writing nonsense

You look around your room while your hands blindly search, wondering if it fell out of bed at some point. Although, there’s likely no room for it to have done so. Your room has grown excessively messy throughout the past few weeks. You’ve been meaning to clean, of course, but you just end up blowing it off at the end of each day.

The floor is overrun with clothes and shoes miscellaneously strewn everywhere they can reach. The pillows you don’t use sit haphazardly at the end of your bed and there are even a few old half empty mugs on your bedside table, mugs that you haven’t felt like getting up and setting in the sink to be washed.

You finally grab your phone under the covers, near your legs. You first notice that it’s just past noon, which is a lot earlier than you’ve normally been waking up at. Wanda’s text is the next thing you notice.

It’s not weird that you’re getting a text from Wanda, in its own right, seeing as you have a very good friendship going that dates all the way back to the aftermath of Ultron. You and Wanda were the closest in age, at the time, so it was only natural that you congregated towards each other. Things were awkward in the beginning given that Wanda had been juggling the grieving process from losing her twin brother as well as trying to find even footing as the newest member of the Avengers. But, you and Wanda eventually were able to grow close.

So, no, it’s not weird that you’re getting a text from Wanda. It’s just a little unexpected. You haven’t talked to Wanda in a while. Actually, you haven’t talked to anyone in a while.

Wanda [12:04 PM]: heyyy n/n wanna go out to lunch?

You sigh, really not wanting to go out anywhere with anyone. You’re almost tempted to leave Wanda on read, but you decide against it due to the smallest amount of guilt that manages to claw its way into your chest. Plus, Wanda would spam you for at least a few hours or until you answered if you didn’t reply within five (5) minutes.

You [12:08 PM]: idk

Wanda [12:08 PM]: come on, sam and bucky are coming

You wonder if Wanda meant that to be persuading in a positive way when actually that just makes you not want to go even more. You are so not in the mood to deal with people.

Wanda [12:09 PM]: you should come, we haven’t hung out in a while

You [12:10 PM]: wanda i really dont know

Wanda [12:10 PM]: just lunch pls you don't even have to get dressed up

Wanda continues on before you can even flat out say no.

Wanda [12:10 PM]: im picking you up in 15 minutes

Clicking your tongue, you don’t even have the energy to try and get out of going now. You drop your phone next to you before flopping back onto the bed yourself.

Wanda is knocking on your apartment door eventually, giving you barely enough time to get ready. You shuffle through your apartment to open the door for her, gesturing for her to enter without even a simple hello on your part. “I just need to get my shoes on,” you tell her, grabbing the pair that was sitting next to the door.

Wanda hums in acknowledgement. “Sam and Bucky went ahead to get a table for us.”

You nod back as you slip your shoes on sloppily, not even bothering to tie them. Standing up straight, you tell Wanda, “Ready to go.”

Wanda steps up next to you, smiling brightly while taking your hand in hers. “Let’s go then.”

The diner is close to your apartment so you and Wanda decide to just walk, leaving Wanda’s car in the parking lot so she can drive home later.

There's a soft, cool wind blowing as you walk the streets to the diner, something that actually feels refreshing and different from the usual stale air you’ve been surrounded by in your apartment.

Through the diner’s windows, you spot Sam and Bucky sitting at a table as you walk across the street. The air is just as cool inside as it is outside, you note, as you follow Wanda into the restaurant. There's also the aroma of freshly made food and coffee that stick to the air. The delicious smells would’ve normally made your stomach growl, but it seems you’re not phased by it anymore despite you having no clue as to when your last meal was.

Sam and Bucky greet you and Wanda when you take your seats across from them. Wanda greets back with a simple ‘hey’ while you smile at them awkwardly just as the waiter appears out of nowhere. The waiter drops off two more menus before she asks you and Wanda about drinks.

“Strawberry lemonade,” Wanda says before she and the waiter look at you expectantly. You mutter an order of plain water, looking at the menu, mostly out of obligation rather than any actual desire for food.

You keep track of the two pairs of eyes trained on your slumped form all while not bothering to mention it. You choose to let the two people the eyes are attached to make the first move while you continue to repeatedly flip through the menu, the menu you haven’t actually read a single word of.

Eventually, Sam is the one to break the silence. “Well, you’re quiet, Y/N,” Sam wonders as playfully as he can muster. “Why is that?”

Sam’s observation causes irritation to grow in your chest for some reason that you can’t actually pin down. For that, you’re not able to stop yourself from snapping. “I’m tired,” you say, simple and curt and holding a level of bite to them.

Sam… doesn’t react the way you expected him to as soon as the words were out of your mouth. Sam did not react at all, in fact. He doesn’t even smile in the way that means he’s brushing off your attitude. All he does is hum and then change the subject. “So, what is everyone ordering?”

It takes a few seconds for your mind to fully process the question. It seems as if no one else at the table had the same problem, however, because Bucky is answering easily. “I was thinking of getting a cheeseburger.”

Sam scoffs, side-smirk and all. “Copycat,” he mutters, Bucky rolling his eyes in response.

You interrupt quickly, before Sam and Bucky could really get into quipping with each other. “I’m not really that hungry.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say because it catches the entire group’s attention. You sink lower in your seat as soon as it clicks in your mind that no one is ok with you not ordering food.

“W-well,” Wanda stutters, slightly turning in her seat so she can face you. “How about we share something?”

You want to argue with Wanda, you absolutely want to, but a wave of exhaustion hits you suddenly. You can tell it’s just surface level tiredness but you know that this feeling is a prerequisite to a more bone deep feeling of exhaustion, the one where you just want to collapse as soon as you can get to the nearest sleepable surface (which doesn’t necessarily mean something that is particularly meant for sleep). It dawns on you that your social meter is depleting, rapidly.

Sighing, you don’t argue.

Your friends’ odd behaviors throughout lunch isn’t lost on you. You notice that your friends are acting extremely weird almost from the very start.

Sam doesn’t respond to your attitude with some of his playful remarks to lighten the mood or to get you to relax and enjoy the company like he usually does. Bucky keeps his own quips to himself as well, which is as red as any flag can get given he’s not let anyone stop him from displaying the identity he’s regained since he’s escaped HYDRA’s tight grip.

The final straw is when Wanda says nothing about you barely touching the meal that she had so heavily suggested you share with her.

It’s completely stupid and foolish, but you are maybe and completely out of your mind angry about it. You don’t even care enough to stop yourself from storming out of the diner without any notice.

You have no idea where the hell you plan on going, not that you honestly care. Maybe you can finally find a place to crawl into and hide away from the world forever.

You make it around a corner before you even realize that Wanda has been trailing behind you the entire time. Sighing heavily, maybe growling through your teeth a little bit, you whip around to face her. “Why did you make me leave my house? I would’ve had a much better time sleeping.”

Wanda stops walking just shy of getting in your space, cautiously leaving some space between you but you honestly wonder if that’s the real reason or if she thinks you’re angry enough to do something in a blind rage if she’s in close enough proximity. It simultaneously makes your heart jump up your throat, almost prickling your eyes with tears, and plummets all the way to your stomach while leaving behind an ice cold trail. You force all those feelings down just like any other day.

“Well, I know you’ve been feeling really bad lately, so–”

“Oh,” you snap bitterly, “and you thought lunch was gonna fix that?”

Still, Wanda doesn’t rise to the bait of your defensive attitude and shakes her head softly. “I didn’t think lunch was gonna fix it. I want to fix it,” she explains gently, her hands beginning to fidget with each other. “I want to help.”

It’s not hard to connect the dots about where this is headed. A few weeks back, Wanda had a one-sided conversation with you about it over text. You had never responded to her messages and Wanda hadn’t brought it up when she came to visit you in person a few days afterward. Now that you think about it, you’re pretty sure that day had been the last time you had seen or talked to each other, even over the phone.

“I'm not going to therapy,” you state bluntly, turning back around so you don’t have to look Wanda in the face. You continue your original trek down the street, albeit at a much slower pace.

“Why refuse so quickly?” Wanda wonders, unsurprisingly still following you. She quickens her pace in order to be next to you instead of behind as she talks.

You stubbornly look ahead, refusing to meet her eyes even as you answer out of pure frustration from this conversation. “Because it won’t help.”

“You don't really believe that,” Wanda sighs.

“And how the hell do you know what I believe?”

Wanda’s hand suddenly snatches you by the arm, effectively leaving you with no choice but to stop walking and look at her. “Y/n,” she talks gently, in a way that’s meant to coax you into spilling your genuine thoughts and feelings. And, damn it, it works.

It’s the fact that you know Wanda will never let it go now, and also maybe, deep under all the repression, that you’ve wanted someone to care enough to make you talk about it, that gets you to cave.

You purse your lips tightly, almost painfully, as if you want it to hurt, before the words begin tumbling out of your mouth. “I lost so much in the Blip.” Scoffing, at your traitorous, shaky voice and at this bullshit world, you quickly continue before you lose your nerve. “It was reversed and some people came back… but some didn't. And it’s so much worse now ‘cause they’re really gone this time. There’s no way for them to come back.”

Memories flash through your mind involuntarily as you talk. Bright red hair, always in a new style every other time you saw it. A glowing chest and calloused hands, stained with oil. A reassuring smile attached to a protective, superpowered body.

“I just can’t forget anyone this last… fucking battle took away.” Wanda’s head tilts in sympathy, her hand taking hold of yours in a tight squeeze as if to convey just how much she empathizes with what you’re saying. “It’s a betrayal. Moving on is forgetting.”

“Y/N,” Wanda says, voice sounding water soaked and desperate this time. Immediately, you look up towards her face and you see that Wanda’s eyes have grown wet and red around the edges. The sight alone, of one of the last remaining people that you care about who’s still alive, is enough to make the knot in your throat bubble over helplessly.

Shaking her head, Wanda’s hand migrates to your shoulder in a firm grip. You’re forced to pay attention to what she says, so you don’t forget a single word. “Losing vision after he’d done so much to help me when Pietro… died,” Wanda’s breath catches slightly, “it felt like the final nail in the coffin. And I won’t lie to you, a part of me didn’t want to grieve for him. I wanted to hold on to him and how he made me feel forever, even if it hurt. Grieving felt like I was leaving him behind. But, grieving and healing… Y/N, that doesn’t mean you’re forgetting about them. It just means you are learning to live without them here.”

Wanda’s hands move once again, coming up cupping your cheeks. You watch every twitch in her face, the way her eyes squint and the way she bites her lip, likely attempts to keep the tears from overflowing. It’s useless, though, because as soon as you are no longer able to tramp down the tears, neither is Wanda.

You both break out in sobs at the same moment, yanking each other close and crashing into a deep hug. You stay in that hug for a while, both of you stumbling wetly through amends.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve been such a hermit and–and ignoring all of your messages. For being such a fucking ass during lunch.”

Wanda lets out a wet chuckle. “Sorry for dragging you to lunch.”

You shake your head vehemently despite still being pressed close together, your head resting on her shoulder. You know Wanda feels the movement. “I’m not. It’s exactly what I needed.”

Finally, you and Wanda separate. You collect yourselves, sniffling for a few moments, wiping the tears and snot from your faces. Wanda clears her throat, reaching into the pocket of her jacket and pulling out a clump of papers. She hands the clump to you and says, “These are for you. You can look over them for as long as you want before deciding.”

“Deciding?” You repeat, confused. Looking at what the clump is meant to be, you quickly realize that it’s a bunch of mental health pamphlets and therapy brochures.

“Bucky gave them to me when we started hanging out after the Blip,” Wanda explains, playing with her finger nervously. “Now, I’m giving them to you.”

You can’t bring yourself to hold back the teensiest smile that makes its way onto your face. “You had these in your pocket the whole time?”

Wanda’s face grows a little red. “I was trying to wait for the right moment to bring them up.”

Nodding, you eye the pamphlets before shrugging, trying to seem nonchalant. “I’ll look through them.”

Wanda smiles brightly, obviously grateful. Then, she grabs your attention by shyly reaching for your hand. “How ‘bout I walk you home?”

You don’t even need to think about it, surprisingly. Going home sounds really, really nice, especially after you just cried and spilled your heart out on the sidewalk. The thought, actually, catches you off guard a little bit because you hope Wanda means she’ll stay with you when you get there. It’s been so long since you’ve wanted to be in the company of others voluntarily. You hope the feeling sticks around, too.

“That sounds great.” Wanda tugs your hand with an eager smile, leading you in the direction of your apartment, when a thought suddenly occurs to you. You tug back from Wanda. “Wait, I should apologize to Sam and Bucky.”

Wanda shakes her head a little. “I knew you'd probably want to be alone after we talked,” she explains. “I told them we could meet up again in a few days.”

Your chuckle turns into a grimace as complete embarrassment and guilt make a home in your gut. You don’t want to sit on these feelings, especially not after how horrible you behaved towards them. Resuming your walk, you make an effort to match Wanda’s pace. “I do kinda want to be alone right now, but I don’t want to make Sam and Bucky wait for an apology. I’ll invite them to dinner tomorrow.”

Wanda nods along. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Will you come?” you ask suddenly. “If you’re there, it won't feel like I’m trapped alone with them.”

Wanda squeezes your hand reassuringly. “Of course I’ll come with you.” Smiling, you hope your gratitude is easily visible.

“Hey, Wanda?” you wonder shyly. “Can you spend the night?”

“Of course, Y/N.”

(NOT MY GIF)

Main Blog // Other Side Blog

You wish you didn’t remember what the fight was about, you really wish, but you remember exactly.

The fight had started due to Steve’s attitude towards your relationship. It’s clear that Steve isn’t ready to come out to his friends about your relationship, as you’ve come to realize, but that’s obviously not your actual concern. You’re not at all bothered by Steve not being ready to come out, it’s a subject you would never push. No, there’s a much bigger issue that you have a problem with.

It seems Steve is still being influenced by rotten and outdated 1930s ideology, still thinks that being queer is a bad thing which is very much untrue. You had done your best to explain that to your boyfriend, done your best to explain that there is absolutely nothing wrong with two men being in a relationship despite how much Steve’s time period has convinced him otherwise. Your efforts to help had backfired, though, for reason you can’t even begin to figure out.

Steve had gotten defensive all of a sudden, the conversation getting out of hand and blurry from there. The conversation turned into something else, something bordering on a screaming match. The fact that it was near midnight when the fight began had saved your neighbors from having to endure any interrupted sleep.

You and Steve had broken apart, eventually. Unfortunately, it was not because you were actually done fighting and instead, because Steve had stormed out of your apartment where you both had gathered after a long day (well, more like a week) of work. Maybe it sounded cliche or something, but you realized you wouldn’t be speaking to Steve for a while once you hear the echoing of the apartment door slamming shut.

You were right about you and Steve not speaking because you’re sitting in a local coffee shop called Honey Bean all by yourself by the time a week has passed.

You’re settled down at one of the two-seater tables in the front of the coffee shop so that the sun can bath you in light. You’d ordered a large muffin, although it’s not your favorite kind because apparently they don’t make more batches after 10:00 a.m., and are also half-way finished with your second venti cup of iced coffee. It’s not much of a lunch, though you don’t really care because you weren’t paying attention to your food all that much.

Your mind is still preoccupied with the fight, unable to force the thoughts revolving around it away.

“Want some shop with that coffee?” the voice breaks through the constant replay from behind your eyes. Your eyes snap up to Clint who has taken a seat across from you. You and Clint have both worked for SHIELD for years so you are very close, working as partners on missions many times. Actually, missions are where you and Clint grew closer, Natasha Romanov as well, which lead to your inevitable friendship.

You press your lips together, putting your coffee down as you refrain from rolling your eyes. “How’d you find me?” Clint’s mouth opens as if he’s going to say something but you interrupt him at the last moment. “Why am I even asking? You had Nat track my phone, didn’t you?”

Clint smiles too sweetly for the conversation you have no doubt is fast approaching. “You got that right.”

“Well,” You sigh heavily, “have at it. Say what you want to say.”

Clint hums, clearly appearing amused is the smile he’s failing to hide is anything to go by. “You know, I think I’ll start with the fact that you’re sitting in a coffee shop all alone because you’re too embarrassed to run into Steve in the SHIELD cafeteria.”

You don’t reply to Clint’s spoken truths as you play with the crumbly remains of your muffin. You mumble something along the lines of, “Hate being friends with SHIELD agents,” but your miniscule snip only causes Clint to laugh.

“So,” Clint says, “are you gonna explain why you and Steve are avoiding each other?”

You stare straight at Clint instead of avoiding eye contact, otherwise that would be admitting defeat, but you don’t say anything either because that would also be considered admitting defeat mostly because you have absolutely no idea what the hell you’re supposed to tell Clint. You and Steve are in a secret relationship. It’s bad enough that spilling your guts to Clint would be sharing your relationship without Steve’s permission but you would also be outing Steve in the process, which is completely out of the question disrespectful.

“No?” Clint says in a wondering tone before he shrugs, almost as if he knew you were going to refuse to answer the question. “I guess I’ll just tell you why you’ve been avoiding each other. You two got into a fight, a pretty bad one, not that it was hard to figure out. Bad enough to drive a visible wedge between two best friends who’ve been practically joined at the hip for months.”

You’re even more speechless, more than before, as Clint stares at you knowingly from across the table. Apparently, it’s his turn to sip his coffee pointedly.

You choose to bite the bullet and speak when Clint doesn’t continue picking apart your relationship with Steve after about a minute of complete silence. “Do you have a point to this?”

“There is a point,” Clint confirms. “The point is to make you talk to Steve.”

“Yeah, no shit. But, why?”

“Because you pout everywhere you go,” Clint informs you as if you didn’t already know. “Look, you’re obviously really bothered by whatever the fight was about. You and Steve aren’t gonna go back to what you were before unless you talk to each other about whatever happened.”

Your gaze lowers dejectedly, towards the muffin crumbs that stick to the napkin it sits on. The picture is clichely symbolic of what your and Steve’s entire relationship is gonna be if you don’t at least try to work through your fight. “You really think me and Steve could go back to being what we were before?”

Clint doesn’t even seem to hesitate before answering. “Guess you won’t know until you talk to him.” You roll your eyes more due to the harsh truth behind his words than any actual annoyance towards Clint for saying it.

You chew the inside of your cheek as you wonder if you should say what you’re thinking because you know it’s gonna be a very high ego boost for Clint. Ultimately, you decide to say it anyway. He deserves it after coming all this way so he could get two friends back together.

“You’re too convincing for your own good,” you tell him, Clint only smiling smugly in response. “Thank you.”

Clint shakes his head slightly. “Thank me by tracking Steve down and talking to him.”

Smiling, you nod in agreement. Finding Steve and making up is definitely going to be an immediate priority.

Standing from the table, you pick up all your trash, which just consists of a dirty napkin and two empty coffee cups, so you can throw it out on your way out of the door but Clint is stopping you.

“You can also thank me with another coffee,” Clint quickly adds before you’ve even begun to walk away. You scoff in disbelief before you internally give up.

“I’ll buy you as much coffee as you want when this is all over,” you promise him while grinning at the return of Clint’s playful personality.

Clint grins back at you, saying, “I’ll hold you to that.”

It seems as if the walk back to SHIELD takes forever while simultaneously taking no time at all which makes you even more anxious because now the discomfort and awkwardness that will be accompanying this talk is closer than you would like. But, that thought is quickly shoved away by the other side of your brain. Instead, it presents you with another thought, a fact actually that if you didn’t have this talk with Steve, your relationship would never be able to heal.

You suddenly realize that this fight could very well cost you your relationship with Steve which is even worse than having to deal with some minor discomfort for an hour at most. You don’t want that at all.

You remember how Steve had been adamant that being queer wasn’t right, most definitely from internalized homophobia, but you also remember how painfully upset he had looked while you two were going back and forth. You don’t want to give up on Steve, he doesn’t deserve that, especially not after enduring so much violent discrimination in his day and even some in the current years. Steve deserves to finally have some reprieve, deserves at least a shot at a happy ending.

You waste no more time wallowing in your own side of the story, pushing yourself to find Steve quickly.

Trudging through the halls of SHIELD headquarters seems to be more confusing than usual but you still manage to find Steve before the end of lunch. You spot him through the giant windows that provide a good view into the cafeteria. Steve is sitting with Natasha at a table with half-eaten food forgotten in front of them. Now, you want to march right inside the cafeteria so you can talk to Steve immediately but you don’t want to interrupt his lunch with Natasha so you just wait impatiently in the hallway.

Leaning against the wall across from the double-doors leading into the cafeteria, you watch as Steve finally stands from his table. Steve and Natasha exchange some sort of short conversation before he’s hastily making his way out of the cafeteria. Steve’s in such a hurry that you’re almost worried you won’t catch him before he walks off.

“Steve!” you call out, Steve pausing in his apparent quest to turn towards you. His eyes widen slightly upon recognizing you. As you approach him, you wonder, “Hey, um, can we… talk?”

“Wha– yes, of course!” Steve stutters awkwardly. “I was… actually just looking–”

And then there’s a buzzing noise echoing out from his pocket, clearly coming from his phone. You and Steve stop moving at the same time, the same look crossing your faces because you know exactly what that buzz means.

“You have a mission,” you state plainly as if Steve didn’t already sense that.

Steve sighs sadly, mumbling, “Yeah.”

You had feared this precise situation. You had wanted to make up with Steve before he left for a mission so that your fight wouldn’t stew any longer than it already has.

“This isn’t over,” Steve blurts. You look at him, confused and slightly worried at his phrasing. “I–I mean… I’ll text you. When the mission is over. We’ll talk.”

Managing a smile, you nod your head in agreement. When Steve steps forward, eyeing you questioningly, it takes a second for you to understand why. He’s clearly wondering whether or not it’s okay for him to kiss you goodbye. Kissing goodbye was just something you always did before Steve left for missions, your shared way of expressing that you’re gonna see each other again.

You take a step forward as well, understanding and relief flashing through Steve’s eyes as you do so, and you come together to exchange your goodbye kiss. You stay in the kiss for as long as you can but Steve’s phone is buzzing inside his pocket once again.

Separating reluctantly, you watch as Steve turns and walks away from you as the kiss lingers in your mind. Remembering how it felt, remembering that it felt like every other goodbye kiss you’ve exchanged before, which is surprisingly comforting to you.

The kiss in no way signifies that everything is fixed between you and Steve but it definitely means that you aren’t going to run away from each other anymore.

The mission doesn’t last very long, surprisingly, because Steve texts you around 9 o’clock asking you if he could stop by your apartment after he lands which you immediately agree with. You don’t even have to think about it anymore, the hours you spent alone giving you some time to really think about your fight.

In all honesty, as the hours ticked by, the fight between you and Steve grew to appear increasingly stupid and kinda messed up. You can’t even believe you’d blown up at Steve like you did instead of trying to reassure and comfort him. Steve isn’t like modern day homophobes, he didn’t have an open environment in his days to safely navigate and learn about queerness.

Your mind races with all the better ways you could have reacted to Steve as you impulsively made your living space cleaner for your boyfriend’s arrival. He knocks on your door at just past 10:30 p.m. and you don’t even have the willpower to stop yourself from instantly opening the door so it doesn’t seem like you were anxiously waiting right next to it.

You and Steve nervously stare at each other from opposite sides of the door before you finally step aside and invite him in. Steve smiles and enters your apartment, which is when you notice that he’s still dressed in his Cap uniform meaning he came straight to you after he landed. It’s a little dirtied and has clearly been drug through the mud but it’s not destroyed.

Relocating to the living room, Steve sits on the couch while you choose to sit perched up on the arm of the single seater. “Okay, so I think I should start off by telling you that I’m sorry,” you say, speaking meekly while subconsciously rubbing at the back of your neck. “I know that’s probably not what you wanna hear–”

“No, I’m sorry, too. I didn’t react the way I should have…” Steve trails off, as if he’s trying to get his thoughts and feels in order. “It’s just that I don’t think I’m ready to tell people, yet.”

Your mind stalls at your boyfriend’s words for a moment, your confusion causing you to stutter. “Wha– Steve, you don’t have to be.”

Steve’s face falls as he seems to cave into himself slightly, the sight twisting your guts in circles. You have never wanted to make Steve feel like that, like he has to hide from you. “That’s not what you said earlier.”

You feel your face scrunch up in confusion as your head tilts to the side. “What do you mean?”

Steve shifts around in his seat awkwardly. “Earlier, you know…” he shrugs and waves his hand around a bit, as if to help remind you of what he’s talking about. “when you were trying to convince me to come out.”

“What, Steve, no!” You’re immediately sitting up straight in your seat, your entire face widening in surprise. “That’s-that’s not what I was trying to say at all.”

“It wasn’t?”

You shake your head vigorously. “No, of course not. Me trying to bully you into coming out is just as bad as outing you myself. The only person who gets to decide when you come out is you.”

“Well, then what was I even mad at you for?” Steve wonders, his turn for his face to mold into a questioning expression.

“I have no idea… alright, let me get something straight,” you speak slowly, trying to make sense of the fight you and Steve had a week prior. “Last week, during our fight, you were only telling me you weren’t ready to come out about our relationship.”

“Correct.”

“And… and you weren’t actually saying you that being queer was a bad thing?”

Steve’s eyes darken with worry. “You thought I was saying that?” his voice seems so small, it makes you feel guilty for even thinking what you thought.

“I don’t know,” you sigh heavily, hands coming up to rub at your face. “I thought you were still being effected by your time period’s public homophobic ideals.”

Steve hums understandingly for some reason. “I know I used to internalize that stuff before, but I’ve worked through all that. I know being queer doesn’t make me less than others.”

You stand from your place on the arm of the single seater sofa so you can approach and reassure your boyfriend of the feelings you had previously thought he had. “That’s good, it doesn’t,” you pause before continuing. “I only wish I could go back and actually understand what you were saying. This whole thing wouldn’t have happened if I had just listened to you.”

“We both weren’t listening,” Steve smiles up at you sadly, clearly just as regretful as you are about this stupid fight that obviously shouldn’t have even happened in the first place.

You and Steve sit in silence for a moment, processing everything that’s just come out about your fight. There’s not more words exchanged between you as you both stand from your seats and gravitate towards each other in order to wrap your arms around each other.

You hug tightly for quite a long time, not saying anything, until you finally say, “I know you didn’t say anything about spending the night…”

“… Yeah,” Steve answers your unvoiced question without hesitation.

Somehow hugging even tighter, you and Steve manage to maneuver yourselves into the couch, laying side by side while pressing up against each other. You’re mostly on your back with Steve’s head resting near your neck and unable to stop yourself, you rest your hands in Steve’s soft blond hair in order to play with it despite how much soot and dried sweat lays within it.

It’s a while before one of you speaks. Steve begins to wonder out loud, “You remember how we met?”

You scoff lightheartedly, “How could I possibly forget?”

The memory comes to your mind easily. It was in the SHIELD cafeteria, you and Steve walking with your respective companions when Steve makes a sharp turn and accidentally bumps into you. Steve’s tray of food, as well as your own, spills all over you and your agent uniform. You remember Steve becoming a stammering mess of apologies out of embarrassment while Natasha stood next to him, surveying the scene in obvious amusement.

“You cost me $15 in dry cleaning,” you remind your boyfriend.

“I paid you back,” Steve whines as he pouts playfully.

Pressing your lips to Steve’s forehead, you mumble, “You certainly did.”

And, in fact, Steve did pay you back and he paid you back in the form of a two hour coffee date three days after he’d asked you out with a face as red as the tomato soup he’d spilled all over you.

You and Steve fall into a comfortable silence as you both seem to reminisce about an easier time in your relationship. Not that you want to go back to that time, you’re confident in that because while the first few months were easier, you and Steve have become more connected as time went on. You and Steve are closer to each other than you had been in the beginning and you don’t want to lose that for anything, not even for an easier time in your relationship.

“I know we can’t prevent fights,” you mutter, voice catching Steve’s attention. “But, can we at least promise that we’ll never stay away from each other for that long ever again?”

You feel Steve trying to burrow further into your neck as he says, “Only if we promise not to yell at each other that loud ever again.”

You agree immediately.

(NOT MY GIF)

Main Blog // Other Side Blog

It's been a couple years since you had started going out with Steve but it still feels like you two were in the honeymoon phase. Steve brings a smile to your face at even the slightest mention of him. Although, you’re a little confused as to why Steve didn’t just call you. It’s what he usually prefers to converse with you while you are away from each other, Steve having told you it had something to do with liking to hear your voice. You chose not to dig further to spare Steve’s already tomato red face from exploding.

You turn away from your computer and small stack of papers, picking up your phone just as the screen lights up with another text.

Steve [5:23 p.m.]    Y/N Y/N Y/N

Steve [5:23 p.m.]    HEY

Steve [5:24 p.m.]    ANSWER

You snort, wondering what Steve seems so excited about.

You [5:24 p.m.]    what

Steve [5:23 p.m.]    BUCK IS COMING HOME

You’re immediately sitting up straight, smile spreading even wider. You now understand why Steve had chosen to text you, probably embarrassed to start loudly squealing over their boyfriend coming home while in his place of work.

Bucky was your other boyfriend, something you wouldn’t have believed if you were to bring it up with your past self. This is mostly due to the almost palpable tension between the two of you when you and Bucky officially met about a year prior.

You, Steve, Sam, and occasionally Natasha, had been trailing after Bucky all over Europe for a few months. Bucky must have been slowly rebuilding himself during that time because he had suddenly stopped running right before you were going to hit the four (4) month mark.

You didn’t understand where all the awkwardness had been coming from. For all you knew, you were just looking for Steve’s childhood best friend, one of the only people to still remain from Steve’s old life. That was, until Sam and Natasha started making offhand comments about how deep Steve and Bucky’s friendship seemed to run (you honestly didn’t and don’t blame either of them for the new wave of insecurities that flooded your mind, you and Steve having agreed to keep the relationship, which you started only a few weeks before the reveal of HYDRA’s secret operations inside SHIELD, you started a secret until you two became more comfortable).

Everything made sense after that. It was understandable that you and Bucky had a fragile relationship in the beginning. And it really was only in the beginning. It didn’t take long before you and Bucky started bonding over your shared love for Steve and it didn’t take long after that before something started forming between the three of.

You [5:25 p.m.]    !!!!!

You [5:26 p.m.]    OMG

You [5:26 p.m.]    REALLY?!?

Steve [5:26 p.m.]    YES!

Steve [5:26 p.m.]    we need to hurry he’s on the way home rn

You [5:26 p.m.]    oH UM

You [5:27 p.m.]    i’m home rn

You [5:27 p.m.]    i can set up everything here

Steve [5:27 p.m.]    good!!

Steve [5:27 p.m.]    i can get dinner and dessert on my way home

You [5:27 p.m.]    perfect

Steve [5:28 p.m.]    ok 123 brEAK

You snort at Steve’s comedic antics as you push yourself away from your desk and away from your work. You know that you'll have to finish those at some point before monday. You’ll most likely be doing it late sunday night due to the fact that you’re going to be completely preoccupied with your boyfriends all weekend because it's been a few weeks since all three of you have been together.

This is obviously due to your hectic work schedules, Steve stuck with what was left of SHIELD, unofficially of course, doing top secret secret agent missions. Bucky had joined him in that soon after he was cleared for it. You, on the other hand, have a very typical and boring office job, a job that has become very demanding as of late with your boss giving out extra paperwork around your floor.

But, you don’t have to worry about that at the moment, you remind yourself. That thought spurs you into moving around your apartment, an apartment that you’ve been sharing with your boyfriends for a couple of months now. You note this fact with a small surge of glee inside your head as you rush to your closet where you keep all your blankets at.

You pull out the blankets you have, which is quite a lot, a fact you’re slightly embarrassed to admit. You’ve accumulated a bunch of them throughout your entire life, some as gifts from your friends and family and others from your lack of self control during the fall and winter time of the blatant holiday themes are anything to go by. You’re pretty sure your old baby blankets are boxed up somewhere, likely under your bed.

You pile the load of blankets high in your arms, so much so that you can’t see where you’re going if you don’t walk sideways as you make your way towards the living room. The living room where everything is going to happen.

Dropping the mountain of blankets on the couch unceremoniously, you immediately start to arrange them all around the couch. You bunch and ball the blankets around the back of the couch, trying to form a cocoon out of them so that you, Steve, and Bucky can remain warm no matter where or how any of you sit while you watch movie after movie throughout the rest of the night.

Which reminds you, it’s not possible to have a movie night without any movies.

turning to the small movie rack that sits next to the TV, you waste no time at all in picking out any movies that catch your eye which are quite a few movies, a good number of which are Steve and Bucky’s favorites. You set the, rather large, stack of movies next to the couch blanket fort so they’re out and ready to pick through whenever.

You’re left with a small clean up after that. You clear off the coffee table for when Steve gets home with the food, picking up leftover coffee mugs (courtesy of Steve) and rinsing them before sticking them in the dishwasher for you to deal with later. Then, you move the books lying around the living room to the miniature bookshelf in your bedroom before gathering all the drawing paper and well used pencils (also courtesy of Steve) and placing those on the left bedside table, the side Steve likes to sleep on when he’s not in the middle.

You wander around the apartment after that, looking for anything else to clean while you wait for Steve to arrive. It takes less time than you think it should have, which is surprising, so surprising that you almost think someone is politely breaking in when you hear the sound of the door clicking open and closed.

You head out of your bedroom where you were perusing a book, something you could distract yourself with, when you heard. You walk into the kitchen to see Steve already unpacking the food, clearly having rushed home.

You’re not able to hold back your smile upon seeing your boyfriend for the first time in weeks. “Need any help?” you wonder, your appearance catching Steve’s attention. He turns towards you, it being quite obvious that Steve is as excited to see you as you are to see him if the wide smile that spreads across his face in seconds is anything to go by.

Steve pauses in his unpacking to lean towards as you approach him swiftly, so he can pull you into a warm kiss. You and Steve feel each other smile during the kiss, making you two smile even harder. “Help would be great,” Steve tells you after you separate. He resumes unpacking the food from the plastic bag it was put into.

You identify the logo on the bag now that you’re so close and it’s clear that the food is from Bucky’s favorite burger place. You take note of the food as you help Steve set everything out on the counter. There’s three (3) different to-go boxes, no doubt filled with favorite menu items. You also spot three (3) medium sized milkshakes sitting in the cup container.

“Dessert?”

“It’s in the fridge,” Steve informs you.

Making a sound of interest and curiosity, you ask, “What is it?”

Steve smirks and raises his eyebrows. “Went to the store and got one of those ice cream cakes Buck likes.”

“Well,” you start, “that will certainly be a nice treat for later.”

You and Steve share a smile as you both grab the food and milkshakes so you can bring it to the living room. The living room where you plan to have dinner and a show with your two wonderful super-soldier boyfriends.

Afterwards, you and Steve resign yourselves to standing around the kitchen, catching up on the last few weeks. You and Steve are ready to happily greet Bucky once the time comes that he opens the door.

It feels like time drags on and on while you two are waiting so you’re very much thankful when you finally hear the turning of the doorknob. You and Steve separate from where you had been wrapped around each other, turning and shouting Bucky’s name in excitement. Just as he walks through the door, Bucky is all bashful as soon as he sees his two boyfriends greet him with spread arms and wide smiles.

You look him up and down for the first time in quite awhile, Bucky just as gorgeous as he always was. He clearly showered and changed beforehand if the damp hair and sweatpants are anything to go by.

Bucky drops the gym bag, obviously filled with his dirty and possibly damaged suit, on the floor. He stretches his arms out, resting each hand on the back of your and Steve’s necks so he can pull you both in close to give each of you a kiss on the lips.

“Welcome home.”

“Welcome home indeed,” Bucky rumbles back, a heart-eye look sweeping across his face. You’re one of the two people on earth that gets to receive that look, not that you mean to brag or anything.

“I’ll take your bag and put it in our room,” Steve tells Bucky. Bucky thanks him before he pulls Steve into another kiss. It’s something you feel there’s going to be a lot of for the rest of the evening, which you look forward to.

Steve takes Bucky’s gym bag from him before walking off so he can do exactly as he said, leaving you and your other boyfriend by yourselves in the kitchen. Once Steve is out of reach, you feel Bucky’s hand move from the back of your neck to your waist, which allows him to pull you in close. He presses you against his chest so he can engage in a deep reunion kiss. It’s been a long time since you’ve last felt his lips against yours which is why you allow yourself to indulge.

You have to force yourself to take a step back. “Not that I'm not enjoying this, because I 100 percent am, but…” you trail off as you take Bucky’s hand in yours, ”we should go to the living room for your first surprise.”

“First surprise?” Bucky’s tone lilts in clear interest, eyebrows raising. It’s almost as if he’s joking but you’re able to tell that Bucky’s genuinely looking forward to what you and Steve have prepared for him.

“We haven’t seen each other properly in weeks. There’s a lot to catch up on.”

“Well, I am definitely looking forward to it. Lead the way, doll,” Bucky instructs you, causing you to chuckle before you turn away from him in order for him to lead him into the living room.

You present the done up living room with wide open arms and an enthusiastic ‘ta-da’ and it seems that if Bucky’s smile could get bigger, it probably would. He surveys your and Steve’s work before he turns back towards you and also Steve, who has just rejoined you and Bucky. “What do you think, Buck?”

“You know what I think, Stevie baby,” Bucky tells him, grabbing one of each of your and Steve’s hands. “I absolutely love it.”

Changing the subject a little, you say, “Well, pick a seat because none of us are moving for anything other than changing the movie and getting dessert.”

Bucky hums, his voice lifting up high at the end. “Dessert, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve dismisses before his boyfriend could get any ideas. “You have to finish your dinner first.”

Bucky nods eagerly, not in any way bothered by being withheld dessert, before he takes his seat in the middle of the couch. He clearly wants to have his boyfriends cuddled up on either side of him.

“So, what do you want to watch first?” you question while you scoot the pile of movies closer to Bucky, who doesn’t take any time at all to begin picking out the movie he wants. And as it turns out, it’s a horror movie called The Apparition.

While he takes it from the pile, Bucky comments, “Been awhile since I’ve seen one fo these.”

“Horror movie, huh?” Steve jokes. “Trying to be our knight in shining armor while we cower behind you in fear?” you laugh alongside your boyfriends.

You settle back on the couch once you’ve taken the movie from Bucky and put it in the DVD player, which begins to play shortly after. You and your boyfriends snuggle into each other’s sides, feet pulled close to your bodies as you all munch on your food.

Well, it’s more like Steve and Bucky are eating their food. At the moment, you were less interested in your food and more interested in Bucky. Your boyfriend was distracting in general, both of them were. But it’s the smooth brown waves of Bucky’s hair that’s distracting you specifically. It looks so soft, especially so after Bucky’s washed it, and you just want to run your fingers through it, play with it for hours.

Your eyes wander down to your wrist as you continue to think about your boyfriend’s long hair, eyes catching on the little black band around your wrist. It’s a hair tie, one that you and Steve always have wrapped around your wrists for this precise reason. For tying up Bucky’s hair when he needs or wants to. It’s a habit to keep hair ties on your person constantly, originating right around the time Bucky was cleared to go on missions. He had decided that he wanted to keep his hair long, at least for the time being, so as the length of Bucky’s hair grew larger so did the need for hair ties at any given time.

You glance between Bucky’s hair and the hair tie, your self control wearing thin. After only a few seconds, you’re not able to help yourself from reaching your hand out to your boyfriend’s beautiful brown hair. You weave your fingers through a few strands is all it takes for your desire to skyrocket.

Tangling both of your hands to Bucky’s hair, you feel him pause in his eating but you pay it no mind as you begin to languidly braid his hair. It’s not long before another pair of hands join yours. Looking over, you spot a giddy Steve on the other side of Bucky. It appears as if your thoughts have rubbed off on him because he grabs the other half of Bucky’s hair so he can braid it alongside you.

Bucky chuckles, clearly amused. “You two are ridiculous.” Although, you wonder if Bucky can really blame you.

“Your hair is really beautiful, though,” Steve adds. Bucky doesn’t say anything in response, not that it matters. The blush that highlights his cheeks for the next five minutes is telling enough.

You and Steve share knowing looks as you both continue to braid your boyfriend’s hair, permanent smiles stretching across your faces.

(NOT MY GIF)

Main Blog // Other Side Blog

You wish you could be anywhere but here. In fact, the only reason you’re even a part of cotillion is because you were, and still are, Ms. Rhodes assistant during debutante season. You would be just sitting at home, watching episode reruns of your favorite shows, if not for Ms. Rhodes taking you in as her assistant all those years ago when you were just figuring out who you were in high society.

Your family had only come into fame and fortune when you were just a kid. Your mother had finally gotten the lead role in a remake of a very well known movie, leading her to quickly becoming one of the most sought after actresses. And your father, in turn, had received a modelling job right after that from a very famous clothing company. Your father was practically walking the runway before his interview was even over.

Ms. Rhodes was nice enough to put you to work at such a young age. Although, you know for sure that she used to have some sort of ulterior motives, you’re not an idiot, but you let her do as she pleased. You assumed that she would’ve just thrown you out when she got whatever it was she wanted, but you are still her assistant. You figure Ms. Rhodes got used to having you shadow her constantly. Perhaps she thought keeping you around was better than doing debutante season all by herself or taking the time to hire someone else when it wasn’t necessary.

It gives you something to do either way, so you haven’t ever complained, until now.

“You know,” you jump violently, swearing under your breath. You were so lost in your own mind that you hadn’t noticed Carter approach you. “You look like a chipmunk shoving all that food into your mouth.”

You whip your head around to see if anyone is watching your interaction, but no one is. Facing the man, you scowl as mean as you can but Carter, the bastard, smiles back, seemingly unbothered. You turn away from him, quietly wondering, “What the hell do you want?”

Carter steps so he’s standing next to you instead of behind. You still don’t look his way. “What, I can’t just want something to eat?” Biting your tongue, you choose to ignore him. In response, Carter hums in a deep rumble. You refuse to admit to yourself that it’s a very hot noise, coming from deep in his throat. “You look so sexy when you’re ignoring me.”

You immediately pause right before you’re about to shove another chocolate truffle into your mouth, which is still filled with the last one. You take a deep breath and swallow what’s left in your mouth. Your turn to Carter with a stern set in your eyebrows. Before you open your mouth to speak, you take note that Carter seems to have lost the smile he no doubt had when he was flirting with you. You tell him pointedly, “You know what you did,” before you turn away from him for good this time.

Carter sighs and you can almost feel him hang his head in shame. “I do know. And I’m–”

“Y/n!” Ms. Rhodes’ high and frilly voice interrupts anything Carter was going to say. You look over at your boss. “Come on, dear, we need to discuss your cotillion wardrobe.”

You forced an accommodating smile onto your face. “I’ll be with you right away, Ma’am.” You turn back to the snack table to grab another truffle when Ms. Rhodes nods in understanding, avoiding Carter still. When you turn to leave him standing at the snack table all by himself, Carter’s hand shoots out to touch your arm.

You flinch unexpectedly. Carter pulls his hand away without hesitation when he sees, but he leans slightly closer to you regardless. “If you’re willing to listen to my apology… come find me at cotillion,” he whispers.

You glance towards the man. You watch the genuinity pool in the blue-grey of Carter’s eyes, but you don’t speak. You turn away, walking away to catch up to Ms. Rhodes as she walks away from the hustle and bustle of the Waldorf’s tea time. You feel Carter’s eyes on you until you follow Ms. Rhodes around a corner.

The cotillion turns into a complete disaster.

It started off how you expected with Carter glancing your way every few minutes, eyeing you up from the moment he arrived until he had to join Serena for the presentation statements, which, actually, turned into another problem. Someone had apparently changed Serena’s presentation statement from the reputation building statement into something far more lewd. Admittedly, you had found it funny but that’s not the point.

You don’t know how the statement was changed because you’d gone over them dozens of times before the ball. You even went over them with Ms. Irlock, the presentation speaker, right before the statements started. And Ms. Rhodes, nor even Ms. van der Woodson, found it as hilarious as everyone else had.

The night only got worse from there.

You thought it was just going to be those two flukes, minor inconveniences really, and then you could just enjoy your night. You could bask in the payoff from the hard work you put into this ball.

You were very, very wrong.

When the dancing started, you noticed rather quickly the odd behavior from Nate and Chuck. You thought nothing of it. You knew the drama that seemed to follow this particular group of Upper East Siders so you chose to ignore it. You figured that they wouldn’t dare cause a scene at such a major event, but you should’ve honestly known better. You’ve known these people since you were all children so you have no one else to blame for the mistake except yourself.

The icing on top of the shit cake that was being served at this cotillion is when Nate abandons the dance to punch Carter in the fucking face. It's how you end up pressing a cool glass of apple cider to Carter’s cheek.

“I suppose,” you begin, grabbing Carter’s attention. “This isn’t really what you had in mind when you said to come find you.”

Carter hums, almost sounding amused. “It wasn’t,” Carter agrees. He pauses to gently take the glass from you. “But, I’m not actually upset that you're still here.”

Pressing your lips together, you stare down at your hands as they rest in your lap. You think hard about how you want to phrase your next words. “I… think… that I’m not entirely upset, either,” you lick your lips subconsciously before you continue. “I had planned to find you at some point, anyway.”

There’s a moment of silence that passes between you and Carter. It’s not uncomfortable or awkward, just slightly heavy as you both think over your confessions.

“What I did,” Carter bites his lip, “back when we were teenagers, it was wrong. I know that, knew that. And it happened to me a while ago, so I know how it feels now.”

You scoff. “Oh, so it had to happen to you for you to regret it?”

“No, I regretted it way before that, but it was my karma for doing it to you,” Carter tells you. Sitting up straighter in his seat, Carter leans towards you. “I’m sorry, Y/n, for… kissing and ditching you. I’m really, really sorry.”

You breathe in deeply, processing his apology, before you smile. “Well, I’m glad you apologized.”

“So, is this the part where we kiss and make up?” Carter wonders cheekily, a small smile gracing his lips. Smirking, you lean forward teasingly to kiss Carter’s cheek, right over where he was punched. Carter smiles back. “While I find that peck comforting and sweet, I would also like a kiss on the lips.”

Playfully, you look off into the distance and pretend to think about it. Ultimately, you shake your head. “Not quite time for kisses on the lips yet. You still have a lot of making up to do.”

(NOT MY GIF)

Main Blog // Other Side Blog

You glide without worry, riding comfortably in your neighborhood given there’s barely any cars on the roads this time of night. The pink and orange mixed sky is a testament that your night is slowly coming to a close. You know that you, Steve, and Bucky should get in any last minute fun before it’s time to put the boards away.

“Hey, I’m gonna stop,” Steve calls from ahead of you. He slows down and stops, which quickly leads to you and Bucky following suit.

“You done for the night?” you wonder, picking up your board when you completely stop.

“Yeah,” Steve confirms.

“Aw,” Bucky coos in a teasing manner. “Is Stevie tired?”

Steve wacks Bucky in the arm, playfully telling him, “Shut the fuck up, jerk.”

“Well, I’m not done yet,” you state certainly. “I’m gonna keep going for a few more minutes.”

“Oo!” Bucky exclaims, clearly excited but definitely mischievous. “I dare you to skate down the hill.”

Putting your hand on your hip, you smirk back at your best friend. “Oh, really?”

Bucky shrugs, a smug smile gracing his lips. “Yeah,” he says. “I mean, unless you’re too chicken.”

Steve whistles loudly, shamelessly egging you on while looking at you expectantly. You, in turn, raise your eyebrows as if to question if they really thought you wouldn’t. “You’re on, bitch,” you say sassily, walking out into the middle of the road. You set your board down, saying, “Watch and learn.”

Honestly, you should’ve known your cocky attitude would bring on instant karma. When you step onto your board and kick off, you regret ever buying into Bucky’s bait. You realize instantly that you’re going way too fast and that you’ll only be getting faster. You try not to panic but you’re rapidly approaching the end of the cul de sac at the bottom of the hill. You’re moving too fast to stop by yourself or turn your board in a safe direction. You see no way out of crashing, so you choose to simply brace yourself.

Your board crashes into the curb, leaving you to fly forward. You have enough sense and quick thinking to tuck your head into your chest, wrapping your arms around it as you land brutally on the concrete, scraping your knees, elbows, and a shoulder. You roll into the grass, not even having to look to know that damage has been done. The burn of dirt mixing with blood from a newly opened wound is familiar and you lay there in the itchy grass, groaning.

You can hear Steve and Bucky cackling at the top of the hill and, despite the pain, you can’t help but bust out laughing with them. “Shit,” you curse, out of breath but still smiling.

You’re a little surprised to hear the sound of louder laughter, laughter closer than it was before. You figure Steve and Bucky ran down the hill to tease you up close, but when you look over, the boys mocking you are neither of your best friends.

There are three of them, all taller and clearly older than you. There’s a brunet and two red headed twins. You look at them curiously and also slightly offended. Pushing yourself to sit on your bloody knees, you stutter. “Uh,” you lick your lips. “Can I help you?”

The brunet standing in the middle sneers in your direction. “You can, actually.”

You hum at him shortly, wondering why any of them are even talking to you since you obviously don’t know each other.

One of the twins grabs your board from the ground roughly, which causes you to stutter indignantly. “Um, that’s my board.”

The other twin, still in his position next to the brunet, snorts hideously. “Not that it matters,” he tells you. “You suck.”

“Excuse me?” You scowl, standing before you shake your head. “No, whatever. Just give me back my fucking skateboard.”

The only response you get is a scoff from the brunet who grabs your board from the twin. He steps forward, puffing out his chest as he crowds your face. “Come and get it, princess.”

You ignore the way your stomach sinks, crossing your arms over your stomach self-consciously. You continue with feigned confidence. “I’m a fucking dude.” The twins scoff and snicker at you for saying it but you glare at them right back.

The brunet shoves you, coincidently placing his hand on your chest. You grunt, shoving his hand off of you. You snatch back your skateboard roughly while the brunet is standing to close, but it seems as if he is not discouraged by your fighting spirit.

“Whatever you say,” he says, dismissively. You can still feel the patronizing undertone in his voice. “Little girl.”

You growl viciously. You don’t think about anything before you’re gripping your skateboard firmly, knuckles turning white, and swinging it towards the brunet’s face as hard as you can. You hear the sickening crack of a breaking nose just as you’re yanked away from the fray by the waist. Shouting in surprise, you whip your head towards your assailant, thinking it has to be one of the twins trying to avenge their fallen friend but in actuality, it’s Steve and Bucky.

Glancing back at the group of boys, you spot the twins crouching next to the brunet who rightfully has blood dripping all down his face and hands. You wince, turning back to your best friends, saying simply, “Run.” You, Steve, and Bucky make your very quick exit, booking it back up the hill from which you came.

Finally, you stop running when you’re out on the main road sidewalk, breathing heavily and all clutching your boards. You do your best to catch your breath, exchanging equally shocked looks at what just happened. Slowly, grins slide onto all of your faces before you break out into a laughing fest. It’s a few minutes before you all come back to yourselves.

“Hey,” Steve grabs your and Bucky’s attention quickly. “It’s still kinda light outside.”

Bucky smiles. “Hey, do guys wanna go down to Whitney’s Creamery for some ice cream sandwiches.”

“Yeah,” you agree slowly. You set your board onto the concrete. “Whoever gets there last has to pay.” You kick off before either of your best friends can respond, knowing for certain that you’ll get there first.

(NOT MY GIF)

Main Blog // Other Side Blog

Then, there was nothing, something, nothing again, cold something, painful something, and even more nothing. Then, again, a painful something and a bright something, an overwhelming flash of bright white light. It took a lot of time and endurance against the copious amounts of pain before your eyes decided to adjust.

You realize very quickly that you’re in a room flooded with scientists, almost completely naked with the exception for the tight leather straps that hold you down against a metal table. There’s even a strap wrapped around your forehead, very tight and feeling as if it’s cutting off blood flow. You can feel an incredible migraine beating at the back of your skull.

As you’re forced to lay on this cold table, humiliation growing heavier and barely any energy to even attempt to struggle free, the evil scientists don’t bother hesitating with sticking more needles through your skin. They take as much blood from your veins as they inject any number of substances and chemicals and drugs to replace it. It isn’t long with such treatment before there’s nothing again.

It feels like you’re only out for seconds, but you know for a fact you weren’t because when you open your eyes again, slowly and strained, you’re in an all white, windowless cell. Your vision is blurry, jumbled around with black spots and bright spirals, and your stomach is cramping violently. The lights overhead are too bright, as bright as the other room you had been in.

In an attempt to relieve the pain in your stomach, you curl in on yourself. You had hoped it would help, even if only a little, but it turns out to make it worse. There are loud slamming noises coming from... somewhere. Outside your cell, maybe, but you can’t bring yourself to focus on them.

The cramping increases dizzyingly quickly. You barely manage to push your towards the edge of the ratty, bare mattress sitting on the floor before you empty the contents in your stomach all over the floor. Both the pain and your sudden lack of breath cause your world to spin out of control.

You pass out again just when you hear the screech of the door opening, not knowing it you should feel terrified about all the unknown things these people could do to you while you’re out cold or grateful that you won’t be awake to remember any of it.

Steve wakes instantly from the chair he was dozing off in just as Natasha and Sam walk into the med-bay of the helicarrier.

Sam leans against the doorframe while Natasha takes her spot against the wall next to him. Natasha gestures with her head towards you, laying motionless in the white sheets, wires coming off of you in dozens. “How’s he doin’?”

Steve stares at you, tired concern evident on his face. “Better,” is all he says, voice strained and gruff with guilt and sleep.

“You should get some rest,” Sam tells him gently.

Steve sighs. “Don’t know how I can.” Silently, Sam understands what Steve means. He doesn’t want to leave your side for even a second after all that you had been put through.

“Steve,” Natasha says, grabbing Steve’s attention. “You know it wasn’t your fault.”

“I want to believe you,” Steve admits, voice growing wet. Steve finally looks away from you and towards his friends. “But, he’s my son.”

Natasha and Sam exchange looks, furrows on their eyebrows. Sam sighs, wondering futilely, “How about something to eat?” But, Steve shakes his head. Sam says anyway, “I’ll bring you something when Y/n wakes up, alright?”

Sam doesn’t wait for Steve to respond before he pushes off from the doorway, turning around and leaving without another word. Natasha follows, sending one last look towards Steve.

Steve sits in dead silence. It isn’t long before the steady beeping of your heart monitor lull him back to an unsettled doze once more.

(NOT MY GIF)

Main Blog // Other Side Blog

The sun is slowly rising which means Geralt will be waking up soon and you don’t want him to find you bleeding all over yourself. You wouldn’t be able to explain yourself without having to tell him about you, so you accept your fate begrudgingly.

Sneaking a peak at Geralt and Jaskier, you take note that they’re both still sleeping in their separate bed rolls on the opposite side of the burned out campfire. You roll back over as quietly as you can and reach out to Ciri, who’s sleeping right next to you, and try to get her attention. It takes a few calls of her name and a shove before she finally wakes up confused. All you can do when she looks at you questioningly is ask for help.

Ciri is, rightfully, concerned and immediately up and ready to help. She gets her bag, fishing out the cloth she uses for her menstrations before she gives it to you. You stand to leave when Ciri asks, whispering, “What are you gonna do?”

“Go to a stream close by or something and wash my clothes.”

Ciri nods. “I’ll deal with the blood.”

You eye the small puddle of blood that had dripped down your leg and into the forest floor. You turn away quickly, agreeing. You head off in some random direction and it isn’t long before you come across a stream and begin stripping. It’s awkward being naked out in the open, even worse when the water you’re washing up in only comes up to your waist but you figure it would be even more awkward to explain to your travel companions why you have blood all over your crotch.

You bear the vulnerable feeling and refuse to look down while you allow the flowing water to clean your lower body, simultaneously scrubbing vigorously at your pants and smallclothes. You decide to take longer than necessary to wash. You know it’s gonna be a long day of walking so you wanna make sure you don’t immediately feel gross.

After the washing is finished, you just get your clothes back on, still stained but less so and now damp, when Ciri comes into view.

“I couldn’t get the stain all the way out,” you tell her, feigning nonchalance when all you can feel inside is panic.

Ciri tells you, “It’s fine,” before she’s pulling her cloak off and handing it to you. “You can wear it until we can sneak you some new pants.”

You sigh, relieved and grateful. “Thank you.”

Ciri smiles and you both begin to head back to camp. As you walk, Ciri questions you about the pain. You and Ciri go back a long time, practically grew up with each other. Your parents were soldiers of noble blood who fought alongside Queen Calanthe so you’ve known each other since you were kids. It didn’t take long for you to confess to Ciri about how you felt when people called you by the name your parents gave you or when your dad called you his little baroness or when the peasant boys you and ciri played around with called you little girl. And since you were so close, she knows all about how painful your time can be.

“It's not so bad right now,” you tell her, subconsciously rubbing at your abdomen.

“That's good,” Ciri says. You agree but silently wonder how long it will take before you’re completely consumed by pain.

You’re both silent as you make it the rest of the way back to camp. As you step back into the clearing where you had slept, you note that the camp is completely put away. The only thing left as a sign that anyone had been here is the circle of burnt firewood.

“Ah, there you two are, you little scamps,” Jaskier exclaims upon seeing you walk into the packed up camp, throwing up his hands dramatically. “We were beginning to think you’d gotten lost.”

Beside Jaskier, Geralt doesn’t look all that worried but he does look mad, although he does always look like that. He leans against a tree with his arms crossed, glaring at you as you approach. “Where have you been?”

“I told you I was going to the bathroom,” Ciri explains quickly.

Geralt says, without looking away from you but still gently, “Not you.”

Geralt’s tone doesn’t bother you as much as it used to. He was worse in the beginning actually. You used to think that Geralt hated you for some reason because he wasn’t as distant with Ciri as he was with you and then Jaskier joined Geralt in his travels again. And he treated Jaskier about the same as he treats you. It took a few days of observing interactions between the two men to figure out that Geralt wasn’t being mean or, rather, wasn’t trying to be. He was just reluctantly accepting of the presences of men.

It also crossed your mind more than once that it could be because Ciri was his child surprise, as Jaskier eventually explained. But whatever the reason may be, he acts differently with you and there isn’t much you can do about it so you ignore it as much as you can.

“I was washing up,” you explain lamely.

“We did that last night,” Geralt says through gritted teeth. Which, yeah, they did while Ciri bathes by herself away from sight — still within Geralt’s earshot for safety reasons, obviously —, the men bathe together. And since you haven’t had the courage to tell Geralt and Jaskier your situation, you, in fact, did not bathe last night.

“Oh, hush,” Jaskier says, waving Geralt off. “So he wanted to wash in the morning. I actually do it often when I'm not spreading the tales of your heroics and I find it quite refreshing. You know, some say people that wash in the morning actually-”

“We should’ve left by now,” Geralt huffs. “We’re late.”

You sigh, watching Geralt walk away and start leading Roach down the path.

Jaskier comes to stand beside you, throwing an arm over your shoulders. He playfully tells you, “Don't let Geralt bother you any. He's not a morning person, clearly,” which makes you instantly smile.

“Where are we headed?” Ciri wonders as she comes to stand next to you, too.

“About a day’s north,” Jaskier says.

You groan, throwing your head back. “A day?!”

“Yes, I’m afraid,” Jaskier confirms sympathetically. “Ah! But, if you would like a nice way to pass the time, I am always willing to give a little… sneak peak of my new ballad.”

Ciri gasps, eyes sparkling. “Yes please!”

You hum, “Sure.”

Jaskier begins strumming his lute and you all set after Geralt, doing your best to ignore the increasing pain in your abdomen.

As always, it doesn’t take long at all for the force of the pain you usually feel to hit full throttle and in turn, the nausea sets in.

You wrap your arms around yourself, fingers digging into your sides with all the strength you have, doing your best to ignore it. You had hoped it would even out the pain so it wouldn’t be that bad, maybe distract you for a while, but it doesn’t work even a little bit and it’s downright unbearable.

By mid morning, your muscles are shaking, you’re sure you’ve carved little crescents into your sides even through your shirt, and you're dripping in sweat with the effort to not cry and fall to the floor in blinding pain. You blame the last one on the blistering sun when anyone questions you about it.

Your problem causes you to lag behind everyone else quite often, although Ciri does her best to stay with you and keep you mind off the splintering pain. She talks endlessly about anything and nothing at all but it helps only a little bit.

It’s during a particular lull in the one sided conversation between you and Ciri that you hear Jaskoer badgering Geralt insistently about something. You almost don’t pay any attention to it, it's Jaskier and Geralt so that's how they always are, until you hear him say your name.

“He needs a break, Geralt,” Jaskier says sternly and louder than his previous tone, which catches Ciri’s attention as well. Geralt continues to ignore the bard. “Maybe your witcher eyesight is starting to diminish in old age, so I suppose I'll enlighten you. He is positively sweating rivers, Geralt. He’s soaked through his little-”

Geralt pulls Roach to a sudden halt so he can growl in Jaskier’s face. “Fine, we can take a break if it will get you to shut up!” Then, Geralt ushers Roach forward faster, veering off the path.

Jaskier turns to you and Ciri, smiling a very smug smile. “Well, time for a well deserved break. Hopefully there’s a river nearby, we can fill up our waterskins. Maybe splash about for a while if Geralt doesn’t threaten to leave us behind for taking too long, if we’re lucky, if-“ and you tune him out as he keeps talking on account that a hot spike of pain stabs you directly in the pelvis. You barely manage to swallow a cry, although your face contorts in the effort. It caused Jaskier to pause mid babble. “Are you alright?”

“No, I'm fine,” you say, rather quickly. Too quickly.

“Are you sure? Because you really look very pale. And, actually, your hands are-”

You’re yelling before you can stop yourself. “I said, I’m fine!” Pushing past Jaskier roughly, you rush to catch up to Geralt who’s almost completely immersed in the foliage a little ways away from the path. You prefer, at the moment, to deal with an annoyed Geralt than a chronically curious Jaskier who questions you nonstop about what’s wrong with you until you get so fed up, you spill all your secrets.

There’s no river or stream where Geralt decided to stop and let Roach chew on some grass near his feet, but there is a small sized pond. You don’t wander too close to Geralt, keeping your distance like you always do, instead choosing to sit against a tree while pressing your knees hard against your chest to try and control the pain.

Jaskier and Ciri approach only seconds later. Jaskier immediately walks over to Geralt and starts talking to him about his new ballad, even though they’ve all heard it five times that morning so far, and Ciri comes to sit down next to you.

Ciri leans close to your side, whispering, “How high is the pain so far?”

You show her your hands, shaking visibly, causing Ciri to frown. She grabs one of your hands and holds it in her lap soothingly, rubbing her thumb across the back. “I also feel like throwing up.”

“That might have to do with the fact you didn’t eat dinner,” Ciri tells you as a matter of factly, side eyeing you pointedly. “And breakfast.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say dismissively. You add, in a sad attempt to use comedy to cope with the pain, “I've made mistakes.” In response, Ciri doesn’t laugh but she hums with a small smile.

You sit silently for a few moments before you turn to Ciri and say, “I think, maybe it would be a good idea to throw up a little bit.”

Ciri shakes her head doubtfully. “I don’t know, Y/n.”

“I should at least try it,” you tell her, shrugging. “It might help get rid of the feeling, even for a little bit. Maybe hold me over until Jaskier can convince Geralt to stop for another break.”

Ciri looks like she thinks it over before she nods reluctantly. “I guess that makes sense.”

You and Ciri stand together, seeming to grab Geralt’s attention. When he begins to approach with Jaskier in tow, you turn sharply to give Ciri a questioning look. Ciri nods understandingly, sending you walking away speedily in a random direction, not bothering to spare either man a glance. You can feel the burn of Geralt’s golden eyes on the back of your head as you retreat into the forest, but you don’t slow your gate. You hear Ciri explain that you had to pee and silently thank her for being such a good liar.

You only stop walking when you feel you’re far enough from Geralt’s impressive hearing won’t catch the pitiful noises you’ll inevitably make. You notice that you’re near a fallen tree and you decide you can use it for support. Walking over to it, you drop to your knees and put both hands on the horizontal trunk. Waiting only a few seconds for the nausea to bubble up, but it obviously doesn’t when you want it to and you figure since Geralt’s been in a bad enough mood all morning, it’d be best to make this experience as quick as possible.

Opening your mouth, you stick a single finger to the back of your throat, gagging instantly. Except nothing comes up. Your breathing increases tremendously though and you do feel the sickness set back in quickly after. You gag twice more without any help from your fingers before you feel your stomach finally give a wet gurgle. Gagging once final time, a yellow liquid comes up. It's warm and slippery but there's hardly any of it, barely a handful.

You were right earlier, it seems, because you do feel better, if only a little. Your stomach finally settles and the sickness isn't burning the back of your throat anymore. You kneel on the ground for only a few more moments, making sure you’re done. You stand when you deem yourself stable enough, wiping the slime from your lips. Your turn to make your way back to your companions before you’re left behind, ignoring the quivering that spreads from your hands to your stomachs to your thighs.

As it turns out, you couldn’t quite ignore your trembling libs and apparently, neither could Jaskier. He stopped you multiple times on the long and agonizing walk, asking if you were alright, and every time you told him you were fine every time. Jaskier clearly didn’t believe you if the increasing number of worried glances were anything to go by.

Your condition, as the day drew on, only grew worse and it was getting bad enough to cause a crease to appear on even Geralt’s brow. You barely make it to midday before Geralt is suddenly deverting from the path and leading the group through the woods to a new destination. It confuses you and Ciri, causing you to exchange glances, but you both choose not to say anything.

The new destination, as it turns out, is the nearest civilization that actually only takes a little over ten minutes to get to. It’s a small backwater village with barely ten families, only a single story inn, a quaint little tavern, some food vendors scattered around in the center of town, and, thankfully, a stable for Roach. Surrounding the village is nothing but yellow fields on one side and the blossoming forest on the other side, which is an odd combination in your opinion. Obviously, given it’s miniscule size, there’s nowhere to sightsee — not that you do much of that anyway, thanks to Geralt’s workaholic attitude — so you all immediately head off in the direction of the inn.

Outside, Geralt hands you and Ciri some coin. “Go inside, book a room–”

“–preferably with two beds,” Jaskier jumps in easily.

Geralt, ignoring him, continues, “–while I drop off Roach–”

“–and I look for work at the tavern.”

Ignoring Jaskier even harder, Geralt wonders, “Think you can manage that?” You side eye Geralt at that because you know he’s talking about you, but it doesn’t sound melicious like you would’ve expected from him. In fact, it sounds to you like his tone leans more towards slight concern than anything else.

Shifting around on your feet, you look down and fidget with the sleeves of Ciri’s cloak that is darker now at the ends from you wiping away the sweat from your face all morning.

Ciri takes the coin bag from Geralt. “We will.” When Jaskier and Geralt walk away, you follow Ciri into the inn. She turns to you as soon as you walk in, saying, “It might take a bit to get the room. Do you think you’re able to stand and wait just a little bit long before resting or maybe you should sit down?”

You shrug even though you feel like your limbs are weighing you down. Ciri gives you another doubtful look of the day and tells you to just have a seat while she gets a room. You watch her walk over to the innkeeper before your brain catches up.

You do as Ciri said, walking over to a stool that sits next to an empty table and drop into it, your feet dragging the whole way. Resting your head on the table feels more relieving than it should, but you really don’t have any more strength left to think about it or to keep your eyes open any longer. They droop and fall close.

It feels like only seconds that you sit there before a hand grasps onto your shoulder. Your eyes snap open, vision blurry with rest even though you feel like you got none at all.

“Sorry,” Ciri apologizes. “The innkeeper was trying really hard to negotiate a price.”

You shake your head drowly. “Didn’t really notice.”

“Well, the room is paid for now so we can go settle in,” Ciri seems overly happy about that but maybe it’s just for your sake. “You can change cloths before Geralt and Jaskier get here. Dinner won’t be served for hours so there’s plenty of time for a nap before that.”

You nod, agreeing. It does sound nice and it would be good to change cloths so you don’t leak while you sleep.

You stand to start walking with Ciri to your room, but as soon as you’re upright, a flash of cold air whooshes through your body and you immediately feel light headed. Stumbling, you accidentally knock over your stool and another next to you. Ciri grabs onto your arms to help you stay standing but it’s no use. Your knees buckle anyway, vision going dark just as you feel yourself collapse into Ciri’s arms.

You wake up slowly only because you still feel like absolute shit. Your arms feel stiff and your legs feel as shaky as they have been all day. Your stomach is tying itself in knots and the nausea is back.

Your eyes actually don’t hurt from the dim light at your left, but you close your eyes anyway in hopes of going back to sleep.

“Oh, you’re awake.” You open your eyes at the undeniable sound of Jaskier’s relieved voice. You have to turn your head to actually see him, noticing as you do so that there is a cool damp cloth on your forehead and that you are laid above the covers. Jaskier, when he comes into view, is kneeling in front of the fireplace, setting two more pieces of wood in the dwindling flame. “That’s good. I was getting a bit worried.”

Not wanting to move your head more than you have to, you just look where you can from this certain angle. Thought, to be honest, there’s not much to look at. You are obviously in the room Ciri paid for. It’s small like you expected from a one story inn. There’s a chair in the corner by the fire with Ciri’s cloak thrown over the back of it. The dark blue curtains over the windows are closed and it would be drowning the room in complete darkness if it wasn’t still daytime out. But, given the bright orange light coming seeping through, you suspect it’s not going to be much longer. Also, there’s a small table next to your bed with a lit lantern sitting on it.

“It’s on low,” Jaskier says suddenly. You look at him questioningly. Jaskier smiles softly, saying, “The lantern. I put it on low so it didn’t hurt your eyes.”

You guess he must have seen you eyeing it.

“You’ve spent an awful long time without food,” Jaskier tells you, almost as if you didn’t know that yourself. But, still, you grimace at that thought of food. “Yes, I imagine food really doesn’t sound all that appealing given the nausea and cramps. But, alas, you must eat something.”

You wonder for a moment if Ciri told them about you but you shove the possibility away violently. You know she wouldn’t do that. Ciri had promised when you first started traveling with Geralt that she would never say anything if you didn’t want her to. But, then again, it’s not a real surprise Jaskier knows. You’ve heard many tales of Jaskier’s many sisters while he’s traveled with you. He’s grown up with many women in his life, and while you are no woman, that doesn’t discourage your body from acting like one.

Jaskier walks over to you with a wooden bowl in his hands. Jaskier sets the bowl on the table next to the lantern. He says, jokingly, “It’s no rabbit stew, but it’s good, I suppose. Do you think you can sit up a small bit and have some soup?” You can groan minutely and turn your head away in response. “Come on, cub.”

You pause at the endearment. It's not new but it is surprising in this situation. Jaskier uses it often with you and Ciri given your high status Cintran blood. But, he’s never used it all those times he’s lectured you and Ciri about wandering around towns without supervision or when you swear when he’s around or when you and Ciri sneak away with his lute for some of your own concerts. Which means Jaskier is clearly not mad at you for keeping your secrets or at least he’s really, really worried about you.

“It’s been almost an entire day since your last meal. There’s no way you’re not starving.” Still not willing to force food down right now, you swallow around your dry, swollen feeling tongue. With a scratch to your voice, you ask about Ciri with as little words as possible. “Out. With Geralt, getting some… products.”

You don't miss the obvious way Jaskier stumbles. You have no doubt what word he skipped over in his explanation and it confuses you. Usually everyone just assumes–

Geralt comes clambering into the room with Ciri right behind him. Unlike Geralt, who has that permanent scowl on his face, Ciri is smiling brightly.

Ciri comes over to sit down next to you immediately, setting down the loaded bag on the bed in front of her. “How are you feeling?” She asks. When you hum noncommittally, Ciri hums back empathetically. “Well, we went into town and look!” Ciri exclaims, pulling out some black pants from the bag. “We got you some new pants. They might be a little big but I know you don't mind that,” Ciri tells you, smiling a little too cheerfully for something so simple as a pair of pants, but you smile back anyway.

Ciri goes to say something else, no doubt still praises about the pants, but Geralt interrupts her harshly. “Are you going to explain what happened or not?”

Jaskier’s head whips around from where he’d been looking on at you and Ciri. “Geralt,” he hisses.

Geralt is unbothered and continues despite Jaskier’s warning. “Why were you keeping secrets?”

“Geralt, is this really the time?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Jaskier fully turns towards Geralt, hands resting on his hips. “Oh, I don't know, Geralt, maybe it’s because he’s sick!”

“She lied,” Geralt growls.

You sigh, resigned. You were expecting it but it still makes your belly sink with ice.

Your eyes flash open when the bed shifts violently. When you do, you see that Ciri has jumped up on the bed, towering over Geralt. “She?!” Ciri screeches indignantly, catching everyone off guard. “He is a boy!”

“Ciri,” Jaskier says gently, attempting to calm the obviously furious girl.

From behind her, you, as well, do your best to appease Ciri, even if you would really much rather crawl into the mouth of a Kikimore and never come back out. “Ciri, it’s fine…”

“No, it’s not. Do you even know how hard it is for him to be seen as who he is?” Ciri says, voice still booming. Geralt looks rightfully surprised. “He did not spend years publicly reinventing himself to be mistaken as a she!”

When Geralt tries to speak, Ciri doesn’t let him have the chance. In fact, Ciri raises her fists and starts hitting Geralt, saying multiple explicit ‘fuck you’s. Geralt, in turn, blocks her attacks but doesn’t try to stop her while Jaskier rushes over to calm her down himself.

The fighting only stops when you curl in on yourself from a painful cramp. You barely have enough sense to roll over to your side to vomit over the side of the bed. The puddle is even smaller than the one in the forest.

Ciri breathes heavily, crossing her arms while scowling that rivaled Geralt’s own. “Get out.”

“Ciri,” Jaskier tries, but Ciri moves away from Jaskier and tells them to leave again, more steely. Jaskier sighs. He puts his hand on Geralt's arm and shoves him towards the door. You have no doubt that Geralt allows Jaskier to move him, knowing that there’s no physical way Jaskier is strong enough to move him on his own. Jaskier turns back towards Ciri as he stands in the doorway. “Try to get him to eat, alright?”

Ciri doesn’t give any sign that she’s heard what he’s said or that she’s going to follow his direction. With that, Jaskier leaves and shuts the door behind himself.

You sigh from your fetal position, far more relieved to have them leave than you feel you should be. Actually feeling comfortable in this position, you’re reluctant to move. “You didn’t have to do that,” you tell Ciri, deciding not to face her.

“I did,” is all Ciri says in response. She sits in bed behind you, doing so slowly and softly so as not to jostle you. “You want some sleep?”

You hum, thinking. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Yeah, I suppose it wouldn’t,” Ciri agrees. “You can eat and change your cloth when you wake up.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you joke lightly.

Ciri agrees again, shifting and wrapping her arms around you, curling up behind you. “I’ll be here when you wake up this time.”

You smile, shutting your eyes. “I’ll hold you to that.”

(NOT MY GIF)

Main Blog // Other Side Blog

You wrap your arms around him and squeeze as hard as you can without causing pain to shoot up your arms from your injuries. Sam returns the favor and hugs you close to his chest. You can’t help but wince when he unknowingly presses into a large bruise stretching across your stomach, but you don’t want the hug to end so you try to hide it. Sam obviously sees right through you and let’s go, although he doesn’t stop touching you. Sam’s hands rest on your arms gently, trying not to press on the bruises and cuts that are covered in bandages.

“Don’t ‘Sam’ me. You are an absolute moron,” Sam tells you, pointing a finger. Your mouth falls open in offense and try to say something but he interrupts you. “Did you think jumping in the line of fire was really your only option?”

“...Well, it seemed like the only option at the time.”

“Jesus,” Sam swears. “You are just as bad as Steve.”

“I am not nearly–”

“Don’t you dare try to deny it,” he tells you. He reaches up with his hand and shuts your mouth for you. “You know it's true,” Sam says it without judgement, like he knows how much people’s lives mean to you.

“Agent L/n,” SHIELD Doctor Vivienne Becker is suddenly standing next to you. She addresses you with a comfort as if talking with an old friend. Or maybe with exasperation of talking to an annoying younger sibling.

“Vivienne,” you greet back with a much lighter tone than her. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Dr. Becker says, “but you're covered in contusions, lacerations, and just had two bullets removed from your femur and scapula.”

You tense when you feel Sam shift next to you, feeling his gaze on the side of your face. You aren’t even looking at him and you just know that his eyebrows are raised in scorn. “Oh, so you were shot, too?”

“Uh.”

“Fortunately, there was no damage done to any vital organs or major arteries.”

“Well, at least that,” Sam mumbles.

“However,” Dr. Becker interrupts pointedly, “there was foreign residues found on the bullets that were designed to attract special bacteria.”

You sigh. “And now it’s in my blood.”

“Correct and we’ve figured out how to neutralize the effects, but…”

“‘But’?” you wonder, whining. “‘But’? No, why ‘but’, Vivienne?”

“But,” Dr. Becker continues, “the treatment is in the form of a syringe.”

You suddenly sit up straight. “A shot?!” you scream, eyes going wide.

“A shot?” Sam wonders completely cluelessly. “What’s wrong with a shot?”

“It is one shot and it will be injected into your right shoulder,” Dr. Becker informs you before walking away to let you wallow in self pity.

You groan and throw your head back because fucking goddamn it, this would be your luck. A shot right when you get back off the field.

“What’s wrong with a shot?” Sam wonders again. You sigh heavily and took at Sam with your eyebrows raised. He looks at you blankly for a few seconds before he breaks out into a smile. Sam aws at you, causing you to purse your lips. “Are you afraid of shots, baby?”

You click your tongue and say, “Sam,” while growing more annoyed with his sugar sweet smile.

You ignore him (whether it’s because you love him or because you have no idea how to respond to his question, you don’t know), deciding instead to work out some stress by looking at anything other than the needles that seemed to be everywhere you look now.

Sam actually has to reach over and stop you from wringing your hands dry. “Come one now, baby,” he untangles your hands and intertwines one of yours with his. You aren’t able to help just melting under his smooth and caring voice. “It’s just one shot, it won’t be that bad.”

You hum doubtfully, squinting your eyes at him but squeeze his hand harder. “I hate shots,” Sam nods understandingly. “Shots suck. Shots can go fuck–”

You don’t get a chance to finish your rant because Dr. Becker walks back over to you and wonders, “Are you ready?”

Taking a deep breath and releasing it, you squeeze Sam’s hand to reassure yourself. “I suppose,” Dr. Becker doesn’t say anything, turning to grab the syringe. You bite your lip to steal yourself.

“Hey,” Sam says softly. You look at him and he shows you your interlocked hands. “Here, you can squeeze my hand to help you through it.”

“You sure?” You crack a smile, feigning hesitation. “I might break your hand.”

Sam hums dismissively. “I’m sure I can bear it.”

Dr. Becker turns back to you with a syringe in her hand. You tense at the sight of it but Sam moves closer, the warmth of Sam’s body on your leg enough for you to let go of your lip.

Dr. Becker pinches your arm and starts to inject you. Your face contorts and you wince in pain. While you’ve been punched, kicked, stabbed, and shot many times, it doesn’t make this any easier. You have to squeeze Sam’s hand as hard as your weakened state allows you. And it may be a bit of an ego boost but Sam winces from your grip.

In reality, it only takes about ten seconds but to you, it feels like a lifetime before Dr. Becker pulls the needle out. “Alright, all done,” she tells you, putting a bandaid where the dot of blood is. “The medicine should take effect immediately, so you need to rest up as much as possible. You can get your crutches from Nurse van Wieren when you’re ready,” she tells you and then leaves.

You look up at Sam to see him with a small smile on his face, looking back at you. “What?”

“Now, was that so bad?” he asks you.

“Yes,” you conclude firmly. You watch Sam try to hold back his smile, but failing miserably. You click your tongue at him, half heartedly hitting him in the chest. “I’m serious. Feels like a rod going through my arm.”

Sam chuckles but says, “Sorry, it’s just…” Sam shrugs. “I didn’t know that about you.”

He says it warmly. It reminds you of the first time you two had met almost a year ago when Sam had tested your name on his tongue right in the middle of HYDRA 2.0. You and Sam exchanged phone numbers right after the whole mess had been cleaned up.

“You know now,” you tell him. “So what?”

Sam shakes his head. “So nothing. I like learning new things about you, even almost a year into our relationship,” and isn’t that the sweetest goddamn thing? You are the luckiest guy in the world. Sam’s tone goes comically serious. “No, seriously… you want me to kiss it better?”

“Shut up,” You blush. “And help me down,” Sam smiles, holding out his arms for you to grab. You put a hand on his shoulder, balancing yourself. Wincing as you shimmy your way off the bed, you favor the leg that didn’t have a bullet in it.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, “thank you.”

“It’s no problem, baby,” Sam coos while gripping onto you. “And be prepared because I’ve got a special dinner waiting for you when we get home.”

You snort and scrunch your nose. “Dinner? It’s 10 o’clock.”

“Then, it’s a midnight snack,” Sam tells you sassily.

“It’s not midnight, either.”

“Humor me.”

You sigh. “Fine, it’s a late dinner snack.”

“Alright, then,” Sam concedes. “Let’s go.”

Nurse van Wieren hands you your crutches as you and Sam leave the medbay. You smile and thank him before he walks away.

Sam’s words finally hit you as you get into the hallway. “Wait, waiting for me? How did you know I was coming home today?” you question, grabbing your boyfriend’s attention. You watch as Sam’s face begins to flush. You squeal. “Oh my god! Did you make SHIELD tell you where I was?”

Sam doesn’t respond for a few seconds before, “...Maybe.”

“Aw,” you coo, causing Sam to scoff.

“Yeah, don’t let it go to your ego, L/n.”

“No, but you have to tell me,” you tell him, stepping into the elevator before Sam does. You stand side by side, staring at each other with matching grins on your faces. “Is this special treatment reserved for me alone… or do you keep tabs on Steve and Nat, too?” as you expected, Sam doesn’t answer and you can’t hide your laugh. “That’s sweet,” you praise. “I might just have to tell Steve and Nat about it.”

“Don’t you dare!” Sam warns, though the smile on his face doesn’t disappear.

“I won’t, I won’t,” you agree without a second thought. “I know Steve would be indignant for about a week and who knows what the hell Nat would do to you,” you and Sam share a laugh, Sam’s gaze falling to the floor while you continue to stare at him because god, you love that deep, breathy laugh he does. You feel like you’re a goddamn king everytime you manage to get even a single giggle out of your boyfriend.

“Hey,” you say, grabbing Sam’s attention. He turns to you, looking extra adorable with his hands in his pockets and that tooth rotting smile on his face. “I think I might take you up on that offer to kiss me better.”

This causes Sam to hum smugly, his grin growing bigger and even more sugary. “Really?” Sam says slowly while he places his hands on your arms, rubbing up and down tenderly. He’s obviously being careful of your wounds. Noticing this single detail about Sam and how he is around you, you’re struck with how much you love this man standing in front of you.

Sam places a chaste kiss right over your bandaid before he rests his chin on your shoulder. “I love you,” he whispers against your skin. You feel your heart grow warm at his words.

“I love you, too,” you breath. “Now, let’s go home so you can kiss me better. And before dinner gets cold.”

(NOT MY GIF)

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You’ve known Steve and Bucky for a while now. You first met Steve back in 2012 when you got the barista job at Honey Bean, right after he was defrosted. Steve immediately took you under his wing because he saw one of the customers picking on you.

You were then introduced to Bucky two years after that, in 2014, after his liberation from HYDRA. After seeing how much Steve liked you, Bucky sort of followed in Steve’s footsteps. And maybe there’s a trend going on behind the scenes because it’s only another year before Bucky and Steve show up one day with Wanda.

You were immediately entranced by her. You’re barely able to ask her what her coffee order is, let alone ask her out.

“Stop picking on him, Buck,” Steve tells him, smacking Bucky’s arm before he smirks. “You wouldn’t want to crush his spirit, would you?”

“You done?” you wonder, annoyed.

“Sorry, sorry,” Steve sighs, not losing his devious grin. “We just think you would make a Wanda-ful couple.”

Bucky cackles and you give them both a sarcastic laugh. Then, you frown, telling them, “Yeah, I’m spitting in your drinks,” you walk away and give your co-worker Steve and Bucky’s drink orders before going back to the cash register.

You’re not able to understand why you can’t get Steve and Bucky’s irritating ass comments to stop flooding your mind. Part of your brain is telling you that it’s because they are 100% right, but you quickly tell your brain to shut the fuck up because there is no way in hell that you would ever let those two hardheads know that. You know as a matter of fact that they wouldn’t let you forget it even in the afterlife.

You really like Wanda and really want to ask her on a date, so that’s probably the reason you choke and chicken out every time you tell yourself that this will be the moment you ask Wanda out.

You aren’t able to dwell on anything because Wanda is suddenly in front of you with an empty cup of coffee and you are completely cut off guard.

“Oh!” you say loudly, catching almost everyone’s attention. You mentally wince because you know that now Bucky and Steve have ears on you and Wanda from whatever queer corner they’re in.

“Um, what do you want?” you stutter, before you realize how that sounds. You shake your head and correct yourself. “I mean, how may I help you?”

You see Wanda take a deep breath before she blurts out, “Is there something wrong with me?” and your eyes bug out of your head. Air whooshes right out of your lungs and you stop breathing, mouth hanging open.

“W-what?”

“Or are you just shy?” she asks.

“What are–”

Wanda interrupts, “Why won’t you ask me out?”

You pause, feeling like your head is about to explode. You say, “Huh?” and stare at Wanda blankly.

“Why won't you ask me on a date?” she wonders again, slower this time but it still takes a while for your brain to process. Meanwhile, your heart is going absolutely bonkers in your chest and you can’t bring yourself to say anything.

Wanda sighs and begins to walk away, muttering, “Or maybe you aren’t as in to me as I thought you were.”

In a blind panic, you yell, “No!” and Wanda turns back to you with her eyebrows raised, looking hurt. That might be because she thinks you’re broadcasting the fact that you’re not into her in front of the entire coffee shop, even though that couldn’t be the furthest from the truth. You correct yourself, shaking your head. “I mean, wait.”

Wanda hesitantly resumes her position in line, much to the chagrin of some of the customers. “There isn’t anything wrong with you,” Wanda cracks a smile. “I just act like an imploding sad sack of blubbering word vomit because…” you sigh, looking down at your hands. You tell yourself that you can’t back out now, you’ve come this far. You look straight in Wanda’s eyes and tell her, “It’s because I really like you.”

Wanda doesn’t say anything for a second and you feel like you’re facing death itself. Then, Wanda smiles sweetly, handing you her empty cup of coffee. You furrow your eyebrows while looking down at the cup.

“I really like you, too, Y/n,” Wanda tells you before walking away. You watch her leave, Wanda’s brown hair clichely flowing behind her as she waltzes outside of Honey Bean and away from you. You’re not able to look away from where she stood.

Until the next customer in line got your attention. You stutter and tell them that you’ll be right with them, turning away from the growing line at the register. You walk off to the side and hold your breath with your eyes closed while you clenched the empty plastic coffee cup. Letting out a breath, you look down.

There’s a number right under where you wrote Wanda’s name. Your breath immediately leaves your lungs again for what felt like the millionth time that day. “Oh my god,” you whisper to yourself.

You can’t even believe what is right in front of your face. You don’t even react when Bucky siddles up to the counter with Steve in tow. Bucky leans on his elbows with his head on the back of his hands, Steve coming up beside him and leaning against him. They both have on failing-at-trying-to-hide-the-fact-that-we-knew-this-would-come-true-and-it-is-coming-true-so-now-we’re-smug smug smirks.

You gasp, “Oh my god,” louder this time.

“What?” Steve wonders coely.

You don’t know how to tell them, so you just end up blurting it out. “She gave me her number,” you tell them. “Wanda gave me her number!” Bucky and Steve immediately erupt in cheers. They share a celebratory kiss over your suddenly blossoming love life and you roll your eyes at the display.

You throw your head back and groan, but in a good way. Once again, you say, “Oh my god,” in a squealy voice while doing a little mini jumping-up-and-down dance.

“It’s about time!” Bucky tells you.

Steve follows it by telling you, “We both knew it. We knew you and Wanda would make a great couple.”

“Woah,” you scoff, waving your hands around to control the celebration squad. “Me and Wanda are not a couple. We haven’t even been on a date yet.”

You pause and bite your lip. You look down at the coffee cup in your hands and clutch onto it even tighter, rubbing at the numbers. You know that between the conversation and the fact that she gave you her number, it could only lead you to believe that she was interested in you and wanted you to call her. You tell yourself that the only thing to do was to put her number in your phone (you wonder if you’re being a bit of a buffoon pining so absolutely hopelessly).

And you do exactly that. You pull out your phone and enter in Wanda’s number. You wonder if it would be weird to put an emoji in Wanda’s contact, but after a few seconds of thought, you decide against it for now. Then, you wonder if it would be weird to text her now.

You reluctantly ask Wanda if she would like to meet up at a bakery place near where she lives. You keep it casual, playing it cool. You do your best to show you’re interested while not being creepily overbearing.

Wanda texts you back and tells you that she would love to go to the bakery with you, telling you that you can meet up around noon on saturday.

You smile and squeal to yourself one last time before deciding that you should get back to work. You put your phone back in your pocket and look up to Steve and Bucky because you planned to thank them for ever bringing Wanda her in the first place before you notice that neither Steve nor Bucky are holding coffees.

You smile.

“Oh, you guys finished your coffees,” you point out casually. “Did you like them?”

Steve and Bucky nod their heads in unison. “Of course we did, you made them,” Steve tells you as if it’s a well known fact.

“You are the best barista there is,” Bucky adds with a genuine smile on his face.

“That’s great!” you tell them. “Yeah, I spit in them.”

(NOT MY GIFS)

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