#shut the fuck up and go stew in your little shit hole

[sheogorad]

man. I'm catsitting for my aunt who owns this top floor apartment with a rooftop deck with a damn good view and I'm lounging out here as I eat my dinner and I'm just like. man. when will this be me all the time. I don't even want a lot. literally if I could just have a rented apartment to myself that has enough of a balcony to let me put a chaise lounge on it and a lil grill. I just want to lie in the sun with an ice cold cocktail and a cat and have it be MY space. if anyone else lives there it's my boyfriend. but that's it. no shitty incompetent roommates. literally me and a cat and maybe a boyfriend if he proves himself to be competent enough to live with me. it would be so nice. but alas, it will take time, as all good things do. eventually I'll get there. for now I'm gonna savour this cold beer and sunshine and nice view and just hope for a better future

[barleyo]

tw: stepcest/non-con/misogyny | nsfw under cut

older stepbro leon! who became a shut-in after his little sis left for college.

he can't help but feel anger and jealousy at her. how dare she leave him behind? going off to college to party and get wasted without him? getting a degree? sure, he acts like he's proud of her, but deep down he's pissed that she's going off to make something of herself while he's stuck at home with their parents.

so what does he do?

instead of actually trying to better himself and his life, he stays in his room all day, stewing in his own depression. hell, it's a lucky day if he even gets out of bed. your parents are shocked on the rare occasion when he gets up to take his meals outside of his bedroom.

older stepbro leon! who spends his days lost on his phone, scrolling through porn and twitter all day long. what's the point of doing anything else? nothing brings him more joy than scrolling through video after video. gangbangs, glory holes, hardcore, rough, bondage, piss, spit, orgies: he's seen it all. but what he enjoys most is step bro x step sis stuff. sick fuck.

he tried not to think much about it, he didn't want to acknowledge how weird it was. so, he shoved it down, bit his tongue, and continued his endless scrolling.

hey- that chick kinda looks like you. same hair. same eyes. same tits.

jackpot.

older stepbro leon! who can't help but stay awake at night wondering what you're doing at college. you must've turned into some scholarly, uptight bitch, he thinks. probably getting stuffed by stupid, hot frat guys. probably forgotten all about the family at home, about him. what happened to his sweet little sister?

leon's found that ever since you left, he's gained a certain distaste for women. could be a coincidence, but his outlook on girls fell just as his porn intake rose. hm.

women are liars, now. lying, cheating, stupid whores. not you though, you're a smart whore. the best whore.

older stepbro leon! who finally finds a bit of purpose when he hears you're coming home for christmas break. he can't wait to see you, to see how you've changed. maybe he was wrong, maybe you're still the same sis he's always known.

wrong.

now you have this pestering boyfriend following you around as soon as you get home. some hot chad who you've probably given it up to already. why him? why not leon? he'd take better care of you, he knows it! with all the porn he's watched, he's basically a pro.

you've grown, too. smarter. bitchier. you fuckin think you know everything now, huh? think you're better because you made it out of this shit hole, leaving leon behind? better because you aren't sucking your parents dry and still leeching off of them? fuck you.

older stepbro leon! who teaches you a lesson once that douchebag boyfriend of yours has finally fucked off.

he catches you reading in your room, pissing him off even more. who fucking reads? just watch porn and lose yourself in social media like the rest of us, he thinks.

he walks into your bedroom and sits on your bed, too close for comfort. you shift away from him. that makes him mad. you wouldn't have distanced yourself from him before you left, you were practically attached to his hip, but now you want to be uppity about it? you think you're better than him.

older stepbro leon! who throws himself onto you, mumbling about how lonely he'd been without you, how he'd missed you, and most importantly, how much he wanted you.

he said he wanted you, in between forcing his lips on yours, gnashing teeth against teeth. he wanted you because you weren't like the other sluts. you weren't some stupid whore, you were his sister. you must've just forgotten that while you were off. don't worry, he'll remind you.

older stepbro leon! who slips one hand into your pants and places his other over your mouth. until you bit him. then his hand made its way to your throat. girls liked that, right? the sluts in porn always liked it, so it must be true, right?

older stepbro leon! who bottomed out immediately after putting his dick in you. he got lost in your warm cunt so quickly, got so drunk off of you. you felt better than he had ever imagined. now, if only you would stop your damn crying. then it would be a true dream come true.

older stepbro leon! who came so deep inside of you that you were bound to get pregnant! hopefully that boyfriend of yours didn't convince you to get on birth control. leon needed to see the growing proof that you were his. a growing baby would be just right.

older stepbro leon! who smirked when he felt you desperately clench around his cock. you came, so of course you liked it! his internet incel buddies were right: all girls want to be taken control of. it all made sense now! you were like all other girls, you wanted exactly what they wanted. you were a hot little warm hole with rape fantasies just like any other dumb broad. what kind of brother would leon be if he didn't give you what you needed?

older stepbro leon! who flooded the incel forums with information about what he had gotten up to with you. he felt like a king amongst all those small-dick cucks. they all praised him, and asked all about you. how tight were you? what'd you look like? did you squirt or cream? and he answered, pimping out your information like it was nothing. anything to make it feel more real. so what if all those guys were probably fucking their fists thinking about you? they couldn't have you. they never would, so leon would let them enjoy whatever their mind would come up with.

because at the end of the day, you were his. no matter what your little boyfriend said, no matter how leon's mind tried to say it was wrong.

you were his. and christmas break still had a few weeks left.

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#339

“So, this is what you do when you make deliveries?  You run to the local rest stop and suck off men on their lunch breaks in the bushes?  Shut up.  There’s no need to deny it.  I have video of you totally naked being spit roasted by those two construction guys while that trucker was waiting for one of your holes to open up….

“I saw our van sitting empty.  I went into the shithouse to find no one in there.  I saw this truck driver come out of the bushes and I asked him what’s going on back there.  He said, ‘Cum Dump Curt is back.  You should see him.  He’s taking load after load.’  You come here so often you have a reputation… and a nickname.  Look I don’t care what you do off the clock, but when you are on the company’s dime, you belong to the company. 

“I was able to log into the company’s system here, and I pulled up your schedule.  You were on deliveries all day.  I checked the van, and luckily for you, you completed that before coming here and being a whore.  I would have fired you right now had that been otherwise.

“I should just do that.  I have the video; I can do it.  I don’t know.  What do you think I should do with you?  Hunh?...

“…Oh please.  I ain’t going to forget about this.  You want to keep your job, you need to start begging.  And make it convincing….  Shouldn’t begging be done on your knees?...  I don’t care who sees you.  You didn’t care when you were strutting around naked taking load after load.

“Now beg.  Really beg.  Here let me make this even more humiliating.  Move back a little.  I want to get out.  With me standing inches in front of you, grovel for your job….

“You are saying a lot of how you need this job, and how losing it will affect you.  I get it, your life is pathetic, and you are a piece of shit for having such a fucked-up life.  But what about me?  What about my needs?  What’s in it for me? 

“…You’ll do whatever I ask?  Well, that’s blatantly obvious.  And being Cum Dump Curt, I assume you will be desperate enough to eventually get around to begging me to use your holes?  Am I right?...  Fuck, you have no shame.  You are willing to whore yourself to me to save your job.

“The question is now, are your ass and throat worthy of my cock?  The answer is obviously no.  I’ll tell you what, when I logged in to check out your schedule, I input a personal day off for you tomorrow.  With me not working on Fridays, that will give me three days and the rest of today to find out if you are worthy.

“…What?  You thought I drove 20 minutes out of my way to check a company van out?  No I came here to drain my balls, not knowing you set up shop.  We are going to start with me stirring up that spunk stew and dumping my five-day load in your ass.  Get back in those bushes, get naked, and get on all fours with your ass up high.  You do exceptionally well this weekend with the hell I am already thinking to do to you, you will not only get to stay in your job, but you may wind up with a raise.”

[funnylittlelad]

Rules Made To Be Broken - Steve Harrington x gn!reader

Masterlist - AO3

<< Rule Three

summary: As you and Steve grow closer, things seem to be going perfectly. That is until your police chief father steps in. The more you lie the deeper a hole you dig, but what else can you do? No matter what your dad says, you're not staying away from Steve Harrington.

wordcount: 12.5k

notes/tags: Hopper!reader, secret dating, sneaking around, fluff, friends to lovers, events of season three do not take place (canon divergent), Hopper is a bit of an (redeemable) overprotective helicopter parent, mentions of/talks about: abusive parents, Steve's father is his own warning, Good Brother Jonathan (tm), tumultuous relationships, divorce, death, and family trauma.

Epilogue: Accidents Have Consquences

Three days. It’s been three days since your dad acknowledged your existence. It shows on you. The bags under your eyes from restless nights, the slump of your shoulders like the weight of the world is on them, and the hopeful unanswered glances. It’s genuinely painful for everyone else in the house to watch. Even Jonathan hasn't brought up the whole selling him out thing. It's frustrating as all hell. You hate it. You hate being treated like something sad to look at. You just want someone, anyone to treat you like normal. 

“Steve said he’s sorry, by the way,” you tell Jonathan one night from your bed.

“For what?” Jonathan asks although he doesn't sound too interested.

He flips through a magazine of cameras. You know he’s been saving up for a new camera for months.

“He was hiding under your bed and when my dad almost grabbed him he shoved your weed at him,” you inform him. 

There's a pause. Then you hear the magazine snap shut and slap down on his bed as he sits upright. 

“He found my stash because of fucking Steve ?” He demands.

“Yeah, how did you think he found it?” You question back like he’s an idiot.

“I figured he was snooping! I’ve caught him in here doing it to you before,” he snarls.

You sit upright and glare at him. For a second, the world goes fuzzy around the edges. Of all the things… There was one thing, one boundary you've ever really set with your dad. Don't go through your shit. It’s something your mother had done when she suspected you were lying to her. You always hated it, that feeling of violation that it carries. Never once did it cross your mind that this could be an issue.

“ What ?” You snap, “You’ve found him snooping in my shit and didn't tell me?”

“It's not like you have anything to find!”

“That's not the fucking point, Jonathan! I would tell you!”

“Yeah, and I would tell you if Nancy hid under your bed and completely sold you out,” he gestures to your bed.

“Well, I just did tell you!”

“Yeah, and I just told you!”

Your nostrils flare and your fists ball up.

“When was he in here?” You ask through grit teeth.

“I don't know, a few weeks ago maybe? What does it matter? He didn't find anything.”

“I can't believe this,” you shake your head, “It matters because it's a complete fucking invasion of my privacy, you asshole!”

He almost looks guilty then.

“I figured he’s done it before since he’s… Y’know like that,” he says.

“No, he hasn't. He told me he never would,” you sigh.

“Sorry… I should have told you sooner.”

“I should have told you sooner too,” you admit.

“Tell Steve I hate him.”

“No.”

There’s a beat of silence before both of you start laughing. It’s actually kind of nice to laugh with Jonathan. It almost feels like you're really siblings.

“I still think you’re annoying,” he tells you with a smile.

“Ditto, loser.”

You both go back to your respective nights. The thought of your dad snooping stews in your head for a while. Anger starts quickening your heart. He can be mad at you all he wants. Sure, you lied a lot. Still, knowing he trusted you so little at one point he would resort to looking through your shit hurts. It not only hurts, but it's a little infuriating. You’re an adult. You only lied because he doesn't treat you like one. So many emotions run rampant until frustration takes the helm.

Finally, you decide to get some water. Take a breather. That was your first mistake. Your dad is in the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets for something. You pause in the entry, glued to the spot. Anxiety hits but slowly gives way to your anger. He doesn't get to ignore you right now. 

“Heard you went through my stuff,” you say.

There's no sign he even knows you’re there. As you expected. You don't let that stop you. You cross your arms and step into the kitchen fully.

“I think it’s really fucking rich that you’re giving me the silent treatment when you violated the like number one rule we had,” you snarl. 

That was your second mistake. That gets him. He turns around with flared nostrils.

“Oh, so now you care about rules?” He questions sarcastically. 

“When they're reasonable ones, yeah I do! You went through my shit, dad! Do you know what that means?” You cry.

“It means you were lying to me and I wanted to know why,” he states.

“No,” you let out a mean chuckle, “No, it means you’re no better than mom.”

That brings him to a pause. His eyebrows loosen, and his twisted lips become more of a frown. You hit him where you knew it would hurt.

“That isn't fair,” he argues, “You were lying to me. I trusted you and you threw it in my face.”

“Are you joking?” You scoff incredulously, “That was trusting me? Never letting me make my own decisions- or mistakes? Watching over my every move? Monitoring every relationship? How the fuck is any of that you trusting me?”

“I’m your father. I was acting like it-”

“Please, you were acting like my warden.”

“I don't expect you to understand.”

You run a frustrated hand down your face.

“I was just trying to have a life, dad,” you tell him calmly.

He wets his lips and crosses his arms. There's a moment where you stare each other down. Something in him gives, you can see it. His eyes shut briefly as he sighs.

“And I was just trying to make sure you were safe,” he says.

You take a moment to chew on the inside of your cheek.

“Do you know what Callahan said when he found me with Steve in his car?” You ask.

He doesn't answer, so you continue.

“He told me he was glad I was with Steve because at least he knew I was safe. That's what he said. He knew I was safe with Steve.”

“Callahan also walked his sister down the aisle and gave her away to that piece of garbage,” he points out. 

You shake your head.

“There's no getting through to you,” you realize out loud solemnly, “It doesn't matter what I say. You've made up your mind. You know what? Fine. That’s fine. I’m sorry.”

He blinks at you for a moment.

“You’re sorry?” He sounds skeptical.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” you nod, “I’m sorry you got stuck with me. I’m sorry that it’s me that’s still here making your life harder.”

Your dad’s face drops completely as do his arms. His brows knit in confusion and concern. He raises a hand as if telling you to slow down.

“What are you saying? What-”

“I get it, okay? Sara was always easier than me and- and now there's El. You really don't need me anymore. Just like mom didn't. It's- It’s fine. I’m sorry I put you through all this,” you tighten the cross of your arms as you speak.

Each word only seems to break your dad more. He shakes his head slightly.

“That’s not true-”

“Yes, it is. You told me yourself, you don't care anymore. You showed me that the last few days. I’ve only been making things harder for everyone here. I’m… I’m going to go,” you stare at the tile between you.

“Okay, let’s calm down and talk about this,” he suggests evenly, taking a measured breath. 

You shake your head.

“No, I’m done trying to talk.”

You go back to your room, the water and air you left to get forgotten entirely. You stuff some clothes in a backpack, ignoring Jonathan’s questions as you do. Then, you stalk out of the house. The night is fresh, but dark nonetheless. August doesn’t let it get too chilly, though. You don't realize until you're walking up to the car Steve helped you pick out, that little rust-brown thing, that you don't have your keys. You sigh, resolute on not going back in the house.

It takes you thirty minutes to walk to Steve’s. You’re relieved to see his car in the driveway. You hadn't considered what you’d do if he wasn’t home. Knocking on the door is nerve-wracking. It dawns on you that you’re showing up on his doorstep unannounced. What if he gets upset by that? The door swings open and Steve fixes you with the most confounded look.

“Baby, what are you doing here? Did you walk ?” He questions softly as he ushers you inside.

You can tell it's only him at home. The lights are lower, there's no light music, or strange food being cooked. It’s just Steve. 

“I found out my dad went through my shit. He said I threw his trust in his face, but he never trusted me to begin with. I… I apologized that he got stuck with me and got out of there,” you explain numbly. 

Steve pulls you into a crushing embrace. You melt into it. You’re with Steve. You’re safe. Steve takes your bag and brings you to the couch. Once there he wraps you in a soft maroon blanket. He tells you to stay put while he puts your bag in his room. Then he grabs you water before coming back. You accept the glass gratefully. When he sinks into the couch next to you, you sink into him.

“I told him he wasn't any better than my mom… I… I shouldn't have said that,” you admit quietly.

“He’ll forgive you,” Steve assures you.

“I dunno, Stevie,” you sigh.

“I do. He’ll forgive you. I know it might be hard to see right now, but he loves you. I know he loves you. I've seen it,” he tells you.

“You’ve seen it?”

“Yeah, I-” He chuckles for a moment, “I actually used to get kind of jealous of you as a kid. Your dad was always there. He picked you up when you fell off your bike, he came to open houses at school. Even in high school, he went to all your track meets. My dad never did any of that kinda stuff.”

“How do you know he went to all my track meets?” You ask.

“I was at a few of’em… Y’know, after everything with the Upside Down. I just… I felt better seeing you safe and that was the easiest way to do it,” he admits with reddened cheeks.

You smile softly at him, surprised you haven't become a literal puddle.

“The point is,” he continues, “Your dad loves you. He’ll get over this. All of this.”

“You were at my track meets?” You whisper, unable to let it go.

“Some of them. I know we weren't ever friends like that, but you were my first real friend when we were kids at the station. Then, suddenly, monsters were real and everything about the world changed. Knowing you were safe, it kept the world right side up for me,” he explains softly. 

You blink away some tears. Your chest hurts with how much love fills it. 

“Why didn't you ever say anything?”

He shrugs.

“I was with Nancy still. I thought I was supposed to be with her. Like it was predestined or something, I dunno blame Tommy H,” he waves off the thought, “Looking back I think I just wanted things to be normal again and I thought Nancy would do that, but she didn't. You did.”

You kiss Steve, reveling in how he moves against you. Your hand trails up his jaw until you're combing through his hair. You pull away just enough to speak.

“You keep the world right side up for me too,” you breathe.

“You can stay as long as you need,” he tells you tenderly.

You nod, comforted by the thought. Steve is a bus stop in the rain, a refuge from what pours down on you. Hopefully one day you’ll stop seeing Sara in the reflections of every puddle.

When Joyce gets home from work she’s surprised to find Hopper sitting on the couch. His elbows rest on his thighs. One hand covers his mouth from where it props up his head by his chin. He stares blankly at the off tv screen.

“Jim?” She prompts softly.

“Yeah,” he answers monotonously.

“You okay?” She asks slowly as she sits next to him.

“No, I don't think I am,” he sighs candidly.

Hopper admitting he isn't okay takes Joyce so off guard it's a shock she doesn't fall off the couch. She was expecting to pull some teeth, not a forward admission.

“What's wrong?”

“I’m not a good father, Joyce,” he tells her as if it's fact, “I think I might’a really screwed up.”

Joyce’s hands are immediately taking Hopper’s face to make him look at her. The last time Joyce saw him this broken was the first time she saw him after New York. Secretly, it terrifies her, but she doesn't let it on. She’ll be Hopper’s rock.

“Jim, you’re a great father. One mistake doesn't change that,” she tells him gently.

“If I’m such a great father then why did my kid apologize for being alive?” He questions.

Joyce blinks a moment in surprise.

“What?” She breathes.

“Yeah, I- er-,” he clears his throat, “I made’em think I don't need’em, Joyce.”

“Oh, Hop,” she sympathizes.

“I’m not a good father if that's what my kid thinks of themself, of me,” he says hoarsely.

“This doesn't make you a bad father. It makes you human. A human with flaws, yes, but those don't define you. What defines you is what you do next, how you deal with it,” Joyce tells him.

“I’m leaving it be tonight. Steve will… I trust Steve will make sure everything's okay tonight,” he decides. 

Joyce gives him a small smile that threatens to grow.

“Trusting Steve, now that’s a good first step,” she comments.

Hopper sighs and drags his face from her hands.

“He scares me, Joyce. I know he isn't a thing like John, I know that. But I’m not ready… I’m not ready to lose another kid,” he admits to her. 

“You aren't losing a kid. You’re just letting one be the amazing person you raised them to be,” she helps shift his perspective.

“It happened too fast. I mean, I swear yesterday I was changing diapers and getting thrown up on,” he shakes his head.

“I know,” she chuckles, “But at least we have each other for the scary part.”

“This isn't the scary part?” He lets out a single huff of a laugh.

“Oh, no way,” she shakes her head, “The scary part is the empty nest.”

Hopper sighs.

“At least we have each other,” he agrees with a small smile.

“C’mon, let’s go to bed. All of tonight’s problems will be waiting for you in the morning. We’ll tackle them then,” she says and grabs his hand. 

“Alright,” he sighs and allows her to lead him to bed.

On opposite sides of Hawkins, you and your dad get restless sleep in the arms of the people you trust the most. More alike than different, but too far apart to notice. 

Hopper doesn't know how to do this. You've been at Steve’s for two days. He was hoping you'd be back after one night. He spent hours waiting to talk to you. A knee bounces anxiously as he sits on the couch until Joyce comes out to coax him to bed. He hasn't felt this way in… God since Sara got her diagnosis. It felt like everything was falling and he couldn't get a grasp on any of it. Nothing makes sense, the world has tilted on its axis, and his kid is under the impression he doesn't want them around. He can't make sense of it. He can't believe he fucked up so disastrously.

You get off of work when Steve has to go in leaving you alone in his big house. Steve has been a saint, but you're a little worried his piety only goes so far. You're afraid of overstaying your welcome, but you can't face your dad yet. He hasn't tried to reach out, after all. Maybe you weren't that far off in your little breakdown. You’re just about to drown in those thoughts, eyes glued to a pathetic bowl of cereal when the doorbell rings. 

With furrowed brows, you pad into the foyer to answer it. To your surprise, Jonathan stands there, hands stuffed in his pockets, with a sheepish smile.

“Hey,” you greet weakly. 

“Hey,” he matches your tone.

After a beat of silence, he gestures to the inside of the house.

“Can I come in for a sec?” He asks.

You nod and move aside to allow him passage. He follows you back to your cereal at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. 

“It’s been weird at the house without you,” he tells you after a moment. 

“I would've thought you’d be happy to have your room back to yourself,” you comment and push the cereal-turned-slop around with your spoon.

“Yeah, me too,” he breathes a laugh.

You finally look at him. He stares down at the counter, hands clasped in front of him, wearing a self-deprecating sort of smirk. His eyes flash up to you, carrying uncertainty and perhaps even insecurity.

“Why did you come here, Jonathan?” You sigh.

“I came to see when you’re coming home,” he answers.

A short exhale exits your nose as your eyes drop back to your bowl.

“I’m not sure I’m wanted home right now.”

“Are you joking?” He scoffs.

You shake your head a little.

“You know everyone is miserable without you there, right? You can't seriously think that anything is better because you’re not there,” he insists. 

Your eyebrows knit as his words go down like a hard pill. When you look at him again he seems almost annoyed.

“Look, I just make things harder-”

“Shut up,” he shakes his head.

“Alright, asshole,” you start irritatedly, “You’re not going come-”

“No, just shut up. It's hard enough to say and I just gotta get it out,” he takes a breath, “I want you to come home. I miss having you around. If that's how I feel, then how do you think the rest of the house is feeling?”

Your mouth opens and shuts as you flounder for a moment. It's an admission you would have never expected from Jonathan. The tremble of your bottom lip is the only warning he gets before you throw your arms around him. He makes a small disgruntled noise as you pull him into a bone-crushing hug. He pats your back in a faux awkward gesture that makes you laugh.

“Thank you. I appreciate it. Really I do…,” you say.

“But?”

“But I’m not coming back until I figure out how to talk to my dad.”

He sighs and nods slowly. 

“He’s been the most miserable. Waits up to see if you’ll come home. Just talk to him,” he tells you.

“I know you mean well, but you've only been around the last couple of years. It's always me fixing everything. It always has been and I’m tired. I’m tired of trying with him and it not working. I’m not doing it this time. He can come to me,” you explain evenly.

“I get it. Just maybe stop by when he isn't around? Will and El really miss you.”

“More or less than you do?” You tease with a nudge.

“Asshole,” he grumbles lightheartedly, “I’m never saying something nice to you again.”

“Yes, you will,” you sing.

“It's not that I miss you… ,” he attempts to deflect, “I just miss not being the oldest anymore.”

“You miss me too.”

“Okay, fine,” he laughs, “Yeah, I miss you. We've been living in the same room for months. It's weird without you now!”

“Shit,” you laugh as well, “I miss you too. Didn't think that would happen.”

“Tell me about it.”

Jonathan leaves shortly after, taking some of the weight from your shoulders with him. After hugging him goodbye you retreat back into Steve’s house. You wrap yourself in that soft maroon throw blanket on the couch to watch tv until he gets home. 

Steve told you he gets out at six today. Something about cleaning a freezer. At five, he clocks out like he’s supposed to, all but jogging from the mall to his car. He had asked Will about Hopper’s schedule and wants to make sure he gets there before he leaves for night duty. When his car rolls into the driveway, Hopper is on the porch much like that first night Steve brought you home. He isn't in uniform yet, but a cigarette hangs from his lips as he examines Steve’s car with hopeful eyes. Steve feels so bad that it's only him in the car he forgets how embarrassed he was about having this conversation in his Scoops uniform. 

“Hey, Chief,” he waves weakly as he steps out of the car. 

Hopper’s eyes dart between him and the empty car. Then they settle tiredly on Steve.

“Harrington,” he acknowledges curtly.

“Could- uh- Could we talk for a minute?” Steve asks nervously.

Hopper eyes him up and down before nodding. He nods to the spot beside where he leans on the railing. When Steve settles there Hopper offers him a cigarette that Steve is awfully tempted to accept. It probably wouldn't be a good look in front of your dad, though. He politely declines.

“Good answer,” Hopper says.

It actually makes Steve chuckle a little, which cuts through some of the nerves. If Steve didn't know any better he’d think maybe Hopper did that on purpose. 

“So, I know things are… messy right now and that's mostly my fault-”

“Let me stop you there, kid,” Hopper sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose, “This- none of this is on you, okay? I made this mess and I’m man enough to admit that.”

Steve’s eyebrows quirk up in surprise. 

“I mean, I definitely didn't help,” Steve insists on sharing the blame.

“Yeah, I think you did, actually,” Hopper says, ashing his cigarette in what looks like a third-grade art project.

“Y’know, when I came here I didn't think apologizing was going to be so difficult,” Steve attempts to joke. 

It lands. Hopper breathes a small laugh. 

“How is everything?” He asks cautiously with another drag.

“Better now, I think. Chief, I want you to know that I’m not like my dad. I’llrnever be like him. You don't ever need to worry about that,” Steve tells him earnestly.

Hopper settles a kinder gaze on Steve than he’s expecting. Hopper sighs and shakes his head a little.

“I know, Steve. Don't worry about that. I don't see a lick of John in you. You’re a good kid and… If it has to be someone, I’m glad it's you,” He’s close to begrudging but Steve is vibrating so hard that it doesn't matter.

That was about as close to a Jim Hopper seal of approval as he’s going to get. It causes him to want to jump and cheer and run home to you to celebrate. Except you don't know he's doing this. He didn't want you to think that your dad cared so little he had to be dragged to talk to you.

“Thank you,” he says quietly instead with a smile.

It’s silent for a moment. Hopper finishes his cigarette to the tune of birds settling into their nests for the evening. Steve bites the inside of his cheek before biting the bullet.

“You should come by,” he suggests, “To talk, I mean. I think it would mean a lot if you did.”

Hopper regards him carefully and nods, stubbing out the butt in the art project that must be an ashtray. It's home to at least a dozen other cigarette butts.

“Thanks, kid. I’ll be by.”

Steve nods. He and Hopper exchange an awkward goodbye before Steve is heading back home to you. The whole drive back he feels on top of the world. Not only does your dad not hate his guts and/or think he's an abusive asshole, he actually kind of approves. Steve’s heart races excitedly as he trots through the house to find you. He pauses when he does.

You’re on the couch, rolled up in the throw blanket you love, snoozing away while the tv drones on quietly. Steve takes you in from the end of the couch with a soft smile. Your jaw is slack, leaving your mouth parted. Your eyelids look so soft he wants to kiss the purple veins that paint them. There's a tinge of red across your cheeks and nose from the warmth of the blanket. Your breath is even and slow, so calm he’d like to put you in his pocket to make sure you stay that way forever. 

“Hey, baby,” he coos softly as he sits on the edge of the couch beside you, placing a tender hand on your arm.

You shift a little, but don't wake. He can't help his smile at the way your nose crinkles as you fight off the waking world. He leans down and places gentle kisses on each eyelid like he was thinking about. That earns him a small groan and more nose crinkles.

“C’mon, don’t you wanna spend time with me?” He says as if he’s dangling a carrot.

“M’good. Want sleep,” you mumble.

Steve lets out a belly laugh. The sound brings a smirk to your lips even though your eyes are still closed.

“Alright, that’s it. Drastic times call for drastic measures,” he sighs.

Before you can question him, he’s attacking your sides with quick-moving fingers. You squeal at the sensation and squirm to get away. You both laugh as his tickling turns to a firm hold on your sides until he’s pulling you into him. Finally, you blink your eyes open to see his wonderfully bright face that gleams especially for you. A wobbly love drunk smile crawls onto your face.

“G’morning,” you murmur.

“Morning,” he smiles despite it being nearly six at night.

“How was work?”

“Boring, but I'll take boring over busy,” he groans as he lays back.

He positions you so your back is to his chest. Your fingers play with the hem of one of the legs of his little sailor shorts.

“You’re still in uniform,” you observe.

“Well, I know how much you like my little blue sailor shorts so I figured I’d give you a treat,” he says.

You sit up, extracting yourself from him. He whines in protest causing you to chuckle.

“It’s not much of a treat if I can't actually see them,” you give a teasing shake of your head.

He gives you a dramatic little pout. You kiss it off his lips, leaving a smile behind. Steve is a sight to behold before you. You straddle his waist as he stares up at you. His soft hair splays out on the throw pillows you gathered earlier. A pretty warm pink tone colors his cheeks as he gives you bedroom eyes. He looks so soft and pliant you’re sure you could mold him with your hands like playdough. 

“See?” He gestures down to the half of his shorts you can see between your legs.

You shake your head. Another protesting whine falls from his lips when you climb off of him. You point to the center of the living room and do a circular motion with your finger.

“Nuh-uh,” you tut, “I wanna show.”

He props himself up by his elbows. His hair looks like he just got out of bed.

“Seriously?” His eyebrows raise.

“Seriously. Go on, let me have my treat,” you croon teasingly.

With a playful roll of his eyes, he gets up. You hoot and holler as he holds his arms out as if to say happy? You cup your hands around your mouth like you’re part of a crowd.

“Give us a twirl,” you shout.

Steve belts out a laugh that cracks a wide grin across his face. He obliges, still holding his arms out. When his back is to you, he gives a little shake of his hips that sends you into hysterics. 

“Okay, can I be done now?” He asks lightheartedly.

“Yes, you did very good, Stevie,” you compliment.

His face goes from that warm pink to a rosy red. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

He throws himself down on the couch beside you and pulls you into him. You snuggle into his chest with a sigh. A nice moment of comfortable silence passes over you as you settle into each other.

“Jonathan came by today,” you tell him.

“Yeah? What’d he say,” Steve hums with his eyes closed contentedly.

“He said he misses me and wants me to come home,” you answer.

Steve lets out a breathy laugh. 

“I’m serious,” you state.

His eyes open to find you.

“Wow, gotta say I didn't see that one coming,” he admits.

“Me either,” you snort, “but… it was nice hearing it from him.”

Steve squeezes his arm around your shoulders.

“That mean you’re going home tonight?” He asks.

Ice drips down your spine. You sit up so suddenly it prompts him to follow you. He hovers just behind you.

“I- I can,” you answer quickly, “I’m sorry I know I've been here a while-”

“Wait, no, I didn't mean it like that. When I said you can stay as long as you need I meant it. I’m just seeing where your head is at,” he assures you. 

Your eyes search his face carefully. Caramel apple eyes tell you he’s being genuine.

“My head is here still. I’m just tired of always being the one trying while my dad is too stubborn to listen,” you tell him.

He nods with a soft quirk of his lips. Then that quirk falters and he wets his lips with a quick swipe of his tongue.

“Can I ask you a question that might upset you?” He all but whispers.

You chew your bottom lip for a second.

“You can ask me anything,” you answer honestly.

“Why do you always think people are trying to get rid of you? Why can't you believe that I’d want you here long term?” His words come soft and tentative.

You give him a wry smile.

“That was two questions,” you point out playfully.

“You can give me one answer. Or none if you don't want to.”

“Since you gave me a treat today I’ll give you two answers. I know it's so cliche to blame mommy issues, but she let me go so easily. She didn't question it or fight it. I've never told anyone this, not even my dad,” you swallow a newfound lump in your throat, “but there’s a reason I stopped calling after Bill showed up.”

You have to take a moment. As you breathe slowly Steve’s thumbs rub small circles into your shoulders. It allows you to relax into a calming breath. When you look at him he gives you a warm encouraging smile. 

“There was this time she thought she hung up, but the phone must’ve not fully been on the hook,” you look down at your hands as you pick at your fingers, “I heard her tell Bill she was relieved I chose to live with my dad… said she couldn't stand to look at me every day.”

Steve’s hands leave your shoulders to pull apart your hands. He holds each in each of his own, now rubbing circles on the backs of your hands. 

“I’m sure she didn't mean it-”

“I know how she meant it. I get it. I’m a reminder, a hard one. I know she didn't mean she hated me or anything but…,” you sigh, “I guess it felt like- it feels like she thinks I’m more work than I’m worth and I- I guess I started getting afraid that if my mom thinks that then eventually everyone will.”

Steve’s arms wrap around you entirely. His face nuzzles deeply into your neck. Your hands come up and hold his arms that hold you. You relax into him easily. He lifts his head and rests his chin on your shoulder.

“I can promise you wholeheartedly that you are worth the fucking universe and anyone who makes you feel otherwise is an absolute idiot,” he says in your ear. 

A teary smile grows on your face.

“Yeah?” You breathe.

“Look at me.”

You turn to angle yourself in his arms enough to press your forehead against his. He bores into your eyes so earnestly you stop breathing. He continues speaking tender words.

“If you ever start feeling like you’re more work than you're worth I want you to let me know. That way I can remind you how much you mean to me and everyone else. Your mom was wrong, plain and simple. It really sucks because she’s seriously missing out,” he tells you.

A wobbly smile sits at home on your lips. You feel the gold Steve has poured into all your cracks solidify, making something stronger. Something new, different, and more brilliant than before. You surge forward and kiss him with all the love you can muster. You're both a little breathless when you part.

“I really fucking love you, Steve, and it kinda scares me,” you whisper.

“I really fucking love you too, baby. One day it won't be so scary anymore. Just gotta give your brain time to realize I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers back smiling small but saturated in warmth and affection

Steve nearly drags you to his room to change because you didn't want to let go of him. Eventually, you conceded. He slots back in his spot on the couch with you laying back on his chest effortlessly when he’s back. Muppet Babies fill the empty space around you. Steve’s fingers lightly brush up and down your stomach. You can tell he doesn't even really realize he’s doing it, but you love it. It soothes you. 

“Hey, thank you for telling me everything,” he says, halting the lines and placing his open palm on your ribs instead.

Warmth radiates from the spot, just like any place, Steve touches you.

“You don't have to thank me. You asked me a question and I answered it,” you shrug.

“Actually I asked two questions,” he teases, “and you didn't have to answer. I know how hard that must’ve been. Thank you.”

Is it possible to fuse two human beings together? Has science progressed that far? You have seen otherworldly horrors and futuristic machinery. If science isn’t there yet, you really need it to hurry the hell up because close ain't close enough. You want to be part of Steve. You want him to be part of you. 

“Thank you for listening.”

“I’ll always listen.”

You believe him. Without a thought, a second guess, or a hint of hesitation. Intrinsically and irrevocably you trust Steve Harrington with more than just your life but your heart. 

Hopper stares down the Harrington abode. His mouth is pressed into a thin line. This house has been the location of so many calls over the years. He wouldn't be surprised if he knew the layout better than you do. Knowing you’re in there doesn't make him as sick as he thought it would. Probably because the driveway only holds your and Steve’s cars. He’d called Steve up ahead of time, making sure you were there. Steve reassured him his parents aren't there and wouldn't be for at least a month without Hopper even asking. It eases a good portion of his anxiety.

“I wouldn't have said yes to staying if they were home. I’m not risking my dad… Well, y’know,” Steve promises quietly over the receiver in the kitchen.

Hopper does know. He knows far too well. He knew before they moved away for a better-paying job in New York. He became well-reacquainted when he accepted the Chief position and came back. Steve being so earnest to let Hopper know that you’re safe with him, you’re protected, makes him feel as guilty as it does comforted. 

Shit, he thinks as he realizes he has to apologize to more than just you today. Hopper’s made the kid so goddamn afraid that Hopper thinks he’s his old man. No, he’s seen enough of Steve Harrington to know he’s good. He’s safe. The fact that Hopper knows the memories he must’ve dug up for Steve while instilling that fear makes it worse. Memories Hopper shares parts of. 

He becomes lost in memories of lights flashing against the sleek siding, sirens wailing as ambulances come through just in case this is the time, and a little boy with wide eyes peering at him from around the wall upstairs.

Hopper looks for Callahan. He’s busy listening to every excuse his sister can come up with to explain away the noise and the injuries. Callahan started not long ago. He’s a rookie unlucky enough to catch his sister’s house as one of his first few real calls. Most calls in Hawkins aren’t usually any more perilous or eventful than a kitten in a tree. 

With a sigh, he stalks up the stairs. That little boy’s head disappears around the wall. A couple of seconds later Hopper hears a door click shut. He knocks on every door he passes, opening them to check if it's a kid’s room. He finally finds it at the end of the hall. Only, the kid isn't there. Hopper is close to leaving to look elsewhere until he hears a sniffle. 

“Steve?” He calls, careful not to raise his voice. 

There's the sound of movement from his closet. Hopper examines the white shuttered doors with a small frown. He doesn't know Steve too well. He just knows he’s Callahan’s nephew, he’s around your age, and he must be fucking terrified. 

“Steve, it's Officer Hopper. You remember me from that presentation at school, right? C’mon, you can come out, it’s safe,” he says to the closet. 

The shuttered doors slide open a crack. Steve’s one-eye peers through to double-check. When he does indeed only see Hopper he cautiously opens it more and steps out. 

“I remember,” his small voice confirms.

Hopper offers him a small smile as he lowers, squatting until he’s at eye level with Steve. He rests his forearms on his knees. Steve is in a disheveled t-shirt and jeans. Dried tears stain his pink-tinted cheeks. His eyes remain wide and dart to the door periodically. His hands grab at each other nervously in front of him.

“No need to be afraid,” Hopper promises, “He isn't here right now. We took him away to time-out.”

Steve nods slowly. He seems to calm down a little at that. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt at all?” Hopper asks, eyes flickering over him for any obvious signs of abuse. 

Steve shakes his head. Hopper lets a steady breath exit his nose. He doesn't want to question this kid, but he’s going to have to. He’s the only witness and his mother isn't budging. 

“Did you see what happened?”

Steve shakes his head again.

“I heard it,” he says.

“Can you tell me what it was you heard?” Hopper is asking each question with much more tact and patience than he would most other witnesses. 

“Yelling.”

“Only yelling?”

Steve shakes his head once more.

“What else did you hear, Steve?” Hopper presses gently.

Steve somehow gets smaller in front of Hopper. His shoulders raise to shield him from the world.

“I’m not allowed,” he answers.

“It’s okay, Steve. You can tell me. You’re not going to get into any trouble,” Hopper tells him.

Steve’s wide eyes study Hopper for a moment. Then he’s shaking his head again.

“I- I’m not allowed.”

Hopper sighs knowing he won't get anything out of this kid. At least not right now and not on his own. He stands up, placing what he hopes is a comforting hand on Steve's small shoulder.

“I’m gonna bring you down to the station, alright? You can hang out there until your Uncle Phil is done,” he informs the clearly still anxious child next to him.

Steve nods. Hopper starts to take a step until Steve’s little hand slips into his massive one. He hesitates, looking down at Steve who doesn't look at him but grips his hand all the same. With a small frown, Hopper accepts Steve's hand and walks with him out to his car. 

He’s never liked John Harrington, not even when they were young. He especially doesn't like him since he’s started having to answer calls at the asshole’s house. They won't arrest him, though. His wife and kid won't talk. Without a clear accusation, the Chief won't let them touch Harrington with a charge. Likely out of fear for his own job due to the rich prick’s influence in the town. 

Steve sits with his hands tucked under his legs as he kicks them in the open air. The station isn't really all that thrilling for kids. Hopper has Steve in the shitty chair beside his desk. He’s been trying to have some type of conversation with the kid, but Steve’s too wound up. His stomach twists at the thought of you this way. He would kill before he let that happen. The thought of you flicks on a light bulb over his head. He picks up the phone on his desk and dials home.

Diane pulls up at the station with you twenty minutes later. You’re bright and excited to be spending time at the station with your dad. He grins as you bounce in and jump into his arms. 

“Hey, kiddo,” he chuckles as he catches you.

“Is Callahan here?” You ask instantly, scanning the room, “He said he was gonna bring me markers.”

Your eyes pause on the boy who looks about your age sitting in what you call the perp chair next to your dad’s desk.

“Ah- no, Callahan is out on a call right now.”

“Did you arrest a kid ?” You question sounding absolutely horrified.

You didn't think kids could get arrested. Steve stares at you with wide eyes and a bright red face. Your dad laughs a little.

“No, c’mere,” he guides you over to his desk, “This is Steve. Callahan is his uncle. He’s just waiting for him to get back.”

Now that you know Steve isn't some hardened child criminal you grin widely at him. You stick out your hand and tell him your name. He blinks at your hand for a moment, then at you, before he takes it. You shake his hand with such fury it nearly jerks him off the chair.

“Oh, you go to my school!” You realize excitedly, “I've seen you at recess! You’re friends with Tommy!”

He nods, a smile beginning to grow on his face. Then realization crosses his own features.

“You’re the one Officer Hopper brought on stage during the presentation!”

The Hawkins Police Department had come to your school to teach about stranger danger and being safe. Your dad had called you to come up to help them demonstrate something. You happily obliged knowing there were dozens of jealous eyes on you from other kids wanting to feel special. 

“That’s me,” you confirm with a nod

Hopper sighs a little in relief watching the two of you. Steve seems to be relaxing. For the first time, his shoulders lower like he isn't trying to protect himself from the world. The shake of his hands fades. You drag him away to the break room with promises of showing him how to make pirate hats out of the months-old newspapers you know are in there.

“Don’t touch the coffee machine!” Your dad calls after you.

“We won't!” You call back.

“Or the microwave!” He adds.

“Ugh, fine! ”

Hopper shakes his head with an amused smile as he turns back to his desk. He might as well get a head start on the paperwork while he waits for Callahan to clean up John Harrington’s mess. They’re holding him overnight, letting things cool down. He’s tucked away down a locked hallway behind a set of iron bars. Somewhere Hopper wishes he would stay. 

Then there was the call that was the time. The time John Harrington didn't stop. The time he left his wife begging for mercy until his fourteen-year-old son physically got between them. The time that the ambulance was finally and surely needed.

“I- it was an accident, Phil, I swear. I fell down the stairs,” Margaret Harrington tells her brother weakly from the back of the ambulance.

Her arm is in a sling. She’s littered with bruises, cuts, and blood. Callahan runs a hand down his face as he shakes his head.

“Margie-” He tries.

“It was an accident,” she repeats, “Ask Steve.”

With that, the ambulance doors shut. Callahan watches it speed away with its lights on. He heaves a sigh and looks over at where Steve sits on the front step. When Callahan turns to Hopper looking like a broken man, Hopper claps a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll go talk to him,” he says.

Callahan nods, one of the rare times he’s wordless. Hopper paces over to Steve. Steve doesn't look up as Hopper sits next to him. His eyes are trained forward, hands clasped together in front of his mouth while his elbows rest upon his knees. 

“You get any of that looked that?” Hopper asks after a moment, gesturing to Steve’s face.

Steve is sporting a decent shiner, a busted eyebrow, and a split lip. Otherwise, he looks alright. Although, Hopper can't see the rest of him to know for sure. 

“M’fine,” he states monotonously.

Hopper nods for a moment, not buying it for a second.

“So, did you have the same accident as your mom?” 

“Yeah,” Steve snorts bitterly. 

“Right, what was it again? Bookshelf fell?” Hopper questions, watching Steve from the corner of his eye.

“Yep,” he answers shortly.

Hopper nods. Then he turns his head to look at Steve.

“Except your mom said she fell down the stairs,” he informs Steve who looks at him slowly, “How about you tell me the truth, Steve?”

Steve seems frustrated and exhausted. Hopper can't really blame him.

“What do you want me to say?” Steve snaps.

“I want you to tell me the truth,” Hopper repeats calmly.

“Okay, fine, we fell down the stairs. Are we done now?” Steve sighs, dropping his head into his hands.

Hopper goes to put a hand on Steve’s back but hesitates. The hand stays in the air for a moment before he closes he curls in his fingers and takes it back. The father instinct in him wants to comfort Steve, it wants to promise him everything will be okay even though he knows he can't promise that at all. He can't promise this kid a thing. 

“You don't have to protect him, y’know? You can end this. All you have to do is tell me what really happened here,” Hopper tries again, his voice even despite how desperate he is for Steve to tell him. 

He wants this to end. When he came back as Chief he had hoped things would've changed. He hoped Callahan would've been able to do something, anything. Except Callahan can't really help if Margaret and Steve won't help him. Steve looks at Hopper, his eyes are brimming with pain and fear but mostly with the clear desire to reach for help. 

Only, he’s a Harrington. Harrington’s don't ask for help. Then there’s the small fact that his dad’s lawyers would have him out of jail in a second. Where would that leave Steve? Probably in the hospital like his mom, or worse. Chief Hopper would likely end up jobless thanks to John Harrington’s hold on the town.

 Steve thinks of you then. He thinks of how you and your dad came back, just the two of you. He remembers his dad reveling in your parents’ failed marriage, finding the salacious gossip endlessly entertaining. All the while Steve sat across the dinner table wondering if his pirate co-captain was okay. He won't be the reason your dad loses his job.  His lips tighten into a line. He ignores the burn of his cut and the coppery taste of blood.

Hopper watches Steve close off. He watches the plea for help get locked behind a steel door. Steve shakes his head a little.

“We fell down the stairs. I tried to catch her, she accidentally dragged me with her,” Steve states, that dead tone from the beginning of the conversation taking over his voice again.

Hopper sighs and looks ahead. Everyone is packing up to leave. The final reaches of sunlight stretch across the rooftops like a cat’s front paws fresh out of a nap. It’s an offensively calm thing in the face of what’s transpired.

“Alright, Steve. You good to go home with your uncle?” Hopper throws in the towel.

He knows this song and dance. Steve's shut down. He’ll try again next time because he knows there’ll be one.

“Yeah,” Steve nods absently.

There’s one call Hopper will never forget, though, because it was Margaret Harrington on the other end. It was the first time she’d ever called for help. At first, Hopper thought it was because Steve had found himself the worse off one this time. That didn't happen very often, but it has happened once or twice. Then the rest of the call came over the radio. Steve wasn’t the victim, he was the attacker.

That day Hopper wanted to tear into Margaret Harrington more than he wanted to tear into John. It was an icy winter day. John sits in the back of an ambulance with a blanket around him. A paramedic tends to some pretty nasty-looking slugs to the face. His head is tilted back with his eyes closed as the paramedic cleans up his nose, missing Hopper’s arrival. 

Hopper searches for Steve, but finds the woman of the hour crying on the couch. He resists the urge to roll his eyes. She looks up tearfully. When she sees him she wails further and throws herself into him. He catches her, nearly shoving her off of him. Thankfully, Callahan arrives. He takes hold of his hysterical sister and brings her back to the couch.

“Oh, it was a- awful,” she sobs, “he wouldn't stop! He j- just wouldn't stop!”

“Where’s Steve, Margie?” Hopper asks, deadpan. 

“Th- they arrested him,” she answers with a hiccup.

Hopper’s nostrils flare. Callahan fixes him with pleading eyes. Silently, he begs Hopper not to get into it with his sister right now. He silently grovels for Hopper to not blow up on Margaret Harrington for calling the police on her fifteen-year-old son, but not the man he’s been trying to protect her from. 

“They did what,” Hopper asks slowly but with a bite.

“A- a- arrested-”

“No, I got that,” Hopper hisses.

He turns and stalks back outside. He looks to the nearest officer, a state trooper that'd been nearby. 

“Where is he?” He jerks his chin at the trooper.

“Victim’s over-”

“Not him. The kid. Where’s the kid?” 

The trooper points to Powell's cruiser. Hopper shakes his head in frustration as he storms over. Powell leans against the cruiser, talking to another officer that Hopper hasn't bothered to learn the name of yet.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He demands, “Get him out of the car.”

Powell stands up straight.

“Chief, he assaulted-”

“Get. Him. Out. Now,” he orders.

Powell puts up his hands in surrender and turns around to open the car door. He nods for Steve to get out. Steve steps out cautiously, wild eyes flickering around to take in the new arrivals. There's a bruise on his jaw and a slight sway to his stance as if he’s dizzy. His bruised and bloodied hands are cuffed behind his back.

“Christ, Powell, uncuff him,” Hopper sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose.

“Chief-”

“Are they pressing charges?” Hopper cuts him off.

Powell’s mouth opens, but his head tilts and it snaps shut. He exhales sharply through his nose.

“They haven't said-”

“Then uncuff him.”

With a sigh, Powell does as he’s asked. Steve grips the top of the open door once his hand is free. Hopper gets a good look at the raw skin of his knuckles and fights off a smirk. Kid gave his old man hell. It was about time. Hopper only fears what that means for Steve’s own temper and future. Then Steve lurches forward and pukes on Powell’s shoes.

“Oh, come on,” Powell whines and steps back.

Steve rights himself again, wiping his mouth with his free hand. He mumbles an apology before looking at Hopper.

“I- uh- Think I might have a concussion,” he says like he’s commenting on the weather. 

Hopper snaps a glare at Powell.

“Did he get checked out before you cuffed him?” He questions.

“No, he was the one throwing punches when I got here. I had to drag him away still swinging,” Powell answers irritatedly as he tries to wipe the puke off on the snow.

“Fucking Hell,” Hopper sighs before calling out, “Can I get a paramedic over here?”

“Got knocked on the noggin’,” Steve taps his head with a lazy smile. 

“Knocked how?” Hopper asks.

Something flashes across Steve’s features, but it's gone too fast to really catch. Then a sardonic twist of his lips takes over.

“Bookshelf fell on my head,” he answers dryly, “Then again on my ribs and again on my jaw.”

Hopper runs a hand down his face. The paramedic walks Steve over to the second ambulance before Hopper can ask any more questions. 

“You seriously couldn't figure out this was self-defense?” Hopper turns on Powell, shutting the car door.

“Look, all I know is I got here and Steve was on top of John hitting him. He didn't say anything about what happened before that,” Powell says.

“You don't need to be told. You know,” Hopper grumbles and stalks away. 

Steve walked away from that day with a concussion, a fractured knuckle, and a bruised rib. John Harrington walked away knowing to never lay a hand on his son again. The calls came less frequently after that. John started taking on every work trip he could. Margaret both didn't trust him and didn't know what to do without him. So, Steve was alone more often than not and he couldn't find it in himself to complain about that. Even if it was lonely as hell. 

Hopper takes a deep breath as he grounds himself back in the present. He stands at the front door, more nervous than he'd like to admit. You don't know he’s coming. With how you've been feeling, how he’s made you feel, he wouldn't be surprised if you slammed the door in his face. He finds himself afraid it’s already too late, you've been pushed too far away, and he’s lost you. 

Hopper has seen so many broken moments at this address. He really doesn't want to add one of his own to the list, but he’ll do it for you. He’ll risk you screaming at him, telling him you never want to see him again, so at least you know he hasn't given up on you. He won't ever give up on you. He’ll risk everything to make sure you know how much he loves and cares about you. So, he knocks on the door despite dread in his chest. 

There's a beat of nothing. Then he hears the door unlock. It swings open and there you are. You look up at him with wide eyes, frozen. Your dad offers you a small soft smile. Your heart thumps uncontrollably as you take him in. He looks like he’s been sleeping about as well as you have. 

“Hey, kiddo,” he greets.

“Hey, dad,” you rasp. 

“Could we talk? Think I got some apologies to give,” he attempts to be light about it.

Hopefully, you can't see how his insides are churning. You wet your lips and throw a glance over your shoulder. Hopper can't see, but by the face you make he assumes Steve is somewhere behind you. You must have just pieced together that he knew this was coming. You sigh and Hopper’s heart drops. When you turn back to him a tentative smile sits on your lips. After a breath, you throw yourself into his arms. He catches you with a wet chuckle. 

“Yeah, we can talk.”

Hopper sits on the same couch he remembers Margaret Harrington crying on as her kid sat in the back of a cruiser. You and Steve scurry into the kitchen under the guise of grabbing drinks. Hopper figures you need a moment to ream Steve out for blindsiding you and then another moment to thank him for it. His stomach flips both in affection and anxiety at how much like him you truly are.

In the kitchen Steve grabs two glasses while you chew on your lip, leaning back against the breakfast bar. 

“You’re not getting yourself something?” You ask, gesturing to the glasses.

“Oh, I was going to scram and let you two-”

“No way, Harrington. You’re not throwing me to the wolves without offering yourself up as a piece of meat too,” you hiss.

Steve raises his hands in surrender. 

“Yeah, okay, that's fair,” he nods.

“Why didn't you tell me he would be coming?” 

Steve lowers his hands with a small smile that reads something like c’mon now. 

“Would you have stuck around or run off to Robin’s?” He counters knowingly.

You narrow your eyes at him.

“How did you know he would be coming?” You change your line of questioning.

Steve shrugs, teetering his head side to side lightly.

“I may have had my own conversation with him the other day,” he admits.

You shake your head despite the smile struggling to stay hidden.

“Why? Why go through all of this?” 

Steve’s hands find your upper arms. His thumbs rub soothing patterns into your flesh. The smile that adorns his face is so sickly sweet you're sure you’d have a new batch of cavities next trip to the dentist.

“Do you remember how I told my parents we met at the station because my Uncle Phil was watching me after school?” He asks suddenly.

Your brows furrow.

“What does-”

“Just- do you?”

“Yeah,” you nod slowly.

“That wasn't exactly true… I was at the station because the neighbors called the cops on my parents. My dad was being held overnight and my mom was at home lying about her injuries. The Chief found me hiding in my room and got me out of there,” he tells you and sighs.

“Okay,” you say softly, unsure where this is going.

“I was scared, y’know? Didn't know what was gonna happen. I was alone in the station and some big guy with a mustache was trying to talk to me...”

You chuckle at that. The sound brings a smile to Steve’s face as he continues.

“Then he made a phone call. A little bit later, you showed up. You made me feel so… normal. Playing pirates with you was the first time I really felt safe. I never forgot that. I never stopped wanting to do the same for you. This,” he nods to the space around you, “is me trying to do that.”

Your mouth tightens as you hold back emotion. Steve is looking at you with sweet caramel apple eyes, a warm blush swept across his face, and his pretty pink lips pulled into a smile that could revive the dead. You had no clue that's why you ended up at the station that day. You’d end up there periodically, so you never thought to question it. That day playing with Steve was a fun adventure you never really forgot. Simply because it wasn't often you were able to have those with other kids at the station. Usually, you were the only one. You didn't know what those few hours meant to Steve. 

“I love you, Steve Harrington,” you whisper with watery eyes.

“I know, baby,” he whispers back and gets close enough to brush your noses together, “I love you too.”

You swear when his lips meet yours an entirely new universe explodes into existence. Maybe it only exists in your chest, but it's there. It’s there and you want nothing more than to explore every inch with Steve. Another memory snaps into your head, the force causing you to pull back with furrowed brows. Steve returns the look.

“Junior year,” you say, a smile crawling onto your lips.

“What?” Steve chuckles bewildered.

“Junior year,” you slap his chest playfully, “You got into that fight with Spencer Karpinsky.”

His blush deepens.

“Yeah, so?” He tries to play it off.

“So,” you tease, “I remember that fight happening the same week Spencer told the entire basketball team about how he took my virginity.”

Steve scowls at the memory. That fucking idiot Spencer on a bench in the locker room. The entire team gathered around. Everyone wanted to know how it was to get the Chief’s kid in bed. Steve seethed from the back of the crowd, trying to figure out how to put an end to it. Not only did the images of you Spencer painted make Steve’s skin run hot and itchy, they made his blood boil. After practice, Steve caught Spencer in the parking lot. 

“Karp,” Steve called as Spencer reached his car.

Spencer turned around with a jerk of his chin.

“What’s up, Harrington?”

Steve ran a hand over his mouth as he came to a stop in front of Spencer. 

“Look, in there… It wasn't cool, man. You know those guys are gonna talk-”

“Yeah,” Spencer snorted, “That’s kinda the point .”

Irritation thrummed through Steve.

“The point ?” He questioned.

Spencer huffed a laugh like Steve is an idiot.

“Harrington,” Spencer leveled with Steve, “Why else would I have slept with Holy Hopper? Everyone wanted to know what it'd be like. I’m just the lucky schmuck that found out.”

Irritation exploded into full-blown anger. A protective instinct jumped out. In Steve’s mind, Spencer Karpinsky was the worst of the worst. The guy got to have you like no one else ever had and he treated it like he was simply working on an exposé. You weren't anything but a headline to him. Steve shook his head. One hand landed on his hip while the other gestured.

“Okay, that’s it, you’re apologizing tomorrow before this gets all over the school,” he told Spencer. 

“Sure,” Spencer scoffed, “I’ll get right on that.”

Spencer shook his head and turned around to unlock his car.

“I’m serious, Karp,” Steve warned.

Spencer sighed in annoyance and turned back to Steve.

“What’s your deal, Harrington? You in love or something? Wheeler not doing it for you anymore?” He bit.

“No,” Steve said through grit teeth, “I’m giving you a chance to be a decent fucking person.”

“Whatever. It’s not like Holy Hopper was complaining when I was ball-”

Spencer never got a chance to finish because Steve threw the first punch. That fight, like most, didn't end well for Steve. Either way, he considered it a success. That week the school was talking about him and Spencer instead of you. 

Steve studies your teasing smirk, the amusement ripe in your eyes. It’s clear you don't actually think the two are related. You just think it's funny to connect the dots. He clears his throat awkwardly.

“Yeah, I was in attendance for that,” he tells you, “got into it with him after.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Your eyes flit across his features.

“Wait- did you get your ass kicked by Spencer Karpinsky for me?” You breathe.

“I didn't get my ass kicked,” he protests.

“You totally did,” you laugh.

“He was being a dick. Honestly, at least a little bit was for me. Maybe part of me has always been in love with you, I dunno. Listening to him talk about you like… that. It drove me kind of crazy,” he admits with a sigh.

You cup his face gently in your hands. Tenderly, you press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“How long have you been acting as my little guardian angel without me knowing?” You question in a whisper.

“Since you acted as mine,” he answers in a whisper.

It takes a lot of willpower not to get lost in kissing Steve after that. You have to physically drag yourself away so he can finish getting drinks for the three of you. When you enter the living room, your nerves light back up. It's comforting to see that your dad seems just as nervous as you do. Steve offers the water to your dad. Your dad accepts it with a tight smile. He sits on the chaise, facing the other side of the couch. You and Steve sit beside each other across from him. 

Without a thought, your hand grabs Steve’s. He anchors you to the cushion. Your dad’s eyes latch onto where your hand connects with Steve. A small, soft smile finds itself on his lips at the sight. It's good to know, actually, that you're happy and safe with someone who cares just as much as he does that you're happy and safe. He only wishes he realized that before everything got this far. 

“I know I haven't made any of this easy,” he starts with a sigh, “and I’m sorry for that. I am. You deserve to be treated like an adult. Lord knows you’ve had to act like one long enough.”

“I’m sorry too for all the lying and sneaking around. I should have just been honest with you from the start,” you say with a small smile.

Your dad nods as he chews on the words hanging in the air between you. His eyes drop to where his hands are clasped between his knees, forearms resting on his thighs.

“Why weren't you?” He ventures to ask.

“I was afraid if you knew you’d scare Steve off.”

“Yeah,” he sighs and rubs his jaw, “I probably would’ve.”

“It wouldn't have worked,” Steve interjects.

Both you and your dad look at him curiously. 

“Scaring me off,” Steve clarifies, “It never would have worked. Respectfully, Chief, nothing you do or say could ever keep me away.”

Your eyes dart to your dad, gauging his reaction carefully. He nods slowly, thoughtfully. Then Steve looks at you.

“I’d only go away if you told me to,” he tells you. 

You can't help the smile that grows on your face. You give his hand a squeeze.

“Make you a deal,” your dad says, “You stop lying and I stop trying to scare him away.”

Your smile turns to your dad.

“I can get behind that,” you agree.

He nods. A moment of silence passes before he’s wetting his lips and starting again.

“You said that… You said-” he sighs and collects himself, “It’s wrong, what you said. I didn't get stuck with you. You aren't making anything harder or worse. I love you and I just want you safe and happy. If Steve is what does that then, okay. I don’t ever want you to think that I don't want you.”

Tears threaten to spill with a burn. You nod, inhaling sharply through your nose in an attempt to keep your cool. 

“I’m sorry I said you’re not better than mom,” you croak, “God, you’re so much better than mom. I don't know why I even said that. You wouldn't ever-”

You stop yourself from continuing. Instead, you simply shake your head. 

“What? I wouldn't ever do what?” Your dad questions with furrowed brows.

Of course, he isn't going to let that go. Steve squeezes your hand. When you glance at him he gives you an encouraging little smile. You take an even breath.

“Mom said something about being happy I chose to live with you and not having to look at me every day,” you attempt to wave it off like it's nothing.

Your dad’s nostrils flare. Red blots his face.

“She what?” He growls.

“Yeah, it was back when her and Bill got married. She thought I couldn't hear her, but… It’s why I stopped calling. I know you wouldn't ever say something like that,” you explain.

Your dad runs his hands over his face and shakes his head. He’s pissed. He’s even more pissed than when you had that last argument in the kitchen. 

“I’m going to talk to her,” he decides.

“No, don't. It’s really not-”

“The next words out of your mouth better not be a big deal,” he interrupts, holding a finger up to silence you.

“I get it, y’know? We lost Sara and I became too much. She wanted to start over and I would have stopped her from doing that,” you reason.

“Jesus Christ,” he shakes his head, “Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?”

“I…,” the answer dies on your lips the moment you realize what it is.

Two sets of eyes burn into you. You take a deep breath before answering.

“I was afraid that you’d realize that's what you wanted too,” you all but whisper. 

“Listen to me,” your dad fixes you with a stern stare, “There is nothing that would ever make me feel like that. You hear me? Nothing. I’m happy you chose to live with me. I don't know what I would've done if you didn't. Being your dad is the only thing I care about being.”

As you nod, hot tears stream down your face. You don't even realize you’re standing up until you're crushed against your dad’s chest. You hug him back so tightly you’re surprised you didn't hurt him. His familiar weight and warmth surround you and the world feels right again. He places a wet kiss on your forehead when you pull away from each other. You go back to your place next to Steve. Steve chokes on his water when your dad says his name.

“Y- yes, Chief,” he answers.

“I’m sorry,” your dad pushes out, “Making you feel like you’re your old man… That wasn't right of me and it isn't true either. You’re a good one, kid. I trust you.”

Steve blinks away his own tears. One or two may slip by but that's his business. He nods vigorously, not trusting his voice to answer. It’s kind of like everything is clicking together. After a few more minutes, you’re walking your dad to the door. You tell him you’ll be home the following morning. He nods and tells you the door will be unlocked for you, whenever you decide to come home. Before he goes he places a hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve’s eyes are wide on him.

“If you don't want to be here, y’know, when your folks are around… All you gotta do is come knocking, alright? No more bookshelves, got it?” He says seriously.

Your eyes bounce curiously between them. Bookshelves? you wonder. Steve grows a warm smile.

“No more bookshelves. Got it,” he nods.

Your dad nods and drops his hand. You hug him before he goes. It’s impossible to not become completely giddy once the door closes. You’re all over Steve in the foyer, mouth blazing a hot trail up his neck. His back ends up pressed to the front door as you drop to your knees. Hooded molten caramel eyes drink you in from above. You can see the rapid way his chest moves, the twitch of his fingers, every physical manifestation of how much he wants to touch you. So, you let him and you don't stop all night long.

Joyce and your dad find an old farmhouse only a couple of weeks later. Fast forward a month and you have your own room again. Sometimes you or Jonathan will find yourselves in the other’s room just to talk or hang out. Peace settles over the Byers-Hopper household. Steve starts coming over unannounced as the house gets used to having him around. Your dad even hands him a key one time he walks in after work.

The first time Steve’s parents come home after everything he comes over with little ceremony or warning. He just shows up with a duffle bag over his shoulder. No one asks any questions. They just go about life as if Steve was always part of it. He tells you in bed at night that they didn't want him at his mom’s birthday dinner this year. His dad told him he was a disappointment. You hold Steve extra close after that. The second time he shows up with a split lip.

“John’s not too happy with how much time I’m spending here,” he explains. 

You and your dad are a cloud of fury ready to barrel into the Harrington house and teach John a lesson. Joyce and Steve have to physically get between the two of you and the door. 

“Thought we agreed no more bookshelves,” your dad says to Steve.

“We did. That's why I got out of there,” Steve replies calmly. 

“How long are they back this time?” Your dad sighs.

“Just a week.”

Your dad nods with a tense jaw.

“Any sign of trouble, any, and you call me,” he orders sternly.

“Okay,” Steve agrees.

The third time you came home from work to find Steve and half his things in your bedroom. Steve offers your furrowed brows a sad smile. Silently, you sit on your bed next to him and take his hand. You don't ask. You just wait for him to say something.

“My parents came home,” he states.

“How long this time?” You ask softly.

“Well,” he sighs, “I was given an ultimatum.”

“An ultimatum?” You echo.

You don't like the sound of that.

“Yeah, either quit coming here or get out.”

Your blood runs cold. Your grip on his hand tightens. His relaxed eyes meet your worried ones. 

“You’re here, though. Does that mean…,” you trail off as you really take in Steve’s things in bags around you. 

It’s mostly just clothes. There are some sentimental items here and there, but not many. He clearly just took what he could grab. 

“There was sign of trouble, so I called your dad. He came over with bags and helped me bring some stuff over here,” he explains, “He said I can stay here.”

You place a tender kiss on his cheek.

“Welcome home,” you say with a smile.

He smiles back and looks around the room.

“Feels good to be home,” he sighs and lets himself fall back on the bed.

“Feels good to have you home.”

You’re busy smiling at each other when Joyce calls up the stairs that dinner is ready. Steve takes his spot next to you at the table and everything just feels right. Your dad asks about your day, Jonathan makes a snarky comment that you quip back at, and Steve’s ankle hooks around yours beneath the table. There was a time the idea of Steve at the table like this terrified you. Now, the idea of him anywhere else terrifies you. 

<< Rule Three

Thank you for reading!

[artficlly]

face the music (chapter 4)

Music College Marvel AU - Chapter 4

!frat!musician!bucky x !frat!musician!steve x !musician!femreader

Warnings: ANGST, mentions choking, swearing, implications of previous abuse, low self esteem reader, mentions of homophobia and general yuckiness

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: i wrote basically this entire chapter last night and then changed my mind and rewrote it this morning lmao. things are gonna start getting interesting now, very excited to get into some more feminine rage later in the story. thanks for all the likes and reblogs! i wasn't expecting anyone to read this so it's nice tysm <3 hope you all are having a wonderful day. not proof read, sorry for any typos!

chapter masterlist | main masterlist

You stand in the doorway nervously, eyes carefully surveying the room. The frat house had been a mess when you arrived, still cluttered with remnants of Saturday's party. You purposely avoided looking at the kitchen, instead eyes trained onto the ground to avoid dripping over any crushed solo cups. Scott had once told you that they didn’t really bother with cleaning up, because by the time they did there would be another rager. The only room that lay pristine, that always had a ‘DO NOT OPEN’ sign on the door during parties, was the spare room upstairs. You had assumed it was so people wouldn’t trash it, or fuck in it. To your complete surprise, it was because they had converted the spare bedroom into a make-shift studio. 

Expensive equipment filled the room - a drum set, electric guitars, bass, a keyboard and several speakers. There were a few second-hand couches in the corner, decorated with old blankets to hide the stains and holes. You had to admit, for a bunch of insane frat boys… it was kind of cozy? 

You had spent all night worrying about this meeting for the assignment. There was a constant battle going on in your mind over how you acted yesterday and why. You could only repeat in your brain that you should’ve been angry, that you should’ve refused their offer. Ever since him, you had to admit you would shut down and agree when things got hard. Maybe even before him. Maybe with your mother as well, constantly picking away at your happiness to make you a mini-copy of her. But that was a whole different ball of yarn to unspool. Your therapist was right in that sense, you would become compliant because it was all you knew, it was the way you were raised. You were just another little girl who was told to keep quiet and please everyone around you. 

You would get angry, you would be upset, yet every time you were the first to back down. Every time you submitted because you didn’t know how to be strong. It was a constant cycle of quiet rage roaring in the back of your mind, which quickly turned into quiet acceptance the more you stewed on it. After yesterday, you should’ve told Bucky, Steve and Sam to fuck off. You should have told them to find a different vocalist. But you were so exhausted and stupid that you had just laid down and bared your throat for them. 

You supposed that the internal battle you were having now meant that you hadn’t gone as far as forgiving them. No. You couldn’t forgive them, not after what happened to Loki. Even if you couldn’t be strong for yourself, you could be strong for Loki. 

Bucky and Steve were fiddling with a speaker across the room, Sam hadn’t arrived yet. On the way up the stairs, Bucky had explained that all of you were going to listen to some music and figure out a style of singing you were most comfortable with. You had two weeks until the assignment was due. Two weeks of dealing with Bucky and Steve. You couldn’t be upset because you had idiotically put yourself in this position. You couldn’t help but stare at them, drinking in their chiseled faces, calloused hair. The way Bucky had rolled up his long sleeves so you could see the bugle of muscle in his forearm - you really needed to snap out of this shit.

“I have some conditions,” You finally speak up. They both look at you like they had forgotten you were there. You had been standing in silence pondering how to address this. You wanted to make it clear that you were still upset, that you hadn’t just forgiven them with their little effort. You were the type to give second chances, and unfortunately third, fourth and fifth chances. Maybe this time you could be different. Only if Steve didn’t give you those sad fucking puppy dog eyes. 

“About…?” Steve asks, trailing off with a confused look. He had given you as little as a fleeting glance since you had arrived. You couldn’t tell if you preferred it or hated it. Stupid hot men and the way they made you feel. You could tell he was as conflicted as you were. Unlike Bucky, he seemed to still have some unspoken thoughts and feelings he hadn’t quite aired out yet. 

“This. This assignment, group, whatever. I just want… your word on some things. Three things to be exact.” You explain, leaning closer to the door frame for support. You could already feel anxiety rising in your chest. You had run over this situation in your mind all night and day, how they react, how to anticipate any weird things they might say. How to act if they laughed in your face. How to ignore the butterflies in your stomach when they smiled at you.

“Shoot,” Bucky says, dragging over the stool from the drum set to take a seat. You swallow down the worry - and the arousal at the sight of him doing that - you could do this. If not for you, for Loki. 

“One, I’m here for the assignment, nothing else. I don’t want to hang out or have you fighting for my forgiveness. I don’t forgive you, at least not right now.” You say, Bucky frowns at that but just nods. You let out a shaky breath, looking to Steve for confirmation. He also nods after some thought, he has that sad look on his face again. Stupid fucking puppy dog eyes. 

“Two,” You start. “Both of you are going to help me get John Walker suspended.” 

There is a pause. Your chest feels tight as you scan their faces, looking for their reactions. 

“What?” Steve asks, hands falling to his sides as if in disbelief. You stare him down, unflinching as possible. You didn’t expect them to respond well to that request. You had been rehearsing what to say all night, tossing and turning in bed. You had repeated the same words over and over again, changing the tone, the structure as you had played your piano earlier that day. 

“Everybody knows that he’s done this before, and that he will do this again. Every time he fucks up, his father just buys his way out of it. He needs help, a therapist or an anger management program.” You explain, pushing off the wall to walk closer to them. You thank yourself for keeping your voice steady, even if your hands shake. Steve tilts his head, looking to Bucky for back up.

“Why? I mean, it’s not your or our responsibility to deal with that asshole anymore? It’s been handed over to the college now.” Steve says, Bucky stays silent as if considering the request. You can hear the piano music you were playing earlier in the back of your head as you decide what to say next. You could visualize the tapping eyes in your head, you needed to keep calm. You had anticipated this. You knew what you needed to say.

“But it is our responsibility.” You say, running a hand through your hair to try and ease your nerves. “If I don’t say something, do something… he’s going to do this again. And again. We’ve already seen the pattern, but everyone ignores it. You ignore it, the school ignores it, his parents ignore it. I can’t be another person to turn the other way, don’t you understand? He’s going to seriously hurt someone, I mean, he already has. I’m not going to turn away and hide, I’m not going to encourage him down this path of destruction. ” You explain.

They are silent again for a time. You know they are missing some of the details about how personal this is to you. You wished that someone had done this for you when you were at your lowest. He had plenty of girlfriends and fights before you had met. You wished someone had done something to stop him back then. Bucky speaks up, breaking your nervous thoughts. 

“You’re right,” He says and relief floods through your system. “We encouraged him, we’ve looked the other way. You’re right. It’s our responsibility as much as it is yours.” Bucky’s eyes look distant as he speaks, it feels like looking into a mirror. 

You breathe out a sigh. Steve chews his bottom lip as he watches you, conflicted. 

“You are right… I just…” Steve sighs, rubbing his chin. “It would suck if you got into trouble, after everything. Like, you have more on the line, with your scholarship and stuff…” He fades off. You find it interesting that Steve’s conflict is with your status, not his. The more you think about it, the more it makes sense. You’re more vulnerable to being shunned by the college than them. They’re rich, they feed money into the school, they’re also more likely to be believed. As much as it fucking hurt, having some men on your side would boost your credibility. You had been through the ‘hysterical woman’ treatment before, it had nearly cost you everything. That fact that Steve was even thinking about you made something blossom in your chest.

“It’ll be fine. I just can't be on campus knowing that I didn’t even try.” You choke out, Bucky hums and nods at you in agreement. The dark look has left his eyes, his focus now turned to Steve beside him. You wonder what they’re thinking, how they’ll react after you leave the house. As much as you thought they were complete assholes, completely unaware of their privilege… they did seem to understand. They had admitted to you that they had fucked up, Steve had defended you in Stark’s office, they had apologized multiple times. There it was again, that guilt, that doubt in yourself, that desire to please them. You had to stay focused, you had to…

“What was the third condition?” Steve asks, you snap your attention towards him. You had to stay focused, no matter how much this might hurt. You could hide away, forgive them and move on. But Loki was still injured, he was still owed something. 

“I want you to apologize to Loki, in person-” You don’t even get to finish the sentence when Bucky cuts you off. 

“No.” His voice is firm.

“No?” You ask, looking between the two of them in disbelief. So much for the progressive streak they had going for a moment. The back and forth in your body between attraction and anger flares up again.

“Why would we apologize to him?” Steve asks, crossing his arms across his chest in a defensive manner, any softness or guilt leaving his face. You feel your jaw muscles clench a bit in annoyance. 

“Because he nearly got beaten to death? Trying to defend me after what you two did?” You say, throwing your hands up in the air. You could feel the roaring in the back of your mind, that wave of frustration and anger. You couldn’t back down. 

“You’re really defending him, after what he did?” Steve sneers at you, his demeanor completely changing as he moves closer to Bucky’s side. You take half a step back, you hated it when this happened. You hated the fear because someone raised a voice at you. Bucky was seemingly the calmer one of the two, though you noted how white his knuckles looked wrapped around his phone. His attention was on Steve, a crease in his brow as he surveyed the blond’s distress. It was the same look Bucky gave you whenever he noticed you flinching or cowering away.  

“Listen, I don’t know what happened between you guys. But I’m sure it doesn’t warrant being beaten to death?” You choke out, you can feel yourself starting to tremble. This was the worst part, lingering between the edge of exploding and backing down. The look Steve was giving you was deadlier than poison, if he were any closer you would’ve backed down. You would’ve cried in fear. You hated this, confrontation, anger, disgust. You were still so weak. 

“What exactly did Loki tell you?” Bucky suddenly speaks up, his voice steady and calm. You notice how his metal hand has moved to pat Steve’s bicep, as if trying to comfort him into calming down. The action is oddly intimate. 

“Nothing? I tried asking, all Jane and Thor said was that you guys were friends for a while and now you’re not?” 

Bucky lets out a loud sigh, looking up at Steve. The two of them share a silent conversation through only looks. It still feels… intimate. You almost consider walking away, like you’ve stepped into some private that you weren’t supposed to witness. You had never seen anything like this between them before, or maybe you just hadn’t been paying close enough attention?

“Steve and I are dating,” Bucky says as you freeze. Dating? Steve and Bucky… Dating. For all this time? You never would’ve guessed, they always acted like friends. They had been friends since they were kids apparently, you had just assumed they had one of those bonds. One that you would never quite understand, but this? Them dating? That added layers to the conversation. It explained the tense looks they would give each other, the silent conversations, the way Bucky could seemingly calm Steve with his touch. As much as you were shocked, it made sense.

“We have a… uh, open relationship, you could say.” Bucky continues awkwardly. You gape at him for a moment before finding your composure. They despised Loki because of some dumb relationship drama? How had you never heard about this before, not even from people like Scott or Sharon?

“You two… you two were hooking up with Loki?” You ask. It was well known that Loki leaned for the guys rather than the girls. Bucky, Steve and Loki? You were surprised. The entire time you had known Loki they had been at eachothers throats, they were repulsed by each other. You couldn’t imagine them getting along, let alone hooking up?

“Yeah. Then shit got messy, I guess,” Bucky replies, rubbing the back of his neck. That felt like an understatement of the year. There is an air of distress between the two of them, something unspoken and traumatizing. It unsettles you, those dark looks they exchange. Something had gone terribly wrong, and you had never noticed.

“How messy?” You ask.

“Well… Loki caught feelings and it wanted it to be more of a… relationship than casual hookups. Steve and I talked about it and said no, we just… weren’t ready for something like that. We were barely out of the closet at that time, no one except Loki and Sam really knew about us…” Bucky fades off. You can feel dread in your stomach. You knew Loki, you knew him a little too well. He didn’t like being rejected, he perceived it as him being discarded. You could imagine how he would react, how he would’ve coped. He would’ve exploded, he would’ve gone around telling everyone how he had been used by some rich fuckboys - oh god.  

“Oh god,” you repeat verbally this time. “He didn’t-” You can’t even finish the sentence, you can’t even imagine the fear, the betrayal. Being outed ruined lives, caused people to harm themselves, caused people to lose everything and everyone they loved. 

“He tried to blackmail us. Said he would tell everyone at the college, everyone online, our parents, literally everyone that we were dating, that we used him. That if we didn’t agree to date him he would ruin us.” You can see Steve lean further into Bucky for comfort as Bucky speaks. Whatever facade there was - that had been put on in front of you - was finally gone. Bonded through trauma, they had to be. 

“Fuck,” you hiss, collapsing onto one of the nearby couches. You didn’t know how to feel, conflicted maybe? You were so angry at them for what they had done, for how they made you feel with their stupid smirks and muscles. Now all you felt was sympathy. How could Loki have done that? Why would he willingly and happily manipulate them, black mail them? Loki of all people would know the struggles of being queer in a world that rejected anything but the norm. Why would he put someone in a position that he, a few years ago, would’ve been terrified to be put into? Who had you been living with for the past couple months?

“So, you really didn’t know?” Steve asks, you look up at him with a frown. 

“No. I… I don’t understand why he would do something like that. If I had known… fuck. I don’t know.” You mutter, rubbing your face with the heel of your palm. They had every right to be mad at Loki, maybe not as far as to get him beaten to death but… You had always sided with Loki. You had never thought to question his hatred. Did that make you a bad person? 

“We thought you knew,” Steve explains, while Bucky rubs his back comfortingly. “That’s part of why we sent Walker over - fuck. You and Loki were always so buddy-buddy, we thought you supported what he did and were trying to mess with us-”

“No! Oh my god,” You cut in with a groan. “This is all so fucked up.” 

“Yeah.” Bucky agrees with a sigh, tilting his head to rest it on Steve. 

“I don’t know who I should be more mad at… you guys or Loki.” You admit with a sigh, resting your elbows on your knees, your chin on your fists. Yeah, Bucky and Steve had fucked up but they had apologized. They had tried to make up for it, and were continuing to try. Had Loki even tried to say sorry? If anything, it seemed like he was trying to protect his reputation but purposely not telling you. Thor and Jane must’ve known too… oh god, how many people knew and were keeping you out of the loop? 

“What about Walker? He was the one who literally choked you!” Steve protests, you roll your eyes at him. The anger you felt for John was nowhere near a countable scale. 

“What happened with Loki? In the end? Did he back off, did he say something…?” You trail off. 

“He backed off, I think Thor told him to grow up or something. Unsure, he just stopped threatening us and blocked our numbers. He would come to parties and just send us death glares but nothing more.” Bucky replies with a shrug. The way he says it so casually breaks something inside of you. Is that why Natasha hated you so much? Because she thought you were some kind of homophobe in unknowingly supporting Loki?

“When did this happen?” You ask.

“Before you moved in with him, Thor and Jane. Start of semester one last year.” Bucky replies. It makes sense, Steve and Bucky would’ve been fresh into college, freshly exploring their relationship and their sex lives. You didn’t move in with Loki until the start of the first semester this year. You chew on the inside of your cheek. You would need to speak with Loki, you would need to set some things straight. As much as you were annoyed with Bucky and Steve, you couldn’t help but feel sympathy for them. 

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” You admit, looking over at the two men. You visibly watch them melt at your gaze, a gentle smile forming over Steve’s face. You hate that, you hate the effect it has over you. Although, you can’t help but wonder if it is worse to feel that way now, knowing that they were in a stable relationship (even if it was open). Maybe they were bisexual? God, you really didn’t need to have that conversation with them or yourself. 

“Does that mean you forgive us?” Steve asks, hopefully. You groan and roll your eyes, slumping back into the couch. As much as you wanted to say yes, as much as you wanted to put this all behind you and move on you couldn’t. This was you trying.

“No. Help me deal with Walker and then maybe I will.” You say, biting back a smile when you catch their expressions. 

“Sounds like a deal. Fuck that guy.” Bucky chuckles, Steve pats his back with his own chuckle. Looking at them now it all makes sense that they would be together, you wonder how you didn’t notice it before. You wonder how many people actually know about them, or if they didn’t know, had observed their closeness. You felt like an idiot. 

“Hey guys. Did I miss anything?” Sam asks from the door, looking freshly showered. You had almost forgotten that he was supposed to be in your group as well. 

“Nope. We were just about to get started,” Bucky replies, turning on the speaker.

Chapter 5

[nugnthopkns]

felt the lightning under my skin

word count: 13.7k

warnings: explicit!fem reader, cursing, little bit of asshole joel, alcohol consumption, slight innuendo, moderate depiction of injury, needles

recommended listening: under the spell | springtime carnivore

a/n: i know figure skater/hockey player romances are terribly cliche but i couldn’t help myself. as an ex-skater hopefully i can make it a little less cringe. there’s probably an obscene amount of technical jargon in here and i sincerely apologize. the injury mentioned actually happened to me and let me tell you, it was not fun lmao. enjoy!

Joel swears he’s going to kill whoever’s in charge of renting out the practice facility.

Realistically, he knows it’s impossible. The rink can be rented by anyone when the Flyers aren’t using it and he typically thinks it’s a great way to promote ice sports in the community. Joel just wishes the facilities manager didn’t rent it out to figure skaters. They kick the shit out of the ice with their toe picks and leave the ice in terrible quality. It frustrates Joel because while community engagement is important, his career and the team take precedence. 

No one else seems to be bothered by the recent decline in ice conditions. Most of his teammates are used to poor ice, growing up playing pond hockey and at rinks that also housed figure skating clubs. While Joel had those experiences as well, he clearly never developed the same nonchalance as everyone else. He complains in the dressing room after every practice until Kevin finally says something. 

“Christ Beezer, relax. It’s only for another month or so until renovations at the other rink finish.”

Others chime in, telling him to not take it so seriously, with a couple of them defending the right of the other athletes to use the ice as they so please. The grief Joel catches is enough to shut him up, but he still stews privately over the fact figure skaters are destroying his happy place. 

☼☼☼☼

You want nothing more than to return to your home rink. The Flyers Skate Zone has been nice, the staff are incredibly accommodating, but something feels off. You’re having a harder time landing jumps and skating clean programs. The change in routine is enough to knock you off your game, which is something you absolutely can’t have. You’re coming off a breakthrough season, finishing on the podium at nationals and landing a spot on your first world championships roster. People are expecting you to replicate your success and you want to do that and more. 

US Figure Skating had taken a chance placing you on the national team for the current season. Though it was expected, they could have easily chosen the fourth place skater instead. She’s much younger than you, barely fifteen, and is yet to have a serious injury. At twenty you’re barely an adult, but this could be the last time you get an opportunity like this. The sport keeps getting younger and you’re going to get left behind if you don’t prove yourself. The grand prix circuit has been kind to you, allowing you to earn medals at some of the smaller competitions and hold your own against the big dogs in the majors like NHK Trophy. 

☼☼☼☼

“Try the triple flip again,” Brenda, your coach, instructs. “You could be more solid on the landing.”

“It’s this fucking ice! I can do one at home that would get me a high GOE,” you complain. 

She rolls her eyes and thinks about telling you off, but decides against it. No matter how many times she tells you it’s a mental block you need to get over, you find a way to blame the training facility. “Just give me five solid ones and we’ll call it quits.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, but you peel away from the boards anyways. Some juniors are mingling in a corner and you warn them to watch out as you skate by gaining speed. The first attempt feels natural, and though you could have been a little stronger on the exit it’s a significant improvement from what you were doing earlier in the session. Jumps two and three also go well, but things go wrong on the fourth try. You catch a bad edge just before takeoff and aren’t able to correct your center of gravity while in the air. Two and a half rotations happen before you slam into the ground. The entire right side of your body feels like it’s been run over by a bus. 

“Fuck!” you scream in frustration as you pick yourself up off the ice. Circling back to examine just how bad the edge was you notice your pick created much too large a hole, something you’d get points deducted for in competition. Brenda signals you over to her, and you hang your head as you skate over. 

“You’re done,” she sighs. You can tell it pains her to see your progress plateau, but you’re doing everything you can to get out of this rut. Before you can protest, try to convince her to let you stay on, she’s speaking again. “Our ice time is up anyways. Go cool down and meet me in the conference room when you’re done.”

There’s nothing for you to do but sulk off the ice. The other skaters clear out of your way, not wanting to be on the receiving end of your anger. You direct it at the dressing room door, kicking it open so harshly it flies back on the hinges. It makes you feel a bit better but you’re still in a sour mood as you untie your skates. It’s frustrating not being able to perform at the level you know you can, even in practice. If you could just get out of this rink and back into the one you’re most comfortable at. 

After a much longer stretching routine than normal, you pack up your bag and head upstairs for what will no doubt be one of those meetings where you sit silently and take the heat. You realize that your behaviour today was childish, but you couldn’t help but let your emotions overcome you. The next group is well into their ice time when you pass by, and you realize it’s the Flyers. Most of them don’t acknowledge you and keep running drills, but one who looks about your age is sending you daggers. You have no idea why. 

The meeting goes much better than you thought it would. Brenda takes your anger in stride and lets you apologize for your outburst before shifting the conversation to altering your training plan. She suggests you take a few days off from the rink, working strictly off-ice, and you begrudgingly agree. There isn’t anything you can do or say to change her mind so you take the updated workout plans with a fake smile. She also tells you that your appointment with your sports psychologist has been moved up a couple of days, which you’re grateful for. Things then move to talking strategy and watching tape of competitors to see what to expect at this year’s nationals. The event is just over a month out, and you have the goal of landing on the podium once again, hopefully with the gold medal dangling around your neck. 

A couple of hours pass with you holed up in the conference room, and it’s dark when you gather your stuff and head for home. The complex is deserted and you assume no one but the staff are still here. It turns out someone else was there, and they follow you out, their own gear bag slung over their shoulder. You don’t really pay them any mind, holding the door open out of habit, and fail to recognize the person as the boy who glared while you walked by hours prior. He notices you, however, and makes a point to voice his distaste. 

“Hey!” he calls out, “Next time you eat shit don’t put such a big hole in the ice. Other people need it too.”

“Get fucked,” you yell back. You really don’t have the time or energy to be accosted by a hockey player. He continues to talk, but you don’t hear it because you slam your car door shut and drive off into the darkness. 

☼☼☼☼

Joel doesn’t feel like he was in the wrong until Claude suggests he apologize a few days later. In his mind, he has every right to be upset about you damaging the ice because it directly affected him. The hole you caused couldn’t be fully repaired, and he tripped at a really key moment during the scrimmage. His bad day was your fault. 

“You can’t blame a tough practice on her man,” Claude says as the two of them skate a few warm-up laps. “She didn’t mean to fall. Hell, she didn’t want to do it.”

“I get it, or whatever, but it’s still her fault. We’re professional athletes G, we need to be at the top of our games.”

Claude swats Joel upside the head. “So is she! Did you know that she’s favoured to win both the national and world championships? And that things look good for her to be on the Olympic team next year?”

Joel didn’t know, and guilt twinges his stomach. The next time he runs into you at the rink he’s going to apologize. 

☼☼☼☼

You spend your time away from the rink conditioning and regaining focus. The first couple of days are tough, but then you settle into a routine you believe will ultimately make you a better athlete and competitor. Your cardio and weights are upped, and you’re anxious to see how the increase improves your performance. At the suggestion of your psychologist you take a few more days off than originally planned, but it’s the best thing you could have done. You return to the rink ready to nail the final few weeks of training before nationals. 

Any other coach would have detested you for taking a week off this close to a major competition, but not Brenda. She understands that you needed time to refocus and that you’ll work harder than anyone else in the time until you leave for Salt Lake City. Your first practice is fantastic – every element is clean when isolated and within your programs. The timing is off a bit during your free skate on the first run-through but your jitters settle quickly and the next one is spot on. It feels good to be back in control of things. 

“I think you’re over that mental block kid,” Brenda laughs when you stop along the boards to get some water. “You’re skating better here than at home.”

You can’t help but agree. “You know, I don’t hate it here as much as I used to. Think we should move here permanently?” The comment earns you a slightly aggressive hair ruffling, but it’s worth it. You spend the last hour of ice time alone, running through both of your programs in a mock competition setting. 

It’s nearly silent in the complex when Joel sneaks through the doors. The only thing he can hear is the faint sounds of your music from inside the pad. He had been worried that you were never going to reappear at the rink but learned you were just taking a break when he cornered your coach in the parking lot. The middle-aged lady had told him when you’d be returning and Joel immediately put it in his calendar so he wouldn’t forget. Now, as he stands against the glass watching you, he’s nervous. What if you don’t accept his apology?

Joel knew you were a good skater. Well, he was pretty sure you were. He spent the short three-day road trip to Florida watching as many videos of you competing on YouTube as he could find. Though he’s murky on the specifics of what makes a good figure skater, Joel knows you put heart and soul into every performance and that your elements are strong technically. Your scores reflect that. Regardless, Joel is blown away at how talented you are when he watches you skate in person. 

You’re looser than in the videos he’s seen, probably because there isn’t any pressure, but you don’t give it any less than your all. The music drives you forward in a way Joel’s never seen before – you’re an extension of it, and it of you. As you round a corner to pick up speed he holds his breath. From watching footage of this program from earlier in the season, he knows you’re about to attempt your hardest element. The quadruple salchow is one of the hardest jumps female skaters are attempting at the moment, according to his research, and it’s been your most inconsistent element this season. You’re completing the jump before Joel realizes you’ve taken off the ground, but you don’t fall. He exhales and watches the rest of the program in awe. 

When the music stops and you take in your surroundings, you notice the applause. Thinking it’s just from Brenda, you shrug it off, but when you turn around she isn’t clapping. It’s coming from someone else – the boy who was a douchebag the last day before your break. The chances are he’s here to make another stupid comment, but Brenda insists you should talk to him. You wave him over to a section near the benches that dosen’t have glass so you can hear him better. 

“What do you want?” you ask bluntly, taking a sip of water. 

Joel’s taken aback by your abrasiveness but recovers quickly. He deserves it. “I, uh, wanted to apologize for what I said last week. That wasn’t cool. I was having a bad day and took out on you, I’m sorry,” he rambles. “And you’re like really good.”

“It wasn’t fucking cool,” you agree, “But we’re fine. I had just been kicked off the ice when you caught me, so I’m sorry too. For snapping.” There’s nothing more for either of you to say, and Brenda is calling your name, so you skate away from him. Over your shoulder you call out, “Thanks for the compliment unnamed Flyers player!”

“It’s Joel!” he responds. “Joel Farabee.”

☼☼☼☼

A sort of truce befalls you and Joel. More of your ice time overlaps, but neither you acknowledge each other more than the occasional nod in each other’s direction. It doesn’t bother you in the slightest. Preparing for nationals is the only that matters currently, and trying to navigate a possible friendship would be too much of a distraction. Joel is a little put off you don’t try to extend pleasantries, but when it’s explained to him that you’re entering a period that is similar to the lead-up to playoffs he understands. 

However, he finds himself making up excuses to stay at the rink to watch you practice. He blows off dinner with Kevin and drinks with Morgan when you have the slot after practice, and when you skate before him he’s at the rink hours early. His schoolboy crush becomes the topic of locker room gossip. Though Joel swears up and down that he just likes to watch you skate, none of the guys believe him. They don’t go as far as to embarrass him in your presence, but Travis certainly tries. What Joel doesn’t know is that you’re developing the same sort of fascination with him. You find yourself turning on every Flyers game you can fit into your schedule, watching him intently, and keeping an eye on his stats. 

“That boy sure has a lot of interest in you,” Brenda muses one day while you’re talking strategy on how to increase the points total on your short program. 

“I don’t know why,” you sigh. “So I was thinking, if I raise my arms during the triple lutz it should give me at least three more points.”

She looks at you like you’ve gained two extra heads. “Are you insane? You’ve never raised your arms during a triple.”

Your smile turns into a wicked smirk. “It can’t be that hard.”

It’s a lot harder than you thought it would be. Though you’ve added the extra step to jumps in the past, it’s been on single and doubles to rack up points and GOE scores. Jumping has never been your strong suit, and trying to navigate the change in your centre of gravity is difficult. You spend the rest of your ice time popping, under-rotating, or slamming into the ground. A couple of juniors snicker at your failed attempts, but when you remind them they’re stuck on a double loop they stop laughing. It was a little mean, and you remember how hard it was to prove yourself as a junior, but you can’t find it in you to care. There’s no need to laugh at someone trying to improve their skating. 

Bruises start to form on your sides from falling the exact same way so many times, and you trace them lightly through the thin material of your compression top. They’re going to look nasty in a few hours if you don’t ice them soon. A knock on the door stops your actions, and you invite the person on the other side in. To your surprise it’s Joel, and he’s holding an ice pack. 

“I thought you might need one of these,” he says, extending it to you. 

You thank him and hiss slightly when the cold hits your skin. There’s a beat of awkward silence before Joel speaks again. “Can I ask why you’re trying to change that jump?”

“You noticed that?” you know it isn’t a response to his question, but you’re shocked. 

Joel smiles and nods. You explain how changing the position of your arms increases the difficulty of the jump and therefore raises the amount of points it can receive. “So you’re doing it to get more points?”

“Pretty much. It’s a gamble this close to competition, but I’m confident it’ll work out.”

“You’re afraid your program won’t gain enough points to put you in a good position for the free skate,” he notes, “Or you wouldn’t be doing this.”

Once again, you’re floored by Joel’s understanding of your sport. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” you say as confidently as you can. “But maybe I just want the challenge.” If Joel notices the shake in your voice and the worried look in your eye he doesn’t say anything. 

You go through your cool-down routine but are surprised Joel doesn’t leave. In fact, he stays at the rink until you’re finished and follows you to the parking lot. His car is parked a few spots over from you, so you have to raise your voice a little to get him to hear you. “Hey Joel,” you call, “Do you not have practice?”

“Day off,” he yells back. He’s grinning like an idiot, which prompts you to ask him why. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.” The smile on his face doesn’t go away, and you try to settle the butterflies in your stomach as you drive home. 

☼☼☼☼

Something shifts between you and Joel after that day. It’s subtle, but you’re well on your way to becoming friends. Phone numbers are exchanged, with him insisting his contact name be ‘King Beezer’, and the two of you chat regularly outside of the rink. He still watches as many training sessions as he can, and you start making appearances at his practices. It’s far more awkward for you but you push through it if for no other reason than wanting to be a good sport. Once Joel’s teammates catch wind of your budding friendship, they’re pestering you to go to a game. You politely decline each time, explaining that your training schedule is rather rigid and you can’t change it so close to nationals. The competition is just over a week out, and you’re catching a flight to Utah in three days. 

Joel doesn’t let you know he’s a little upset you won’t shift your schedule for him. Instead, he brings you lunch on days where you’re at the rink for eight hours and does his individual workouts alongside you. The two of you fall into the easy routine of enjoying each other’s company and everyone else is beginning to take notice. 

“So,” you say with a mouth full of the pita Joel brought you, “What are your plans for the All-Star break?”

Joel has been toying with an idea for a few weeks now, but he’s keeping it a secret. “I’m just gonna spend it at home with my family,” he shrugs. 

“You’re fucking joking. Joel, you could be someplace warm enjoying the beach!”

“I don’t want to go to the beach,” Joel retorts. 

You open your mouth to argue with him, because you’re of the opinion that everyone should love the beach, but you’re cut off by Brenda calling you to return to the ice. “This conversation isn’t over Beezer,” you say sternly, poking him in the chest to prove your point. He rolls his eyes. 

“I’ve gotta be at Wells Fargo in an hour for a team meeting, so I can’t watch this session,” he tells you. You’re a little deflated but understand he can’t play hookie from his job to watch you do yours. Brenda is banging a skate guard on the boards to get your attention, so you wave goodbye and jog over to her. “Y/N,” Joel yells loud enough that you’ll hear him over the chatter on the ice, “Keep your core tight!”

Your coaching team is perplexed at the comment because it’s second nature to you at this point, but you think it’s sweet. Some of the other girls poke fun at your ‘boyfriend’ and it makes you irritable. Brenda tells them off and suggests they get back to work which makes you feel better. You keep Joel’s advice in the back of your mind for the rest of your practice, and land every jump almost flawlessly. 

The day before you board your flight you have a terrible practice. Brenda chalks it up to nerves, but you that’s not it. You feel good about the competition and are confident it will go well. Something is off – you just can’t put a finger on it. Frustration eventually boils over and practice is called early. Everyone stays out of your way, letting you cool off, and you huff out a goodbye after promising to meet Brenda at the airport in the morning. Before you’re even out the door you’ve got your phone pressed to your ear, waiting for Joel to pick up. The Flyers got to start their break a day early due to a scheduling conflict and you hope he doesn’t fly home tonight. 

“What’s up?” Joel says casually. Judging by the background noise he’s playing video games, no doubt some dumb first-person shooter game he seems to play constantly. The sound of his voice is enough to send you into tears and you can’t get out a reply. His tone changes instantly and the noise stops – the game paused and forgotten about. “Hey,” he soothes, “What’s wrong?”

“Practice was bad,” you choke out, “Like really bad. Joel, I don’t think I can do this.” Now across the parking lot and at your car, you throw your bag in the trunk and crumble into the driver’s seat. 

“Of course you can. Want me to bring dinner over and we can do whatever?” You agree, not wanting to be alone, and hang up only after insisting you’re okay to drive the twenty minutes to your apartment. 

Joel must have drove well above the speed limit because he pulls into the parking lot at the same time as you. His engine is turned off jarringly fast, and he’s popping your trunk to grab your bag before your gears have settled in park. Though you put up some rather weak protests about carrying your own stuff, Joel ignores them. When you insist on holding something he tosses you the bag of food he brought with him. Opening it up, you realize Joel had stopped at your favourite sushi restaurant even though he doesn’t like the food. A smile creeps onto your face, possibly the first one all day, and you lean into Joel slightly when he wraps an arm around your shoulder. 

The two of you eat in silence, but it’s far from awkward. Joel’s waiting for you to open up, knows you will eventually, and you’re trying to find the words. However, they’re yet to appear, so you let Joel lead you to the couch and put on an episode of some crime show he’s currently watching. 

“Thanks for coming over,” you say as the credits roll on the second episode. 

Joel sends a smile your way, which you do your best to reciprocate. “Don’t worry about it. This is what friends do.” 

Slowly, you open up about practice, venting about how you skated sloppily and couldn’t nail any element no matter how simple it was. You tell him about how tense your muscles are and how scared you are that your fifteen minutes of fame are over, that you’ll never get another chance to represent America on the world stage. Joel listens attentively, letting you speak for as long as you need. At some point you start crying again and he tucks you into his side. Your tears soak through his sweatshirt but he could care less. When you’ve laid all your emotions out on the table he speaks gently, dispelling your doubts and letting you know that you can do it and he believes in you. Joel’s words make it easier to believe in yourself. 

The two of you spend the night on the couch, and you’re disheartened when your alarm goes off. You can’t stay in the little bubble Joel created for the two of you – the world and its responsibilities taking precedence over your fantasy. He drives you to the airport, rationalizing it by telling you it’ll be safer to keep your car at home. Realistically there isn’t a difference, but you thank him anyways. Parking is just one last thing you have to worry about. When you reach the airport entrance, Joel pulls into the idling lane and steps out of the car. You follow him, dragging your feet a bit because though you’re excited for nationals you don’t want to leave Joel. This will be the longest time the two of you have been apart since becoming friends.

“Make sure you don’t forget about me when you win and get all famous,” Joel jokes, handing you your suitcase. 

You swat his shoulder playfully. “Like you’d let that happen.”

“Of course I wouldn’t. Come here.”

He takes you in his arms. You’ve hugged Joel a couple of times before, but they didn’t feel as serious as this. This time he’s holding you for a purpose and you’re gripping the back of his jacket tightly because you want him to let go. It’s longer than people who are just friends are meant to hug for, so you begrudgingly pull away. Besides, Brenda and some of your teammates are waiting. 

“Have a good time at home,” you mumble. 

Joel wraps a single arm around you for one more squeeze. “You have a good time,” he says seriously. “Remember to enjoy the moment. I’ll be watching on T.V.” 

With your goodbyes said you wander into the airport. Joel says parked in his spot until he sees you embrace Brenda before driving off. The boarding process is painless, and once on the plane you take your seat beside a junior and put your headphones on. Downloaded to your Spotify is one of Joel’s hip-hop playlists, and though it’s the farthest thing from the music you enjoy you listen to it the whole flight.

☼☼☼☼

Utah’s nice, but you can’t help feeling like something’s missing – Joel’s missing. You’ve become so accustomed to him watching you train, clapping like an idiot every time you land a jump, that the silence is unnerving. Everyone notices the shift in your performance, and eventually Brenda crumbles and uses your phone to facetime him while you practice. It’s a decent enough substitute – Joel watches your pixelated figure zip around the ice and though he doesn’t always make comments, just know he’s with you in some capacity is enough to let your mind focus on the task at hand. You do the best you can at pushing away the butterflies that appear every time you think about how he’s giving up his freedom to make sure you succeed. 

When you aren’t training or doing press you’re talking to Joel. You call him constantly, narrating what you see on walks around town to settle your nerves and eating at the same time to make it feel like you’re together. The only person to support you in Salt Lake City is Brenda, so talking to Joel frequently makes you feel far less alone. You wish he could be here with you, but understand he needs time to recharge and can’t just follow you around the country no matter how much you’d like him to. 

“What time do you skate tomorrow?” Joel asks, mouth full of the pizza he’s enjoying. The features behind are different, so you assume he’s settled into his childhood home. 

“Um, I think 11:35? I’m not entirely sure,” you respond. Due to the way the event is seeded you’re skating second last, which both settles your nerves and makes you more anxious. There isn’t the pressure of closing out the event, but there’s hope that you’ll score high enough to win the short program and skate last in the free skate. 

Joel hums pensively. “I’ll check the website.” Conversation shifts away from skating, which you’re grateful for. It’s the last thing you currently want to think about. You listen with interest as Joel recounts stories of the pond hockey matches he’s played since getting home. The two of you are on the phone until nearly ten, when you have to say goodnight and head to bed. Tomorrow marks the start of the biggest week of your year. 

You follow your pre-competition routine to the letter. At other events this season you’ve been more relaxed, but your professional skating career depends on your performance at nationals so you aren’t taking chances. Five-thirty comes faster than you thought it would, but you’re out of bed and eating your first breakfast quickly. A quick two mile run follows, and then you’re having a shower and grabbing a second breakfast to eat at the rink. You meet Brenda in the hotel lobby before ubering to the rink. A solid practice follows, and you manage to keep your imposter syndrome on a leash in the presence of the other skaters. 

“It’s Joel,” Brenda says as she tosses you your phone. 

“Hey,” you say, squeezing the device between your ear and shoulder. “I don’t have much time to talk. My warm up call is soon.”

Joel laughs and you find yourself cracking a smile at the sound. “I know. Just wanted to check in and see how you’re feeling.”

“Honestly? I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous for a competition.”

His response is cut off by a loud noise. “Where are you?” you ask. 

“Just at home,” he says quickly. “My sister has some friends over and they’re being loud.”

The line is compelling enough that you don’t question how hastily it was delivered. Joel stays on the phone until you have to go, keeping your mind off the jittery feeling in your stomach. The TV cameras catch you talking but you give them a cheery wave and continue telling Joel about how good the soap at your hotel smells. You hang up when they call your flight to take to the ice for warmup and give your phone back to Brenda for safe keeping. 

☼☼☼☼

Joel tries hard not to feel too out of place while he takes his seat. For someone who practically lives in arenas he feels like it’s his first time within fifty yards of one. Everyone around him is dressed nicely, and he’s acutely aware of the fact there is a neon orange pom-pom attached to the top of his hat. 

As much as he feels like a baby deer trying to stand, Joel’s beyond excited to be here. It’s been a while since he’s gone somewhere that wasn’t hockey related and getting to support you while he does it is the best scenario ever. There are some potential looks of recognition from those around him, but thankfully no one approaches. 

Skaters begin to take the ice and he scans vigilantly for you. You’re doing the best you can to stay warm, jacket zipped all the way up and gloves on your hands. Joel notices you seem to be the loosest of the girls below him but isn’t sure if that’s a good thing. You skate a few quick laps before warming up some jumps. Everything goes well, though he can tell you under-rotated a few of them and didn’t attempt the one quad in your program. The warm up is over as quickly as it began and you’re herded off the ice. Joel sinks a little further in his seat as gets ready to watch your competitors. 

☼☼☼☼

There’s just over five minutes until you take to the ice. You keep your body moving, walking up and down the corridor, and blast your pre-competition playlist so loud you’ll probably have hearing damage when you’re older. Only one other girl in the hall with you but it feels too small. Brenda comes to grab you and the pair of you walk to the side of the boards. You don’t watch who’s currently skating, choosing instead to focus on adjusting your feet slightly in your skates. 

“Go out there and put on a show,” Brenda says. “Fuck the judges.”

You laugh at her remark. “Okay Bren, when I lose points for flipping them off I’m blaming you.”

“Fine by me. I have a bone to pick with Mark Johnson anyways.”

The scores for the previous girl are being announced, so you peel your jacket from your frame and do a couple more laps. Right before your name is announced you press your forehead to Brenda’s. It’s a ritual you started back when you were barely as tall as the boards and you’ve done it every single competition since. You feel grounded looking in her eyes, and you break with a fist bump. It’s go time. 

Every inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire. You didn’t come to play, and leave everything on the ice. The skate isn’t completely clean, you stumbled on the landing of a triple axel, but you’re happy with it. Despite your fears, both the triple lutz and quad salchow go smoothly. Audience engagement was at an all time high and you finished to deafening applause. Brenda wraps you in a tight hug when you step off the ice before leading you over to the kiss and cry. You chat idly with her and your choreographer, trying to catch your breath, while you wait for your score. 

The announcer’s booming voice crackles over the PA as he reads the judges’ decision. “The scores for Y/N Y/L/N please.” You don’t pay attention to the individual numbers, just the final total. “For a total score of 74.83.”

It’s lower than you had hoped for. Not by much, just two or three points, but it could mean all the difference in tomorrow’s skate. Brenda pats your leg sympathetically and whispers in your, “It’s alright. You skated well.”

You head back to the dressing room to watch the final skater on the small T.V in the corner while you get undressed. She’s phenomenal, and you end the day falling to third place. Joel’s hip-hop playlist blasts through your headphones as you do your cool down routine. The average tempo is upbeat and helps to take your mind off the fact you’re not where you want to be. Just as you’re about to exit the room and find Brenda to talk strategy there’s a knock on the door. 

“Yeah?” you say dejectedly, the word coming out as more of a sigh than you had intended. 

The door is cracked open, and the head of your best friend peaks out from around it. “Hey there rockstar,” Joel says softly, stepping further into the room. Once you comprehend that he’s really here you’re sprinting in his direction, jumping into his embrace. Joel’s laugh reverberates in his chest, and you feel it as you settle further into him. 

“Why are you here?” you whisper. Though you’re elated Joel is here, you’re confused as to why he would want to spend his break in Utah. 

He lets you down gently and shrugs. “I had to see if you’d land the quad.” Joel’s smile matches yours as you shake your head. 

“You’re fucking insane,” you quip, but there’s no malice in your voice.

Before you can pester Joel into answering all your questions you’re whisked away to a press conference. Talking to the media is something you don’t particularly enjoy, and it’s even more difficult to stay present when you know you could be spending time with your best friend. Most of the questions are directed towards the girls who placed higher than you which you’re thankful for. It’s easier for you to zone out, and you root through your mind of places around the city to take Joel. 

“Y/N, how tough will it be for you to better your scores in tomorrow’s free skate?”

The question is one that you expected, luckily, and you’re able to recite the response you worked out with Brenda without really engaging with the reporter. “I mean I obviously didn’t aim to be in third place heading into tomorrow,” you joke, “But I’m fairly happy with where I ended up. The other girls had fantastic skates and deserve to be above me. My plan for tomorrow is to leave everything on the ice, skate cleanly, and be proud of myself regardless of what happens.”

Pens scribble furiously by those that don’t have recording devices to get your words down on paper. There’s some chatter, questions for the other girls, before a young reporter fresh out of journalism school is allowed to speak. He identifies himself as Theo Rateliff before jumping in. “Y/N,” he says, “How excited are you to get back to training on home ice when you get back to Jersey?”

“Um, I didn’t know the renovations were finished,” you stammer. “As far as I know, I’ll be at Flyers SkateZone until the end of the season.”

Theo shakes his head. “My partner was informed this morning that the rink will be good to go by the time you get back.”

You turn to the side to look at Brenda, who just shrugs. “Well, to be quite honest I’ll miss being in Voorhees. I had fun skating there and feel like the rink prepared me well for this competition.”

“Obviously not well enough,” Theo retorts, not missing a beat. “Your odds of winning dropped by seventy-seven percent.”

“Thank you for the reminder Theo,” you snap. “Are we done here?”

The press-coordinator shakes their head in confirmation, and you rip the microphone off your jacket before stomping off. People clear a path for you, not wanting to get caught in your storm. You run right to Joel who lets you direct him out of the arena and into the uber he called while you were wrapping up. 

It’s a silent ride, Joel knowing you aren’t in the mood for light conversation. He lets you take a ridiculously long shower and orders take out that arrives just as you step out of the bathroom. 

“Where are you staying?” you ask as you detangle your hair. 

“Nowhere yet,” Joel says, “I got in early this morning and went straight to the rink.”

You think carefully about your next words before you speak. Your competition routines can be excessive and annoying, and you don’t want to inconvenience him. “You could just stay here. The room is massive and there’s more than enough space for both of us in the bed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, voice taking a soft lilt. “I’d really like it if you stayed.”

Joel smiles wider than you’ve ever seen him do before. The two of you sit comfortably in bed, eating the burritos Joel got and going down a conspiracy theory youtube wormhole. He asks how you feel about him coming to watch your evening training session you have to leave for in twenty minutes. You tell him you’d be angry if he didn’t stand beside your coach and clap every time you landed a jump. 

It’s chilly but the sun is shining bright so you decide to bundle up and walk to the rink. Joel pokes fun at you beanie and you swat him in the chest, shutting him up for the time being after his giggles subside. The view is gorgeous, mountains framing the setting sun. You squeeze Joel’s bicep to get his attention and relish the feeling of his muscle in your grip. 

“Look! An owl!”

Sure enough, a barn owl is flying over top of you, in the middle of downtown Salt Lake City. “That’s my good luck charm. Means I’ll skate well tomorrow.”

Joel pokes your cheek lightly. “I thought I was your good luck charm,” he gasps. 

You roll your eyes. “I guess you can be my secondary one.” Joel doesn’t seem to mind the fact your arms are still wrapped around his, so you stay that way until for the rest of the journey. 

☼☼☼☼

The night goes according to plan. You skate well in practice and feel comfortable for tomorrow’s event. Joel executes his role perfectly, cheering when you do things well and squirting water at you to make you squeal in laughter when things get a little too serious. Once back at the hotel you collapse into bed almost immediately. You’re so exhausted you can’t even be bothered to climb under the covers, and wait until Joel pulls them back for himself to crawl in. There’s no awkwardness at sharing a bed with Joel, and you sigh contently as he pulls you into his side. Sleep comes easily then for the both of you. 

You wake before both your alarm and Joel. It takes you a second to get your bearing and realize you’re pinned against his body, though you don’t mind. There’s worse places to be stuck. You lay curled into Joel for as long as you can, but eventually you have to shake him awake. 

“Beezer,” you whisper, ruffling his hair, “You’ve gotta let me out.”

He groans something unintelligible but instead of heeding your words pulls you closer. “Joel come on,” you try again, “I’ve really gotta get up. Need to shower before I get to the rink.”

Joel listens this time, but only lets you go after squeezing you tight for a second. You go about your routine with him still passed out in bed and giggle at the way his hair curls around his ears when you pass by. As you’re leaving to get to your practice ice slot Joel wakes up, lumbering into the bathroom. He reappears a minute or two later to say goodbye. 

“Will I see you after practice?” he asks, voice still gruff with sleep. 

“Probably not,” you reply, leaning down to tie your shoes. “I won’t be coming back here until after everything is done.”

Joel nods and wraps you in a warm hug. “You’re going to do great,” he says as he pulls away. “I’ll be there, cheering so fucking loud.”

“I expect you to throw a teddy bear on the ice after I finish.”

The walk to the arena is lonely without Joel, but you push the thought out of your mind. You need to stay focused on putting on the skate of your life in a few hours and not on how lately you’ve been having more-than-friendly thoughts about your best friend. Brenda is there when you arrive, making conversation about what you did last night with Joel before explaining how you’re going to run your practice.

Your hour of semi-private ice passes in the blink of an eye. The other girls in your flight are just as tense as you, popping jumps and doing a lot of stroking to loosen up. A lot is riding on today’s event and you’d be lying if you weren’t feeling the pressure. When you get back to the dressing room and check your phone, you notice there’s a text from Joel. 

Don’t want to disrupt your pre-comp routine, but I thought I’d share a playlist. It’s songs that remind me of you. 

Included is a link to a spotify playlist entitled ‘my golden girl’. You open it with a smile, noticing that it starts with some of your favourite songs even though they aren’t the kind of thing Joel regularly listens to before turning into things you’ve never heard before. 

Thanks <3, you respond, going to listen to it during my off-ice. 

That’s exactly what you do. It filters through your headphones for hours as you stretch, do a quick interview for those watching on television, and get dressed. Though it’s a break from your typical routine, it’s welcome. Knowing Joel thought about you enough to make you a playlist and send it to you helps calm your nerves. 

“Hey kiddo,” Brenda says as she walks to where you’ve taken up root on the floor. Your left hamstring is tight, and you’re trying desperately to fix it before you have to go on the ice. “Go out there and absolutely kill it. This is your best program, and I haven’t seen anyone skate better than what you can do today.”

“Gee thanks for the confidence booster Bren,” you chuckle before hoisting yourself onto the bench to tie your skates. 

She doesn’t laugh. “I mean it Y/N. You can still win this thing.”

You’re left alone to finish getting ready and then join the other girls in the tunnel. No one talks, which you’re grateful for. When you were younger and coming up through the ranks the other competitors liked to gossip while they waited and it was your least favourite part of an entire competition. A camera man waits at the end of the walkway, filming your arrival to the ice pad, and you wave cheerily as you pass by. It can never hurt to endear yourself to those watching at home – maybe they’ll be nicer to you on the internet. 

Joel is standing at the edge of the boards during your warmup, watching and cheering intently. In a moment of insane confidence you blow him a kiss as you skate past, and giggle hysterically when he catches it and holds it close to his chest. You’re called off the ice then and spend the time really getting into the zone. 

It’s considered bad luck to watch the performances before your own, so you face the wall as you do jog lightly to keep your body temperature up and the adrenaline flowing. Much sooner than you’d like it’s your turn to take your guards and jacket off. Brenda holds your skating hands as she whispers last minute words of encouragement, and you stumble through the traditional handshake before presenting yourself to the crowd. 

Once the music starts your brain checks out and instinct takes over. You learned when you were younger that your best skates happened when you just allowed yourself to feel, and you desperately need the skate of a lifetime. Going into the first jumping pass you can feel yourself tense up so you think about Joel’s smile while you guys sat by the lake last night. It works to loosen you up, and you spend the rest of the program thinking of your favourite moments with Joel. As you strike your final pose the music fades out and the roars of applause cascade in. You know you had a flawless performance, beaming as you fist pump the air in the same manner you chirp Joel for doing while he celebrates goals. 

You bow to the crowd in all directions, waving and laughing as flowers and teddy bears fall onto the ice in front of you. An orange blob of fur catches your eye, and you skate to pick it up before one of the volunteers could put it in the bag that will join your garment bag in the dressing room. You know Joel is the one who threw the Gritty toy – no one else really knows of your affiliations with the team. As you sit in the kiss and cry awaiting your results, you examine the stuffed animal. Instead of the regular Gritty jersey Joel replaced it with his own, the number flashing vividly at you and pulling a smile from your nervous features. 

Brenda keeps her hand clasped tightly in yours as the PA system crackles to life. “And the scores for Y/N Y/L/N are,” the announcer begins, and your knee begins bouncing rapidly. “The free skate score is 155.79, for a total score of 230.62.”

You jump up in amazement. Despite your slow start to the competition you managed to get a season’s best. You’re also five points ahead of the second place skater, guaranteeing you a place on the podium and depending on the final results, a spot at worlds. A volunteer ushers you out of the kiss and cry and you skip all the way down the tunnel. To get out some of the adrenaline you jog the corridor a few times before returning to Brenda. 

“Come on,” she laughs, “Joel’s waiting at the edge of the public area. We can watch the final skate together.”

At the mention of Joel you’re jogging again, wanting to see him as fast as possible. “Beezer!” you shriek as you approach, launching into the elaborate handshake the two of you have perfected at this point. 

“Hey golden girl,” he chuckles, returning your actions with just as much enthusiasm. “You looked fucking great out there. I see you got my gift.”

The Gritty doll is still in your hands but there’s no shame. Instead, you tuck it under your arm and rest your head against Joel’s shoulder to watch the final skater. The girl after you had fallen a number of times, dropping her total significantly and landing her in fifth place. Victory is so close you can almost taste it.

 It’s the longest six minutes of your life. Watching her skate increases your anxiety – she’s good, has almost as great a skate as you, but she under-rotated a jump and rushed through her program so there was extra music at the end. The clock above your head rings throughout the silent corridor as everyone awaits the scores with baited breath. In under a minute you’ll know whether you’re returning to New Jersey with a gold or silver medal in your suitcase. 

You don’t hear anything as they announce her score – just see the numbers flash of the small T.V screen and calculate that it’s not enough for her to beat you. After years of blood, sweat, and an immeasurable amount of tears you’ve crossed another goal off your list. Those around you are jumping and screaming, Brenda letting a few tears escape. All you can think about is Joel, who’s celebrating like he just scored the game winning goal in the Stanley Cup finals, and how much you love him. 

Without thinking, you smash your lips against Joel’s. It’s adrenaline filled and mostly teeth until he wraps one hand around your waist and the places the other along your jaw. Then it becomes purposeful, both of you moving in tandem and never wanting it to stop. When Joel pulls away and rests his forehead against yours you can’t stop smiling. The kiss might have happened in the heat of the moment, but you know it’s the culmination of feelings building inside of you for months. 

“You’re a national champion,” Joel says, pulling you flush against his chest in the biggest hug you’ve ever received. 

“I’m your national champion,” you whisper. 

He pulls back and grins, kissing you again. “You’re my national champion. My golden girl.”

The rest of your stay in Salt Lake City is a blur. You’re swept up in the numerous press events, galas, and enjoying your blossoming relationship with Joel. When you finally got back to the hotel after what seemed like hours of people complimenting your comeback, the two of you sat down and talked about the kiss and what you wanted to happen next. It was scary, being so vulnerable, but it needed to happen – you’re both adults and communication is important. So, you’re returning home with a gold medal and boyfriend, two things you’re ecstatic about. 

☼☼☼☼

“J, it’s not straight,” you giggle. Joel’s trying, and failing miserably, to hang the shadow box with your nationals medal in it above your couch. It’s been almost a month since you returned home but you’ve been so busy that decorating the apartment you barely spend time in has been at the bottom of your to-do list. 

He grunts out a response. “Fuck. Do I have to go left or right?”

“Left.” The picture shifts in the opposite direction. “The other left Joel!”

A few minutes later the decoration is sitting perfectly in place. Your child of a boyfriend insists on getting rewarded for his achievement, so the two of you bundle up and get dinner. It’s nothing fancy – just sandwiches from the deli down the street from your apartment, but spending time with him is nice. Joel’s been on a string of short road trips and you’ve been training anxiously, waiting for the organization to announce who they’re sending to the world championship. 

“How’s practice been lately?” Joel asks, mouth full with a bite of his BLT. “I miss being able to watch you skate whenever I want.”

After returning from Utah you were shuttled immediately into the freshly renovated rink of your skating club. It’s a little farther into Jersey and certainly not as convenient for him to get to, especially now that the NHL season is picking up and the Flyers are clinging desperately to the final playoff spot. “It’s been interesting,” you shrug, “I’m skating well, and physically I feel great. There’s a mental block or something though because everything feels a little bit off.”

The smile that graces Joel’s face can only be described as shit-eating. “Duh, I’m not there.”

“Fuck off.” Though you try to make the words come out in a serious tone, there’s no malice in them. 

Conversation flips to some ridiculous story Travis told at practice that morning, and you giggle as Joel recounts it with failing arms. You tell a few stories of your own, that leave him in stitches, and as you walk home hand in hand he asks you again to come to a game. With your schedule a little more flexible as you wait for a decision about the upcoming competition stint it will be much easier to see Joel play. You say yes with a shy smile and don’t miss the way the boy beside you blushes under the streetlights. 

Joel stays over, and the next two nights after that. It’s nice, falling into a relationship with your best friend, because there’s no awkwardness. You know what kind of cereal to keep in your pantry and he knows you don’t eat meat on Mondays. Everything is easy. There are a fews in the road, as can be expected with any budding relationship, but for the most part your lives fit seamlessly together.  

After some meticulous planning, you found a home game on the Flyers schedule that will coincide with yours. It’s a Friday night near the end of February, and it’s actually the last day US Figure Skating can announce their assignments for worlds. You figure watching your boyfriend is the perfect way to distract yourself from the decision, whether or not you make the team. Joel’s ecstatic about your attendance, wanting you to be immersed in as many aspects of his life as possible. The entire day he’s bouncing around your apartment, beyond ready for puck drop. 

“It’s literally three in the afternoon,” you grumble as Joel corrals you into the hall to put your shoes on. “You never leave this early! Why do we have to do it today?” In an attempt to save gas and lower your carbon footprint you’re carpooling with Joel.

“Because being in this house is making you more anxious,” he points out. “I’ve caught you staring into the distance one too many times today. Besides, this way you can meet up with some of the other girls and relax before the game.” 

Joel’s right, as he so often is. Your agent hasn’t called to let you know if you made the team or not, nor has US Figure Skating made an announcement on social media. So you’ve spent the entire day pacing back and forth around your living room and fretting that perhaps the best performance of your season wasn’t good enough. He twirls his car keys around his index finger in an attempt to speed you along and you roll your eyes at his impatience. 

After ensuring your home is safely secured you hit the road. The drive into Philadelphia is easy, with little traffic, and you spend it laughing at Joel’s ridiculous freestyle raps. It doesn’t surprise you that the staff lot at the Wells Fargo Centre is sparsely populated – most of the guys don’t show up until around five, Joel included. However, a group of women are standing near the entrance. While this isn’t the first time you’ve met significant others of your boyfriend’s teammates, it’s the first time Joel won’t be around. 

“It’ll be alright,” he whispers as the car settles into park. You offer a small smile that mustn't have been convincing because Joel lifts the hand that’s intertwined with his to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss to the knuckles. The smile becomes genuine and you tease him the entire walk to the door. 

Joel greets the other girls before setting his bag down on the concrete and wrapping you in a hug. “Have fun,” you say softly against his lips, landing a short kiss. He winks and opens the door, disappearing inside and leaving you in a fit of giggles. 

There was no reason for you to be nervous – everyone is incredibly kind. You seem to be the youngest in the group, but the other girls pay no mind and treat you as one of their own. There’s a small amount of confusion when your phone chimes with a notification, a few glances of possible distaste, but as soon you explain you’re waiting on a very important call they understand. Dinner is wonderful, filled with sincere questions about your skating career and how you got together with Joel. By the time you get back to the arena for the game it feels as though you’ve been a part of the group for years. 

You spend the game in the family and friends box, sipping a glass of wine and following Joel around the ice. Practice is early in the morning and you want to be productive, so you’re relaxed in your alcohol consumption compared to some of the others. One of the older girls, though you can’t remember what player is her significant other, recently got engaged and is celebrating with as many drinks as those around her will allow. It’s fun to experience a hockey game in this way, but you’re a little on edge. You haven’t anything about worlds assignments all day and the organization doesn’t typically leave the announcement to this late in the evening. There’s seven minutes left in the game when your phone rings. You quickly excuse yourself from the group and step into the hall. 

“Hello?”

“Y/N,” the chipper voice of your agent Megan says, “How are you?”

A nervous laughter tumbles from your lips. “I think that depends on what you’re about to tell me.”

“I imagined you’d say something along those lines,” she responds. “You’ve always been quite witty.” Before you ask her to just get to the point of the phone call, Megan speaks. “I have some good news and some bad news for you. You’re going to the World Championships, but you aren’t leading the team like we hoped.”

It’s not as bad as she made it sound. A breath you didn’t know you were holding escapes, and you try your best to remain professional in the hallway of the arena. “Honestly,” you sigh, “I think that’s better. There’s going to be a lot less pressure for me to bring home three Olympic spots. Thanks for letting me know Meg.” She hangs up then, no doubt having to tell another girl she didn’t make the cut. 

When you slip back through the door, you find all eyes on you. “What was that about?” 

“I made the roster for worlds.”

Earth-shattering applause erupts from everyone in the room, and no one pays attention to what happens on the ice for the remainder of the game. The congratulations continue until you’re waiting outside the dressing room for Joel to exit. He had a good game, featuring two assists and a blocked shot, and smiles lazily when he sees you leaning against the brick wall. 

“This is something I could get used to,” he chuckles, pulling you into him by the belt loops of your jeans. The two of you kiss for a moment, letting it stay chaste in fear of getting chirped by teammates.

“Well,” you sigh dramatically, drawing out the suspense of what you’re about to say, “You’re going to have to wait a bit longer for it to become a regular occurrence. My training schedule just increased exponentially.”

Joel sits on your words for a moment before it registers. “No fucking way!” he shouts, picking you up by the waist as the two you are a pairs team. “You got the spot?” 

Having Joel be so excited about the accomplishment makes it seem that much more real. Tears well in your eyes and you shake your head up and down to signal he’s correct. Joel presses his lips to yours once again, this time not caring about any insults his friends could throw at him. The kiss makes you feel loved, fully and completely, and you hope you’re conveying the same amount of emotion he is. 

“That’s my girl.”

☼☼☼☼

“Oh my fucking god,” you grumble, picking yourself off the ice for what feels like the hundredth time in the past five minutes. There’s two weeks until you leave for Milan and it looks like you’ve never skated before. Jumps are being under-rotated, spins aren’t being entered properly, and your footwork sequence is abysmal. Nothing about the way you’re performing would let a newcomer know you’re a world class athlete. 

Brenda gives you a sympathetic smile. “Just try again kiddo.”

You do try again – fifteen more times to be exact. Each attempt at a triple axel getting farther and farther from what it should be. Before you get even more frustrated you abandon the element altogether, hoping to avoid a complete meltdown. No one questions it when you shift disciplines completely and move about the ice completing a simple foxtrot pattern. Ice dance has always been a great de-stresser for you, and after a few passes you feel your heart rate return to normal. At some point during your break Joel had entered the rink and is now standing beside your coach, making pleasant conversation. You smile as you skate towards them, ecstatic that the two most important parts of your life blend seamlessly. 

“Farabee!” you shout when you get close enough for him to hear you. At the sound of your voice Joel smiles, turning to pick up your water bottle and toss it in your direction. 

“I’m wounded babe,” he feigns pain as you take a drink, “I really thought that we were on at least a first name basis.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics and playfully squirt water at him. “I’ll call you whatever I want. What brings you this far into Jersey?”

“Thought I’d see if you wanted to grab lunch after you were done. We’ve got a late practice today,” he explains. “Whatever you want, eh? Does that mean I say whatever I want? Because I think you’re looking particularly good in those leggings.tum” You don’t miss the suggestive tone to his voice, but choose to ignore it.

Joel watches the rest of your practice from his spot at the boards and lays himself across the dressing room bench as you complete a quick cool down routine. You have a meeting with your massage therapist in the afternoon, so you follow Joel to the restaurant he chose. It’s a small vegan place that you sometimes stop at on your way home from the rink. They have the best burrito bowls you’ve ever tasted and since you’ve gotten together Joel has become rather fond of them as well. 

The two of you sit outside on the curb. New Jersey is uncharacteristically warm for March and you want to enjoy the sunshine as much as possible. The rest of the day will be spent in dark rooms receiving physical therapy and trying to ease your tired muscles. There isn’t much conversation, but you’re more than content just to be with Joel. Life moves incredibly fast and your schedules don’t always line up nicely. It’s difficult to spend time with him, especially when you’re weeks out from a major competition, but small moments like this keep you from missing your boyfriend too much. 

“Have I asked you to take me to the airport yet? I can’t remember,” you admit as you finish the last bite of your meal. 

Joel laughs at your lapse in memory, knowing he gets the same way when high stakes games roll around. “No, but you would like me to?”

“Do you mind?” you ask, “That way I don’t have to leave my car at the airport for a week and a half. But if you can't, don't worry about it, I’ll grab an uber.”

“Babe, the uber will be like fifty bucks. I’ll take you. What time do you have to be there?”

You give him a much too detailed itinerary of your departure plans and listen to him talk about the drills they’re going to run at practice. Time passes much quicker than you would have liked, and soon you’re kissing him goodbye and watching him wave from your rearview mirror. 

It’s almost a week later when you see Joel again, showing up at a Flyers practice for the first time since training moved back to your home rink. You’ve been instructed to have a rest day, the team wanting to push you too hard before taking off. The arena attendants know you well at this point, and chat with you as you sit on a bench away from the media. You know better than you alert them of your presence – some of them no doubt wanting a comment from you about worlds. Joel has no idea you’re even there until long after practice, when he sees you leaning casually against the driver’s side door of your car, conveniently parked next to his.

“Hey all-star,” you say as casually as possible, twirling your keys around your index finger. 

He leans down to kiss you sweetly, and though you probably shouldn’t in a parking lot, you push your body closer to his in an attempt to deepen the kiss. Joel obliges you, tongue gently slipping into your mouth, staying there until you both hear the shouts of his teammates. 

“Fuck off,” he yells at Kevin, who’s hollering so loud people can probably hear him all the way back in Philadelphia. “What are you doing here?”

“I have a day off,” you smile, and I thought I’d come see if I could hitch a ride to your place.” You had originally planned to attend the game in person, but a rough day of training yesterday had you too sore to do much other than lie on the couch. 

“The chariot awaits m’lady,” he says in a terrible British accent, bowing for good measure as he opens the door. Your car will be fine in the parking lot overnight, so you slip in and enjoy the journey into the city. 

Joel’s pre-game routine changes only slightly with you in his apartment – instead of napping alone, you curl into his chest and snore softly, lulling him into one of the most peaceful sleeps he’s ever had. You tie his tie for him and riffle his hair before kissing him good luck. Being alone in Joel’s apartment isn’t as strange as you thought it would be, and you familiarize yourself with his kitchen while you make dinner. The pre-game show plays quietly in the background, and when they mention how well Joel is playing you can’t help but smile. 

It’s much more comfortable to watch the game in your boyfriend’s hoodie and pyjama pants on the couch than it would be to sit in the stiff arena seats. Time passes at a pretty leisurely pace, with nothing too exciting going on within the game, and sometime in the third period you fall asleep. The rest of the game and all the media appearances pass you by. Joel figures you must be sleeping when he doesn’t get a congratulatory text when Claude pulls off a buzzer beater to win. His suspensions are confirmed when he slips through his front door to see you drooling slightly on the throw pillow his mom bought him as a housewarming gift. 

You don’t remember climbing into bed, but you wake up with Joel’s socked feet pressed against your calves. He stirs behind you and mummers something unintelligible. 

“What was that sleepyhead?” you giggle, turning around to run a hand through his hair. It’s rather unruly at the moment and you find it adorable. 

“Good morning,” he repeats. 

“That’s what that was?”

“Leave me alone.”

The two of you lay in bed for a few more minutes before starting the day. You navigate around Joel flawlessly – like you’re there every morning. Breakfast is quick and you’re out the door before you have a chance to cherish the domesticity of it all. You have a pretty intense day of training and Joel has to be at the airport in two hours for a trip to Toronto. He drops you off in Voorhees, kissing you gently before making his way back into the city. You hate to see him go, wishing you could spend more time together before you head to worlds, but you know you’re both adults with real-world responsibilities. 

For the first time in the final push you have a practice that is up to standard. Things click into place and you feel good. Really good. Each time you skate a program it’s clean, and the elements don’t feel weak when completed individually. Maybe you’ll actually be able to pull this off. 

☼☼☼☼

Italy is beautiful, but you don’t get much time to enjoy it. A scheduling mishap has team USA leaving two days later than you were supposed to and now you’re all scrambling to find a groove. Every moment is being spent preparing for the competition – off ice training, multiple practices a day, press conferences. When you get a moment to spare you call Joel, but oftentimes he’s at practice or fulfilling other obligations. The time difference is brutal and souring your mood. You feel alone, and just wish Joel could be by your side like he was at nationals. 

As soon as you step on the ice something feels wrong. You run through a mental checklist and assure that nothing is – your skates feel they way they should and you didn’t forget any gear. It must be nerves. The competition officially starts tomorrow and you’re eager to cheer on the pairs teams America has brought. You do your best to skate it out, and by the time you’re allowed to have the ice to yourself you can almost convince yourself everything will be fine. 

The music starts and you snap into character. Your short program music is punchy and so are you – all sass and sharp angles as you navigate the opening step sequence. A lump forms in your throat as you set up the first first jumping pass, but you push it down. You’ve done a thousand triple lutz-triple toe-loop combinations and could execute it flawlessly in your sleep. 

Everything happens so fast. One second you’re rotating through the air and the next you’re sprawled across the ice. Nothing feels off until you try to pick yourself up. When you can’t move your left leg you look to see what the issue is and find your kneecap where it most certainly should not be. It’s rotated nearly one hundred and eighty degrees, now residing in the back instead of the front. 

“Help me!” you scream, mostly out of shock. There’s no pain which surprises you, but you know it definitely should hurt. Everyone around the ice surface is frozen in place, not knowing what happened or what to do, and you continue to sob helplessly. 

Someone sprints to get the onsite emergency responders and Brenda runs to you as fast as her dress shoes will allow. “Don’t look at it honey,” she soothes. “It’s just going to make things worse.”

“It should hurt,” you croak out through the tears, “Why doesn’t it hurt?”

“You’ve got so much adrenaline pumping through your veins you can’t feel anything,” the EMT explains in flawless English. “Can we take your skates off?”

You nod, and the right skate comes off breezily. Brenda unlaces your left skate and the medical team works to pry the boot from your foot. A sharp pain shoots up your leg and you wail in agony. “Shh, it’s okay,” your coach coos, “The skate is going to stay on until we get to the hospital.”

The ride to the hospital feels like time is moving through sludge. The paramedics keep an eye on your blood pressure and do their best to keep you calm. Brenda is typing furiously on her phone, and you ask what she’s doing as the vehicle pulls into the ambulance bay. 

“The ISU rep told me to keep him updated,” she explains. “And I’m trying to vote on which alternate is going to take your place.”

You knew that was going to happen, you couldn’t possibly skate, but it makes you unbelievably sad. All your hard work is going to amount to nothing. No one cares about national champions who don’t place at worlds, and the injury is going to sideline you in next year’s olympic race. The emergency room has a bed ready for you, and the doctor arrives as you’re being transferred into it. 

“Miss Y/L/N, I’m Dr. Morelli. We’re going to put your patella back into place. It’s going to be incredibly painful, so we’re to sedate you. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you say as strongly as you can, though it comes out feeble and hoarse. 

A nurse inserts an IV into your arm and smiles at you. They have you count backwards from ten, and by the time you get to eight you’re asleep. There’s a brief moment of panic when you wake up as you forgot where you are. “You’re awake,” Brenda speaks softly from the bedside. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you admit. “It hurts so fucking bad.” 

She gives you a sympathetic smile. “I know. They’re going to come get you for x-rays in a few minutes and then we’ll go back to the hotel.”

“Oh my god,” you gasp. “I’ve gotta call Joel. Bren, give me your phone.”

Laughter comes from the device’s speakers, and you realize she’s one step ahead of you. 

“There’s my girl,” Joel whispers, eyes landing on yours as the phone lands in your hands. “Are you okay?”

The question makes you laugh. “You’re quite the comedian Mr. Farabee. Of course I’m not okay. My leg is currently being held together by a brace and my dreams are ruined.” You soften when you realize how upset Joel looks. “I’ll be fine J, I promise.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“There’s nothing you could have done. It was a freak accident. You can pick me up from the airport.”

He agrees in a heartbeat and tells you about his day to distract you from the pain. You’ll have to ask the nurses for some pain meds before you leave. A nurse comes to take you to the radiology department, and you hang up after reassuring him for the hundredth time that he doesn’t need to fly to Italy to bring you home himself. 

Brenda holds you as the adrenaline wears off and your legs twitches rapidly as a trauma response. She helps you navigate around the small room and makes sure you’re able to use the bathroom. Luckily none of her other skaters are competing, and she’s able to travel back to Philadelphia with you once the doctor clears you. It’s a rough flight – there’s a fair amount of turbulence and each bump makes your leg throb. You don’t get a wink of sleep and are grumpy by the time you touch down in Philly. Joel’s waiting at arrivals with a giant sign and a sweet smile. You wheel yourself over to him as quickly as possible, wanting nothing more than to collapse into his arms. 

“Welcome home baby,” he whispers, leaning down to catch your lips in an airport appropriate kiss. The reason you’re home so early isn’t brought up which you're incredibly grateful for. Your untimely withdrawal is still a very sore spot. 

“I wasn’t gone long,” you laugh, trying to poke fun at the situation before reality gets you too down. 

“Long enough for me to miss you a tremendous amount.”

The three of you exit the airport, and Joel drops Brenda off at her house before taking you back to his place. Chuck and the rest of the management team were allowing him to miss a few games until you become more mobile and can’t exist on your own for a few hours. Joel’s bed is calling out to you, but he insists you’ll feel better after a shower and you know he’s right. Showering isn’t something you can do yourself, so Joel keeps your leg straight and elevated as you sit on the stool he bought while waiting for you to return. The grime of travelling is washed away and you feel lighter when you swing into bed, stubbornly refusing Joel’s help. 

You convince him to let you watch the broadcast of the event you were supposed to be skating in. It’s probably not the best thing for your mental health, but you want to see how everyone does. Joel sits besides you, arm wrapped around your shoulder, and listens to you explain the rationale behind every element’s score. When your replacement takes the ice you go silent. It’s too much to see her skating in your place so you bury your face into Joel’s neck. There’s no jealousy like you thought there would be, just an infinite amount of sadness that you’re not able to be there. 

“You’ll be able to get back there,” Joel reassures you when he feels a tear soak through his sweater. 

“That’s not guaranteed,” you sniffle. “I might not ever skate again, let alone compete at any level.”

He shakes his head in disagreement, leading you to quirk a brow. “I know you. You’re going to do it. It won’t be easy, but you’re the most determined person I’ve ever met. People bounce back after major injuries all the time. I’ll be by your side the entire time, helping you through.”

“I love you,” you blurt out. The gravity of your words sinks in and you gasp. You haven’t said those words to each other yet, but they feel right.

“I love you too,” Joel smiles, kissing the tip of your nose. “Now pay attention to the TV, that girl you beat at Skate Canada is up next.”

☼☼☼☼

Recovery hasn’t been easy. There have been so many days where all you want to do is throw in the towel and cry, but Joel keeps you going. He insists you to your physical therapy exercises with him so you aren’t alone, and he comes to as many doctor’s appointments as he possibly can. After the Flyers get eliminated from the playoffs he doesn’t return home for the summer, choosing to stay in the Philly area with you. Having him there is a massive help, and you power through the pain. 

The Flyers are hosting a family skate before training camp, and it will be your first time on skates in nearly six months. Your doctors have cleared it as long as you take it slow and basically let Joel pull you around the rink but you don’t care. It gives you hope that one day you’ll be back to full strength. 

“Ready to do this thing?” Joel asks, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers. 

You nod enthusiastically and let him pull you from the bench to the tunnel and down to the boards. Joel steps on the ice first, keeping his hands up in case you need them for support. A few of the significant others notice what’s happening and they erupt in applause once both your feet are planted on the surface. Joel joins them, his eyes watering when he sees how happy you are to be skating again. 

“I do believe you promised me a few laps lover boy,” you wink. 

“Yes ma’am,” Joel giggles as he mock salutes. He places his hands in yours and guides you gently, careful not to go too fast or get too close to other groups. The two of you giggle and stop to kiss frequently but no one says anything. You’ve worked incredibly hard to get here and they’re perfectly content letting you have your moment. Standing at centre ice you feel complete, and you know it’s all thanks to Joel. 

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @samsteel​ @kiedhara​ @tortito​ @boqvistsbabe​ @iwantahockeyhimbo @himbos-on-ice​ if you want to be added just shoot me an ask :)

[whatifxwereyou]

Ashes Chapter 1: Night

Liu Kang x Reader

This story contains spoilers from the Mortal Kombat 2021 movie so description and story will be beneath the cut. It's an angsty good time. Thanks @justariellove for workshopping titles with me!! Edit:: Changing the title. Beauty Through Ash will be the name of the series that this will be a part of.

Next Chapter >> Chapter Index

You are a warrior with the dragon marking and ink arcana. You had visions as a child. Complicated sexual history with Liu Kang and a romantic relationship with Kung Lao that lasted a few years after that had ended. Story takes place post-movie! It will be angsty. There will be yelling. There will be tension and smut (eventually, that's just me). It will be ridiculous. But fun.

This is a 'I have zero self control post' Enjoy!

A soft ringing rattled through your head and you hated every second of it. It was a tinkling sound, like metal brushing softly against metal.

A wind chime.

The most annoying wind chime that you had ever heard in your life. Your stomach was sour, like you’d eaten something funny the night before and as you turned in search of the cold side of the pillow, your stomach rejected being awake. The world spun even with your eyes closed.

What had you done to deserve this?

You tried to recall what had brought you to this point of misery. You remembered going downstairs in search of a stiff drink after you’d packed for your trip the next day but after that, things had gotten blurry. It was easy to get lost in liquor these days. You remembered some of the other monks coming to join you but after that, there was nothing. That was why your stomach was sick. Too much liquor. Not an entirely unfamiliar feeling the past few weeks. You’d often needed its help to fall asleep.

You leaned up on your elbow and felt something soft slip over your bare skin. Puzzling. No usual nightshirt, but something else draped over you instead. Oh, no.

Oh no.

You were naked.

You were very, very naked. Crap. You grasped the soft cloth and held it over you to keep decent. Shit. You were sore too. So much for wishful thinking that you hadn’t done something incredibly stupid.

You bit the bullet and opened your eyes but silently panicked at the shirt that was just barely draped over you and knew whose it was before you saw the body of the man lying next to you. A soot-stained shirt. Biting your lip, you prayed that you would turn your head and find an insane explanation for your clothing being gone besides the obvious.

Instead, you found the truth that you had already damn well known the moment you’d moved. Liu Kang laid passed out on the bed next to you, face turned away and completely naked. He had scratch marks down his back, and you followed them down to his perfect little butt and then covered your face and mentally cursed yourself.

Fuck.

Don’t panic. Deep breaths.

It was still dark out. You had time to find your clothes and get out of there before he woke, with any luck. His room was dark and you were dizzy so the odds weren’t in your favor. Head in your hands, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and felt the cold stone beneath your feet. God, you were so sore. What stupid things had you done? At least you were familiar with his room and the way back from it. Not your first walk of shame out of there, you reflected in disgust with yourself. Not that Liu Kang wasn’t attractive or fun as hell, it was just terrible timing.

You rested his shirt on the bed next to you and searched the floor blindly for your clothing. His room hadn’t changed much over the years. It had been that long since you’d found yourself drunk and naked in his bed.

You had been drunk. Maybe he wouldn’t remember.

You had clawed the shit out of his back though, he’d probably remember something about that.

You had to get up and go about your day and forget all about it.

Seeing as you didn’t remember most of it, it would probably be fine. You were leaving that morning anyway to go and locate a man in America with the dragon mark. You’d be gone soon and able to delay the inevitable fallout that would come with sleeping with Liu Kang for the first time in years. You found your clothes strewn about the room, slipped them back on as quietly as your hungover self would allow and then snuck out of his room. You thought about covering him up but that risked waking him.

Once in the hall and a few doors away, you leaned against the wall and breathed a sigh of relief.

Okay.

You’d made it out of there. Now to make it look less like you’d done exactly what you’d done. Your mouth tasted foul and your head split with every step. This was a complete disaster. You hadn’t been careful. You hadn’t been thinking. You’d just passed out. You stopped to get cleaned up and grab a cup of tea to try and kill the headache. Then you returned to your room to finish packing your morning things and find a change of clothing. The monotony of the task made your brain buzz with guilt and unpleasant thoughts and then flashes of Liu Kang in the heat of the moment. You smacked the side of your head to try and shake it out of there.

On your desk there was the last and most important thing that you had to bring with you. An ornamental jade circlet. Kung Lao’s jade circlet. You sat at the desk and brushed your fingers over the beautiful thing. It had become one of your most precious possessions. As it often did, the thought of Kung Lao shifted your mood. Then again, it was rare when you weren’t thinking about him. Lifting the circlet, you placed it to your lips and gave it a soft kiss. “I’m sorry, Lao.”

It had been two months since he died.

You hadn’t been there in his last moments. Instead, you’d been halfway around the world running an errand for Raiden and had come back to find him gone. There had been no goodbyes. No last ‘I love you’. Your last conversation hadn’t even been a good one. Then, while drinking away the pain of his memory and guilt of his death, you’d slept with his best friend and brother.

Liu Kang.

You had never felt more guilty in all your life.

There had always been fire between you, but it had long since been put aside when you’d started dating Kung Lao. You’d stomped it out. Now Kung Lao was gone, and you were broken.

If anyone had suffered more than you after Kung Lao’s death it had been Liu Kang. You hadn’t talked about his death other than vague niceties. He had avoided you and you had avoided him. When you’d been together, you’d snapped at each other. The grieving process had been difficult for you both. It had been like he’d taken on some of Kung Lao’s most frustrating traits to deal with the loss of him.

There was no time to dwell on what wasn’t. You had things to do.

You looped the circlet into the straps of your bag and then took it with you. It was what it was. You couldn’t change the past and that was something you were struggling to come to terms with. This was one more thing to add to the pile of stress on your back.

You were off to South Dakota in the United States, a relatively boring place from what you’d heard. You were to search for a man with the dragon marking known as Nightwolf, a legendary warrior of the Makota people. Lord Raiden had asked you to prepare for a journey and you were grateful to have something to do other than stew in the room you’d shared with Kung Lao before his death. There was no peace for you there, but you weren’t sure there was peace for you anywhere right now.

Peace would come with time, you were told again and again. You were tired of hearing it. The comfort of time in conversation was mostly just to shut down the fixation on grief in the company of others. You shook it off.

After you’d found Nightwolf you would be off to meet up with Sonya, Jax, and Cole in Hollywood to try and convince an arrogant movie star, Johnny Cage, to come to Raiden’s Temple to train. No one knew what Outworld would do after having lost the tournament and you had to be prepared. Besides that, you thought Raiden sending you on a mission was his way of trying to help you grieve. He was fatherly at times.

You threw the bag on your back and then walked through the temple to meet Raiden. Your conversation was minimal and you were grateful for that. Your head was still killing you, stomach beyond sick. You stepped through the lightning and arrived outside of a forest, near a reservation where some of the Makota people still lived. You had been told to check there to see if you could find information about the man with the dragon mark.

There were motels nearby, so you walked there and rented a room. It was a little hole in the wall place with a broken No Vacancy sign just off the side of the highway, the kind you associated with horror movies. It had seen better days, but you weren’t picky at the moment, and you weren’t afraid either. You were a woman who was not to be trifled with. You dropped off your bag in the room and then sat on the edge of the bed with the ugly green comforter for a time. The wallpaper was faded and busy, once white ceiling yellowed with age. The most modern thing in the room was the television and even that was a decade old at least. It was fine. You only needed a place to sleep and this room served that purpose. There was a couch against one wall and a table in front of it- more than most hotels offered these days.

Your head was still splitting, but you had gotten some aspirin from the small convenience store attached to the ancient lobby where you’d checked in. Hopefully, that would help. You would take a car to the reservation and then hopefully be allowed to respectfully ask some questions. From what you’d read, very few people still lived there but it had been the only place you’d been able to locate before you’d traveled.

You were hoping that some of the people there would at least point you in the right direction. Raiden had told you that the title of Nightwolf was given to a great warrior who could commune with the Gods. In this case, it was also a man who bore the dragon marking. You called a car from the phone in your room and waited outside for it to meet you. When it did, you opened the door and climbed in the back and made casual conversation with the driver.

You pulled the door closed, but then someone smacked on the door and opened it again. In crawled Liu Kang and any recovery your head and stomach had made were set so far back that you could have vomited your insides onto your boots. “What are you doing here?” That sounded far more accusatory than you had meant it too.

“Raiden sent me to accompany you.” He avoided eye contact and turned his attention to the driver. He looked just as tired as you felt and addressed the driver. “Sorry about that. Is the fare still the same for us both?”

“You going to the same place?”

“Yes, just together.”

“Then same fare, buddy.” The driver put the car in gear and pulled onto the road. You couldn’t have felt worse. Thanks Raiden. Your distraction was officially over. Maybe he hadn’t sent you to find comfort. Maybe he’d sent you to test your spirit. Great.

Next Chapter >>

[ditttiii]

Brothers Conflict || 03.

Thrust into an already established family, you struggle to find your footing while dodging the advances of seven, incredibly good looking stepbrothers.

Your father marrying, and you suddenly having to live under the same roof with seven step brothers was a royal mess or so you had thought, Because them falling in love with you was so much worse. Or was it?

◈ Genre: Romance, Fluff, Humour, Smut and maybe a little angst. (PG-18) (step brother AU)  (I do NOT support incest, this work is inspired by the popular anime/manga Brothers Conflict)

◈ Pairings: OT7 x Reader (reverse harem)

◈ CHAPTER THREE

WC: 2.7k

Warnings: Language (sfw)

Masterlist

"How about this?"

"Nah, it's too sideways," you reply from where you are standing near the doorway of your bedroom.

"Right or left?" Sunmi asks, as she grips the frame and distances her torso from the wall, trying to see for herself where she should shift the frame. From the looks of it, she's failing spectacularly at it.

Suppressing a snort, you answer ‘left’ and hum when she tilts the frame and you are finally satisfied with its position on the wall. Walking back in, you marvel at the sheer grandness of your room for the umpteenth time as you take in all the space around you. Roughly four times the size of your old bedroom, it was huge. 

Floor to ceiling windows on the side opposite the bedroom door, before which was your queen-sized bed. A decent size, intricately designed bedside table beside it, with the floor underneath covered with a soft, plush rosy white carpet. A walk-in closet the size of your old bedroom, a bathroom with a jacuzzi, curtains heavy enough to suffocate and kill you if they were to ever fall upon your body; your new bedroom screams rich.  

It would be a lie to say that you don't feel intimidated. Raised in a middle-class, humble neighbourhood, you hadn't in your wildest dreams ever imagined living in a room like this. But here you are, soaking in the reality of the moment; and realising that it feels like something between a dream and a nightmare. 

Nearly four hours since you first started unpacking, and five since you had first met your new family, most of your room was organised. All boxes untaped and emptied as you and Sunmi worked hard to make the unnecessarily large, empty room less of a hotel room and more like the bedroom of a 19-year-old girl. 

Sighing, you push the last book of your novel collection into the bookshelf. Made from some sort of whitewood, much like everything else, it was designed intricately and looming large over your small shadow. 

"This is it."

Slouching, you fall onto your back, eyes straying to the ceiling above and the textures carved onto it, refusing to reply to Sunmi’s statement. Agreeing would mean that you'd have to let her go and you don't think you can, the isolation and abnormality of the situation already sinking in and scaring you. 

 "Mmn," you reply noncommittally instead. 

A long sigh, and then your best friend is curling on the floor beside you, her hand snaking around yours, fingers intertwining, as she silently lets you know that she is here for you. Repressing the tears you can already feel trying to escape your eyes, you squeeze her hand back. 

The clammy, ice-cold touch of your skin against hers goes unmentioned as you both lay there in silence. 

"I'll call you every day," you whisper, your voice choked as your death grip around Sunmi's waist tightens, and she lets out a strangled moan before pushing you away. 

"Woman, stop being so dramatic! You'll see me back in college every freaking day once summer ends and you know I'll come to see you whenever you want me to, the hour-long ride be damned," Sunmi chides. There’s no bite in her words, and her voice wobbles despite her trying to act tough, but you don't call her out on it and only nod. 

"You better, you airhead, lord knows you'll probably sob your body dry without seeing me every day." 

A giggle comes out of your best friend's tall, lean body, one you are entirely too envious of, and her eyes soften, your smile softening with it. 

"Take care, will ya?" 

"Always," you whisper back, and with one last kiss thrown over her shoulder, she leaves. Her figure grows smaller and farther with every step she takes, and you bite your lip to prevent a call from tumbling out. Not moving an inch until you hear the distant roar of her car driving away, you finally shut the door when you no longer hear or see her car. 

Suddenly you feel scarily small. Like a tiny, irrelevant existence born in a world too large and glamorous; a world where you evidently do not belong. 

Meandering through the floor, you gaze at the picture frames on the wall as though you are the actress of some old seventies cinema, bemoaning the absence of a long lost lover. 

Dramatic, yes, but you have always been more on the theatrical spectrum of humankind, and it isn't like there is much you can do right now anyway. Not unless you want to hole up in your room and stew in your sadness alone. And even though that might sound appealing to most (considering what your room now looks like), it wasn't something you felt like doing at the moment. 

So you mindlessly gaze at the pictures, the setting sun casting a warm orange glow in the darkening hallway as you try to find some semblance of familiarity, a speck of comfort or intimacy. 

"Y/n?" a soft voice calls out to you, and you twist on your heels, your eyes meeting with those of Yoongi. 

"Yoongi-oppa." Voice coming out soft, your words fade at the end as your eyes track the way Yoongi's face glows when the rays of the setting sun hit his skin. Long messy dark blonde hair makes space for his glittering curvy eyes to shine through, and your breath gets caught somewhere in your chest when you look at the vision that was Min Yoongi. 

"Exploring?" he asks casually, but even without knowing him for all that long, you can detect the underlying layer of concern in his voice. You don't know if he is being open with you right now, or if you can just read him well, but the concern makes your heart feel a little warmer. 

"Something like that." Your answer is ambiguous, but Yoongi doesn't ask you to elaborate, so you don't add anything more, turning back and looking at the pictures again instead.

"This something you enjoy?" Yoongi asks as he moves beside you, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his pants, and leans; making himself comfortable against the wall.  

Your eyes stray to him. "Sounds like you don't."

"Not really my forte, I can appreciate it from a distance, sure, but not an enthusiast," he replies, the back of his head hitting the wall behind as he looks up at you. 

Humming, you shrug. "Same, I guess, it's just fascinating to me. I wish I was smart enough to understand what half of these actually mean, but I am not, so I just appreciate the beauty and move on."

"Fair enough." 

You nod and let the silence reign again, but it's a comfortable silence, the kind of quiet where you are both lost in your own thoughts but at the same time appreciate the company of the other.  

Slowly the sun sets behind you, and the glassed walls shimmer one last time before the ceiling lights are switched on, bathing the entire floor in warm but bright light. 

Yoongi had been silent the entire time as you explored the floor like a child in a zoo, poking and prodding the potted plants, oo-ing and aah-ing over the art around you, fascinated and occupied with the attractions around.   

But when the lights switch on, he clears his throat and gets up from the couch he had taken a seat on some time ago, head tilting as he wordlessly asks you a question. You nod back and smile, making your way to him as you finally get ready to spend some time with the rest of your newly acquired family. 

As you both make your way to the main hall, you don't miss how your heart is feeling much lighter now. The silent company that Yoongi had provided you with seems to have put you at ease and calmed your racing thoughts. 

Walking into the kitchen alone, you try your best to make as little noise as possible. Yoongi, much to your displeasure, had promised that he'd meet you out in a few minutes only to disappear inside of his bedroom and leave you to your own devices.  

The sudden bout of bravado from earlier had left your body too, in its place leaving raring, gut-twisting anxiety. 

Tiptoeing to the refrigerator, you take out a bottle and pour yourself a glass. The chilled water slides down your throat, quenching your thirst, and you let out a satisfied sigh, smacking your lips in contentment after. 

"That thirsty, huh?" 

You jump, startled, heart racing and in your throat, as your gaze snaps to the doorway and finds Seokjin standing there. Suit coat hung over his left arm, and a button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows, he was clearly returning back home after a workday. 

"Holy fuck, you scared the shit outta me!" 

Your brain to mouth filter is seemingly not working after being startled. Feeling anxious was a problem enough, but being scared after was evidently enough to send your last two brain cells out the window. Your common sense and the knowledge that Kim Seokjin was now your stepbrother, eldest stepbrother, flying out the window along with them. 

You hear crickets chirping in the distance as an awkward silence blankets the room, and in that moment you want to die. Spontaneously combust and float away into thin air, disappear, dissolve, vanish—die. 

"I am so sorry, can we pretend I didn't say that, “you voice out meekly, your eyes avoiding Seokjin’s and instead finding purchase on the wall behind him, seemingly fascinated by the utter whiteness of it. 

Hearing a chuckle ring and break the awkwardness in the air, you shift your gaze to the source of said chuckle and catch your eldest brother's gaze. "It's alright Y/n, I get that this is a big adjustment. Please don't feel like you need to rush on anybody's accord, take your time."

And then Kim Seokjin smiles—his pouty, full lips stretched into a small but ridiculously warm smile, and something in your chest clenches at the sight of it. Warning bells ring in the back of your mind, and you squash the thoughts threatening to come forward, their not-so-appropriate nature resulting in an immediate rejection from your end. 

Mumbling a thank you, you let him know you'll be down soon and then dash to your bedroom, slamming the door closed once you're inside and sinking down onto the floor. 

What the hell was that!?

Raking a hand through your hair, you groan in annoyance, wincing when said hand gets stuck in a tangle and pulls a few strands loose.

Looking back at your impression so far in front of Seokjin, one of your seven step brothers, it had been nothing but absolutely marvellous. So you can't imagine what could possibly go wrong when you sit down at the dinner table and are surrounded by all seven of them. 

Nothing, nothing at all, nope-nada-zilch!

Frustrated, you slide a hand down your face, hoping to calm down, but the move only ends up irritating your skin under. The day has been long, and all that you pray for now is that it ends soon. Your bed, which from the looks of it was fit for royalty, was beckoning you over too. 

With one last huff, you are pushing yourself up onto your feet and to the bathroom to splash some water, before you go and join the rest of your new family. 

Pulling the chair in, you wring your hands nervously under the table, away from any prying eyes. One by one, the rest of your family filters in and takes a seat; Seokjin and Yoongi both pick their seats at the two heads of the table. Hoseok and Namjoon sit on either side of you, with Jimin plopping himself down opposite you, and getting flanked by Jungkook and Taehyugn on either side. 

Not much conversation had taken place as they picked their seats, everyone sufficiently tired enough after a long day, but they had smiled or nodded at you when they first entered the dining room. 

'Well most of them at least,'  you think, eyeing the two youngest, who had both refused to give you even a cursory glance, resulting in your smile going unseen and unreciprocated. Their attitude, however, doesn't bother you too much at this point; as it was, they were virtually nothing more than strangers to you. 

Conversations pick up around you, and you feel slightly out of place, as though you are a guest over for dinner rather than their new stepsister, but the feeling doesn't last long, because both Namjoon and Hoseok soon pull  you into a conversation. Inquiries come forth about your day, and how your unpacking had gone.

The conversation is mostly superficial, nothing too emotionally challenging; neither of them ask how it feels being a part of their family or something like that, and you are relieved. Grateful, because you don't know if you'd be able to answer those questions anyway. The whole situation is still very odd no matter how many minutes of the day pass. 

Someone clears their throat, and your eyes snap to Seokjin, who was pushing his chair back and picking up his glass, the red wine inside sloshing with the movement. 

"I've done this before, and yet it never gets any less nerve-wracking," Seokjin starts, and your eyes furrow in confusion, but he continues before you can think about it any more. "Y/n," he says and tips his head in your direction, "I know this must feel a little scary—actually, scratch that, you're probably terrified right now, and that's okay.” he pauses, and takes a breath before continuing, “I'm sure it feels crazy suddenly being thrust into an already established family and being told that now you're one of them, and I just want you to know that I get it. We get it, and we are here for you. If you don’t want to accept us as family, that’s okay too; all of us would understand and support whatever decision you make. I just...” Sighing, he locks eyes with you.

 “...I just hope you can let us in eventually, family or not." 

Seokjin's eyes bore into yours as he says this, stressing the 'us', and you gulp, feeling the back of your throat tighten at his words. Sensing the fine thread of control that you had over your emotions loosening, you swivel your gaze to the table instead, nodding, your vision growing blurry as you try to blink back the burn in your eyes. 

The room goes quiet, as the boys give you time to collect yourself—or sob, you don't know, but you appreciate the consideration nonetheless.

It was going good, it really was. You were holding on, no matter how precarious the hold was, you were holding on. Grasping onto that last string of control and restraint you had with all of your might. 

But then Hoseok is wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you into his side, letting you nestle your face in the crook of his neck, and the string snaps, his neck growing wet as tears streamed down your face and slid down his skin. 

For a few minutes, you forget that you were now surrounded by strangers who you had to accept and call your family. For a few false, delusional minutes you forget that they don't know you, that the care they were showing was genuine and not something they were obligated to. That the one whose hands were drawing circles across your back, the one whose voice was whispering reassurances in your ear—stupid sweet-nothings that you would tell a small child to make them feel better, actually gave a shit about you.  

You forget the reality and slip into a safe headspace, letting the warmth of another human encircle you, hold you, wrap you in its cocoon as you weep. 

A/N: dedicating this chapter to @mel-gonzalez07​, one of my oldest, most loyal readers, and more than anything else an amazing friend. ily angel 💖  

Y/n is going through some shitt here. Imagine being thrust into a dynamic that has been established for years, and then having to act like you are meant to be a part of it. 

The taglist for the story can be found:- here. A kind reminder that tumblr sometimes doesn’t give an alert for a tag notification, but you’ll find the notification in your notification dash. So, check it once a week as I usually update weekly.

Feedback means the world to me, so tell me what you thought. What would you do if you were in oc’s shoes?        

Until next time! Take care you sweet soul and Oo! Go stream folklore 💖 

Tag-list: @mel-gonzalez07​​ @favsssxx​​ @imluckybitches​​ @nomimits7​​ @alex4243​​  @calling-dips-on-j-hope​ @joonsinnerchild​​ @iconicgguk​​ @untamedfaith​​ @kaheryn​​  @nottodayjjk​​ @moments-of-melancholy @gee-nee @confusemonkey​​  @beautyyounggirl​​  @blossoming-cherrytrees​​  @seoul9711​​ ​​ @btsismybiass @toochie-too​  @sugakookie0698 @maboiisuga @kurohas-world @namseokiesmoonv @kerikaaria @chiidbits @girlyyzzyz @loveyoongles @btsfeelzies @knjkitten​ @honeyspillings @thestrugglesofateenagedirtbag​ @starrykook97  @xanny91 @leilalago @jiminie-08 @voguejoonie​ @lovelikeyouwant

[majimemegoro]

When Saejima drifted to consciousness and opened his eyes to see the well-worn beams of a traditional house, with dried fish hanging from its rafters and a pot over the hearth, he was more surprised at the fact that he was anywhere at all than at the particular surroundings he found himself in.

It only took a few more seconds of his blinking at the ceiling before a voice beside him said, “Ah, you’re awake.”

Saejima groaned and somehow managed to sit up despite the fact that every muscle in his body felt like it had been pulverized. Then he realized that between the brawl in the prison, the tumble from the snowmobile, the fight with the bear (had that been real?), and whatever effects he was suffering from exposure to the elements, every muscle in his body probably had been pulverized. The skin, bones, and organs, too.

The person who had spoken sat across from Saejima, on the other side of the little hearth and hanging pot, from which a delicious smell was emanating. His hair and beard were grey.

“You can call me Okudera,” the man said. “I brought you down from the mountain. You’re lucky to be alive.” And without pausing: “Here.” He pushed a bowl of hot stew into Saejima’s hands.

Saejima looked down at it, and then back up at the man - Okudera. His expression was calm and clear, but Saejima couldn’t help dwelling on all the ways this situation was strange and had the potential to become terrible. Did this guy not realize that Saejima had escaped from Abashiri?

“It’s good,” Okudera said impatiently. “Now go on, eat.”

Carefully Saejima took a piece of meat in his chopsticks and put it in his mouth. His eyes widened.

Okudera cracked a grin. “That was made by the best damn cook in Hokkaido,” he said.

Saejima attacked the meal. He was inclined to believe Okudera was right.

As he finished scraping the last of the sauce into his mouth, there was a sliding sound and the whistle of wind, and a second man entered the house. The man hesitated for a moment when he saw that Saejima was awake, but his eyes weren’t fearful. There was something animal-like in the placid intensity of his gaze, as though he were a predator looking at something that wasn’t food, something it wasn’t planning on devouring. It was unnerving. Then he turned away and began shedding his hat and coat.

“Ah, you’re back,” Okudera said. “Our guest has awoken.”

“I can see that,” the second man said expressionlessly. His voice was soft, but hoarse. “How are you feeling?”

Saejima opened his mouth to answer, but Okudera beat him to it. “I said I’m fine,” Okudera said, in the mild tone of a man who had gotten tired of pretending to be offended at inquiries into his well-being. “It will take more than a little weight-bearing hike to put me out of commission. Didn’t even muss my ponytail.”

The other man shrugged. He took a stool and sat down by the wall, facing towards Saejima and hunched over with his elbows on his knees. The single light bulb hanging from the ceiling did little to illuminate the harsh planes of his face, only hollowed his cheekbones and turned his eye sockets into dark holes, making his grim stare unsettling indeed.

“Ah...” Okudera said. He turned back to Saejima. “Well, you’ve already heard who I am. And this is my-”

“I’m his hunting partner,” the other man broke in, deadpan. “Suzuki.”

“Uh, yeah, this is my hunting partner... Suzuki,” Okudera repeated, looking at him. “He can be a bit unfriendly, but he’s a good guy, really. Suzuki - cheer up!”

Suzuki didn’t take his eyes off Saejima, and his expression didn’t soften.

Saejima nodded slowly. “I’m Saejima,” he said. “Thank you for rescuin’ me. I owe you my life.”

“Not a big deal,” Okudera said. “Besides, if the bears eat human flesh they get all fucked up, apparently, and we already have a demon bear on the loose around here, so...”

Recalling the bear he had fought, Saejima nodded again, darkly. He could very well imagine that thing being a man-eater. He was really lucky to be alive.

And then he remembered, and ice shot through his veins.

“Oh no!” Saejima said. “Baba-chan! My - I came here with a friend, did either of you see-?!”

Okudera’s brow creased with worry as he shook his head. “There was someone else with you?”

“Yeah! Baba, he’s - I have to go get him-!” Saejima tried to rise.

“Oh no, stop moving!” Okudera said. “You’ll damage your flesh, remember? I didn’t see anyone else out there, but I’ll go back and look-”

“I’ll go,” Suzuki said, standing up. “You’re exhausted, you should rest.”

“I’m a better tracker,” Okudera protested, also rising.

“You might as well have recently carried a deer down from the mountain,” Suzuki said bluntly. “You’re pretending to be fine, but your back is acting up, no? I’m faster than you, anyway. And furthermore, Yama-oroshi is out. I’m better off on my own.”

For a moment Okudera’s mouth twisted, as though he were tasting the fact that Suzuki was right, and hated the flavor. Then, “Fine, Simo,” Okudera said, sitting back down. “Do what you want.”

Suzuki had already turned away and begun outfitting himself in winter gear by the time Okudera finished giving his grudging permission.

“Simo?” Saejima echoed. “Yama-oroshi?”

“Simo is just a nickname,” Okudera said morosely, watching Suzuki tie a pale yellow animal pelt over his shoulders and back. “Because Suzuki is such a fucking amazing sniper or whatever. Yama-oroshi is what the villagers call the demon bear.”

“Ah.”

As Suzuki finished pulling a dark green hat down over his ears, Okudera climbed off the wooden floor and took the rifle off the hooks where it hung by the door. He handed it to Suzuki.

Suzuki took it with a nod of thanks, and stood there, ready. Okudera reached down to adjust the cords holding Suzuki’s pelt in place.

“Be careful,” he murmured.

“I will,” Suzuki replied, almost as softly. Then he moved away and slid the door open. A gust of cold wind whistled through, making Saejima shiver.

“Come back alive!” Okudera said.

“I will,” Suzuki said, and the door slid shut.

For a moment Okudera stayed by the entrance. Then, with a heavy sigh, he returned to his cushion by the fire and settled down.

“He’ll be pissed that I’m telling you this,” Okudera said, “But Sa- Suzuki is like you.”

“Huh?”

“He escaped from Abashiri. Ten years ago.”

“Oh!” It made sense, then, why Okudera and Suzuki weren’t rushing to turn Saejima in - apparently Okudera had long ago made a decision about how to react to escaped convicts, and that reaction didn’t involve running to the police. It might have made Saejima suspicious, but he found he could only be grateful for the fact that the two men were generous enough - odd enough - to take in a man in prison garb without question, and even to go out after his comrade, in what sounded like dangerous conditions. “I’m really so grateful for all you’ve done,” Saejima said.

“Ha. What was I going to do, leave you to die?” Okudera dismissed. “Anyone would have done the same.” He got up again and walked over to the shelves on one side of the room. He rifled around, and Saejima heard clinking. Okudera returned with two cups in one hand and a bottle of Block Party bourbon dangling between the fingers of the other hand.

“I know just what you need,” he said, wiggling the bottle invitingly. “Nothing like a good drink to warm you up after a brush with death on the mountain.” He poured out two cups, and Saejima accepted gratefully.

The bourbon burned going down, but it set a welcome glow in Saejima’s chest.

Okudera took a long drink. “Ah,” he said appreciatively. “Bet you missed that in jail, huh?”

Saejima nodded. “Shit’s dehumanizing. No cigarettes, no booze, disgustin’ food.”

Okudera leaned forward. “Some guys get cigarettes and booze in jail, though.”

“Well, sure,” Saejima said. “But I was on my best behavior. Tryin’ to get out fast. Couldn’t break the rules except in real serious cases.”

“Were you in for a long time?” Okudera asked.

Saejima paused before answering. “I was in for a long time on false charges,” he said. “Then I was out for a bit. Then I was in for two years on true charges.”

“No shit? False charges?”

“Yes.”

“Can I ask-?”

“Murder,” Saejima said. “The real charge was on assault.”

Impressed, Okudera whistled. “I bet you’ve got a hell of a story, huh?”

“I’ll drink to that,” Saejima said, and finished his bourbon.

Okduera raised his cup and did likewise. After tossing back the rest of his drink, he refilled his cup halfway, and then, “That’s all,” he said, screwing the bottle shut. “I can’t get drunk while - Suzuki is up on the mountain. It doesn’t feel right.”

Saejima agreed. Intoxication would be a welcome respite from worry about Baba, but it wasn’t a respite Saejima would willingly seek. “Um, Okudera-han,” he said, “What do you think the chances are that Suzuki-han will find Baba?”

The look on Okudera’s face was full of sympathy, and it made Saejima’s heart sink. “He’ll definitely find him, I think,” Okudera said gently. “Just hope that your friend was able to find some kind of shelter, otherwise...”

Tears pricked at Saejima’s eyes. If only he hadn’t fallen unconscious after fighting the bear, he might have saved Baba himself. As it was - “How long has it been?” he asked. “Since you found me?”

“...You slept for a few hours after I got you back,” Okudera admitted. “But think on the bright side!” he exclaimed. “Sa- Suzuki wasn’t kidding when he said he’s fast, and he’s observant and tenacious as hell, too. There’s no one better to have looking for you if you’re in trouble on the mountain. So don’t you get all mopey on me, okay?”

“There’s also a demon bear out there, you said.”

“Uh, yeah.” Okudera raked a hand through his hair, nearly ruining the ponytail.

“It sure is dangerous up in the mountains,” Saejima said morosely.

Okudera sighed heavily. “Yeah. Shit.” A pause. He fidgeted, playing with his still half-full cup of bourbon. “Are you usually the responsible type or the impulsive type?”

“Uh... depends who I’m with,” Saejima replied. “Compared to some people I’m responsible, I guess, but plenty of folks seem to think I make dumb decisions, so-”

Okudera let out a sound of relief. “Oh, thank fuck,” he said. “So you wouldn’t stop me from going out after my hunting partner even though he told me not to?”

“...Nope.”

“Great.” Okudera slapped his knees and then rose. “I’m going after him. He might need help.” He bent back down to grab his cup, and threw back the remaining alcohol like a shot.

“Hey, Okudera-han, are you the type to stop me from taggin’ along to help my partner?”

“Ah...” Okudera paused in his flurry of activity, and his face twisted. “You really could die if you exert yourself too much right now,” he said regretfully. “Or get permanent tissue damage.”

“The booze thawed me out. You said so yourself.”

Still Okudera hesitated. “Suzuki would bite my ass off if I let you come with me,” he said at last. “He’s the responsible type through and through... most of the time. As much as I know he can handle himself, I can’t just sit on my ass while he might be facing off against that monster. But you’re another matter. I’d love to bring you with me, guns blazing and all, but it’s also true that having a novice with me will slow us way down-”

“Fine,” Saejima grunted in frustration. He didn’t like it, but Okudera was right. It was for the best, however painful, that Saejima sit here uselessly while Baba was rescued.

Okudera pulled on a blue parka and tied off the sleeves, then attached a fur cape across his shoulders with rope, the same as Suzuki had done.

“Suzuki-han said somethin’ about your back-?” Saejima broke in.

“I already took painkillers,” Okudera said. “I’ll be fine. And it’s not like your friend can possibly be as heavy as you... right?” Apprehension evident in his tone.

Saejima shook his head. “He’s a skinny guy, actually.”

“Good. That will be no problem, then.” Okudera fastened an ammo belt over his coat.

“Okay. Are you sure there ain’t anythin’ I can do to help?”

“Keep the hearth warm, I guess,” Okudera said distractedly, hopping around as he pulled on rubber boots. “Just stick some new logs in if it starts to burn too low. Oh, and you should put some proper clothes on, you’ll freeze if you stay in that dumb prison jumpsuit.”

“I don’t got a change of clothes,” Saejima said.

“You can wear some of my old stuff - in that basket.” Okudera pointed at it. “It should fit okay. By the way, I know you said you were on your best behavior, but do you have any contraband with you?”

“Contraband?”

“Like cigarettes or... other stuff. From jail. You know. Drugs.”

“Uh, I might have a few ibuprofen.

“Never mind, never mind,” Okudera said hurriedly. He straightened up and adjusted his pelt one last time before heading to the door and pulling the rifle from the upper set of hooks there. “Okay,” he said. “Wish me luck. For the bear and all, but also so that - Suzuki doesn’t get too pissed at me for disobeying orders.”

“Good luck,” Saejima said, and then with a stiff nod, Okudera was gone.

Saejima drummed his fingers on his knee. The wind whistled mournfully against the cracks of the door. Even near the fire it was a bit chilly, as he was dressed only in the thin prison uniform. He decided to get changed, as Okudera had suggested.

In the basket he was able to find a decent outfit. First thing, a pair of thick woollen socks. The black t-shirt was pretty tight and the pants were a little too short in the leg, but tucking them into the sturdy leather boots got rid of the problem just fine. Best of all, Saejima found a heavy parka with fur trim, and it was in army green - just his color. He happily slid it on, and it fit perfectly.

He started pacing the floor.

For a few minutes he walked around, examining the items hanging on the wall and stored carefully on the various shelves. He briefly picked up a book of poetry and flipped through it.

Then he ran out of self-control and walked out the door.

A helpful villager pointed him in the direction of the trailhead, and Saejima was soon heading uphill, the river rushing beside him. Snowflakes blew into his face, stinging his skin. He fumbled with the zipper on the jacket, but a few seconds made it clear that the zipper was broken. He gave up trying to close it, and began to walk faster. He couldn’t get frostbite if he wasn’t outside for long.

The wind was bitterly cold. After a few minutes Saejima’s face and neck went numb. He pulled the collar of the green parka closer around his throat and kept walking. Snow got into the top of his boots.

He was just beginning to think that maybe it was stupid to go up into the mountain completely unprepared and with no idea where he was going when he spied Okudera coming the other direction. He was hunched, and on his broad shoulders-

“Baba!” Saejima exclaimed, running harder to meet them. Baba was slung over Okudera’s back, looking frighteningly white and still. His lips were blue. “Baba! Is he-?”

“He’s alive,” Okudera said, stopping. There was a smear of blood at the corner of his mouth, above the scrubby beard. “But he’s in shit shape. And Sato’s in trouble.”

“Who?”

“Suzuki!” Okudera corrected hurriedly. “Sato is his given name. But never mind that! Now listen.” He spoke quickly. “Baba’s going to die if he doesn’t get to proper shelter fast. Really fast. So as much as I hate it, I have to be the one to take him back to the house. But Sat- Suzuki was attacked by that fucking bear and he’s holding it off for us.”

“Shit-”

“He can handle the fight, but he was injured and I’m worried about him getting back; Saejima, go find him - just follow the tracks. There isn’t anything an unarmed person can do against that thing, so don’t try to help Sato. Just don’t get in his way.”

“But you want me to help him get back?”

“Yes!” Okudera hefted Baba higher on his shoulders, and started walking sideways back towards the village. “He’s incredibly stubborn and he probably won’t want any support. But promise me you’ll at least take his arm! His side was all torn up - it looked deep-”

The frantic worry in Okudera’s voice was something Saejima was intimately familiar with, in the same way he was all too familiar with the problem of a companion who was unwilling to admit weakness or accept help.

“I promise!” Saejima said. “And - take good care of Baba-chan!”

With only a bob of the head for confirmation, Okudera turned away and headed off again. For a few seconds Saejima stood reluctantly watching him retreat into the falling snow with Baba’s body. Then Saejima turned around and set off again, following Okudera’s tracks.

After only a few more minutes of trudging through the snow, Suzuki appeared in the near distance. He was hunched in a sturdy shooting stance, and there was blood splattered all along the pelt he was wearing. As Saejima watched, a shot cracked out and an an unearthly roar emanated from somewhere beyond the haze of swirling snow, but not far enough for safety.

Suzuki split his gun open, deftly reloaded two bullets into the chambers, and in an instant had the gun braced on his shoulder, ready to shoot again.

“Suzuki-han!” Saejima called. “Suzuki-han!”

Suzuki’s attention only flickered towards Saejima for an instant, then the roar came out of the woods and Suzuki fired once more. There were parallel gashes carved in his cheek, no doubt a lucky outcome given that one swipe of a bear’s paw could take off a man’s face if he wasn’t fast enough.

“Stay back,” Suzuki said, not removing his eyes from the space between the trees where Yama-oroshi lurked just beyond eyesight. Saejima hovered anxiously behind Suzuki. The wind blew harder, and Saejima was racked with shivers he was unable to suppress.

“What are you doing here?” Suzuki said, still keeping his attention focused on the bear. “Return to the village.”

“But I promised-”

At that moment the unearthly roar came a third time, and Suzuki fired a third shot. This time Suzuki let out a short cry of triumph and stepped forward. “Ojisan is retreating! I can give chase,” he said, already starting in the direction from which the roar had emanated.

“Wait-” Saejima said desperately. “Suzuki-han, you’re already hurt and I promised Okudera-han I’d bring you back safe and sound. Can’t the bear wait?”

Suzuki wavered. “You promised?” he demanded.

Saejima nodded.

For another moment Suzuki stood still, frozen in mid-stride, gritting his teeth. Then he lowered the rifle. “Fine,” he said. “So Okudera and Baba got back okay?”

“I don’t know if they got all the way back, but they got to where I was, at least, yeah.”

“...That’s good,” Suzuki said. He eyed Saejima critically, lingering over his exposed face and neck. “Well, I guess we had better get back before you get all frostbitten again.”

Nodding, Saejima reached for Suzuki’s elbow, to support him.

As though he had been stung, Suzuki pulled his arm very far away, and fixed Saejima with a look that was at once questioning and accusatory, a how dare you?

“Okudera-han said I should help you walk...” Saejima explained.

“Tch. I’m not a senior citizen in a retirement home,” Suzuki said acerbically. “I carried your friend all the way down from the ice grove, I think I’m capable of walking on my own-” At that moment Suzuki bent double in pain and let out a cough, and a trickle of blood made its way down his chin, stark against the light grey stubble.

“Hell,” Saejima said worriedly. “You got internal bleedin’ or somethin’, Suzuki-han. We gotta get you to a doctor.”

Suzuki hissed through his teeth. “It’s not that serious,” he said jerkily. “I just-” He swayed on his feet and Saejima leapt forward to catch his arm.

“You got like this protectin’ my friend, now let me help,” Saejima insisted. “Okudera-han said you were stubborn, but if I’d known you were gonna be this stubborn I woulda conked you on the head five minutes ago so that you’d come quietly.”

“I just bit my tongue in half when I tripped over a rock while trying to keep my eye on the bear and carry your friend,” Suzuki snapped. “I don’t think I have internal bleeding.” He spat a gob of bloody saliva onto the ground, shook off Saejima’s grip once more, took a few steps back towards the village, and keeled over face-first into the snow.

Saejima rushed to his side and helped him up. This time Suzuki didn’t complain.

“Now, where are you hurt, Suzuki-han?”

With a grunt Suzuki gestured at his right side, under the ribs. Saejima stepped around to the right, and wound his arm around Suzuki’s waist on the uninjured side. Suzuki held onto Saejima’s left shoulder. Suzuki was a good fifty centimeters shorter than Saejima, so the position was awkward, but it would work. Carrying Suzuki would have been easier, but Saejima didn’t want to know how that suggestion would have gone over. The man was - independent, to put it politely.

In silence save for Suzuki’s ragged breaths, they made their way back down the mountain to the village.

Finally they reached the house. Saejima helped Suzuki up the stairs, and then slid the door open and all at once they were enveloped by the warmth of the indoors.

“Ah!” Okudera exclaimed in the tone of a very relieved grandmother. He leapt up and came rushing over to them and began to fuss over Suzuki. “Thank the fucking mountain gods! How are you doing, Sato?” he said.

There was a pause wherein Suzuki (Sato?) gave Okudera a truly icy glare.

“Ahaha!” Okudera laughed fakely. “You’re so formal, Suzuki, what does it matter if I use your given name around Saejima-san? He doesn’t care, do you, Saejima?”

“Uh, no, it’s fine,” Saejima said, gladly relinquishing the ornery Suzuki to Okudera’s care.

Saejima kicked off his boots and went to Baba’s side.

Okudera and Suzuki had begun whispering furiously by the door, but Saejima could only focus on Baba. He lay stretched out beside the fire on his back, the same heavy quilt that had kept Saejima warm pulled up to his chin. Baba’s face remained very pale, but there were spots of red on his cheeks and his lips were no longer blue. Saejima hoped it was a good sign.

“Hang in there, Baba-chan,” he muttered. “You’re safe now. You just focus on recoverin’.”

Behind him, Okudera and Suzuki had moved onto the wooden floor and were bickering about how to treat Suzuki’s wounds.

“Don’t cut the shirt,” Suzuki was saying in annoyance. “I don’t want to have to mend it again, I can get it off - fuck!” The phrase ended in a hiss of pain.

“I’ll mend it,” Okudera said, and then there was a loud ripping noise, a cry of dismay from Suzuki, and a string of grumbling.

Saejima looked over to see Suzuki sitting shirtless with Okudera dabbing at the place on his side where Yama-oroshi’s claws had raked across his ribs. It looked like some fabric and bits of fur from Suzuki’s outerwear had been embedded in the wound. Saejima grimaced and quickly looked away.

He gently took one of Baba’s frostbitten hands in his own and held it, careful not to rub against the damaged skin. For a few minutes he just sat there, trying to convey strength via telepathy into Baba’s body. It was Saejima’s fault that Baba had almost died; Baba was shorter than Saejima, so Saejima might have put him in front on the snowmobile. And after the crash, Saejima should have defeated that bear faster, saved his energy for searching for Baba -

A creak on the floorboards announced Okudera’s arrival behind Saejima. Saejima didn’t take his eyes off Baba’s face: the peaceful expression, the brush of dark eyelashes against his cheeks. Saejima couldn’t wait for him to wake up and show life, for him to smile or for his brow to furrow in thought.

“He should pull through,” Okudera said. “Suzuki found him just in time.” The last sentence was said with a little bit of pride evident in the tone, pride in his partner’s skill.

“Yeah,” Saejima said. “I don’t know how to thank you two enough. By rights you shoulda just called up Abashiri to take us back. But I’m grateful.”

“Oh, well...” Okudera said. “We don’t have a phone, so...” He laughed. Then, “Suzuki,” he called over his shoulder, moving back to his fireside cushion, “Come eat something.”

Suzuki - now wearing a black zip-up fleece that was much too big for him - came over and sat down stiffly, his mouth set tight with the sternness of a person concealing pain. “Not really hungry,” he mumbled.

“I know,” Okudera said, rubbing his shoulder. “I know. Just please eat? It’s after lunchtime. And you’ve been through a lot.”

With a grunt Suzuki shook off Okudera’s hand and bent forward to serve a small bowl of stew. Okudera sat down comfortably beside him and filled up his own bowl when Suzuki was done.

“You should eat, too, Saejima,” Okudera said around a mouthful of food. “It’s even better now. It gets more tender the longer you simmer it. Right, Sa- Suzuki?”

“Yes,” Suzuki said briefly before continuing to eat in silence.

With reluctance Saejima turned away from Baba’s prone form and faced the fire. He accepted a bowl of stew and chopsticks from Okudera.

“How’s Suzuki-han?” he asked, judging that it would be more productive to ask Okudera than Suzuki himself.

“He’s a tough bastard,” Okudera said fondly. “He’ll be fine. Right, Suzuki?”

Suzuki just grunted again.

“Though I guess he won’t be as pretty from now on-” Okudera went to wipe a thumb alongside one of the gashes on Suzuki’s cheek, but Suzuki flinched away.

“Stop it,” he hissed at Okudera.

Okudera drew away, looking hurt and offended. Suzuki turned to Saejima.

“Saejima,” he said. “You escaped from Abashiri. What were you in for?”

“He was in for assault,” Okudera said, definitely sounding annoyed.

“Oh?” Suzuki said coldly, still directing his attention at Saejima. “What kind of assault?”

“Brawlin’, I guess,” Saejima said. He couldn’t remember the details of what precisely he had agreed to get nailed on. “I got into a lotta fights on the street.”

“And what about your friend there? Baba?”

Saejima paused. “That ain’t my place to say,” he said. “I’ll just tell you that he went in young, when he was just twenty, and he wasn’t actin’ of his own volition, really.”

Unexpectedly Okudera’s face lit up. “He’s a yakuza?” he asked excitedly. “He did a hit for the yakuza, right?” He pulled excitedly on Suzuki’s sleeve. “A hit for the yakuza, Suzuki!”

Again Suzuki shook him off with a growl of frustration. “Is that supposed to be a good thing?”

Okudera deflated, but only a little. “Well, it’s interesting, because-”

“-Well, this stew sure hit the spot-” Suzuki said loudly.

“-We’re yakuza too! Or, we were.”

“For fuck’s sake!” Suzuki cried, banging his bowl down on the floor. “Okudera, what is the matter with you?”

“What’s the matter with you?” Okudera shot back. “You haven’t been this wound up for years, you’re giving me war flashbacks to when you were fucking-”

“Enough!” Suzuki said. “Enough! Fucking enough!” And then, dangerously polite, “Okudera, could we speak outside, please?” He stood up and left.

Saejima, who had been following the exchange with the enraptured bafflement of a dog at a baseball game, watched the door slide shut with a bang.

“Uh, sorry about that, Saejima,” Okudera said, rising to his feet. “The wife is being pissy again. I’d better deal with it. Let’s show each other our tattoos later, yeah?” Without waiting for an answer he followed Suzuki outside.

the end, for now

thank you for reading. please let me know what you thought, especially any questions you have - theres a lot here that is not stated overtly so im interested to know if its coming across properly. im not sure where or how far ill go with this WIP but i wrote it up because i came up with the whole thing one night while i couldnt sleep, and since it existed it would be a shame not to instantiate it in writing and throw it at some people..

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Stab Me In The Front Part 4: Captain Asshat.

Intro: Steve’s being an asshat…and Katie isn’t standing for it. Throw in some alcohol and the return of America’s Asshole…and there’s trouble ahead!

Warnings: Bad language. Smut (NSFW, 18+)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: So this brings the KO XO to an end. I hope you’ve enjoyed this little side path. Huge thanks to @angrybirdcr​ for her edits and banners

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Part 3

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

  “Steve…” Katie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before she removed her glasses and rubbed at her eyes “Why are we even having this debate?”

“Oh, it’s a debate?” He folded his arms. “Here was me thinking you were just point blank refusing to listen to me.”

“Oh I’m listening.” She glared up at him from where she sat behind her desk. “You’re just talking shit.”

“I’m talking shit?” He fumed, blowing a breath through his nostrils. “The guy is an absolute dick, and you just voluntarily invited him to your gala?”

“Yes, because this is about the Charity.” She looked at him. “And like it or not, dick he may be, he gave a substantial donation. It’s only right.”

Steve felt the nerve in his jaw twitch “Right?”

“Yes, right. Why are you making such a big deal out of this?”

“Are you forgetting what he said to you?” Steve looked at her.

“No.” She shook her head “I’m simply saying that I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?” His mouth fell open “You don’t care that he basically-”

“No, I don’t.” Katie cut him off firmly “And if I don’t anymore then neither should you.”

“Ok, so despite the fact that he disrespected my wife, and said some pretty disgusting things about you, I should just let that slide?”

“Yes.” Katie said simply, standing up as she turned off her computer screen before she looked at him “Because believe it or not I don’t actually need you to be offended on my behalf Steve. Now either let it go or don’t bother coming.”

“Fine, if that’s the way you feel then maybe I won’t.”

“And you call me a brat!” Katie snorted, as she walked past him towards the door of her office “You’re so full of shit.”

“I’m full of shit?” Steve snorted, and she stopped, turning to face him “You’re the one that is insisting on inviting that ass hole…I mean, even Natasha thinks you’re crazy.”

“Natasha?” Katie frowned, “What’s Natasha got to do with this?”

Steve hesitated and grimaced inwardly as Katie’s face rearranged into a look of understanding and she let out a scoff.

“You spoke to Natasha before me?”

“She asked me what was bothering me so I told her.”

“Damnit Steve!” She shook her head “Why is that you go running to other people about stuff before me? We’re supposed to be married.”

“Oh but it wasn’t an issue when you told her before me about what HYDRA did to you?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them and no sooner had he spoke he saw Katie’s face slip. “Shit, Katie, I-”

“That was a low blow Steve.” She swallowed, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

“Fuck you.” She looked at him, before she turned and walked off.

Steve let out a groan of frustration, looking up at the ceiling as he cursed himself. That really had been unfair, the two issues weren’t even comparable. He hated when he spat out stuff like that, because even when they were in the middle of an argument he loved his wife beyond life itself, and hated seeing her upset or hurt. But damnit, sometimes she just riled him so fucking much. With a deep breath he pinched the bridge of his nose and turned from the office, shutting the door behind him, the automatic lock sealing the room.  He made his way back towards the main common room, finding Sam pouring himself a drink.

“S'up Cap?” he asked, looking at Steve “You look like you lost a fifty and found a ten.”

“Oh, nothing, just had an argument with Katie.” he replied heavily “Said something pretty shitty.”

“Like what?” Sam asked. So Steve told him, and watched as the man raised an eyebrow and shook his head “Yeah, that was pretty fucking low Steve.”

“I’m well aware of that Sam.” he sighed, “Fuck.”

“Maybe you should swerve the Gala.” Sam shrugged “Give her time to cool off. I can’t see her forgiving you for that one so easily.”

“Forgiving him for what?” Natasha asked and Steve groaned, just what he needed.

Before Steve could stop him, Sam filled him in and Natasha looked at him, her face stony.

“Wow.” she shook her head. “What the fuck, Rogers?”

“I know, I know.” he said, holding his hands up.

“Thanks for dragging my name into it.”

“It’s me she’s pissed at, not you. And before you say it, with good reason…”

“I wasn’t gonna say that.” Natasha protested as Steve looked at her sceptically. She looked up at the ceiling “Ok, maybe I was.”

Steve rubbed at the spot between his eyes, he could feel a headache coming on.

“I suggest you go apologise.” Natasha looked at him.

“And pray.” Sam added “Because, damned, she aint gonna let you forget this one in a hurry.”

After thanking them, sarcastically, for their moral support to which Natasha snarked back that he didn’t deserve any, Steve wandered back to their living quarters. He knew his was a big thing for Katie, the night upon which SIP’s 6 monthly Fundraising efforts for the Women’s Charities they were partnered with ended, and he was so fucking proud of her for everything she’d overcome to get to this point. But he had basically thrown that in her face with his comments before. He was being a jerk, he knew that. He shouldn’t have let the fact she was inviting that dickhead rile him as much as it did, it was her event, her decision after all. 

Steve took a deep breath before opening the door to their quarters and looked around, his sharp hearing picking up no sounds. He headed into the bathroom, the shower had clearly been used recently, and he found her absence odd as she’d told him earlier that her hair was getting done for the event, and normally Franco came to her. He pulled out his phone, gave her a quick call but no sooner had it rung than it cut to voicemail. 

She’d red buttoned him.

*****

It was about an hour later when Katie walked into the apartment, her hair set in an elaborate braid which swept from the right side of her temple over to the left before the rest of her long locks were curled and fell over her left shoulder. She shot Steve a filthy looked and stalked straight through to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Steve’s head fell back against the sofa cushions, before he took a deep breath and decided it was time to face the music. He pushed himself up, walked into the room and found his wife sat at her vanity unit, digging out her make-up.

“Sweetheart,” he began tentatively, sitting on the bed “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

She glared at him in the mirror, but other than that made no acknowledgement that she had heard him.

“I was out of order.”

Still nothing.

“Katie, come on darlin’, don’t ignore me, please.“

"I’m ignoring you because if I don’t I’m gonna end up screaming at you.” she replied simply “And I’m not letting you spoil tonight for me.”

“Spoil tonight?” Steve frowned “That’s not what I want.”

“Well, you kinda already did in a fashion.” she shrugged “Now if you don’t mind I need to get ready. And your presence is not required. Either in this room, or the gala.”

Steve felt his face fall at that and he looked at her in the mirror as her green eyes locked on his “You don’t want me to come?”

“No." 

"Ok.” he swallowed, fighting to keep his voice calm. “Then I respect your wishes.”

With that he stood up, and left.

As soon as he had shut the door behind him, Katie let out a sigh, her face falling into her hands as her elbows rest on the vanity unit in front of her.  Steve’s face when she’d told him she didn’t want him at the gala had made her heart ache, he’d looked like a little puppy she had just given a harsh kick to. But she was so angry at him, she didn’t even know where to start. He was being an absolute dick over something that really wasn’t that big an issue, and then his dig about comparing him speaking to Natasha about what had happened to her…well, that was as low a blow as you could possibly get. At the time she’d been upset, angry even…now she was almost just shocked that Captain America had it in him to be so damned nasty.

Wanda had been astounded when she had told her what he had said, giving her that as a reason as to why Franco was going to be doing their hair in her room, not Katie’s apartment. Then, when Natasha had turned up, the Red Head had told Katie she had informed Steve he was out of order, but also that he seemed genuinely contrite as well when he had been talking to her and Sam.

Katie knew he was sorry, she didn’t need Natasha to point out that Steve had said what he had it in the haste of an argument. She knew only too well herself that in the heat of the moment people said things they didn’t really mean. But he wasn’t getting off so easily. He accused her of being a brat often enough and here he was acting like one.

So, with that in mind, she’d told him to stay behind. She knew full well that he would show up anyway after an hour or so of brooding, with another apology which she might be ready to accept at that point. But until then, he could fucking stew a little, think about what he had said some more

Raising her head she looked at herself in the mirror before she set about doing her make-up. It took her about 30 minutes to perfect the look she was going for, a dark smoky eye effect with bright rub red lips, another thing she knew drove Steve wild, before she stood up and grabbed her dress out of the wardrobe. It was a skin tight deep red mermaid style Dolce number, which sat off her shoulders with a small v neckline. She knew she looked good in it, which was why she had bought it in the first place along with a matching tie for Captain Asshat. Once she was in, she struggled with the zip which was at the back and after getting it most of the way up, instead of asking said Asshat for help she decided she would get Wanda or Nat to fix it. She stepped into her trusty gold Jimmy Choos before giving herself the once over. Satisfied with the results, she opened the door and walked down the hallway to the living room.

Steve looked up as Katie strode into the living room and felt his jaw drop. He really shouldn’t be surprised anymore at how stunning she managed to look when she was dolled up, but she still took his breath away every time he saw her. She looked great all the time in his eyes anyway but…damned.

She sauntered past him, without so much as a glance in his direction and he took a deep breath. To comment or not to comment now was the big question. Whatever he did or said he was going to be wrong in her eyes so…

Oh fuck it, in for a penny.

“You look stunning.” His head turned to watch her as she walked passed him heading for the door.

“Thanks.” She said, her tone clipped. But that was more of a response than he had expected. He hesitated for a second, about to offer to walk her down to the Marquee, even though she would likely refuse, but he stopped as he saw the back of her dress wasn’t quite done up.

“Honey, your zip.”

“I know.” She opened the door as he crossed the room towards her. “I can’t quite reach it…”

“Why didn’t you just ask?” He sighed, his hand going to help but she jerked away and spun round.

“I’ll get Wanda or Nat to do it.” She said simply.

“Oh, now you’re just being ridiculous.”

Her eyes flashed dangerously and he knew why. That was the single worst thing he could say to he when she was in this type of mood but he was beyond the point of caring now. She was being ridiculous.

“Look, I know I was out of order, but I’ve apologised. What else do you want me to say?” he asked, looking at her.

“Don’t wait up.” Her voice was steely, and with that she turned and left, closing the door behind her.

He debated for a second if he should go after her, but his own anger won out. Instead he turned round and walked straight to the cabinet they kept their liquor in. Finding what he wanted, a bottle of that Asgardian dynamite stuff Thor had left, he pulled it out, grabbed himself a tumbler and headed back to the couch.

*****

For the next hour or so Katie was too busy to even give Steve a second thought. She welcomed the guests and the limited press that had been invited, Evans and Sam providing her back up checking off the guest list, for which she gratefully thanked them both. She was just at the bar talking to one of the Charity Organisers when she felt a gentle touch on her elbow. She turned and beamed at the man stood in front of her.

“Harlan!” she smiled, as he leant down to gently kiss her cheek “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” he smiled back. “How are you Mrs Rogers?”

“Good, thank you.” she nodded “It’s been busy but definitely worth it.”

“Well the predicted figures look good.” he nodded “You’ve raised a lot of money.”

“Yeah, it’s gone better than I could have ever hoped.” she agreed “I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

Harlan waved away her comment and looked back over his shoulder. Katie followed his gaze and saw the man that had caused all the trouble between her and Steve, leaning at the bar. He was dressed in a smart, pin striped suit, his hair slicked back and his jaw clean shaven as ever.

“He came then.” she said, and Harlan turned back to her giving a low chuckle.

“Yes, you made quite an impression on him. I’ve never heard of him donating money to a charity before.” he mused

“Probably guilty he behaved like an ass hole.” she said, before she shook her head “Sorry, that was rude.”

“No more than he deserves.” Harlan sighed “The sad thing is, he’s not a bad man underneath it all. I see a lot of myself in him, just wish he would apply himself better to something. I’ve even tried to get him involved in the publishing company but he just isn’t interested. Suppose you can’t polish a turd.”

Katie let out a huge snort of laughter at the phrase tumbling from the old man’s lips and he gave her a large grin from behind his white beard as she shook her head “Now that’s a quote for your next book.”

Harlan chuckled again before Tony appeared by her side with a glass of champagne.

“Mr Stark.” Harlan shook his hand as Tony smiled at him.

“Mr Thrombey, pleasure.�� he said, before he turned to Katie “Where’s Spangles?”

“Busy.” she said simply. Tony arched an eyebrow at him and she gave him a look, which he met with one of his own.

“Doing what?”

“Stuff.”

“Wow, yeah, that stuff…it’s…a pain…” Tony said, and Katie gave him a glare before she glanced around and Harlan struck up a chat with Tony about the latest Stark Industries initiative into wind farms. Natasha caught her eye and she excused herself and wandered over but as she was crossing the room, Ransom stepped into her path.

“Mr Drysdale.” she looked at him “No tatty sweater?”

He gave a huff of a laugh “No, I only wear the cable knit on special occasions.”

“Good to know.” she raised an eyebrow.

“So where’s your guard dog?” he asked, looking around.

“If you mean Steve, he’s otherwise engaged.” She said, shrugging “No doubt he’ll be along later.”

“Well in that case can I get you a drink?”

“It’s a free bar.”

“Yes, but I can still get you one.”

“I’m good thanks.” she waved the half full flute in her hand. “Now if you’ll excuse me for a second, I need to speak to someone.”

“Oh, Doll, I thought we left things on better terms.” he sighed, placing his hand over his heart, looking at her. Katie cocked her head to one side, before she flashed him a grin.

“I doubt you’re capable of leaving it on good terms with any girl you cross paths with.”

“Never had any complaints.” he smirked. At that Katie snorted.

“Well you can’t be meeting with the right women.” she said simply, and with that she moved past him, and headed over to Natasha who was beckoning her over.

“Everything ok?” she asked and Natasha nodded.

“Yup.I just got you a surprise.” she smiled.

“A surprise?” Katie frowned.

“Seeing as its a special occasion.” Natasha continued, linking her arm through Katie’s. She led her through to the entrance of the Marquee where a familiar face was stood talking to Evans, Sam and Wanda,

“S'up Nova?” Clint grinned at her as she gave a laugh and threw herself at him.

“What are you doing here?” she spluttered as he released her, stepping back slightly.

“Couldn’t miss your big event.” he smiled “You look great. Where’s Cap?”

“In the dog house.” Nat spoke before Katie could. Katie sighed and shot Natasha a look before she turned back to Clint.

“Don’t wanna talk about it.” she shook her head. “Now, come on, fill me in…how are the kids? Laura?”

She didn’t miss the look that Wanda, Sam and Natasha shared but chose to ignore it as she steered Clint towards the bar for a well overdue catch up.

*****

Steve drained his glass and poured himself another measure. Katie had been gone for just under two hours now and his mood was rapidly growing worse. More so because deep down he knew this was his own stupid fault. Because of his inability to keep his, albeit in his opinion justified, issue about Ransom fucking Drysdale to himself, his wife was now going through probably one of the biggest nights of her life without him there. And what made it worse was that smarmy bastard was there, probably eyeing her up, like he had done at the last gala, making some dickhead comment or other which he would no doubt weasel his way out of by sending another cheque for a ludicrous amount. Steve hated that, people that thought money made everything ok. And what was worse, it seemed to have placated Katie as well. He took a mouthful of his drink, the burn in his throat pleasantly distracting him for a moment, before he stared at the TV.

No, fuck this… this was his wife, his damned compound.

Necking his drink he stood up, the liquor giving him a pleasant buzz, before he strode into the bedroom, stripping off his sweater and jeans before he pulled his suit out of the closet. Slipping his arms into his shirt, he buttoned it up before expertly tying the tie Katie had bought him in a double Windsor, before grabbing his jacket. Once one he straightened his hair, slipped on his shoes he headed out of the door, making his way out of the side of the building, striding over to the marquee which was buzzing with people.

“Oh here he is.” Sam grinned at him “You’re a brave man, Cap.”

“Shut up Sam.” he said, rolling his eyes.

Sam chuckled as Evans raised an eyebrow. “Should I check he’s on the list?” he drawled, his Texan accent thick.

“I think Katie crossed him off.” Sam teased.

“Hilarious.” Steve deadpanned, stepping past them into the Marquee. His eyes quickly roved the crowd and he did a double take as he saw Clint with Natasha and Wanda at the bar. He’d had no idea the archer was coming, but right now he was looking for his wife, the reunion could wait. He continued to scan the Marquee and he spotted her and then felt his jaw clench as he saw she was stood with him. As he watched he saw her say something and she tipped her head back in genuine laughter, and touched his arm before she shook her head, and turned to someone else who had attracted her attention. Giving a nod she looked back to Ransom and he nodded, as she walked away.

“Spangles.” Tony greeted appearing at his side. “What’s going on?”

“Ask your sister.” he said, his voice stony. “I need a fucking drink.”

With that he strode over to the bar. Ordering himself a large scotch he turned to look for Katie again, but there was no sign of her. With a nod of acknowledgment to the guy behind the bar he took his drink and turned to look back over the room. He spotted a few familiar faces from the compound and the tower, nodding towards Pepper as she smiled at him. Tony looked at him again before he turned away, and then his eyes fell on Ransom who was stood with his grandfather. Ransom grinned at him, and Steve simply glared back, before he turned to greet Clint who had now appeared behind him.

“Hey Cap.” Clint smiled, and Steve returned his grin, shaking his hand.

“Hey Clint, didn’t know you were coming.”

“No one did, bar Nat. Thought it would be a nice surprise for Nova.”

“Sure she was thrilled." 

"Am I sensing a little trouble in paradise?” Clint asked, and Steve scoffed.

“You could say that.” He shrugged, before he sighed “I said something before, that was out of order and now she’s giving me the cold shoulder. Told me not to come actually but…”

“But here you are.” Natasha said, leaning on the bar besides him “You’re either dumb, got a death wish…or maybe both.”

“Romanoff, just don’t.” He turned to look at her, and she smirked before ordering herself a martini. “How long has Drysdale been here?”

“Who?” Clint frowned.

“The smarmy looking asshole in the pinstriped suit.” He said, nodding towards him.

“About an hour.” Nat shrugged.”I’m not sure.”

“An hour too long.” Steve muttered, taking a mouthful of his drink.

“Are you seriously that bothered by him?” She turned to look at him. Steve didn’t reply.

“Clearly.” Clint said, “Who is he?”

“Harlan Thrombey’s Grandson.” Natasha explained “Harlan wrote the book that the SIP published and donated all the profits to the Relief Fund.”

“And you don’t like him?”

“They had a little run in Boston…” Nat smirked. “And then at the Launch…”

“It wasn’t a run in.” Steve shook his head “He was absolutely vile to Katie…”

“And she’s over it…” Natasha sighed

Steve didn’t reply, he simply watched Drysdale for a second before he turned his attention to the stage where Tony was now tapping the microphone. The Marquee fell silent and Tony grinned out.

“And once again I find myself the centre of attention.” he grinned, and the room chuckled. “But tonight isn’t about me, for once, yes I know, I know…”

He continued to talk for a few minutes, thanking everyone for coming before he grew serious and took a deep breath.

“As you will all know, the past 6 months Stark Independent Publishers has been working, in partnership with a number of Women’s Charities which are close to all of us in and around Stark Industries, and the Avengers for personal reasons as you will be well aware. We are seconds away from announcing our final fundraising total, so without further ado I’d like to hand you over to my little sister, who’s been the brains behind this from the very start. Kiddo, the stage is all yours.”

As he stepped back the Marquee erupted into applause and Katie walked up the steps to the stage, her face beaming as Tony swept her into a hug. She grinned at him as he kissed her cheek and she headed to the microphone.

“Thanks Tone.” she smiled, “That was short and sweet and actually very to the point, for once.” a few chuckles rang around and Steve simply watched his wife as she started running through what they’d been doing and how they’d been raising money, her passion and enthusiasm shining out of every inch of her body. As he stood still, he felt all the anger eb out of his body and instead it was filled with an overwhelming sense of pride. Katie finished her speech before she stepped back and turned to take an envelope from Happy who bent and kissed her cheek.

“So although I know the sales figures from our book, the rest of this is a surprise to me, as much as it is to you.” she smiled, and then her eyes locked with Steve’s. She gave a little surprised frown, and then her face softened slightly as he smiled at her and she gave him the faintest of smiles back, before she averted her gaze and grinned as Tony let out a loud yell.

“Drumroll please….”

Katie laughed as the tent was filled with the sounds of people banging on things, and stomping their feet. Steve watched as she opened the envelope and pulled out the card. Her eyes widened as she read the total and her mouth dropped open.

“Shit.” she spluttered, and the Marquee chuckled whilst she composed herself. “Sorry but…my God this is…” she swallowed and looked at Tony for a moment before she shook her head “According to this, the donations, sales…we’ve raised over fourteen and a half million.”

“Holy shit!” Steve heard Natasha splutter as his own mouth dropped open, and he joined in the cheering.

“This is amazing, but this also isn’t the end of it. Stark Industries will be doubling this total and all profits from the sales of "The Colour of Revenge” will continue to be donated.” She sniffed slightly and Steve could see she was getting emotional. He set down his glass on the bar and started to make his way over to the stage. "This money will save lives, give women a safe place to go when they’ve no one else to turn to. Thank you, thank you all for your overwhelming generosity. Now, please enjoy the evening and the entertainment and if any of you want to give us any more money, please feel free.”

At that she stepped back and Steve waited for her at the bottom of the stage steps, the applause ringing in his ears. He offered her his arm and she paused for a second.

“Oh come on, sweetheart” He pleaded gently. She allowed him to help her down before she turned to him

“I told you not to come.”

“Honey, this was your big night. I didn’t want you to do this alone.”

“There’s a marquee of people.”

“You know what I mean.” He said gently “I’m sorry, you know I am. Please don’t let’s fight now, I hate it.”

“I don’t want to do this here” she said, her tone soft “Not now Steve.”

"Ok.” he said, leaning down to give her a soft kiss. She didn’t turn away, which he took as encouraging “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you.” she smiled softly, “Now, sorry, but I have to go give an interview but…”

“Sure, come find me when you’re done.”

She nodded, and headed away from him towards someone he didn’t recognise, presumably some journalist. His eyes still on her back as she walked away, he felt slightly buoyed by her seemingly thawing towards him, so with a slight spring in his step he headed back to the bar. He ordered another drink, and had just taken it when a familiar voice drawled at him, and he instantly felt himself bristle.

“She’s one hell of a woman your wife.”

“What do you want Drysdale?” he asked, turning to the man.

“Nothing, I was just paying her a compliment.”

“Well don’t” he glared at the man “And if you value your life, keep your eyes and your damned hands to yourself.”

Ransom let out a snort “What you gonna do, throw me over the bar again?”

"Don’t tempt me.”

“We both know you’re not gonna make a scene here, not with all these people around, because that really would piss your wife off.” he leaned on the bar, looking around. “And then she’d have to send me another coat and a crate of snacks.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve frowned.

“Oh dear, didn’t you know?” Ransom smirked “Yeah, after I sent her the cheque and her knife back, she responded with a very nice coat and a couple of months supply of cookies.”

Steve’s nostrils flared as he looked at Ransom, then over to his wife and back again. “Are you shitting me?”

Ransom shook his head. “And they tasted all the more sweeter coming from her, if you know what I mean.”

“You smug, son of a bitch…” Steve stepped forwards, and a hand settled on his arm.

“Cap.” Sam spoke “Don’t…”

“Yeah Cap...” Ransom drawled, sipping his drink.

Steve shrugged Sam’s hand off his arm and glared at Ransom, the look on the man’s face was infuriating him. “Make one more wise crack I swear to God…”

“I don’t believe it.”

Steve’s head snapped to the side and he saw Katie glaring at him.

“Katie…”

“You just can’t help it can you?” she shook her head. “And I thought you were genuinely sorry.”

“To be fair…” Sam began to defend Steve but she held her hand up.

“I don’t wanna hear it.” she said, shaking her head. “I’m done…”

With that she turned and strode away.

“Oops.” Ransom said simply, picking up his glass. With a final look at Steve, he headed off back towards his grandfather.

“Well played.” Sam said, sarcastically, clapping Steve on the shoulder. Steve took a deep breath before he drained his glass and turned, leaving the tent.

******

It was pushing one in the morning when Katie got back to their living quarters. Steve was sat outside on their patio, the bottle of Asgardian shit on the table in front of him but thanks to his super hearing he knew she’d entered the room. Standing up, grabbing the drink, he moved into the doorway, leaning on it as she shut the door, shoes in her hand. She turned around and stopped when she saw him, eyeing him for a moment, taking in his appearance. His tie was loose, his shirt sleeves rolled up and she could tell from the look in his eyes he was drunk.

“You came back then?” His words were slightly slurred.

“Where else would I go?” She snarked back.

“I dunno, maybe to order Drysdale another coat or some cookies.” He necked the drink that was in his hand before he set the glass down on the dining table that stood in front of him.

“Seriously, that’s…that’s what all that was about?” she shook her head “God you’re an asshat.”

“An asshat.” He mused, pouring himself another measure of drink.

“Yes, an asshat.” she said, swaying a little on the spot. Fuck she was drunk as well, she’d ended up doing shots at the bar with Clint and Evans, never a wise move.

“Well I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment.”

“Oh fuck off Steve.” She sighed, “I’m going to bed.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, and she stopped, turning round.

“What about?”

“Your present to Ransom?”

“Because I didn’t think it was important, it was just a joke.”

“Fucking hilarious.”

“No, you know what is hilarious? This.” She gestured to him, a little unsteadily “You getting all fucking het up about a damned coat and some cookies. Now who’s being ridiculous?”

“I saw you.” He said, “When I first got there, you had your hand on his arm, laughing at him…”

“Oh Jesus Christ Steve!” She groaned. “I was talking to him, he was telling me something about his uncle!”

“You were all over him”

“Do you want me to go and fuck him or something?” Katie asked, “Because if that’s gonna make you happy, just to prove a point.”

“Don’t be fucking stupid.”

“Well shut up then!” She yelled back. “Sometimes I wonder what the hell goes on in your head. I love you, you know I do. I don’t want or need anyone else but at times you irritate the shit out of me.”

“The feeling is mutual, Doll.”

“Good, glad we agree on something.” She shook her head. “I’m going to bed. You carry on drinking yourself into a stupor. And you can sleep in the spare room.”

“Like fuck I am!”

“Fine, I’ll sleep in the spare room then.” she shrugged

“You’re such a fucking brat.”

“Me?” she laughed “I’m the brat? You’ve behaved like a prize prick Steven, and I’m so fucking pissed at you I can’t even…”

With that she turned and headed towards the bedroom.

“Don’t walk away when I’m talking to you.” He followed her.

“Or what?” She spun round, “What you gonna do…”

“Oh Doll, you have no idea how much you’re pushing me tonight.” He hissed, his voice low.

“Really Steve, how many fucking buttons am I pushing? Hmmm?” She leaned against the wall. “Do enlighten me.”

“You know it’s no wonder Ward cheated on you. If you were like this with him then…”

Whack!

Something sharp hit him in the temple and he dropped the glass he was holding, staggering back slightly. He glanced at the floor and saw that she had launched her shoe at him, her aim impeccable as ever. He raised his hand to his forehead, feeling the wet trickle of blood under his finger. It wasn’t a lot, she’d only nicked the skin but it was enough to sober him up slightly, and the words he had just spitefully spat at her echoed in his head.

“Katie…”

“You are the biggest fucking…” She spoke, her chest heaving, “Actually I don’t even have a word to describe what you are right now.”

“You hit me with a shoe.” He said simply.

“Yeah, want me to do it again?” She asked, waving the one that was still in her hand.

“Don’t.” He shook his head.“Look, I’m…”

“Oh save it.” she said, turning and walking into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Steve’s hands fell to his hips, as he looked down at his feet. What the fuck was wrong with him? That was twice today he’d said something so despicable it made his toes curl even thinking about it. He’d been a grade A asshole, and he needed to make this right.

“Katie…” he strode after her, and headed into the bedroom. The en-suite door was shut and he could hear her sobbing in the bathroom. Fuck. “Honey I’m sorry.”

“Piss off.” she sniffled.

“Open the door, please.”

“No…”

“Don’t make me break it down. You know how precious Tony gets about us breaking things”

His joke fell flat as she remained silent. "Sweetheart…”

“Where did you learn to be so spiteful?” She yelled back through the door.

“I don’t know.” with a sigh he leaned against the door “I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of those things…”

“But you did.” she sobbed, and Steve felt the tears prick his eyes “Why?”

“I was angry, and…” he took a deep breath “I guess I wanted to piss you off as much as you pissed me off.”

“I pissed you off?” she snorted “Steve you came at me before with that comment about fucking HYDRA and now Ward…could you be any more nasty?”

“I know, I know…” he said, “Honey, I’ve no excuse. Please, open the door.”

There was a sniffle on the side and he heard her the swish of her dress as she moved. The lock on the door clicked and it opened a chink. He pushed it further and look at her, her mascara was streaked down her cheeks, her hair was messy from where she had clearly been fisting her hands in it and he instantly felt the pang of guilt and regret in his chest tighten even more. “Oh baby girl…” his voice cracked “I’m so sorry…I really am.”

“How could you even think for one minute that I’d even look at that jerk in that way?”

“I don’t not really” he said, shaking his head. “I’m an ass hole, a jealous ass hole…I just, sometimes I can’t believe…” he stopped, and shook his head “You know what, it doesn’t matter. I was out of order.”

She paused and looked at him, sniffing. “You can’t believe what?”

“Honestly, it doesn’t matter.”

“For fucks sake, Steve!” she spluttered “Stop it!”

“I can’t believe that you, well that you chose me you know?” he sighed, his hand running through his hair “I just…”

“You’re a dick.” she shook her head. “I married you, you ass hole.”

“I know, and I wonder why sometimes.”

“So you’ve been a spiteful bastard because you feel insecure?”

“No, well, partly…” he sighed “Look, seeing you before with him and then he he told me about the box and stuff…I just saw red.”

She looked at him and shook her head “That is not an excuse.”

“I know it isn’t.” he looked at her “I know.”

She looked at him for a moment before she shook her head and walked out of the bathroom, over to her vanity table, sitting down. She pulled out the wipes and began scrubbing at her face, removing her make-up. He sat on the edge of the bed, in the same position he had a few hours ago and simply watched her. Eventually, when she was happy her face was clean she looked up and he saw her eyes travel over his reflection before she frowned.

“You’re bleeding" 

"Well, you’re a damned good shot” he shrugged. “And those heels are sharp.”

She stood up and turned, stepping into the space between his legs.

“Honey it’s…”

“Shut up” she instructed.

Knowing he had pushed his luck already he did as he was told and she gently wipe at the cut on his temple, his hands falling to her hips as she did so. He was pleased to see she didn’t push him away. He watched her intently as she cleaned his face.

“I think you’ll live” she said gently, tossing the wipe into the waste basket. His hands flexed on her hips and she looked at him.

“I really am sorry.” he said again “I love you, so fucking much. At times I just don’t know how to deal with it.”

“By not being a cunt.”

“Wow.” he snorted “Did you just drop the c-bomb?”

“Justified.” she muttered, her hands falling to his shoulders “Damned it Steve!”

“I know, I know.” he said his hands, smoothing down the back of her thighs.

“I love you too, so much it hurts at times.” she shook her head “You know the amount of women that look at you in such a way I know what they’re thinking but…I get over it, you know? Because you married me and…” she let out a deep breath. “You go ballistic whenever I question how you feel about me compared to Peggy and yet you come out with the stuff you said today.”

Steve looked down at the floor, his hands still curved around her legs “I know. My ma would be ashamed.”

Katie took a deep breath before she moved her hand and tilted his face up to look at her. His eyes were shining with tears and she let out a sigh, dropping a kiss to his forehead as her hand slid round the back of his neck, nails dragging over his skin.

“I love you.” she muttered “You big, dumb idiot.”

They stayed silent for a moment and Steve looked up at her, smiling softly.

 "You know you really looked amazing tonight. I’m just sorry I didn’t get chance to appreciate it more.“

"Well…” she took a deep breath. “I know I didn’t let you help me into my dress…but you can help me out of it if you want?”

He raised an eyebrow at her, a smile flickering across his face “ Yeah?” he asked, gracefully rising to his feet.

She nodded, biting her lip. He leaned down to give her a soft kiss before he whispered against her mouth “Turn around.”

She did as she was told and Steve reached for the zip on her dress, sliding it down gently, his fingertips brushing her skin as he did so, allowing the dress to fall at her feet and he let out a soft moan as he glanced down, seeing that she was braless. His hands gently guided hers up so they reached back around his neck, and he swallowed at the sight of her presented to him. One hand moved down, splayed on her stomach, pulling her back into him as the other swept her hair out of the way as his head dipped, trailing kisses across the back of her shoulders, before he made his way up her neck, his teeth softly grazing her ear. She let out a soft sigh, her head tilting to one side as his lips continued caressing her soft skin, the hand that was on her belly started slowly to make its way downwards, sneaking beneath the waistband of her panties. His fingers gently parted her folds, and she gave a little gasp as he began to coax her softly, his other hand reaching up to caress her breasts, gently kneading before he pulled on her hardening nipple. She arched her back into him slightly, a breathy gasp escaping her as he continued to tease her, his mouth hot on her neck.

“Like that?” his own voice was raspy, his arousal evident in his tone and she gave a nod.

“Don’t stop…” she begged, and his fingers began to work faster against her nub, the hand on her breast also picking up the pace slightly.

“You’re so beautiful…” he whispered and she moaned and writhed in delight at his praise and his actions as he worked her over. With a quick flick of his wrist, he pushed two fingers into her and curled them against her spot and her head fell back even further into him as she let out a soft whimper of his name, his hands upping their pace slightly as she began to buck into his touch. She arched her back, her mouth fell open and then her head rolled forward as she came, knees trembling, her hands pulling at his hair. He held her up in his strong arms and whilst she was still in the after throws of bliss he nipped at her neck, drawing a soft groan from her mouth. Steve gently turned her round and lifted her up, placing her gently on the bed, kneeling over her as he discarded his shirt, tie by which point she had recovered slightly and sat up, her hands pulling at his belt buckle.  He leaned down to capture her mouth in a deep kiss, and he grinned against her mouth as she whipped the belt from around his waist, tossing it to the floor before she undid the button on his pants, pushing them down over his hips along with his boxers.  Once he had shimmied out of his remaining clothes, he fell over her again, his hands cupping her face as he kissed her hard, using his leg to part hers. With a sharp thrust that made her cry out, he sank into her, his lips back on hers, as he stilled for a moment, grinding up against her. Her head fell back against the pillow and he started to drive into her, his thrusts hard, deep and he moved his mouth down to kiss and lick and suck all along her shoulders, knowing full well he would leave marks there for the morning but neither of them cared as their moans grew louder as his thrusts grew more desperate.

“Fuck.” he groaned, both hands now on her hips as he continued his movements, looking down at her as her breasts bounced as her body moved with every slam he made into her. Her hands moved from where they had been gripping at his biceps to bracing herself against the headboard, causing her to push back against him, allowing him to push deeper. As her breathing adopted the tell tale staccato rhythm, he moved one hand  to the back of her head and he used it to make her look up, her eyes locking onto his as he felt her body start to quiver.

“Come on doll…” he practically growled “let go for me…”

It wasn’t like she had a choice. She never did when it came to this. Her pupils were blown now with lust and desire and after another 3, 4 hard thrusts her back arched and her hands flew to his back, nails scratching at his skin. He hissed at the bite of pain, dropping his mouth to capture hers as she moaned again, this moan broken as she bucked upwards and clutched at him desperately.

“Stevie…” she moaned and her walls tightened on him as she came hard, and the feel of her tightening and pulsing around him tipped him him ferociously over the edge after her, his hips stuttering as he gave into the wave of pleasure with an incoherent babble of her name, before he tipped forward, falling onto her, his face buried in her neck.

The pair of them lay still, the only sounds in the bedroom now were the deep, ragged drawings of breath. Katie gently ran her hands through his hair, as she always did, relishing his weight on top of her. This was the only way she could ever lift Steve, his body on top of hers rising and falling through the movements of her deep breathing.  Eventually he raised his head and pressed their foreheads together, his nose sliding up and down hers gently.

"I love you.” he whispered “You know that, right?”

“Of course I do.” she sighed, looking at him “But Steve, you really did behave like a jerk.” “I know, and I’m sorry.” he said, his hands moving to brush her hair back. “I really am.” “I know you are.” she said, her hand gently running down the back of his neck, and he closed his eyes slightly, allowing her touch to relax him even further. “I don’t understand why you think I would even want anyone else.” “Well, I guess you can take me out of that little kid that got his ass kicked all over Brooklyn, but you can’t take that little kid out of me.” he sighed, his head hanging slightly as he shook it letting out a deep sigh.

She considered him for a moment before she leaned up and gave him a soft kiss “I love you, Steven Grant Rogers, not Captain America.” “I know Doll.” he nodded “I know.” With a gentle movement he pulled out of her and pushed the covers of the bed down, before he rolled onto his back, as she scooted over to him, her head laying on his chest, one of her legs pushing through his as she snuggled closer. He pulled the duvet over them and reached over to hit the switch which would cut the lights in the room.

“This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you.” she said softly as his hand carded through her hair, his chest warm against her cheek as it gently rose and fell with his breathing.

“I wouldn’t dream of suggesting it does.” he chuckled slightly kissing her head “I’m not that stupid” “Jury’s out.” she yawned slightly, the arm that was draped around his waist gave him a squeeze and he pulled her closer nuzzling into her hair.

It wasn’t long before he felt her relax and he glanced down, just able to make out in the dim light that her eyes were shut. He watched her face for a moment, the face he could draw from memory, and had done as a matter of fact several times, an let out a deep breath. She was right, he was an ass hole, and at times he knew he didn’t deserve her. But she loved him and wanted him, and damned it he’d try and be worthy of that love and want every damed day for the rest of his life.

“I love you so much doll.” he whispered into her hair.

“Love you to Soldier…” she muttered back, her face pressing further into his chest. With a smile he dropped a kiss on her head, closing his eyes as he felt the tendrils of sleep pulling at him, happy that they were going to be ok, not that he doubted that for a second not, really They’d come through far worse after all, and like his Ma always used to tell him.

Tomorrow is another day after all.

***** Chapter 28

**Original Posting**

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

When the Weight Comes Down - 6

Warnings: non-consent sex (series); fingering, foreplay, hand job.

This is dark! (biker) Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Series Synopsis: Your father’s a drunk, your mother a recluse, and you’re just another small town girl in Birch.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown

Note: Hope you guys are keeping well. I don’t have much to say today but love you guys.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter Six: Scared

He said, I can make you scared, it's kind of what I do

💀💀💀💀💀💀

You stared at the message. You really weren’t sure about this phone thing. It was awkward and you typed so slow, even though you had no idea how to respond. But, as always, Steve was persistent. He wanted a picture and after a lengthy struggle with the camera, you managed to take one and send it. Just a smile, but he wanted more. You insisted you needed to go to bed and his acceptance, even via font, was terse.

You hated the phone. It was like he was with you all the time. You dressed in the early morning dim and set off for your opening shift. It would be just you until noon that morning. You muted your phone and left it in your bag as you went about loading pans into the ovens and turning on all the lights. 

You took the chairs down in the small lounge area and straightened the tables. You sorted the loaves by expiration, hoping the older ones would sell that day so they didn’t end up in the trash. The time passed quickly and you were soon selling breads and buns to the locals.

When Babs arrived, she sent you on your break and you had your usual homemade sandwich in the corner with a small tea. Your bag vibrated on the chair and you pulled it out. The battery icon flashed as you opened the deluge of messages.

‘You there?’ was the most recent from your only contact.

You pondered over the screen and sent a quick response. ‘Just working. Phone battery low.’

He sent a winky face before the phone beeped and shut down entirely. You shrugged and dropped it in your bag. A happy coincidence or deliberate negligence. You’d worry about when you got home. Plug it in then and face the music.

Babs sent you off with a box of stale, or soon-to-be stale, muffins and you cut through the back streets which ran parallel to the main stretch. An extra five minutes on your walk but it kept you from any unexpected meetings. 

As you stepped through the front door, the house was quiet. Your father was snoring on the couch but your mother was nowhere to be found. Not even in the kitchen. You set down the muffins and your bag slumped to your elbow. You headed down the hall and found your door slightly ajar.

You nudged it open to find your mother at your bed. The bag of clothes Steve had bought you spread across your mattress as she held up a sparkly thong. Your heart dropped as you tossed your bag on the floor. She spun to face you, her expression a mix of disgust and shock.

“Your father was right,” She hissed and threw the panties at you. “What are you doing with that-- that criminal?!”

“Ma,” You caught the panties and flung them on the bed as you came closer. “You saw what he did to Pa; what he would’ve done.”

“And you just stood there,” She snapped.

“And you!” You retorted. “Just like you let Pa beat you. I should’ve just said nothing at all and let him have it.”

“We’re your family,” Your mother sneered. “Do you understand what you’re doing? People will talk!”

“People already talk about us!” You spat. “They say you’re some crazy lady and that Pa is a lush and you know, I think they’re right.”

“Has he touched you? Did you let that man touch you?” 

“All I’ve done is defend you. Both you and Pa, and why?” You narrowed your eyes. “I spend my days in a fucking bakery just to keep this shit hole in your name and you call me a slut?”

“Don’t swear.” She lowered her voice. “And I never said that.”

“Get out of my room,” You demanded. “Now.”

“Don’t speak to me like that in my house--”

“That I pay for as you give every cent to that slob to go drink away,” You huffed. “So just leave me alone. Like you always did.”

You went to the door and waited. Horrified, she crossed the room and you made to close the door as she stepped into the hall. She turned back.

“Sweet pea--”

You slammed the door in her face. There was no lock, she had made sure of that. You stormed over to your bed and grabbed the large plastic bag. You stuffed them all inside and dropped it at the end of the bed. You fell onto the mattress and buried your head under the pillow and yelled.

You’d never felt so completely trapped.

💀

You stayed like that until it was dark out. You just stewed in your self-pity and helplessness. You didn’t move until you heard a gentle tapping. You rolled over and opened your eyes. You sat up and rubbed your forehead as it sounded again. It took you another set of rhythmic taps to realise it was at the window.

You rose, the blouse you wore wrinkled and untucked from your work pants. You flicked on the light and neared the window. A shadow stood outside and you barely held back a frightened shout. 

Steve smiled in at you as he bent slightly to look in. He motioned to the lock on the top of the lower pane and you reached out to unlatch it. You slid the window open, confused and surprised. He grabbed the window sill and poked his head through.

“I’ve been messaging,” His smile fell. “But you haven’t been answering.”

“I… It was a long day…” You peered past him. “How did you-- Why are you here?”

“Should I come through the front door?” He lifted a brow. “I’m sure your ma will welcome me right in.”

“No, no,” You gestured for him to lower his voice. “Steve… I was napping and I’m-- I’m very tired.”

Before you could argue further, he was pulling himself through the window. You backed up and watched in shock as he easily swung his other leg over the sill. He stood and pushed the window closed without looking. He licked his lips as he looked around your room.

“Steve, you really shouldn’t--”

“You should answer me when I message you,” He put his hands on his hips. “Next time, I won’t be so understanding.”

“My… My phone’s dead,” You blinked and glanced over at your purse.

“Then plug it in,” He ordered.

You took a breath and went over to the door and retrieved your purse from beside it. You took out your phone and crossed the room to grab the plastic bag from the end of the bed. You fished out the charger at the bottom of the mess and fumbled as you plugged it in next to your bed. You set down the phone on your dresser as Steve’s boots made the floorboards groan beneath the worn blush rug.

The plastic crinkled as you turned back and he huffed as he looked inside. He shoved his arm in and pulled out the same sparkly panties your mother had been so offended by. He popped the tags of and held them up with his index.

“I’ve been dying to see these on,” He said as he stepped closer. 

You stared at him. He wiggled his finger and you snatched them from him. He smirked and sat on your bed. The frame gave a whine at his weight. The twin was barely big enough for you but had held up through the years. You sucked in your lip and looked down at the thong.

“Surprise me,” He closed his eyes as he leaned back on his hands. 

“I… I can’t,” You kept your voice soft. “My parents--”

“If they wanna get nosy, I’ll deal with them,” He opened one eye and nodded. “You’ve got one minute, doll.”

He closed his eyes and a shiver crawled up your spine. You got as far from him as you could. You went to the antique vanity you’d inherited from your grandmother as a child. The mirror was loose in its frame and the painted wood was chipped. 

You faced away from Steve as you placed the thong on the desk. You unbuttoned your blouse enough to pull it over your head and sat to remove your shoes and socks, forgotten in your inhospitable homecoming. You shimmied out of your pants and hesitated as you hooked your fingers in your underwear.

You nearly tripped out of them as you built your courage to pull them down. It took tries to get your legs in the right holes of the thong and you tugged it into place. You glanced in the mirror as the sparkles caught your eye in the reflection. You turned away quickly and folded your hands over your pelvis.

“Okay,” You squeaked.

Steve opened his eyes and looked you over. His lip twitched as his brows shot up.

“Come here,” He pointed in front of him. 

You were shaking. You’d never been around a man, anyone really, with so little clothes. Your steps were small, reluctant. He reached out to draw you closer.

“Hot,” He pulled your hands apart as he admired the panties. “But…” He looked up and cupped the plain cups of your bra. “This needs to go.”

“I…” You inhaled and felt as if your legs would crumple beneath you. “Steve, please, I never-- I can’t--”

“It’s okay to be scared,” He purred and kissed your stomach. “I can help you. You just have to listen.”

“You should go,” You breathed.

He scoffed and pushed his shoulders back. He slipped his leather coat off and let it fall around his body. He tapped his toe, his eyes never left you.

“Get that bra off.” His voice was stern. “Now.”

You swallowed and slowly reached back. You struggled to unhook your bra as Steve stood to fold his jacket over your dresser then fell back onto the bed. He stretched across the small mattress, his boots hanging off the foot. As you let your bra sag and it slid down your arms, he watched intently. He spread his arm out and gestured you to the bed.

You neared and he caught your wrist. He drew you down so that his arm was beneath your neck and his other hand tickled your thigh. He carefully but deliberately explored your body. He lingered on the panties and played with the thin strap and traced the vee of fabric.

His hand continued upward and he cupped your tit. You trembled as he nuzzled your temple, his breath hot on your cheek.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, doll,” He coaxed. “I only want to make you feel good.”

“Steve,” You tensed against him as he toyed with your nipples. They were hard and sensitive to his touch. “It’s…” You stopped his hand. “It’s too much.”

“Shhh,” He kissed your cheek. “You don’t want your ma or pa to hear us.”

“Please,” You pleaded and he pushed your hand away from your chest.

“Tell me, did you ever touch yourself? In this bed?” He hummed. “All alone in this room, night after night, you must have.”

“Touch myself?” You stuttered. “I… never…”

“Never?” His hand crawled up to your neck and he grasped your chin. He turned your head and kissed you. He was hungry but patient. He drew away slowly. “What a pity.”

His hand brushed back down your chest and over your stomach. He rubbed the fabric of the panties and you squeezed your legs together. He pinched your thigh then forced his fingers between them.

“I don’t want to hurt you, doll.” His threat was softened by his dusky tone.

You let him part your legs and gasped as his finger brushed lower. He shoved the panties aside and you tried to push your thighs back together. He gave a tut in warning. You went limp and he pressed his fingers along your folds. You shuttered and let out a pathetic squeak. He moved his fingers slowly and you felt an odd tingle.

“Doesn’t that feel good, doll?’ He cooed. “Hmm?”

You gritted your teeth against a whine. His fingers swirled around your clit and sent ripples through you. You clapped your hand over his and he pressed his lips to yours. He kissed you as if to devour you and his hand never wavered. He parted and his hot breath tickled your skin.

“Shhh,” He whispered. “We don’t want anyone to hear, do we?”

He kissed you again and you tilted your pelvis against his hand. You were set off-kilter by the ripples sent through you as the fear trickled along your spine. It felt so good but so wrong. His hand moved faster and he pressed harder. 

You grasped his bicep as the waves overwhelmed you and your cry was stifled by his mouth. He kept on until you were whimpering and weak. Tugging on his arm as your cunt was overwrought and tender. As he pulled away, you peered up into his eyes. Stunned and embarrassed.

“Wasn’t that nice, doll?” He put his slick fingers to his tongue and licked them. “You taste sweet.”

You closed your eyes and turned your face from him; mortified. He shifted on the bed beside you and you heard the soft glide of a zipper. The bed creaked, your bodies flush on the small mattress. You on your back, Steve on his side as his arm snaked around you.

He took your hand and wrapped your fingers around something thick and firm.; warm flesh that twitched as you held it. He guided your hand along his cock and you gasped. He led a steady motion and groaned.

“Just like that,” He let go and grabbed your chin. “Keep going.” You kept your strokes even as his muscles tensed. “Open your eyes.”

Your eyes snapped open and you looked into his fearfully. Your gaze slipped down and you saw yourself playing with him. He turned his hand and shoved two fingers past your lips. He pressed down on your tongue and breathed against your cheek.

“Faster,” He hissed and you obeyed. “That’s it, doll.”

He hummed as he gripped your jaw tighter and your lips closed around his fingers. He chuckled and dragged his lips along your temple.

“You’re gonna make me cum, doll,” He purred. “That’s all you. You’re... so fucking sweet. You don’t even know--”

He inhaled sharply and spasmed against you. You felt a heat seep over your hand and Steve pulled his fingers from your mouth. He slowed your strokes until you were still, his cum strung along your hand and thigh. You could feel his heartbeat as your own hammered in your ears.

Your hand fell to your side. You were paralysed. Steve kissed you again, this time softer. He fell onto his back, crushed between you and the wall.

“I’m gonna pick you up after work tomorrow,” He said breathily. “I want you to wear the red dress… no panties.”

You were quiet as you stared at the ceiling. You felt dirty and used. And yet you felt good. Your core still pulsed as your thighs brushed together.

“Got it?” He asked.

“Yes,” You whispered. “The red dress.”

[gabrieldrawsstuff]

Aight fellas, I'm doing a list of canon descriptions of dw characters for future reference, might do a second part with more minor characters

SPOILER ALERT OBV

STRANGER

-THE JOURNAL : "Somehow I'm wearing a coat, so I must've changed my clothes on my way here. I don't recognize myself anymore. I can barely hold this pencil. Has my body changed?"

-DOCTOR : "I see you haven't regained your speech. You need to find another doctor."

-SNAIL : "Your face... What happened to you?

The snail's jaw falls so low, it almost detaches itself from the rest of the body.

You scared me... You barely resemble a human... You should cover yourself..."

SNAIL : "You're so ugly, I feel like puking... You barely resemble a human being..."

THE CRIPPLE : "You, lad. You've got your hands and legs. Strong arms. I beg you!"

MAMA ELEPHANT : "Can't you speak? Did someone take away your voice?"

MAMA ELEPHANT : "Your gob looks like that because of this fiendish air, do you know? I bet you can't speak, because you didn't keep your mouth shut when walking through the woods."

MAMA ELEPHANT : "(...) I know you want something, you leper demon."

MUSHROOM GRANNY : "(...) But you're young and strong."

CHICKEN LADY : "Whaddaya need, poor soul? Hungry, eh? I'd give ya some stew, but what good will it do?"

(I think in polish version it was closer to 'how will you eat it' although I can't be sure)

MIRROR : "You are one ugly bastard. I guess you got what you deserved."

MUSICIAN : "This is our doctor, yes? He is just as brave and good as you are!"

MUSICIAN : "You're not af-fraid of anything!"

WOLFMAN : "Even from afar I can smell your putrid stench. Be glad I don't have an appetite for carcasses, Meat"

WOLFMAN : (after the church dream sequence) "Meat, what's with the big eyes? Hehe... Scared?"

WOLFMAN : (when you nod to a question if you're making a joke of him) "You're a brave piece of meat... and what's more important, one with a sense of humor. 

WOLFMAN : "Are you pretending to be human, or are you just cracking jokes?"

WOLFMAN : "You look tired, Meat. Busy night?"

WOLFMAN : "Have fun, Meat... Just remember to hide that disaster of a face or it's no dancing for you"

WOLFMAN : (when you spare the sow) "My heart sings with joy when I see such selfless kindness. Tell me the truth, Meat. It was you, wasn't it?"

vvvvv

TRADER

-A man, roughly my size, is standing before me.

I can barely make out his disturbingly familiar features through the matte visor of his helmet...

The massive helmet is covered with an old sack and seems to be an integral part of the unnaturally pale body.

-The man reaches out to me with his black hand. It's covered in charcoal... There's something written on his worn, woolen glove.

-Visibly struggling, the man drops the sack from his back and bends in half, as if out of breath. He shakes the dust off his clothes, then rolls up the sleeve of his, seemingly too small, jacket. 

-The old sack covering his body slides down, revealing his chest, covered in horrid growths. It is fused with a porous helmet, pulsating to the rhythm of his breath.

vvvvv

WOLFMAN

THE JOURNAL: "If I'm not delusional, the man whom I met... had the head of a wolf."

FIRST ENCOUNTER: The figure hides its face under the hood. It smells of wet soil and fur.

WOLFMAN: "(...)I barely believe my beautiful eyes... (...) The Wolf smiles, revealing a row of sharp teeth.

AT BARN RUINS: The Wolf makes a quick leap and, bouncing against me with his swollen belly, he puts his paws on my shoulders. He ostentatiously licks his face. (...)

-I notice fresh bloodstains on his fur and feel streaks of his saliva dripping onto my coat. 

-The Wolf takes two steps back. I can only see a row of filthy, sharp teeth underneath his hood.

-The Wolf squeezes my arms and starts licking my face. Once from the left side, once from the right side. (...) His breath stinks of rot.

WOLFMAN: "Thanks to you I feel fulfilled! I got my girl, my sweet little lady back."

-Suddenly the Wolf sends me back with a powerful push and reaches into his coat pocket.

WOLFMAN: "(...) and then nothing wil keep you from getting the fuck out of my part of the woods! Do you get me, Meat? You will pack your bags, dive into that stinking hole of yours and dissa-fucking-pear!"

-Finally he snorts, his thick, yellow spit landing on the photo.

-The Wolf grabs the box and starts sniffing it from every angle. I could swear I've heard his tail moving under his coat.

WOLFMAN: "And what am I supposed to do with it? Bite it until it opens? Your brain must be rotting if you think I will break my fangs for this shit."

WOLFMAN: "An electronic game, eh? About a wolf stealing chicken eggs... hehehe. Good one!I've a soft spot for games, how about you?"

-As I produce the key, the Wolf's pupils widen with excitement.

WOLFMAN: (about villagers) "Those selfish, deceitful wretches! They think they're superior, because they have human gobs. They treat us like lepers! But you know what? Fuck them. We're buddies, aren't we? And them? They deserve to be punished, Meat..."

-The Wolf pierces me with his look and grins. A string of saliva lands on his hole-riddled jacket.

-The Wolf puts his paw on me. I can feel his claws puncturing my skin.

WOLFMAN: (about piotrek) "Meat! Fucking hell, seen that? Hahaha! Seen that? Hahaha! Off he flew, didn't he? OFF HE FUCKED!!! Hahahaha!"

WOLFMAN: "If you wish to spend some more quality time basking in the striking, yet natural beauty of my features before you head off to the Silent Forest, you will find me in my camp in the Dry Meadow."

vvvvv

DOCTOR

THE JOURNAL: "What I do know is that the insane fucker took my key. My only chance to get out of the woods. He also tore out all the pages from my journal."

THE JOURNAL: "The doctor has escaped. So be it. He would only be a hindrance anyway."

CHICKEN LADY: "My sisters! Where did ya find it? It's all that godless quack's fault - devil brought him! All he did was prescribe this and that, scribble this no-good drivel! To hell with them papers!"

-I can feel the doctor's cold hand grab me by the jaw, (...)

-He removes his dirty glasses with a trembling hand and freezes.

DOCTOR: "First they begged for help, now I need to hide from them! I'm just an ordinary doctor! How the fuck was I supposed to help them?! How?!"

-With shaking hands, he reaches for the cigarrete butt between his yellow teeth.

DOCTOR: "I used to come here to treat people. I pulled out kids' milk teeth, delivered babies... (...) Last time I came here was three or four years ago. Then the trees blocked the path."

-The Doctor is visibly pleased with himself and his theory. His hands are no longer trembling. He produces a hand-rolled cigarette and lights it.

DOCTOR: "(...) I have no idea where it leads. I'm a shitty diver. (...)"

-The Doctor stares right into my eyes. Mud drips from his face. He hasn't blinked in over a minute.

- (...)His glasses are so dirty, I barely see the eyes hiding underneath.

-A chunk of mud falls down on his exposed tongue. He chews it slowly and swallows with satisfaction.

-The Doctor puts the muddy hand into his mouth, grimaces and pulls out a yellow tooth. He puts it into the pocket of his torn trousers. The tooth falls through a hole. He does not notice this...

-Slowly he bends down and grabs a thick branch from the ground. He starts biting the bark off of it. He swallows the bark with an effort, but also great satisfaction. He places the stick among other ones sticking out of his mud-covered head.

WOLFMAN: "Well, well. I know this quack. A nonentity, a third-rate witch doctor. Useless fucking clunker... But he still managed to screw you over with that key. Eh, comrade?"

MUSICIAN: "This is our doctor, yes? He is just as brave and good as you are! He helped me. He is helping all of us! He gave me this beautiful mask, so I could be healed of my afllictions. Maybe you could have one too..."

vvvvv

vvvvv

MUSICIAN

THE JOURNAL: "I met a boy in the village. He told me that the "Chicken Lady" keeps the "Pretty Lady" locked in her house. The boy really wants to see her, but the old woman won't allow it."

THE JOURNAL: "I decided to give the key to Chicken Lady's room to the little boy. He thanked me and asked me to bring him his mom's violin (it's hidden behind the wardrobe). He's afraid to go himself, as his parents are supposedly angry with him."

THE JOURNAL: "The boy sure was happy to see the new violin. (...)The kid also told me I should visit him in his parent's home someday."

CHICKEN LADY: (after musician's death) "Maybe it's just that me ears are getting worse, but it's been a while since I've heard that monster outside me windows..."

CHICKEN LADY: "Holy Mother, this creep again! May the devil take him and his blasted violin!"

MUSICIAN: "The Pretty Lady? S-she's... the most beautiful lady in the w-world! I w-watch her through the cracks in the window. S-she ch-changes when I watch her... g-gets more beautiful. I p-play for her... I want her to be h-happy..."

MUSICIAN: "I fished out the Pretty Lady's w-wreath from the river! (...)Oh yes, I will become the Pretty L-lady's husband! We w-will walk hand in hand, s-sir. I will play for her, mister s-sir."

-A skinny little hand emerges from beneath the tractor and grabs me by the ankle.

MUSICIAN: "They will not l-listen to me, they w-won't hear how sad I am, sir..."

-One of the strings securing his mask falls off, together with his ear. The boy reattaches it as if nothing happened.

MUSICIAN: "My m-mom has this beautiful violin! I would ask her to b-borrow it to me, but she's too angry with me... Could you p-please c-convince her to b-borrow it to me? I'll g-give you a card with drawings for her. To apologize."

-The boy turns the game in his hand for a while, but he can't find a way to reach the buttons with his overgrown fingers. The game slips out of his hand and drops to the ground. The wannabe musician freezes.

MUSICIAN: "(...) maybe you could take a wee piece of... m-meat for me? I've never eaten a pig and I've h-heard it's very tasty! W-would you take s-some for me?"

-The boy sniffles and rubs the mask with his deformed hand.

-From beneath the mask you can hear a horribly distorted, resounding voice... of a child?

-The figure tries to turn its head, but its enormous neck makes this task impossible to complete.

MUSICIAN: "P-please let me stay. P-please, don't chase me off. I've got nowhere to... go. The villagers don't a-a-allow me to live in the camp. I p-p-promise I won't p-play anymore! I'll be quiet. You can c-cover me with something, if you don't w-want to look at m-me..."

MUSICIAN: (after gifting you a rat) "(...) I mean, she jumped on my hand and s-started nibbling on my f-finger! I quickly clasped my h-hand and b-bit through its neck!"

-The corners of the boy's mouth turn up in a grotesque smile, exposing rows of overgrown teeth, which even his mask couldn't hide.

-The boy clumsily grabs the ball in his hand. He carefully hides it under his legs, so that it doesn't roll away.

MUSICIAN: "S-sorry! I didn't want to! T-this thing is coming out of m-my body. I... I tried to stop it, but I don't think I can... N-now the whole room is covered with... this. I didn't want to make a mess, I s-swear! Please, don't t-throw me a-away!"

-The boy leans over the violin lying next to his overgrown left hand. He plucks one of the strings with his right hand, clumsily trying to keep the rhythm.

MUSICIAN: "Recently, I've grown quite a bit. My mom always used to say that I need to be b-big and s-strong... to help her out in the field..."

The boy tries to hug his frail knees with the disproportionately massive torso.

"But I... I don't want to be big anymore. It's v-very hard being big. You need to be so... so strong! To even walk.Now my v-violin is... too s-small for me!"

vvvvv

vvvvv

[blossom-hwa]

Fall [Spiral] - MARK |Swing!|

There are some spoilers for Captain America: Civil War in this chapter, so spoiler alert! Once again, thank you @deathbykpopboys​ for inspiring this series :)

Pairing: Mark x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, Spiderman!au

Triggers: a lot of cursing, violence, PANIC ATTACKS IN THIS CHAPTER (I in no way meant to romanticize these triggers. If you feel I did, please let me know and I will fix it.)

Word Count: 7.5k

As the year goes on, the world starts crashing down.

Arc { 1 - Drifting Apart | 2 - Coming Home } >> Fall { 1 - Spiral | 2 - Rise } >> Release 

NCT Masterlist | Swing!

A couple of weeks pass. Dr. Charles Roberts and several other people are arrested. Things go more or less back to normal here at home. There’s a shitshow happening on the international scale – someone fucking killed the king of Wakanda and tried to take out a whole UN conference with him, and apparently the Winter Soldier is involved, what the fuck is up with that – but at home, things are okay.

The university labs are more or less fixed, so you start heading back there after school. It takes some time to get used to the new layout of things, but the explosion didn’t touch too much – Wang’s lab was much farther down the hall. AcaDec takes a new member, a sophomore named Ash, who’s smart but can’t seem to really fill the hole that Lia left on the team. You find that you do miss her presence.

Patrolling is no longer filled with stewing silence. Instead, it’s comfortable again. Peaceful. You and Mark don’t swing through opposite sides of the city now. You still split up to cover more territory, but you’re never more than a few minutes of swinging from each other.

The cuts heal. The bruises fade. The scars appear, barely paler than your skin, and far fewer of them than you’d expect. Johnny and Mei don’t suspect anything.

So things are back to normal. For the most part.

Until they aren’t.

You and Mark are walking home one day from the bus stop. It’s early evening, but you don’t plan to patrol tonight. Mei just got a raise, so Johnny’s planned a little celebratory dinner for all four of you. It’ll be fun.

Mark stops first. Lost in thought, you don’t notice until you bump into him. “The fuck, Mark –”

And then you see the fanciest, sleekest, most bougie fucking car you’ve ever seen, parked right in front of your shitty little apartment.

You’re burning with questions as the two of you ascend the stairs. How did anyone here get the money for that car?

“Johnny!” you yell, flinging open the door.

“Hello to you too, troublemaker children,” Johnny calls from somewhere. “How was school?”

“Boring,” Mark yells.

“Also boring here, but Dr. Wang made something explode on accident in the lab today.” You carefully leave out the part where the explosion brought you back to that terrifying night on the beach and you spent a couple seconds hyperventilating before one of the graduate students, Yuta, helped you calm down. You drop your bags in the kitchen, then come out to the small living room. “But there’s this crazy fucking car parked outside –”

Mark’s footsteps stop behind you.

You fall silent.

Because Tony fucking Stark is sitting on your tiny ratty couch next to Mei and Johnny, scrutinizing one of Mei’s (probably awful) cookies between his fingers. His eyes flicker toward you, then Mark, and he smiles. “Oh, Ms. L/N, Mr. Lee!”

Mark mumbles something under his breath that sounds something like “dreaming.” You pinch yourself.

Definitely not dreaming.

“Um.” You take a breath, trying to wrap your head around the fact that Tony fucking Stark is in your living room. “Hi?” You wince when that comes out more like a question than a greeting. “I’m Y/N…”

“I’m Mark,” Mark echoes, sounding vaguely dazed.

“Tony,” Tony fucking Stark introduces himself. As if any of you here didn’t know who he was already.

“Uh…” You rack your brains for a polite way to say what you’re thinking. “What… what are you doing here?”

Nice, Y/N, real nice. That’s the definition of polite right there.

“Well, it’s about time we met.” Tony fucking Stark starts winking. Actually, you can’t tell if it’s just a tic or if he’s actually winking. “You’ve been getting my emails, right?”

Definitely winking.

“Yeah…?” Mark replies. “Right. Um, emails about the…”

“You didn’t tell us about the grants!” Mei bursts out.

“Right, the grants.” You swallow. “Um…”

“September Foundation,” Tony fucking Stark supplies. “Research projects. Remember when you applied?”

You nod mutely, feeling slightly sick. Johnny looks something between super elated and incredibly proud and utterly betrayed. He catches your eye and mouths we’re talking about this later.

Something inside you wilts and dies.

Tony fucking Stark smiles. “Well, I approved!” He puts down the cookie. “So now we’re in business.”

“Do you visit all the people to whom you give grants, Dr. Stark, uh, sir?” Mark asks timidly.

“Oh, please don’t call me Doctor. I don’t like that. Mister is fine. And no, just a few.” Tony fucking Stark – you need to stop adding “fucking” there like it’s his middle name – winks again. “We don’t usually give grants to high schoolers, you see, so every time we do, we do something a little special.”

Do you usually do special things for high schoolers who never applied for your grant in the first place?

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Johnny pipes up. He pouts slightly, and you want to melt into the ground out of embarrassment. Why is he pouting. “What’s up with that?”

“Well, uh…” You bite your lip, racing to come up with a believable lie. “We didn’t actually think we were going to get it? Since, uh, on the website, it says that high schoolers are rarely given grants and are discouraged from applying…” You swallow. “So we just didn’t tell anyone we applied.”

Tony fuckin – Tony Stark looks at you appraisingly. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing.

“But even after you got it?” Mei looks between you and Mark. “You couldn’t tell us when you got it?”

Surprisingly, Mark steps up. “Um, well, we know you love surprises.” He scratches the back of his neck. “So we just wanted to wait for the… right time? To surprise you? Didn’t want to steal your thunder with the raise…” His voice cracks slightly at the end of his sentence. You stifle a snicker.

Tony fuck – Tony Stark picks up the cookie again and takes a bite. “This cookie is exceptional,” he says, winking at Mei.

He’s lying. Mei can’t bake. She can barely cook, and then only the most basic things. Why the fuck is he lying –

Oh, no no no, fucking NO, Tony fucking Stark is NOT flirting with Mei.

As it turns out, Tony fucking Stark is flirting with Mei.

You glance at Mark to see him looking extremely uncomfortable and ready to die. Johnny’s looking at you with an evil, amused smile on his face, so he won’t be helping. You decide to put Mark out of his misery.

“Okay, uh, so what exactly did we apply for again?” you say loudly. “Because it was a long time ago. I don’t know if we’ve started on new projects since then.”

“That’s what I’m here to hash out!” Tony Stark flashes a winning smile. “Can I get a few minutes with these two lovely children?”

A chorus of “Sures!” and “Of courses!” sounds from the two other adults sitting on the couch. You zip over to your room, ignoring Mark and Tony fuck – Tony Stark following behind, and immediately slam the door shut.

. . . . .

There are a few seconds of silence before Mark finally decides to cut the crap. “Okay, so, uh, neither of us actually applied for your grant –”

“Nuh uh.” Tony Stark holds up a hand. “Me first.”

Mark shuts up.

“I have a quick question of the, let’s say, rhetorical variety.” He holds up the latest Starkphone – shit, it’s nice – which projects a hologram of Mark swinging off a building and kicking a mugger in the head. You swoop down a second later, pulling another one out of a car.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck –

“That’s you, isn’t it?”

“No,” you snap. “No, that’s not us.”

Mark is ever thankful that you’re by his side, because there’s no way he could keep talk without stuttering right now.

The hologram video changes to Mark catching a speeding vehicle just before it crashes into a building, then to you dodging a hail of bullets. Tony Stark raises an eyebrow. “Look at you go. Impressive.”

“That’s – that’s all on YouTube, you know that, right?” Mark can hear your heart thudding and takes over. “Like, it could be anyone, obviously. Or anything.”

“Yeah, uh huh.” Tony Stark begins looking around the room. “Like those UFOs in Phoenix…”

“Yeah!” Mark nods quickly. “Exactly –”

And then Tony Stark flips up your mattress, revealing the suit neatly folded beneath it. “Oh, what have we here?”

Fuck –

You snatch up the clothes so fast Mark barely realizes you’ve done it. Your eyes are wide.

Utter silence falls in the room.

“So, you two are the spiderkids. Crime fighting spider-people.” Tony Stark raises an eyebrow. “Spider…lings? Spiderboy, Spidergirl…”

“Silk,” you mutter.

“Spiderman,” Mark mumbles. He thinks he’d like to jump off a cliff right about now.

“Not in those onesies, you’re not.”

Okay, that’s a low blow. Mark opens his mouth to retaliate, but you beat him to it. “Not a onesie if it consists of two articles of clothing,” you snap, shoving your clothes back under the mattress. “Can’t believe we were actually having a good day…”

You look like you’re going to start crying or screaming or both. Mark knows that look. It’s the look you get before you start getting really pissed.

He grabs your hand. “Calm,” he murmurs out of the corner of his mouth. Your body relaxes slightly.

Tony Stark looks over at the two of you, both eyebrows raised. “Dating?”

“No,” Mark snaps, ignoring the slight twinge he feels when he says that. “Now seriously, why are you here?” Tony Stark might be one of his technological heroes, but if he doesn’t get to the point soon, he just might lose it.

The billionaire genius mutters something under his breath that Mark can’t quite hear, even with his enhanced hearing. Something about “dating” and “yeah right.”

Mark’s stomach curdles. His cheeks feel hot.

Tony Stark sits himself down on the bed. “Just wanted to thank you two.”

“For what?” you ask.

“You don’t remember?” He raises his hand, fluttering it like it’s flying. “Crashing jet full of dangerous alien tech? Vulture man?”

Oh, right.

The knowledge must register on your faces, because Tony Stark continues. “I’d heard a little bit about the two spiders swinging around Queens at night, but that was what made me actually curious about you two.” He leans his chin into his hand. “So who else knows?”

“One friend,” Mark gets out. “That’s it.”

“Really?” Tony Stark jerks an eyebrow at the door. “Not the older brother? Not the unusually attractive aunt?”

“Okay, no. Just no.” Mark rubs his face with his free hand. He hears a soft, disgusted eep issue from your throat. “No, Mei and Johnny do not know, because if they did, they’d freak the fuck out, and then we’d freak out, and that would be very bad for everyone.”

“Mhm.” Tony Stark throws something. You catch it without blinking an eye. It’s a little canister filled with a sample of your web fluid. “You know what I think is interesting? This webbing. Tensile strength is off the charts. Who manufactured it?”

You swallow. “I did.”

“Interesting. The… web shooting things?”

“Me,” Mark says.

Tony Stark whistles. “And sticking to walls? How do you do that?”

Both of you wince. “Long… story?”

But Tony Stark’s already pulled your suit back out from under the mattress and is peering into the pair of darkened goggles you’ve sewn into the mask. Next to him, Mark sees you cringe. “Lordy! How do you see in these things?”

You snatch the mask back with more force than necessary. “Heightened senses,” you snap. “Sometimes feels like everything’s caving in on you. Goggles make it easier to focus.”

A beat of silence.

“Well, that confirms it.” Tony Stark stands up, only to place himself down on your small desk chair. “You two are in dire need of some upgrades. Systemic. Full-body. One hundred percent. That’s the other reason I’m here.”

Mark can’t deal with this while standing up. He sits on the bed. You follow suit.

“So why do you do this?” Tony Stark waves a hand at the two of you. “I gotta know. What’s your MO? Motivation? What gets you out of bed and into the streets to do the police’s job for them?”

“Well, first of all, the police don’t fucking do their job, so jot that down,” you hiss, fingers digging into Mark’s palm. “Second…” You soften slightly. “If you have the ability to help people. Stop crime. If you have the ability but you don’t use it, and then shit happens…”

Mark takes over when you falter. “Then those things happened because of you.”

More silence.

“So you want to look out for the little guy, make the world a better place.” Tony Stark raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah.”

“Move over.” Tony Stark stands up, motioning to the space on the bed next to you.

You move over.

“Got a passport?” He sits down and raises an eyebrow.

Well, yeah. But the two of you haven’t traveled in a long time, so you don’t know if they’re expired.

“Ever been to Germany?” Tony Stark presses.

“… No?”

He smiles. “Oh, you’ll love it.”

“We can’t go to Germany,” you say, bewilderment etched across your features.

“Why?”

“We have…” Mark winces before he says it. “Homework?”

Tony Stark, Mark’s technological hero, looks supremely disappointed and nonplussed at the same time. Mark thinks he wants to die. “Okay, I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“Hey, I’m being serious!” Mark protests. “We literally took the SAT two weeks ago. We can’t just, I don’t know, drop out of school and go out of town –”

“Might be a little dangerous,” Tony Stark mutters, walking to the door. He places his hand on the doorknob. “Better tell handsome brother and Aunt Hottie I’m taking the spiderlings –”

A glob of webbing pins his hand to the door. Mark and Tony Stark swing their heads over to look at you.

“Don’t. Tell. Johnny. Or. Mei,” you enunciate carefully.

For a moment, there’s just dead silence, where Mark tries to figure out what the hell is actually going on and how his day went from being so boring to so eventful in such a bad way.

“All right, Silk.” Tony Stark nods, then points to the webs with his free hand. “Now get me out of this.”

. . . . .

You don’t know how Stark did it, but this suit literally fits you perfectly. Even as you’re hiding in your position, you can’t stop marveling about how smooth it feels against your skin.

It’s black and white, with a hood that keeps your hair back and a mask that somehow lets you breathe easily but is still tight against your skin. There are no visible holes for eyes, but some weird technology lets you see through the material anyway.

It feels perfect.

Tony Stark is a motherfucking genius.

A loud whooshing sound comes from the sky. From your vantage point, hidden inside one of the upper levels of the parking garage, you watch Iron Man and War Machine swoop down to meet Captain America in the middle of the airport.

“Wow, it’s so weird how you run into people at the airport,” Tony Stark says in the most deadpan voice possible, his helmet lowering to reveal his face.

You snicker slightly.

The two sides go back and forth for a bit. Mr. Stark didn’t explain the whole argument, citing the fact that you’re too young to understand (to which you bristled a bit), but he gave you your roles, and you’re not about to question him. Stay quiet and hidden, only come out if there’s actual fighting.

Mark, on the other hand, gets to do something you envy a bit.

He gets to take Captain America’s shield.

Just then, Mr. Stark yells the code word. “Underoos!”

You really stifle a laugh then as Mark swoops in, snatches the shield, webs Captain’s hands together, and lands on the roof of a nearby car.

“Nice job, kid,” Mr. Stark calls.

Somehow, even hidden behind the suit, Mark looks awkward. It’s both embarrassing and endearing at the same time.

Classic Mark. Can barely take a compliment. You cringe slightly as your best friend starts rambling.

“Well, I could’ve stuck the landing better, it’s just, uh, new suit – wait, no, it’s perfect, Mr. Stark, thank you –”

Thankfully, Mr. Stark cuts him off. “That’s good, kid.”

A beat of silence.

“Hey, everyone.” Mark waves awkwardly.

No one waves back. You cringe harder.

The awkward atmosphere turns serious when Mr. Stark opens his mouth again. “What are you doing, Cap?” He sighs so loudly you can hear it even from your hiding spot. “You’re being an idiot. You dragged in Clint, took Wanda from a place she didn’t want to leave, a safe place?” His eyes blaze. “I’m trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart!”

You blink. What?

There’s more that you don’t understand. Something about turning over Barnes, no compunction about hurting people, and then Lang? Who’s Lang?

Apparently Lang is a small dude who becomes a regular-sized dude all in the process of kicking Mark’s face and returning Captain’s shield.

His suit looks like an ant.

You can practically hear the what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck running through Mark’s head as he stands up because you’re feeling it too.

“Two in the parking deck, one of them’s Maximoff,” Mr. Stark says. “I’m getting her. Rhodey, can you take Cap?”

Colonel Rhodes answers in the affirmative. “Got two in the terminal. Wilson and Barnes.”

“Cool. Spiderling? Got that? Keep your distance and web them up.”

“Yeah,” Mark replies, eyes narrowing. He jumps onto the terminal glass.

You race out of the parking garage, careful to stay hidden, then leap across to the terminal in plain sight to many yells of confusion on the ground below. Someone yells, “There’s another one?”

You smirk. “Ready?”

. . . . .

Mark thanks every god he can think of for his sticky abilities as he races across the glass, keeping Wilson and Barnes in sight. He lashes out with both hands, sending two strings of webbing onto the terminal overhanging, then shoves backward.

The momentum of his swing crashes him through the glass. He grits his teeth, waiting for the pain as glass shatters around him, but Mr. Stark has somehow made his suit so that the glass can’t pierce it, no matter how thin the material feels.

Genius.

Swinging through the new hole, you lash out with your feet and and Wilson goes down with a grunt. Another swing, and then Mark’s inside, ready to fight off Barnes.

He doesn’t even think when Barnes swings his arm. His mind flashes back to a fistfight he dealt with a few weeks ago, and on instinct, he catches Barnes’s fist in his hand.

The sound of metal hitting something fills the air. Mark looks, really looks, and sees that it was Barnes’s fist that made the sound.

“You have a metal arm?” Mark blurts out, unable to contain himself. “That’s so cool!”

And then Sam Wilson, apparently recovered from your kick, swoops in and lifts Mark right off the ground. As he tussles with the Falcon, Mark hears you engage Barnes and yell, “Shit, that metal arm really is awesome!”

See? He really can’t be blamed for how cool a bionic arm is, right?

Wilson twists around in midair, giving Mark the opening he needs to attach to the ceiling and swing out of his reach. A terminal sign falls under his weight as he leaps across steel beams, narrowly avoiding blasts of Wilson’s gunfire.

“DUCK!” you scream from farther below.

Mark’s danger sense already warned him, but your added reminder is helpful as he flattens himself on the beam, just in time for the ripped-off billboard to sail over his head like a large frisbee. “Get out of the way!” you yell, leaping onto the same beam just in time to web up Falcon’s chest, sending him spiraling to the floor. As he goes down, Mark webs up the engine pack on his back, then sticks him to the glass barricade around the escalator.

“Those wings carbon fiber?” you call, clinging to one of the directory posts nearby.

“This stuff coming out of you?” Wilson looks at the webbing on his hands in disbelief.

Mark fully ignores him. “Well, if it is, that’d explain the rigidity-flexibility ratio, which is fucking awesome.” You make a noise of agreement.

“I don’t know if you’ve been in a fight before, kid, but there’s not usually this much talking,” Wilson growls.

You snort, beckoning to Mark. “Well, if he wants to be unfriendly, guess we’ll just have to hack up the blueprints later.”

“My bad,” Mark echoes, then leaps back into the rafters as Barnes comes barreling over. One string of fluid and a well-placed swing later, he’s crashing through the glass escalator barrier, sending both men to the ground. From your position on the ceiling, you web them down before they can get back up.

“Hi hello, sorry about this, but all we had to do was impress Mr. Stark.” You shrug, leaping down to crouch next to him on another directory post. “We’d love to talk some more – especially about that bionic arm, that’s so cool, like the wings are cool but the arm is better, but –”

Mark sees Wilson’s hand move before you do. Just as you send out another string of webbing, something flies out, catches it and drags you out of the glass. “Oh, come on!” he hears you yell.

He tries to think of something clever to say to the pair lying on the ground before leaping off to follow you, but all he can come up with is, “For fuck’s sake.”

Mark doesn’t yell that aloud. He just mutters it under his breath before following you out of the terminal.

. . . . .

The rest of the fight, to put it lightly (and in Mr. Stark’s words) is a shitfest.

You think that you and Mark did fine, if there’s even a way you could measure fine in this kind of scenario. You guys actually manage to fuck around with Captain America for a bit until his physics-defying shield clocks Mark’s face.

Something rips apart in your chest during that one horrible second where Mark goes down and you can’t tell if he’s alive or dead. Inwardly, you swear that if Captain America killed your best friend, you’ll murder him, symbol of America or no.

Mark turns out to be fine. He rolls over and just gasps at the sky. You yell at him to stay away and then Captain America drops a passenger boarding bridge for planes onto your head, nearly causing you to spiral into memories of that time Adrian Toomes sent an entire building crashing down on you and Mark.

(“You got heart, kid.” Captain America looks at you appraisingly as your knees buckle under the weight of the bridge. “Where’re you from?”

Between a pounding heart and spiraling thoughts, you somehow manage to answer. “Qu-Queens.”

“Brooklyn.”

“As if –” you gasp, trying to head off the increasing panic – “my history teacher from Brooklyn didn’t repeat that bit of information about you twenty times in the space of one fucking hour.”

You’re not sure, but you think Captain America smiled at that.)

No, you two aren’t the problem. After Mark helps you out from under the bridge and uses his brilliance and love of Star Wars to come up with a fantastic plan to take down a now not-tiny Ant Man (“Okay, anybody on our side hiding any shocking and fantastic abilities they’d like to disclose? I’m open to suggestions.” “Uh, no abilities here, but I’ve got an idea?”).

Ant Man’s hand eventually smacks you and Mark down. Mr. Stark then forces you to stay down with the threat of leaking your spidery secrets to Mei and Johnny, so you two limp out of the picture.

By the time Mr. Stark comes back to collect the two of you – Mark has a splitting headache, and you think you’re on the verge of an anxiety attack or something – the fight’s over. Captain and Barnes have escaped. The other “rogue” Avengers are going to some high-security prison. Colonel Rhodes might possibly be paralyzed.

Mr. Stark doesn’t look great when he tells you two the news. You think you’re just going to pass out.

Two perfect scores on the SAT cheer you up slightly. Johnny and Mei video call in the hotel room in Germany to congratulate you. But Mr. Stark’s anger at Colonel Rhodes’s state – well, more like anger at himself for not having saved his friend – dampens your moods more than slightly.

Mr. Stark apologizes to the two of you back at the hotel. “I’m sorry, kids.” He sighs, rubbing his forehead. “I didn’t think this was really going to come to blows. I shouldn’t have brought you in, though.”

Neither you nor Mark knows exactly what to say to that other than a slightly concussed, “It’s fine.”

You get to keep the suits. Mr. Stark demands you let him know if anything malfunctions, though you have a feeling he’ll know anyway. He designed the suits – there’s no way he wouldn’t install some sort of tracking device or whatever that would let him know how damaged it is.

This Mr. Stark is a far cry from the cocky, flirtatious one you met back at the apartment. Here, you see a softer, more broken side of the confident guy that makes an appearance on TV. He’s nice, you realize. Kind. He’s got a lot of baggage, but he’s trying to do what’s right.

And isn’t that just what you and Mark are trying to do?

Mark’s concussion heals quickly. Mr. Stark postulates that your spider bites gave you speedier healing, which would make sense – now that you think of it, your cuts and bruises after that disastrous homecoming healed rather quickly, quickly enough that Johnny didn’t really notice them.

Mr. Stark takes the two of you back home after a couple of days of rest in the hotel. He’s all cordial smiles when Johnny and Mei come down to get you guys. You’re supposed to go to Stark Industries every Sunday now for regular suit repairs, under the guise that you’re conducting research with that grant he gave you.

Now, you’re not stupid enough to go around publicizing your sort-of relationship with Tony Stark. The man’s practically a god. But someone from school apparently saw the two of you getting out of his car the day you got back from Germany, so now people have a lot of questions they want you answer.

During the space of one week, Flash tries a grand total of five times to bully an answer out of you. Mark has to hold you back from clocking him in the face after the fifth time. After that, you tell everyone you have an internship at Stark Industries, and even though that just spawns more questions, there’s nothing more you’ll say about it.

So life goes on. No one at school knows about your spontaneous, long-weekend trip to Germany. Johnny and Mei just think it’s a perk of being chosen as a September Fund grant winner as a high school student. Only you and Mark know differently, and that’s good. It’s what you decided in the beginning, wasn’t it? You even webbed Tony fucking Stark’s hand to your door to prevent him from blabbing.

Life is normal. You go to school, work in the lab, practice for AcaDec, and patrol. Life is normal.

Until it isn’t.

. . . . .

Mark remembers the exact day he saw the first article. It’s December 15, about a month after Germany. He’s just scrolling through his phone at lunch, half-listening to Haechan complain about something or another, when the story pops up on his news briefing.

Spiderman and Silk: Friends or Foes?

Curious, he taps on the link.

Later, as he sits in physics, shell-shocked, he’ll wish that he never bothered to look at it. He never really searches himself up – it’s just kind of weird. After the fight in Germany, the two of you are more well-known than ever, but when he hears mentions of Spiderman or Silk at school or on the streets, it’s usually good stuff. Or neutral, at least. He hadn’t really felt the need to see what people online have to say about him until that day.

Mark doesn’t know what possessed him to open that article in the first place, but he wishes it had never happened.

Because it isn’t a friendly article. It denounces you and him as half-breeds, some sort of escaped experiment gone wrong. It doesn’t actually pinpoint what experiment or the company that fucked it up – for that, Mark is thankful – but it really does hurt to see that people don’t see the good you two are trying to do, just your strange abilities.

They don’t even think you two are human.

Some of the comments defend the two of you, pointing out the enhanced abilities of other heroes like Captain America. But far more agree with the article’s words, even going so far as to demand the two of you be tried as criminals and put in prison.

That, Mark thinks, is bullshit. Neither of you have ever killed anyone, just knocked people unconscious and webbed them up. Compare that to the gunfights, the muggings, the rapes that could have happened, and he doesn’t think those comments are justified.

But they stay in the back of his mind, and when you ask him why he’s brooding on the train ride to the labs, he’s forced to show you the article. He’s forced to watch you read it, watch your smile fade, and watch you try to put your usual confident face back on. “It’s just an article,” you say flippantly, handing back the phone. “And I think we’re doing fine.”

Mark half agrees. It is just an article, he knows that’s true. But he doesn’t think you really believe that.

Hell, he doesn’t even think he really believes that.

Still, he tries to explain away the extra hour of patrolling he tacks on for himself every night. He leaves you out of it, at first – he just stays on the rooftop for a while longer until he’s sure you’re in bed, and then swings around for a bit more.

Until the night (well, morning) that he returns from that extra hour to see you standing on the rooftop in your pajamas, arms crossed.

“I’m not stupid, you know,” is the first thing you say when he guiltily lands in front of you.

And of course, now he has to let you go with him.

So patrols extend. Mark tells you that it’s just because he wants to make sure he cleans up as much crime as possible. You take that reason with a nod and a “sure,” because even though you believe Mark is a good person to the core (you’ve told him this many times), you also read that article.

You’ve also caught him reading more.

He feels strangely guilty each time you pluck his phone out of his hands and exit the browser app, raising an eyebrow. When that doesn’t stop him, you resort to giving him a punch every time you catch him.

“Are you trying to, like, classically condition me?” Mark complains, rubbing his shoulder. Yeah, he’s extra strong now, but so are you. And your punches hurt.

“Pretty sure it’s operant conditioning. And yes, if that’s what it takes for you to stop reading those shit articles,” you snap, punching him again in the same spot.

It’s hard to stop, though. Mark doesn’t know how celebrities do it. He’s anonymous – he can count the number of people who know his secret identity on one hand – but he still feels so much pressure from these articles to prove them wrong.

But that’s hard to do when they all contradict each other. Some complain that he does too much. Some complain that he does too little. Others just dislike him in general and he really shouldn’t pay attention to those, but he can’t. Day by day, he forces himself to do more – swing faster, punch harder, help more people, put more criminals behind bars.

What else can he do?

. . . . .

You’ve suspected something was wrong with you ever since that explosion in Professor Wang’s lab, the day Tony Stark came to your apartment. Explosions, though uncommon, are still a part of lab life. Usually you’d just look up, snicker at whoever did it, laugh if it was Wang, and get back to work.

That day is the first time you freak out over an explosion. It wasn’t even that big or loud, either. Mei has definitely caused bigger messes in her own apartment.

But it doesn’t matter, because suddenly, you’re back on the beach under a pitch-black sky, feeling yourself being thrown backwards as metal vulture wings tear themselves apart in a shower of beautifully dangerous blue and purple sparks.

Yuta, once you’ve calmed down, tells you that you were hyperventilating. That makes sense. You remember a burning sensation in your chest and your heart beating faster than you ever thought it could. When you’re finally calm, you’re shaking slightly, sweat beading your forehead.

At the time, you don’t plan to tell anyone about it. For all you know, it was just one isolated experience. It probably won’t happen again.

And then Captain America – who is very different from the PSA videos Coach shows you during PE – drops a passenger bridge onto you, sending you back under crushing concrete blocks. You can practically feel the dust clogging your throat and entering your nose as you struggle to respond to what the Captain is saying – because fuck if you’re going to show weakness to a superhero – and even though some part of your brain knows that what you’re feeling isn’t actually real, it feels like it is and that’s enough to start sending you spiraling.

Mark helps you out that time, helping push the bridge off of you even through his pounding headache. As you collapse on the ground, heaving, you’re not sure if he notices the imminent panic attack you’ve just managed to pull yourself out of. You really hope he doesn’t, because he doesn’t seem to be dealing with the same thing – flashbacks, panicking, hyperventilating.

What does it say about you that you are?

But once you get back from Germany, the panic attacks (you’re pretty sure that’s what they are – the symptoms seem to match, at least) subside. You relax back into your friend group, and even though school is more stressful than ever, things feel normal. You feel… fine.

Until Mark finds that article.

There’s a lot on your plate. Even before you got your spidery abilities, you were involved in a lot of things, most of which you haven’t given up because if you did that, a lot of people would get suspicious (or disappointed, which is almost worse).

You and Mark used to just not patrol on AcaDec practice or competition days. You also wouldn’t patrol on nights before big tests, or when you stayed late at the lab to finish something up. But now you do.

It isn’t that article, specifically, that causes you to double down on yourself and work harder than ever. That article was just about stupid things you can’t control, which basically consists of every ability you got after the spider bite. No, it’s the other articles, the ones that point out crime rates increasing and Spiderman and Silk not having enough of an effect on them, that first spawn the problem.

(You’re a hypocrite. You know that. You tell Mark to stop reading the articles because they’re bad for his health, but you read them too. You’re just better at hiding it.

It’s somehow addictive, reading the sickening things that people like to write about the two of you. It’s bad for you, and you know it. But you just can’t stop.)

Stress is a sneaky thing. It’s almost impossible to realize just how stressed you are, you think, until it’s too late. Johnny, when he was at university, put on a confident face for three weeks before midterms and then had a breakdown the day after he finished.

The same thing is happening with you, but you don’t notice it for a long time. The fact that crime rates are increasing just rests in the back of your mind, fueling the extra hours of patrol you do every night, even when you have tests or practice or research papers to write. Not to mention all your homework, too.

The rational part of your mind logically explains away the increasing crime rates. International-scale problems started increasing after the Avengers Initiative became public in 2012 because people believed they could go up against the Avengers and win. They drew the attention of aliens and evil public figures. It’s probably a similar thing here in Queens – people believe they can go up against you and Mark and win. You’ve caught their attention because you have the potential to take down malicious plans.

But what about the crime in other parts of New York, the places you can’t get to? Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t. Queens is big enough on its own. You can’t tackle Staten Island, Manhattan, Brooklyn, and the Bronx too.

What do people even want you to do? Everyone always says to just do your best and that’ll be enough, but why is it that once you get a few new abilities, that suddenly isn’t the case?

You can’t save everyone. As much as you want to, you’re only one person.

You can’t.

Then the first panic attack after Germany happens.

You’re at home. You don’t even feel terrible. There are no flashbacks or anything to trigger it, so maybe you don’t have PTSD.

(That conjecture is the one good thing that comes out of this panic attack.)

You’re just lying in your bed, resting for a bit before you go out to patrol, when it suddenly feels like your chest is constricting and you can’t breathe.

Time doesn’t seem to flow. Your heart beats wildly, you’re hyperventilating, and you honestly think you’re about to die. When you finally come out of it, your phone tells you you’ve been stuck in your head for ten minutes.

It felt like so much longer.

You should probably call off patrols tonight. Your mind feels exhausted and you can barely drag your suit out from under your bed, but a recent article eggs you on – crime rates have been spiking recently, and New York’s newest spider vigilantes don’t seem to be doing much for it – so you wave Mark off when he asks if you’re okay and swing into the fading afternoon light.

The next day, you drag yourself to school feeling physically and mentally wiped out (someone decided a rape was necessary at around one in the morning, and you can still feel the poor girl trembling under your hands as you walked her to the nearest hospital) and you sit yourself down for a history test that will determine half of your semester grade.

It’s fine. The test is fine. You get an A, anyway. But the second you walk out of class, the chest pains start coming in again, and you all but sprint to the bathroom to safely panic in one of the stalls.

You’re not fine. You’re definitely not fine. A week later, someone bangs a locker door shut a little too loudly and you barely make it to the bathroom before you start hyperventilating. It’s like the world won’t fucking stop.

Then during winter break, there’s the fight with Johnny.

. . .

You don’t usually fight with your older brother. When you were younger and your parents were still alive, maybe. But after they died, the two of you only had each other, so the fights more or less stopped. Sure, there are the occasional petty spats that devolve into laughter and hugs, but that’s all.

Johnny isn’t stupid, you know. Even with speedier healing than normal, there are still sometimes cuts on your face and bruises on your arms that he can see. And one day, as you two sit down to dinner, he brings them up.

“So, what exactly do you do with your Stark grant?” he asks a bit too casually.

“Oh, I’m working on trying to synthesize that degradable plastic I started on with Wang,” you reply as coolly as possible. “Stark’s got a lot more supplies in his departments than Wang does, and for the most part, he lets Mark and I use whatever we need.”

“He really trusts you a lot,” Johnny says.

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just nod.

“Okay, I’ll cut the crap.” Your brother sighs, putting down his chopsticks. “I don’t like your Stark grant… internship thing, Y/N.”

Several thoughts fly through your mind, but first and foremost is what the fuck?

“W… why?”

“You’ve been hiding things from me ever since you started with him.” Johnny gestures to your face and your arms. “There’s no way you could get scratches or bruises like that from working in a lab. I don’t know what Stark is doing, or whether or not you’re a willing participant in… whatever it is, but if it were up to me, I wouldn’t have you working there anymore.”

“I’m not doing anything dangerous!” you protest, even though you know that’s a lie. Well, it’s not really in relation with your Stark internship. “I’m just – clumsy!”

“Clumsy is Mark’s thing, not yours,” Johnny snaps. “Why are you lying to me?”

Deflect, deflect, deflect –

“Why do you want me to give up the best opportunity that’s come to me in years?” you retort, pushing your chair back.

“You want to talk about giving up things?” Your brother stands up, eyes blazing. “I gave up everything after Mom and Dad died!”

Something cold settles in your stomach. It’s just as you feared. Johnny’s given up so much, and what have you done? Compared to him, you’re so selfish for taking the opportunities that land in your path – AcaDec, working with Wang and now Mr. Stark.

But you can’t give up what you’re doing with Stark. He’s been teaching you and Mark how to repair your suits, but you can’t do it alone just yet. You need to keep learning. You need to keep going.

How can you explain this to Johnny without revealing everything?

A tear slips out of your eye before you realize. Johnny looks slightly stricken, like he didn’t mean to say what he did, but you can’t look at him. “I’m sorry,” you mumble. “Sorry that…” You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for, you just know that you have to.

Then it clicks. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you everything,” you say around the lump in your throat. “If I could, I would. But I can’t.”

If anything, Johnny looks even more upset and confused than before. “Why can’t you tell me?” he asks, voice softer.

“I just can’t,” you say again, trying to convey just how impossible this whole situation is. “It’s not Mr. Stark’s fault. It’s not anything I’ve been doing with him. It’s just me. I… you can’t understand. Not now.”

“I think I should be the judge of that,” Johnny replies.

You shake your head firmly. “Not this time.”

Silence reigns. Your unfinished dinner bowls stand on the table, forgotten.

“I’ll tell you at some point,” you say, biting your lip hard. “You don’t have to trust me. I know how shady this all sounds. I’m not selling drugs or doing anything like that.” You try to breathe calmly. “I’m not going to stop my work with Mr. Stark. It’s important to me. I can give up other things, just not that.”

“Why?” Johnny’s talking again with an acid bite to his voice. “Is he like a father to you now?”

At that, you really flinch. “What?”

“Are you seriously replacing Dad with Tony Stark?” he snaps.

Your brain processes his words.

“What the fuck?” Now you’re angry too, and it’s taking all your effort not break literally anything in the room. Your fists clench into your sides so hard you can feel your nails biting into your palms. “How – how dare you?”

Johnny just looks at you like you’ve betrayed him. “It’s clear to see, Y/N.” His voice is softer, though no less cutting. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Memories of your own father flash through your head. You don’t know what Johnny is even thinking, but there is no way you could ever replace him. “You’re wrong,” you snap quietly. “You’re completely wrong.”

Then you walk to your room and slam the door shut.

The rest of winter break is awful. Neither you nor Johnny will apologize, and you spend a lot of time crying or heaving on your bed. It doesn’t feel like anything could get worse.

Then Mark gets himself shot.

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Stark Spanged Banner: Stab Me In The Front

Part 4- Captain Asshat

Intro: Steve's being an asshat...and Katie isn't standing for it. Throw in some alcohol and the return America’s Asshole...and there's trouble ahead!

Warnings: Bad language. SMUT (NSFW, No UNDER 18s!!!)

Pairing: 

Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: This was supposed to be a Kinks one shot, only my mind went somewhere else and I got carried away and here’s Part 4 of the Knives Out cross over.. Yeah...so now I have to write another one shot from the original prompt from @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​. Oh well... Hope you enjoy, this is a long one...it’s also really loosely proof read so apologies for mistakes but this is SO HARD to do on my phone!!!

"Steve..." Katie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before she removed her glasses and rubbed at her eyes "Why are we even having this debate?"

"Oh, it's a debate?" He folded his arms "Here was me thinking you were just point blank refusing to listen to me."

"Oh I'm listening." she glared up at him from where she sat behind her desk "You're just talking shit."

"I'm talking shit?" he fumed, blowing a breath through his nostrils "The guy is an absolute dick, and you just voluntarily invited him to your gala?"

"Yes, because this is about the Charity." she looked at him "And like it or not, dick he may be, he gave a substantial donation. It's only right."

Steve felt the nerve in his jaw twitch "Right?"

"Yes, right. Why are you making such a big deal out of this?"

"Are you forgetting what he said to you?" Steve looked at her.

"No." she shook her head "I'm simply saying that I don't care."

"You don't care?" his mouth fell open "You don't care that he basically-"

"No, I don't." Katie cut him off firmly "And if I don't anymore then neither should you."

"Ok, so despite the fact that he disrespected my wife, and said some pretty disgusting things about you, I should just let that slide?"

"Yes." Katie said simply, standing up as she turned off her computer screen before she looked at him "Because believe it or not I don't actually need you to be offended on my behalf Steve. Now either let it go or don't bother coming."

"Fine, if that's the way you feel then maybe I won't."

"And you call me a brat!" Katie snorted, as she walked past him towards the door of her office "You're so full of shit."

"I'm full of shit?" Steve snorted, and she stopped, turning to face him "You're the one that is insisting on inviting that ass hole...I mean, even Natasha thinks you're crazy."

"Natasha?" Katie frowned, "What's Natasha got to do with this?"

Steve hesitated and grimaced inwardly as Katie's face rearranged into a look of understanding and she let out a scoff.

"You spoke to Natasha before me?"

"She asked me what was bothering me so I told her."

"Damnit Steve!" she shook her head "Why is that you go running to other people about stuff before me? We're supposed to be married."

"Oh but it wasn't an issue when you told her before me about what Hydra did to you?" the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them and no sooner had he spoke he saw Katie's face slip. "Shit, Katie, I-"

"That was a low blow Steve." she swallowed, shaking her head.

"I'm sorry, I didn't..."

"Fuck you." she looked at him, before she turned and walked off.

Steve let out a groan of frustration, looking up at the ceiling as he cursed himself. That really had been unfair, the two issues weren't even comparable. He hated when he spat out stuff like that, because even when they were in the middle of an argument he loved his wife beyond life itself, and hated seeing her upset or hurt. But damnit, sometimes she just riled him so fucking much. With a deep breath he pinched the bridge of his nose and turned from the office, shutting the door behind him, the automatic lock sealing the room.  He made his way back towards the main common room, finding Sam pouring himself a drink.

"S'up Cap?" he asked, looking at Steve "You look like you lost a fifty and found a ten."

"Oh, nothing, just had an argument with Katie." he replied heavily "Said something pretty shitty."

"Like what?" Sam asked. So Steve told him, and watched as the man raised an eyebrow and shook his head "Yeah, that was pretty fucking low Steve."

"I'm well aware of that Sam." he sighed, "Fuck."

"Maybe you should swerve the Gala." Sam shrugged "Give her time to cool off. I can't see her forgiving you for that one so easily."

"Forgiving him for what?" Natasha asked and Steve groaned, just what he needed.

Before Steve could stop him, Sam filled him in and Natasha looked at him, her face stony.

"Wow." she shook her head. "What the fuck, Rogers?"

"I know, I know." he said, holding his hands up.

"Thanks for dragging my name into it."

"It's me she's pissed at, not you. And before you say it, with good reason..."

"I wasn't gonna say that." Natasha protested as Steve looked at her sceptically. She looked up at the ceiling "Ok, maybe I was."

Steve rubbed at the spot between his eyes, he could feel a headache coming on.

"I suggest you go apologise." Natasha looked at him.

"And pray." Sam added "Because, damned, she aint gonna let you forget this one in a hurry."

After thanking them, sarcastically, for their moral support to which Natasha snarked back that he didn't deserve any, Steve wandered back to their living quarters. He knew his was a big thing for Katie, the night upon which SIP’s 6 monthly Fundraising efforts for the Women's Charities they were partnered with ended, and he was so fucking proud of her for everything she'd overcome to get to this point. But he had basically thrown that in her face with his comments before. He was being a jerk, he knew that. He shouldn't have let the fact she was inviting that dickhead rile him as much as it did, it was her event, her decision after all. 

Steve took a deep breath before opening the door to their quarters and looked around, his sharp hearing picking up no sounds. He headed into the bathroom, the shower had clearly been used recently, and he found her absence odd as she'd told him earlier that her hair was getting done for the event, and normally Franco came to her. He pulled out his phone, gave her a quick call but no sooner had it rung than it cut to voicemail. 

She'd red buttoned him.

*****

It was about an hour later when Katie walked into the apartment, her hair set in an elaborate braid which swept from the right side of her temple over to the left before the rest of her long locks were curled and fell over her left shoulder. She shot Steve a filthy looked and stalked straight through to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Steve's head fell back against the sofa cushions, before he took a deep breath and decided it was time to face the music. He pushed himself up, walked into the room and found his wife sat at her vanity unit, digging out her make-up.

"Sweetheart," he began tentatively, sitting on the bed "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said what I did."

She glared at him in the mirror, but other than that made no acknowledgement that she had heard him.

"I was out of order."

Still nothing.

“Katie, come on darlin’, don't ignore me, please."

"I'm ignoring you because if I don't I'm gonna end up screaming at you." she replied simply "And I'm not letting you spoil tonight for me."

"Spoil tonight?" Steve frowned "That's not what I want."

"Well, you kinda already did in a fashion." she shrugged "Now if you don't mind I need to get ready. And your presence is not required. Either in this room, or the gala."

Steve felt his face fall at that and he looked at her in the mirror as her green eyes locked on his "You don't want me to come?"

"No." 

"Ok." he swallowed, fighting to keep his voice calm. "Then I respect your wishes."

With that he stood up, and left.

As soon as he had shut the door behind him, Katie let out a sigh, her face falling into her hands as her elbows rest on the vanity unit in front of her.  Steve's face when she'd told him she didn't want him at the gala had made her heart ache, he'd looked like a little puppy she had just given a harsh kick to. But she was so angry at him, she didn't even know where to start. He was being an absolute dick over something that really wasn't that big an issue, and then his dig about comparing him speaking to Natasha about what had happened to her...well, that was as low a blow as you could possibly get. At the time she'd been upset, angry even...now she was almost just shocked that Captain America had it in him to be so damned nasty.

Wanda had been astounded when she had told her what he had said, giving her that as a reason as to why Franco was going to be doing their hair in her room, not Katie’s apartment. Then, when Natasha had turned up, the Red Head had told Katie she had informed Steve he was out of order, but also that he seemed genuinely contrite as well when he had been talking to her and Sam.

Katie knew he was sorry, she didn't need Natasha to point out that Steve had said what he had it in the haste of an argument. She knew only too well herself that in the heat of the moment people said things they didn't really mean. But he wasn't getting off so easily. He accused her of being a brat often enough and here he was acting like one.

So, with that in mind, she'd told him to stay behind. She knew full well that he would show up anyway after an hour or so of brooding, with another apology which she might be ready to accept at that point. But until then, he could fucking stew a little, think about what he had said some more

Raising her head she looked at herself in the mirror before she set about doing her make-up. It took her about 30 minutes to perfect the look she was going for, a dark smoky eye effect with bright rub red lips, another thing she knew drove Steve wild, before she stood up and grabbed her dress out of the wardrobe. It was a skin tight deep red mermaid style Dolce number, which sat off her shoulders with a small v neckline. She knew she looked good in it, which was why she had bought it in the first place along with a matching tie for Captain Asshat. Once she was in, she struggled with the zip which was at the back and after getting it most of the way up, instead of asking said Asshat for help she decided she would get Wanda or Nat to fix it. She stepped into her trusty gold Jimmy Choos before giving herself the once over. Satisfied with the results, she opened the door and walked down the hallway to the living room.

Steve looked up as Katie strode into the living room and felt his jaw drop. He really shouldn't be surprised anymore at how stunning she managed to look when she was dolled up, but she still took his breath away every time he saw her. She looked great all the time in his eyes anyway but...damned.

She sauntered past him, without so much as a glance in his direction and he took a deep breath. To comment or not to comment now was the big question. Whatever he did or said he was going to be wrong in her eyes so...

Oh fuck it, in for a penny.

"You look stunning." he said, his head turning to watch her as she walked passed him heading for the door.

"Thanks." she said, her tone clipped. But that was more of a response than he had expected. He hesitated for a second, about to offer to walk her down to the Marquee, even though she would likely refuse, but he stopped as he saw the back of her dress wasn't quite done up.

"Honey, your zip..." he said as he walked towards her.

"I know." she said, opening the door "I can't quite reach it..."

"Why didn't you just ask..." he sighed, his hand going to help but she jerked away and spun round.

"I'll get Wanda or Nat to do it." she said simply.

"Oh, now you're just being ridiculous.."

Her eyes flashed dangerously and he knew why. That was the single worst thing he could say to he when she was in this type of mood but he was beyond the point of caring now. She was being ridiculous.

"Look, I know I was out of order, but I've apologised. What else do you want me to say?" he asked, looking at her.

"Don't wait up." she said, her voice steely, and with that she turned and left, closing the door behind her.

He debated for a second if he should go after her, but his own anger won out. Instead he turned round and walked straight to the cabinet they kept their liquor in. Finding what he wanted, a bottle of that Asgardian dynamite stuff Thor had left, he pulled it out, grabbed himself a tumbler and headed back to the couch.

*****

For the next hour or so Katie was too busy to even give Steve a second thought. She welcomed the guests and the limited press that had been invited, Evans  and Sam providing her back up checking off the guest list, for which she gratefully thanked them both. She was just at the bar talking to one of the Charity Organisers when she felt a gentle touch on her elbow. She turned and beamed at the man stood in front of her.

"Harlan!" she smiled, as he leant down to gently kiss her cheek "I'm so glad you could make it."

"The pleasure is all mine." he smiled back. "How are you Mrs Rogers?"

"Good, thank you." she nodded "It's been busy but definitely worth it."

"Well the predicted figures look good." he nodded "You've raised a lot of money."

"Yeah, it's gone better than I could have ever hoped." she agreed "I'll never be able to thank you enough."

Harlan waved away her comment and looked back over his shoulder. Katie followed his gaze and saw the man that had caused all the trouble between her and Steve, leaning at the bar. He was dressed in a smart, pin striped suit, his hair slicked back and his jaw clean shaven as ever.

"He came then." she said, and Harlan turned back to her giving a low chuckle.

"Yes, you made quite an impression on him. I've never heard of him donating money to a charity before." he mused

"Probably guilty he behaved like an ass hole." she said, before she shook her head "Sorry, that was rude."

"No more than he deserves." Harlan sighed "The sad thing is, he's not a bad man underneath it all. I see a lot of myself in him, just wish he would apply himself better to something. I've even tried to get him involved in the publishing company but he just isn't interested. Suppose you can't polish a turd."

Katie let out a huge snort of laughter at the phrase tumbling from the old man's lips and he gave her a large grin from behind his white beard as she shook her head "Now that's a quote for your next book."

Harlan chuckled again before Tony appeared by her side with a glass of champagne.

"Mr Stark." Harlan shook his hand as Tony smiled at him.

"Mr Thrombey, pleasure." he said, before he turned to Katie "Where's Spangles?"

"Busy." she said simply. Tony arched an eyebrow at him and she gave him a look, which he met with one of his own.

"Doing what?"

"Stuff."

"Wow, yeah, that stuff...it's...a pain..." Tony said, and Katie gave him a glare before she glanced around and Harlan struck up a chat with Tony about the latest Stark Industries initiative into wind farms. Natasha caught her eye and she excused herself and wandered over but as she was crossing the room, Ransom stepped into her path.

"Mr Drysdale." she looked at him "No tatty sweater?"

He gave a huff of a laugh "No, I only wear the cable knit on special occasions."

"Good to know." she raised an eyebrow.

"So where's your guard dog?" he asked, looking around.

"If you mean Steve, he's otherwise engaged." she said, shrugging "No doubt he'll be along later."

"Well in that case can I get you a drink?"

"It's a free bar."

"Yes, but I can still get you one."

"I'm good thanks." she waved the half full flute in her hand. "Now if you'll excuse me for a second, I need to speak to someone."

"Oh, Doll, I thought we left things on better terms." he sighed, placing his hand over his heart, looking at her. Katie cocked her head to one side, before she flashed him a grin.

"I doubt you're capable of leaving it on good terms with any girl you cross paths with."

"Never had any complaints." he smirked. At that Katie snorted.

"Well you can't be meeting with the right women." she said simply, and with that she moved past him, and headed over to Natasha who was beckoning her over.

"Everything ok?" she asked and Natasha nodded.

"Yup.I just got you a surprise." she smiled.

"A surprise?" Katie frowned.

"Seeing as its a special occasion." Natasha continued, linking her arm through Katie's. She led her through to the entrance of the Marquee where a familiar face was stood talking to Evans, Sam and Wanda,

"S'up Nova?" Clint grinned at her as she gave a laugh and threw herself at him.

"What are you doing here?" she spluttered as he released her, stepping back slightly.

"Couldn't miss your big event." he smiled "You look great. Where's Cap?"

"In the dog house." Nat spoke before Katie could. Katie sighed and shot Natasha a look before she turned back to Clint.

"Don't wanna talk about it." she shook her head. "Now, come on, fill me in...how are the kids? Laura?"

She didn't miss the look that Wanda, Sam and Natasha shared but chose to ignore it as she steered Clint towards the bar for a well overdue catch up.

*****

Steve drained his glass and poured himself another measure. Katie had been gone for just under two hours now and his mood was rapidly growing worse. More so because deep down he knew this was his own stupid fault. Because of his inability to keep his, albeit in his opinion justified, issue about Ransom fucking Drysdale to himself, his wife was now going through probably one of the biggest nights of her life without him there. And what made it worse was that smarmy bastard was there, probably eyeing her up, like he had done at the last gala, making some dickhead comment or other which he would no doubt weasel his way out of by sending another cheque for a ludicrous amount. Steve hated that, people that thought money made everything ok. And what was worse, it seemed to have placated Katie as well. He took a mouthful of his drink, the burn in his throat pleasantly distracting him for a moment, before he stared at the TV.

No, fuck this... this was his wife, his damned compound.

Necking his drink he stood up, the liquor giving him a pleasant buzz, before he strode into the bedroom, stripping off his sweater and jeans before he pulled his suit out of the closet. Slipping his arms into his shirt, he buttoned it up before expertly tying the tie Katie had bought him in a double Windsor, before grabbing his jacket. Once one he straightened his hair, slipped on his shoes he headed out of the door, making his way out of the side of the building, striding over to the marquee which was buzzing with people.

"Oh here he is." Sam grinned at him "You're a brave man, Cap."

"Shut up Sam." he said, rolling his eyes.

Sam chuckled as Evans raised an eyebrow. "Should I check he's on the list?" he drawled, his Texan accent thick.

"I think Katie crossed him off." Sam teased.

"Hilarious." Steve deadpanned, stepping past them into the Marquee. His eyes quickly roved the crowd and he did a double take as he saw Clint with Natasha and Wanda at the bar. He'd had no idea the archer was coming, but right now he was looking for his wife, the reunion could wait. He continued to scan the Marquee and he spotted her and then felt his jaw clench as he saw she was stood with him. As he watched he saw her say something and she tipped her head back in genuine laughter, and touched his arm before she shook her head, and turned to someone else who had attracted her attention. Giving a nod she looked back to Ransom and he nodded, as she walked away.

"Spangles." Tony greeted appearing at his side. "What's going on?"

"Ask your sister." he said, his voice stony. "I need a fucking drink."

With that he strode over to the bar. Ordering himself a large scotch he turned to look for Katie again, but there was no sign of her. With a nod of acknowledgment to the guy behind the bar he took his drink and turned to look back over the room. He spotted a few familiar faces from the compound and the tower, nodding towards Pepper as she smiled at him. Tony looked at him again before he turned away, and then his eyes fell on Ransom who was stood with his grandfather. Ransom grinned at him, and Steve simply glared back, before he turned to greet Clint who had now appeared behind him.

"Hey Cap." Clint smiled, and Steve returned his grin, shaking his hand.

"Hey Clint, didn't know you were coming."

"No one did, bar Nat. Thought it would be a nice surprise for Nova."

"Sure she was thrilled." 

"Am I sensing a little trouble in paradise?" Clint asked, and Steve scoffed.

"You could say that." he shrugged, before he sighed "I said something before, that was out of order and now she's giving me the cold shoulder. Told me not to come actually but..."

"But here you are." Natasha said, leaning on the bar besides him "You're either dumb, got a death wish...or maybe both."

"Romanoff, just don't." he turned to look at her, and she smirked before ordering herself a martini. "How long has Drysdale been here?"

"Who?" Cint frowned.

"The smarmy looking asshole in the pinstriped suit." he said, nodding towards him.

"About an hour.." Nat said, "I'm not sure."

"An hour too long." Steve muttered, taking a mouthful of his drink.

"Are you seriously that bothered by him?" she turned to look at him. Steve didn't reply.

"Clearly." Clint said, "Who is he?"

"Harlan Thrombey's Grandson." Natasha explained "Harlan wrote the book that the SIP published and donated all the profits to the Relief Fund."

"And you don't like him?"

"They had a little run in Boston..." Nat smirked. "And then at the Launch..."

"It wasn't a run in." Steve shook his head "He was absolutely vile to Katie..."

"And she's over it..." Natasha sighed

Steve didn't reply, he simply watched Drysdale for a second before he turned his attention to the stage where Tony was now tapping the microphone. The Marquee fell silent and Tony grinned out.

"And once again I find myself the centre of attention." he grinned, and the room chuckled. "But tonight isn't about me, for once, yes I know, I know..."

He continued to talk for a few minutes, thanking everyone for coming before he grew serious and took a deep breath.

"As you will all know, the past 6 months Stark Independent Publishers has been working, in partnership with a number of Women's Charities which are close to all of us in and around Stark Industries, and the Avengers for personal reasons as you will be well aware. We are seconds away from announcing our final fundraising total, so without further ado I'd like to hand you over to my little sister, who's been the brains behind this from the very start. Kiddo, the stage is all yours."

As he stepped back the Marquee erupted into applause and  Katie walked up the steps to the stage, her face beaming as Tony swept her into a hug. She grinned at him as he kissed her cheek and she headed to the microphone.

"Thanks Tone." she smiled, "That was short and sweet and actually very to the point, for once." a few chuckles rang around and Steve simply watched his wife as she started running through what they'd been doing and how they'd been raising money, her passion and enthusiasm shining out of every inch of her body. As he stood still, he felt all the anger eb out of his body and instead it was filled with an overwhelming sense of pride. Katie finished her speech before she stepped back and turned to take an envelope from Happy who bent and kissed her cheek.

"So although I know the sales figures from our book, the rest of this is a surprise to me, as much as it is to you." she smiled, and then her eyes locked with Steve's. She gave a little surprised frown, and then her face softened slightly as he smiled at her and she gave him the faintest of smiles back, before she averted her gaze and grinned as Tony let out a loud yell.

"Drumroll please...."

Katie laughed as the tent was filled with the sounds of people banging on things, and stomping their feet. Steve watched as she opened the envelope and pulled out the card. Her eyes widened as she read the total and her mouth dropped open.

"Shit." she spluttered, and the Marquee chuckled whilst she composed herself. "Sorry but...my God this is..." she swallowed and looked at Tony for a moment before she shook her head "According to this, the donations, sales...we've raised over £14.5 million."

"Holy shit!" Steve heard Natasha splutter as his own mouth dropped open, and he joined in the cheering.

"This is amazing, but this also isn't the end of it. Stark Industries will be doubling this total and all profits from the sales of "The Colour of Revenge" will continue to be donated..." she said, sniffing slightly and Steve could see she was getting emotional. He set down his glass on the bar and started to make his way over to the stage. "This money will save lives, give women a safe place to go when they've no one else to turn to. Thank you, thank you all for your overwhelming generosity. Now, please enjoy the evening and the entertainment and if any of you want to give us any more money, please feel free."

At that she stepped back and Steve waited for her at the bottom of the stage steps, the applause ringing in his ears. He offered her his arm and she paused for a second.

"Oh come on sweetheart" he said gently. She allowed him to help her down before she turned to him

"I told you not to come."

"Honey, this was your big night.I didn't want you to do this alone."

"There's a marquee of people."

"You know what I mean." he said gently "I'm sorry, you know I am. Please don't let's fight now, I hate it."

"I don't want to do this here" she said, her tone soft "Not now Steve.”

"Ok." he said, leaning down to give her a soft kiss. She didn't turn away, which he took as encouraging "I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you." she smiled softly, "Now, sorry, but I have to go give an interview but..."

"Sure, come find me when you're done."

She nodded, and headed away from him towards someone he didn't recognise, presumably some journalist. His eyes still on her back as she walked away, he felt slightly buoyed by her seemingly thawing towards him, so with a slight spring in his step he headed back to the bar. He ordered another drink, and had just taken it when a familiar voice drawled at him, and he instantly felt himself bristle.

"She's one hell of a woman your wife."

"What do you want Drysdale?" he asked, turning to the man.

"Nothing, I was just paying her a compliment."

"Well don't" he glared at the man "And if you value your life, keep your eyes and your damned hands to yourself."

Ransom let out a snort "What you gonna do, throw me over the bar again?”

"Don't tempt me."

"We both know you're not gonna make a scene here, not with all these people around, because that really would piss your wife off." he leaned on the bar, looking around. "And then she'd have to send me another coat and a crate of snacks."

"What are you talking about?" Steve frowned.

"Oh dear, didn't you know?" Ransom smirked "Yeah, after I sent her the cheque and her knife back, she responded with a very nice coat and a couple of months supply of cookies."

Steve's nostrils flared as he looked at Ransom, then over to his wife and back again. "Are you shitting me?"

Ransom shook his head. "And they tasted all the more sweeter coming from her, if you know what I mean."

"You smug, son of a bitch..." Steve stepped forwards, and a hand settled on his arm.

"Cap." Sam spoke "Don't..."

"Yeah Cap..." Ransom drawled, sipping his drink.

Steve shrugged Sam's hand off his arm and glared at Ransom, the look on the man's face was infuriating him. "Make one more wise crack I swear to God..."

"I don't believe it."

Steve's head snapped to the side and he saw Katie glaring at him.

"Katie..."

"You just can't help it can you?" she shook her head. "And I thought you were genuinely sorry."

"To be fair..." Sam began to defend Steve but she held her hand up.

"I don't wanna hear it." she said, shaking her head. "I'm done..."

With that she turned and strode away.

"Oops. " Ransom said, simply, picking up his glass. With a final look at Steve, he headed off back towards his grandfather.

"Well played." Sam said, sarcastically, clapping Steve on the shoulder. Steve took a deep breath before he drained his glass and turned, leaving the tent.

******

It was pushing one in the morning when Katie got back to their living quarters. Steve was sat outside on their patio, the bottle of Asgardian shit on the table in front of him but thanks to his super hearing he knew she'd entered the room. Standing up, grabbing the drink, he moved into the doorway, leaning on it as she shut the door, shoes in her hand. She turned around and stopped when she saw him, eyeing him for a moment, taking in his appearance. His tie was loose, his shirt sleeves rolled up and she could tell from the look in his eyes he was drunk.

"You came back then?" he said, his words slightly slurred.

"Where else would I go?" she snarked back.

"I dunno, maybe to order Drysdale another coat or some cookies." he said, necking the drink that was in his hand before he set the glass down on the dining table that stood in front of him.

"Seriously, that's...that's what all that was about?" she shook her head "God you're an ass hat."

"An ass hat." he mused, pouring himself another measure of drink.

"Yes, an ass hat." she said, swaying a little on the spot. Fuck she was drunk as well, she'd ended up doing shots at the bar with Clint and Evans, never a wise move.

"Well I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment." he shrugged.

"Oh fuck off Steve." she sighed, "I'm going to bed."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, and she stopped, turning round.

"What about?"

"Your present to Ransom?"

"Because I didn't think it was important, it was just a joke."

"Fucking hilarious."

"No, you know what is hilarious? This..." she said, gesturing to him, a little unsteadily "You getting all fucking het up about a damned coat and some cookies. Now who's being ridiculous?"

"I saw you." he said, "When I first got there, you had your hand on his arm, laughing at him..."

"Oh Jesus Christ Steve..." she groaned. "I was talking to him, he was telling me something about his uncle!"

"You were all over him"

"Do you want me to go and fuck him or something?" Katie asked, "Because if that's gonna make you happy, just to prove a point."

"Don't be fucking stupid."

"Well shut up then!" she yelled back. "Sometimes I wonder what the hell goes on in your head. I love you, you know I do. I don't want or need anyone else but at times you irritate the shit out of me."

"The feeling is mutual doll."

"Good, glad we agree on something." she said, shaking her head. "I'm going to bed. You carry on drinking yourself into a stupor."

"I'm not done."

"And you can sleep on the sofa."

"Like fuck I am!"

"Fine, I'll sleep on the sofa then." she shrugged

"You're such a fucking brat."

"Me?" she laughed "I'm the brat? You've behaved like a prize prick Steven, and I'm so fucking pissed at you I can't even..."

With that she turned and headed towards the bedroom.

"Don't walk away when I'm talking to you." he said, stepping into the room.

"Or what?" she spun round, "What you gonna do..."

"Oh Doll, you have no idea how much you're pushing me tonight." he said, his voice low.

"Really Steve, how many fucking buttons am I pushing? Hmmm?" she leaned against the wall. "Do enlighten me."

"You know it's no wonder Ward cheated on you." he slurred, "If you were like this with him then..."

Whack!

Something sharp hit him in the temple and he dropped the glass he was holding, staggering back slightly. He glanced at the floor and saw that she had launched her shoe at him, her aim impeccable as ever. He raised his hand to his forehead, feeling the wet trickle of blood under his finger. It wasn't a lot, she'd only nicked the skin but it was enough to sober him up slightly, and the words he had just spitefully spat at her echoed in his head.

"Katie..."

"You are the biggest fucking..." she spoke, her chest heaving, "Actually I don't even have a word to describe what you are right now."

"You hit me with a shoe." he said simply.

"Yeah, want me to do it again?" she asked, waving the one that was still in her hand.

"Don't."  he said softly, shaking his head "Look, I'm..."

"Oh save it." she said, turning and walking into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Steve's hands fell to his hips, as he looked down at his feet. What the fuck was wrong with him? That was twice today he'd said something so despicable it made his toes curl even thinking about it. He'd been a grade A asshole, and he needed to make this right.

"Katie..." he strode after her, and headed into the bedroom. The en-suite door was shut and he could hear her sobbing in the bathroom. Fuck. "Honey I'm sorry."

"Piss off." she sniffled.

"Open the door baby, please."

"No..."

"Don't make me break it down. You know how precious Tony gets about us breaking things”

His joke fell flat as she remained silent. "Sweetheart..."

"Where did you learn to be so spiteful?" She yelled back through the door.

“I don’t know.” with a sigh he leaned against the door "I know, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said any of those things..."

"But you did." she sobbed, and Steve felt the tears prick his eyes "Why?"

"I was angry, and..." he took a deep breath "I guess I wanted to piss you off as much as you pissed me off."

"I pissed you off?" she snorted "Steve you came at me before with that comment about fucking Hyrda and now Ward...could you be any more nasty?"

"I know, I know..." he said, "Honey, I've no excuse. Please, open the door."

There was a sniffle on the side and he heard her the swish of her dress as she moved. The lock on the door clicked and it opened a chink. He pushed it further and look at her, her mascara was streaked down her cheeks, her hair was messy from where she had clearly been fisting her hands in it and he instantly felt the pang of guilt and regret in his chest tighten even more. "Oh baby girl..." his voice cracked "I'm so sorry...I really am."

"How could you even think for one minute that I’d even look at that jerk in that way?"

"I don't not really" he said, shaking his head. "I'm an ass hole, a jealous ass hole...I just, sometimes I can't believe..." he stopped, and shook his head "You know what, it doesn't matter. I was out of order."

She paused and looked at him, sniffing. "You can't believe what?"

"Honestly, it doesn't matter."

"For fucks sake, Steve!" she spluttered "Stop it!"

"I can't believe that you, well that you chose me you know?" he sighed, his hand running through his hair "I just..."

"You're a dick." she shook her head. "I married you, you ass hole."

"I know, and I wonder why sometimes."

"So you've been a spiteful bastard because you feel insecure?"

"No, well, partly..." he sighed "Look, seeing you before with him and then he he told me about the box and stuff...I just saw red."

She looked at him and shook her head "That is not an excuse."

"I know it isn't." he looked at her "I know."

She looked at him for a moment before she shook her head and walked out of the bathroom, over to her vanity table, sitting down. She pulled out the wipes and began scrubbing at her face, removing her make-up. He sat on the edge of the bed, in the same position he had a few hours ago and simply watched her. Eventually, when she was happy her face was clean she looked up and he saw her eyes travel over his reflection before she frowned.

"You're bleeding" 

"Well, you're a damned good shot" he shrugged. "And those heels are sharp."

She stood up and turned, stepping into the space between his legs.

"Honey it's..."

"Shut up" she instructed.

Knowing he had pushed his luck already he did as he was told and she gently wipe at the cut on his temple, his hands falling to her hips as she did so. He was pleased to see she didn't push him away. He watched her intently as she cleaned his face.

"I think you’ll live" she said gently, tossing the wipe into the waste basket. His hands flexed on her hips and she looked at him.

"I really am sorry." he said again "I love you, so fucking much. At times I just don't know how to deal with it."

"By not being a cunt."

"Wow." he snorted "Did you just drop the c-bomb?"

"Justified." she muttered, her hands falling to his shoulders "Damned it Steve!"

"I know, I know." he said his hands, smoothing down the back of her thighs.

“I love you too, so much it hurts at times.” she shook her head “You know the amount of women that look at you in such a way I know what they’re thinking but...I get over it, you know? Because you married me and...” she let out a deep breath. “You go ballistic whenever I question how you feel about me compared to Peggy and yet you come out with the stuff you said today.”

Steve looked down at the floor, his hands still curved around her legs “I know. My ma would be ashamed.”

Katie took a deep breath before she moved her hand and tilted his face up to look at her. His eyes were shining with tears and she let out a sigh, dropping a kiss to his forehead as her hand slid round the back of his neck, nails dragging over his skin.

“I love you.” she muttered “You big, dumb idiot.”

They stayed silent for a moment and Steve looked up at her, smiling softly.

 "You know you really looked amazing tonight. I'm just sorry I didn't get chance to appreciate it more."

"Well..." she took a deep breath. "I know I didn't let you help me into my dress...but you can help me out of it if you want?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, a smile flickering across his face " Yeah?" he asked, gracefully rising to his feet.

She nodded, biting her lip. He leaned down to give her a soft kiss before he whispered against her mouth "Turn around."

She did as she was told and Steve reached for the zip on her dress, sliding it down gently, his fingertips brushing her skin as he did so, allowing the dress to fall at her feet and he let out a soft moan as he glanced down, seeing that she was braless. His hands gently guided hers up so they reached back around his neck, and he swallowed at the sight of her presented to him. One hand moved down, splayed on her stomach, pulling her back into him as the other swept her hair out of the way as his head dipped, trailing kisses across the back of her shoulders, before he made his way up her neck, his teeth softly grazing her ear. She let out a soft sigh, her head tilting to one side as his lips continued caressing her soft skin, the hand that was on her belly started slowly to make its way downwards, sneaking beneath the waistband of her panties. His fingers gently parted her folds, and she gave a little gasp as he began to coax her softly, his other hand reaching up to caress her breasts, gently kneading before he pulled on her hardening nipple. She arched her back into him slightly, a breathy gasp escaping her as he continued to tease her, his mouth hot on her neck.

"Like that?" his own voice was raspy, his arousal evident in his tone and she gave a nod.

"Don't stop..." she begged, and his fingers began to work faster against her nub, the hand on her breast also picking up the pace slightly.

"You're so beautiful…” he whispered and she moaned and writhed in delight at his praise and his actions as he worked her over. With a quick flick of his wrist, he pushed two fingers into her and curled them against her spot and her head fell back even further into him as she let out a soft whimper of his name, his hands upping their pace slightly as she began to buck into his touch. She arched her back, her mouth fell open and then her head rolled forward as she came, knees trembling, her hands pulling at his hair. He held her up in his strong arms and whilst she was still in the after throws of bliss he nipped at her neck, drawing a soft groan from her mouth. Steve gently turned her round and lifted her up, placing her gently on the bed, kneeling over her as he discarded his shirt, tie by which point she had recovered slightly and sat up, her hands pulling at his belt buckle.  He leaned down to capture her mouth in a deep kiss, and he grinned against her mouth as she whipped the belt from around his waist, tossing it to the floor before she undid the button on his pants, pushing them down over his hips along with his boxers.  Once he had shimmied out of his remaining clothes, he fell over her again, his hands cupping her face as he kissed her hard, using his leg to part hers. With a sharp thrust that made her cry out, he sank into her, his lips back on hers, as he stilled for a moment, grinding up against her. Her head fell back against the pillow and he started to drive into her, his thrusts hard, deep and he moved his mouth down to kiss and lick and suck all along her shoulders, knowing full well he would leave marks there for the morning but neither of them cared as their moans grew louder as his thrusts grew more desperate.

“Fuck.” he groaned, both hands now on her hips as he continued his movements, looking down at her as her breasts bounced as her body moved with every slam he made into her. Her hands moved from where they had been gripping at his biceps to bracing herself  against the headboard, causing her to push back against him, allowing him to push deeper. As her breathing adopted the tell tale staccato rhythm, he moved one hand  to the back of her head and he used it to make her look up, her eyes locking onto his as he felt her body start to quiver.

“Come on doll…” he practically growled “let go for me…”

It wasn’t like she had a choice. She never did when it came to this. Her pupils were blown now with lust and desire and after another 3, 4 hard thrusts her back arched and her hands flew to his back, nails scratching at his skin. He hissed at the bite of pain, dropping his mouth to capture hers as she moaned again, this moan broken as she bucked upwards and clutched at him desperately.

“Stevie…” she moaned and her walls tightened on him as she came hard, and the feel of her tightening and pulsing around him tipped him him ferociously over the edge after her, his hips stuttering as he gave into the wave of pleasure with an incoherent babble of her name, before he tipped forward, falling onto her, his face buried in her neck.

The pair of them lay still, the only sounds in the bedroom now were the deep, ragged drawings of breath. Katie gently ran her hands through his hair, as she always did, relishing his weight on top of her. This was the only way she could ever lift Steve, his body on top of hers rising and falling through the movements of her deep breathing.  Eventually he raised his head and pressed their foreheads together, his nose sliding up and down hers gently.

"I love you." he whispered "You know that, right?"

"Of course I do." she sighed, looking at him "But Steve, you really did behave like a jerk." "I know, and I'm sorry." he said, his hands moving to brush her hair back. "I really am." "I know you are." she said, her hand gently running down the back of his neck, and he closed his eyes slightly, allowing her touch to relax him even further. "I don't understand why you think I would even want anyone else." "Well, I guess you can take me out of that little kid that got his ass kicked all over Brooklyn, but you can't take that little kid out of me." he sighed, his head hanging slightly as he shook it letting out a deep sigh.

She considered him for a moment before she leaned up and gave him a soft kiss "I love you, Steven Grant Rogers, not Captain America." "I know Doll." he nodded "I know." With a gentle movement he pulled out of her and pushed the covers of the bed down, before he rolled onto his back, as she scooted over to him, her head laying on his chest, one of her legs pushing through his as she snuggled closer. He pulled the duvet over them and reached over to hit the switch which would cut the lights in the room.

"This doesn't mean I've forgiven you." she said softly as his hand carded through her hair, his chest warm against her cheek as it gently rose and fell with his breathing.

"I wouldn't dream of suggesting it does." he chuckled slightly kissing her head "I'm not that stupid" "Jury's out." she yawned slightly, the arm that was draped around his waist gave him a squeeze and he pulled her closer nuzzling into her hair.

It wasn't long before he felt her relax and he glanced down, just able to make out in the dim light that her eyes were shut. He watched her face for a moment, the face he could draw from memory, and had done as a matter of fact several times, an let out a deep breath. She was right, he was an ass hole, and at times he knew he didn't deserve her. But she loved him and wanted him, and damned it he'd try and be worthy of that love and want every damed day for the rest of his life.

"I love you so much doll." he whispered into her hair.

"Love you to Soldier..." she muttered back, her face pressing further into his chest. With a smile he dropped a kiss on her head, closing his eyes as he felt the tendrils of sleep pulling at him, happy that they were going to be ok, not that he doubted that for a second not, really They'd come through far worse after all, and like his Ma always used to tell him.

Tomorrow is another day after all.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

with you [chapter four]

Summary: Clementine pops the question, Louis has nightmares, Violet can’t let go of the past, Mitch doesn’t know how to handle gross feelings, Ruby’s a goddamn sweetheart, Willy doesn’t ever remember to knock, Aasim can’t dance, and James is here, too.

Nothing like a wedding to bring this family together.

Note: tbh working on this story at night is the only thing holding my sanity together while I’m taking care of my grams. But also this chapter was a huge pain in the ass to fix and I’m 0.02 seconds away from punching a hole in the wall. But it’s fine because it’s finished and I ran all the way home just to quickly post this. 

Anyway, thank you for reading and your constant support. It truly means a lot to me. I hope you enjoy ch4. ❤️

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4

Read on: AO3

---

The page remains blank.

No matter how much Violet wills the pen to move on its own, to put all thoughts both known and unconscious to paper, it remains beside the open notebook. As outrageous as it sounds, a small part of her hopes one day the pen will magically come to life and solve all of her problems with its problem-solving ink. Then everything will be okay. 

Though she has a feeling the walkers will go extinct before her pen develops a sentient personality or therapeutic skills. 

And she’ll be dead by then, so it wouldn’t matter anyway. 

“It helps if you pick up the pen,” Aasim said, not bothering to look up from his own work. “Just saying.”

She knows even by his deadpan tone that he’s trying to joke with her, even if he’s not good at it. Laying bait for her to bite back with a sarcastic remark of her own. 

“But then I’d actually have to write something down.”

“Oh no,” Aasim smirks, paying her a brief glance. “Effort.”

That cracks a small smile out of her, and for a fleeting moment, they’re smiling at each other as if that’s a normal thing. It’s hard to maintain that connection, so damn hard, so Violet hides her smile from him by turning away to look towards the gates.

The very same gates that Clementine, AJ, and Rosie pass through. Back from patrol, if she overheard correctly. Even from a distance, Violet can see the delighted grin Clementine wears, a grin only matched by AJ’s. Far brighter than Violet’s. 

AJ hugs her tightly before breaking away and bolting towards Louis, James, and Tenn. Clementine remains, though, arms folded over her chest as she watches the group of boys with such fondness that it damn near makes Violet want to scream.

Shit, just…. Shit . 

“Hey,” Aasim reaches over, tapping on the blank page of her journal with his own worn-out pen to grab her attention. “Lucy had her babies this morning. Seven of them. Well, eight, but one of them didn’t make it.”

Violet tears her glare away from Clementine to instead glare at Aasim. 

“Who the hell is Lucy?”

“One of the pregnant rabbits, remember? Not the one that had babies last week, the other one.”

“We’re still naming them?” Violet asks. Aasim made it very clear that no names were to be used when they started up the rabbit farm by the greenhouse. 

“They’re food, not pets. No names. No attachments.” 

That didn’t last long.

“ I didn’t name her,” Aasim corrects. “Willy did, even though I’ve told him again and again not to. Now when it comes time for us to put Lucy down, he’s not going to talk to me for another two weeks, as if I’m the only one at fault. Remember Albert?”

“Ah, Prince Albert,” Violet nods. “He sure was delicious.”

Everyone agreed that the lovely Prince Albert was one of the handsomest rabbits they had with his snow white fur offset by brown feet and ears. They also agreed that he made one of the best rabbit stews Omar’s ever created. 

Including Willy. That is until Omar offered him one of Prince Albert’s lucky feet and Willy realized just who he had consumed. 

The boy didn’t speak to Aasim or Omar for a week, but Violet believes that he still carries around one of Prince Albert’s feet for good luck, despite everything. 

“Yeah, anyway, did you want to come with me to check on them? Ruby’s out there now. Maybe you could stay with her and help out?”

Violet scoffs. 

“Look, I’ll take your night shift, too,” Aasim adds. “That way you don’t spend all day out there and then have to do a night shift.” 

“I like having the night shift.”

“Every night?”

“Sure.”

“Well,” Aasim taps his pen against the table, thinking loudly to himself. “I’m giving you the night off anyway. Ruby would appreciate your company.”

Oh, would she, now…?

It’s not that Violet minds Ruby. She’s the only girl Violet has left to talk to at this place- the only girl she’s willing to talk to, actually. 

Violet would say that she enjoys evenings spent with Ruby… most of the time. 

The problem with talking to or spending time with Ruby is she’s a lot. Not in the same way Louis is, but more in an overbearing mother sort of way. Always asking her how she’s feeling, asking about her day, if there’s anything she can do to help Violet out or if she wants to do this or that. She’s far too pushy sometimes, especially when it comes to shit she doesn’t understand. 

“Clem’s tryin’, Vi.”

As if Ruby has all the answers to make her happy. She always makes it sound so damn easy. 

“Why can’t ya just talk to each other?”

The problem is that Ruby tries to take care of everyone so that she doesn’t have to think about how to make herself happy. Why focus on your problems when you can bury your pains and wishes beneath fairy tales and other people’s problems?

At least, that’s Violet’s assumption. 

Maybe Ruby is happy. 

Maybe Violet just wishes she wasn’t. 

Fucking hell. 

Just when she thought she couldn’t be any more fucked...

“My company or yours?” Violet mumbles, finally picking up her pen, putting it to paper. 

“What? My company- oh, I see.” Aasim rolls his eyes, dropping his pen in the book before shutting it. “Ha ha, very funny. I get it.”

Violet nearly rolls her eyes, too. Speaking of those who don’t bother with their own shit-

“I was thinking that it’d be good for you to go out there and help her, that’s all,” Aasim says, tucking his notebook under his arm and standing from the table. He means to walk away on that annoying note but hesitates. Then, lowering his voice to one of disquiet, he says, “I’m worried about you. So is everyone else.”

“I’m fine, Aasim.”

“...Right,” he sighs heavily. “Please go help Ruby with the rabbits. I’m only going to be there for a little bit before heading out to check the traps with Louis, and she could really use the help. Please?”

“Fine.”

Aasim lingers, shifting his weight as he gives her a chance to say something more, a chance she refuses. 

“Thank you.”

With that, he’s walking away, leaving her by herself to finish a doodle of a pen with curly hair and fire for eyes with a speech bubble. 

“Why are ya still here?”

---

“Is my neck supposed to feel this stiff?”

“Yes. It’s a sign of a good, unmoving model.”

“Well, good to hear that my career is off to a good start.”

Louis is still sitting there at the table, cracking jokes and trying his best not to move while James and Tenn draw. James points to various parts of Louis’ face before motioning to Tenn’s paper, something that brings a grin to Clementine’s face. 

“Don’t worry, Clem,” says AJ as he hugs her. “I won’t say anything. Can I go draw now?”

“Have fun, kiddo.”

She can safely leave AJ to catch up on art lessons with James. He promised her he wouldn’t breathe a word of this to anyone- even Tenn- until she had everything all planned out.

Now that Mitch has the measurements, the ring is- hopefully- being taken care of, so all that leaves is how she plans on doing this. Several lingering thoughts follow her as she spends most of the day helping around the school, doing usual repairs to the gate and their walls. 

She would’ve checked on Lucy and the other rabbits, but Aasim warned her that Violet was there with Ruby and Louis. She almost pushed him aside and went in anyway, but damn it, she knows better by this point. 

Instead, she and AJ help Omar clean out the fire pit and gather fresh wood, briefly considering letting him in on her intentions. Omar’s a trustworthy friend and while she appreciates his opinion, she decides against telling anyone else until she has the ring. She’s found that battling her eagerness to be growing more difficult with every passing day. 

So much so that she also considers asking about the progress on said ring when she finds Mitch and James near the library’s entrance, speaking in hushed whispers that she couldn’t make out. All talk stopped when she approached them, and began again when Mitch became snappy with her before dragging James away. 

Odd, and not boding well for her, but she firmly believes that if there were any issues she should know about, Mitch would tell her.

When the sky finally turns a lovely mixture of pink and orange, AJ gives her a hug goodnight before making his way over to Tenn’s room for another sleepover. 

Before retiring to her dorm for the night, Clementine pokes her head into the music room to find it empty. A slight disappointment falls over her as she hoped Louis would be up for some piano lessons, but that dissipates when she finds Louis kneeling on AJ’s desk with a roll of duct tape hanging from his mouth when she walks in, a stack of drawings placed beside him. He’s taping up one of the portraits of himself on the wall.

“Ey!” He waves at her before spitting the tape out. “Look at these!” He hops off the desk and points at the one he just hung up. “That’s the one James drew. Charming, isn’t it?”

The amount of detail in the portrait is startling, a fully shaded-in head portrait of Louis that seemingly stares right at her. Even the little details, like his freckles and the scar on his chin, are noticeable.

“It’s way weirder than I thought it’d be,” he says, “having someone stare and dissect every part of your face. Did you know I have a very angular jawline?” He tilts his head up to prove his point. “And James said I have a nice eye shape.”

“He did do you justice,” she says, still admiring the picture. “Very handsome.”

His chuckle comes out loud and anxious, not having expected her to say that. 

“Hah, yeah, except,” then Louis pushes his jacket back to place his hands on his hips, “uhm, do you think my nose is big?”

“What?”

“James said I have a wider nose. He drew it bigger than it actually is, right?”  

“You have a very cute nose.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Clementine giggles. “Your nose is perfectly fine, Louis.”

He eyes the portrait, still uncertain, only to then gasp as if just remembering something. 

“Oh, wait though, ready for this?” He searches through the pile before plucking the one he wants out. “ This is the one Tenn drew.” He proudly holds it up.

She can’t say she’s not impressed. It’s nowhere near as proportional or advanced as James’, but Clementine can see the effort and charm within the lines. Definitely Tenn’s work.

“Wow,” Clementine smirks, nudging him. “I see it now. James is right, you do have a big nose.”

“ Hey ,” Louis reaches up and playfully pinches her nose, “big talk from little button nose over here.” Louis sticks Tenn’s portrait on the wall, next to James’. “There! We’re getting quite the art gallery.”

“One’s missing, though.” Clementine grabs Louis’ picture of Rosie off the desk and tapes it up with the others.

“Seriously?” he asks sheepishly.

“Oh yeah. We’re never taking that one down.”

“Terrific.”

Louis continues to look through the rest of the drawings. He hums to himself lightly, a tune she recognizes. He sticks more drawings on the wall; ones that AJ drew of him and Tenn, one he drew of Disco Broccoli.

He pauses when he comes across the one of AJ, Clementine, and him. The one with the beach ball. He smiles fondly at it before sticking it up there with the rest.

She sits on AJ’s bed, leaning against the frame to close her eyes and listen to his cheerful humming. 

One of the few things she loves in this world is the comfort she has when he’s around. 

It’s a comfort she never thought she’d find again. Before Ericson, she and AJ never had time for comfortable peace. When it was just them, there was always that lurking feeling, that bitterness, that lingered in her thoughts. 

Now, they have a place they call home. 

Clementine can’t imagine where they would’ve ended up had she not crashed the car. They’d still be out in the world, scavenging every little bit they could to survive. They never would’ve met the people she now considered family.

She and Louis would’ve never met, where she and AJ never met anyone at Ericson. 

That’s a really shitty thing to think about.

Finding this place, their home, was the best thing that happened to them. Meeting everyone here- Louis, Violet, Mitch, Ruby, Aasim, everyone - has done so much for them. For years, she worried about her and AJ, about always being on the road in a car that constantly ran on fumes, about running across assholes who wanted to hurt them, about the dead finally getting the best of them. Nowhere to go, no direction. A neverending search. 

 She sneaks a glance at Louis. He has no idea. 

He finishes up, shoving the duct tape in a drawer. Leaning against the desk with arms crossed over his chest, he looks at her with a tired grin, but says nothing. 

She raises a brow. 

“What?”

He shrugs.

It’s like the weariness of their previous night has caught up to him, like something triggered a sinking reality that weighs him down. The shadows along his face from the setting light do nothing to hide the sadness betraying his eyes.

She slowly approaches him and reaches out to grab his hand, tugging him closer to her.

“Hey,” she murmurs.

“Hey.”

“You feeling any better?”

“Of course.”

“Really?” Clementine locks their fingers together. “It’s been a long time since you’ve had one that bad.”

He keeps his stare focused on their hands. “...It wasn’t that bad.”

“Louis.”

“Clementine.”

“It was about that woman, wasn’t it?”

He says nothing, but she can see the answer clear in his eyes.

Yes, Clem, you know it was. It always is.

The first and only living person Louis ever personally killed, and it was purely accidental. It frustrates her that it still haunts him, and even more so that it’ll always haunt him. Even when he expressed the relief of “having it in him” to protect those he loves, there’s always a suffocating weight that comes with the first. If anyone knew that, it’s Clementine. 

That kind of guilt, no matter how irrational, never stops. 

“Dorian.”

“Hm?”

Louis closes his eyes and leans forward to press his forehead to hers.

“Her name was Dorian.”

“Lou-”

“I know.” He pulls back, forcing a smile. “I know.” 

His gaze falls on her nose. He pinches it again. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it right now. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” she smiles sincerely. “Just… want to make sure you’re alright.”

“You don’t have to worry about me so much, Clem. There are more important ways to spend your time.”

More important? 

She supposes that’s a good way to put it. 

“Y’know, I was thinking about what you said this morning,” Clementine smiles. “AJ’s having another sleepover with Tenn tonight, so we have the whole room to ourselves.” 

Louis raises a brow, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. 

“Wanna build a pillow fort?”

“You read my mind.”

Without any hesitation, she kisses him. It’s a quick, soft, comforting peck that catches him off guard.

Another kiss to his lips, and then another. Clementine holds onto the nape of his neck and moves to his chin, his cheek, placing soft, intimate kisses against his warm skin. 

He looks at her with lidded eyes before his hands caress her cheeks, his thumb brushing just below her eye.

He kisses her, eager for every press of her mouth. He doesn’t stop kissing her, even when she tightens her grip on his jacket and pulls him back with her. The desk hits her hip and he’s quick to lift her up onto the surface, almost knocking over her venus fly trap plant.  

A pleased sigh escapes her lungs as she desperately moves to his jaw, down his neck. Her hands move beneath his jacket, trailing down to the hem of his shirt before bunching the material up. His skin is warm. His breathing is quick, shallow.  

“Clem! Clem!”

Louis yanks back, their lips parting quickly with a loud smack as she nearly topples over from the force of him ripping away. 

The bedroom door slams open and in barges Willy. 

She’s disoriented, lightheaded, blinking rapidly and frantically searching for any sign of danger. All she finds is Louis, who’s now over at AJ’s desk, humming incredibly loud, and Willy hurrying in with a triumphant smile.

“Clem, guess wha-!” The second he sees Louis, he stops and gasps. “Oh no!”

“Oh, look, darling!” Louis stops pretending to look at the pictures and glares at the young boy. “It’s Willy, the boy who doesn’t know how to knock! Nice of you to pop in unannounced this late in the evening !”

Willy’s face flushes a scarlet red as his gaze darts between the two, falling down to Louis’ shirt, which remains lifted to reveal part of his stomach. 

Louis yanks the material down, fake coughing.  

Willy’s face is reminiscent of a fresh tomato at this point. It seems that even he got the sense of what was happening before he ran in. 

Clementine slips down from the desk and tries to casually straighten out her own jacket and adjust her hat with an unfazed face, even though she’s positive that her skin is blotchy and red, too. 

“I’m sorry!” Willy blurts out, covering his eyes. “I didn’t see anything! I’ll knock next time! I swear!”

“Uh-huh,” Louis frowns. “Said that last time, didn’t you?”

Now she’s not sure who’s redder, her or Willy.

“Willy, what do you want?’ Clementine sighs. She composes herself and approaches the boy.

His eyes went to Louis before meeting hers. That’s all she needs.

“Is it Mitch?” 

Willy nods.

Clementine’s heart flutters. Choosing her words carefully, she asks, “Is he done?”

Willy nods once more. 

“Done with what?” Louis asks. 

“Uh-”

“Watch,” Clementine interrupts. “I completely forgot that I have watch.”

“Seriously?” Louis asks, confused. “Wait, I thought Ruby had watch tonight.”

“I switched her,” she lies, moving towards Willy and adding, “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Willy leaves without another word, staring down at the floor. Clementine holds back an annoyed sigh. The previous mood is completely gone and now she’s made a mess of lies that she’s gotta detangle before Louis gets suspicious. 

Damn it, Willy. 

Couldn’t have waited until morning. 

Louis gives a thoughtful frown. 

“I’m a little worried about him,” he says, “about Mitch, I mean.”

“Oh, uh, really?”

"Something weird’s going on with him,” Louis nods. “He’s been down in the basement every day for the past week and- ...Well, I went to check on him this morning before breakfast.”

Panic shoots through her stomach and into her heart.

Louis pauses, unsure if he should continue. 

“And?” Clementine presses.

 “...Well, when I tried going down the stairs, I think- well, it was probably nothing. I probably didn’t see what I thought I saw because I could’ve sworn I saw James down there, too-”

Clementine’s stomach drops.

“-and I don’t know what they were doing but before I could even get down the stairs, Mitch threw a shoe at me.”

“A shoe?”

Oh, goddamn it, Mitch-

“Yeah, right at my face! He about hit me in my big nose!”

Clementine rolls her eyes. “Again with the nose thing?”

“I’ve accepted its abnormally monstrous size,” he says. “Anyway, then I saw him again on my way to the greenhouse and he wouldn’t even look at me. Not that he’s one for conversation or anything, but it’s like… I don’t know. It felt weird. I don’t know what he’s doing down in the basement or what they’re doing if that really was James I saw. I’m not sure I want to know.”

“I’m sure it was nothing.”

“Probably… I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone shout ‘no!’ and ‘out!’ that many times in a ten-second time frame before hurling shoes at me. It was pretty terrifying.”

“Mitch is…” Clementine’s at a loss. While she’s thankful for Mitch’s ability to think on his feet so quickly, she wasn’t sure if she approved of the shoe method. “...Hard to understand sometimes, and he and James are friends so it’s not that weird that they’re hanging out together.”

Louis considers this, though she can tell he’s not completely convinced. 

“...Do you think they’re… I mean, it’s none of my business but if there was something going on between them-”

Oh boy.

Louis then shakes his head, changing his mind. 

“Y’know what? I’m sure it was nothing.”

She sighs. So much for not making Louis suspicious of anything. Then again, maybe this is her fault. She did tell James that Mitch was working on fixing the ring, and she should’ve known that would lead to him trying to help. 

“He’s working on a project,” she says lamely. “He probably wants a second opinion on it from James. ”

“A bomb project? I didn’t think James was a fan of explosions.”

“Firecrackers work as a great distraction for the walkers,” says Clementine, which isn’t a total lie. Mitch brought up the suggestion to James a while ago. They spent a long time discussing the idea if she remembers correctly. 

Well, better not let sweet Ruby know,” Louis says. “She’s still got a personal grudge towards Mitch’s bombs ever since that thing in the greenhouse, you know.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” she smirks. “ ‘A bomb? I will whip his ass!’ ”

Her Ruby impression gets a chuckle out of him. “Hope he knows a shoe won’t be enough to stop her. If anything, that’s just provoking the beast.”

“He’ll have to learn that for himself,” she smiles. Clementine approaches him again, fixing the collar of his jacket and apologizing, “Sorry I can't stay and help you build an amazing, comfortable pillow fort. Will you be okay?”

“Don’t worry about me, darling.” He grabs her hand and kisses her cheek. “We can always build a pillow fort another night, or, uhm, finish what we started. Maybe I’ll go tickle the ivories for a while before bed, so if I don’t see you before your finished or if I’m not awake, goodnight and stay warm.”

She gives him a long kiss goodbye before she leaves. 

One the door’s shut, she takes a moment to take a deep breath. 

Her face still feels warm after all the excitement. She’s still a little annoyed at the interruption, but if she’s right about what Willy was trying to imply, then she has to hurry. She can only hope that Mitch found a way to fix the ring.

The wait is starting to make her anxious.

[fairie-gothmother]

In The Shadow of Starlight, Part 4: Mental Bullet Wounds

Part 1: The Fall

Part 2: Negotiating With Gods

Part 3: The Nature of the Beast

"Ah. Fuck!" Octavia was getting frustrated. Of course, she had to get shot in the most awkward spot possible. No matter how she twisted, she just couldn't get a good view of the bullet wound in her shoulder. It didn't help that this medical room didn't have the proper equipment for self surgery. She hadn’t had the time to order supplies, so all she had to extract bullets was a knife and a tiny wall mounted mirror.

She pulled her shirt down further off the shoulder and tried yet another angle to get a better look. Seeing the reflection of her back, she was reminded why she kept herself covered at all times. Nothing but ridged, pink scar tissue covered her entire back and extended beneath the collar of the shirt down both arms. It was disgusting. She hated it. Hated the way it looked, the way it felt, and the memories it brought up.

She saw tears welling up in the eyes of her reflection. What a sorry sight. She looked up and blinked away the tears, refusing to let them fall.

"Oh," came a voice in the room.

Octavia's stomach felt like it dropped to her ankles. She quickly covered up and turned to see Troy Calypso standing just inside the medical room, holding his side. He said, "I was going to tell you to stitch this up for me, but it looks like you could use a hand yourself."

"No, I got it," she snapped. Of course this guy didn't have the courtesy to fucking knock.

"Hm. That's funny. 'Cause from here, it looks like you're just making it worse by blindly digging around with that knife."

As much as she hated to admit it, he was right, but her self consciousness held her back. She tried so hard to make sure no one ever knew about her deepest shame, she couldn't let her defenses down that easily.

"You don't understand," she said, looking anywhere but the other man in the room.

"You really don't think the one armed cyborg would understand? C'mon. Let me take out that bullet so you can get started on sewing me up."

His gaze had focused on her, expression mixed somewhere between impatience, concern, and something else she couldn't put her finger on. Pulling her shirt down once again off the shoulder, she turned slightly and gestured her head towards her back.

She tensed as Troy crossed the room towards her, feeling her face get redder with each step. She turned facing away from him to give him access to the wound.

"You can use the switchblade on the table. Just push the button to open it," Octavia said.

"I do know how knives work," Troy said wryly. Octavia was about to retort, but the words were forgotten when she felt his fingertips sweep across the bare skin of her back. She shivered involuntarily. She hoped he didn't notice how much his light touch and close proximity was affecting her. To be honest, she didn't even want to admit it herself. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on sitting still.

Octavia couldn't help but flinch when the cool metal blade touched her skin and plunged into the wound.

"Ow! Be careful," Octavia hissed.

She could tell Troy was actually trying to remove the bullet without hurting her, but it was deeper than expected. Her eyes squeezed shut as he dove the tip of the blade further into the hole.

"It would be easier to be careful if you didn't move so much. Hold on. I think I got it." He held her shoulder for stability so he didn't accidentally cut her. He managed to angle the blade behind the tip of the bullet, slowly easing it out. After several long moments passed, he took the knife out and removed the metal object with his hand. Octavia yelped when he yanked it out. She turned to glare at Troy who only grinned and waved the bloody bullet in his hand.

"There. See, I know what I'm doing. Feel better?"

"Yeah," Octavia said. She ignored the heat in her cheeks as she pulled her shirt up over the exposed skin.

When Octavia thought back to when she first met the Calypso, she remembered thinking he was nothing but a monster. Now, she felt almost guilty for feeling that way. She owed him a lot. Not only for removing the bullet embedded in her shoulder but also for saving her life during the raid. She wanted to thank him, but just couldn't find the words to do it.

“Alright, let’s do this.” Troy pulled his tank top off over his head and laid down on the examination table. He beckoned her to come closer. Octavia’s eyes went wide at the implication. Was this how he wanted her to thank him? He pointed to a cut on the side of his abdomen. “Don’t tell anybody I got tagged by a tink. Little shit came out of nowhere.”

Oh, right… What was wrong with her? She had to get a grip. Embarrassed from misinterpreting things, she wordlessly began cleaning his injury. She hadn’t felt this vulnerable in a long time. She hated needing help, but she hated her deformed body even more. That was a part of herself that she didn’t share with anyone. It was meant to stay hidden, locked away in the past where no one could reach it.

"So you wanna talk about it?" Troy asked. Octavia was becoming concerned with how well he was able to read her.

"Not really."

He slowly nodded, but didn’t look away from her. Her defenses were cracking under his steady gaze. She didn’t like how transparent he made her feel.

“Do you?” she asked, motioning towards his mechanical arm. It came out a little more aggressive than she meant it to.

Troy was still looking at her, but now as if he was trying to come to some sort of decision. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Touché, smart ass,” he teased.

Octavia was relieved he let that slide. She didn’t have the energy to deal with any more stress. Getting shot during a raid was enough for one day. She absentmindedly stitched up the wound, barely noticing the Calypso watching her as she worked.

“Good as new,” Octavia said, taping a gauze pad over the stitches.

Troy swung his long legs over the side of the examination table and stood. “Finally. I was getting bored. You really need some magazines or something in here,” he said, making his way across the room. You’re welcome, Octavia thought bitterly.

Her annoyance faded when she noticed the Calypso begin to stagger. All the color drained from his face, and his eyes glazed over. “Hey, are you okay?” she asked. Before he reached the door, Troy stumbled backwards into the counter with a loud crash. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he slumped to the floor unconscious.

~~~

Troy gradually regained awareness. He was still in the medical room, lying on an examination table. His skull felt like it would split in two. Involuntarily, he let out a groan.

“You’re awake.” Octavia’s voice came from somewhere behind him. She rushed to his side carrying a tray of herbs and stone tools.

“What… what happened?” Troy asked. He blinked at the lights overhead.

“I was about to ask you the same thing. You passed out,” she said.

Shit. He knew he was getting weaker. He checked the siren marks on his left arm, flexing and rotating his hand. Their usual glow had dimmed to the point where the marks looked like normal tattoos.

“Looks like the energy withdrawals are starting to hit pretty hard. Does anyone else know?”

“No, you’ve only been out for a few minutes. Take this.” Octavia said. She handed him a cup of thick, murky brown liquid that smelled like compost.

“What is it?”

“Chocolate milk. Just drink it.”

Troy turned his nose up at it before gulping it down. It was cold and viscous like slime that quite literally slid down his throat. It tasted like an entire spice rack stewed in swamp sludge. “Gah! C’mon, witch doctor. Why does everything you give me taste like you scooped it out of a toilet?”

After weeks of being teased and belittled for her profession, something in Octavia finally snapped. She coldly replied, “Well, excuse me, your highness. It’s medicine. It isn’t supposed to taste good. I’m an herbalist, not a witch doctor, and not one of your gourmet chefs.” She snatched the cup from Troy’s hands. “You could try showing a little fucking gratitude.” She stormed to the other side of the room slamming her tray on the counter.

A pang of guilt twinged in his gut. The silence lasted uncomfortably long. She had just given him medicine after he collapsed on her floor in a severely vulnerable state. He winced as he swallowed his pride.

“You’re right. Thank you, Vi.”

Octavia turned her head to look at Troy over her shoulder. Her face was flushed a light shade of pink, either still angry from his previous comment or flustered from this uncharacteristic response.

Troy continued, “Guess I owe you one. Thanks to you, Pandora is graced with my fine ass another day.”

“Pff, please. You don’t have an ass,” Octavia said as she eyed him up and down.

“Oh, really? Wanna see for yourself?” He rolled onto his side, put a thumb beneath his waistband, and tugged downward. Octavia yelped and squeezed her eyes closed.

“Don’t you dare!” she shouted.

Troy broke into a fit of laughter. Octavia tried to keep the stern look on her face by tightly pursing her lips together, but she failed and eventually cracked a smile. For the first time, the tension between them lifted. Troy realized that he liked seeing her smile.

The pleasantness of the moment didn’t last long as Troy was struck with another wave of vertigo. He leaned back onto the exam table. “Got any magic toilet water to keep me from keeling over again?”

“I’m not sure. We should talk to Professor Tannis. If there's anyone who knows about siren energy, it's her-”

Her voice faded as Troy’s head reeled again. He pressed his human palm to his temple to keep the room from spinning. He imagined how his followers would react to seeing their omnipotent leader faint. Did he even have followers anymore? Some god he was.

This was the worst his withdrawals have ever been. All his life, Tyreen was right by his side to feed him energy when he needed it, even if she did call him a parasite for asking. That bitch knew he couldn’t survive without her. Banishing him was equivalent to letting him starve to death.

Troy was pulled from his thoughts feeling fingertips graze across his forehead, brushing the hair from his face.

“Did you hit your head? Does it hurt?” Octavia asked. Her delicate fingers were soft and cool on his skin. Her large emerald eyes scanned his face for signs of injury. A few strands of chestnut colored hair fell from her ponytail and framed her heart-shaped face.

A spicy floral scent emitted from her as she leaned over him. Her face was close enough to his that with a simple raise of his chin, he would find out if she tasted as sweet as she smelled.

He caught himself and pushed the traitorous thoughts from his mind. He looked away and swatted her hands off him. “No, it’s fine. Just a little lightheaded.”

Don’t, he scolded himself. She treated all her patients like this, right? She only cared about the health of the God King. Everyone always cared for the God King. Not long ago, he would have crushed every bone in her hand for having the audacity to touch him. No one ever gave a shit before. This was no different.

Troy slipped back into his persona and flashed a cocky grin.

“Besides, look who you’re talking to. Just for the sake of my quality of life though, we should go ahead and get a hold of, uh… crazy scientist lady.”

“Her name is Tannis.”

“That’s the one.”

~~~

Sanctuary. What a spectacular name for such a shithole. Only a handful of people roamed the halls, and Troy swore he saw a claptrap unit chasing a ratch around. He wasn’t sure what he expected Sanctuary to be, but it sure wasn’t this.

Time dragged on while Tannis got situated in the lab. It was entertaining watching her scurry around at first, trying to make sense of the unusual songs she sang to herself. Now Troy was bored, and no one else in the room attempted to make conversation. Curiosity finally got the better of him. “So, Martha.”

“It’s Maya,” the sapphire siren chided.

“Right. I’ve never met another siren other than my sister. What are your powers like?”

The corners of Maya’s mouth turned up into a grin. Surprisingly, she chose to indulge him. “I’m able to phaselock targets and suspend them in another dimension.”

“Whoa, that sounds rad.” He stood back and held his arms out. “Here, do me.”

“I am not going to phaselock you.”

He dropped his arms and pouted. “Aw, come on!”

Tannis lightly whacked him on the arm with her clipboard. “As tempting as it is to start a siren fight club, I’m afraid there are more pressing matters at hand. If you could stand still for a moment-” Tannis poked and prodded at him, occasionally saying things like, “fascinating.” Troy was hyper aware of how close she was to his right side, turning to keep her to his left as much as possible. He jumped when he felt a pinch on his ass. “Interesting,” Tannis said.

Maya helped get things back on track. “Alright. So far we know that Troy can’t absorb the life force from living things like Tyreen can, and she could somehow channel energy to him through touch. Is there anything else we have to work with?”

Troy wished there was. “Other than that, it’s all I’ve got. That’s just one part to my curse. Aside from being a defective siren, I’ve also been cursed with irresistible good looks.”

“Tch. You wish.” A dark blue haired kid scoffed from the back of the lab. She leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. Troy hadn’t noticed her until now.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” he asked, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his tone.

“I’m going to be a siren. An actual siren, not whatever you are. I’d put an end to assholes like you. I don’t know why we’re trying to keep you alive, honestly.”

Maya interrupted, “You’ll have to excuse my apprentice. Ava, stop threatening people with powers you don’t have yet. I said you could watch as long you didn’t cause trouble.”

Ava’s tough girl act dropped. “I know. I’ll behave, promise. Please don’t kick me out.”

What a punk. “Okay, kid. You let me know if that siren thing ever works out for ya.” Troy clicked his tongue and winked at her. She shook with impotent rage, fists clenched at her sides like a child about to throw a tantrum.

Tannis was about to explode in anticipation, eager to start her experiments. “Well, cursed or otherwise, I find your physical attractiveness confusingly repulsive. That being said, I feel you have an important part to play in the coming days. So I’ve prepared several only mildly painful experiments. Now, where to start?”

Tannis was completely in her element, recording Echo logs and bouncing around Troy while he soaked in all the attention. His bask in the spotlight was short lived.

The tests began with the obvious catalyst for siren power, eridium. After trying different delivery methods, Troy got impatient and stupidly licked a chunk of raw eridium. Other than burning his tongue, it had no effect. Next, they attempted to transfer siren energy indirectly. Maya charged an Eridian artifact as a sort of battery for Troy to draw from. Again, no results.

After hours of trial and error, one failure after another, they’d concluded every test.

“I think we have to call it quits,” Maya admitted. She looked tired, wiping the sweat from her brow. “You gave it your best shot, Tannis.”

“How curious. It would seem Troy is a siren in tattoos only,” Tannis said, looking defeated.

Troy was exhausted. “This blows,” he said, sprawled out across the examination table, panting slightly from the exertion. “Don’t mind me, ladies. It’s not like my life depends on it or anything.” Troy caught Ava wearing a shit-eating grin and stuck his tongue out at her.

“I think we may be on the right track,” Tannis circled around the examination table, talking more to herself than to anyone else in the room. “Perhaps Troy’s cybernetics could be modified to include Eridian artifacts into the bio-integration components.”

Troy closed his eyes, grateful for a moment to rest. He had hoped Tannis would at least find a temporary solution to his dependency on Tyreen. He was running off of fumes. It was only a matter of time until his tank ran completely dry.

While he was busy worrying about his own mortality, Troy didn’t notice Tannis absentmindedly extending her hand until she touched his shoulder brace. He jolted from his lamenting. In an instinctual panic, he caught her bare wrist in his human hand.

A familiar flood of power surged through him. He threw his head back, caught in the sudden sensation. Red tendrils entwined his arm with Tannis’s, filling him with the strength his starving body so desperately craved. His siren marks blazed back to life in a brilliant flash of crimson.

Then, he was unable to move, frozen in place. Maya had activated her powers and suspended him in midair. So this was what being phaselocked felt like. His insides burned like the sting of frostbite. His breath caught in his throat, lungs refusing to function. Maya lifted him into the air and tossed him across the room away from Tannis. He yelled as he was sent careening into a counter full of lab equipment.

Maya helped Tannis up from the floor. A distinct blue glow peaked out from beneath one sleeve of her lab coat.

“I thought you could only take from Tyreen!” Maya said, her face drained of color.

Troy held up his left arm observing the intense light of his marks. “I guess it’s any siren.”

Ava pointed to the scientist’s glowing arm. “Tannis? You’re a…”

A siren.