#ansgst

[honigimkopfs-blog]

vetrauen ist unsere größte schwachstelle, verrat ist unser größter feind.

trotzdem liegen vertrauen und verrat so nah beieinander

[soloavengers]

i’m okay with straightforward pawns just stepping over a crawling arisen during a fight, tragically it suits thorne. he wouldn’t be the best support in the worst of battles, too intent on killing and not much else. lingering dragonsplague fuckery, puts him in bad situations more than anyone else.

[parsheliii]

If Roier doesn't stream rn at 2 AM, he hates Europeans /j

[boquetofblades]

@ikurosakii x

Oh, this is not good.

Isshin's seen the toll the war took on his son- seen how much it had stressed him out, worn him down. Even if Ichigo wouldn't outright say it, his father could tell.

He can always tell. He's Ichigo's dad, after all- what kind of dad would be be if he couldn't tell?

A hand places itself on the hand gripping his arm- the pressure firm enough to let Ichigo know he's there, but gently enough to the point it isn't restricting.

"Yes, you can," His voice is soft, gentle- as if he's speaking to a child. "It's hard, I know it is, but you can do it. Just focus." He continues to take deep breaths, giving something for his son to mimic.

"You're safe here, Ichigo. Whatever you were dreaming, it's no more. it's gone now. You're safe- we're safe."

[liiixsturniolos]

OK IM SO LIKE READY FOR ANGST I NEED THE MOST HEART RENCHING ANSGST YOU CAN MAKE DOWN PACKED OK so this could be matt or Chris it don't bother me but like lately you guys have been getting into a lot of fights about matt/Chris' new girl best friend and it's been happening for months and you and matt/Chris were on a date and of course SHE had to come and they had been ignoring you alll night

YES!

 ୨୧ " Her! " ୨୧

Bf!Chris x Jealous!reader

warnings: angst

"Come on baby!" Chris pleads. "Let's go out tonight, just me and you! We can go to the movies like you love to."

You smile, "Okay, yeah!" And reply, walking over to the wardrobe you share and getting out your clothes.

"You almost ready?" He shouts to you in the bathroom, tying up your hair.

"Yeah." You say, stepping out.

"You look very pretty." He smirks.

"Thank you." You reply with a smile now painted across your face.

At the movies, you go to sit down and find the best seats, while Chris gets the popcorn. You slump down onto the old, worn leather seats like always, and Chris comes running up the stairs to you, almost spilling the popcorn.

"Did it start?" He asks

"Not yet it's still ads." You reply impatiently, throwing a piece of warm buttery popcorn into your mouth.

Your head turns at a stomping noise, someone coming up the stairway toward your seats, realising who it is you mutter under your breath "fuck.. not this bitch again.."

It was Chris' 'girl bestfriend' Lola you hated her, and you usually like most people, but fuck, you could just tell she fed off of drama and wasn't happy about you and Chris.

In fact, you'd heard from another one of his friends that she used to have a crush on him and probably still does. She only irritated you because of how she would talk to him and touch him, right in front of you.

It's as if she was taunting you and stroking your boyfriends arm just to piss you off. You weren't a super jealous person, but when it came to this girl, you wanted to litterly slap her every time she talked because your boyfriend, Chris, being the sweet gullible guy his is, just didn't pick up on her bitchy behaviour.

"Heyyy Chris!" She screamed, running up to him. You rolled your eyes, watching her run.

"Oh hey." He replies, smiling politely.

"I haven't seen you in forever!" She squeals.

"You saw each other two days ago.." You scoff at her.

"Well, it feels like forever cus I just miss him sooooooo much!" She says in a baby voice,

You roll your eyes harder than before, to the point they can't go further back into your head.

"So, since we're all here, can I sit with you guys?" She asks.

"Sorry, Y/n and I are on a date, so it's kinda just us this time." Chris tells her.

"Chris! What the hell. You don't wanna hang out with me?" She says, pouting like a kid.

"That's not what I mean, I'm with my girlfriend right now." He explains.

"Wow, okay, so you prefer her over me now?" She whines.

Suddenly, your ears tune into this conversation more, you want to know what Chris will say about this.

"Well, no. That's not - what I mean..but." He stutters.

"So I can sit with you?" She mumbles, trying to give him puppy eyes to convince him.

"I guess so.." he gives in, not wanting to decide between his girlfriend and bestfriend.

"Wow..." You whisper to yourself, in disbelief, he just let her ruin your date like this.

You watch the movie, but your face is burning up with anger the whole hour. You barely even focused on the movie, just stared at Chris and Lola (his 'girl best friend') , watching her talk to him the whole time.

At the end of the movie, you get up quickly and rush straight out of the dark theatre. You don't even want to talk to Chris. You just wanted to go home.

"Y/n! Wait up." He shouts at you, but you continue to walk away, ignoring his multiple shouts.

You hurriedly climb into your Uber. Tears building up in your eyes, this is the fourth time this has happened, Lola loved to show up whenever you saw Chris, it wasn't fair, especially because you had to travel for your work alot, she could see him constantly but you couldn't.

It scared you that Lola was around him so much. It was so obvious to you that she liked Chris, but he was certain she didn't.

You couldn't take this anymore. You sit in the back seat of your Uber, shaking, with tears streaming down your face, your mascara leaving black stains as you wiped it on your jacket.

You got home, opening up your phone to missed calls and texts from Chris.

Your mind was spiralling, you couldn't decide what to do, you wanted to text him back, but you were so tired and drained you ended up falling asleep on your bed, as soon as you led on it.

In the morning, you woke up to the loud echoing ring of your doorbell, and you walked over to it, opening up the door to see Chris standing outside it.

"Hey, Y/n, I wanna talk. I don't get what happened last night." He mutters softly, in an apologetic tone.

hey bitchessss, if you liked this comment and there may be a part two! ty for reading it!

@m0r94n s request!

taglist : @chrislilcumslvt @matthewsroses @pvssychicken @to-a-place-i-recall

[the-usurper-from-the-wilds]

i’m okay… [he wipes the tears forming in his eyes, trying to act tough.]

Hey Leona- ..... (He's a kid now. Obviously. This guy can't catch a break. Okay.) Hey buddy, do you know where you are?

-@grims-prefect

mm-mm…

[egtotaldramatakes]

... angst.......tdi angst...........any cahracter pleas just angst.........

aletyelr angst........zoke angst...heathsay ansgst......duntrent ansgt

.......any angst.................gidgette angst........ angst.....plleeaasseee....abngst

burromuerto brothers angst........ even carlos angst..... Ooh carlos angst thats new

......depression....hhhh lindsay angst............

.

[ourshadowstars]

Need a modern day au where Lily and Regulus fake date. It starts out after Lily panics and tells her friends that she's dating Regulus because it's the first name that pops in her head, but also she figures no one would be able to confirm it because none of her friends talk to him. One thing leads to another, and eventually Regulus hears about it, but instead of denying it, he goes along because he wants an opportunity to talk to Sirius. During their "dates" they bond over missing their siblings and become really good friends (lots of sibling ansgst because I'm a sucker for that shit). Padora is still Regulus best friend, but Lily is the first person Regulus goes to when he realizes he has a crush on James. Lily does the same for her feelings for Mary.

Lily introduces him to muggle literature and music, which Regulus becomes obsessed with to the point that when his studying, you will randomly hear him mumble the lyrics to his favorite song. (Even though indie is his favorite genre, his favorite album is Folklore because I said so. His favorite book is Little Women because his so Amy coded). On his birthday, Lily gifts him a beautiful telescope because even though there are magical ways to observe the stars, Regulus is obsessed with muggle objects. In return, Regulus buys her a fancy potions kit because that's her favorite subject and a gold necklace with a little lily charm that has an emerald stone.

p.s. fuck JK Rowling.

[delulu-is-the-solulu-843]

Masterlist 2

Guide: Fluff=🌻 Ansgst=🥀 Smut=🔞 Request =💌 Hard topics=⚠️

The last of us

Abby Anderson

Nothing yet…

Ellie Williams

Nothing yet…

Dina No last name/ Woodward

Nothing yet

Jesse No last name

Nothing yet…

Joel Miller

Nothing yet…

Ellabs

Nothing yet…

Miscellaneous

A little show 🔞⚠️🥀

[puppypeter]

im so bad at finding fics unless there's a specific tag but royjamie s.3 finale fics duirng/post bar scene ansgst-y where jamie thought something was going on between them and is very upset roy is bringing up keely (and roy is an oblivious fucker who thinks jamie wants keely and not him)

[8isfatesunshine]

Masterlist

Key:

🖤=ansgst

❤️‍🔥=smut

💖=fluff

Bangchan:

Sing for me…(coming soon 🖤❤️‍🔥)

Lee know:

Practice makes perfect…(coming soon❤️‍🔥🖤)

Changbin:

Hyunjin:

Love for hire…(coming soon❤️‍🔥💖)

Han jisung:

Felix:

Seungmin:

Jeongin:

A little death…(coming soon🖤❤️‍🔥)

OT8:

[simplyblonnd]

K. - Anakin Skywalker PART - 2

Part 1

A/N: took me long but its here part 2, I'm really proud of how it turend out but its short though

Summary: You part ways

Warnings: ANGST ANSGST ANGST. And maybe some grammar mistakes haven't checked tbhh

Materlist!!

After making the decision to see Anakin, you found yourself standing outside his dorm, your hand raised to knock on the door. Before you could do so, he opened it, looking tired but happy to see you. You couldn't help but study his face briefly, longing to kiss him and let him rest, but knowing that you had to talk.

Summoning your courage, you managed to say, "Hi." Anakin responded shyly, "Hi, umm, come in." He opened the door wider, allowing you to enter his living room. You took off your tunic and placed it on the couch, making yourself comfortable.

Anakin asked, "So, what brings you here?" as he walked toward the chair on the kitchen island, where you were sitting. He clapped his hands in front of him, trying to ease the tension between you.

"I think we need to talk about what's going on between us," you said, feeling the weight of the words on your chest. You wished everything could go back to how it was in the beginning, but things had changed, and feelings were now involved.

"Yeah, I agree. Umm, where do we begin?" Anakin started to say, but before he could continue, you blurted out, "I like you." Anakin's mouth opened in shock, but you stopped him before he could speak. "Please, let me speak before you say anything," you said, and he nodded.

"I started liking you after the second week of hooking up, or whatever we were doing. I hate myself for breaking the one stupid rule we had, and I know you might not feel the same way. It's a distraction for both of us, from our duties as Jedi, and I can't risk my position because it's everything I have. I can't lose it," you rambled, tears streaming down your face. Anakin reached out and caressed your cheek.

"You can talk now," you said softly, giving him a chance to respond.

"I don't know where you're heading with the last things you said, but before you say anything else, I want you to hear me out, okay?" Anakin cupped your face with both hands and looked into your eyes.

"You are the most beautiful, amazing, and perfect girl I have ever met. Though you may beat me at most things, I'm proud to have won your heart. I've been drawn to you since we first crossed paths, but only recently realized the depth of my feelings. I know that our allegiance to the Jedi order complicates matters, but I'm willing to risk everything for you because being with you gives my life purpose beyond any duty or code. If you feel the same, I will leave the Jedi order behind without hesitation."

"Anakin, I... I can't ask you to leave everything behind, just as I can't abandon my own responsibilities. It pains me to admit this, but you've become a distraction that I can no longer afford to have in my life." As the tears streamed down your faces, you both knew where the conversation was headed, but it didn't make it any easier to accept.

"Obi-Wan has recruited me for a three-month mission, and I'm going. I need to clear my head and sort out my priorities, and I just wanted you to know." You took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. "We can't keep hurting ourselves like this. We both know that we can't be together. Maybe in another lifetime, things will be different, but not in this one." You squeezed Anakin's hand, trying to offer some comfort. "Who knows, perhaps when I come back, we can start anew on another planet and grow old together. But for now, it's time to say goodbye, Anakin."

Tears streamed down your face as you watched Anakin sobbing, feeling the weight of your decision. You knew it was the right thing to do, but the pain of it was almost unbearable. Anakin's head was in his hands, and he couldn't find any words to say. He knew there was no way to change your mind, and he was losing you.

Slowly, you approached him and gently took his face in your hands. You leaned in and gave him one last, bittersweet kiss. The taste of salt mixed with the taste of love as you lingered for a moment before pulling away.

It was time to go, time to leave this all behind. With a heavy heart, you gathered your tunic and turned to leave. You paused at the door, taking one last look at Anakin, knowing that this was the last time you would ever see him again.

With a deep breath, you stepped out into the darkness, feeling the weight of the universe on your shoulders. The pain of leaving him behind was almost too much to bear, but you knew it was for the best. Maybe, someday, you would find your way back to each other, but for now, it was time to say goodbye.

[stormyvenom]

I'll curse you with Martin Kahtin Blackwood angst. I mean it. >:((((

stop givign me the unsble to seplll cusre!!!

Sufegr. I kenow nrothing about that. I am immeue to Martin Kahtin Blackwood ansgst because I kwnow not of whom that is! HEHEHHHAHEHHAHEHHE

[rustedhearts]

the old house (boxer!steve harrington x librarian fem!reader)

summary: steve's world is shaken when his father unexpectedly dies.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring (1995) ✶ record store

✶ the library

tags: death; mention of childhood abuse/trauma; daddy issues; manhandling; grumpy (for good reason) steve; ansgst; hurt/comfort; not edited so ignore any mistakes.

“i would rather not go back to the old house. there’s too many bad memories.”

— back to the old house, the smiths

california, september 1995

LOCAL ATTORNEY FOUND DECEASED IN OFFICE

Sept. 12, 1995

HAWKINS, INIDANA — Local attorney Richard “Rich” Harrington was found dead in his office Thursday evening.

Police dispatched to the office on Main St when his assistant called with concern for his well-being after the phone went unanswered for over 12 hours. When the door to the office was unlocked on arrival, his assistant, Ms. Betty Nesbourne, knew something was wrong.

Emergency services found Mr. Harrington at his desk. Police have confirmed the cause of death was a heart attack.

A well-respected attorney, Richard Harrington had a practice on Main St for 20 years before his death, and won countless cases for those in need in Hawkins. Friends and family recall him as a “kind and loving man.”

Mr. Harrington is survived by his wife, Catherine Harrington and son Steve.

Steve dropped the newspaper on the kitchen table with a sharp slap. His hand came to his eyes to soothe the ache that gathered there, knee bouncing against his chair. His fist rattled where it sat on the placemat next to a vitamin you set out for him. You handed him The Hawkin’s Post—still folded and in its sleeve from delivery—with a kiss on his cheek and a beautiful grin.

He never expected to find this when he opened it.

“Honey, have you seen my Nike hat? I don’t want the sun in my face today,” you called from the top of the stairs, readying yourself for the day.

Steve lifted his head, inhaling sharply. He cleared his throat and pushed his fist against his knee to stop it from jostling.

“Uh…closet probably, baby.”

Your feet scampered away to search, and Steve sighed. His eyes glazed over the letters that made up his father’s name on the inked paper before him. He knew nobody was eternal, that death was inevitable.

For some reason, he never prepared himself for this. For his useless father’s death.

And right now, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

He wanted to be angry. Hell, he should have been angry. He had every right after they had the balls to call someone like Richard Harrington “kind and loving.” Anyone that ever came into contact with him knew he was nothing of the sort.

Angry, too, that Steve never had the chance to tell his father how he truly felt about him. That he never had the opportunity to dole out his own form of punishment; the punishment Steve had to endure growing up. Because he was bigger, stronger, grown. He could’ve put his father on his ass in five minutes flat.

But every time he drove past his childhood house, all Steve wanted to do was get sick.

“Honey?”

Steve’s head snapped over toward you peeking around the doorway, donning his favorite jeans that sat a little low on the hips and a tight half shirt You found your Nike hat, and it now sat atop your head. Even how gorgeous you looked couldn’t quell Steve’s sudden confusions.

“Yeah.” Steve cleared his throat again, folding the newspaper again.

“You ready to go? We’re gonna be late if you still wanna stop for smoothies.”

“Comin’,” Steve mumbled, standing from the table.

He took the newspaper with him, staggering toward the bedroom with apparent soreness from a healing bruise. You glanced at the vitamin next to his coffee and rolled your eyes.

Upstairs, Steve shoved the newspaper into one of his shirt drawers and slammed it closed.

✶ ✶

"Everything okay?"

You smoothed your hand over the back of Steve's hair in the Cadillac, top down to let in the beating sun. The wind ruffled his long locks, tickling at his eyes covered with a pair of Ray Bans. He had one hand on the wheel and the other dangling over the door—normally, one parked itself in your lap to roam and massage. It wasn't like him to opt out of touching, even on event days.

"Yeah," Steve replied shortly, pumping the gas to send the car jolting through a barely-green light.

You let your hand rest on his back, skin hot through a thin t-shirt. "Okay...you sure?"

"Yep."

You took your hand away, diamond ring catching a glint of sun on its journey to your lap. You fingered the stone absentmindedly, your next "okay" small and quiet.

The low hum of tires over the road and the occasional click of the turn signal filled what was otherwise an empty car. Sirens, car horns, the whoosh of a gentle, morning breeze.

A convertible of women driving alongside in the opposite lane recognized Steve, and passed him a carful of ecstatic waves. He didn't even acknowledge them. You offered them a smile, but it wouldn't soothe the sting. You knew that disappointment all too well.

Steve zoomed the car up to the curb of your local smoothie bar, slamming the door hard when he got out. He yanked your door open and stepped aside, winding an arm around your shoulders as you stepped onto the street—but it all felt mechanical. You peered up at his expression, and it was entirely vacant. He was pressed up right against you, but he felt lightyears away.

Something was wrong—why didn't he just say so?

He ordered your smoothies and leaned back against an empty table near the wall. You tucked your hands into your back pockets, eyes on the tops of your white tennis shoes. The urge to ask once more what was wrong gnawed at you with need, but you were fearful of his eyes cutting down too hard again. You hadn't been afraid of Steve and his moods in quite a while.

Not since he put this ring on your finger last year.

Attention directed downwards, you were oblivious to the bustling crowds strolling in after morning workouts and vigorous runs—until an elbow swung a little too close to your face, a body knocked backwards by an unsuspecting and friendly shove.

A young boy, no more than eighteen, spun around with pink cheeks and a sheepish grin. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry."

You all but looked away, soaked in shame from what you knew was coming next. Steve pushed off the table behind you, a heavy paw shoved against the younger boy's chest. He teetered off balance, eyes wide on his attacker and the glare marking him victim.

Keeping a sharp eye on the boy, Steve grabbed at you by the bicep and tugged you into him. More mechanical pushes and pulls, more hardwired roughness he worked hard to outgrow. But whatever grieved him, whatever he sat and stewed on, sent him spiraling back into a troubled boy.

Worse than the roughness was the absence of words that accompanied it. The lack of commands or reassurances. Just silent glares and hard-set jaws that said all they needed to say.

Strawberry-banana smoothie freezing cold in your hand, you trailed after Steve with a lump in your throat.

At the arena, he plowed past Big bidding him good morning and stomped straight for the dressing room. The coach's eyes slid over to you, throwing up his hands.

"What crawled up his ass?"

You gave a tiny shrug. "Been like this all morning."

Big huffed, returning to his task of wiping down the ring for morning training. Steve had until two o'clock, then would return home to rest until the fight at eight. You hoped at some point he'd calm down.

"Better get it out of his system before tonight," Big grumbled, shaking his head.

Your silence was agreement, and you hurried to the dressing room to tell Steve just that. When you pushed the door open, you found him seated on the leather bench with his back to the door, staring at his poster on the wall.

Clamping the door closed, you tossed your smoothie into the trash bin and huffed. “What the hell is your problem today?”

He shed his shirt sometime before you came, and the bare muscles of his broad back constricted and flexed as he wound a roll of black tape slowly around his fist. His eyes were steadily fixed on the wall, boring into his own face printed in red. More mechanical movements. More empty thoughts.

“Steve.”

He stopped rolling, a ribbon of unfurled tape dangling over his thigh. In the attached bathroom, an echoed water drip plopped. People were arriving outside, filing in and out of the hall. Conversation hummed through the door.

“Dad died.”

When you drop on a roller coaster, all the adrenaline in your body festers in one spot. It all squirms and sizzles behind your navel, bringing the rest of your body to a cold chill. That very feeling overwhelmed your body now.

“W-what?”

Steve tore his eyes away from the wall and placed them on his hand. “Thursday. Heart attack...found 'im in his office."

Your feet moved on their own accord, taking you to Steve where you knew you needed to be. Your arms collapsed around him, face buried in his neck with a hiccuped sigh. His hands remained limply in his lap, eyes casting a ghostly glance upon the tops of his shoes.

"Oh, Steve," you whispered, mouth squished against his shoulder.

Steve had one photograph of his family in the house. Hidden in a photo album behind a page of high school memories: his father in a grey suit, his mother in a turquoise dress with shoulder pads, fourteen year old Steve wearing a sweater to hide the bruises on his arms. It was his father's birthday, and the only time, Steve said, he pretended to love Steve.

But still, scrawled in a fourteen year old boy's chicken scratch across the back:

Mom, Dad + Me

For a moment, you stood there breathing into him. Feeling the size of his own inhales and exhales expand your arms and close them in. Lips pressed to his warm flesh through crisp cotton, thinned a little with sweat. Feeling him pause every few moments, as though to check that he were still, in fact, breathing.

"Saw it..." Steve paused again, and then deflated with a humorless scoff. "...in the newspaper this morning."

You lifted your mouth from his shoulder, chin pressing down in its place. Your adjusted your arms to tighten around him, cheek leaning into his. He was so warm, so suddenly small.

It suddenly occurred to both of you in this moment that his mother had no way to contact him. Even if she wanted to call, she hadn't had his phone number since he turned eighteen.

He scribbled it on a torn piece of paper the day he moved out and tucked it in her drawer. For months, he waited for her call. It never came.

"Isn't that fuckin' ridiculous?" Steve shook his head, a sigh shot through his nose.

You rubbed you hand over his chest, eyes sinking shut. "Jesus, Steve."

Are you okay? was the obvious next line of questioning, but it seemed silly in this moment. Of course he wasn’t. Steve might not have loved his father, might not have known the person he’d become (or stayed) the past ten years, but that didn’t make this any less painful. In fact, it likely made it more painful. To have your father die without truly knowing the man.

"Should I talk to Mikey? See if they can push—"

"What? No," Steve huffed, head craning closer to yours. "M' gonna fight."

You recoiled enough to meet his eye, brows furrowed at the determination in his gaze. "Are you sure?”

Steve clasped a big, warm hand over your own. A gentle pat, a barely-pressed squeeze. His eyes turned away, and he stood to his feet.

“Gonna head out. Stay close, ‘kay?”

He staggered toward the door, and you whirled around. “Wait, Steve—“

The door clamped shut, and the buzz of florescent light was all that filled the quiet.

✶ ✶

He fought, just like he said he would. You sat erectly in your front row position, every breath inhaled held too long in your chest. Your nails pierced divots into your palm from tightly clenched fists. Your legs hadn’t stopped bouncing against the seat.

Every bloody blow had you wincing, each narrowly-dodged swing pulling a gasp. By the fourth round, Steve was staggering to his corner and spitting an alarming amount of blood into his bucket. His left brow split open again. It took the gentlest of taps to rip the skin that never healed correctly. He’d probably need stitches, like he always did.

Under Big’s words screaming at him and a cloth firmly pressed into his wound, Steve’s eyes were empty. Glazed over, mouth lolled open, shoulders slumped forward. It wasn’t his usual huffing, brutish, bull-like performance. It was instinctual, but free of thought.

Right now, you knew Steve wasn’t there. He was in his head, far away in a mess of thoughts. The blinding lights, the frenzied crowd, your own worried face watching him—none of it even registered to him.

The bell dinged, and back in he went. His punches held half the weight, half the power and drive. His dodges and sweeping side steps were stuttered and skipped. It was a dangerous game to play, and sickening to watch. You had every urge to run in front of his opponent and block the next swing, knowing Steve would let it hit him where it hurt.

But you sat where you were, nibbling on the skin around your nails, stamping your heel vigorously on the arena floor. It felt like waiting a lifetime just for that victory bell to ring.

It came out narrowly in Steve's favor. Sculpted arm a limp, weak thing in the referee's hold, drooling blood down his chest. His eyes found a spot on the floor and never left it.

Not until he trudged his way to the dressing room, and he found you seated on the bench. His eyes lifted from the ground and peered into you: blown-wide and still bleary, but alarmed in a harrowing way. A breath shuddered through his cheeks, escaping him with bloodied spittle that rolled down his chin.

They hadn't stitched him up yet. Boils of blood beaded along his cheek and temple, splattered across his chest. His gloves were looped together and strung around his neck. They were the first thing you removed when you stepped forward.

"Hey," you greeted softly. Steve followed your movements silently, blinks slow and staggered. "You did good, baby."

He swallowed, and it came with winced difficulty. A little wheezed, a little struggled where his nose bent from crushing force. He'd need it set again. It sat in a bulging, crimson aggravation in the center of his face. Everything about him was puffed up, bleeding, and pulsing with pain.

But he was the smallest he'd ever been.

"You gotta get stitched up, baby," you whispered, manicured thumb wiping through a smudge of blood on his cheek.

His hands smoothed over your hips, tongue darting out to lick over the split in his lip. "In a minute," he mumbled.

His steps forward sent you backward, guided blindly toward the bench again. You sat instantly, hands braced on his arms still buzzing with heat and adrenaline. You had only a moment to glaze over the state of him before his head fell forward against your chest.

"Oh," you gasped, warmed immediately by the damp heat of his head and the weight of him pressing into you. "Oh, hey, baby, it's okay."

Arms looped around his shoulders, you let your cheek fall atop his head, pushing past the salty, musky scent wafting from the heat of him. Comforting him was the only thing that mattered right now.

Steve's fists pressed into the bench, bookended on either side of your body. His cheek squished against the cotton of your dress, staining the fabric with the blood weeping from his severed flesh.

On the other side of the door, shoes squeaked over polished floors in a bustle to get somewhere. There was an order of things after a fight, necessities and niceties that needed to be carried out. Right now, as you smoothed your fingers through his dripping hair and massaged the knots in his back, you knew Steve wouldn't be doing any of them.

"He'll never know me," Steve mumbled into your skin.

You sighed, eyes sinking closed. The ache that festered in your chest, you knew, was no match for his.

"He didn't deserve to."

On the other side of the door, cameras waited to click Steve's photograph. Fans waited for autographs, his coach waited for a celebration, his manager waited to plead for another endorsement. It was a money-hungry, vain soulless scheme.

In this room, pressed against your familiar frame, Steve knew the only real thing in this world was right here under him.

[bloody-trio]

hey guys!!!!!!!!!!! quick question :333

[minusgangtime]

(Get a load of this monster..he dosent know how to communicate,his minds in a different place,will everybody give him a little bit of space? Get a load of this trainwreak,his hairs a mess and he dosent know who he is yet..)

(Midnight ansgst..)

-mod Shelby

(*insert boss music* >:v)