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Summary: you'd gone to the new lawyers in the city, never expecting much to come from it. [wc 416] [ao3]
Warnings: flirting, a smidge of angst
Request: Fluffy Foggy Nelson with a former client he helped out? -Zombie @thezombieprostitute
Foggy first met you on one of the worst days of your life. You’d come into Nelson & Murdock pale, furious, clutching a folder so tightly the edges bent in your hands. Landlord harassment, illegal lock changes, threats, missing property—the kind of mess designed to make someone too exhausted to fight back. You'd dealt with it for far too long.
Foggy had taken one look at your face and said, “Okay, first of all? Whoever made you cry is now my enemy.”
You hadn’t cried.
“Your eyes were shiny,” he defended.
“That was rage.”
“Honestly, hotter.”
Matt had coughed somewhere behind him. “Foggy.”
Foggy grinned, completely unashamed.
He handled your case with the kind of warmth people didn’t expect from lawyers in movies. He explained everything in plain English, never talked down to you, and somehow made court deadlines sound like mildly annoying brunch reservations.
When the case was finally settled in your favor a few weeks later, you’d shaken his hand across his desk.
“Thank you, Foggy.”
“Please,” he said, hand lingering just a second too long. “Call me if you ever need legal help again.”
You tilted your head. “What if I need help carrying groceries?”
His mouth opened. Closed.
Matt, from the other office: “She’s flirting with you, Fog.”
“I KNOW THAT NOW,” he yelled back.
Three months later, you were standing in your kitchen while Foggy wrestled with a jar of pasta sauce. “You told me this was a simple dinner,” he accused.
“It is simple. You open things, I’m pretty.”
“You weaponized my feelings.”
He finally got the lid off with a triumphant gasp, nearly throwing himself backward. You caught his arm, laughing. Foggy looked at your hand on him like it was something precious. That was the thing about him. Under all the jokes and noise and charming nonsense, he looked at you like you mattered. Like every small thing you did was worth noticing.
“You’re staring,” you said softly.
“I’m allowed,” he replied. “You’re in my top three favorite views.”
“There are other views?”
“Yeah. You, from the left side. You, from the right side. Then you holding bread.”
You laughed so hard you had to lean against the counter.
He moved closer, smile gentling. “Can I kiss my former client, or is that professionally unethical?”
“The case is closed.”
“Great,” he murmured, kissing you slow and sweet. “Because I’ve been wanting to appeal for months.”
You kissed him again before he could admire his own joke too much.
Request: Anonymous asked: Hey !! I just had a request for a Steve Rogers x reader fic Steve and the rest of the team noticed a change in the reader over the last few months, and Steve decides to go and talk to the reader in their room. Instead of finding the reader inside, he finds six suicide letters addressed to the team. Confused, he reads all of them. When the reader returns to the tower, Steve confronts them, hurt and angry. The reader gets defensive and furious first but eventually talks to Steve properly and cries in his arms. Thank you !!
Summary: The team begins to worry when they notice you get more quiet. [wc 1.4K] [ao3]
Warnings: suicidal reader, hurt/comfort,angst
Steve noticed the change long before anyone said it aloud. At first, it was small enough to excuse. You stopped joining them for breakfast. Then you started claiming headaches whenever movie nights were planned. You’d smile faintly in apology, say maybe next time, then disappear down the hall before anyone could protest. Training sessions became rare. You missed one, then two, then nearly all of them. When you did show up, you moved like your body was there and the rest of you was somewhere far away.
Steve told himself everyone went through rough patches. He told himself not to crowd you. He told himself you’d come to someone when you were ready.
Then one night he passed the common room and saw Sam, Natasha, and Bruce sitting in unusual silence. No banter. No TV noise. Just concern.
“She barely touched dinner,” Bruce murmured.
Natasha leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowed toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms. “She flinched when I asked if she was okay.”
Sam sighed. “I tried joking with her. Nothing.”
Steve stood in the doorway, unease settling deep in his chest.
Natasha looked at him. “You’ve noticed too.”
It wasn’t a question.
Steve nodded once.
“She’s withdrawing,” Bruce said carefully. “That kind of isolation can get dangerous.”
Steve hated how fast the word dangerous made his mind race.
The next morning, you were gone before sunrise. Friday informed him you’d left for a supply run downtown. He stood in the kitchen for several minutes, coffee untouched in his hand, staring at nothing. Then he set the mug down and walked to your room.
He knocked first. Once. Twice. No answer. “Y/N?” he called. Silence. He should have turned around. He knew that. But something in his gut—something old and sharp and soldier-instinctive—kept him rooted there.
“Friday, unlock the door.”
“Access granted, Captain Rogers.”
The room beyond was neat in the deliberate way messy people cleaned when they were trying to feel in control. Your bed was made too tightly. Books stacked in perfect lines. Laundry folded. Desk cleared except for six envelopes laid carefully side by side.
Steve’s pulse stuttered.
Each envelope had a name written in your handwriting. Tony. Natasha. Bruce. Clint. Thor. Steve. He crossed the room in three strides and stopped short at the desk, suddenly afraid to touch anything.
“No,” he whispered to the empty room. His own name stared back at him. With fingers that felt clumsy and numb, he opened the envelope. Inside was a folded letter.He recognized the tremor in the pen strokes immediately.
Steve,
If you’re reading this, then I couldn’t figure out how to stay.
His vision blurred. He sat heavily in your desk chair and kept reading.
You wrote about exhaustion so deep sleep no longer touched it. About smiling because people worried less when you smiled. About standing in rooms full of heroes and feeling invisible anyway. About shame. About loneliness. About not wanting to be another burden added to shoulders already carrying the world.
You apologized for things no one had ever asked you to apologize for. You thanked him for kindnesses he barely remembered doing. You said he made people feel safe.
And then, at the bottom:
I just didn’t know how to save myself.
Steve pressed a hand over his mouth. He reached for Natasha’s next. Then Sam’s wasn’t there—no, Sam wasn’t one of the six. Tony’s. Bruce’s. Each one different. Each one carrying the same ache.
By the time he finished, his breathing was uneven and anger had begun to mix with the fear. Anger at himself. At the team. At you. At the fact that you had been suffering close enough to touch and none of them had broken through.
He was still standing there, letters clenched in his fist, when the bedroom door opened. You stepped inside carrying two grocery bags. You froze. Your eyes moved from Steve—to the open envelopes—to the letters in his hand.
The bags slipped from your fingers. A jar shattered on the floor. For one long second, the room was silent except for rolling glass.
Then your face hardened. “You went through my things?”
Steve took one step forward. “What the hell are these?”
“My room,” you snapped. “My desk. My business.”
“Your business?” His voice rose despite himself. “You write goodbye letters to everyone you care about and call it your business?”
“Give them back.”
“No.”
Your jaw clenched. “I said give them back.”
“And I said no.”
You stormed forward, trying to snatch them from his hand. Steve lifted them out of reach on instinct. The movement humiliated you. Your eyes flashed with fury. “Of course,” you said bitterly. “Captain America decides what’s best for everyone.”
“That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?” you shouted. “Concern? Guilt? Some noble rescue mission because you finally noticed I exist?”
The words struck hard.
Steve’s expression changed. Hurt, immediate and raw. “You think I only just noticed?”
“Yes!” you yelled back. “Because nobody noticed until now!” Your voice cracked on the last word.
The anger in the room turned suddenly thin and brittle. You were trembling.
Steve lowered his arm slowly. “I noticed,” he said quietly. “I noticed you stopped laughing. I noticed you stopped eating with us. I noticed you looked tired all the time. I noticed you kept saying you were fine when you weren’t.”
“Then why didn’t you do anything?”
Because he hadn’t known how to help without pushing. Because he’d been afraid of making it worse. Because sometimes even good people wait too long. His silence answered for him.
You laughed once—a broken, ugly sound. “Exactly.”
You turned away, scrubbing at your eyes with the heel of your palm. “I’m tired, Steve.”
The fight drained out of him at once. He set the letters down on the desk and crossed the room slowly. “Tired of what?” he asked gently.
“Everything.” Your shoulders shook. “Waking up tired. Pretending I’m okay. Feeling guilty for not being okay. Watching all of you save strangers while I can’t even manage myself.”
“You are not failing because you’re hurting.”
“It feels like failure.”
“It isn’t.”
You spun back toward him, tears spilling now despite your obvious hatred of them. “I didn’t want to be one more thing wrong in this tower!”
The confession echoed between you.
Steve’s face crumpled. He reached for you carefully, giving you time to pull away. You didn’t. The second his hands touched your arms, you broke. All the rage, all the pride, all the frantic defensiveness collapsed at once. You folded into him with a choking sob, clutching the front of his shirt like it was the only solid thing left.
Steve caught you instantly. One arm wrapped around your back. The other cradled the back of your head.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, though his own voice shook. “You don’t have to hold it together right now.”
“I’m sorry,” you cried into his chest. “I’m so sorry.”
“No.” He held you tighter. “No apologizing for pain.”
You wept hard enough your knees gave out. He guided you both down to the floor amid spilled groceries and broken glass, sitting with you curled against him.
Minutes passed. Maybe longer. He stayed quiet except for the occasional soft reassurance, hand moving slowly over your hair and back.
When your crying finally eased into shaky breaths, Steve tilted his head down. “Look at me.”
You did, reluctantly. Eyes swollen. Face wet. Exhausted beyond words.
“We’re going to get help,” he said, steady and certain. “Today. Not tomorrow. Not eventually. Today.”
You swallowed. “What if I’m too much?”
His answer came without hesitation. “Then we carry it together.”
Fresh tears welled in your eyes.
“I’m angry with you,” he admitted softly. “Because this scared me. Because I hate that you were alone with this.”
“I know.”
“I’m angrier at myself.”
You shook your head weakly. “You don’t get all the blame.”
A small, sad smile touched his mouth. “Fair enough.” He stood, then offered you his hand.
When you took it, he pulled you gently to your feet. “Come on,” he said.
“Where?”
“Kitchen first. You still need groceries.” He glanced at the broken jar and sighed. “Then we talk to the team. Then we make a plan.”
You hesitated. “You’re staying?”
Steve squeezed your hand once. “As long as it takes.”
And for the first time in months, when he led you out of that room, you let someone help carry the weight.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
If Wanda Maximoff has million numbers of fan I am one of them. If Wanda Maximoff has ten fans I am one of them. If Wanda Maximoff has only one fan then that is me. If Wanda Maximoff has no fans, that means I am no longer on this earth. If world against Wanda Maximoff, I am against the world.
