#stifling controlling turning everyone into a doll !!! terrible man I love him

[fishslappping]

aaaah the scenes with Louis and Claudia talking telepathically in front of Lestat are soooo manically and painfully delicious after seeing that interview mentioning how Lestat can hear them

[storiesnobodyreads]

Stormproof

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Prompt: the reader has been traumatised by storms, and right now, it’s storming. Steve comforts her. 

There was a storm raging outside. The Stark Tower croaked and squeaked as the hard wind crashed against it, while the roaring of thunder boomed overhead. Almost every ten seconds your bedroom was lit up with a lightning flash, followed almost instantly by an ear-deafening explosion.

It shouldn’t have been a problem. But it was.

You were terrified of storms.

You were also aware that you were a trained assassin, part of the Avengers, sleeping in the house of the Avengers, and being afraid of storms was just... not done. Therefore, you stayed in bed and pulled blankets over your head, burying your face in pillows, trying to cry yourself to sleep. You hoped that, at some point, you would get too exhausted and stop noticing the darkness thundering around you.

The last storm you had been in had killed your parents. You had gone cycling through the open field, watching cows and nature to get away from the city for a weekend. Both of your parents were members of the same assassin’s crew in which you were raised—imaginably, a break from the high towers and murderous people was required every once in a while. It had been a lovely day, until the weather had completely and utterly changed. A storm dawned, draining and destroying anything in its path.

It blew you, as a little kid, off your bike, making you land roughly in the dirt. And then, exactly then, when your parents braked and leaped off their bikes to ensure your safety, lightning struck.

It electrocuted and burned both your parents, right then, right there. And because there was no one around, everyone hiding from the storm, you had been forced to stay there. Helpless, hurt, sitting beside the corpses that were once your parents.

You had been traumatized. Every time lightning appeared or thunder boomed, or a storm in general arrived, it all came back to you. And it transformed you into a frightened little kid.

All of a sudden, there was a knock on the door. Your heart leaped in your chest. You heard a voice. “Y/N?”

Was it... Steve?

You had been crying for hours, your eyes bloody red and smudged with dark mascara, while your entire body was shivering in fear. Your head reluctantly popped out from under the fortress of blankets you had created. “Steve?” you brought out, trembling.

“I’m coming in,” you heard Steve say. And he swung open the door, coming in. His hair was messy from sleeping and he was wearing sweatpants and a tight, white shirt, revealing his perfectly sculpted body. With an awkward stir you realized that you were sleeping in your Captain America shirt, which you had purchased in a gift shop. Steve held his hand through his hair and looked at you worriedly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” The sound of your voice surprised you. Even you didn’t believe yourself.

Steve raised his eyebrows. “Uh-huh.” He then strolled over and sat down on your bedside, eyeing the fortress suspiciously. “I just, uhm, noticed,” he started explaining, “that you seemed to be afraid of thunder. And you could never be in the same room as Thor. And I guess it was easy to sum up all the hints... have you been traumatized by storms?”

You looked at Steve strangely. You never realized how much attention the man had been paying to you, to your microscopically small responses whenever lightning struck while you were in the company of others. He must have watched you carefully. But you didn’t want him to think you were weak. Thus you puffed out your cheeks. “Am not,” you said. But your hands were cold, because your body had sent all your blood to your legs in a fight or flight reaction. Everything inside you was twirling and spinning, and the only thing keeping you grounded right now was Steve’s presence.

The storm thundered and, reluctantly, you cringed. And of course, Steve noticed. “Doll,” he murmured, placing his hand on your forehead. It was drained with sweat; that’s how panicked you were.

“Steve, please,” you whispered, turning your head so that he could no longer look at you. Embarrassment rushed through you while, in truth, his touch had been overtly reassuring.

Steve swallowed hard. “Do you want me to go away?”

A long silence followed. “No,” you finally decided, your voice almost inaudible. “My parents died, struck by lightning. I was there.” You couldn’t bear to see Steve’s response, therefore you crawled back underneath your blankets.

“I’m so sorry, babe,” said Steve softly. “That’s terrible.” He didn’t tell you that he had already read the stories in the papers, which had described the scenario in much more gruesome detail, with much more horror, than you did now. “But hey, don’t worry,” he offered comfort, petting where he presumed your head would be under the blankets. “This is Stark’s Tower. Do you really think that Tony is going to let anything destroy his place? This is the most stormproof building in the universe. Nothing can happen to you here.”

You knew that, but reasoning couldn’t calm down your body. You felt as if your soul had returned to that open field, surrounded by your parents’ burned bodies, feeling so much pain you could hardly contain yourself.

You didn’t realize you had been crying openly until Steve pulled the blankets off of you. There were tears shining in his eyes as he saw you, so broken. He repositioned himself beside you and pulled you up, wrapping his arms around your shaking, sweaty body. “It’s okay,” he whispered, holding you firmly. It was as if he intended to hold you so tightly that you would be physically incapable of shaking, steadying you to your core. “You’re safe, doll. Everything is going to be okay. I’m here.” 

He held you until you calmed down, and he held you long thereafter. Only then did you adjust yourself to fit in Steve’s arms better, and wrapped your arms around his large body. Steve’s warmth and strength was enough to calm your breathing and stop you from shaking. Though you could still hear the storm thundering overhead, it no longer frightened you as much as it had before. 

“Thank you, Steve,” you quietly muttered against his chest. 

Steve pressed a warm kiss on the top of your head. “It’s okay,” he said. “I really like your shirt, by the way.”

You didn’t have to open your eyes to remember that you were wearing your Captain America sleeping shirt. “Oh, shut up about it,” you hummed. “At least now I have the real Captain America in my bed.” Immediately after you uttered the words, you cursed yourself. 

Steve stayed silent for precisely one second and then burst out laughing. “Fair enough,” he chuckled. “I hope I’m better company than your shirt.” 

“Yes,” you confirmed quickly. “Yes, you are.” Quietly, you tried to stifle a yawn. You hadn’t slept all night; the storm had kept you awake. Steve instantaneously noticed the disruption in your movements, and let go of you. Temporarily you feared that he might leave you so that you could sleep, however, he lay down on your bed and spread his arms, gesturing for you to get in there. “Much better,” you commented, more to yourself than to Steve.

“Are you okay, babe?” Steve muttered, stroking your forehead in a soothing rhythm, while you crawled into his arms. 

You let your head rest in his armpit. Lightning flashed through your room, and less than a second later an explosion sounded, as if the storm had hit you straight in your home. You stirred--Steve tightened his grip around you. “You’re safe,” he insisted quietly. 

Exhaustion took over control and your eyes fell shut, leaning into Steve. He was so warm and comfortable, it carried you to sleep effortlessly. “I’m great,” you yawned. Your hands rested on Steve’s chest, and there was honestly no better thing to touch when almost falling asleep. 

“Good night, doll,” Steve whispered in your ear.

You had never slept better than with Captain America in your bed. His body was stormproof. And, secretly,  you hoped more storms were on their way.