#captainsweeklychallenge

With such a public court case and the subsequent car accident, every news-viewing American knew who he was and knew a little too much about him. The problem was that while you’d sat in your own office in the Big Apple, trying to put yourself in Andy’s shoes, you watched a person you once knew in a new light and while your now-ex kept bringing up the commentary of obvious guilt, you couldn't help but sympathize with the collapse of his life. It was too easy for you to slip into the heartache of a family stalked and ruined, a person left so completely exposed and judged by everyone that you’d trusted. It was, after all, why you’d left New York. It was a miracle you’d gotten your fresh start, the Barbers certainly didn’t. You could picture it, but you never speculated, never stayed on the channel when the case came on. Every fiber of your being couldn’t look at him, not because of what broadcasters said but because of the too real memories of a love lost.

You were the one that ended the stare-off, your foot aching more with every passing second. Jaw clenched and lips pressed into a line, you were just about to convince yourself that there was no way Andy Barber, your biggest competition in college and your first love, was outside your new home… and then you heard him say your name. God, it always sounded so good coming from his mouth. The last time you’d heard it he was asking you not to go, drunk outside the bar you’d had your first date telling you that what you two had was bigger than the careers ahead. He didn’t see the tears streaming down your face once you turned away to get in your cab. Maybe, after all this time, he thought you didn’t hear him scream your name.

When you opened your eyes Andy was there at the bottom of your driveway on that little town street, brows knit together with concern as he locked his car that was perfectly parked on the steep driveway like he’d done it a million times. “Don’t look so worried about me, Andrew. You’re the one who just nearly crashed a bajillion dollar car.”

He laughed, despite noticing how you’d used his full name like you two were standing on opposite ends of a courtroom- and maybe you were. But that laugh, the warmth of it wrapped you up and you were thrown back through the magic and memories of that romance once more. The plaid shirts you stole in the middle of the night to run to the kitchen for a midnight snack. Your skin was covered in goosebumps despite the heat as you remembered how Andy had peeled you out of his shirts to warm you back up with his skin on yours, the metal of the fridge pressed to your back. Every moment with him was crystal clear in your mind the smells of autumn and taste of cider and beer when your tongues met, the feeling of his beard scratching your thighs, and... It took his hands on your chin to pull you out of the pain and want of those happier days that you’d ignorantly run from scared of settling. “Are you sure the box didn’t land on your pretty little head?”

The sound that passed your lips was practically a damn purr, you mentally cursed him for pulling it out of you with familiar ease. Opening your eyes to look up at him, you wondered if the emotions of that tumultuous relationship sat at the forefront of his mind too and if it was written on your face. “Nope, definitely landed on my foot.” Swallowing at the sandpaper in your throat, you looked at the swollen discolored mess. “You didn’t have to see if I was okay.”

“First, yeah, I did. It’s been fifteen or sixteen years since I’ve seen you. Second, I saw you hop over here clutching your foot. I can’t leave a wounded deer on the side of the road, can I?” His hands were stubbornly placed on his hips and that’s when you noticed the pale indent of a missing wedding band on his left hand’s ring finger. His blue eyes followed your gaze and he rubbed at the spot like he’d not gotten used to the absence of the cool metal. A similar thin, faded line from a discarded engagement ring on your matching finger. “I guess we’ve both been through it.”

Offering him a small smile, he helped you up and as Andy’s strong hands clutched your waist you wondered if he’d remembered just how ticklish the space between your ribs and hip were when he was careful to not touch you there. When you grabbed at the perfectly tailored coat trying to hop around the man let out an amused grumble and scooped you up. “Aren’t we a little old for grand gestures?” Your head rolled back as you laughed and he turned to get you through the door without smacking your injured foot on the frame. “Jesus are you hitting the gym and benching thick girls, Barber?”

The laughter filling the house was only amplified by his unceremonious dropping of you onto the love seat. The crooked smile looking down at you made you melt. That look, it was a drug that you’d had you first taste of in a mock trial, when he knew he’d won his case and looked back at you in the seats behind him, taking notes. “Other than the box on the lawn, are there any more?”

“You don’t have to..”

“But I’m going to and I want to. Besides, you can’t.” Andy was already pulling off his coat, loosening his tie, and buttoning his shirt before you could protest... not that you were capable of it. He bit his lip when he caught sight of you drinking him in. The slacks and the undershirt that clung to him. “Like what you see?”

“It’s rude.” You stated matter of fact, gesturing to all of him. Andy raised his hands as if to apologize, heading to the door to get to work. Closing your eyes, you could perfectly picture that one picture of the two of you at your graduation. Inadvertently, you mumbled to yourself. “I miss looking that damn good.”

If your eyes hadn’t been closed maybe you would’ve seen the way he froze in the doorway, biting his tongue before stepping out. It wasn’t until you heard the hefty thunk of a box on the hardwood floor that you peaked your eyes open. A clear sheen of sweat glistened on his brow and you bit your lip, the heat running over your body was hardly from moving boxes or the summer heat pouring in the front door. “Please tell me the rest of it isn’t boxes of books, Legal Beagle.”

Scoffing at the old nickname you sighed, “Nope, it’s just bottles of wine and liquor and pictures. The remnants that I didn’t want to break or misplace in the moving truck that came a few days ago.”

“You’ve been here for days and you didn’t call.” His tone was surprisingly wounded.

“Well, Legal Eagle, you didn’t exactly shoot me an email either.” Andy’s eyes burned into you when you used his old nickname back, but you couldn’t decipher what that look really meant. Before you could ask or apologize he was turning back out the door, leaving you there to chew the inside of your cheek raw.

Andy made quick work of the boxes in your car while you nursed your bruised foot trying to unravel the feelings bubbling to the surface of your mind in memories and regrets. When the front door shut, you couldn’t even bring yourself to look up, eyes fixed on the bruise while you thought about the emotional bruising you’d caused each other. It wasn’t hard to really know why he hadn’t emailed, nothing funny in the broken pieces you bother were left to pack up and move on from. When had you started crying? Cheeks wet when his hands cupped your face, forcing you to look up at him, thumbs brushing the tears away. “Hey, if it hurts that bad maybe we should take you to get it looked at.”

Reaching up you grabbed Andy’s wrists, but you found yourself hanging there, incapable of pulling him off of you. Instead, your thumbs brushed across the inside of his wrists just applying a little bit of pressure before skimming your hands up the firm muscles of Andy’s forearms. Each of you tried to translate the signals the other was putting off. If it hadn’t been for the haze of being so close to him, maybe you would’ve had the sense to pull away. With a sniffle and apologetic smile you shook your head ‘no’- or at least to the best of your ability when he was still comforting you like no time or pain had passed between the two of you. How long had you been holding on to this first love?

This close you could see it, the little creases of age at the corners of his eyes and a little salt and pepper in his beard. Despite the way those lines seemed to crease his face like words of chapters you’d not been privy to, his blue gaze was unchanged and every welcoming detail of them looked at you like you hadn’t changed either. The moment his knee pressed between your thighs to your core you realized just how needy you were, whimpering and parting your legs as he lowered himself onto you. His hands moved down your neck to your breasts and a firm squeeze and the brush of his thumb over your nipples elicited another breathy moan from your lips. How long had it been since anyone had looked at you like that? How long since you’d gotten off?

“Andy,” The weight of his name on your tongue was dizzying, but the way he said your name back was just as heavy. You pulled his mouth to yours and he parted his lips to wrap around  your bottom lip. His beard scratched at your chin, sending shivers down your body.

Picking your hips up from the couch, you satisfied the ache between your legs on his thigh. Smirking against your lips Andy pressed harder into your core. “You missed me.”

“To the bone,” The confession passed your lips and all you wanted was for him to stay, the thought alone so wholly selfish. Your eyes fluttered open, scared that it had been poison on his own tongue, noticing how he’d pulled away ever so slightly. “That wasn’t fair.”

Though it seemed like a poor apology, Andy was already shaking his head to reassure you that it wasn’t. That quiet, it wasn’t a trait in him you recalled. His hands moved down your frame and he pulled you onto his lap, careful to let you move your legs to straddle him and not hit your foot along the way. “Did you think I wouldn’t care that you were coming back?”

Before you could answer, he stole your air again. Andy’s lips pressed to your neck and he hummed as he tasted the salt on your skin. Then he found the spot he used to always mark, that spot that always seemed to peak just a little out of your favorite courtroom blouse. Gasping, your nails scratched softly at his sides. He took it as a hint and pulled off his undershirt, throwing it at the boxes that had his tie, coat, and button up. “Andrew. I’m trying not to assume anything here but…”

He looked up at you so sweetly that it erased whatever logic you were trying to pull on him with that one dopey smile. “Tell me this isn’t home.”

“I..” Your mouth bobbed open and you looked at him with wide eyes. Did he mean Boston or this moment on his lap like pieces were falling into place since you’d left.

Squeezing your thighs in his palms he repeated the question. “Tell me this isn’t home. Tell me you don’t remember the promise you broke. Tell me those boxes with pictures don’t have the pictures of us all over this town.” Was this a call out? If he hadn’t been looking at you with such heartache you would have looked away. “Maybe I asked for too much and maybe I was just as scared as you were about the future I saw for us… but tell me we didn’t just find our time.”

The tips of your fingers moved up his chest and settled at the sides of his neck, innocently tugging at his beard. Leaning forward you pressed your lips to his forehead and slipped off of his lap though your whole body seemed almost unamused by the cruel neglect of his warmth, your legs staying draped over him and one arm still linked through his. Looking over the boxes you found the stack with the bright blue sharpie, ‘winter clothes’ sprawled across the top as it sat halfway between the bottom of the stairs and the closet by the front door. “Grab that one.”

Andy untangled himself from you with his fingers burning across your skin, reluctantly slipping off the couch to grab the box. When he came back with it you noticed a hesitant look on his face. His eyes moved to his discarded clothes and you sighed and pulled him back to the small couch. “Want to tell me why you’re avoiding my questions?” Ignoring him you peeled the box open and moved a few things out of the way while you pulled out exactly what you knew you needed. “I don’t break over honesty anymo-”

Words seemed to escape him the moment he saw his scarf from the first time he’d gone home with you to meet your family. He didn’t do the meet-the-parents charade and the relationship had been new, but yours had welcomed him in and made him want his own one day. Andy never thought he’d settle with someone else, but that’s exactly what he’d done when you didn’t call, write, visit, or move back… he’d settled. That little trip was a memory he’d revisited often in the torment of waiting for you to come back. The pair of you had spent most of the holiday either studying for exams on your twin sized bed or pouring over old photographs from your childhood. Now you could practically see the memories flooding back as he reached for the scarf and brushed his fingers over the soft fabric.

So, it was your turn for a confession, an apology even. “I remember it all. I miss it all. We may have been young, but we weren’t wrong. No one knew me like you did. No one ever has. We grew up, but you lingered here.” Your fingers combed through his hair and tapped his temple before moving down his body to his sternum, tapping at his pulse, “... and here.” Andy covered your hand in his, drawing your fingers lower to the buckle of his slacks. Your cheeks went red and you nodded a ‘there too’ without being able to form the words.

“Do I get a hundredth chance?” The hope in his eyes was mirrored in your own, your racing heart no longer felt like a warning sign.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” A shaky laugh passed your lips. Andy wrapped his arms around you, tender, before he laughed too, his body shaking against yours. “Oh, this is a prank? Well, damn. That’s embarrassing.”

Andy looked at you and lunging forward, mouths ricocheting in a deep kiss, tongues hungry for the lost time. Only when you came up for air, the pair of you now buried in the couch cushions, did he speak up, “You deserve all the hell I’m going to give you for waiting this long to let me love you.”

“Does that mean you’re going to stay and rub my skin raw with this beard?” Squirming under him, the pair of you frantically reached for every clasp and zipper until there was nothing left between you. His lips moved down your frame and you surprised yourself, pulling him back to your mouth. “You’re staying with me Andy Barber.” Your fingers wrapped around his length and pumped him, brushing the head of his cock against your slit, already dripping. “You’re staying so beard on thighs can wait.” Pressing your mouth back to his as you continued to tease him you whimpered, not even needing to say it but recalling how much he used to love hearing it. “I need you. Don’t make me wait anymore. I need to feel all of you. I miss-”

The begging and pawing, he couldn’t take you slowly, not yet at least. Andy rutted himself into you, growling when your tight wet heat wrapped around him. He buried his forehead into the curve of your neck as he thrust into you over and over, savoring the way you gasped at his every slight movement. Andy worshiped the new softness of your frame and none of this felt like strangers trying to figure out how to get each other off. His thumb brushed back and forth across your swollen clit and, unlike anyone else, you stuttered his name as you got closer, clamping around him, hips bucking off the couch to meet every deep thrust as he slowed his pace to draw this out for both of you.

You loved the look on his face, the way he bit his swollen lips between a million kisses left on your sweaty skin. The way he lost focus when you said his name and how he gently grabbed your chin as you stuttered his name again; so close, so wet for him, so ready to finally get off. Permission, your legs shook and you whined as he kept you right there at the tipping point, building himself up to his own orgasm while he edged you. “Come for me, lover.”

The words were so welcome, just enough to push you over the edge and quickly chased by you begging him, “Stay inside me.” Andy throbbed inside you as you pulsed around his cock, your fingers digging into the meat of his thighs as your orgasm didn’t seem to stop, the room seemingly silent as the echoing thrusts and calling out of names tapered out to the sticky collapse of you both tangled up on the love seat.

Your eyes closed, exhaustion settling in, and Andy watched you breathing. Softly, Andy nuzzled his nose against the top of your head. “If you fall asleep, I’ll fall asleep.”

With a hum you nodded, reaching up to his hand that had settled on your breast, patting it, “Would that be so bad?”

More to himself, voice so low you almost couldn’t hear him. “I can’t lose you again. Can’t lose anyone else.”

“There’s probably a lot we can’t talk about, but this isn’t a dream, Andy.” Pivoting just enough to look at him you held his hand and kissed his chin. “I can’t lose you again either. I already lost a foot.”

There it was, that cheeky little smile. You both sleepy laughed and you watched his body relax. “You almost cost me my car.”

“I couldn’t run away again, even if I wanted to.” Crinkling your nose you smiled, brushing your finger over the smooth part of his skin where the missing ring marked him. He did the same. The scarf hung over the back of the sofa and looked up at him. “I don’t want to, if that wasn’t obvious.”

His blue eyes closed, his smile went soft, and Andy Barber fell asleep in your arms. If someone would have told you that this would have happened when you left New York you would have run back to Boston and spared the pair of you a world of pain. Though you were scared of bridging the gaps caused by the many roads the pair of you had taken to get here, you shut your eyes and smile at the reality that all those roads led home- to him. Like kintsugi everything seemed hopeful, incapable of breaking like the last time, stronger and made beautiful through the healing time of quiet apologies, verbal and physical.

It had been him all along, no denying it. Neither of you would ever have to ask the other to stay again.

All Content Tags: @tom-hlover​

 After a few minutes, you go back in, stepping through the metal detector for the second time that night. The security guard waving you through the double doors. You see the tall bald doctor walking to Mike’s room, his white coat fluttering behind him. “Hello,Mrs. Weiss how are you tonight."

 You shrug, “same as always, Trent."

God, you hate the way that he looks at you, that glimmer of pity just beneath the surface of his eyes, but you can’t blame him either.

 He opens the door, motioning for you to go first. Mike sits up when he sees you.

“Hey Sweetheart.” He smiles, reaching for you.

The monitor beeping faster as his heart rate increases. You feel yours twist in your chest when his hand drops to the bed. 

 You blink away burning tears before you turn to the doctor. “Can we go soon?”

You study his stethoscope around his neck, it's engraved now, his wife must have it done for his birthday. Your stomach churns, you’ve spent too much time here, they shouldn’t know you by name, know him at all.

 “-rehab services, our social worker has a list if you want.” Shaking your head slightly, you realize that Trent’s been talking to the both of you.

 “No, I don’t need rehab, I can do this on my own, with her." He declares as he takes the blood pressure cuff off his arm.

No, Mike. Take the help please, I can’t do this, you’re running me down, baby please take the help.

The words repeat in your head as you watch the dancing green line on the screen flatten when he rips the heart monitor off, the stickers pulling at his chest hair. You can feel his glassy bloodshot eyes pleading with you. 

Tell him to stay, tell him he can’t come home until he’s sober. For good this time. 

“Let’s go home,” you say to the blank monitor.

He sleeps during the ride home, his face turned towards you. You pull up to your house and turn the car off. He looks like your Mike when he sleeps. The Mike that you met in college, the guy who made a powerpoint titled "The benefits of dating Mike Weiss" and presented it in front of your entire English class. The guy who managed to convince the professor that it did fall under the assignment guidelines. The Mike who sweet-talked the couple selling your dream house into lowering their price so that he could afford it for you. The Mike who danced with you at two in the morning when you spent the night studying for boards. 

 You get out, slamming the door startling him awake. You don't look back as you go into the house. Ignoring the mess in the living room, you go straight to the bathroom. Turning on the shower, you undress tossing your clothes on the floor. You can hear him cleaning. You lean against the shower wall, letting the hot water soothe your body.

 The door opens and he hesitates for a moment before coming in. Through the foggy shower glass, you see him straighten your beauty products on the sink and put your clothes in the hamper. He takes a fluffy white towel off the rack and sits on the toilet. Waiting. You turn away and finish your shower. The patter of water drumming beneath the defeaning silence.

When you can no longer hide under the fading steam, you rest your head on the cooling tile and sigh, gathering the remnants of your fragile strength. Turning off the water, you step out. Words pry your lips apart and you swallow them back down, not ready to have that coversation, not with him gazing at you with such longing that it hurts, adding another crack to your already broken heart.

He stands in front of you, gently drying off your body as you stare at the tattoo on his chest. He takes your vanilla and honey-scented lotion in his large warm hands, massaging it into your skin.

Making his way to your legs, he kneels on the floor, looking up at you. “I’m sorry baby, it won’t happen again.”  

 Mike, you said that last time, the time before that and you’re going to say it the next time.

 He puts his forehead against your stomach, “I promise, I’ll get help,  I can’t lose you," he murmurs.

Promise to not promise anymore, you wish you would say, but you don’t say a lot of things to him.

 You look up, whispering, “i"m tired." Tired of this, of everything that comes with loving him.

 “Give me another chance.” He kisses your soft skin and you close your eyes, letting him push you back against the shower door. “Let me take care of you.”

 He moves your legs apart, separating your folds with his fingers as he licks up your center. You think about the first time he overdosed as he circles your clit. Small gasps escape your mouth as he kisses you and memories of the fight you had when he brought drugs into your home flash with every swipe of his tongue. He makes you feel good even though he's the root of your pain. It's not enough, god it's not nearly enough, but you cling to it, desperate to feel something other than the aching numb biting at your skin. Arching your back as he grips your hips pulling you closer, the pleasure building, fighting with heaviness in your chest as the nights you spent looking for him play in your mind.

The flashes of tonight when you found him shaking on your living room floor play behind your eyes on a cruel loop as he sucks your clit into his mouth. Your orgasm hits unexpectedly, you cry out bending over as you push against his head. You see a drop of water hit the hand clutching his soft hair.

 You lean back as you catch your breath, the tears rolling down your face until you’re sobbing. He hugs you murmuring excruciating promises in your ear, slick words that trap you in his orbit. Caging you to him, reminding you that you're his life raft. But you're drowning too. Mike can't—wont—see that you're sinking faster than him.

He picks you up and lays on the bed. Exhausted, you curl onto your side and he covers you with the dark turquoise blanket before wrapping his arm around you. Clinging to each other as you fade away into a quiet slumber where you can dream that he's still the man who promised you the world.

 Three days later, you come home early to catch him snorting cocaine off your favorite book in the hallway closet. You make him leave the next morning, heart shattering as you ignore his pleas to let him stay. It hurts, your fingers tremble every time you decline his phone calls and delete his texts. You refuse the flowers and gifts sent to your office, not wanting to see his handwritten promises scrawled across the notes.

 The nights are worse. You can distract yourself during the day. But when it's just you, in the bed that smells like him, your mind replays all the good memories, the times he made you laugh, the moments he made you fall in love, made you feel love. Your resolve weakens. The need to be close to him seeping in your veins. Always a glutton for punishment, you spray his cologne on your wrist before you go to bed, wearing his favorite shirt as you sleep with your arms around his pillow. 

 Five days later, you’ve cried yourself to sleep when loud pounding at the front door wakes you up. You look at your phone from the nightstand. Missed call after missed called. Desperately sweet messages fill your screen. You stare at the ceiling, willing yourself to stay in bed. More knocking. Your name whimpered, then cried.

"Don't go," you whisper. Don't go. You don't know if you're talking to him or yourself. You're unable to explain how you found yourself at the front door. Looking through the peephole you see Mike leaning against the screen door. 

 Don't open it, you tell your soft heart, go back to bed. Just go to sleep.

 You look again, his head is down, shoulders slouched, sighing, you open the door. “What are you doing here? It’s 3 am.”

 His face lights up as he stumbles toward you, slurring, "surprise… I have a gift for you.” He drops a small teddy bear at your feet. “You wouldn't take my other gifts, so here."

You inspect him as he sways before you, his stormy blues eyes are lined with that familiar shade of red, his maroon shirt unbuttoned, one suspender off his shoulder, the alcohol wafting off his breath.

“Goodnight Mike”. You start to close the door when he stops it with his foot.

“Please, baby, I- I don’t want to be alone." He cries, the pain in his voice shattering the last your already broken heart. “I’m trying baby, would you stop loving me if I-“ He swallows, looking down.

If I were stronger, I would tell you no.

You won't. He needs you. And you need him, not this version of him but you need him regardless.

 You lean up, putting your hands on his face. “I can’t, I wish—"your voice cracking, “—but I can’t,” you whisper against his lips. Kissing him softly, a faint smile on your face when his eyes stay closed after you move back.

 You take his hand and lead him into the bedroom. You watch as he undresses, when he opens his mouth, you shake your head. Not tonight, Mike. Pulling back the covers, you lay down, rolling onto your side, the bed dips as he gets in. His hand slides across your stomach and he pulls you to him. "I missed you."

Tears leak through your closed eyes. "Missed you too."

 If I were stronger, I would let you go.

 But here I am, and here we go again.

 “This is the last time, Mike,” you say as his arm close around you, lips finding your shoulder.

"Al-almost everyday Steve," you stammered. Even after all these years, Peggy still claimed a special place in Steve's heart and he didn't miss any opportunity to bring it up. His words and his compass were a constant reminder that you would always hold a second place in his life. But you didn't mind though, because for you, Steve was the only one there could ever be.

"And how many times have I asked you to stay away from the compass?" he asked. "Many t-times Steve. W-what happened?" you asked, clearly nervous with Steve's demeanor.

"Why did I find my compass covered in red wine on the couch?" his voice dripping with anger. This was news to you as well. You had never touched the compass, knowing it would upset Steve. 

Shaking your head, you tried to reason with him, "Steve this is the f-first time I am hearing about this. I-I promise you I had n-nothing to do with this. Should we ask F.R.I.D.A.Y? M-maybe she caught something on tape?" 

"Do you honestly think I am that dumb?" Steve snapped as he stepped further, "Her tapes have been wiped clean. And only you have access to that, don't you? Ms. Head of Security?"

"Steve, please believe me, I did no such thing. Let's go to my office and we can figure this out," you pleaded with him. 

"YOU disgust me. I can't even look at you. Make sure your stuff is cleared out of my apartment by tonight," he stormed out after the command.

You couldn't just stand there and watch the love of your life just breakup with you. And so, you rushed out after him, hoping to knock some sense into his arrogant brain.

In an attempt to get away from you, Steve headed to the party, with you almost near his heels. 

"Steve," you called out to him, not wanting to create a scene, but he had already entered the party and was walking towards the bar near the pool. You almost sprinted to catch up to the man. When you finally did, you placed a small hand on his shoulder and whispered, "Steve please l-lis… ARGGHH!"

In an attempt to shake you off, Steve had pushed you. Now in his head, it was a light push, but for your petite body, the impact of the push threw you into the deep-end pool.

You fell with a loud splash. Panic gripped you as you kept sinking into the water, flailing your arms and legs around as you miserably tried to swim.

Almost instantly, you saw yourself being enveloped by a ball of red light, lifting you out of the water and onto the edge of the pool. 

As you coughed up water, someone covered you with a blanket and started rubbing your back. You looked up to see Bruce's reassuring face. 

"Good job Wanda," you heard, was it Clint? "Thank God this went better than the wine accident."

"Sshhhh," you guessed you heard Wanda shushing him.

"What do you mean by 'wine accident'?" Steve asked with authority. 

"Uhhh," Clint fumbled for words as Wanda looked guilty, "Wanda and I were practising her powers in the living room when, by mistake, she kinda spilled red wine on your compass. So yeah… But it was closed…"

Steve fumed at Wanda, and received a silent apology in return. 

You slowly stood up and started making your way towards the apartment, wanting to clear out your stuff before the night. You had never thought that Steve would get physical with you. All this time, you had patiently tolerated his temper, telling yourself that he led a hectic and violent life and that he probably needed an outlet to blow off his steam. But today he crossed a limit.

Steve saw you walking out, and stepped in your direction, hoping to follow you to the room. But he was stopped by Natasha, "Don't," she said sternly, "Let her go. She doesn't deserve to be treated this way."

…

It had been a year since that fateful day. You had quit your job at Stark Industries and moved out to California, where you were working with an international tech company. 

Everyday, without fail, you had received a red rose, with a single note - I am sorry, written in Steve's almost illegible handwriting. It didn't matter where you went, you always received a rose, which you dutifully gave to your old neighbour, always managing to make him smile his toothy smile.

Today, however, you received a small package with the rose. Without a second thought, you threw the package in the garbage bin on your way to work. But as you entered your office, you found the same package on your desk. Again you threw it into the dustbin, immersing yourself in your work. 

You reached home quite late, exhausted with day. As you entered your modest apartment, you found the package sitting on your living room table. Exhaling loudly, you picked it up and threw it out of the window. 

"It's not nice to throw away somebody's gift," Steve said quietly from behind her. 

"Yes but it is nice to throw your girlfriend into the swimming pool," you snorted, not surprised to see him there.

"I am sorry," he spoke with remorse, "I didn't mean to. You didn't deserve to be treated like that." "Wow, who managed to knock some sense into you?" you said with as much sarcasm as you could muster. 

He blocked your way, careful not to touch you as you were headed for your bedroom. "Just open this once," he said, revealing the real box from behind him. "No. I don't want to have anything to do with you," you said crossing your arms.

Sighing in defeat, Steve opened the box to reveal his compass. "I hope this shows you how serious I am about you, about us. Here, open it," he offered you the compass. 

"No," you again replied with defiance. 

He huffed as he pressed the button to open the compass. Now, instead of Peggy, it was your image that adorned the metal inside. You raised your eyebrow at him as he looked at you expectantly.

"Do you really think this will make up for everything you have done?" you asked him incredulously. "No, I know it won't," he hung his head shamefully, "but at least it's a start. I am sorry. I know I hurt you, but please give me a second chance. I…" he sighed, "I need you."

Stepping away from him, you headed for your bedroom, "I honestly need time to think about this Steve. You cannot just expect me to move on with you like nothing happened just because you are sorry."

~

She turned hearing her name. He was standing there with a smile. 

"Professor Rogers" she returned the smile.

"Call me Steve now you are graduated. I'm no longer your professor doll." He said winking at her. His words only made her a bit uneasy but she ignored the feeling and forced a smile.

"Can we go drink a coffee or something?" He suddenly asked, making her shocked.

 "Professor … I don't think it's appropriate" she tried to reject his offer but he only scoffed.

"Not appropriate? You think I'm gonna slip you out of my fingers without a graduation treat huh? And besides, I already told you I'm no longer your professor so stop worrying." He joked and placed his hand on her waist, dragging her along with him.

To anyone, it would be a friendly gesture but she was feeling a bit uncomfortable with her professor's friendly behavior. 

They walked inside the café ordering their coffee. His smile was only increasing her anxiety.

The server came bringing their order. Y/n was busy thanking the server to notice what her professor was putting in her cup.

She didn't feel anything while drinking. He kept talking to her about her future plans even though they were about to get ruined by him.

She felt dizzy when they were walking back to her dorm. Her vision got blurred, at first, she tried to ignore it thinking it must be tiredness. But then her steps got unsteady.

"You okay?" Steve asked. She tried to reply but before she could reply her vision got blacked.

~

She woke up feeling her head throbbing with pain.

The last thing she remembered was walking with Steve. Then what happened to her, she didn't know.

80's jazz music playing in the background brought her out of thoughts.

She looked around to see the unfamiliar room. But the familiar smell there was telling her where she was.

Suddenly the door of the room opened.

"Oh, you woke up" Steve greeted the confused girl with a smile. She hated seeing him smiling as if everything was normal.

"What happened? Why I am here" 

Steve sat on the bed with her. "You fainted sweetheart. So I carry you here" 

His hand cupped her face lovingly which she instantly jerked off.

Steve frowned at her behavior. "I need to go now," she said and tried to get up. Steve grabbed her shoulders.

"You're not going anywhere," he said as if he was talking to a kid.

She should've gone with her instincts and rejected his offer.

She started to panic "please...please let me go" her breaths were getting shorter, tears started to leak out of her eyes.

"Hey look at me. It’s for your safety. You’ll see. Now breathe with me." 

She started to breathe with him.

When she got a bit normal he shook his head disappointedly. "You were such a good girl in the class, what happened now huh?" His stern expressions got softened seeing fear in her eyes.

"Hey, don't be afraid of me babe. I love you, I won't hurt you."

He cupped her face and kissed her forehead to calm her but she only cried more with the contact. 

"Please…" her pleading whispers weren't anything for him. He had made up his mind, she was his.

"If you keep repeating this I'll have to punish you, so stop with this pleading unless you want to be punished," he smirked. This all was funny for him but there her mind was exploding thinking about what he would do with her.

She never knew Professor Rogers, the man who inspired her the most would be this person. She wanted to slap that smug smile off of his face but she knew the consequences.

It was a pretty dress - a lace bodice held up by thin straps, flaring out at the waist into clouds of white tulle that swish around your body like waves and gently brush the smooth skin of your thighs a few inches above your knees. He liked the way that your face brightened when you’d pulled those shoes that you’d had your eye on earlier that week out of the black box that he gave you. You liked it, too - saw your beaming face in a mirror and couldn’t believe that you were the same person staring back at yourself. The shine of your skin was all because of the man standing behind you, arms coiled around your middle and chin resting on your shoulder, the thick hair of a dark blonde beard tickling the sensitive skin of the bare column of your neck. Even though you squirmed in his arms as if you wanted him to let you go, you didn’t - not by any stretch of the imagination. He met your gaze in the mirror and as much as your subconscious tried to fight it, a wide grin split your face in half. 

He likes it when you smile like that - when you aren’t scared of laughing too loud or loving too hard, completely unabashed in your actions because you aren’t worried about what other people think. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from your face when you’d slipped into those heels as if they’d always belonged on your feet and walked around with the poise of a woman who was born to wear clothes like these. He’d escorted you down the stairs with your hand in the crook of his elbow and a proud smile on his face that made the bees in your stomach come alive, basking in the attention and slamming against the sides of your body excitedly. You looked but more importantly felt like a princess.

That was at the beginning of the night. 

Now, you’re running, the gusts of wind cracking whips against your wet cheeks and stirring the torn skirt of your dress every which way as the city that never sleeps stares at you from below. The winking lights of the buildings full of people who don’t want to go home glare at you almost mockingly as your bare feet slap against the cold tile. The way that you wind through the foggy paths of confusion distorting the rational thought in your brain is not dissimilar to the way you dodge and weave through the clusters of people in your way, frantic apologies spilling from your lips out of courtesy when you step on a toe or spill a drink. 

Spill a drink - you look down only to be reminded of the ruby-red Cabernet Sauvignon that tarnishes the once-beautiful dress on your body, a color that reminds you so acutely of your own blood that you have to look away, feeling the acidic tang of bile rise in your throat. You can almost smell the pungent odor of copper, certain that you must be imagining it until your eyes zero in your hands - more importantly, the rivulets of red that stream down the fingers of your right hand that is clutching your dress. 

You’d dropped your glass when you’d found out what he’d planned - shattered it, really, but that distinction wasn’t important when you first broke it, nor is it important now. The tiny shards of glass stuck in your skin are no longer the primary source of your pain; rather, that comes from the way that your heart fell out of your body and exploded right there on the floor between the both of you. You’d left the fragmented pieces where you were standing right before you ran away, not even attempting to salvage any of the broken parts before you took off. That coupled with the weight of the heavy ring on your left hand, your chest feels as if it’s caving in on itself. 

You’re getting looks now, low whispers ripple through the well-dressed people who’ve all come here just for you. They try to point discreetly, raised eyebrows and bewildered glares following you as you continue to sprint away from the flocks of party-goers. Running away won’t solve anything, but when he put that ring on your finger you knew you weren’t ready - far from it. So yes, you’re delaying the inevitable but that’ll have to be good enough for now because you’re not at all ready to face your boyfriend.

And then the perfect opportunity arises. You round a corner so quickly that you almost sprain an ankle, only to stop short when you see what’s in front of you. Not only is the area around it completely free of people, but the pool is also fully empty. With a cursory glance over each shoulder, you decide that it’s your best option - stay in there for as long as possible because if someone merely looks out in this direction, they’ll assume that no one is here. You know he’ll find you eventually but you’re panicking, your anxiety bubbling up over the low flame of the anger that festers deep within your body.

So you dive in as gracefully as you can considering your attire but in your haste, it’s only when your hands break the surface of the water that you remember that they are still covered in blood. The thought is left up in the air as soon as your head is underwater. Opening your eyes as best as you can in the chlorinated abyss, you see a darker corner of the pool right across from you where the light doesn’t reach and push yourself towards it, hoping that it’ll conceal you for the time being.

Once you get there, you risk coming back up to take a breath, pushing the water out of your eyes only to scream when your vision is less blurry. A shadowy figure is crouched right in front of you, weight on his toes and elbows resting on his knees with his hands clasped together. Droplets of water roll down your skin and your dress hangs heavy on your body: you’re definitely soaking wet but underneath Steve’s hot gaze, it might as well have been the contrary - the fire burning through his eyes would be more than enough to dry you off.

Your eyes roam his form slowly as you swallow down gulps of air, noticing how not a single strand of his long, slicked-back hair is out of place. His black three-piece suit might as well have been taken straight off of the rack, black tie straight and jacket unwrinkled, and his beard looks as soft as it was when you ran your fingers through it an hour ago. 

The sole indication of his ire is the clench of his jaw, that telltale muscle ticking rhythmically like the hands of the clock on the timer of his patience. 

The left side of his face is shrouded in shadows, but it does nothing to hide the curve of his full lips, a smile that feeds the anger in the pit of your stomach. If you had been asked three days ago - hell, an hour ago - how that smile made you feel, you’d have said that it was the smile of the man who hung the stars in your sky, the man who would steal the moon for you if you asked. 

But that was then. And this is now.

“Found you, sweetheart,” he rumbles, his words fueling his smirk and causing it to spread into a full-blown grin. You’re paralyzed in shock, thinking that you would’ve had more time to mull over your predicament. This doesn’t hinder him; he repositions himself to kneel, giving him more leverage to grasp you underneath the arms and pull you out of the water. You don’t even have it in you to object as he hauls you away from the pool, your fighting spirit exhausted and cold in the crisp night air. You pull your arms into your chest to try and stave off the biting wind as Steve carries you bridal style - you want to laugh at the irony - towards the nearest sofa.

Setting you on his lap - wet dress, be damned - his blue eyes examine your face which you just know is a mess. The makeup that you had so flawlessly applied is more than likely to be streaming down your face, but you don’t care because you’re staring right back at the man you thought you knew with a gaze emptier than the hole in your heart.

“Lemme see your hand, baby,” he murmurs and you acquiesce, handing it to him while your gaze focuses in on the single red rose tucked in the pocket of his jacket. It’s beautiful, to put it simply. It’s so soft, drops of water pooling in between the maze of its petals and caressing it as it trails down the thornless stem. You’d know - you were holding that rose approximately thirty minutes ago as your bridal bouquet.

Steve curses quietly as he turns your hand back and forth in his, the light catching against the shards of glass embedded in your fingers and your palm. His eyes snap to yours and you can feel the reprimand on his tongue before he even opens his mouth, but you have no voice left to stop him so you shake your head instead. Thankfully, he does as he’s told and keeps it to himself. His body is emitting heat in rolling waves and you can feel it seep into your skin, a brief shudder running through you as it does. You instinctively lean into it, momentarily forgetting about his deception. His arm drapes over your body, and he can feel his heart swell at how much you still need him.

The silence stretches between you two for a few minutes longer, your eyes stinging, the harbinger for your tears, until Steve clears his throat quietly. 

“You ran away from me,” he states and without even looking at him, you know that he’s staring at you because the weight of his gaze is almost as crippling as the ring that weighs down your whole body. 

“I did,” you reply simply, running your tongue over your lips. 

“I thought you loved me,” he says softly which makes you so desperately want to roll your eyes. 

“I do,” you speak slowly, unsure whether or not you even believe the words coming out of your own mouth. You know that it’s easier this way, telling him what he needs to hear to placate him. But he’s still perplexed - you can tell because his eyes are the same teal as the swimming pool. 

“No,” he protests, hand coming to grip your waist in a way that sends brief shockwaves of pain across your body. You draw in a gasp between clenched teeth, and your own hands fly up to claw at his arms. “If you loved me, then you’d have wanted to marry me-”

“I do want to marry you,” you try to declare firmly, but you find it increasingly difficult when he keeps holding you tighter and tighter; you know he doesn’t mean to. It doesn’t hurt anymore - the aching in your chest overpowers any other sensation - but it’s more uncomfortable than anything. He’s pulled you so far into his chest that if you were an inch closer, you’d only become another part of his body. You’re still digging your nails into his forearm. “Just not like this.”

“Why not?” he pipes up, his tone deep though whiny. This makes you laugh (inside your head) - he’s almost a breath away from stomping his foot like a petulant child. Instead, his hands press harder into your sides, pushing against your head so that it rests right over his beating heart. His beard brushes against your forehead and where that sensation was pleasurable earlier, in this moment you want to run as far away as possible.

“Because we weren’t even engaged before tonight-”

“But why does that matter? We’ve talked about it - you knew this was going to happen someday-”

“That’s not an excuse, Steve,” you exclaim indignantly. Even though you’re looking right at him, you do not recognize the man holding you so close to him in the slightest. You’ve never heard of anybody’s boyfriend planning them a surprise wedding without even proposing beforehand, but you were under the impression that if you were to hear a story as outrageous as that, it wouldn’t be your life.

It’s hard to believe how wrong you were. 

He looks as if he’s about to speak before he shuts his mouth, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek before nodding slowly. “Okay, honey, okay. You’re right. Not tonight. You’re all worked up and I get it - you need time.”

Now this is the Steve you know. The heaviness that lies in the way he looks at you eases up considerably and you’re relieved that he’s finally making sense. You move to pull the ring off of your finger before he quickly places a hand over yours. Lifting your head in confusion, he looks at you with alarm etched into every feature on his face. 

“Baby,” he laughs, breathless and surprised. “Just because we’re not getting married tonight doesn’t mean that it won’t happen at all. I’ll give you the rest of the night to clear your head but tomorrow is another day. All of these people are in town until the end of the week and I’d hate to have invited them here for no reason. We’ve got plenty of time for you to think about it.”

You open your mouth to reply but he silences you with a kiss, short but passionate. His lips move against yours with pressure and urgency never before seen from the Steve who you love. You’re not sure who this man is. When he pulls away, he presses a kiss on your forehead and pulls your face into his chest so that any words that you try to speak are inaudible. 

-Try not to fall asleep doll. I’ll get the bathroom ready –he says making Y/N to open her eyes

Y/N tries to nod but she has to throw the blankets to the floor and sprints to the bathroom to empty her stomach; he rushed behind her putting one of his hands on her back making long traces over it and his other hand on her hair to have it out of the way.

-It’s ok baby, let it out. Everything is going to be fine –he says comforting her

Once she finishes, she falls back on top of his chest, exhausted.  She could barely stay awake, he needed to do something and fast. He laid her on the floor and quickly he started to prepare the bathroom. With everything set up, he undressed himself first; she didn’t have the energy enough to be on her own, he needed to be with her, and then he removed your clothes from your body. Your body was shivering and really sticky, he lifted you from the floor, put your face against his chest and then he enters the bathtub. He has to be sure that Y/N’s body is fully submerged into the water; he needs to break this fever, even if it that means being there all night long.

-Baby, I’m cold –Y/N says

-I know baby, but we have to do it –he says caressing her cheek –just a few more minutes

Chris held Y/N for a few more minutes when he felt that she was relaxed and not shivering anymore

-Baby, are you awake?

-Hm?

-I’m going to sit you so I can grab a few towels to dry us, ok?

Y/N nodded, she could barely keep herself awake.  Chris grabbed a towel and put it around his hip, and then he grabbed another for Y/N. He emptied the bath tub and put the towel around Y/N’s body and lifted her bridal style. He felt her body was lifeless; clearly she was exhausted because of the fever. He laid her on the bed and went to the closet to grab some clothes for them. Chris got back already changed and with some clothes for Y/N.

-Y/N, baby, I know you want to sleep, but I need you to try so hard to stay sit so I can dry you and put you some clothes on, ok?

Y/N nodded but she didn’t answer

-Answer me baby, please

-I’ll try –Y/N says with a hoarse voice

Chris helped Y/N to sit and kissed her forehead. He could feel her forehead hot but it wasn’t burning up like it was before. He put first the t-shirt and then her underwear and the shorts

-Baby, can you stand up so I can put this on correctly? –Chris asked Y/N and as she tried to stand up she had to grab herself from Chris’ shoulder to keep her balance. Once she was dressed, Chris took of the towel around her head to dry her hair when she almost fainted again

-Whoa, hun, are you dizzy? –He was starting to get more worried

-Not much

-Let’s sit you in the bed, ok? –Chris said sitting her in the bed and he sitting behind her.

With her hair damp, Chris tucked Y/N in bed checking her temperature again.

- Your temp is at 101,3°. Try to rest and I’ll wake you up with some soup –he said to Y/N but she was already asleep. He kissed her forehead one more time; he grabbed the tray and left the room to let her rest.

After leaving the things in the kitchen, he decided to send a text to her mom, he was worried and he wasn’t sure what was the best thing to do in that moment.

Hi mom! How are you? I arrived a few hours ago and I’m with Y/N. Chris

Chris put his phone aside and started to gather all the stuff that were on the living; mostly were all copies from Y/N’s school. He knew she was behind a few classes and he did everything he could to help her, but it seemed impossible. He was distracted reading the last essay Y/N did when her phoned pinged

Hi Chris! I’m glad you are already at home. We are all okay, missing you guys. How is Y/N? We haven’t talked much; she’s being really busy these past few weeks. When are you coming to visit? Lisa

Chris thought that maybe it was better to call her, but he knew that she was going to come over, he knew her mum really well, and right now he wanted to keep the house quiet and with no one else except him.

Yeah, probably soon, now that I’m back is going to be easier. Y/N has been trying to keep up with her delayed work from school but seems impossible. Mom, Y/N is sick. I found her running a high fever; I gave her a bath and I was able to break it, but I don’t know if I should take her to emergency. What can I do? Chris

Probably his mom was going to call him, but instead she answered it back.

Oh, how bad is it now? If it just a fever, try to keep her warm, that’s going to help, give her ibuprofen every 6 or 8 hours and lots of fluids. But if there is something else, you should consider taking her to the ER. Has she been eating well? Lisa

Chris didn’t know what to do. He hesitated on telling her mom the truth. He gave it a thought on what tell her exactly, and went to the kitchen to prepare a soup for them.

She thinks that the last time she eat something was on Wednesday. I found a cup of tea and a few crackers when I arrived today; she even mentioned she wasn’t feeling well. She has been stressed, so probably is that. It’s an exaggerated reaction to take her to the hospital? I took her fever around half an hour ago and it was 101,3°. Chris

Chris left the soup cooking and went quickly to their shared room to check on Y/N. She was fast asleep, more relaxed. She wasn’t shivering so the fever didn’t spike up, to make sure he was correct, he touched her forehead and it was slightly hot. He sighed relieved; he was able to relax a little since he found her in the bathroom floor. He went back to the kitchen to finish cooking the soup and keep the talk with her mom.

Try to get down that fever, it’s not high but still it can spike up again. Make sure to give her some food and fluids, maybe some juice or something sweet, she is probably dehydrated. It’s not an exaggeration son, you’re being precautious, if you think it’s necessary or you want to make sure she is well, you can take her. Whatever you decided kid, please let me know. Do you want me to go and help you with Y/N? Lisa

The last text his mother sent made him thought seriously the option of taking Y/N to the emergency, she fainted twice and almost again when he was changing her. He decided to wait a little and see; first he was going to try with the soup and the juice, and depending on how that go he was going to decide.

Ok mom; thanks. Don’t worry, I’ll let you know. Love you. Chris

He answered to his mom a little worried; he was going to try first and then see how to continue. He grabbed to bowls and poured the soup, his mother’s favorite recipe, two glasses, one with water and the other with juice and some ibuprofen. He put everything on a tray and went to their shared room. He found Y/N in the same way he left you before, she was fast asleep; Chris felt bad to wake her up, but she needed to eat something.

-Y/N, baby, wake up –Chris shook Y/N from the shoulders

-What? –she murmured

-I brought you soup, you have to eat. Come on, I’ll help you

Y/N didn’t have any strength to push herself into a sitting position so Chris had to help her. It broke his heart seeing her so weak

-Let me help you

-Your food is going to get cold –Y/N said not wanting to get feed up by Chris

-I don’t care, I’ll heat it up later and I’ll eat it while you rest.

Chris helped Y/N with her soup; when she ate almost half of the bowl, she stopped eating and Chris was relieved.

-Stay a little longer in that position, it will help with your food. Let me know if you feel nauseous

Y/N just nodded. She was starting to fall asleep again. Chris made sure she was in a comfortable position, and then he checked her temperature again. It was in 100,4°; that meant the medication was working.

Once he made sure that Y/N wasn’t going to throw up, he removed the pillows from her back and laid her again so she could rest. He went to the kitchen to heat up his soup and then eat in the bedroom to keep an eye on her.

It was Sunday morning when Chris woke up and noticed that Y/N was crying and shaking. He had to woke her up, he got scared.

-Y/N! Wake up!

He shook her but he couldn’t wake her. He held her and started to telling her sweet things to her ear

-Baby, it’s ok! Everything is going to be fine. Don’t worry, I’ve got you

Y/N opened her eyes, she realized that Chris was holding her and she let go the tears, she was sobbing. Chris noticed that she was having a nightmare, probably it was from the fever, he could feel her body was hot and the hair stick to her forehead because of the sweating.

When Y/N calmed down, he hand her a water bottle and a hard candy; he took that moment to take her temperature again.  It was spiking up again

-How are you feeling?

-My body is sore, I’m cold and my head hurts

-Well, your fever spiked up again

-How high?

-Well, now is in 102,2° -he hand her some ibuprofen and more water –How is your stomach?

-Better, but I’m still weird though

-It’s ok. In a couple of hours I will give you more ibuprofen, and if it still high I’ll take you to the emergency –he warned her

-Ok love, thank you

Chris didn’t say anything; he just kissed her forehead and wrapped her in a hug. He knew that she could still get worse, but in that moment, the love he felt for her was everything. It was the first time that he was able to take care of her, she never led him to see her in such a vulnerable state, but for him, it meant everything, it meant that she really trusted him.

It was almost noon when Y/N woke up and went to the living room looking for Chris. Luckily her fever got low, and her stomach got better. Chris made sure to keep a water bottle next to her to keep her hydrated. During that morning while Y/N was sleeping, he called to her mom to give her an update about Y/N, and texted her sister to let her know that he was going to pick Dodger up that afternoon

-Hey baby –Chris said when he saw that Y/N was awake –feeling better?

-Yeah, not perfect, but yeah, I’m better. What are you doing?

-I was talking with my sister; I have to go to get Dodger

-When do you have to go? –Y/N asked sitting on his lap

-After you eat lunch and go back to bed to get more rest. You are not fully healed, and you still have fever –he said touching her forehead

-I’m going to shower and then I’ll go back to bed

-Good. I’ll start cooking lunch –He said kissing her forehead

Y/N went to the bathroom for her shower. Chris took this opportunity to replace the bed sheets, put a new water bottle on the night stand, and he left her another t-shirt of his with a pair of her shorts and some underwear, and took everything to the laundry room; then he went to the kitchen and started to prepare their lunch.

After lunch, Y/N decided to take a nap, she was still tired, her body was starting to recover but still she needed to rest. Chris went to her sister’s and brought Dodger with him back to Y/N’s place.

Y/N woke up with Chris and Dodger next to her on the bed. She was feeling a lot better than the day before, Chris could see it on her face.

-What? –Chris asked her confused

-Nothing. Just… -Y/N stopped talking, and started to rub Dodger behind his ears

-What is it love? –Chris was worried again

-Thank you –Y/N sighed –for taking care of me

-I would do anything for you doll. You are everything to me, both of you –Chris said scratching Dodger’s head and giving a sweet kiss to Y/N.

Tag List (let me know if you want to be part)

The people he wrangled into the room, the dealer neighbors, and crack whores he called to his hotel room, mainly hoping to score those couple grams, willingly share with them. All sitting there with there stick-it notes to there shirts, it finely clicked in there slightly slower minds. There oohs and aahs, the sick fuck statements that filled the room left him nodding in agreement. “Guilty… he’s guilty.” 

The fire chief is not the only one guilty, Mike, oh he burned you over and over, that was how you described it every late-night you came searching for him. I’m at friends, working with Paul, got a trial I’m working. That was how he described it. Just like how he described it tonight on the phone to you. And yet, when you pulled in, the upper room door wide open to see Mikes silhouette bent over the table, and then he reared back his head, bouncing like a boxer might, his nose scrunching up. 

You’re just gonna stand there and watch me burn. 

Mike never heard you slam the car door, or go up the steps, nor did he notice you standing in the doorway till one of the dealers said something. “You looking to join the party sweetheart?” 

Mike spun around to take you in, just as you did with him. You could see it, the way his body was thrumming from the drugs. The intense high that left him jittery, with tense muscles, his biceps straining, the veins in his neck standing at attention, and his face, he took in every bit of information, filing it away in case it was necessary for another time. How had he explained it to you? Oh yes, he was hyper fixated on all details, he was smarter, faster, stronger when he was high. 

It was the crash though that would leave him half dead, so many times you had found him on the verge, but never quite crashed. 

That was just a man playing a dangerous game. It was just a matter of time. 

“No, I’m fucking not looking to join.” You snarled as you entered the room, and Mike took a step forward, trying immediately to appease you. 

“Baby, It’s just for work.” 

“Shut it, Mike, all of you, get the hell out.” 

The girls, the ones you could only begin to guess what they were here for, started bitching immediately. “Hey, we don’t know who you are lady, but we brought the goods, and we’re not leaving till were paid.” 

Your voice might have got shrill when you grabbed your purse off your shoulder and Mike tried to stop you with “Baby, come on, stop, they don’t know any better.” You ripping your purse open and yanking out all the cash you had, your anger now uncontrolled. Throwing those bills at the girl’s faces. “There! Now your fucking paid!” Mike’s hands grasped your arms to prevent you from throwing anything else, the group behind you started to band together, getting mad. The tension in the air between you and the people behind him leaving Mike the barrier. The drugged high barrier protecting each other from one another. 

“Get out! Get out! GET OUT!” You’re now screaming, and Mike looks over his shoulder, his grasp on you so tight it would bruise your forearms. You don’t notice though. Not at this point, You rarely do. 

You like the way it hurts. 

“Get out guys, I got her.” Your rage turned towards Mike, the anger seething just at him now, He got you… Did he get you? 

“Yeah man, she’s killing the vibe.” One of the others said, and Mike pushed you into a corner of the room while your screaming at him, the people passing the two of you, and the door closing with a sharp slam. Leaving the two of you alone. 

“Y/N! Stop it! Fuck, calm down!” Mike yelled right back in your face and you wrench your arm from his hold, slapping him in the face. 

“Let me go.” 

Mikes eyes snap at you, slamming you back into the wall hard enough so your head bounces off the cheap hooker motel, the one you knew he was dipping into the savings to pay for, along with the lines of powder smearing across the nightstand on each side of the bed, and god knows what else was scattered around this room. 

Mike, god he tried to make you understand, it was the only way he could work, that he could keep the thoughts straight. He loved you, so much that it was painful in its own messed up way, one that he lived for. 

Right now it felt like a steel knife was being held to his windpipe, he couldn’t breathe. The way your anger edged on hate, hate, and love was such a fine line he danced on for you. 

Sometimes you were just such a fucking bitch to him, blaming him for all the wrong in your lives. Sometimes you brought him so fucking high, it was a drug all on its own. 

High on his life for you, but drunk on his hate at the same time. 

Mike twisted you onto the bed, dropping you down, and caged you in as he straddled your, biting kisses on your lips and pining your hands above your head, growling into your mouth. “Why you always give me a hard time Woman? It was nothing, Nothing.” 

“Then why you hiding here and not in our home?” His kisses just fueling the hate simmering in your chest, even though your body pressed into him for more. Pulling his head back enough to glare down at you, still, lines of white dust were streaked across his nose, and he bared his teeth at you. 

“Cause I know you hate me for this.” 

He wasn’t lying, you did. Fuck you loved him and hated him at the same time, and it was a constant war within’ yourself. You shake your head with conviction, no no no. He caught your jaw in a hand, fingers digging into your cheeks, probably leave bruises there to. 

“I love the way you lie.” 

Then in a flurry of tugging clothes, the quick demands Mike had on you matched his passion he had discussing his case earlier. He needed you, needed to feel you clenching around him as he debated that he deserved it. Taking whatever he wanted. 

You couldn’t keep up with Mike, your body just moved where his hands pulled you apart, shoving down of your pants gave him access to your cunt, long fingers making you weak underneath him, as well as him mouth, your wrists released enough to grab onto his suspenders, dragging him back to your mouth. 

Maybe you were inhibiting him, catching that coke and whiskey taste lacing his tongue, dirty and filthy, wherever he was through the day filling you to, and his grunts plunged into you just as much as his fingering you was doing. Pulling you apart, he was always pulling you apart and leaving you in pieces. He jerked you in place, hitting against the headboard, making you cuss at him. 

“Shut up Y/N, you’re fine,” Mike said through hissing words against your neck, and your fingers scratch at his back, and grab onto his belt, pulling it, working to the front to start unbuckling it while Mike is yanking on your shirt, knocking your hands loose to lose it over your head, falling back over you to keep you scattered, unable to walk that line you followed. The one where you loved and hated him. There was a rolling of both, you loved to hate him. 

There was venom in your words you spit at him, even now as he was making you thrust on his fingers, stroking your clenching walls, your arousal slicking you ready for him to break you into the mattress, jerking his fingers from you and bringing them to his mouth, pulling away from breasts he left scattered in bites and sucked on his fingers. 

“You always taste best this way.” He groaned and you ran your hands over your face, so fucking on edge from this evening events and him, that your body was still humming to be pushed over the edge. Mike worked his belt open, opening his pants with a yank and the force snapped a suspender lose, giving him enough room now to free himself from his confines. Throbbing and angry to fuck you. 

“Mike, just fuck me already, would you?!”  He slapped at your ass and grasping it, pulling you onto him and wrapping an arm around you to keep you where he needed you. Pounding into you, just as you predicted, this time he was unhinged. Still high, still wound. What started as pain soon was a pleasure and once more you were lost to Mike. 

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck, right there.” You whined to him, scrambling to match his movements, but there was no way, you just let yourself get railed over and over till you were arching under him, fingers clutching at the hair at the back of his head. “Don’t you dare fucking stop Mike.” 

You two punished each other, push and pull at each other’s hair, scratch and claw at each other, bite at one another till teeth sink claiming into flesh. Screaming into his tense shoulder when he hit your sweet spot, over and over again, trying your best not to give him what he wanted. Cause that was all this was, his way of seeking that satisfying high once more, the one that the drugs couldn’t give him. 

Maybe this was your high? Fuck if you knew. 

Whatever it was destroying you. It destroyed you once more when you came for him. But damn it all to hell if it didn’t give you your own high, in this cheap hooker motel, clutching your destructive man to your body like he was the very air you breath while your eyes rolled back, and your jaw went slack, that look of triumph coming from Mike pissing you off in that second, but then he matched your expression, you both falling, falling into pleasured oblivion. 

Fuck you hated him and loved him, you thought as he smothered you, gasping into his neck as his arms circled around you, keeping you in against him. Mike knew he couldn’t loose you, you were probably the only thing keeping him alive still. Better then any upper and downer he could ever divulge in. Better then any bottle of alcohol he could consume. Better then any hooker he could fuck. 

You were it for him. All your loathing hate and passionate love were what kept him alive. As long as you come back for him, fought against him, loved him. Only you two could live so destructively together, tearing each other apart, and putting one another back together.

Light streamed through the heavy nicotine stained curtains as Mike’s phone screamed in the early morning, making him push off you where he passed out the night before and roll to the edge of the messed up bed. Running a hand through his hair, he dug into his pants pockets, half held up with a remaining suspender and yanked out his phone. 

“Shit, I’m due in court.” He started yanking clothes on, occasionally rubbing at his face in a distracted manner while you groan, and roll in the bed to see his back, head lowered against his hand to try and dispel the pain that came with the after-effects. Pulling up, you take the undone suspender and lope it over his shoulder which he grasped and reattached it to the front of his pants, and looked over his shoulder. 

“Yesterday is over Y/N, today is a different day.” Mike stated while moving to a stand, grabbing his brightly colored shirt and snapping it straight, dropping the straps from his shoulders to put the shirt on. “I will change, I promise. Last time.” 

You move to a stand to take over buttoning his shirt, his fingers shaking to much. Lack of coffee he would normally tell you. Today he didn’t even bother with that lie. So many were spewing from him already. Yours were steady, one at a time fitting them through the holds as you went up, till you reached the end and flipped his collar. 

“Whatever you say, Mike.” You glance around and pick up his tie, fitting that around his neck as well, and looping it around till it sat perfectly against his chest. He grabbed at the back of your neck and tilted your head to look up at him. “I fucking mean it this time Y/N. I’m sorry, okay.” How much truth did he have in those crystal blues? None, none at all. And that was okay. You were just as fucked up as he was cause his chaos kept you alive. Kept you coming back. 

“Okay Mike, I believe you. Go… You have court, and I will see you tonight at home.” Leaning up to place a kiss on his lips, your hands lifted to brush through his hair to fix it. “Go.” 

Grabbing the last of his things, and shoes, he was out the door, leaving you to gather whatever was left and abandon the night before behind. 

In the coming weeks, it seemed to change. His habits became bearable after withdrawals. The first time you experienced them, they scared the hell out of you. Now, now you were familiar with them. Hours to days, days to weeks, Mike woke up with you and went to sleep with you every night, he became an attentive gentle lover, and you two seemed happy. 

It was all wrong. Both of you pretending this way, a happy life. It wouldn’t last, it never did. He hated it, the way his eyes wouldn’t look at you anymore, but skating over you, your fake laugh over the dinner table at a joke he made, making him grind his teeth. Maybe just one last time? He loved you and hated you, he couldn’t ever leave you. But maybe it could be more bearable. Bring back your anger to feed off, feel something good again. He picked up his cell phone and made that call. 

“Yea, how much? That’s good, that’s fine. You be over in an hour? I will have your cash.” 

You wanted him better, healed, himself. But at this point, you didn’t know who was Mike really. You’ve always known him in all his other stages, and this one, he seemed so… fake. Even you were faking your way through the days to show him support. How wrong were you, to miss that destructive piece of shit that made you so mad you wanted to sink into nothingness. Which is what he was able to do for you too. Pulling up to your house, lost in your thoughts and feeling yourself suffocating as you went up the steps, and opening the door, there Mike was, and that pit in your stomach collapsed into the fire, trickling up your spine. Now, this… seeing him humming before you, his words running together to whomever the dealer was, his whole body rigid in excitement. 

This was the Mike you knew, had missed, loved, and hated all at once. Maybe you were just as self-destructive as him. But oh baby, were you ever ready to crash and burn with him. 

Mike swung around, and cursed, preparing for what was to come. 

How fucking much did he miss this? Since the last time. 

Both of you destroying each other in the worst of ways. 

Just gonna stand there and watch me burn

But that's alright, because I like the way it hurts

Just gonna stand there and hear me cry

But that's alright, because I love the way you lie

I love the way you lie