said simply, turning his attention back to the slowly moving stars.

You didn’t necessarily believe that he actually defended you. Still, you didn’t feel like arguing. Steve continued on in your silence. “So, do you live with your grandparents’ full time? Or do your parents just work?” he asked.

“Both,” you sighed softly “My mom’s not home very much so they take care of me. She’s a fashion photographer, travels all over the world for different magazines.”

“What about your dad?” Steve asked. He’d seen a younger man in the photo; he assumed that it was some kind of father figure.

“He died.” You muttered.

“Oh…” Steve didn’t know how to react to that. He wasn’t sure if he should apologize.

“She killed him.” You couldn’t help yourself from saying that. Anger still stewed into your bones whenever you thought about your parents.

“What?” Steve to fully look at you, flabbergasted.

“She worked him to death. She always wanted more and farther away from us. Trips to Europe, designer things, this stupid house. She killed him.” You wiped hard at your face, trying to keep the hot tears from streaming down your face. Steve didn’t say anything, he simply pulled you into his chest, holding you tightly into him and letting you cry. He patted your hair gently, trying to soothe you as best he could. He didn’t think he was very good at helping people in their pain. But you grabbed onto his middle and clung to him like a life raft.

“My parents aren’t that great either.” He muttered, unsure if he was helping at all. “They ignore me.”

“I-I’m sorry they do that…” you muttered, looking up at him with wide, wet eyes. Steve melted. He absolutely melted. He was filled with the sudden urge to kiss you, which surprised him. He didn’t follow through with the urge; he didn’t know how you’d take it.

“I’m sorry he’s not here for you…” he replied, petting your hair softly. He stayed with you like that for what felt like hours, letting you cling to him and ruin his shirt with tears. He didn’t care. He needed to be there for you. He promised himself that he wouldn’t hurt you again. That he’d be more careful and pay more attention. He couldn’t bear to see you in this much pain again. He knew that you weren’t crying because of him, but if he could keep you from feeling even an ounce of this sort of pain again, he would.

He cared about you too much to ever let you suffer alone again.

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hellomissmabel · 8 years ago

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Bye Bye Brooklyn Boys (6)

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Bucky x reader, Steve x reader

Warnings: This is just so sad. Language.

Word count: 1.926

Summary: You find out Tony has made some arrangements behind your back and you decide to confront him about it.

A/N: I had a clear image of this scene in my head but it feels like I lot track of it once I started writing it down. What I was trying to convey here is her desperation, she’s looking for love and the only person that has ever given her love, is Tony, who is like a second father to her. The reader is caught up in her search for love and it feels like the only person that’ll ever love her, although platonic, is Tony. This is why she feels so betrayed, why it looks like she’s being a drama queen. Nonetheless, this is just a mask. She feels empty and has no idea how to deal with it.

September, October, November , December, January

February

One week before my grand escape, my leap of faith into the great big unknown (just kidding, it’s only Norway), I received a letter from the faculty explaining that professor A. Stark had signed over my research to a certain professor B. Banner. My transfer was effective immediately.

I was pissed, so pissed. Pissed at Tony, at whoever this professor Banner might be. Pissed at those fuckers in Norway who dare lay a finger on my precious work and at the world for treating me like a piece of shit. Because that’s exactly what I felt like.

I felt like shit.

So now I’m drunk as fuck and sitting at the desk of my ex-mentor, professor Stark. I don’t know when I got this bold or where I got the fucking nerve from to barge in like this, but I did know where he kept his fancy bourbon. I pulled out the bottle stashed away at the back of his bottom drawer and poured myself a glass or two. Or maybe it was three or four, I don’t really remember. The point is that the bottle had been almost empty and I wasn’t thinking clearly by the time he found me, legs up on his mahogany desk and singing nineties pop songs like a cat being dragged into the water. And cats absolutely loathe water.

He gently lifted me out of his chair and carried me towards his couch, my arms lazily wrapped around his neck. I’m just a bunch of dead weight in his arms but he doesn’t seem to mind. After he lies me down, the black leather welcoming me in its indulgent embrace, he tucks back a couple swirls of hair behind my ear before crouching on his knees before me. He looks me straight in the eye while he tries to talk some sense into me.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? Darling, please, tell me what brought you here and I will do everything in my power to make it better. Y/N, my dear, what has gotten into you? This isn’t like you.”

You slowly open your eyes and when you do, you are met with an abundance of warmth. You had never really taken a moment to appreciate the colour of his eyes, the shade of copper coins you keep in your back pocket and the aged whiskey you treated yourself with upon arrival. His eyes are boring into you as he measures up how far gone you are but the only thing you can think about is how gorgeous, so very gorgeous his eyes are, harbouring a mischievous sparkle and crinkling at the corners when he smiles that devious smirk you’ve grown so used to. An old fox with new tricks or at least that’s what Nat thinks of him.

But those are not the eyes you long to see right now.

“Everything is so fucked up. I rejected Bucky, broke up with Steve and this morning, I found out you robbed me of my research, shipped me off like cargo to a guy named Banner without even consulting with me first! You stabbed me in the back, you kept me in the dark. I put all my hope in you, professor, and you let me down.”

“Y/N, at least let me explain.” You could hear the hurt in his voice shining through and you instantly felt like such a bitch for putting him on the spot like that. He didn’t deserve your insults, he was just doing his job.

But your mouth is quicker than your conscience.

“No! I don’t need any more lousy excuses, God knows I’ve heard enough of those already. And you know what, I don’t need those two Brooklyn boys! What I need is a real man, a Manhattan man. Mum was right after all,” you groan loudly.

“Y/N, if you would just let me finish.” You snapped out of your thoughts at the authoritative nature his voice had taken, a tone he rarely used with you. But his eyes soon softened as he took in your astounded expression, he understood where you anger was coming from.

“Y/N, I am not the right person to assist you. I barely have time to be your mentor now, how on earth are we going to be able to work together when we’re miles apart? My good friend over in Norway, Bruce, he offered to step in for me while you’re abroad. So when you return we’ll pick up right where we left off. I’m sorry I didn’t run this through you first, but time was of the essence here. We needed the board and the ethical committee to approve on this as soon as possible and we both know how long it can take for them to review a decision like this.”

You sighed, hiding your face in the pillows to avoid eye contact. “I feel like such a fool.”

“You’re wasted, love,” Tony chuckles. “And you’re very feisty when you are, I like a girl that can bite back,” he jokes quietly, the palm of his hand resting on your cheek tinted pink with mortification. You slowly look up to meet his gaze. Tony cards his fingers through your hair, his smile telling you to not worry too much about it.

“That’s not very professional of you to say, professor Stark,” you retort, laughing lightly.

“I know, but I don’t give a shit. Feeling better already, dear?”

You nod and he helps you back up, head spinning wildly from the sudden switch in position. He sits down next to you and you lay your head to rest on his shoulder. “And please, Y/N, call me Tony,” he says as he drapes his arm over your shoulder and takes your hand in his, interlacing your fingers and giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you, Tony. I know you only did it to help me and I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass about it.”

“No need for apologies, Y/N. You’re my favourite assistant, you know that. You don’t work for me, you work with me. My team is basically your team as well, they even call you the ‘Lady Boss’.”

You scoff, turning your head to face him. “What kind of title is that? I prefer Mother of Dragons.”

He shakes his head at your folly. “I swear I’m going to miss you, kiddo.”

Tony has dark circles hugging his eyes and a light scruff decorating his cheeks, his usually immaculate haircut unkempt. “You look tired, have you gotten any sleep lately?”

He just shrugs nonchalantly but he holds on to your hand a little tighter. “I can’t.”

“Don’t, Tony. You know how important it is that you get some rest. Please let me help you.”

“You should help yourself first by telling me what’s been going on in that pretty little head of yours, Y/N. Tell me about those Brooklyn boys you mentioned earlier.”

You cringe visibly, reluctant to stir up that particular hornet’s nest again. “Tony, are you sure? It ain’t got a happy ending.”

“I don’t mind, I’m here for you. Now, talk, get it off your chest.”

You blink away the tears threatening to spill from your tear ducts, the memory still too fresh as you reveal everything to Tony, from the very beginning till the very end. About how you and James dated on and off for a couple months before he broke things off, how you cried yourself to sleep every night, how you think that at some point Nat lost count as well which is why she dragged you out to party for an entire week straight, trying her best to cheer you up.

But you also told him the real change happened when you met Steve. “Now, I know you can’t stand the guy but please, Tony, hear me out first.”

He huffs but says nothing although his brown eyes give away more than he’d like.

“Steve,” you sigh languidly, “Steve’s a dream. He’s thoughtful and has such a kind heart, there’s a softness in his smile at all times and he loves the forties just as much as I do, even went to one of those period dances with me. Steve’s creativity knows no end and he is such an amazing artist. We even made a deal, I would model for his sketches and he would model for my photographs.”

“If everything was so perfect, where did it go sideways?”

You decide to give him a shorter version of all your past mistakes right up until what happened yesterday afternoon, the epitome of all your misery, the final drop that flooded your proverbial bucket. Class had been dismissed an hour earlier than expected and as you reached your apartment, you saw Clint’s car parked outside. Deciding you didn’t want to interrupt the two love birds, you texted Wanda and asked if you could join her at the library where she usually resides at this hour. Whilst waiting for a reply, you already made your way towards the library and just as you were about to reach out for the door handle, you felt something buzzing in your jacket pocket. Quickly fishing out your phone, you stared at the screen in confusion, one simple word lightening up on the display.

No.

Wanda didn’t want you at the library, surely you hadn’t done anything to upset her? You figured that the best approach was to ask her straightaway and as you pushed through the double doors and inside the library, your eyes immediately fell upon a familiar presence and you promptly realised why Wanda had reacted the way she did. Sitting only two seats away from Wanda, hunched over a couple textbooks with his headphones on, was James. And all of a sudden, as if God himself is mocking you, his head shot up and your eyes locked, his grey gaze falling over your body like a bucket of ice cold water. His eyes were void of any emotion and you felt yourself slowly slipping away in the bottomless pit you created for yourself.

There was no need for words anymore, because you just knew, you knew you had royally screwed up. “I am dead to him now.”

You look so tiny compared to the strong character you usually exhibited, void of your talent for light-hearted chatter making everyone feel at ease almost instantly. A loud sob escapes your lips and Tony gives you a sympathetic half-smile, shushing and comforting you until you have calmed down a bit.

“It’s a disaster,” you reply with a wry smile, the alcohol wearing off and the urge to cry again sinking in. “Tony, I lied to both of them! I didn’t want to be tied to a sallow heart like James’, so I told him no when I wanted to say yes. But I also couldn’t stay with Steve after kissing James and all those old emotions came flooding back to me. How can I be in love with both of them if it’s killing me inside? It’s killing me to love them, which I why I have to go. I have to go.”

Another heartbeat passes and Tony is clearly rendered speechless by your words. He feels bad for you, torn up by love and now clutching onto him as if he’s the only rock-solid thing that’s left in her world. Perhaps he is. “That’s a lot of weight to carry around all by yourself, kiddo.” Tony spoke softly to you, gently brushing the tears away with his thumb.

Perhaps he is.

Part 7: March

Tagging: the ever-wonderful @beccaanne814-blog along with a couple of my all-time favourites (hope you guys don’t mind me tagging you!) @hymnofthevalkyries @thedragonblood @capsbuchanan @caplanbuckybarnes @buchananbarnestrash @buckyywiththegoodhair @a-little-hell-to-raise @unpredictable-firecracker @marvelingatthewonder @emilyinwonderland3 @mrshopkirk @oopsmybagofplums @hardcorehippos @iiharu-kunii@knittingknerdy @kiwi71281 @winterwolf57 @dontbeamenacetotheforce @winterboobaer

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