#I need that fucking old man crumbling into an emotional mess I need him to suffer on-screen

[neo-zone]

After this episode, I genuinely need to see that stoic neglect dad Ryuken losing his absolute shit on the fact that his son is starting to possess the same fucking eye color as his wife's murderer

[isa-ghost]

happy early borth use me as a vessel to infodump about your qphil headcanons immediately that’s an order >:D

This too-broad I Just Wanna Hear You Be Abnormal About Your Guy prompting thing is gonna become an inside joke between us I s2g

I think rather than hcs I'm gonna go on a rant about this sTUPID MOTHERFUCKERS WACK ASS BRAIN. YOU ARE YOUR OWN BIGGEST EMOTIONAL DETRIMENT, YKNOW THAT qPHILLIP MINECRAFT? GOD.

This entire thing applies to AMFMN Phil btw

That son of a bitch is such a MESS. He's so deep in his own bullshit he doesn't even see the times he contradicts himself or acts like a hypocrite.

He has to care for everyone (he feels obligated to as the Usually Oldest And Wisest + being constantly put into the paternal/caretaker role) but god forbid anyone takes care of him, even when he needs it most. When people take care of him he feels like he's failed somehow and he gets this not-quite ashamed or embarrassed feeling, but still Distinctly Uncomfortable And Awkward nonetheless.

He's like thousands of years old and has had more life experience to handle stress 100x heavier than "just a scratch" or "feeling a bit sad." He's spent decades just fucking around risking his life in hardcore mode, which puts near-constant strain on a person. Which has definitely warped his perception of what's too much for himself. He has a HUGE problem with being too critical of when something is or isn't Enough to be "worth" letting himself be upset or down for the count for a while. (In AMFMN he's going to be told straight up he Should Have Literally Died with how bad of shape he'll be in and that's the only reason besides his body being in literal physical shambles that he's going to remain bedridden during the recovery arc).

It's so foreign to him between his habitual isolation (hc life), rarely actually being taken down long-term by any threat, and his own evasion of being the one depending on someone that he just. He doesn't know what to do here. It's like putting socks on a dog and watching them try to walk all weird, he's like What The FUCK Is This?? How Do I Navigate This Situation?? He hates it.

Also survivalist brain hates feeling vulnerable in any way in general obviously, so that's another factor. But FUCK MAN sometimes you NEED to, it's HEALTHY even!! You dumb ass motherfucker!! Like yeah he'll cry, but not in like a Go To His Room And Let Himself Break A Little way, in a "these extremely stressful circumstances are actively happening/ongoing and it's overwhelming me so badly that I couldn't hold this back if I tried" way. Case in point: Ender King's initial arrival and how the kids couldn't see anything, or his actual possession and telling Tallulah to flee.

Alternatively if something involves not him but his loved ones, THEN he'll cry. Assuming it's not something he can do anything about (bc then his default reaction is Pissed The Fuck Off and preparing to throw infinite hands). Case in point: the goodbye letters pre-Purgatory.

But generally speaking this idiot is SO BAD at emotional self-care and letting himself be the one looked after for a change, it feeds into a lot of his other flaws (ie: being strong all the time & how he pushes that on Chay). But like. It's not just done out of refusal due to stubbornness.

It's fucking tragic, honestly. He's spent So Long being this way, he just straight up genuinely doesn't know How to be in the reversed role. Like even if he Wanted to be, it's so beyond his comprehension now that he doesn't think he Can. And a shred of why he continues not to just Start is bc he knows deep down that there is SO MUCH shit he's bottled up and buried or ignored over time, esp ever since The Nightmare, that if he let himself stop being a brick wall he'd crumble for so long he doesn't know what he'd be like once he recovered, or if he would even bounce back properly. And he does NOT like the idea of being irreversibly fucked up by properly digesting the trauma and grief and stress he's been through over the last year.

He'd rather truck on and "keep it together for the kids." :)

[casspurrjoybell-25]

Cold as Ice - Chapter 11 - Part 2

*Warning - Adult Content*

Landon Rielly

I was still pulling at my hair but I couldn't feel the pain.

My vision was blurring and I was seeing red.

I didn't know how to get my anger out or what to do with all these emotions, with all this self hatred.

Sometimes I wished I could have been born into a different world or not born at all.

"Landon," Wren said, taking my hands in his to pull them from my hair.

I stared at him for a moment, my breathing slowing, before ripping my hands from his grasp and putting distance between us.

"Don't fucking touch me," Wren stared at me with a bored expression.

He turned and picked up his keys, sliding them into his pocket before nodding toward the door.

"Come on. Let's go," he said, moving toward the door.

"No, I need to tell you..." I trailed, one of my hands moving to pull at my hair.

"I need to tell you how fucked up you are."

"You can tell me in the car," he said.

"Let's go for a drive."

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Well, I'm going, so are you going to come with me or stay here and scream at the walls?"

He looked smug as I followed him toward the door and out of his building.

My mind was clouded and I barely understood exactly what I was doing when I got into the passenger's seat of Wren's car.

He had an audio book playing but I couldn't focus on what it was saying.

My mind was in a fog, my head felt heavy even as I leaned it against the cool window and my anger was dissipating just because I felt so tired.

I still wanted Wren to know I was angry and I wanted him to feel as bad as I felt but it was like nothing could bother him.

He didn't care what I thought of him and he didn't care how he made me feel.

"Where are we going?" I mumbled, my voice quiet and slurred but Wren still somehow understood me.

"Anywhere, nowhere," he replied. I hated the vague way he spoke and how he looked so at ease while I was crumbling in the passenger's seat.

"You're fucked up," I said.

"What?"

"I said you're fucked up," I repeated, louder this time.

"You want me to feel like this. You like messing with my head and you know exactly how to do it."

He was silent for a moment.

We were passing through the night like phantoms.

There was no one around to see or hear us.

It was like we entered another dimension where it was just us.

"Lance, I think you're a lot more angry at yourself than you are at me," Wren finally replied.

It was possible for me to be angry at the both of us, at him for being the way that he was and at myself for letting him get to me and being unable to suppress the part of me that desired him.

The part of me that desired any man was something I had been long suppressing and I couldn't slip up now, not for Wren of all people.

That would only make me hate myself more.

"You know, this whole taking care of you while you're drunk thing is getting old," Wren said after we sat in silence for a few moments, the audio book playing in the background forgotten.

"You're not takin' care of me," I slurred.

"Only I am actually," he continued.

"And this isn't me. I don't do this sort of thing."

"Then why are you?" I snapped.

Wren didn't say anything.

He pursed his lips and looked at me briefly before turning his attention back to the road.

We sat in silence again and I closed my eyes as I leaned my head against the cool window.

Wren stopped through a drive through for food, but I paid him no attention until he stopped the car.

I opened my eyes and saw that we were parked in front of the ocean.

The beach was deserted this time of year and this time of night.

The moon reflected over the rippling water and the sky was so clear it was like we could see every star in existence.

Wren sat beside me, eating french fries.

He noticed me looking at him and motioned downward toward the cupholder which held another carton of fries.

"I can't eat those," I said.

Wren stuffed a fry into his mouth.

"Why?"

"Because they're not healthy."

The strict diet my father used to make me follow never allowed for fried foods.

There were times I would sneak some with the hope of him never finding out but he almost always did.

Even now, living on my own at school, I found it hard to stray too far from that diet even with the temptation of the food at the dining halls.

"But they're good," Wren said.

"Try one."

He held out a fry in front of my face, bringing it closer until it touched my lips.

I smacked his hand away and he chuckled, popping the fry in his mouth.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I spat.

Wren just shrugged then spent the next few minutes glancing over at me and looking away.

Eventually, I had enough and snapped at him again.

"Why the fuck do you keep looking at me? Just say something if you have something to say."

"You'll just get more angry if I say what I'm thinking," he replied.

"Just say it."

He paused and put his carton of fries down in the cupholder before turning his body to face me completely.

"You always resort to anger to deal with any emotion you're feeling," Wren started.

"If you're feeling sad or insecure, you turn that into anger and right now, instead of dealing with your emotions, you chose someone or something to be angry at. That being me."

"This has nothing to do with how I'm feeling. You make me angry," I told him.

Wren grinned and I hated how my eyes focused on the way his lips moved to form it.

"And why do I make you so angry?" he asked.

"Is it because you just don't like me? Am I irritating? Would that cause such a visceral reaction from you?"

I didn't respond, so he just kept going.

"Or is it because things about yourself? So you have to find someone else to blame and I'm right here?"

I looked away from him, staring out at the ocean.

My vision started to blur and it took me a moment to realize tears were forming in my eyes.

I didn't want him to see me like this, but there was nowhere for me to go.

All I could do was sit there in his car beside him while my emotions got the better of me.

I figured he would make a comment or say something to make me feel even worse but he said nothing.

I felt the heat of Wren's gaze but I couldn't face him.

"Have some fries," Wren said after a few moments, picking up the carton and handing it to me.

So I did and that was the last thing he said for a while.

I didn't know how long the two of us sat in that silence, the only sound being the faint voice on the car speakers and the crashing of the waves before us.

[polandspringz]

If anyone cares about my Anime Awards votes here’s the messiest description of what I voted for so far (did not vote for film and eng VA yet; need to watch deer king this weekend + need to listen to the voice acting performances). And this was just copy pasted from a notepad so excuse the mess again:

aoty- spy x family; brought more ppl into anime + prompted most discussion

original- lycoris; out of the choices this is like, the only one deserving

charater design- ranking of kings; i try to avoid adaptions bc the character designs are just being translated BUT this is kind of a mp100 situation with how they adapted the character designs from the original art + the unique storybook style for the coloring of the characters

animation- ranking of kings; Not only did it have great action animation, they animated the sign language AND it was done by animators who WERE hard of hearing/deaf.

new series- Ya Boy Kongming!; This show was incredible, I'm so sorry but it was.

continuing- One Piece; The animation quality for the recent arc has been spectacular and so it has IMPROVED especially in the episode 1015 from this year.

opening- ranking of kings opening 2; JUST WATCH THE OPENING AND YOU UNDERSTAND. They got that 18 year old Vercreek on that shit I still can't believe they can do that level of animation at that age JESUS.

ending- Kaguya-sama; Listen I hated Kaguya sama and refused to watch it and then this ending happened and I was so hyperfixated on it that I binged the entire series and the emotions shown in the ending + the symbolism/them combining the myth of princess kaguya with a star wars esque fight was so cool

best score- Ya Boy Kongming; This is hard because it's like score so... instrumental? But Kongming was like a music anime with vocals and the rap battle fight was so good but also it had a lot of original songs.

Song- new genesis; Listen, Ado hit those notes

director- Spy x Family; BECAUSE THIS MAN SINGLE HANDEDLY SAVING CLOVERWORKS AFTER THE WONDER EGG DISASTER AND ALSO AT WIT NAVIGATING THEIR OWN CRUMBLING FINANCIAL SITUATION!!! Plus they did deviate from the manga at times and go above and beyond (see the castle episode)

Main chara- Bojji; You have a child prince who is deaf and everyone thinks they can talk shit about him in FRONT of him because they think he doesn't know what theyre saying but he CAN read lips and he defies death + saves his entire kingdom despite his lack of physical strength and learns to overcome many things and isn't "fixed" ever need I say more

Supporting- Kage from Ranking of Kings; ties into the above

Must protect- Kotaro; Anya can handle HERSELF. Kotaro literally was neglected and ate LEAVES he was starving so badly and has been forced to learn how to be independent despite being liek SIX YEARS OLD ARE YOU KIDDING ME.

action- Spy x Family; I didn't give them the animation vote so they're getting this since they excelled in action animation.

Comedy- Ya Boy Kongming; This is the only isekai that matters you've got a chinese war tactician reincarnated into present day and he just becomes a rising singer's manager and he does a fucking rap battle need I say more.

Drama- dance dance danseur; SO TORN because the ending of eighty six was so good for the episodes that DID come out in 2022 but its more Historic Drama? Fantasy Drama? Idk its a fictional war but Dance Dance Danseur deserves recognition too and Jumpei's journey and the conflict between him and the other two protags is staged like a ballet's story etc. etc.

Fantasy- ranking of kings; see everything ive already said

romance- call of the night; This series takes a really unique look on romance by basically having someone who is aromantic trying to fall in love with an asexual, romance repulsed vampire because to become a vampire you need to fall in love with one. And it explores the feelings (although it never outright uses the terms) of being ace well imo.

japanese va- Yor

[someguywriting]

do people really think of titles? thats very smart, but unfortunately I am not that smart <3

Return of Sabata - Sabata fingers himself/gets fingered. Yup, that's it. It's actually fully complete, but I just cannot bring myself to post it and face the scrutiny of people who did NOT want to read a fic made by a guy on a lot of weed.

Star Trek TNG - A rather sweet fic where Data/Geordi figure out couples stuff. Geordi explains why he's so anxious he's going to mess things up, and Data explains why just being with Geordi is more than enough for him, that he doesn't need some perfect date night.

The Addams Family - Love you @doink-boink, thank you for showing me this show <33 it's a silly little fic (going to be a silly little fic) where Morticia and Gomez accept an offer for Lurch to train a new butler about the service. However, the trainee's just like Lurch, therefore giving him his own little companion to be miserable with - eventually a BOYFRIEND to be miserable with. They'll stand together in a coffin <3

Original Work - A suicide note from a man who knows he's insane, detailing the differences between himself and humankind, explaining why he must seek out the cold embrace of death, if only to be free from the constant light, noise and voices of the human world.

Original Work - A researched essay on why vaping (the accessibility of vaping, the ease of it, the lack of negative recognizable scent, the lack of harshness, the marketing to kids) is worse for people than smoking.

RPF, Jhonen Vasquez - Jhonen Vasquez gets tossed into a world where he comes face to face with the things he's created. Zim, Johnny, Squee, and various other things/characters he's created.

The Rifleman - After seeing his son kissing another boy, Lucas McCain comes to terms with the fact that his son likes boys. He does his best to learn to accept it, considering how to tell him he knows and it's okay, when Mark and the boy he's been seeing come running back to the ranch, scared out of their minds because the father of the boy Mark's been kissing saw them, and is trying to beat Mark and his son

Gunsmoke - Kind of a stupid little fic mainly showing off Doc Adams' grumpy old man behaviours where he, Chester and Matt all accidentally end up sharing a bed on a hot summer's day.

The Good, The Bad & The Ugly - Kind of an expansion on a short story I once did, about Tuco giving Blondie a blowjob for what he assumed was Blondie's birthday. Mostly a comedy type thing, where Tuco fucks up and stumbles his way through making something RESEMBLING a cake.

The Good, The Bad & The Ugly - an Angel Eyes and Blondie focused fic, exploring the way Angel Eyes kind of expects to be compensated for good deeds, making the stoic Blondie hide his terror behind a later of gruffness. been a little scared to work on this one cause the community around the GBU are all such good writers and then there's just like me

Gunsmoke - Chester and Matt hold hands under a bar table and drink together, attracting the attention of Kitty (she knows.) it's a cute little short fic idea where Kitty gets her girlboss moment

Gunsmoke - Matt kisses Chester in the middle of the street. I wrote all of what I have of this one when I was out of my mind high, and so.. I might wait til I get high again to finish it.

The Black Bounty Hunter/Boss - men get emotional and cry and hold eachother because of the traumatic things they've been through, real man friends bonding and drinking and just being bros and buds

Sherlock Holmes (Arthur Conan Doyle) - A rewrite of the first smut fic I ever did. More of a nostalgia/"look at how far I've come!" Thing.

Invader Zim - Dib crumbles on the floor of Zim's home after Zim's robo parents tell him how proud they are of him- and Dib relives his neglected childhood and cries, wishing just once he could've been cared for or noticed, told he was making his father proud rather than just insane. Zim doesn't find any fun in picking on him, as he's already crying- so he comforts him, so he can hopefully have more fun picking on him later.

Smokey and the Bandit - Believe it or not, I like the straight ship in this movie. But there's just.. something about Frog. She's TRANS. Anyway, some plain and simple porn without plot with some mutual road head.

I think that's about it? Probably...

non obligational tags: @meme-streets @muguhee @gendermeh @violasmirabiles

WIP tag game

Tagged by @phoenixflames12 and thank you so much bestie but you don't know the hell you've just unleashed! I have so so many wips lol its so bad

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

(for like. brevity im only gonna post the wips that im actually seriously working on)

Sharpe:

second egg fic! (ovi kink w Pat and Sharpe)

zombie au

company-era pat getting hurt fic?? (robot!Pat and the events of Sharpe's company but in space. ig.)

pat sacrificing himself fic?? (robot!Pat)

Morse:

morse/strange egg fic (ovi kink)

depressed Jakes fic?? (Jakes experiences a depressive episode)

constance death anniv fic but w CONNIE??? (Morse has a kid w his OC partner and has 2 reckon w the fact that his mother died. idk)

The Terror:

phoenix flames bridgens/peglar fic (fic based on Phoenixflames12's modern AU bridglar)

no pressure tagging @werewiire @cerebrobullet @some-cold-and-some-violence @disastrouscanasta

[cherrydreamer]

🎃Harringrove Harvest- Day 1- Candy Corn 🎃

It's been a few months since Starcourt. Long enough that most of the gossip and rumours have died down, but still far too soon for Billy Hargrove to be anywhere close to being released from hospital.

So that's where he is, battered and bruised and bed-bound, when Hopper comes to visit him- with El and Max in tow as usual- the police chief looking even more serious than usual when he sits down on the plastic chair beside Billy's bed and delivers the news that Neil Hargrove has skipped out of town, loading up his truck and disappearing into the middle of the night, leaving a whole stack of unpaid bills and a ton of trouble for Susan to have to deal with.

And it all hits Billy like a ton of bricks. Another punch right through a heart that's still not quite healed.

Cause, yeah, he knows that Neil Hargrove is an asshole with a cruel streak a mile wide, and he knows that he spent enough time hating his old man and wishing for something just like this to happen, but it's still not that simple. It's not black and white. Despite it all, the fear and the pain and the way Neil's voice is always in the back of Billy's mind, criticising and mocking him, despite all of that, Neil is his father. His Dad. And nothing can change the fact that he's still the guy that taught Billy how to throw a fastball and how to change the oil in his car and who told him he was proud of him when Billy made the basketball team.

He's still his Dad. And Billy still loves him.

And now he's fucked off. Without even a goodbye. Without even a word. Billy's been left behind. Forgotten about again. And it hurts.

So Billy's struggling.

As much as he's trying to stay calm, to shove all his emotion down and lock it away, he knows he's about to break. And then he catches sight of Max and El's faces, both of them with expressions that Billy can only read as pity, and it's just too much, and Billy can't stop himself from yelling at them to get out, pointing at the door when the words just catch in his throat and come out rough and raspy and barely understandable.

They get it. They leave.

But the Chief doesn't. He doesn't leave. If anything, he shuffles himself even closer, the chair squeaking against the linoleum floor, one hand hovering in the air just for a moment, before he thinks better of it and draws it back. And Billy tries his best to pull himself together, blinking back the tears he can feel gathering and swallowing down the ache in his throat and shaking his head to dislodge all those swirling, churning, painful thoughts that just won't stop coming.

He tries to deal with it. Because he needs to. He can be a man about this, he's got to be. He's on his own now and he'd better get used to it.

But then Hop's voice is softening, and this time when he reaches out, he doesn't stop until he's resting a hand on Billy's shoulder and squeezing firmly, "Hey, look Billy, I'm sorry, it's, uh, it's all kinds of messed up, what your old man did. But we'll work this out, OK, kid? You don't gotta worry. We'll help you out, whatever you need."

But Billy shakes his head, scrubbing angrily at the tears that have spilled over despite his attempts to hold them in and he says, "It's fine. I don't need...I'll be fine. I can look after myself."

Only for Hop to look at him, voice softer than Billy's ever heard it before, and say, "I know you can, Billy, but this time you don't have to."

And Billy knows that he's crumbling. He can feel it, that sudden rush of emotion all bubbling forth. But he can hold on, he can, he has to, he will. So he tears his eyes away from Hopper's face, not wanting to see any more fucking pity directed his way, but no matter where Billy looks, he can't help but see the evidence of the Chief's words.

It's there in the books on the table by his bed, a stack two feet high of sci-fi and fantasy novels, all loans from the kids, interspersed with some car magazines donated by Hopper himself. It's there in the Tupperware box beside them full of brownies made with love by Claudia Henderson, the sixth batch she's sent this month and these ones all dotted with candy corn, just because Billy made an off hand comment to her last week about how he was annoyed that he'd be stuck in hospital over Halloween. It's there in the tangle of soft blankets at the foot of his bed, the ones Joyce had brought in for him when he'd grumbled about the itchy hospital sheets, the same ones she'd tucked around him so carefully when he first started to shiver, and then untucked so swiftly when he started thrashing in his sleep.

It's there too, in the Walkman Billy always has by his side, the surprise gift from Steve, alongside a collection of tapes, even though Billy still hasn't swapped the first one out yet. How can he, when it's a mixtape that Steve made especially for him? A terrible mix, really, a culture clash of Tears for Fears and Judas Priest and The Beach Boys and Ratt and Cyndi fucking Lauper and a whole mess of others, every single one meaning something to the two of them.

It's there in so many other things too. Less obvious ones, like the nurses always knocking quietly before coming into his room because Hopper had a stern word after he saw Billy flinch away from a loud bang; and how there's a stubborn, possibly permanent, scuff mark on the floor from all the times that someone has dragged the uncomfortable visitors' chair closer to the bed, closer to Billy.

And it's there in the way that El and Max are crowding at the door, faces smushed against the glass, almost falling over themselves to come back to Billy's bedside the moment he spots them and beckons them over.

It's there. All over. Proof that, for whatever fucking reason, the people here do care about him. For him. That Hopper isn't talking out of his ass. That Billy can ask for help and know that he'll get it.

It's a lot. A lot to realise, especially all at once. So it takes Billy a moment. But then he finally looks back at Hopper and at Max and El, at the expression they all share, the one that Billy now sees for the concern that it always was. And not just concern, but something more. Something Billy hasn't seen directed his way in a long time.

Care. Affection. And love.

Billy knows he's about to break. He can't stop it. He doesn't even try. And there's only a second, if that, between the first sob catching in his throat and the three pairs of arms that wrap around him and pull him into a hug. It's awkward, really, the bed is too small for them all and Max's elbow is sharp and El's hair is tickling his cheek, and Hopper's ripe armpit is a little too close to Billy's nose to be overly pleasant. But Billy doesn't mind at all, especially not when Hop's voice rumbles out against his ear, "You'll be OK, son. You'll be OK. We've got you."

Because this time, Billy lets himself believe it.

[egcdeath]

second chances

pairing: softdark!steve rogers x reader 

summary: you wake up on the side of the road with no memories, no possessions, and no place to go. luckily, an attractive stranger arrives just in time to help you out. 

word count: 4.6k

warnings: there are some soft moments, but this is ultimately a dark fic!!! alluding to kidnapping, deceit, mention of knife, drugging, abuse (mostly mental/emotional, but implied physical), amnesia, brief alcohol mention, nightmares, mention of bodily harm, bed sharing **if i’m missing any warnings, let me know

author’s note: this is my first dark fic without a dark reader, so please be nice! it took me nearly a whole month to get it where i want it to be (i’m a slow writer, i know) but i’m actually pretty proud of this. 

you can find my masterlist and taglist here

After what seemed like years of waiting, the opportunity finally lent itself, a small pocket knife sat right in your peripheral view. A dangerous mixture of adrenaline and impulse filled you, not even granting you the time to think before you were clumsily extending your arm, and wielding the knife. 

The blade popped out, and you held it with a shaky hand in front of your captor.

“Really?” he scoffed, “you’re gonna kill me.”

There was no attempt on his part to stop you, in fact, he smiled and leaned back slightly.

Your whole body trembled at this point, you could barely form words, let alone move. But this was your chance.

“So do it, Y/N. Kill me,” his voice steadily rose as he approached you, long legs making their way across the room.

Before you knew it, he was standing in front of you, hand approaching your own. He wrapped it around your wrist and gripped down on you like a snake, causing you to emit a tiny yelp.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked, voice steady as your hands trembled around the grip.

“Exactly. You’re still as fucking pathetic as you were the day I met you,” a slap stung your left cheek, a mark that was sure to be there for the days following. 

The knife clattered as it hit the linoleum floor, and you followed its path, crumbling on the floor and breaking into tear-less sobs. 

“Remember this moment, sweetheart. You’ll never get a chance like this again,” he swooped up the knife before walking away from you, leaving a broken woman in his wake.

——

You went from experiencing nothing to everything all at once. Your brain seemed to be attempting to escape your head as it pressed against your eyes, and you struggled to open them, lashes feeling like they were glued together. Rain poured down on your head, and you concluded that it had been pouring on you for a while, as you were completely soaked to the bone. 

As you looked at yourself and your body, a curled up and bruised mess on the side of the road, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly happened to you, or at all. You weren’t even sure that you had memories apart from the ones that were processing in that exact moment. It was as if you’d exited the womb for a second time, clueless to where you were, who you are, or how you got there. 

You shivered as you pulled yourself to your feet, weak ankles shaking in glittery heels and body trembling in a half-torn dress. Wherever you came from couldn’t have been good.

You slipped off the shoes and held them in your hands as you walked down the side of the deserted road, bare feet sloshing in mud as you did so. You didn’t have an idea where you were, or where the nearest sign of life was. You were tempted to walk on the soaked, petrichor scented road, but you knew that that wasn’t your best idea.

You truly had no good options. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go. No one to save you. You wanted to collapse back onto the ground, give into your screaming body that was becoming more and more tired by the moment. Hot tears began to slip down your face, contrasting the cold of the raindrops falling onto your body. 

All hope was lost, you’d die any time now, and that would just be it. You looked up at the overcast sky and screamed at it, mentally begging for someone, anyone, to help. That you’d forever be grateful to god, or the universe, or whatever it was that was out there that put you in the situation you were in. 

You screamed and sobbed until your throat was raw, and you weren’t sure you’d be able to produce any more sound, sitting down onto the damp ground and wishing for your inevitable death to be a swift and painless one. 

Yet, your pity party was crashed just moments later by a beaming red light and the soft hum of a motor coming down the road. This was your one chance. Who knew when the next time you’d see a sign of human life was?

You jumped to your feet and waved your hands like a madwoman, trying to catch the attention of the male behind the driver's seat. He began to come to a stop, pulling over a bit to see you better.

His face was angelic, a strong jaw and soft eyes that looked like they had seen more than the average person. When he spoke, you felt heaven become drowsy with harmony. Or maybe you were just really tired. Regardless, your pleas to a higher power had proved fruitful, as your knight and shining armor had just pulled up beside you to save the day.

He rolled a window down, and you got closer to the door.

“Need a ride, ma’am?” he called.

You simply nodded and approached the vehicle, opening the door hesitantly. You sat down on the seat, and jumped a bit when you felt heat radiating onto the back of your thighs.

“I’m Steve. You?” 

You chuckled awkwardly, “that’s a great question that I wish I could answer. It’s actually kind of a long story. Well, I assume it’s long since I can’t remember any of it. But maybe I will later. Nice to meet you anyway, Steve.”

He nodded understandingly, completely unfazed by your lack of name. Maybe he had prior experience with hitchhikers, as he was approaching this situation with a nearly suspicious calmness. “Well… where’re you heading?” the man asked, looking over at you.

“I, uh, I have no idea,” you said raspily, throat still sore from your previous screaming.

The blonde’s lip quirked at this, as if he were holding back a much bigger smile, “that’s fine. I’m heading a few towns away, but I was thinking of stopping and getting some breakfast. You interested in that?”

You shrugged, becoming slightly uncomfortable in the quickly dampening seat. Steve glanced over at you after putting the car in drive, and noticed your discomfort from your prior stay in the rain.

“We can stop by a bathroom first. I’ve got some extra clothes with me in the back,” he suggested. You nodded quietly, looking at the vast, and empty road ahead. 

----

You sat in a diner booth dressed in a thick jacket and comfortable sweatpants that oddly enough, seemed to be exactly your size. Steve approached the table with an extra plate of fries, and set it gently in front of you. 

“So you don’t remember anything?” he asked, stealing a fry before sitting down across from you. 

You shook your head, bringing a salty fry to your mouth, “I swear I just woke up there. No memories, no nothing, no place to go. I mean, I was gonna die out there if you didn’t get me.”

Steve scoffed a bit at this, “that’s not true. I’m sure someone would’ve helped eventually.”

“Maybe. But I’m glad that it was you,” you looked up at him, and the fondness he was looking at you with was nearly suffocating. 

Steve paused for a moment, mulling over his next words as if he was looking for the exact right thing to say.

“Would you like to stay with me? I mean, I know we just met each other, but I just have this feeling. Like I was meant to find you. Besides, it doesn’t seem like you have anywhere else to go.”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you excused after a moment, popping out of the both and heading towards the ladies room.

You handled your business, and stared at yourself in the mirror as you washed your hands. Makeup ran down your face, and it almost appeared that you were melting. Who would pick someone up in such a state? You had to question this Steve guy’s character a little bit. You couldn’t remember the exact phrase, but it couldn’t be smart to get into a car with a stranger. Especially a stranger offering to take you to some secret location with them. After all, he could be a murderer, a kidnapper, or a rapist. You would be none the wiser.

But he fed you, clothed you, and offered you a form of shelter. He couldn’t be too ill intentioned if he was willing to go out of his way to help, right? Maybe he just wanted to keep you off the streets, and that was why he was willing to take you to wherever it was that he was going.

Your stomach turned the longer you watched yourself, the longer you thought. Perhaps your intuition found that something was off. But who even knew if you could trust your intuition, after all, you were basically a day old, and you didn’t seem to have any other option.

——

You ended up going back out into the diner and accepting Steve’s offer. You didn’t really have much of a choice, and he wasn’t exactly a bad one. 

Steve was quiet for the majority of your trip, only speaking when he noticed that you’d moved your sights from the window over to him. He didn’t seem to be a fan of the way you were studying him, but for some reason your eyes kept finding him.

Hours had passed in the day, and night was quickly approaching. You dozed as you watched the starry night from the passenger window. Your eyes were becoming heavier by the moment, hours worth of watching flat landscape, combined with the complexity of your day finally catching up to you.   

——

Cold. You felt cold. The floor was cold. The blood running through your veins was cold. Your brain was cold and freezing, hindering you from properly processing what was going on in front of you. 

A searing pain rolled through your body as you tumbled down the stairs, back into a room that was suffocatingly familiar.

“I should’ve never allowed you to leave. Ungrateful,” a faceless man followed you down the stairs and hovered over your now battered body. “I give you a home and you complain. I take care of you, giving you almost anything you could ever ask for. You complain. Do you know how many people would kill to be in your position? With someone like me taking care of them?” 

“You told me you loved me, you goddamn liar. I let you come upstairs, and you try to fucking kill me. I should kill you,” he seethed, leaning down over you.

But I won’t.

The words were unspoken, but familiar. A threat uttered to you before, usually followed with an ‘I’ll make your life a living hell instead.’

You were unable to speak, as if someone had ripped out your vocal cords. Suddenly the faceless man was reaching down and holding the bloody organs in his hands. Your blood ran cold once again. 

“You can’t even fathom the hell I want to release on you right now,” he continued, chest puffing out with exaggerated, angered breaths. “But I’ll be the bigger man. Because I love you,” he dropped the cords on the ground beside you, and your eyes flicked over to the mutilated part of yourself. “Y/N, I need you to prove to me that you love me.”

You wanted to beg, to plead and tell the man whatever he needed to hear in order to release you, but you were completely powerless. 

The man hoisted you up with ease, and you soundlessly whimpered. He carried you into a small, plain room and set you on the flat, stiff mattress on the floor. 

“Come on, Sweetheart. You know I’m doing this for us.” 

The faceless man kissed your forehead, and the feeling of dread overtook you.

——

You awoke with a gasp, clawing at your own neck to make sure that your vocal cords were still intact.

“You alright?” Steve asked, glancing over at you. “Should I pull over?”

“No, I’ll be fine,”  you whispered.

“Take some deep breaths for me, okay?” he advised, setting a reassuring hand on top of yours. “We’ll be at the hotel any minute now.”

——

Your nerves were absolutely fried by the nightmare. Your hands shook like leaves in the wind while you stood next to Steve as he checked you into your hotel room.

“How’re you doing?” he asked in the elevator, setting his large hand on top of yours once again. The gesture was calming, even if you felt a slight undermining feeling of something unsettling.

“A little better. I probably just need to lay down somewhere comfortable.”

Steve nodded and squeezed your hand, “you’ve had a long day. You have first dibs on the shower. Maybe it’ll help you relax.” 

The smile that Steve was giving you was comforting. You felt glad that he was the person to have picked you up.

The elevator made a little ding noise before the doors opened, and he guided you to your room. 

You made a beeline to the shower, not even taking the time to be impressed with the size of the hotel room, the amenities, or the quality of it. You just wanted to shed your clothes and find at least a moment of peace. 

You exited the bathroom after about a half an hour, and walked out into the suite in just a towel. 

“Can I borrow some more clothes?” you glanced over at Steve, who was openly checking you out from the comfort of the bed.

Wait, the bed.

There were way too many things going on for you to be focused on the fact that there was just one bed. Maybe Steve would offer to sleep on the sofa.

“Yeah, that’s fine. My teammate left some clothes in that smaller blue suitcase. It’ll probably fit,” Steve paused for a few moments as you found the aforementioned suitcase and looked for something comfortable that you could actually sleep in.

“Who did that to you?” he asked, gesturing at your bruised legs.

“I don’t… I don’t know. It’s all so blurry,” you sighed, settling on a fresh pair of sweatpants and a thin t-shirt. “I’ll be right back.”

You changed quickly in the residually steamy bathroom, and sat down at the foot of the bed. 

“Do we need to have a fistfight over who gets to sleep in the bed?” Steve joked and you shook your head.

“I can sleep on the sofa, if you want.”

“No way. You deserve something comfortable,” he got out of bed, and approached the bathroom to take his own shower. “Get nice and cozy, friend. You deserve it.”

He disappeared into the bathroom, and you moved up to the top of the bed, slipping under the covers and sighing aloud from relief. Your body was finally having a chance to relax, and the hotel bed was surprisingly comfortable. 

By the time Steve returned from the shower, you were already half asleep, and very unaware of your surroundings.

As you fell out of consciousness, you had blurry visions of confinement, punishments, and pain. You once again woke up with a gasp, but this time Steve was standing over you. 

“Deep breaths, okay? I saw you thrashing and mumbling something to yourself. I think you were having a bad dream.”

You nodded and panted, trying to catch your breath and slow down your hummingbird heart rate. 

“You’re safe, I promise.”

“Can you stay with me?” you stammered out.

“Yeah, of course,” Steve got into bed beside you, and rubbed your back as you curled into a fetal position, “just try to relax, okay? There isn’t anything to fear when I’m here with you.”

You nodded, clutching onto Steve’s genuine tone. Something about him just made you feel… safe, despite the possible red flags around him. 

After Steve got into bed with you, you were finally able to fall into a dreamless and peaceful sleep. 

——

You woke up to an empty and cold bed. You blinked a few times and looked around the room, eyes stopping on Steve as he watched you from the couch, eyes quickly flipping between yourself and the book in his hands in an effort to cover up his staring. 

The whole ordeal made you feel slightly off, but the realization that you were essentially mooching off a stranger felt worse. 

You hopped out of bed and anxiously paced towards the bathroom. “Shit, Steve,” you muttered. “I shouldn’t be taking advantage of you like this. I should probably leave.”

“Where else do you have to go?” Steve almost defensively questioned, frown deep on his face.

You took a deep sigh and shrugged, “I�� don’t know. I’ll figure it out.”

“You don’t have to go,” he began, sounding unsure in his words, “stay. With me,” he stood up and walked over to you, grabbing the back of your arm softly. “You’re not taking advantage of me. If anything, you’re helping me. I get pretty lonely on these kinds of missions, so please, stay with me.”

You turned to look at Steve, the deep creases in his face at the thought of losing you. With just a glance, you knew that you couldn’t leave. 

——

The next few days of your life had proved your theory. It was almost alarming how quickly Steve became your anchor in the midst of a new, overwhelming world. 

The first thing that he did for you was tell you what your name was. As confused as you were to how exactly he figured it out, (he told you that he knew some weird tech guy. You were prepared to go with anything), you were grateful that Steve was able to help you out a piece of your old life back together.

He was oddly patient with you as you learned more and more about your surroundings. You were most impressed by the grocery store, and may or may not have spent hours inside of that food palace, spending much more of Steve’s money than was socially acceptable. 

For the next few months, you stayed at a safe house with Steve, spending the majority of your time looking down at your reflection in the lake in the backyard, wondering if your memories could ever come back.

You’d grown closer with Steve in that time as well, he was really the only person that you’d gotten close with since you’d lost your memories. Now that you were thinking about it, you hadn’t said more than three sentences to anyone else. By that measurement, your next closest friend was a gas station cashier.

In fact, you’d started dating Steve. Granted, you couldn’t completely wrap your mind around it all, despite the hours of rom-coms you’d watched while Steve was gone on missions. You just knew that you cared a lot about Steve. When he was around you, your heart fluttered. He was the only person you truly felt comfortable with. He protected you time after time, and voiced to you just how much he adored you. 

It made you feel wanted, to know that despite all of the confusion, you still had a place in this world, even if the place was just Steve Rogers’ heart. 

——

Steve arrived at the safe house late at night after nearly a week of being off on another mission. The bed creaked as he got into bed with you, and pressed up against your sleeping form. 

“Steve, sometimes I have these really awful dreams. Mostly when you’re not with me,” you began out of the blue as his arms snaked around you. “It’s always this faceless man just… abusing me. And I can’t even do anything about it because I’m too weak. And I can’t say anything because he stole my vocal cords. It sounds so silly, because it’s all just a dream, but it all feels so real. I just... I need you to promise me that you’ll protect me no matter what. Especially against him.”

“Of course,” he whispered against the back of your head, “I promise that I’ll protect you from him. He’ll never even get the chance to let the thought cross his mind.” 

“I love you, Steve,” you mumbled sleepily, “please never leave me again.”

He’d been waiting to hear those words.

——

Your fingers wrapped around a warm mug while Steve put the finishing touches on your breakfast. He’d decided to go all out that morning, with an impressive spread of food that would put most buffets to shame. For a moment, you questioned if you’d forgotten about some important holiday, or an anniversary.

Steve set a plate down in front of you, then pressed a soft peck to your forehead, “enjoy, sweetheart.”

You grinned softly down at the food, and at the affection, “what’s got you in such a good mood?”

“Just relieved to be back. I don’t like being away from you for too long,” he settled into the seat across from you, and took a sip of his own coffee.

“Mm, you sure? You’re not always this chipper post mission.”

Steve chuckled and shook his head just the slightest bit, “alright. You got me. I wanted to save it as a surprise, but I hate keeping secrets from you,” Steve paused.

“So… what’s the secret?” you pressed, bringing a forkful of food up to your mouth.

“I’m retiring.”

Your eyes widened as you heard the news, and you nearly choked, “are you really?”

Steve simply nodded, “I’m ready for the next chapter of my life with you.”

Your heart fluttered at the sweetness of his gesture, and the slightest hint of nerves. Why was Steve so willing to give up his entire livelihood for someone he knew for less than a year?

You felt bad for questioning his motives, considering that Steve had been nothing but good to you in the time that you knew him. If it wasn’t for him, you probably wouldn’t even be alive. He had proved himself to be an amazing, loving man, who had bent over backwards to keep you safe and comfortable. He trusted you, and it was time for you to do the same.

“I’ve been plotting this for a while, to be honest. You might think this is a little fast, but I even have a permanent place for us to stay.”

You couldn’t find it in you to be skeptical for much longer, your feelings of adoration for Steve overruling your hesitance to jump into something like that with him. 

You smiled softly as Steve spoke, getting up and pacing over to where he was seated so you could give him a hug, “I.. yes, that’s fast, but it’s also kinda amazing,” you sighed softly, burying your face into the crook of his neck. “When are we leaving?”

“Tonight, if that’s alright with you. I was thinking that we could spend the day packing up and… celebrating,” he winked down at you, and you looked up to shake your head fondly. 

“That sounds like a plan,” you gazed at him with adoration, and leaned up to press a soft peck to his lips that was lovingly reciprocated. 

——

Music pounded against your eardrums as you ground against a handsome stranger, one you couldn’t see, but instinctively knew. The smell of sweat, liquor, and sex filled your nose, the rancid combination oddly comforting in a retrospective moment. 

“We’re leaving!” A voice you hadn’t heard in what felt like years informed you. Your face broke into a wide grin when you heard her voice. “But it doesn’t look like you care!” she jeered. “Good luck!” your friend laughed, disappearing in the sea of people. 

“You’re coming home with me, right?” he asked, a hot breath against your cheek. 

You nodded. The words refused to come out. 

“Good,” he confirmed, pressing a kiss to your neck.

Out of the blue, you weren’t in the club, but in the small basement room from before, staring at nothing in particular while sat at the edge of your vanity’s seat.

“I’ve tried everything with you,” he commented, leaning against the doorway casually. You felt the need to apologize, to tell your captor that you didn’t mean to do what you did, that you loved him. Plead for him not to punish you. “After months of submission, I thought that we were finally getting somewhere. Why’d you have to throw it all away?” 

Glancing up at the vanity, a woman with sunken eyes, a pained expression, and fading bruises looked back at you, just long enough for you to briefly become that messy, drunken woman at the club once again. 

“I’ve tried everything with you. The easy way clearly didn’t work,” he continued, “you leave me with no other options, my love,” the man sighed, sitting down next to you casually. “I want you to know that I’m doing this for us. You know that nothing good ever comes easy, right?”

The syringe went into your arm like a hot knife through butter, and your muscles clenched as fire filled your body. You went to scream, but your throat was still out of commission. As you went down, your vision and thoughts began to blur before you couldn’t decipher one thing or another. The final noise you could make out was the distortedly slow rendition of It’s Been a Long, Long Time on the record player.

In an out-of-body moment, you watched as the man pulled your relaxed body down to the floor, cautiously pulling the clothes off of you and making you cringe internally at the sight of yourself in such a state. He left your body alone for a moment as he looked through the negligible amount of clothing in your closet, grabbing the same dress from the night at the club and pulling it on your limp figure.

It was torn and messy, not unlike the state it was in when you found yourself conscious. The faceless man muttered something unintelligible to himself before hoisting you up bridal style and taking your body out to the car. 

You watched in terror as this all played out, your slack face looking disturbingly at peace compared to how you’d appeared before. In fact, even in your ghastly state, you felt at peace. 

That peace quickly came to an end as you watched yourself get ditched on the side of the road, and as your body slowly began to twitch back to consciousness, your dream began to fade away.

——

You dragged your suitcase up through the garage, grateful to be at your final destination with the man you’d fallen in love with. You hoped that after moving in, the dreams might finally stop. After all, your dream in the car felt somewhat final. You were trying your best to be as positive as you could manage in such a strange situation, and from the outside, you had to admit that the house was gorgeous.

Stepping inside felt like the worst case of deja vu you’d ever experienced, as if your memories were repairing themself with every millisecond you were in the home, gazing at furniture you hadn’t seen in months, and smelling faint scents that you’d forgotten existed. Feature by feature, the puzzle pieces of the faceless man came together.

The longer you observed, the worse the feeling became. Waves of grief, fear, and pain were rolling over you again and again until you were completely drowning on it. The realization hit you with a ton of bricks: this was the house from your dreams.

Steve came up behind you, snapping you out of your panicked trance. He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek and squeezed you close to him.

“Ready for the first day of the rest of your life?”

[tryingmybestpls]

Not A Team-Part 1: The Start

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: The Reader tries to live a normal life, but her memories won’t leave her alone. Rhodey comes to visit the reader with a proposition.

Rating: T

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Talks of death, talks of mental illness, mentions of feeling alone

Four Months Ago

"Y/N, do you think you can tell me why you're here?" The female therapist asks, clicking her one before setting it down on her notepad. The ex-hero shifts on the charcoal grey couch, wanting to be anywhere but here. While she knows that the room should be sort of calming, but it has the directly opposite affect on Y/N. Her stomach is twisting in knots and she feels like her breakfast is going to come up.

"I was told I had to come here." Y/N replies, looking down at her chipping burgundy nail polish. There was hardly any color left on her nails, but what was left was stubbornly holding on, a constant reminder of what she had painted them for.

"Yes, but why were you told to come here?" The doctor-whose name was escaping Y/N at the moment-pushes, shifting in her own seat. Y/N continues to stay silent, which makes the therapist sigh, "Look Y/N, you have to be here. The only way you are able to get out of this is when I am able to determine that you aren't a danger to yourself or others. The government needs to know that you are okay. It's apart of the Acco-"

"I-I messed up. I messed up bad." Y/N cuts her off, wanting to get this all over as quickly as possible.

It's the understatement of the century.  I messed up bad. That's what you say when you crash your car or get too drunk and text your ex. "Messing up bad" doesn't land you in court mandated therapy. No, Y/N hadn't "messed up bad", but she couldn't say what she had actually done. Even if she couldn't get the words out of her mouth, she was well aware if she had done. The smell of burning flesh used to be something she would wear like a perfume. Now it threatens to invade her nose, forcing her to go back to that night. Y/N tries her best to ignore it, but it's so hard to forget a smell like that.

"And when you say mess up-"

"I used my powers and people got hurt." Y/N answers, her hands getting hot. She glances down, trying to will away the heat and the fire that will surely follow. The therapist writes down a few more notes. Y/N finds herself hating the way the pen scratches at the paper, the sound almost deafening.

"Is it hard to control your powers?" The doctor asks, to which Y/N immediately shakes her head. She looks back up at the therapist, clasping her hands tightly together. Y/N is trying to look as normal and okay as possible, hoping that the therapist believes her little act.

"No. It-They're just slightly influenced by my emotions and I was just really emotional that day." Y/N replies as she feels the heat move away from her hands. She shifts on the couch, hating the attention she's getting right now, hating the way the therapist's eyes seem to notice every little movement and thought. The therapist writes that down, nodding.

"Why were you so emotional, Y/N?" The woman questions. The ex-Avenger looks back down at her hands, her wedding ring shimmers in the light that's streaming through the windows. Just seeing it makes her stomach sink, her throat tightening with that same emotion.

-

Now

Y/N has always hated silence.

It's the reason why she loved being in the city so much. It was constantly awake. There was never a moment of silence, no the city was always screaming and shouting. Y/N had welcomed the sound with open arms. Even when the Avengers moved out of the city and went upstate, it was still loud. Everyone kept different hours, everyone had different tasks so the base was never completely quiet. Life on the run with Steve, Sam, Wanda, and Nat wasn't quiet either. The five of them were a family, always constantly talking and bickering.

But now, she lived alone.

It was raining out today. The incessant pounding of the water droplets against the roof and the ground outside provided a much needed melody as Y/N moved around the house. Boxes still littered the rooms, precariously stacked on top of each other. She's been leaving here for a while, but some boxes she can't bring herself to unpack. For example, the large one in the middle of the living room that was labeled "WEDDING DRESS + BOUQUET" was now being used as an impromptu side table. Another one that was shoved into the second bedroom had "PICTURES FROM COMPOUND" scrawled on the side in sharpie. She doesn't think she'll ever open that one, not knowing how she handle all of those memories.

Y/N forces herself to pick up one of the boxes in the kitchen, this one labeled "WINTER CLOTHES". Usually, she would be outside tending to the garden (her therapist had told her that she needed a hobby to keep herself busy) or doing small tasks that needed to be done. However, because of the rain she was stuck inside with all the boxes that she had yet to unpack. The box is heavy, most of the weight most likely coming from her bulky winter coats.

Y/N had left the city she had loved so much, packing up her life to move to a small little house upstate. The city didn't feel like home anymore. Living in Steve's apartment without him felt wrong. It had never felt like home, didn't feel like she belonged there. They never lived at the apartment together, they didn't share any memories here. No, this place was all Steve. She was constantly surrounded by Steve-his things, his memory, his smell. It was suffocating, being surrounded by a man that had abandoned you.

Five years she was gone. Five years he had grieved and mourned over her and then-almost immediately when Y/N came back, Steve decided he didn't want to stay with her. He didn't tell her what he was going to do. Maybe he knew that if he had, she would've tried to talk him out of it. Y/N knows that she would've begged for him to stay with her. She was a. proud woman, but she wasn't proud enough to beg.

She had expected him to come back to her. Y/N thought he was going to return the stones and come back. She had thought they were going to be able to continue where they had left off, they were going to able to be together after all this time. They were finally going to be able to settle down and start that family that Steve had always hinted at. Get a house with a white picket fence and get a cute little dog. The fucking American Dream.

And then he had came back as an old man, with a gold wedding band that she hadn't given him on his finger. Steve gave Sam his shield and his legacy, no longer able to carry the mantle of Captain America. And Y/N-well Y/N's world just crumbled around her, her dreams shattering because Steve decided that he was going to move on.

She still loved him, she even still loves him now. It was impossible not to love him, even though he had left her behind. Y/N tried her best to hate him-told herself that Steve had betrayed her and that he didn't want her. She tried to tell herself that Steve didn't even love her, because if he had loved her why would he be so willing to abandon her, especially after he had just got her back? It didn't matter how much he hurt her or what he did to her, Y/N's heart would always belong to Steve whether she liked it or not.

Feeling incredibly conflicted, Y/N had forced herself to stay her by husband's side as he got sick. She didn't ask for an apology, even as Steve told her over and over that he was incredibly sorry for what he did. Y/N knew that he wasn't actually sorry because if he was actually sorry, he wouldn't have lived an entire life with Peggy. She wouldn't tell him how hurt she was or how looking at her wedding ring made her feel sick now. No, Y/N had played the role of the dutiful wife. She held his hand as his condition worsened and made sure his affairs were in order. Her feelings didn't matter as she tried to make his last days more comfortable.

And then he died.

Steve died, leaving her behind. She didn't dare talk about what had happened, what he had put her through. Y/N, even with all of the bullshit he had put her through, didn't want to tarnish his legacy. Steve Rogers was a hero and she wasn't going to be the one that ruined that for everyone. Even Sam tried to ask her if she was okay and she had just brushed it off, telling him that she was glad that Steve had picked him to carry on the legacy attached to the shield he had received.

Y/N had tried to carry on after Steve was buried, but it was hard. She was dropped into a world where all of her friends were gone, a world that had moved on without her. It was a world that she didn't belong in and she knew it. Y/N tried her best to return to normal, but she quickly learned that there was no such thing as the normal she was used to. Everything felt wrong, felt off in some minuscule way that made her unable to adapt to regular life again.

Y/N just kept bottling up her emotions, the pressure continuing to build up as the days went on. She was drowning it and there was no life preserver in sight. Everyone else went back to normal, going back to school or getting a job or finding ways to get busy. Y/N knows that she should've gotten help, that she should've tried talking to someone, but she didn't. Maybe a part of her didn't want to admit there actually was a problem, that Steve hadn't been the perfect husband and she felt abandoned by the man she married.

And that had led to her completely losing it.

Y/N would later be told that it was a nervous breakdown. A nervous breakdown. She felt-and still feels-like that name wasn’t what she experienced. It was so much more than just a nervous breakdown.

It had led to innocent people getting hurt, people that hadn't cause her pain, people that were most likely suffering just as much as she was. Her emotions were just too high and her powers-her powers decided to act on her impulses and her feelings. She had just been so God damn angry at Steve-

Y/N has to drop the box she was holding, her hands growing hot. She mutters curse words as she hears what sounds like glass shattering inside the box as she forces herself to calm down. She does the breathing exercise that the therapist had told her to do, attempting to rein in her emotions. Her eyes shut, breathing in through her nose, and out through her mouth. Y/N tries to pull the heat back inside of her, but it just won't go back in.

Her heart is beating fast in her chest as she quickly moves back into the living room, her feet carrying her to the front door. Her bright red hand grabs ahold of the doorknob, throwing the door open.

The rain is much louder now, making it almost hard to see with how much is coming down. It hits the ground violently, a cold wind trying its best to cool Y/N off, to no avail.

She quickly walked down the steps of the porch as the heat crawled up her arms, her temperature rising. Y/N knows she won't have the time to take off her clothes and she also knows that she's gone past the point of attempting to rein her powers in. Her hands catch first, bright yellow and orange flames quickly covering her skin, coating them until no skin remained.

The flame crawls over her body, burning away  her clothes before the flames take over her entire body. The rain turns into steam as soon as it hits her fire covered body, a cloud surrounding her. Y/N feels more relaxed as the flame licks at her skin, covering her from head to toe. It's easier to calm down after she does this, getting some of those stronger feelings released in order to return back to normal.

-

Hours later while she is in the middle of cooking, someone knocks on her door. Y/N sighs softly, putting her slotted spoon back down on the counter, quickly wiping her hands on a dishcloth. She makes her way to the front door, not bothering to look through the peephole before she opens the door.

Rhodey stands before her, dressed in far more causal clothing that he usually is in. Y/N's eyes are immediately drawn to the thick manila folder in clutched tightly in his hands. He gives her a small smile. Y/N knows that he isn't just here to visit. No one ever comes to visit.

"Hey." Rhodey says gently, almost as if he's testing the waters. They haven't seen each other in a few months, not since the events that had led her to moving all the way out of here, not since she got out of the psych ward she had voluntarily gone to after her accident. Voluntarily is the wrong word here. The US Government had all but strong armed her into going.

"Hi. Uh-Here, come in. It's cold out." Y/N responds, opening the door a little wider. Rhodey's smile grows as he steps inside. He stops for a moment, looking around at her home. It's small, almost more of a cottage than an actual home. He takes note of the lack of any personal items, no pictures out on display, no tchotchkes. Boxes still litter the living room even though she's lived here for a few months.

"It looks good. Real cozy." Rhodey comments as Y/N shuts the door. She nods, giving him a polite smile as she moves past him to go back into the kitchen.

"Why'd you come by? I know it isn't for dinner." Y/N cuts straight to the point. She doesn't even bother looking at him as she checks to see if her pasta is ready. Rhodey's smile falters for a moment while she strains the pasta. He clears his throat, quickly regaining his composure.

"I-Well I stopped by because I wanted to talk to you about something." Rhodey walks into her kitchen, leaning against the counter as she pours the pasta back into the now empty pot. Y/N holds out her hand for the folder, which he immediately hands over. She flicks through it, seeing the plans for an exhibit honoring her husband. Rhodey shifts slightly as he sees her eyebrows knit together. As she goes through the pictures, she can see that it wasn't in the preplanning phase. They had their exhibit ready, all done up with a fresh paint job.

She's seen the exhibit before. Y/N had teased Steve constantly over it, thinking it was the funniest thing that he had a whole exhibit dedicated to him, a man who couldn't even use a cell phone. Steve told her once that he didn't mind the teasing, told her that it was one of his favorite things about her.

But that was then and this is now.

"The Smithsonian wants to expand their exhibit on Steve. I don't exactly see why this has anything to do with me." Y/N's eyes catch on a picture of her and Steve at their wedding, big stupid smiles stretched across their faces. The page notes possibly names for this part of the exhibit, all of them making that emotion crawl up into her throat.

"They want you to speak at the opening. You and Sam." Rhodey answers, watching as her face drops. Y/N closes the folder, still looking down at it. The papers suddenly feels like they're a million pounds, weighed down so many memories. For a second, Rhodey gets his hopes up, thinking that she is actually considering it.

"Get someone else to do it." Y/N tells him, handing the folder back over to the man. Her voice is a lot colder than it was before and her friend could practically see Y/N building her walls back up. Rhodey sighs, holding it for a moment before setting it down on the counter.

"They want people who knew him, Y/N."

"Then get someone else because I sure as hell didn't." She snaps, the fire on the stove growing. Y/N quickly shuts off the burners, shaking her head, "Ask Barnes, ask literally anyone else."

Rhodey opens his mouth before shutting it. He didn't know how to respond. He knew that his friend was upset, but as soon as Steve did what he did, she had shut herself off. Rhodey had tried and tried to get through to her and after what she had did...Rhodey knew she was going through a lot and that Y/N wouldn't tell him or anyone else how she was feeling. She just wasn't that type of person, never has been.

Y/N swallows the lump in her throat that threaten to swell up, serving Rhodey a plate full of food without him asking if he wants one. She ignores all the memories that flash in her mind, trying to keep it together. She hands the plate to Rhodey without saying a single word before serving herself . Y/N grabs them both drinks and napkins, moving around the kitchen in complete silence. They both sit down at her little table, the only sounds being the two of them breathing and their forks hitting their plates.

"How are you doing?" Rhodey breaks the silence, looking across at her. Y/N pushes her food around her plate, shrugging her shoulders.

"Doing better. I go to therapy once a week like I'm supposed to. It's-It's a lot easier to breathe out here." She replies, setting her fork down. Rhodey gives her a small smile.

"I'm glad you're doing better. I'm sorry I haven't been checking in on you. I know you wanted space and some time." He says softly, to which Y/N shakes her head, taking a sip of her drink. She knew that Rhodey felt guilty over her situation, but the man has enough on his plate. He doesn't need to adding 'taking care of Y/N' to his long list of tasks.

"You've been busy. There's a lot of rebuilding that needs to be done and you shouldn't have to be checking in on me." She looks up at him attempting to give him some peace of mind, "I'm doing better, I promise."

It wasn't the biggest lie she's ever told. She was doing better, but she still wasn't herself. Although, Y/N didn't know if she could ever return to being herself pre-Blip. Before all of this shit, she had Steve to lean on. Now...well now she didn't have anyone, and she didn't want to burden any of her friends with her issues. They had their own shit they were going through. They didn't need to deal with hers.

Later on, long after dinner had finished and the rain decided that it was done working for the day, Rhodey stood up from his spot on the couch. Y/N smiled warmly at him, walking with him to the front door. When they step outside onto the porch, the night air is cool and calm, the lovely smell of rain surrounding them.

"Y/N, I just wanted to say that I didn't want to ask you. I know-I know you're still healing. They told me I had to ask, but I didn't want to. I just want you to know that." Rhodey suddenly announces, turning towards her. Both of them were barely illuminated by the porch lights and the light spilling out from her front door. Y/N nodded, that lump in her throat returning.

"I know. I know, Rhodey." She replies, her voice cracking slightly. Y/N stands there for a moment, both of them looking at each other before she decides to throw her arms round him. Her friend is a little surprised by the action, but hugs her back happily. Y/N shuts her eyes for moment, resting her chin on his shoulder. He rubs her back soothingly, wondering if this is the first hug she's had since Steve's funeral. They pull part, once again looking at each other.

"You take care of yourself okay? I'm going to try to come and visit more, but I need to take care of yourself." Rhodey tells her, giving her a kind smile, "And don't be afraid to text, okay? You can tell me about anything, it doesn't even have to be important."

"I'll be sure to text you all about the growth of my sunflowers and whether or not I am capable of fixing a sink." She teases, which makes the man laugh.

"That's all I ask. It was nice seeing you Y/N." Rhodey tells her, making his way down the steps of his porch. Y/N leans against one of the posts, wrapping her arms around herself.

"It was nice seeing you too." Y/N responds as she watches him walk over to his car. He gives her a small wave before climbing inside. She stays on the porch until he drives away, not moving until she can no longer see his tail lights.

Y/N relaxes her shoulders, sighing softly as she turns on her heel and walks back inside. The ex-hero shuts and locks her door. She walks back into the kitchen, gathering the discarded and used plates. As she is putting them in the sink, her eyes land on the manila folder resting on the counter.

Y/N knows that Rhodey most likely deliberately left it behind. She reaches out and picks it up again, a picture slipping out and falling into the floor. Y/N bends over to grab it, holding it gently between her thumb and forefinger. She flips it over, being greeted with the sight of her husband smiling back at her. Y/N knows the picture well-it's one she took.

She finds herself smiling back at him, her finger tracing over the image. She took it after a mission. Steve's hair is a mess from his helmet, his face dirty and he has a split lip. The shield is propped up in the seat beside him and he's just smiling at her. He looks incredibly tired, but he's still smiling at her. This is the Steve she fell in love with, the Steve that had promised to give the world. The one she had seen herself raising a family with.

Y/N leans against the counter, resting the photograph beside the open folder. She flicks through it again, her eyes studying the exhibit dedicated to her and her relationship with Steve Rogers. 'Two Heroes United' was the name they ended up on. It makes tears brim in her eyes as she looks over all of the pictures that make up this part of the exhibit. While normally she didn't like sharing her personal relationships with the world, this felt okay somehow, it felt almost cathartic.

She shuts the folder, taking another glance at it. Her finger traces the embossed Smithsonian logo on the cover of it. If she did it, she wouldn't be doing it alone. If Sam could do it, it couldn't be that bad.

Right?

[h34rtizuku]

𝔭𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔶

i hate angst without happy endings, but i’m also self-destructive. therapy is expensive, but ripping your own heart out and bearing your insecurities into a full-fledged story for you and others to read? free.

warnings : angst without a happy ending, insecurities, jealousy, mayhaps toxic behavior?? idk if ur looking for a good time, this isn’t for you bestie <3 also i might misspell uraraka’s name wrong a few times, i’ll fix them later :*

being quirkless had its advantages. with such a small number of us being born without powers, it left a lot of the mundane jobs open.

which is why, as soon as pro-hero deku opened his agency, i came to him with the request to be his assistant.

on the daily, he had people coming up to him asking for internships or to be his sidekick. but he never had anyone ask to be his assistant.

being the number one hero often meant that every day things, things one may take for granted or deem insignificant became just another list of things on the busy man’s to-do list.

therefore the appeal of having someone file his paper work and run to get him coffee in the morning was great enough to hire me.

and i was glad he did.

this is what i have been working for since i was a first year in high school. after watching the freckled boy break limb after limb to defeat his opponent.

yeah, i saw it as irresponsible and stupid that he had to break his own body to save others. but i was willing to overlook it.

my one goal during my remaining years of high school and up to college was that wherever that little green haired boy went, i would follow.

and that reigned true as his assistant. i would shuffle after him like a duckling following it’s mother, wherever he needed me.

if he needed me in a briefing to take notes for him, i was there. if he needed me to put in overtime to help him file the last minute paperwork, i was there. if he wanted a particular pastry from a specific bakery half way across town, i was there.

izuku was never mean, or demanding. always thanking me profusely for anything i ever did for him. leaving me to remind him that this was my job, and any way to make his life easier was good enough for me.

but maybe i should have held onto those blushed cheeks and crinkled eyes as he thanked me for the coffee that he didn’t even know he needed, for a just a little bit longer.

you know how a child will open a new toy on christmas and it quickly becomes their new favorite toy? playing with it non-stop, taking it wherever they go. until one day, they grow bored of it and never touch it again as it grows dusty at the bottom of their toy bin.

i know izuku wasn’t doing it on purpose, he didn’t have an intentionally mean bone in his body. i guess you could say, some other toys came around and took his attention away.

and that toy, was a particularly difficult mission in collaboration with uravity’s agency.

the two spent long hours cooped in his office as they went over notes, plans, intel, etc. until the conversation melted into talk about the old days and the wonderful memories they had together in high school.

i went to work the following days with absolutely no energy to handle whatever would be thrown at me. i hadn’t been able to get much sleep, as when i closed my eyes the only thing i could see was the look in his eyes when he saw her.

my patience was already thin given the events of the most recent week, but when the printer started malfunctioning leaving me unable to fax the papers izuku wanted me send, you could say that was the first domino.

i swatted and kicked and pressed any button on the stupid machine. telling myself i was merely trying to get to stupid thing to work, but deep down i knew that the printer was just my temporary punching bag. an outlet to unleash my anger and emotions onto something instead of letting them fester inside me.

so when one of izuku’s sidekicks came by, giving a snarky comment about my behavior, i was able to brush it off with a roll of my eyes and an equally snippy comment back.

but as the hunk of plastic remained steady in its plan to ruin my day, the lack of sleep and lingering resentment started to bubble within me once more.

i heard footsteps behind me and a joking voice say, “having a bit of trouble are we?”

if it weren’t for the white hot anger buzzing in my ears i may have been able to identify the voice before i lashed out on them. but we already established this was not my day.

so as my hands moved to clutch the machine below me, most likely to restrain my abuse to merely verbal instead of physical. i spit out, “listen i’m fucking trying okay? so how about you get off my ass and do something useful.”

i turned around to face who i thought would be another sidekick sent to push my buttons. but i instead came face-to-face with the green haired man himself.

eyes blown wide, mouth agape in shock, a light blush dusted under his freckles as he fought to handle the situation the best way he could.

but i beat him to it with a deep bow and an endless flow of apologies, opting to only blame my anger on the malfunctioning piece of junk behind me and not the several other reasons i was plotting murder in my head.

with a gentle smile and a soft chuckle he placed his hand to the back of his head, rubbing at the baby jade hairs of his undercut. “i see. bad days happen to the best of us.” he replied, his voice like honey.

i became drunk on the minor interaction he was giving me, bringing me back to the beginning days at this job where we would spend late nights trying to keep each other awake under the only singular yellow light as we finished paperwork. or where sometimes he’d invite me to spend lunch with him as he felt he’d enjoy the company.

i got lost in the intricacies of his face as he tampered with the printer. thin eyebrows furrowed in concentration, bottom lip captured between his thick scarred fingers as he muttered to himself.

i fell in a trance, locked on the slope of his button nose, his gemstone eyes, and chubby caramel cheeks dusted in freckles.

he looked essentially like the same boy i saw on the screen all those years ago, yet matured and hardened by the realities of life.

i wanted nothing more than to reach out and protect him any way my small quirkless body could. to be there for him the same way he was for everyone else.

he eventually got the printer to work with a boyish smile on his face as he told me that despite the good roughing up i gave the machine, he was able to locate and handle the issue. “next time, skip the punching and come find me, yeah? i’ll help with any problems you face.” he joked as he made his way into his office to resume his work.

i didn’t know it was possible to fall harder for that man, but he proved with every day of his existence that the impossible didn’t apply to him.

i was finally able to get some sleep the next few nights as my eyelids filled with the blush on his cheekbones and his gaze of concentration.

but my trip to cloud 9 didn’t last very long as the occasional meeting with uraraka became trips to her agency, and occasional meetings in civilian clothes to civilian places, like coffee shops and corner stores.

to anyone else, those would read as dates. to me, they read as dates. but izuku assured the gossiping sidekicks that it was strictly professional ~ nothing more, nothing less.

i knew that i would end up with more fits of restlessness and sleepless nights as i pictured the two of them laughing over a cup of coffee. so i sought out a replacement.

a moment. a look. a sentence.

anything directed at me that would choke out the ugly thoughts and images my brain would show me of the two of them together.

so that afternoon as i brought him his lunch, i placed the box safely onto the table beside him as he continued skimming through the papers littered across the desk.

he muttered a small ‘thank you’ but it wasn’t enough. as my hand moved to place his drink that i held in my other hand next to his food, a different idea popped in my head.

my hand moved faster than my brain could register what it had just planned to do. squeezing just enough for the lid to pop off and slip from my fingers to tumble into his lap.

as soon as the liquid and ice hit his lap he flew up from his seat and away from his desk.

my hands flew up to my mouth as a string of apologies fell from my lips. eyes watering in guilt as they moved around the room trying to locate something to soak up the mess with.

“i am so sorry, my fingers slipped and before i knew it i had lost control of the cup. i-i can’t tell you how sorry i am.” i rambled as i took my blazer off to wipe at the wet stains starting to form at the bottom of his teal suit.

“hey, hey, hey.” he said softly, taking my tinier hands into his large and battered ones. warmth enveloped my clutched sticky hands as he gently urged me to stand from my crouching position in front of him.

“it was an accident. no harm, no foul.” he said with a soft smile.

i should feel bad, as it wasn’t entirely an accident. but the warm and gentle look in his eyes made what little guilt i felt crumble away.

his thumbs rubbing soft circles to my skin as he worked to get the tears to stop streaming from my eyes was enough to get me to sleep like a baby for a good 2 weeks.

until it became a cycle. he would spend too much time around uraraka, and then i would do something all in the name of garnering his attention back on me.

was it wrong of me to do, to take advantage of his kindness? to take advantage of the fact that he was naive to my true intentions? maybe.

but i felt i deserved it. i felt i deserved to be looked at the same way he looked at her.

i wasn’t any different than she was. with the way she used her big brown eyes to pull him in. or the way her cute behavior made him blush. or the way her sweet way of talking made him laugh.

i can’t be her, or compare to her. so i found my own way around it. and no one could fault me for doing so. they just couldn’t.

at the end of the mission, uravity decided to throw a party in celebration of their win. a nice formal gathering, with everyone she had involved.

when izuku pulled me aside one late night to tell me that he was extending the invitation to me felt akin to a marriage proposal.

i wasn’t involved much in the case, merely being used as the one who provided them their lunch on their long meeting days. or filing and organizing the paperwork and notes that they would compile. i wasn’t out in the field, breaking bones like izuku or saving lives like uraraka.

i didn’t deserve to go, but i didn’t care. izuku had invited me personally and damn it, i was gonna be there.

yet, i shouldn’t have gone.

i shouldn’t have spent the hours on my makeup. i shouldn’t have enlisted the help of my best friend to do my hair as i gushed about how izuku had personally invited me, how he was the most perfect man ever, and how i was undoubtedly in love with him.

i shouldn’t have spent the week leading up to the event going from shop to shop trying to find the prettiest dress that was just the exact color of his eyes. i shouldn’t have spent about half my paycheck on said dress when i found it.

i shouldn’t have decided to face my fears and step out of my comfort zone to join a group of heroes that i knew were old classmates of izuku’s as they whispered about something that clearly was a raving topic.

because then i wouldn’t have heard how izuku was planning on confessing to uraraka. i wouldn’t have heard how this mission caused old high school feelings to rekindle. i should have known my place.

and that was far away from here, from the hero scene. i should have grown up to be an accountant or a chef.

when my father took me to get that checkup when i was 5, to confirm that there truly resides no quirk inside me.

i should have left it at that.

when i was riding my bike that day as a first year and i saw the group of boys huddled around a screen as they tuned into the u-a sports festival, i should have kept riding.

as maybe it would have saved me a lot of pain.

i backed away slowly, heels tapping against the tile floor as i hurried out of the building.

i didn’t realize how suffocated i felt until the chilly autumn hair brushed my face and into my lungs.

my whole body felt hot, i felt numb. i stumbled onto the sidewalk as i looked into the dark azure sky glittered with stars.

the tears finally spilled from my eyes as the stars muddled together into a messy blur. my stomach swirled and tensed as pit of nausea sunk in my stomach.

my chest heaved as it tried to process the crisp cold air into oxygen, but my throat was too tight to let much in.

i gasped and sobbed as my back hit the brick behind me, my legs wobbling unable to carry my weight much longer.

i slid into a crouched position as my tears mixed with the black of my mascara. streaming in pools down my cheeks, neck, and chest.

in the midst of my sobbing and heaving, i called my friend who was still at my apartment awaiting details of that night when i came home.

knowing it was far too early for me to be calling her she picked up the phone with confusion. it didn’t take much words from me, not like i gave her much, to convince her that she needed to come pick me up.

as she hung up the phone, my hand slipped from my ear, falling limp to my side as i placed my head into my other arm resting atop my knees.

this was inevitable and i knew it. no matter how many ways i was able to manipulate a sweet glance from him, it didn’t mean anything.

izuku was nice to everybody. sweet to everyone. kind to anyone.

but with her, it was different. he treated her that way, not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

they had years of memories, of laughs. they were perfect for each other, both smart, and kind, and always looking to help others. never acting selfishly or for personal gain.

they shared soft touches like they did old stories. they looked at each other with the same respect and admiration.

i was wrong. uraraka and i are nothing alike. she didn’t have to beg izuku to look at her like she hung the moon, he did so without asking.

unbeknownst to me, as i was manipulating izuku into these fabricated moments of gentle gazes and kind words, i was manipulating myself.

lying to the deepest parts of me that knew that this wasn’t real. that i wasn’t her. that he didn’t think of us the same way.

to him, uraraka is an old friend, who views the world the same way he does, who shares his same passions, who built her quirk to do some good within this world.

to him, i was a coffee-getter, the girl who knew his lunch orders like the back of her hand, the girl who filed his papers. the quirkless little fangirl who practically begged him to give her a job under him.

i heard the metal door open and snap shut announcing that someone was now outside with me. however, i just assumed it was a party-goer stepping outside for a smoke or a phone call so i didn’t bother to look up.

i also wasn’t in the mood for if the person happened to be a drunk girl who was ready to become my therapist as she saw me crouched on the sidewalk wishing to become one with the cement and simply cease to exist.

“there you are, i was wondering where you went?”

i would have taken the amateur therapist over this.

the voice belonged to izuku, dripping with sugar and default kindness.

if i could become one with the bricks just a little bit faster that would be great.

“hey, are you alright?” his tone became worried but i still didn’t dare to look up from my arms.

“do you feel sick? did something happen? do i need to take you home?” there he goes, into hero mode. ready to drop anything to help anyone facing the slightest of inconveniences.

“please just leave me alone.” i mumbled, throat tight and voice wavering as i try to hold the tears that still remain to fall.

“what did you say? i didn’t quite hear you.” he said softly, gently setting his large hands onto my exposed shoulder.

they should feel like welcoming warmth, but instead they felt blistering hot as i shoved them away as quickly as i could.

“i said leave me alone.” i said, slightly louder as i no longer was stuffed in my arms and knees.

he immediately saw the mess my face was in, i could tell by the way he quickly reverted fully into deku.

“hey, what’s wrong? whatever it is, i can help. didn’t i say you could come to me whenever you ne-“

“oh my god just stop! i can’t take it anymore.” i snapped, finally able to look him in the face.

but not for long as i saw the same look on his complexion as the first time i snapped at him.

“you’re too fucking nice. leaving you vulnerable for people to take advantage of you. giving them a reason to be selfish.”

“i dont-“ he tried to start but i cut him off.

“i don’t need a hero, izuku. there are people you just can’t save.”

as he worked to wrap his head around what was happening, my friend pulled up in my getaway car.

i bent down and grabbed my purse, but before i could fully escape this night, izuku grabbed my wrist causing me to stare into his eyes.

now lit aflame with desperation, “please just tell me what’s wrong. let me help you.” he encouraged softly.

but i wasn’t going to fall for it, not again.

i wasn’t gonna be played for the fool as i took the soft look in his eyes for anything but the gaze of a hero hoping to add another save to their statistics.

“god you never know when to quit!” i yelled as i yanked my wrist back. “and i hate that i-“

loved that about you?

no, love that about you.

i shook my head, thankful that for once my brain caught my actions before i spilled and made a mess again.

i walked quickly to the car, opening the passenger door almost as fast in hopes that within its metal sanctuary i could finally escape this hell.

“y/n- i-“

“mr. midoriya.” i just about whispered, my energy long since drained.

he laughed gently and i cursed the way my heart squeezed a little at the sound.

still head over heels for the angelic sound.

“you haven’t called me that in a long-“

“i quit.”

“w-what?” he muttered in disbelief.

i wouldn’t believe it either, not after the way i came to him nearly 4 years ago saying i would even be willing to clean toilets if he asked me to, so long as i got to work for him.

“i quit.” i repeated.

“you don’t mean that.”

he’s right i didn’t, not really.

hot tears started to dribble as my lower lip puckered in a sour quiver.

“no i do, sir.” i shook. “i will send someone to collect my things on monday.”

and with that i closed the door.

“drive.” i whispered to my friend who after a moment of looking at me, trying to read me, silently put the car into drive and started forward.

leaving izuku behind to stumble after the car, mouth muttering, trying to form any sort of sentence or sense.

but i couldn’t see him, knowing not to look at the mirrors situated on the side of the vehicle.

for they too are liars, as objects in the mirror are farther than they appear.

*** my little blue bitch working overtime

🧼 also mayhaps “soap” by melanie martinez fits this story… unintentionally ~ but if i’m wrong it’s cuz i haven’t listened to it in a while

[jaskierswolf]

My fic for the Bog Exchange! @officerjennie I hope you like it!

1.7k of soft smutty Geraskier at Kaer Morhen.

CW: 18+ for sexy times, but the soft kind.

___________

Winter at Kaer Morhen was usually a quiet affair. It was time for the witchers to recuperate from their year on the path. It was a long and arduous trek up the mountain and the keep itself was crumbling, but it was still home. Fires roared within the stone corridors of Kaer Morhen, lighting up the eerie rooms with a flickering orange glow. The remaining witchers could often be found in the evenings curled up by the large fireplace in the living area, enjoying the time they had together before they had to head back out to the harsh world of the Continent.

This year was different.

This year music had arrived. Geralt had practically carried his shivering bard through the heavy doors of Kaer Morhen and into the courtyard. No human was meant to survive that journey alone and Jaskier had suffered. It had taken a few days for him to get back on his feet, but he’d settled in well with the witchers. It was liveliest the keep had been in years. Lambert had brought a friend along from the road, another witcher from the School of Cat, and even Eskel had invited Coën from the Griffins to join them.

It was almost like the old days.

And Geralt was at peace.

He laughed more than he had in years, quietly tapping his toes along to the songs that Jaskier played for them each evening, basking in the attention of his friend turned lover. Jaskier was like the sun that shone, warming Geralt’s heart with his easy affection and love, and in turn Geralt was finally starting to thaw after years of endless winter.

He crawled up the bed and captured Jaskier’s lips in a kiss. The bard had been wittering away about all and nothing, his eyes sparkling like the oceans in the sun. Geralt had been thrilled to learn that the most effective way of silencing Jaskier was by kissing him, and it was something he took full advantage of. Jaskier’s words were instantly muffled as he melted into the kiss, his hands landing on Geralt’s arse.

The kiss was a lazy sort, as they took time to explore each other, but it didn’t take long for Jaskier’s heartbeat to pick up and Geralt could smell his growing arousal. Jaskier giggled as they broke apart. His lips were swollen and his eyes dark with hunger, but it was the bright smile that made him utterly irresistible. He looked at Geralt like he hung the fucking moon and Geralt was useless to resist. He would love this man until they were torn apart by the cruel hand of Time.

“I wasn’t finished talking, Geralt!” Jaskier whined.

Geralt scoffed, chuckling as he took Jaskier’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together. He sat back on his heels and rolled his eyes. “You’re never done talking, bard.”

“It is my profession!”

“Hmm.”

“See! At least one of us has to… hmmph!” Jaskier cut off as Geralt kissed him again. He tugged at Jaskier chemise and they broke the kiss just long enough to pull it over Jaskier’s head. The offending item was discarded without a care swiftly followed by Geralt shirt. Jaskier whined and tugged at the ties of Geralt’s trousers. “Get these off!”

“Patience, Jask.”

“Fuck you!”

Geralt smirked and winked at his lover. “Maybe after.”

Jaskier scoffed and pulled Geralt back down into another kiss. Hands clawed at bare skin and Jaskier’s fingers threaded into Geralt’s hair, scraping at his scalp. The sensation sent shivers down his spine and he bit at Jaskier’s lower lip. Jaskier moaned deliciously. Oh, if only his audience could hear the music that Jaskier made when they were alone. Geralt growled moving his lips from Jaskier’s pretty pink lips, nipping along his jaw before kissing his neck, sucking at the tender flesh until it began to bruise. Jaskier gasped and panted, fingernails scratching at Geralt’s back.

They were both hard, erections rubbing against each other, but it wasn’t close enough. Geralt needed to feel Jaskier. He needed his skin against Jaskier’s, his cock deep in his arse. He pulled away from his lover’s neck reluctantly. Jaskier pouted up at him, looking completely delectable. It made Geralt wonder how he’d been able to resist the bard for so long. Now that he had him, he never wanted to let Jaskier go.

He sat up just long enough to tug his trousers and small clothes off, before shuffling down the bed, nose pressing against Jaskier’s hard cock through his trousers.

“Geralt…” Jaskier gasped, his hand once again in Geralt’s hair, pushing his face closer.

Geralt hummed and mouthed at Jaskier’s erection before unlacing the soft silk trousers and pulling them down Jaskier’s legs, revealing the thick muscular thighs. Geralt trailed kisses along Jaskier’s inner thighs.

“Geralt, please, I want you in me!” Jaskier whined breathlessly, a sharp tug in Geralt’s hair.

He moaned and kissed the length of Jaskier’s cock before grabbing the oil from the dresser. He would have plenty of time to worship Jaskier’s body later, but his bard was right. He needed him. It was a desperate ache in the pit of his stomach to hold the bard as tight as he could, until they couldn’t tell where one body began and another ended. He quickly coated his fingers in oil. He kissed Jaskier’s knee as he spread his legs, then push a finger inside. Jaskier let out the most sinful moan, arching off the mattress.

“Fuck… Geralt….”

Geralt smirked, lavishing Jaskier’s thighs with kisses, sucking bruises into the pale skin as he slowly began to work his lover open. Jaskier was always so responsive to his touch. It was captivating, addictive and completely entrancing. Geralt felt Jaskier’s love with every gasp and moan and sigh. Geralt’s name sounding like a prayer as a second finger joined the first. Each pump of Geralt’s fingers had Jaskier writhing. It took all his self control not to take Jaskier’s cock into his mouth, but he wanted to make this last. He wanted to watch Jaskier falling apart on his fingers.

“More, Geralt, darling… please!” Jaskier gasped as he pushed back against Geralt’s hand. “Please, I love you, Geralt.”

Geralt watched his lover, pretty as a picture, laid out so beautifully for him on the bed. It was the most stunning sight that Geralt had ever seen, and one that he wouldn’t ever get used to no matter how many times they lay together. He kissed up Jaskier’s torso, his muscles rippling under Geralt’s lips. He pushed a third finger inside Jaskier as he flicked his tongue against Jaskier’s nipple. Jaskier cursed, babbling nonsense already. Geralt couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Even in the bedroom Jaskier wasn’t one for silence. It was… endearing.

And Geralt was unreasonably in love with him.

He hummed, a content purr rumbling in his chest as he finally captured Jaskier’s lips once more. Jaskier held Geralt’s face between his hands, holding him close. “Gods, I love you, my dear, I love you.”

Geralt bumped their noses together. “I love you too, you ready?” He pushed his fingers deeper, brushing against that sweet spot that really made Jaskier sing. He took Jaskier answering moan as yes and pulled his fingers out.

“Fuck, Geralt, darling, Gods,” Jaskier panted against his lips.

Geralt stroked himself to make sure he was slick and ready to enter Jaskier without hurting his precious bard, then he slowly pushed inside. He grunted as the heat enveloped him. Jaskier swore loudly and his head fell back against the pillows. “Oh gods, fuck!”

Geralt felt like he was on fire. Every cell in his body burned, yearning to be closer to this gorgeous creature underneath him. He didn’t move, pressing his face into the crook of Jaskier neck as they both adjusted to the sudden rush of emotions and sensations that sparked between them. “Jask…” Geralt’s voice cracked as he held Jaskier close to him.

Jaskier sighed happily as Geralt was finally fully seated inside him. He trailed his fingers, feather light, over the skin on Geralt’s back. Geralt hummed, he knew his bard was painting pictures, probably something flowery.

Geralt breathed heavily, swallowing as he finally felt complete again. He pulled back so he could see Jaskier’s face. The bard was a mess, a beautiful mess, and his. His face was flushed and his hair was sweaty, sticking to his forehead. Geralt was almost overwhelmed by the sheer adoration in his gaze.

“I love you,” Geralt whispered, stroking Jaskier’s cheek.

Jaskier giggled and reached up to kiss him. When Geralt finally started to move, slow thrusts that were more of a tease than anything else, Jaskier’s laughs broke into breathy moans.

It had lost the desperate heat from before but neither of them cared. They were together, and time became meaningless. At one point, Jaskier rolled them over so he could ride Geralt, and he looked like a deity, a temptress put on the Continent just for Geralt.

Jaskier laughed as he leant forward to kiss Geralt again. Geralt hadn’t never laughed during sex before Jaskier but fuck, it was the most exquisite sight that Geralt had ever beheld. He smiled against Jaskier’s lips, rocking up into him. Jaskier gasped and pressed his forehead against Geralt’s.

“Oh darling,” he sighed “you feel heavenly.”

Geralt agreed. The slow build of pleasure was almost torturous and now it felt like the entire castle was burning around them. Every touch between them sparked, every breath felt like a gift from the gods. It was such sweet torture and he almost never wanted it to end, but it didn’t take much longer for the desperation to return. Jaskier whined as Geralt rolled them back over, pounding into his lover erratically, savouring every sound he pulled from his bard’s lips. A song that would forever haunt his dreams.

By the time Jaskier came Geralt was barely hanging on, too caught up in his own pleasure. “Oh gods, Geralt…” Jaskier cried, breathless and beautiful, a nymph, a demon, a siren.

Geralt grunted, following Jaskier over the edge with one last thrust. Silence fell over their room, save for their heavy breathing and fluttering of heart beats. Geralt buried his nose in Jaskier’s neck, letting the familiar scent of lavender ground him.

“Don’t move,” Jaskier whispered.

“I won’t,” Geralt promised. They would have to get up eventually but for now Geralt was quite content to stay where he was, joined to his love in every way.

[yee-fxcking-haw]

•Caught In The Middle•

Summary: First loves always leave a mark, yours was Hitoshi Shinsou, and you were his. Life got messy, careers got in the way. You still find each other, you always find each other.

Pairing: Hitoshi Shinsou x FemReader (both 18+)

Warnings: This is one angsty boi, unprotected sex, oral sex (female receiving), crying during sex (not dacryphilia), a lot of emotional vulnerability.

Word Count: 4,012

A/N: I've been wanting to work on writing some more emotionally raw scenarios. I didn't do a lot of sexual dynamic in this, just two people loving and needing each other. Not my usual thing, but I hope y'all like it! Please let me know! Much love<3

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You wait where you always do, on a rotting old bench hidden behind several twisted, dying trees. The path in front of you leads to a pitiful little shack, held together by patch work and spite. It's a beautiful little place, though, despite the crumbling wood and the slight lean the whole structure has. It has its charm, it has its secrets.

The weather is soothing tonight, a starry sky above a lovely summer evening. It could almost make a pretty little painting, if it weren't such a dark secret.

You hear footsteps falling behind you, crunching the gravel as the tread. You don't turn to see who it is, you're not worried, you already know.

You hear the feet stop behind you, feel the strong presence, smell the warm scent he brings. Just being this close to him wraps you in something so peaceful, so easy to fall into. Strong, capable hands spread over your shoulders, thumbs rolling into every tense place within them.

You look down at your palms and feel the shame grip your heart when you see the dried blood there. It's a part of the job, at least, that's what you tell yourself.

Finally, you turn to face the man behind you. As always, you melt into the peaceful, enchanting feeling his gaze provides. You recall the timid, exhausted, beaten down boy you once fell for. His tired eyes and his lopsided smile, and his desperate need to help.

The memories contrast heavily with the strong, proud beauty before you. He stands tall, he looks aware, purposeful and brave. He still looks like he could use a few extra hours of sleep, but he no longer looks completely deprived of it. His beauty is the messy kind, but it enthralls you nonetheless.

"Hard work today?" Hitoshi asks quietly, a knowing look in his soft, amethyst eyes.

You nod, folding your hands into each other as his own work at your aching shoulders.

"It wasn't really hard. I'm used to it, it was just messy." You explain, trying to remain resolute.

He answers with a sigh, hands working at the back of your neck now.

"You don't have to do it." He tries.

You feel him pulling the strings of your chest as your eyes fall to the path again, unable to hold his sweet, honest gaze.

He's always had too much good in him, too much optimism, too much hope. That's why he makes a good hero though, a great hero, really. That had been the divide between the two of you, you couldn't trust like him, you couldn't hope like he could. It was simple when you were two high schoolers with simple ideas that made for harmless debates. In time, it became not so simple.

He acquired his hero's license after endless hours of hardwork and dedication, and you watched from the stands. A drop out who simply couldn't go along with the charade. There were never any hard feelings between the two of you, and you remained lovers for a while after, it remained as it was for a bit. Two kids too wrapped up in each other to care how heavily their morals contrasted.

After some time, after settling into your places in life, it became less simple. He found his spot in the hero charts, you found yours among other vigilantes desperate to expose corrupt heroes. This of course made any kind of simple public relationship less easy and less acceptable.

As he gained more of an understanding of your grey morality, and you gained more of an understanding of the depravity of his society, it became impossible for the two of you to live and let live. So you found your peace with the secrets you two could keep in the tiny shed down this path.

You had loved each other before all of this, you had loved each other in the back seats of cars, school dorm rooms and other secret places. Keeping yourselves hidden is something you both learned to do well, for the sake of maintaining whatever sacred connection you had stumbled upon together.

"You're thinking." He observes, removing his hands in favor of striding around the bench to seat himself beside you.

"I do that." You mutter, hands still fidgeting at each other.

You're both silent for a moment, calculating your next moves.

"I don't want to think anymore." You whisper, you fight the burning in your eyes and nose as best you can, willing the tears not to fall.

He takes a deep breath in, it's not steady, it's not composed, it's full of trembling and uncertainty.

"I don't want to either."

So, neither of you did.

You find yourselves where you always do, pulling at each other on the tattered mattress on the floor of the shed. Candles are spread throughout the room, just enough to bathe you both in a heavenly glow. A large lock holds the door closed, it keeps your secrets in, it keeps the world out.

His lips are delicate against your neck, his hands are steady on your waist, but the thudding of his heartbeat betrays him when he presses his body against yours.

"We can't keep doing this." He sighs against you. He says it every time, but he always comes back.

"You don't have to." You bring your hands up to cup his face, a mistake on your part as the look in his eyes crumbles your resolve.

"Toshi, please don't go." You beg, clinging to him as the thought rips you to shreds.

"I won't, god I won't, I can't." He confesses before pressing his lips into yours.

It's a mess of a kiss, nothing but need, desire and tears as you work against each other. Hands find clothes to rip off, hearts nearly escape their cages as delicate fingertips ghost across soft spots. It's a beautiful, well learned dance, something perfected over time.

His body rolls on top of yours, he nudges your legs apart with his knees as he settles between them. Every inch of your skin meets every inch of his, then the heat spreads, consuming both of you. Your skin boils as he rolls his hips against yours, you shudder and sigh and hold on tight.

"M-more, please, need more." You plead, your voice doesn't sound like your own. It sounds like it belongs to a lost, lovesick girl… maybe it does…

"Anything, I'll give you anything." He responds.

His mouth is hot and open against your flushed skin. His hands cradle the tuck of your waist as he paints your chest with sweet, sloppy kisses. He blazes a trail down your body, leaving nothing but ashes and glowing embers in his wake.

He moves a leg over each shoulder, the sight makes you smile, recalling the first time he found himself in this position.

"What?" He questions, a smile playing at his lips as he presses them into your thigh.

Your hand slips into his hair, letting yourself fall away from the worries of social structures, letting yourself fall into the little world you've created in this shed.

"Just thinking about the first time you tried this." You let yourself laugh a little when he rolls his eyes and groans. He really had tried his best, he just missed a couple of important spots, mostly one important spot, completely.

"I was learning, don't be a jerk." He continues kissing up your thigh until he reaches the crux of your leg.

"Plus, I got much better at it." With that, he casts you a devilish look before sliding his tongue sideways across your lips.

He teases your clit for a fleeting second before drawing back, watching the way your eyes flutter and your lips pout.

"You did, but you turned into such a tease." You gather more of his hair, involuntarily rolling your hips up a little.

He hums in response, sliding his hands up the outside of your thighs so he can gather the rolls of your hips.

"You make it so much fun." He gives you another gentle flick with the tip of his tongue, making you jump and whimper for him.

"Gorgeous." He sighs, drops his jaw then, lets his broad tongue loll out completely and licks a long, slow strip up your center.

"Oh fuck." You shudder as your back lifts slightly and your legs attempt to close.

"Keep them open for me, sweetheart." He tells you, the tender name makes your chest ache.

Before you can respond, he licks again, this time he closes his lips around your clit and sucks. You can't help the way you shiver and cry out, or the way your legs close around his head. It's too good, it's too warm and wonderful.

"Stubborn girl." He mutters before placing his hands under your knees.

He folds you up as he moves to kneel between your legs, the tops of your thighs meet your stomach and your breath catches as you watch him devour you with his eyes.

"Hold this." He squeezes your left leg.

You hook your arm around it, nodding as he lowers his torso back to your core. He keeps his hand on your right leg, and let's the other fall between your bodies so he can play at your slick entrance with his middle finger.

You bite your body lip as you clamp around nothing, teased by the presence of what could be inside you. You glance down between your bodies, eyeing the way his finger glides up to your clit so he can rub lazy circles against it. Most of all, you're hypnotized by how pretty his cock is.

"I know you want it, baby, just give me one, and I'll let you have it." He promises as he slides two fingers in.

His slow, calculated movements have your mind spinning and your body twitching. You open your mouth to ask for him to use his tongue, but he beats you to it. He drops his torso, keeping his hand locked on the leg he's got cranked up. You cling to your opposite leg when his tongue meets your clit.

His fingers drag in and out at a curve, bending inside you to reach the spot that makes you see stars. His tongue rolls against your sensitive bud, persistent and electric as he stokes the fire in your core.

You feel your body tighten up, your free hand grasps at his messy waves again, your body seizes. He bends you and bends you, working relentlessly with his fingers and his velvety tongue.

You're so close, so damn close, you feel it tickling your ribs, pushing tears from your eyes and in your trembling thighs.

You need more. You need something to push you over, you just need him.

"Toshi- please, I wanna- fuck baby."

As you whimper out your plea, he adds the slightest bit more pressure to your clit, and it rips you apart. You shatter and break in against him, crying out his name in broken praise, body rolling against him as he works you through it.

"That's it, that's my girl." He sighs as he watches the way your body moves against him, watches the way you writhe in the pleasure he gives.

"Fuckin' gorgeous." He breathes as he crawls up your body so he can take your lips into his own. You pull him into you with greedy hands, clinging to this moment, needing it to last, not ready to let it go.

"Need you, please, need all of you." The words come out like a sob, spoken mostly against his lips.

He gathers one of your hands in his, lacing your fingers as he presses it into the mattress, his forehead meets yours as he grabs his length so he can run the head against you.

"You've got me, you've got me baby." He promises before pressing in. He's done it countless times, in endless positions, but the feeling never ceases to leave you light headed.

You both lose yourselves completely, finally together, hidden so perfectly in your little haven. You feel so full, so loved, so complete.

"God, fuck, your cunt." He nearly cries, wrapped in your warmth, enamored by your body and the way it ticks for him.

He buries your face in your neck, squeezing your hand and releasing a broken moan as he rolls his hips into you.

His free hand comes up to hold your face, yours holds his wrist, desperate for an anchor as he splits you open so sweetly. Every nerve within you feels so tender and raw, everything about you aches for him, everything in you needs him.

You cling to each other like a lifeline as he builds a mind numbing pace, it's nothing hard, nothing rough, but it's deep, it's all consuming. You both moan and cry against each other for a bit, letting your bodies work, letting your brains stop thinking.

"Fucking hell, sweetheart, can I please fuck you, really fuck you, need more of you." He begs between messy kisses against your sweat soaked skin.

His request makes your skin ignite with white hot anticipation.

"Please- Toshi, fuck me how you need to, I wanna take it, I can take it." You let the tears fall freely, let them wet your cheeks and wash away any reservations.

As if you've unhooked the chain of a rabid animal, he growls against you and rips his hands from yours. The grab under your knees again so he can fold you just how he likes. He uses your body as leverage, holding himself up by the hold on your legs.

"You're so fucking tight like this." He chokes out as he adjusts his hips, pulling back slowly.

"Tell me you need it, tell me you need me." He says, it's not an order, not an exercise of control. It's a prayer, it's something he's desperate for, something he can't live without.

"I need it, baby I need you." You reach around your legs to hold his forearms, needing to be connected to him in every way you can, "I need all of you." You sob, looking up at him with desperate eyes.

He breaks then, seeing you all pretty and broken, hearing you beg for all he has to offer. With the last shred of self control he has, he bends to kiss you. It's slow, reverent, worshipful. It's everything you need to forget about everything that comes between you outside of this room.

When he pulls back, your breath is held, his body tenses and he finally, finally, let's himself go. He fucks you, he fucks you hard. His hips slap against your as you sob into the air, thanking him, praising him, loving him. The drag of his cock in and out of your quivering cunt is enough to reduce you to a sniffling mess.

He watches your face diligently, paying attention to how your lip quivers when he angles his hips upwards, admiring how pretty you look all flushed and tear stained. His hands gorge themselves on the backs of your thighs. Your body sings for him, only him.

"You take it so well, take it for me some more, just a little bit more." He gasps as you tighten around him, spun on by his praise.

All you can utter is one, desperate "more" as he ruins you.

"Fuck, baby, I'll give you more." He releases your legs, letting them fall to the sides.

He grabs your hips and hauls your ass onto his thighs. Braced on his shins, he fucks up into you with everything he has, and it pays off almost instantly.

You scream out, reckless and unashamed. It's too good to hold it in, the pleasure is too fluorescent, the love is too overwhelming.

"Oh god, come on sweet girl, give me all of it." He sounds almost frantic as his thumb finds your clit, he presses down perfectly, rubs it so sweetly, sending even more electricity through your entire body.

You reach out to him, one hand fisting the sheets, the other searching for him, desperate for something to ground you.

He grabs you immediately, tangling his fingers in yours as he did before. He lets his thrusts slow in favor of rolling them up into you as he plays with your clit, easing you through every pulse, making sure you feel every shock.

Slowly, he lets you wind down, paying close attention to every twitch and whimper.

"You're stunning, you're so fucking perfect." He bends down to kiss up your stomach, he slides his arms around your waist and brings you up slowly. You wrap your arms around his hips as he kicks his legs out in front of him. Your lips meet each other so gently, giving and taking flawlessly.

"More, please baby." It's the only request you have capacity for.

He smiles against your lips, his hands fall to your hips, guiding them so they roll against his. You whine against him as his head presses into some forgotten soft spot inside you, your hands claw at his shoulders as you let him direct your movements. More, you just need more more more, all that you can have while you still can.

"Good girl, my good girl." He pants against your neck, his hands slide up so he lock his arms around you again, so he can keep you close, so you won't slip away.

"That's it, just like that." He encourages as you pick up the speed of your hips. There's no real in and out movement, but there is the most steady rubbing of your most sensitive parts, and it's heavenly.

"More baby, just a little more." He coaxes.

Always more, you're always so selfish with each other, glutinous when you can finally indulge in this.

Despite your oversensitivity, despite the ache in your bones, you work harder. You roll against him, almost riding but not quite pulling yourself away from him to do so.

He shivers and moans beneath you so beautifully, you never want to stop, you want to stay like this. You want to keep working with him forever, making him feel like this, watching his pretty pink lips part and tremble as you provide him with his only release.

His fingers bite at your waist and his mouth gets needy against your neck. He just needs more.

"Take it, Toshi, take anything you need."

He looks up at you with such a searching gaze, with some kind of strange, broken wonder. He moves you both until he's leaning his back against the wall, still holding you like you might break.

"I have everything I need." He admits, pressing a long kiss into your shoulder, "I have it all."

Your hands thread into his messy hair, cherishing this slowed moment of tenderness.

"-But I want this." He sighs before planting his feet on the mattress so he can thrust up into you harshly.

One hand flies to the wall as you wail from the pleasure, the other stays in his hair, pulling at his roots as he fucks up into you.

"Like that! Just like that baby, holy fuck." You sob, letting your head fall so you can chant your praises against his damp hairline.

"You always liked it like this." He muses, somehow managing a chuckle.

You have always like it like this, the first time he did it left you begging for it for weeks. You were house sitting for one of his friends right after graduation, you took advantage of the empty house and fucked like rabits. That was before everything got messy, before everything you two have had to be placed under lock and key…

His thrusts hit you somewhere deep and achey, his arms cage you against him, and it takes little to no time for your body to wind up and shatter once again.

"I'm so close, I'm so fuckin close." He cries against your chest, "Help me, talk to me, please- help me." He begs.

This hand grabs at your face, forcing you to look down at him. Big, shiney tears are falling from his marvelous eyes. God, he's beautiful, your beautiful boy.

"Baby, please, let me feel it, I wanna feel it inside me." You answer, letting him slam his hips up into you as he chases his own end.

You let yourself cry against him then, really cry, with your whole body. Somewhere between sobs you mutter enough praises for him to unravel. He grabs at your back, digs his nails in as his hips stutter.

"Fuck, sweetheart, I'm gonna, fuck fuck fuck." He nearly weeps when he finally stills, hips pulsing up into yours as you both hit that rapturous wall.

You're both a mess of trembling ecstasy as you cling and shiver and fall. You're close enough to kiss, tears mixing as you share space and air. Your bodies roll and twitch as you work each other through every spectacular feeling, every shock and wave and pulse.

"I love you, I love you, I love you." Hitoshi cries against your lips.

"I love you, all of you." You reply. You do, so much it hurts, so much it rips you apart when you lay down without him at night.

You catch your breath together, never letting go for even a second, bringing each other back down to earth. This is always your favorite part, the part where you settle, where you whisper sweet confessions. When you wipe the tears and feel so completely known and understood.

"Thank you." He whispers.

All you do is nod, placing a lazy kiss on his forehead. Your heart is so full, your mind is a blurry mess. All you know is Hitoshi, all he knows is you.

He rolls slightly so he can lay you on the bed next to him, setting you down like you're something sacred. You settle on your back as he settles on his side, propped up on one elbow as he runs his hand over your forehead, brushing the sweaty hair away.

You ease into the tender moment, meeting his eyes, listening to him breathe. You grab his wrist and bring his hand down so you can kiss his palm, thankful for the touch that makes you fall apart.

"'We can't keep doing this'?" You tease.

He looks down at you knowingly, eyes full of familiarity, full of safety.

"We have to, don't we?"

It's a heartbreaking realization every time. That there's no way out of doing this. There's no way for him to walk away from his duty, he's too good, people need him. There's no way for you to join him, not with all that you know, not with what you've done.

"I always will, as long as you will." You promise, fiddling with his fingers as his other hand falls to play with your hair.

"I always will." He says, "Anything for you."

It's almost like you're two lovesick teenagers again, making promises too big to keep, making plans too grandiose to achieve. It's all you have, though. A busted up old shed and some poetic pillow talk. It all settles in your chest and burns, as always, you just want more. More of this, more of him, more of what used to be.

"Do you think…" You falter for a moment, afraid of your own question, "Do you think we'll ever find a way? Do you think we can ever-"

"Yes." He wraps his hand around yours, "We'll find it. Whatever it takes. We'll have this."

Maybe it's a promise that can't be kept, something that will only exist here. For now, you have your little world, you have your locks and your doors and your secrets. You have Hitoshi, you have that sweet, lanky, mess that taught you how to love. As terrifying as it is, he has you too, all of you. He has for years, he probably always will. However it ends up, you'll have this, you'll have each other.

[razrbladekiss]

Tyrants | Chapter One - Disclosure

A/N: This was supposed to be a Jax x Fem!OC fanfic, but it took a little turn as I started to write more of it. So, it’ll be Tig x Fem!OC, but Jax does play a very important role in this.

SUMMARY: A sick turn of events sees Isla Telford thrown in at the deep end, battling to govern the sudden pressures of all that her father's club decidedly bestow upon her.

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

WARNINGS: Brief mentions of murder, the guy that got his ass shit is in this one. Jax and Tig get their own warnings, too, for obvious reasons.

The older I get, the more I realize that age doesn't bring wisdom. It only brings weary.

John Teller was always so astute.

His judicious character befell his son, too. Jax had that same perceptive nature as his old man--everyone would comment on that.

To Isla, it was admirable. For Jackson Teller to be a man of such stature--to hold such a reputation--and to remain somewhat level-headed through it all, was only something she could commend.

She'd seen many of her father's friends crumble under the pressure of Samcro, unable to balance the weight of living with the responsibility and commitment to the club, and meet their unfortunate demise--in some not-so extreme cases.

But Jax was different. He'd always been different.

Maybe that wasn't so great, however.

"You're fucking insane, Isla."

"Not insane." She mumbled, sifting through the box of shitty medical supplies that Gemma had left atop the pool table last night.

"Just trying to patch this shit up so Hayes doesn't kick the fucking bucket before Jax gets back here."

Tig snarled. "But it might be infected, and the bullet is still in this dude's ass--"

Isla whipped her head to glare at the man, her eyes wide, forehead slick with sweat--and a little blood, too.

"Shut the fuck up."

"Isla--"

"Tig, with all due respect, unless you're gonna help, please get the fuck outta here."

"That's not gonna suffice," he pointed out, referring to the medical tape, ignoring her scolding.

She wanted to throttle him. Truly, Isla was willing to wrap her crimson-coated fingertips around Tig's neck and squeeze the absolute life out of that man.

"I know." Her lips kneaded together in frustration, watching her father dab an alcohol-infused pad on the wound. "But unless you've got any better ideas, then we're just gonna have to keep reapplying this shit."

"But the infection, Isla."

"But the lack of medical equipment, Tig."

He slapped his palm against the table and glared at her, pointedly. "Why've you gotta be such a bitch all the time, huh?"

"Watch it, Trager." Piqued, Chibs growled.

"I'm not a bitch all the time," she dismissed her father, wiping at her palm with a wet rag. "I'm actually able to control the way I act around other people."

"Oh, fuck you--"

"Christ!"

The Scot's yell was muffled by the cap of his whiskey bottle, his hand pressing against Cameron's skin as the man screamed into the cloth Isla had placed underneath his head.

"God, for fucks sake, both of you just pack it in."

"Chibs--"

"Shut the fuck up. You're a fucking geriatric and you're spending your morning bickering with an almost thirty-year-old. Grow up, Tig."

Despite laughing at his comment, and enjoying the irritation wash over the other man's face, she felt bad.

For riling her father up--who was simply trying to help the innocent Irishman caught in the literal crossfire--she felt fucking awful. Especially because he never seemed to get mad at her all too often.

Tig, though...That was a different story entirely.

"I'm gonna go see if Clay has any more shit lying 'round here." She declared, throwing a damp towel onto the table, backing out of the room.

Her heart was in her throat, stomach in damn knots. Isla wasn't confident that Cameron was going to make it--not with such a deep wound.

And in his ass, too? Jesus. She wasn't confident at all.

Of course, she'd seen men get shot. Her own father, for one. But she hadn't seen somebody have to go so long without actual medical attention.

Chibs was ex-army med, but there was only so much a man could've done with a bottle of liquor, gauze, and a towel.

She was relieved that the bullet hit Cameron and not Clay, though. As sick as it sounded, she was so fucking glad that he'd managed to dodge the line of fire--initially intended for his own skull--and come out completely unscathed.

But for every ounce of relief she'd felt, an even more fervid sense of anger prevailed at the thought of Jax taking so damn long with those medical supplies he'd sought to get last night.

Gemma mentioned something about heading to the hospital--or a friend's house, or something--but Isla wasn't paying any mind to the woman as she, and Chibs, were trying all ways to stop the bleeding coming from Cameron's ass cheek.

It was the most bizarre turn of events she'd ever experienced.

One minute, Isla was sipping on a glass of wine while she eagerly awaited the spirited ping of her tiny microwave oven, ready to spend a rare--though well fucking deserved--night alone.

However, things took a drastic turn when she received a call from Tig--on behalf of a very busy Chibs--casually requesting her assistance because the Mayans had tried to assassinate Clay.

But Tig failed to mention that the man was completely fine.

She'd spent fifteen minutes on the way over mentally preparing herself, wondering what hell she'd walk into when she set foot into the clubhouse. But it was normal--strangely so.

Isla wasn't a professional, she didn't exactly know how to handle such a trauma, but she trusted her father and she just wanted to make sure he had a helping hand.

God knows that Tig wouldn't have been very much use, and Juice was a little nervous--though, he was doing incredibly well throughout the ordeal regardless of his internal apprehension.

"How's it looking?" Gemma threw at Isla, getting to her feet.

"Bloody."

She quickly scanned the room, taking in the uncomfortably sparse bar. It wasn't usually so empty, so quiet.

Clay, Gemma, and Juice. That was it. Not even Piney--not even Epps.

"Is he doing okay?"

It was still early in the day, though. She guessed that they'd pop in once they properly came around.

"He's better than he was last night." The brunette nodded. "Dad is certain the laceration is gonna get infected if we leave it any longer without trying to get the bullet out--"

"You've gotta wait 'til Jax gets back here, Isla, we can't risk Hayes dying on us."

"I know, Clay. He's just fucking tired--he's been up all night. We need a real medic on the scene before something bad happens. It's only a matter of time."

He mumbled something to himself that only Gemma seemed to catch, but Isla didn't particularly give a damn at that point. Like Chibs, she was exhausted.

The tattered and torn plaid shirt she had thrown over a random tank top--now smeared with another man's blood--was wrenched between her fingers as she pulled it off, folding it not-so-neatly.

She hadn't dealt with such a bloody wound in a while. Not since her mother's palm, decorated with shards of glass, was in dire need of stitches and her father was across the country, unable to offer his medical assistance.

"I'll grab one of Jax's shirts for you--"

"No, Gemma, it's okay," she smiled, taking a seat on one of the couches opposite her.

The older woman pinched her eyebrows together skeptically, watching Isla shift. "I insist."

"It's fine." Isla was adamant. "I'm gonna head home as soon as Jax gets back here--if he gets back here--so, really, it's fine."

A minimal amount of already dried blood was spread over her wrists and fingers, and the excess had been rubbed off on her crimson flannel, so she didn't particularly feel bad about making any mess.

Though, she shouldn't have felt bad. Not after she'd been coerced into helping and eventually receiving that shitty reception from Tig.

"Aren't you cold?" She questioned, waiting for Isla to capitulate, but she never did.

The thought of wearing one of Jax's shirts--after it being given to her by his fucking mother--didn't sit right with her for some reason. Plus, she didn't particularly feel like walking out of that building wearing the damn reaper on her back.

She didn't want to flaunt their patch. Not any more than she already had been for the last ten years.

"Where the fuck is he?"

Clay glared at the clock on the wall, realizing they'd been without the Vice President for hours. In an attempt to put him at ease, Gemma ran a hand along his shoulder.

Isla could only watch them--admire, perhaps.

"He told us he was gonna swing by Tara's place for the equipment. But that was last night, man." Juice shrugged, circling the lip of his beer bottle with his thumb.

She felt her throat thicken with a sick sense of trepidation. She hadn't heard that name in years.

"Tara?" She stuttered, feeling Gemma's piercing glare.

The woman hated Jax's first love, though she never said it aloud. Isla knew her perception of her, however, and she'd started to feel the exact same as the years went on.

Bitch.

"Yeah, y'know, Tara Knowles--"

Her heart sank--fuck that, it dove straight to the deep caverns of her chest, throbbing away into nothing. Until she felt completely void of all emotion. Completely fucking numb.

"I know her, Juice." Her response came hastily, snappy. "I'm sorry. I just didn't expect you to say that."

He shrugged it off. "It's alright. I wasn't expecting her to be back in town, either. I thought you already knew."

Suddenly uncomfortable, Isla's head shook.

The crow situated at the bottom of her spine began to smolder, blistering away at her skin until she physically flinched.

It was a brilliant idea at the time, getting a matching tattoo with Jax's old lady--the one woman she truly adored and trusted, never once feeling an ounce of malice toward.

Because that was a rare thing for Isla, and she wanted their friendship--and relation to Samcro--to prevail for eternity, she supposed.

But as time went on and Tara decided to distance, and eventually alienate, herself from the club, an ample sense of regret persisted for fucking months.

Isla loathed her ink. She hated the negative connotation of the crow she once lauded, and the mere idea of that thing being slapped above her ass forever churned her stomach.

It wasn't one of her finest moments, she had to admit. But she was young and extremely fucking dumb. She'd bet top dollar that Tara felt the same--if she hadn't gotten the crow covered up already.

"Jesus, Jax, where were you?!"

Her eyes flicked upward, attention on the blonde as he sauntered across the wooden floor of the bar.

She hadn't even noticed his presence until Clay spoke, but she soon started to heed how Jax was trembling a bit with every step that he took.

It wasn't obvious. To most people, the slight shake of his wrist would've gone completely unnoticed. But to Isla--to the most observant woman in Charming--his discomfort was striking.

Jax ignored him, stomping his way toward the back room. His line of sight never satisfied Isla's. It didn't even come close to it, either.

Something had happened. It was obvious that, in the time he had been with Tara, he'd encountered something grizzly enough to chill him to the bone.

Which was saying something, what with the horrific shit that he'd already seen in his time.

"Jax!" Clay yelled, following closely behind him. "Hey, asshole, where the fuck did you put the bag--"

"I've got it."

If she had the option, Isla would've allowed the floor to swallow her fucking whole.

"Tara." Pissed, Gemma acknowledged. "You're here because?"

"I asked her to help, mom."

"But Chibs had it covered. He just needed some actual instruments--"

"Gemma, quit it."

She simply nodded at her son, not wanting to cause another problem that she'd have to fix later--which, honestly, Isla was shocked to see.

"He's in there--"

"I know." Jax cut her short, ushering Tara to the back of the clubhouse--striving to get her into the room before she heeded Isla.

But she did.

The first person she clocked--aside from Clay--was Isla Telford, the woman she had purposely alienated herself from ten fucking years ago.

It wasn't anything that she'd particularly done to Tara, more like the crowd she ran with--and the way her loyalties never seemed to lay very closely to her friends, or anything outside of the club.

Isla wasn't a part of Samcro--she didn't want to be a part of Samcro--but her coalition was strong enough to convince anybody that she was more than merely a daughter of a Sgt. at Arms.

She had been brought up around the Sons--her father's choice, of course--and when her mother passed, she had no choice but to dive a little bit deeper into that world. But, as expected, it was constantly under the watchful eye of her old man.

She was dedicated to them. They were, essentially, family, and she was an honorary member.

"Isla." Jax mumbled, nodding his head toward the entrance of the clubhouse as he closed the back-door. "Outside."

He pulled a carton of cigarettes out of his leather vest, shaking the box as he strived to seem a little less suspicious to Clay and his mother.

The blonde wobbled to her feet--knees weak after hours of standing--while simultaneously pulling her bloodied flannel back onto svelte, freckled arms, recognizing that the chill was to hit her the second she stepped onto the gravel.

Jax was casual while he strutted ahead, taking long strides that Isla found fucking impossible to keep up with.

He pushed the door to close behind her, offering a cigarette that she hastily declined.

"What's she doing here?" Was how she decided to break the silence, her eyes searching for a hint of something written on his face.

But there was nothing. Not an ounce of emotion--scarily so.

"She's fixing Cameron up--"

"Not at the clubhouse, Jax. I meant back in Charming."

He ran a thumb across his lower lip, trying to soften his gaze on Isla, but it was futile. He looked discomposed--unsettled.

"She's uh--she's workin' at the hospital now." She started to nod, waiting for his elaboration. It never came, however.

"Oh, that's nice. I wonder what happened in Chicago...Do you know why she's back here? Or how long she's gonna be staying in town--"

"You sound like my fucking mother--give it a break with the thirty-seven questions about Tara, damnit."

He snarled, heeding the distaste of his words the second she glowered at him.

"Excuse you?"

"I didn't call you out here for a sweet little conversation, Isla, I called you 'cause I need your help--"

"With what?"

Jax's hand hooked onto the back of his neck while he tilted his head to look upward, thinking of a way--any fucking way--to explain just what damn mess he'd found himself entwined with over the course of the last twenty-four hours.

He didn't know what to say or how to say it--if he should've fucking said it. He trusted Isla with his life--always had--but sometimes he appreciated that she mightn't have appreciated finding herself tangled within Jax's boisterous, at times frightening, life.

But it was too late for that. She'd been dragged through the deepest shit and wasn't crumbling that easily.

"Jax--"

"Kohn." He stated simply, waiting for the cogs of her brain to begin turning.

"What about him? You got in trouble with the ATF or something? Because we can handle that--"

"I already did." Jax laughed humorlessly, finally meeting Isla's line of sight.

The skin underneath his eyes was red raw, blotchy and irritated after he had used the sleeve of his hoodie to scrub away the tears he'd shed.

The tears he hadn't wanted to shed, but had fallen freely--uncontrollably--from those cerulean hues Isla never tired of looking at.

"What do you mean by that?" Nervously, she quizzed.

He didn't even have to say anything. She fucking knew. She knew exactly what he meant by that, but there was a tiny morsel of something within her that hoped and prayed that he'd declare that her gut feeling was wrong.

But he couldn't. Because it was right. Like always, Isla's intuition didn't fail her.

"Jax, honey, what did you do--"

"I killed Kohn."

[yourwildsimp]

Journal

This did not at all go where I thought it would, but it’s here. This is my first X Reader I’ve done so if you have some input, it would be greatly appreciated-

includes: Levi, Y/N

warnings: Mentions of dark thoughts

length: 2,535 words

"Cadet!" 

You were quick to glance over your shoulder, wondering how you've messed up this time. You were just about to leave the mess hall, so you were probably going to be scolded for being the last one out, or for not eating again. Levi always snapped about how he needs you at your best.

"You forgot this," the captain said, his stoney blue eyes narrowing as yours widened, "Or did you leave it on purpose?"

It was your journal, the one you were always buried in whenever you could be. You did leave it on purpose, hoping someone would find it and save you from yourself. Hoping that someone would notice all of the changes in your behavior, hoping someone would hear your silent screams. Yet, seeing that it was Levi fucking Ackerman who returned the journal? You wished you had kept suffering alone.

"And it has so many…" Levi hesitated, almost like he was trying to find the right words to string together. "So many horrific thoughts written inside of it."

You could practically feel how serious he was while he gripped your prized possession just a bit tighter. You couldn't handle the growing silence, so you broke it.

"I should know. It's mine, after all." He didn't find your joke very funny. 

Levi opened his mouth, picking his next words carefully, "What's going on with you? You haven't been yourself recently."

You mentally swore, fingers twitching at your side. Levi didn't fail to notice, making his abnormal concern grow.

"What do you mean, Captain? I'm perfectly fine." As much as you wished the forced chuckle in your voice would change his way of thinking, it didn't.

"I'm more than certain something is happening with you," his voice grew more pointed as he stared at you, "There's no point in trying to hide it. Just spit it out."

"Why would you even bother asking?" Your muttered question left your lips before you could stop it.

"I want to know because I care about you. That's something a lot of people can't say, so don't go off wasting my support," Levi's tone didn't change and you sucked in a much needed breath. 

You wearily watched him place the journal on one of the long tables in the room, the soft thud reminding you of how many hours have gone into fruitless attempts of venting out your pain.

"Stop being stubborn and tell me what's going on, cadet." He inched closer, and you stepped back in response, eyes darting to the table.

"Once again, Jean and Eren left their spots disgusting. Do you want me to clean up, or would you rather chew them out yourself?" You gave a tight smile, forcing yourself to look back at him.

"Don't change the subject," he growled, a strange blaze flaring up in his eyes. Levi noticed how you tensed and he sighed to calm himself. "The things that you wrote in that book," he started, never once looking away from you, "Those were some seriously dark thoughts, and if you honestly do feel that way, you need to talk about it. So, stop trying to be the coldhearted badass and let me know what's running through your mind."

He sounded like a parent trying to convince a child to admit they broke something. It was a bit frightening in all honesty. 

You didn't say anything, teeth digging painfully into your tongue so you would keep quiet. You had just now noticed you'd been staring at the wooden floorboards this whole time, and yet you didn't stop.

Levi noticed that you weren't going to contribute, so he did it himself.

"What are you afraid of? Do you think I'm going to be mad at you?" 

You could've kicked yourself when your panicked chuckle wormed its way into the one-sided conversation. 

"Look at me," he demanded. You didn't listen, a thick gulp being your only reaction. "Cadet, look at me." This time it came out as a snarl, and you obeyed out of pure fear. 

Levi shut his eyes for just a moment, a heavy sigh leaving him as he tried to compose himself again. You both knew that he wasn't great with feelings, but he was trying. 

"I'm not mad at you. You can tell me whatever you're going through and I'll listen. Don't ever be afraid to let someone know how you feel, that is the only way someone can understand you." You had to clench your jaw to keep a snarky remark from making the situation worse. "Stop hiding from people, stop holding on to these emotions, and thinking that by some miracle things are going to work out by keeping silent. Things don't ever work out that way, and it only prolongs the pain. It only gives time for shit to get worse. So, stop being an idiot and just tell me what's going on already." 

"You sound like you're speaking from experience," you muttered after letting his words sink in. 

You didn't get a response, so you let your gaze lower, but not drop completely. Levi waited for you. The Levi Ackerman patiently waited for you to let go of some agony. So you did.

"Sometimes," it was difficult for you to refill your lungs with fresh air, "I get these recurring dreams that make me think about the things I'd kill to forget." A fly could be heard over your quiet voice, but you had spoken, and Levi found it a big step forward.

"I see," he spoke more to himself than anything. "So that's why…" 

His words trailed off as he remembered walking past the cadet sleeping quarters in the ungodly hours of the morning and often hearing whimpers of fear and sleepy pleads for directions on what to do. His eyebrows furrowed slightly.

"You've been having those, too, haven't you?" He paused, knowing damn well that the night terrors weren't anything but a small piece to the puzzle. But it was progress. "It's not uncommon. Everyone gets those nightmares."

You resisted the urge to insist that's the reason why your problems weren't such a big deal.

"Having thoughts about the people that you've lost, the people that you'd cared about," Levi tightened his jaw, taking a deep breath through his nose and not saying anything for a heartbeat. He changed his wording, "You're allowed to feel. You're allowed to grieve and to be angry, to be hurt." It was like he was reading from the list of your emotional insecurities.

It was starting to get painfully tense, so you attempted to redirect the topic of choice.

"That's funny, considering who's speaking. You only seem slightly agitated whenever you hear about the trouble Eren is constantly causing. I'm surprised you don't have grey's, old man," you laughed in spite of yourself, the noise tense and borderline frantic.

"Writing these thoughts in this book," of course he wouldn't budge. The man's like a stone wall, despite his height. "It's probably your way of coping with what’s happened to you." 

You swallowed, glancing away before sucking on your tongue to distract yourself.

"But, you have to be able to talk to someone as well, to be able to hear your problems leave you." Levi didn't say anything after that, quietly observing how you tilted your head up to stop your brimming tears from falling.

He surprised you by taking a seat on the table's bench, a good four or five feet from your journal. "Come here," he said gently, patting his legs, "You look like you need to be held. If you feel comfortable, that is." 

"On your lap?" You asked, chest tightening. You knew all it was going to take was one hug- just one god damned hug- and you'd crumble.

"Yes, on my lap. Come on," Levi couldn't care less about your height or weight, none of it bothering him in the slightest. 

You hesitated, the exit door seeming all too tempting. You didn't leave, though, and it wasn't because Levi would catch you if you were to run, nor that he would only confront you more forcefully in the future. You knew you needed this- that's the whole reason you had left your secrets behind. But, fuck, it was so hard to make yourself sit on his lap.

"There we go." His encouragement nearly ripped you to shreds.

"What are you? Santa Claus?" You mused, eyes burning holes into your lap with how determined you were to look anywhere but. 

"Go on, let it out," Levi pushed you to speak again, this time far more effective.

"Let what out exactly? My Christmas list?" Your voice cracked, heart painfully throbbing.

"Come on, cadet," Levi breathed again, sickeningly gentle eyes looking at you.

"I wish for a cup of hot chocolate with cookies on the side," you forced a twisted smile on your face as burning hot tears started to slip down your cheek. "Maybe at least one good night's rest. O-Or a chance to go back in time." 

You were breaking down, caving in on yourself as you choked on a sob.

"I've got you."

But you weren't alone. The captain was rubbing comforting shapes into your back.

You shook violently, tremors growing worse before you gave in completely. Harsh sobs thrashed your body as you buried your face into Levi's chest, letting every bit of your pain out.

"It's alright," Levi's voice warded off the ringing in your ears. "It's going to be okay. Do you hear me? You're going to be okay."

Promises of betterment and words of comfort soothed you as you soaked his uniform with tears. Tears that you've held in for far too long, tears that represented your suffering.

"You did all you could. Stop blaming yourself for whatever happened or you'll never be able to move forward. If all you keep doing is holding onto the past, you'll stay stuck in this shitty, painful cycle," Levi told you exactly what you needed to hear as he alternated between pats and rubs on your back. 

He took a deep breath, and you heard his heart rate kick up as your crying quieted, though you didn't- couldn't- stop.

"I had two friends who died on the same damn day. People I considered my family- gone, just like that. People I'd just met, people I had just been acquainted with that morning, died later that day, too," he shared his pain, opening castrated wounds all for you. "Sons, daughters, sisters, brothers, fathers, mothers," he listed, voice wavering before he righted himself, holding you closer. "Dead. Gone. And who was in charge? I was." You felt his chest steeply rise and fall as you sniffled. 

"There are things that you'll have to live with, situations you'll be placed in that you'll have to get through." His thumb and index finger captured your chin, forcing you to look at him. "I just want you to remember that you don't have to find a way on your own. You don't have to feel like you need to take all the burden, all the pain, by yourself." 

The hand that was on your back navigated to the Scouts emblem on your jacket, gently thumbing at it. 

"That's why you have us," there was a smile dancing in his voice, though it never quite reached his face. "We can support each other." 

Your tears had calmed down to a few rogue leftovers, and you found yourself ready to slip off of his lap. Levi didn't seem to mind the massive wet stain that bled through his white button-up and onto his peck. Didn't seem to on the outside, but you knew he was a cleaning fanatic.

"My office, my doors, are always open," his tone turned sarcastically bitter, "Unless I have paperwork to fill in, or I'm cleaning up Jaeger's damn mess." He relished the small giggle that left your lips. "If neither of the two are happening, you can always come to me."

He narrowed his eyes at you, lightly flicking your forehead.

"You hear me? Always, cadet." He gently smiled at you. "Not only are my doors open, but my arms are open, too." 

You glanced away to hide the sparkle in your eyes. Your attention returned to the captain, however, when a warm hand found itself on your shoulder.

"I know that feeling of thinking everything is your fault," he swallowed, casting his gaze down before looking back at you. "That feeling of being disappointed in yourself, down in the gutter, beating yourself up and wishing that it was you instead." There was a solemn look in his eyes before he spoke again, "I know that feeling, and I know how it eats you alive." 

Levi pulled you in for another hug, resting his chin on your shoulder as he shuddered in another breath. 

"I also know the feeling of being comforted. Of being reminded that there is a tomorrow, and that things can get better." He gave you a small squeeze before pulling away, both hands on your shoulders now. "That if you make it past today, you can make it past tomorrow, too." 

He allowed you to sit back, and the words he spoke were more than welcomed.

"After everything that you've been through, there is no storm that comes your way that you're not strong enough to face," the proud gleam in his eyes spoke volumes. "And, if you feel like you can't handle it alone, you can face it with me by your side. I'll always be here to brace the storm with you."

Nothing could prepare you for what he said next.

"That is a promise, cadet."

Levi never made promises- not like this. The only thing he's ever promised was to dropkick Eren if he ever went so long without showering again.

"Now breathe," his voice reverted back to that gentle, but commanding tone. He took a deep breath with you, in and out before staring you dead in the eyes. "Everything is going to be okay. It might not be perfect, but we will make it through this. Every battle has an end. Don't go giving up until you find your ending." You felt the grip on your shoulder tighten, his Adam's apple bobbing as he continued, "Please... Hold on for me." 

That left you picking your jaw off the floor before Levi mentioned it, not able to do anything but nod. You, a cadet, had gotten him to say please.

"There is so much to live for in this life," he noticed your doubt before you even said a word. "Let's start living for the people who don't get to, who don't have a choice."

A comforting silence settled into the atmosphere. Levi smiled before standing, mentally double-checking if you were okay. "Oh, and one more thing?" You perked up when he spoke.

"I'll break your fucking legs if you talk about me being soft, cadet."

Ah. There was the Levi you knew.

"Wouldn't dream of it, captain," you said gently, proudly saluting him as he walked towards the back exit.

You would never know, but an extremely proud smile graced his features as he watched you hesitate before throwing the journal away.

[ptergwen]

the last time

warnings: angst and swearing

summary: here

-

“in order to take the stone, you must lose that which you love.”

it feels like your stomach just dropped all the way down the cliff you’re standing on. peter grips your arm, pulling you away from the cloaked man. you know what you have to do.

your dad sent you and peter to vormir to get the soul stone. they’d both been to space once before this, and it didn’t end well. they were lucky to survive. most of the universe didn’t. now you have the chance to fight for the same thing they did. the other avengers needed all the help they could get to pull this off, so here you are.

you’ll hopefully be able to bring everyone back. you just didn’t realize you’d have to die for them to live.

“he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, y/n. don’t listen to him.” peter rubs up and down your arm to calm you down, squinting his eyes at the man. you give him a halfhearted smile. all the words are stuck in your throat. you know he’s right, that one of you has to go. you’re not going to let it be peter.

you turn to face him with the same sad look. he shakes his head a bunch of times before you can say anything. “it’s true, peter. you know how nebula said gamora was here and never came back? he must have had to sacrifice her.” “no. no way. she... she could’ve gone somewhere else after-“

you cup both of peter’s cheeks, willing him to look at you. he puts his hands on top of yours and meets your eyes. nodding, you smooth your thumb across his skin gently.

“peter...” your voice breaks. you wanted to be strong for him, but it’s all hitting you at once. this is the last time you’ll see him. this is the last time you’ll see anyone.

“there’s gotta be another way, right? we’ll figure it out. you’re so smart. i know you can think of something.” he’s in denial. “no, peter. i can’t. i’m not my dad.” you let out a teary laugh, sniffling a bit. peter pulls you into his chest and holds you tightly against him. your arms hug his middle after a few seconds.

this is it. your final goodbye. you’ve been with peter for years, seen each other at your worst moments. nothing compares to what you’re going through right now. it’s never been so hard to let him go.

he presses his lips to your hair, which only makes you cry more. you’re finally able to pull away from his chest and crash your lips into his one last time. hands grasping at your waist, he kisses you back with tears running down his own cheeks. it’s messy and salty and heartbreaking, but it’s you guys. you wipe at the tear stains on peter’s suit and give him one more peck on his cheek.

“i love you the most, y/n. you know that, right? i’m so fucking in love with you,” peter chokes out, pressing his forehead against yours. you take a shaky breath and put your hands on his cheeks again. “i know, pete. i love you so much. so, so much.” you stay like that until both of you silently agree it’s time.

“now that you’ve said your goodbyes,” the red skull chimes in, “which one of you is it going to be?”

“me,” you and peter both say at the same time. huh? he looks at you with wide eyes. you’re just as confused as he is for once. “y/n, what? i thought we both decided it was gonna be me.” “no, that’s what i thought. you’re not doing this.”

the red skull sighs impatiently from behind you.

“please, y/n. i made a promise to your dad that i’d keep you safe out here. i can’t break that.” “i promised myself i wouldn’t let you die.” you give him a stern look. “maybe this is me dealing with some self-sacrificial stark shit right now, but i can’t break that either.”

ignoring everything you just said, peter moves to put his mask back on. you take it out of his hand. “uh, what the hell?” “peter, you‘re gonna do amazing things. you already do now. i can’t imagine what you’ll accomplish in ten years, or even one. you‘re not going yet.” he squeezes his eyes shut. “stop that. you will, too. just give me my mask back, y/n.”

you throw your hands up in disbelief, still holding it. “being rich isn’t amazing, peter! you have more going for you than i do. admit it.” he can’t help but frown at what you’re saying. this shouldn’t be your last memory together.

“baby, what are you talking about? you got to join the team, you make awesome high-tech stuff, you’re a genius. come on.” “here’s your mask.” you shove it into his hand, letting your touch linger for a moment. “i really do love you more than anything.” you suddenly make a run for the edge of the cliff before peter anticipates it.

he moves fast and shoots a web to pull you back, rushing over to you. “oh my god, y/n! what are you thinking?” “i’m thinking you need to get the stone. don’t worry about me.” you get yourself back up, only for peter to push you down again. so, he wants to fight you for this.

you knee his stomach from the ground so he falls over, taking the opportunity to jump for real. peter manages to lean over and shoot a taser web at you before you go too far. that one stings. you yelp and hold your arm where he got you, but you’re not giving up that easy.

“sorry, babe. didn’t mean to hurt you,” peter calls out, getting back on his feet. you walk the short distance over to him. “i’m doing this because i love you, okay? that’s all.” he whispers to you. with a fake smile, you take his hand. peter thinks that means you’re done. then, you use it to flip him onto his back. he groans in pain, not trying to get up this time.

now that he’s out for good, it’s really happening. you’re at peace with what you have to do. you take one final look at peter and start running. you run until you get to the edge of the cliff. peter must’ve realized what’s going on because you hear him calling your name. you forgot how much endurance he has in him.

“y/n, y/n stop!” he yells, already behind you. you stay put. “it shouldn’t be you! listen to me, it’s not too late to change your mind.” you don’t bother turning around to see him. you’ll give in if you do. “remember what i said, pete. all of it.”

with that, your heart beating hard in your ears, you throw yourself off the edge of the cliff. peter uses everything in him to web you to the side, but he can only get one out, so you grab onto a rock. not because you changed your mind. because you owe him a real final goodbye.

“wh- how am i out? i’ll come get you, just- fuck.” peter leans over the edge, looking down at you with watery eyes. you hold up his extra web cartridge and smile sadly. you took it when you were hugging earlier since you had a feeling he’d try to stop you.

“it’s okay, peter. you’ll be okay.” “y/n-“ you let go of the rock and fall fast, hitting the ground while peter cries out. “no!” he grips at the crumbling ground where you first jumped. your lifeless body is staring up at him. he could’ve stopped this. he drops to his knees as a loud sob racks through him, still looking down at you.

“no,” his voice is quiet, small, out of energy and broken. there’s no one here to dry his tears anymore.

-

peter isn’t sure how it happened, but he wakes up underwater. he pulls his head up with a cough. his eyes still feel puffy, so he couldn’t have been out too long. there’s something glowing in his hand. slowly, he opens his shaking hand and immediately recognizes what it is. the soul stone. red skull was right. peter lost who he loves all for a stupid fucking stone.

-

the whole team arrives back at the avengers facility at the same time, like bruce said they would. everyone seems so happy. thor got mjölnir back, scott is buzzing over steve, tony is laughing at one of nat’s jokes. tony. how is peter supposed to tell him what happened? his kid died, and it’s peter’s fault. he bursts into tears again at the thought of it. he’s surprised he even has more left in him.

tony is the first to notice. “parker, what’s wrong? why isn’t y/n with you?” the rest of the team rushes over to him. peter chokes out a sob, everything replaying in his head.

“she- she.” he can hardly breathe let alone speak. tony puts a hand on his shoulder. “kid, you’re scaring me. i can’t fix it unless you tell me what‘s up.” he waves for everyone else to back up so peter has space. bruce and nat share a look. “she’s gone, mr. stark! she’s not here. i re- i really messed up.”

peter throws the stone that he’s been holding at the floor. silently, rocket picks it up.

somehow understanding what he means, tony pulls peter in for a hug. he hurts like hell too, but this kid needs him right now. peter has always had a habit of blaming himself for things he can’t control. tony is pretty sure this is one of those things. he hugs him back as tight as he can.

“i’m so sorry, mr. stark. i’m so sorry.”

-

five years later and peter is numb. another stark left him, and he sort of gave up in life. at 21 years old. without a mentor, he got lost in the superhero world. spider-man went from being an avenger to party entertainment for kids. it’s an easy way to make money. the people loved him before, they’ll love him again. all he does now is book birthday parties and drink the nights away.

the only emotion peter still feels is anger. he hates the world and he hates what he’s done, or hasn’t done. every time he puts on that mask, it reminds him of the night you died. he has to fight the urge to rip it to shreds. if he didn’t need to pay the bills, he would’ve at this point. most of all, he resents himself for letting you down.

you sacrificed yourself for peter to lead a full life, and look what he’s done with it. he’s a drunk loser. that’s not what you wanted for him.

one day, it all changes.

there’s a knock at peter’s door. he grumbles something about paying his rent, expecting it to be his landlord. he opens it to find you instead. thinking he’s had too much to drink, he shuts the door in your face. you‘re a little bit shocked, but you knock again.

“um, peter? that’s you in there, right? pretty sure you’re the only peter parker in queens.” you call from the hallway. “whoever’s trying to fuck with me, just get out of here. i’m not in the mood today.” he flops back down on his couch, taking a sip of his nearly finished beer. you’re already fed up, so you open the door yourself.

“i said-“ he shuts up when you sit down next to him. “are you real? you can’t be... you died years ago.” “peter.” you take his hands. he’s confused, but lets you. it’s weird seeing him, both of you being adults now. you’ll have to get used to it.

“when you brought everyone back, it worked for me too.” he stares at you with his mouth hanging open for a minute. “that’s not possible. we did that a few days after you... you know.” “i know it sounds insane, but i came back on vormir. i had to find a way back to earth, which took a really long time. i’ve been looking for you since then. there’s no perfect way for me to explain all of this, but i promise it’s really me.”

you being here, it’s like peter was in a five year trance and he snapped out of it.

he throws his arms around you, you laughing and threading your fingers through his matted curls. he’s convinced you’ll disappear again if he lets you go, so he holds you even tighter.

“y/n, baby. oh my god. i missed you so much. i’m sorry it’s such a mess here.” you wind your arms around his neck. “you haven’t changed a bit, pete.” “i brought you back, you brought me back.”

[cdroloisms]

starting off my old writing w/ this c!wilbur + c!dream drabble from a bit back!! mutually assured destruction duo my beloved <3 ,, they’re so much fun to write (and so messed up lmao) 

tw: violence, explosions, dark imagery, contemplating about death, suicidal thoughts, toxic relationship, manipulation

Wilbur watches him, eyes glittering in the dark space. Stacks of TNT surround them, Wilbur tossing a stick from hand to hand far too carelessly considering the redstone dust sticking to his palms, and Dream wonders, darkly, what would happen if he ended up setting off the explosives by accident.

He wouldn't die, not permanently, but it's maybe a little too appealing to think about the prospect, he thinks as he shoves another case into place. Wilbur's still doing nothing but watch him, a small, bitter smile on his face. It's an emotion that Dream is all too familiar with, nowadays, the twisting knot of spite and anger and betrayal pulsing and growing with every new conflict that ends with new scars on his skin and blood under his fingernails.

The explosives could go off at any moment, packed far too tightly to be safe, and every time he blinks he can feel his vision whiting out and being turned inside out in heat and pain, imagines all of the shattered pieces of himself tearing out of his burnt and bleeding skin, shards of porcelain and acid blood stabbing into the earth and staining it black. He can see him and Wilbur, thrown apart and tossed like rag dolls and broken into a million awful pieces that can no longer pull people along like puppets, the plot lines and twisted strings and too-heavy titles dissolving in the brightness of flames falling through his splayed fingers, the world turning white, turning red, turning black-

Would anyone miss him?

Wilbur had a whole nation of people to mourn him, doggedly following his every step with starry eyes and ready hands, drawn to his silver tongue and world-weary ambition like moths to a flame. It was hard not to notice how his speeches were his siren's song, how his voice would deepen and mellow and grow warm enough to melt hearts like a piece of chocolate left in the sun. Dream wasn't the same, all harsh words and sharp edges, too-loud too-fast too-intense to stay with for long. Wilbur could say everything he needed with simple, flowing script and heartfelt rallies to action; all Dream could do was hold his emotions in his hands and watch them bleed between his fingers and spill onto the ground, scream until his throat cracked and grew hoarse with the weight of the thoughts that felt too big to fit in his throat.

Wilbur laughs, the sound grating. "What a pair we make," he says, and Dream ignores how they both watch the way sparks fly from the flint and steel he's now holding, both simultaneously terrified of the explosives surrounding them igniting, and yet maybe just as afraid of what will happen if they don't.

Dream manages a rough murmur in agreement, and Wilbur keeps watching him from the other side of the room. He's begun engraving something on the walls, the L'manburug national anthem, if he is to guess, but he doesn’t quite care enough to read them. Instead, he grabs another stack of TNT and begins digging out the wall to slot them into place.

It takes an embarrassingly long time for him to realize that Wilbur's still staring at him, a small, self-satisfied smile playing on his lips. Dream turns around all-too quickly, instincts flaring as he barely suppresses the growl rising in his throat. War makes monsters of us all, one half of him comments self-righteously as the other half throws itself at the inside of his skin like a caged dog. "What," he spits, words like acid, like poison, like a potion-dipped arrow from a perfect weapon, a perfect villain, and Wilbur's smile grows wider.

"It was always going to end like this," the other man's voice is deceivingly smooth, soft like the fur of a sleeping bear. His eyes are dark with bubbling hatred and bitterness held back by a cool mask of indifference and Dream wants the world to fall apart, crumble to pieces and let everything break on the jagged edges. "Tell me, Dream, when did you realize that the part of a villain was one that you could never escape?"

"Fuck off," he rolls his eyes, something caged and furious rising in his throat and Wilbur slinks forward, unfazed.

"Still living in denial, are you? You know, I really thought you would've learned by now." Wilbur clicks the flint and steel once, twice, sparks spraying in the dust-filled space and revealing something bright and burning and broken in the back of his pupils. "Though I guess I was the same way, so I can't really blame you."

Wilbur goes back to scratching his words on the walls, ruining the edge of a diamond sword as he drags it over the stone. A messy, sharp-edged L forms under the bright blue blade, followed by the clatter of a particularly large chunk falling to the ground to create a deep indentation in the wall for the apostrophe.

"I guess you were so desperate to play the hero that you never noticed," Wilbur begins again, tone off-hand, almost friendly. His melody is sweet and patronizing, a lullaby soaked in cave spider venom. "It really is a shame that no one listened to you, Dream. I almost couldn't believe it; of course it would take me months to realize how much of a villain I was, but your own friends stabbing you in the back like that? I can't imagine how it felt." Dream's hands tighten on the dynamite in his hands, and Wilbur laughs. "I guess it all catches up with us, eventually."

"Why did you turn me into a villain?" He can't help the anger that bursts from his lungs with the fury of the not-yet-ignited trinitrotoluene in his hands, and the other man's turns towards him with a satisfied smirk.

"You were right about one thing, Dream," he says, carving a looping "G" into the rock face. He pulls a button out from his inventory, a simple wooden thing that he fastens to the stone.

"It was never meant to be."

[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Two

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 2 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction. 

Warnings in this chapter: brief reference/hint to past sexual assault. 

Word Count: 7,500+

A/N: Thank you so much for your excitement about this series! I always smile when I read your comments. Sorry for such a long chapter, but it’s only ten parts and I gotta fit all somewhere lol

~

Unknown Location, 2015, 10:46pm

     The tightness of the rope wrapped around your wrists was excruciating, each movement causing it to rub against the already damaged skin, leaving more angry, red marks. You whipped your head back and forth, anger and fear coursing through your veins as you stared your father down. You watched as he carefully maneuvered his way around the room, every back straightening as he walked past them, every gun cocked and pointed right at you. Your nose twitched up as he walked closer, inspecting the ropes tying your feet to the chair and so on. You accumulated all the spit you could and aimed it for his face, pride washing over you as it hit him perfectly. But as quickly as that pride built, it shattered, a stinging sensation on your cheek now overpowering any other sense. 

“You cost me ten million.”

You bit back a laugh, careful not to let it slip as you did not want another beating. “I did what I had to do. You would have done the same!”

“Don’t tell me what I would have done!”

You flinched inwardly, your face still blushing with growing madness. If only you could loosen these bonds… 

“You will know to not mess up again.”

And as your father left the room, the men lined up against the wall finally let their shoulders fall forward, their once blank faces now donning sadistic smiles.

The Compound, 2018, 2:07am 

You sat up from your mound of pillows, kicking them to the side as well as the heavy blanket. Your ears rang impossibly loud, and it wasn’t until your feet touched your bedroom floor that you could hear yourself screaming. Your body was drenched in sweat, sliding easily on your wood floor as you kicked to escape the blanket. 

Sharp knocks against your door startled you, sudden ‘please, don’t!’’s escaping your mouth. Hyperventilating was always tiring, you thought, and the air was now super cold as you sucked it into your lungs.

“Doll, please? I’m coming in.”

The light from the hallway blinded you so you lifted your arm up as a temporary shield. 

“No, no! I’m good… I didn’t lose it. Please, trust me!”

“Y/N…”

You lowered your arm and stared at your nighttime intruder, instincts kicking in upon settling your teary eyes on him and causing you to groan in displeasure. 

“Don’t look at me.”

“Y/N.”

“I said don’t look at me.”

Steve sighed in defeat and walked back to your door. You thought he was going to simply leave you be, letting you ride out this panic attack alone like all the others. But he shut the door and made his way over to your couch on the other side of the room, plopping himself down and leaning his sleepy head in his right hand. It had been six months since the world literally fell apart, an unknown feeling of terror that simply sat at the pit of stomachs eating away at whatever sanity its host still had, plaguing the world. Tiredness was second nature, never actually reducing its power no matter how much sleep one got. But leaving you here to suffer each individual thread being pulled from your remaining sanity, alone, wasn’t an option. 

“Why are you staying?”

“I have nightmares, too. You aren’t that special.”

You rolled your eyes, hands now massaging your aching chest. “It wasn’t anything.”

“Y/N, you were screaming for help.”

“I scream for a lot of things.”

You figured Steve would succumb to his growing annoyance, but he stayed patient. 

“Was it about…?”

You sighed and pulled yourself up to your feet, knees wobbly and thighs alerting you of the droplets of sweat that beaded down your legs. “No. I don’t dream about the snap.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You let out a rather angry sigh. You were now rubbing your eyes, cleaning them of the accumulation of hard mucus. “I seriously don’t want to talk about this particular incident.”

Steve huffed through his nose and you were ready to pounce on him to tear that beard from his face, but stopped when you saw his small smile and genuine empathy in his eyes. “Okay, I won’t push you.”

You just stared at him, eyes wide and confused. But you nodded slowly, eyes now diverting to the blanket below you. 

“I’m just so fucking happy the snap took my father.”

Steve’s lifted his head quickly by your abrupt confession, eyebrows furrowed and lips frozen, as if wrapped around a lost word he couldn’t verbally address. He understood, but it shocked him nonetheless.

He ignored it, or at least chose to avoid an immediate discussion about it, and stood from your couch. 

“Are you going to be okay?”

You wanted to throw him out. Him being across the room and near the wall was starting to trigger more flashbacks. 

It’s Steve. It’s just Steve.

“Can you stay?”

Steve stumbled slightly in his step, clearly uncomfortable with your request. But he was a good man and when one of his teammates needed help, he would do whatever he could. And you were one of the only teammates he had left. 

“Okay,” he said. But as he made his way back to the couch and away from you, sudden racks of itchiness stretched from your wrists to the middle of your chest. You stumbled from the bed, arms extended outward as if you were still shielding yourself from some incoming attack. 

“No, no! Just…”

Steve watched your movements carefully, trying to discern between fear or awkwardness. He sighed and let you see his hands, turning them over in the air.

“It’s me. Tell me where you want me.”

You were in control. Just tell him where you want him. 

“I’ll lay here,” you started, getting back into the right side of the bed and pulling the covers up to your hips. “You there, but upside down.”

Steve chuckled and followed your commands. You watched him walk, feeling the dip of your mattress as his heavy body lay down. You were grateful when his sock-covered feet touched your left side pillow, his chuckles gaining volume as he tried to get comfortable. 

“Do I at least get a blanket?”

“Oh!” you leapt from the bed and to the closet.  He listened to your soft pitter-patter as you shuffled across the cold floor, shutting his eyes to relish in the childish melody. You passed Steve two heavy blankets, mindful of the cold weather outside. Then you climbed back into bed, passing Steve a few pillows, and snuggling back into your own. 

A few shifts of the blankets made you open your eyes again. Steve was not as stiff as you expected him to be - almost like he wanted to help you - and you mentally slapped yourself remembering that he would do this for Bucky. 

“Steve?”

“Hmm?”

You took solace in the fact that he couldn’t see the tiny grin on your face. “Thank you.”

Steve smiled up at the ceiling, thankful that he could still help others even when he himself was falling apart. “You’re welcome.”

Present Day, 2025, 9:45am

     If anyone were to truly study Steve, they would see he was starting to act his age. He enjoyed fluffy socks, tea instead of coffee, sketching in the secluded garden of the new compound - anything a man pushing a hundred would truly enjoy. And he found himself shaving less, watching every new movie released regardless of genre, and eating much more oatmeal than usual. He remembers how whenever Bucky had saved up just enough for them to splurge on items they never usually indulged in, oatmeal would always be his go to. It was still a common ‘peasant’ meal for the two young bachelors, but Bucky would heat it up with fresh milk he had bought that morning, added the fresh strawberries and dates that were in season, and sprinkled brown sugar - damn, Steve loved brown sugar - on top. Bucky would place the bowl in front of Steve, ignoring Steve’s constant blabbering about ‘Buck, we can’t afford this’, or ‘you don’t need to spend your hard-earned money on me, you jerk’. But he would quickly shut up once Bucky’s perfected oatmeal recipe landed on his eager tongue and filled his happy stomach. Regardless of those past memories of young roommates searching for loose change in their couch and more recent ones of two reunited best friends sharing looks of awe whenever they saw how much milk and brown sugar now costs, Steve was certain the old man in him was just barely emerging. 

He definitely didn’t skip the irritated attitude phase every old man seemed to develop as the years passed, his resting facial expressions and movements starting to match those of his best friend. Grumpy, tired all the time regardless of the serum, and asking each other instead of the modern people around them how to work their phones. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed, or go on a jog, or watch a movie - anything - rather than having to give a briefing about something he hadn’t had to think about for seven years. And although he had the chance to use the stones before and didn’t, Steve couldn’t quite help wishing that he was transported back to his and Bucky’s old and crumbling apartment, fighting over that one knitted blanket Bucky had bought for the both of them with his last dime.

You seemed happier with your whole family situation after the snap, but he never wanted to ask. Whether you were putting on a brave face for him, he was rid of it momentarily only to be pushed into the chaos all over again. But this time was different because you were finally going to end it all. Finish what you had started all those years ago - then maybe Steve could take that afternoon nap he wanted.     

“Talk to me. How are we doing this?”

Fury pulled up a screen with all the photos and biographies, essentially a powerpoint prepared by both you and Steve. 

“I’ll do whatever you ask of me, sir. But I know my family and their schemes better than anyone,” you said. Fury knew this was true and the plan would ultimately be mapped out by you. His input was always welcome, but you knew the small details - their personalities, their weaknesses, their strengths, even the way they took their coffee. You even knew which of them sampled their product before sending it off on a cross-country road trip. 

Steve stood beside the monitor, using this finger to change the screen. “So, we’re looking for our physical proof. A paper trail detailing land and their product, contacts, storage units, aliases - the works.”

You nodded at Fury and your teammates. “Exactly. The hardest things to obtain will most definitely be evidence about my father’s involvement. Proof he gave the orders and profited from them.”

“Your word isn’t enough?” Sam asked.

“No, not unless I throw myself under the bus as well. It’s his word against mine unless I can prove these things were all his doing,” you responded, taking a sip from your water. 

The only other people in the briefing room besides Steve and Fury were Sam, Bucky and Scott. Everyone else would get a brief overview later on this week, but these three were specifically chosen by Fury to help aid you in the actual physical fight. 

“The wedding is the perfect distraction,” Scott spoke. “Almost like this was made for a heist.”

Steve released a heavy sigh, his patience already wearing thin. “Not a heist.”

“Close enough,” Scott shrugged, gaining a grin from you across the table. He smiled at your reaction and sent you a wink. 

“Agent, we have to go over the basics and any new information you can provide,” Fury encouraged.

You motioned toward Steve to bring up the photos on the monitor, “Let’s start with the basics.”

Steve took over for the first portion of your presentation. You didn’t mind - in fact, the more control he had in this would certainly help ease his mind and you definitely did not want a stressed out Steve Rogers accompanying you on a twelve hour road trip. 

“Ernesto Vega, father of Y/N Y/L/N, born 1950 in Guadalajara, Mexico, but because of the snap, the 80 year old is still only 75.”

“Damn, your father is old!”

You laughed at Sam’s outburst, “Yup, and I got like ten half-siblings.”

Sam sat up straighter, “No way?”

“Way.”

“Daniel Seda,” Steve continued, his voice louder. “Vega’s second in command, born 1970, currently 55 years old. Took over as top commander after the snap, and according to Y/N he didn’t take it well when everyone was brought back.”

“Hmm, threatened to put another bullet in me,” you teased, pointing at your stomach where the scar underneath your shirt had already long healed. You could have sworn you heard Steve’s breath hitch, but even if it did, he had quickly covered it by swiping the monitor. 

“But her father saw this as proof of loyalty. Because no matter how much he knows Y/N hates him, she still brought him back.”

You lifted your shoulders, arms in the air as if imitating the nonverbal form of ‘oh, well!’, and your thin smile caused your cheeks to pop out comically.

“So, Seda hates you?” Bucky asked, chuckles still vibrating in his chest from your previous childish movements.

You brushed your hand through the air, “Not the first man to hate me and not the last.”

Steve snickered. You could say that again.

“The wedding will be held at Vega’s personal and private ten-acre ranch in Northern California-”

“A lovely fall wedding!”

Steve bit his tongue, eyes never leaving the monitor. “Sure… and it’s perfect. He’s wanted and he’s going to be on U.S soil.”

You stood from your chair and grabbed the electronic marker from the desk. You circled the main points of entry plus the directions of secret exits hoping to emphasize the ‘private’ part of Steve’s statement. “And since it’s his most private getaway and no one would suspect he would hide important shit on said U.S soil, I’m about ninety-eight percent sure our proof is there.”

You pulled up the blueprints and marked a giant ‘X’ on the farthest corner room in the west end. It was your father’s office. 

“Ninety-eight?” Sam asked, reviewing the printed blueprints himself.

You twirled the marker between your fingers, “My dad is clever. My other two percent is telling me there’s no evidence at all.”

Scott clutched his chest in relief, “Okay, at least one outweighs the other.”

You shared another laugh with the ‘regular-sized man’.

Steve continued listing the basics, all while Fury sat toward the edge of the long table reviewing the screen. “The other two big names in the drug game are Omar Ramirez and Marcus White. Ramirez runs most things from Mexico City to San Antonio, Texas and he’s probably the least evil of them all. White runs Europe, specifically Germany and England.”

You interjected, “Ramirez focuses on the product. He orders his men to focus on the business instead of the outside world - meaning, no unnecessary kills, no violence toward women and children, no killing cops or citizens. Just producing and transporting.”

Almost forgetting he was there, Fury’s voice somewhat startled you. “Vega has lost men to Ramirez, men who wanted a change in scenery.”

You nodded in confirmation, “They aren’t necessarily enemies but they’re no besties either.”

Sam rolled the blueprints back up and handed them to Bucky. “So, we’re taking them all down?”

“The big three. Plus Seda,” Steve declared, finally taking his first sip of water in what felt like forever. If he didn’t want anyone to know he was nervous about this mission, he was for sure failing. 

You hummed, “Vega and Seda are also the only ones who know of Steve’s involvement.”

“How’d that happen?” Bucky asked.

“Because Steve only ‘transports’ my father’s product. Not the others. Steve’s role is essentially to green light the passages and is my main pull,” you clarified. 

It was true - Steve didn’t do or touch anything. And you thought this best considering he was America’s golden boy - you couldn’t possibly bear real involvement from him. This wasn’t his world and never should have been but it was yours. 

You dealt with people directly. You took out the snitches. You handled the product during inspections. You did it all - and not because you thought Steve was some fragile soul who couldn’t achieve the same results - but because you brought him into that mess during a time in his life when he definitely didn’t need it.

“But how did it happen?”

You shrugged, hoping your answer would suffice for the rest of the group as it never does for Steve. “When I first started out as a field agent, my father didn’t trust I was doing it for him. The more I promoted, the more suspicious he got. It wasn’t until we exposed SHIELD as half-HYDRA that he was done with me.”

Fury interjected once again, “So, Y/L/N here had to pull rank out of her ass.”

You snorted, “Thanks, Fury. That sounded nice.”

“I told them that I had the literal symbol of America by my side. That defeating HYDRA was only to get his friend back, not to save the world. Plus, I told them that HYDRA was targeting all of them. And once I could get proof - a forged recording made by Fury before he went into hiding - well, it was like the greatest example of submission.”

“Why didn’t you say Tony?” 

That certainly was a question Steve always had and wanted answered. God, he really hoped you had said Tony.

“Because I got the literal symbol of America as a partner-in-crime. My father almost told me he loved me... almost.”

You sat back down in your chair, a tiny puff of air escaping your lips. “And that made Seda furious. I may hate my father, but Seda is the main threat to blowing this whole operation.”

If anything, you wanted your father deader than dirt, silenced by the one child he always regretted bringing into the world. He had tortured you in more ways than you thought possible. 

      “Now, I thought my dad was bad.”

You fell back onto the couch before retrieving your cup of coffee you had placed on the table. Nebula gave you a tiny chuckle in return. 

 “Yes, mine has eradicated half the universe. I win ‘worst father’.”

You sipped your coffee, trying and failing to block out the banter between Rocket and Tony as they discussed the location of the space stone. “You know, I wouldn’t have put it past him.”

Nebula chewed her dinner slowly, listening to you ramble on about anything that popped into your mind. She knew this was your coping mechanism - to just keep talking until someone shut you up. But she enjoyed it, really, because you spoke of topics that she didn’t quite understand or know about. She learned something new everyday simply by listening to you. 

“I should have thanked Thanos for dusting his ass, though.”

Nebula stopped mid-chew, blank expression but the hint of a twitch in her lip visible.

“I’m joking.”

You had asked her once why Thanos had spared her and Tony when he snapped his fingers. But Nebula had no rational answer, only responding that he must have spared her out of last minute pity and Tony to live through the consequences. And the tiny voice inside your head knocked again, reminding you that ‘maybe this snap was overall a good thing - your father can’t hurt you anymore!’, but you shut it up as quickly as it came. 

“So, how many planets are there in the universe, really?”

     Fury began piling files in one folder, making sure to hand out the sheet with names and contact numbers of agents stationed close to the venue and your chosen hotel.  

“We’ll get into mission specifics at a later date once Rogers and Y/L/N are settled and scope out the place. For now, study up on your targets and perfect your acting skills.”

     You assumed you would only need one big suitcase for the trip, only packing essentials and extra shirts just in case. You rolled your clothes tightly, securing your signature perfume and some jewelry inside some sweaters. You hid identifiable items in the small compartments - your passport, journal, old SHIELD tag, driver’s license, etc. It was the paranoid side of you taking over, the possibility of having your cover blown likely and frightening. The amount of times you had ventured into the general vicinity of your father and his crew always proved safer than you expected. But there could always be that day he simply didn’t want you around anymore. 

So, you prepared in the smallest and even cringiest ways possible - resorting to drafting letters for those you wanted to remember you after you had been taken out. You paused your packing to grab your spare journal. You spent a good hour writing. A letter to Wanda, to Bucky, to Peter, to Rhodey, to Sam. Some were shorter than others - others extending to over two pages. But your mind was racing with things you hoped they would never have to read, scattered thoughts and only hints of identifiable wit penned on paper.

You tucked the letters behind the fabric you had recently ripped open. You planned on duct-taping the rip, your eyes drifting back over to your journal. You tapped your foot rapidly for a few seconds, fingers twisting in anticipation, mind still clear enough to draft one more. You quickly picked the pen right back up, sitting on the edge of your bed and starting the letter you might regret later. But at that moment, with the horrible prospect of dying on this mission, you wrote. 

     ‘Steve,

     Believe when I say that I was so sure I would put a bullet in my father before he could. Whoops…’

You wrote and wrote until your handwriting grew sloppy at the edge of the paper, and signed it. You tucked the final letter into the hole and taped it shut. You really hoped you would be able to survive and burn those written words later. 

A soft knock sounded from across the room and your bedroom door opened to reveal Steve, light blue dress shirt tucked into his jeans like the old man he truly was. You couldn’t help but grin at that, cursing your involuntary actions for this man. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You doing okay?” you asked, continuing to fold clothing into your suitcase. He leaned against your door, hesitant. Steve often wondered why and how he could go days, weeks - one time even a whole month - without speaking to or seeing you. He was an expert at one word answers by now, opting to always have someone else around whenever he seriously had to carry a conversation with you. But what struck him the most was that you didn’t seem to care anymore. He witnessed the change - hell, he was the one that caused it - but it was a change that he both wanted and didn’t. How was it so easy for you?

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” he responded and walked over to your couch to sit. 

You cleared your throat, hoping to make this conversation the least awkward you could. “Because this was literally sprung on both of us after almost ten years of waiting.”

“I’m okay.”

You accepted his answer. He looked comfortable enough, shoulders relaxed and genuinely interested. There was a part of you that wanted to rush over and shake him, yell at him for being so clueless and fake at the same time. There was no possible way he was fully okay with everything - he hadn’t been himself since the snap, and when Natasha and Tony died, he was someone else entirely. You had brought it up with Bucky several times, but he assured you that Steve was just dealing with things his own way. That he was still a man out of time, they both were, and battle after battle could take its toll. And Bucky would hype their therapist up, that they were the reason he and Steve are able to walk in public without that constant voice warning of danger in the back of their heads, and that you should schedule a visit sometime. You always declined, asking him to call you if he truly needed another person to talk to. He would smile, taking you up on your offer whenever a day was particularly triggering.

“I’ve been waiting for this day since I was sixteen. Ten years really just flew by… considering.”

Steve nodded, “Is there anything I should know?”

You hummed, “If you mean things about my family, then I’ll just tell you on the way there or at the hotel.”

He chuckled and stood to lean against your bedpost. “No, I mean like, what should I pack just in case?”

You rolled your eyes and laughed at such an innocent question, “Um, comfy socks. It’s pretty cold in California in the winter. Gas money, it’s pretty fucking expensive, too.”

He smiled, “Good to know.”

The two of you packed in silence for several minutes. Steve helped you roll your clothes and gather your toiletries, even asking you if you wanted to bring your current toothbrush or the new one in your bottom drawer. 

You knew you shouldn’t have spoken about the topic burning in your throat, but you felt like you had to say something. If you mentioned it during the mission, you risked a larger argument than the one you would get now. So you formulated your next sentence carefully, already bracing for impact as it slipped.

“Look, the elephant in the room should be addressed. Once my father’s dealt with, I have no reason to stay here.”

Steve clipped the belt over the top of your clothes, securing the items tightly. He seemed disoriented, your sudden proclamation startling him. “What do you mean? You did the work, you trained, you helped us literally save the world.”

You shrugged and kept your voice light, “Yeah, but I started this gig when I was sixteen. I didn’t join the Avengers until I was freshly in my twenties. I’ve literally known nothing else but fighting.”

Steve sat at the edge of your bed, furrowed eyebrows and all as he chose his next words. He felt both angry and sad, a mixture of feelings that he never quite grew accustomed to whenever he was around you. They ate away at him slowly, creeping into his brain to wrap around his common sense, his sense of self, the man he was before the snap. 

“Are you saying you just need a break?”

“I think,” you shrugged, zipping the suitcase and tugging its weight off your bed and onto the floor. 

“What about Wanda and Bucky?”

You scrunched your face in amused confusion, a playful smile resting on your lips, “I’m not falling off the face of the Earth, Steve. I’ll visit or something.”

“Or something.”

He stood and walked back to your couch, restless and even more stressed than he was before he entered your room. 

“Steve, we lost so much. It’s been two years since we brought everyone back, but… it took its toll.”

He snapped his head up, “You don’t need to tell me about shit taking its toll.”

You felt like you stared at him for several minutes, anger bubbling in the pit of your stomach and traveling up your throat. That familiar lump constricting your airway as you forced yourself to swallow it and the forming tears. And once again, your mouth spoke before your mind could approve.      

“Why didn’t you use the stones for yourself?”

Steve sat, shocked into silence temporarily. “What?”

“When you and Carol put the stones back - why didn’t you stay somewhere you really wanted to be?”

You remember watching him step onto the platform holding the briefcase of infinity stones and holding Mjollnir, - because of fucking course he could wield Mjollnir, he was a good man even if you were on his bad side - simply minding his own business and waiting for Carol to join him. You remember thinking he would return with a different story, only after he got some of that life Tony had always encouraged him to find, that he would go back to Peggy and live the life he always wanted. But as quickly as they disappeared into thousands of timelines did they reappear, Carol joyful and content while Steve trailed behind her. Your heart had pounded erratically, Bucky looking at you with wide eyes because yes, I thought he would do exactly what you were thinking, too. 

“None of your business.”

“I’m not trying to pry-” you reasoned, but Steve stepped toward you with flushed cheeks and a cracked voice. 

“But all you do is pry, pry, pry. God, do you ever just shut up?”

All you could hear behind the ringing of your ears were Steve’s quick breaths, slowing as each second passed and he realized what he had said. A moment of weakness, in his opinion, but still uncalled for. 

“Pack some snacks for the road and get out of my room.”

Steve straightened his back, eyes practically yelling for you to look at him again, pleading for you to see the remorse swimming in them. But you just tugged your suitcase to the corner of your room, ignoring him completely. “Gladly.”

     You and Steve were mature enough to keep your arguments at least a hundred miles away from any mission you were conducting or when around your friends. A quick quarrel in the morning was basically nonexistent a few hours later when the whole group suggested a board game or movie night. Although this impromptu road trip would be the slightest bit awkward, you two were smart enough to not compromise the mission. 

And you had to drive as flying and airport security was too risky, especially with the amount of weapons attached to your body and in the trunk of that rented car. 

“Call us when you hit the first checkpoint. After that, we’ll be monitoring your hotel check-in and any new ones, police reports filed throughout that week, anything that directly involves your stay,” Bucky said, handing you a burner phone. 

You stepped forward to hug him. “Thank you, Bucky.”

He gave you a tight squeeze, releasing you slightly to whisper in your ear. “Try not to kill him for the next twelve hours, will ya?”

You pulled away and gave him your best grin, bumping your bracelet with his. “You know I can’t promise that, Bucky.”

He rolled his eyes, “You kill him, I kill you.”

“Ugh, don’t tease me.” Bucky almost burst out laughing from the fake, pornographic moan you let out because of his threat. 

“No, but seriously - just… lay low, trust each other, and we’ll be there in the next few days.”

You slid the burner into your sweater pocket and patted it, checking if it was secure. You waved goodbye to Bucky and pulled the passenger door open. You blew him a kiss, red lipstick now on your fingers. “Can’t wait to see you!”

Bucky stood with his hands shoved into his pockets, an embarrassed but happy smile on his face. He caught the floating kiss mid-air. “Already miss you!”

“Stop, I’m blushing!” you teased, your left hand resting palm up on your forehead in an exaggerated manner. 

“Go!”

You obliged, falling into the passenger seat and clicking your seatbelt. 

Twenty minutes into the drive and Steve finally decided to speak. 

“So, you and Bucky?”

You giggled, thumbs currently flying over your phone screen as you tried to beat your high score in some awful video game you discovered last week. “Yup, I got him wrapped around my finger.”

Steve’s hand fidgeted on the steering wheel, “Seriously?”

You closed out your video game, “No, Steve. It’s mindless flirting. He’s one of my best friends.”

“Ahh…” he nodded in understanding, a lazy smile resting on his face. He focused on both the road and you, your head leaning against the foggy window. “About earlier-”

“Don’t mention it,” you interrupted. The second you peaked through your heavy eyelids did you lock eyes with Steve, regret visible in them. 

He continued, “I blew up at you and you didn’t deserve it.”

“Cool, you’re forgiven.”

“Y/N-”

You groaned quietly, but you weren’t getting angry. You were just tired from the day already and having to sit for twelve hours straight wasn’t going to help. So, you took the high road. “Look, it’s a twelve hour drive until our first stop. Let’s forget about it or else I promise you, I will jump out of this car when you push eighty.”

Steve couldn’t help the laugh that rumbled in his chest due to your absurd promise, but he accepted your answer. 

“...Okay.” 

     By hour two, there was a restlessness between the both of you. No matter how much you extended your leg, the cramping wouldn’t go away. No matter how many times Steve would twist his neck to the side to get it to crack, it would just tighten again. So, against protocol but still on your best behavior, you and Steve made a couple stops along the way.      

The first was a burger joint in the middle of buttfuck Ohio, you had commented, earning a choking sound from Steve as he tried to contain his laughter. It was a hole in the wall type of place, perfect for lying low and out of sight, and you had enjoyed your meal in the car. You listened to Steve’s playlist on low volume, stealing each other’s fries to simply piss the other off, and hit the road after your meal.      

The second stop was around hour eight, and the sun was already starting to set. You desperately needed to use the bathroom and once you saw a tiny town that ‘looks so much like the town in Gilmore Girls!’, Steve pulled over and parked in a diner parking lot. Donning caps and ordering a coffee and a tea to go to seem less suspicious, you hurried from the diner and back to your car. You stopped dead in your tracks, eyeing a gazebo with a black miniature fence around it. You begged Steve to snap a photo, promising that this would be the only favor you ask of him for the next few hours, and went to hitch one leg over the metal fence. You settled yourself on top, hands gripping the railing and trying not to fall. You started to laugh uncontrollably as the fence started hurting your bottom, begging Steve to snap the photo quicker.      

‘Take the damn picture, you big oaf!’     

‘Well, then hold still!’     

‘It’s hurting my ass!’     

‘Smile!’    

The third stop was the final one, somewhere in Iowa and deep in the forest. You complained about how Fury warned you of motels, that you would have to seek shelter elsewhere to avoid being recognized. You could easily blend in, but the mountain of muscle beside you would blow your cover. And you wanted to arrive in California undetected by the media.       

Steve drove the car into a dark and secluded part of the forest, ground that seemed used by campers often and had an emergency phone and landline nearby. It was secret enough, so you parked the car and retrieved the blankets from the trunk.      

“You taking the back?” Steve asked, jumping back into the car and rubbing his hands together because of the chilly weather. His face was flushed from just a few seconds out in the cool breeze, nose frozen and the tip red. He looked younger, you thought, somewhat resembling those renditions of Greeks in renaissance art.      

“You’ve been driving all day. You should stretch your legs,” you answered, already wrapping the blanket up to your shoulders and securing it around your neck.      

“You sure? We can alternate.”     

You smiled, already feeling the effects of the warmth on your tired body, “I’m sure, Steve. Get some rest and I’ll drive in the morning.”     

Steve exited the car after turning it off - sucks that you had to save the gas - and hopped into the backseat. He kicked off his shoes and lay across the connected seat, facing you. He could see the outline of your nose as you tilted your head slightly to the side, the blanket wrapped around your neck and hiding the real length of your hair. It resembled a bob cut by how half of it was hidden, and Steve thought that hairstyle would suit you.      

Your personal phone rang, cutting through the comfortable silence and startling the both of you. You fumbled it in your hand and looked back at Steve, face falling as you showed him the name.      

Seda.      

“Answer it on the third ring.”     

You did as Steve told you, answering the phone on the third ring and preparing your voice. He scrambled for the tape recorder, pressing ‘play’ as soon as he could.      

“You rarely call me. To what do I owe the pleasure?” you answered.      

His voice sounded hoarse over the phone, almost like he had just finished smoking a pack of cigarettes. “Are you attending?”    

“My dear sister is getting married, Seda. Of course I’m going to embarrass her.”     

He paused for a few moments, sounding like he was directing the people around him to finish something. But he responded to your answer in a serious tone. “I hope you’re being your usual sarcastic self and aren’t serious.”     

You rolled your eyes and pointed at the phone, and Steve’s lips spread into a smile. “You’ve known me long enough to know, I hope.”     

“Sadly.”     

“I’m hurt,” you joked, voice still light and cheerful. Seda paused on the line again, the sound of papers rustling letting you know the line was still active.      

“I need to know if the Captain is attending too.”     

“He was invited,” you responded, laughing a little at the fact that Seda hadn’t known this information you were sure the rest of your family knew.      

He chuckled, a slight whistle sound letting you know he was smoking another cigarette. “Mm, guess your family is finally meeting your lover, huh?”     

The air in your mouth didn’t make it down to your lungs and you looked at Steve with equally wide eyes. But you didn’t stay fazed for long, responding to such an accusation with ease. “My lover, yes. I’m so damn giddy about that.”     

Seda hummed in satisfaction, “Your father always told you to not get involved with the product. Scrambles your brains from thinking straight. But he applauds you on this one.”     

You put a finger in your mouth and mimicked gagging, causing Steve to cover his mouth to muffle his laugh. “I’ve never mentioned the Captain as my lover before. Why is my father always right?”     

You knew exactly what to say. The more backhanded praise you gave your father only fed into the truth and lies everyone knew - truth being you hated your father because of his power and the lie being that you were just as power hungry as him. As long everyone assumed you wanted this power, the more you had to act like you hated your father’s.      

“He knows more than he lets on. You know that.”     

“I know a lot of things.”     

Seda continued, “No friends allowed, anyway. So, if the Captain isn’t your lover then… we may have problems. Is there a problem?”     

You kept your voice at a steady volume, “I said I was with him, didn’t I? Have you seen the man?”          

“Seen him, heard him speak. So righteous and dull. Not really your type.” Seda was growing impatient with the conversation, clearly angry that he hadn’t caught a slip or lie from you.      

You scrunched your face in disgust, “Ew, don’t think you know my type.”     

     “Buck, ‘my type’ is back home with a warm chicken noodle soup in my lap and a couple of loose papers at my disposal,” Steve whined, trying to keep the same pace as his overly enthusiastic friend as he hurried down the sidewalk.      

“She’s such a knockout, Steve! I’m sure she’ll love you.”     

Steve couldn’t help but blush at Bucky’s kind words, the hype always repairing some parts of Steve’s broken self-esteem and reminding him of his worth. But it was his third date this month and rejection was starting to seem like his favorite sport. No matter what he did - offering a girl some peanuts, accidentally stepping on her (once!) feet while dancing, or simply not living up to Bucky’s gracious advertising - women just weren’t interested.      

“You know that’s not true, Buck. Can’t we just have a quiet night in?”     

Bucky stopped and guided them into the nearby alley, both to knock some sense into his friend and to give Steve a break from the tiny jog.      

“Listen here, Steve. Any girl would be lucky to be with you-”     

“Buck, we’ve been through this-”     

“Let me finish,” Bucky shushed him, hands on Steve’s shoulders to steady both him and himself. “Any girl would be lucky to be with you. If this one doesn’t see you how I see you, then she’s just insane.”     

Steve smirked, “Don’t insult the girl before I’ve even met her, jerk.”     

Bucky smiled, his high cheeks pushing up to create crinkles by his eyes. “Trust me, pal. You just need to find a woman with as big of a mouth as you.”     

Steve swatted his friend across his chest, laughs rumbling in both their chests and down the once quiet alleyway.      

     “What hotel are you staying at?” Seda quickly asked, ignoring your quip. You were done with this conversation as it was leading nowhere.      

“Staying at one where no one can hear the Captain scramble my brains. Goodbye,” you replied, an annoyance in your tone that even Seda would believe as natural.      

“See you soon.”     

You let Seda end the call, a little power play you allowed him to have. God, it was gonna feel good to take him down.     

Steve shifted in his seat, stopping the recorder in time for his question. He cleared his throat awkwardly, “Why did your dad assume we were a couple?”     

You gave him a tiny chuckle, pulling the blanket back over your shoulders and settling back into your seat. “I don’t know why that man says anything anymore. I guess they just expected it.”     

“Why?”     

No matter how many years passed, both awake or frozen, Steve never did quite understand the sexual appeal that lingered around his name. No matter how many times Bucky joked about it, no matter the amount of social media posts, no matter anything - he just didn’t seem to understand why people thought he was a ladies man. 

You snuggled deeper into your blanket, scanning the outside woods one last time just in case. “You wouldn’t risk your reputation and status for me unless you were fucking me, I guess.”

“Crude.”

You turned your head to him and sighed, “They think I’m the whore of the family. It’s just too funny sometimes.”

Steve’s face fell, “I’m sorry about that.”

You shuffled in your blanket to pull your arm out and wave it in the air.  “Used to it.” 

Steve didn’t press further, deciding to lay back finally to find a cozier position. It was quiet for a few minutes, just breathing and slight motion disturbing the silence. You opened your eyes and stared at the moonlight hitting the steering wheel. By the sound of Steve’s breathing, you knew he wasn’t fully asleep yet. So you allowed yourself the smallest confession, a crack in the door Steve was figuratively standing outside of.

“My sister is his prized possession, though.”

Steve didn’t respond, but from the sound of the blanket moving you could tell he had turned to face you. 

“Never knew why.”

Steve pondered your words for a long time, long after your breathing became slower and tiny snores left your mouth. He didn’t exactly know what to say or what to do. It wasn’t like you dropped top secret information on him or anything, but it made him wonder just why in the world your father hated you so much. 

You had done everything asked of you. You were controlled, tortured mentally everyday, having to endure and make decisions that Steve knew you didn’t want any part of. Your father should be thanking you for keeping his business afloat, for expanding it, for roping Steve’s own name into that life. As he contemplated any rational reason for such hate, he heard your soft snore turn into an innocent purr, and he felt himself leaning more into a mutual understanding. It frightened him, gripping his reality by the throat, because Steve actually knew why. That innocence he saw with you, no doubt had presented itself to your father involuntarily and your father knew. 

He knew you were good at heart. 

~

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