#the only part of the heart i traced was just the outermost outline

[for-fucks-sake-h]

Wanna Be Yours

Bandana wearing sub H feat. edging, love, and a deep devotion.    

Rated: M, mature || Word Count: 4.4k 

The room was dimly lit by a few candles and a small desk lamp tucked away in the corner.  You could hear his deep, steady breaths behind you as you massaged coconut lotion onto your legs, knowing the scent was exceedingly heightened for him.  

You were waiting for it - the small beg that would inevitably fall from his lips when he couldn’t take it anymore.  You’d been here before, you knew the routine.  

So you busied yourself with the lotion, pretending that your skin wasn’t on fire with need.  You couldn’t look at him too much or you’d lose all of your will power to wait for the beg.  But you wanted it so badly.  

A small whimper fell from his lips, sending even more arousal to pool in the pit of your stomach.  He was so close to giving you what you wanted you could feel it.  For as patient of a man as he was in nearly every aspect of his life, this was the only time he let restlessness get the best of him.    

And then you heard it, a breathless “please baby” that instantly sent a zip of pleasure down your spine.  

You sucked in a breath, snapping the top of the lotion closed as you slowly turned to face him, blindly placing the bottle back on your dresser.    

He was sprawled out on the center of your oversized bed, each of his wrists cuffed to the outermost prongs of your metal, wrought iron headboard.  His head was tipped back fully against the mattress, his neck strained as he thickly swallowed and his chest rose and fell intensely.  You could see the way his ragged breaths pulled on the muscles of his stomach, clenching and pulsing weakly. You noticed the way his lips still glistened, having had you sat on his face moments ago - when he brought you over the edge with just his mouth and desperate grunts against your core. Your knuckles turned white from the death grip you had on the iron prongs of your headboard, rolling your hips against his tongue as your thighs squeezed his head. You practically drowned him in your juices and yet he couldn’t get enough, happily gasping for air and begging for more as you climbed off him.

His legs were spread open - thick, creamy thighs on full display to your eager eyes.  And on even more of a display, just begging for attention, was his cock - thick and full and beautifully extending away from his pelvis. He would twitch every so often, the appendage pulsing with the blood from the rest of his body, all focused and pumping into his length.    

God, you loved him like this.  You could basically see his need vibrating off his skin, pulling sharp breaths from his lungs and causing sweat to coat the dip in the center of his chest.  You’d already edged him four times, bringing him right there, but then pulled away - letting him suspend mid-air at the start of an orgasm and watching as it fizzled away.  Each time he whimpered and cursed through it, and you left him laying there with nothing but choked cries and breathless pants until he settled himself, just to do the same torture to him again, over and over.  

Fuck, he was so good each time, taking whatever you gave.  He’d murmur how good it felt and how much he loved you, each time becoming more and more desperate.  The last edge though, you could tell his insides were burning, and his orgasm was so bottled up by that point that he was on the verge of crying.  And that was exactly where you wanted him.  

You quietly made your way over to him, carefully stepping over his clothes that had been stripped off nearly an hour ago. Black jeans, his boxers, a black and white polka dot button down, all haphazardly scattered next to the bed when you made him strip for you, hungry eyes devouring each other as each article of clothing hit the floor.  

You admired him for a moment, watching as he licked and bit his bottom lip, attempting to stifle his pants and quiet whimpers.  You reached out slowly to pet back the curl that had fallen onto his forehead, his neck straining in your direction in search of more contact.  His skin was clammy, a tell tale sign of just how turned on he was.  As if his cock wasn’t enough of a sign, twitching against his will, a dribble of precum connecting from his rasberry tip to his stomach.  It looked painful, and there was a part of you that hoped it was.  

“Being so good,” you soothed as you ran your fingers through his knotty hair.  

He mewled softly at the affection, craving anything you were willing to give him at that point.  His cock twitched harshly when your fingers gripped his roots, barely even tugging, but enough to have him moaning.  He was so sensitive when he was like this and you loved it.  The sounds you could pull from his beautiful mouth from a feather-like touch made your body pulse.  

You leaned down, your breath fanning across his tingling skin as you pet his hair back once more.  A soft brush of your nose against his cheek had him swallowing in anticipation. You kissed him softly, your mouth grazing against his sharp cheekbone until your top lip caught on the edge of his bandana. You smiled slightly at the thought of him sitting on the edge of your bed, hands holding to your hips as you pulled the black and grey skull printed fabric from his hair to secure it over his eyes.  He was so pliant; letting you blindfold him, letting you ease him into bed, letting you cuff him to the headboard, all while being quiet even though his skin was already crawling with need. He was so good.  

You kissed your way across his cheek, softly biting the side of his chin before you pulled your mouth up to his.  His breath came out in puffs, and you were so close you could tell when he licked his lips without even looking.  He stayed completely still as you grazed your lips over his, teasing your tongue across his full bottom lip, loving the way his breath caught in his throat.  You knew he wanted you to kiss him, his mouth begged for it without moving. And when you bit into his bottom lip, sucking it gently as you pulled away with it tucked between your teeth, the most broken moan caught in his throat that he immediately swallowed back down as soon as you released him.  

You smoothed your hand across his shaky chest - rising and falling harshly with a thin sheen of sweat coating his warm skin.  You turned your head to look down the length of his torso, appreciating the way his stomach clenched under your hand as you made your way towards his cock.  

“Please touch me,” he whispered, so soft you almost missed it.  

You scratched your nails along his pelvis, trailing back and forth between his laurels.  His cock jumped at every touch, extending away from his body so beautifully, just screaming for attention.  

“I am touching you.”  

“Please,” he exhaled once more.  

“Where, love?” You promoted before pressing a kiss to his chest, just above his heart.  “Just tell me where, H.”

“Please… touch my prick,” he whined softly, his head rolling to one side as if his eyes weren’t covered and he could look down at you, wait to see if you were really going to give in.

“See,” you brought your lips to his jaw, brushing over his stubble, “all you had to say.”

You tickled your middle finger across his base, slowly pulling the digit up the length of him.  It was a ghost of a touch really, but it had him sucking in a breath as his cock twitched.  And when you teased the tip of your finger around his swollen, raspberry red tip, he let out an actual moan.  A deep, tortured moan that traveled straight to your core.  

You were torturing yourself as much as you were torturing him.  

So you sucked the skin just below his jaw, swirling your tongue over his heated skin as you wrapped your fist around his tip.  He released a breathy “ahhh” as you slid down his length, his precum coating your palm just enough to glide easily.  His head tilted back as you pumped his length, and you watched as he thrashed his head side to side slowly.  He couldn’t stay still, constantly tugging on the cuffs and twisting his head.  It was like he couldn’t get enough but was so overwhelmed he didn’t know what to do with himself.  And you loved it.  

“I’m gonna fuck you,” a wet kiss to his throat, “so hard.”  

“Fuck,” he whined, his hips pushing up into your hand, begging for more.  

“Want that? Want me to fuck you, H?”  

“Yes, shit -” he choked on a moan as you bit into the meat of his right pec, before sucking a deep, purple mark into his skin.  His cuffs rattled above you, his hips flexing once more as you continued to give his length languid strokes.  “You’re killing me, love.”  You could hear the exhaustion in his voice, sleepy and completely worn out.  

You didn’t say anything, instead stippling wet kisses across his chest.  His breathing was heavy, his butterfly expanding as he desperately sucked air into his lungs, his stomach tensing on each stroke of your hand.  You traced your tongue over the outline of it - first the body, then each wing.  You could do it with your eyes closed, following the ridges and curves of his muscles by memory.    

You eased up onto your knees, carefully nestling yourself between his thighs, just admiring him.  You knew he was fucked out already, you didn’t even need to see his eyes.  His breath was shaky, his thighs twitching in time with his cock. His head was tilted back, neck on display as he waited for your next move. Your next touch, your next stroke, your next kiss.  

You ran your palms over the tops of his thighs, squeezing the tiger specifically for a moment before you eased off the bed.  You watched as his head turned in your direction, knowing that he was listening for any kind of movement that would give away what you were doing.  You imagined he had some inkling though, this wasn’t your first time after all.  So you opened your dresser drawer with ease, letting him hear the oak glide out, pause, and then glide back in place.

He mumbled something just then that you couldn’t quite make out, turning to look at him and the way he had his head turned in your direction.  You quietly walked over to him, going to stand at the end of the bed as his face stayed turned to his left, in the direction of your dresser.  

You would never get over seeing him like this.  His body beautifully laid out for you, every inch of him on display, every curve of muscle tense and begging for release.  

“What was that, love?” You asked softly after a beat, his face immediately pulling in your direction.  

His response was barely above a whisper, but eager nonetheless. “Please fill me.”

So he did know what you were getting.  

You crawled up from the foot of the bed, settling between his thighs once more. You pushed them open, his shaky breath only intensifying as he waited. He sucked in a breath through his nose when you licked his balls, and exhaled through his mouth when you gently sucked one into your mouth to roll it across your tongue. You scratched your nails down the outside of his legs, gripping right above his knees for a moment before slipping your hands to the mattress. 

As soon as he heard the cap of the bottle flick open he became a babbling mess. “Please - god, love...”  He was breathless, and moaned without even being touched.  His hips tilted, looking for the contact he was so desperate for.

You squirted some of the cold lube onto your middle finger, watching him writhing against the mattress, his anticipation at an all time high.  The guttural moan that pulled from his throat was almost violent, his head flinging back when your finger breached his tight hole. You watched his face as you slowly slid into him, admiring the way his mouth fell open into a perfect “O” before he was biting his bottom lip to stifle his moans.  He attempted to push his hips down more, a breathless “more” slipping from his wet lips.  

You pumped your finger slowly, twisting on each withdrawal before easing another inside, filling him exactly the way you knew he liked.  The sounds he made were gorgeous; deep, raspy moans falling from his open mouth on every pump.  “God… being so good for me Harry,” you complimented softly as you fucked him.  

“Feels so good,” he breathed, swallowing harshly before moaning again.  His hips moved with you, trying to push himself down onto your fingers as much as he could.  You sucked a kiss into the inside of his thick thigh, biting gingerly as he groaned.  

You shushed him softly when he whined as you withdrew your fingers, quickly grabbing the glass plug that sat beside you to squirt some lube onto the pointed tip.  His head lifted from the mattress, mouth hanging open as you teased the cold glass against him, rolling it across his hole teasingly.  

“Please,” he urged desperately.  You could see his furrowed brows above the bandana, and the deep flush of his cheeks.  If you could see his eyes, you knew they would be heavy and fluttering, completely fucked out in the most alluring way.  

His head snapped back when you eased the plug into him, groaning low in his throat as you filled him slowly, until only the pale pink flower design was visible. Just the sight of him filled like that made your core pulse with need.  He looked so good, and it was taking everything inside you not to devour him.  You were just as turned on as he was, and definitely just as needy for him.  And that was just one of the things that made your relationship special - you needed each other in the same way.  

You kissed up his thigh, gripping his base to tease your tongue across his tip.  His groan was so deep when you eased him into your warm mouth, panting and cursing as you bobbed slowly.  You teased your tongue across his length with every pulling suck, hollowing your cheeks as you lifted, your hand following up his wet shaft.  He liked it messy - soaking him with your mouth as you pumped your hand over him.  

“Shit… fuck, love,” he breathed, just before another groan pulled from his throat when you twisted your wrist as you stroked down, your mouth following right behind.  You looked up through your lashes, watching his chest heave as you held him deep in your mouth.  His head was still tipped back, his neck fully strained.  The vein that ran up the left side of his throat was so prominent it begged to be kissed.  

You sucked harshly as you pulled off him, running the tip of your tongue over his slit just to get one more choked groan from his gorgeously flushed mouth.  You crawled up his body, taking your time to suck marks into the skin of his hip, his stomach, his ribs, the curve of his chest, over his heart, his neck. You straddled him, perfectly seated in his lap as you scratched your nails down his chest and stomach.  He groaned at the feel of you, his cock tucked against your soaked core.  

You both moaned as his tip brushed across your clit on every flick of your hips, your nails digging into his chest harshly as his neck strained as his head tipped back further.  His jaw was so strong, the deep cut of it often having you mesmerized.  You couldn’t stop yourself from falling forward so that your body fully pressed to his so you could nose at his jaw, your hips still rolling the tiniest bit of friction over his length.  

His skin was on fire, and he groaned as you bit at his jaw, sucking yet another mark into his flushed skin.

“Feel okay?” You murmured against his pulse.  

He moaned softly, flexing his hips up into yours more. “I have to come,” he whimpered.  

“You will, baby.”

“I…” he swallowed again. “My dick feels like it’s gonna fall off,” he chuckled lightly.      

He was rock hard, extending up the length of his stomach as you dragged your core over the underside of his cock over and over.  You reached up to thread your fingers through his hair soothingly, gently detangling the thick, knotted locks until you could glide your fingers through it easily.  He hummed throughout, like a puppy when you pet them, soaking up all the attention and love just from your touch.  

“Gonna be good and make me come again though, right?”

He was nodding quickly with a silky moan, “Yeah, yeah. Want you to come.”  

“Mm,” you moan against his throat, “Always so good for me, H.”  

“Please, love.”  He flexed his hips into yours again.  If you just, tilted up the tiniest bit, he’d slip right into you. “Take me,” he begged. “I’m yours.”  

Heat rushed to your cheeks at the sentiment.  He may have been fucked out, but you knew he meant every word he said.  He wasn’t just saying things to get you to give in.  Whenever he was in this space, he was the most honest.  Things slipped from his mouth that came directly from his heart.  He didn’t think or second guess himself ever. He just was, and it was the most beautiful thing you ever experienced.

So with your heart beating rapidly for this stunning man, you eased up until his tip was perfectly aligned with your entrance, and sunk down on him in one go - his full length gliding into you easily, just as you knew he would.  

“Oh fuck, yeah.”  He breathed around a moan, pushing his hips up so that he was fully seated inside you.  

It was overwhelming to go from being so empty and needy to completely full, in every single way.  You circled your hips slowly, keeping him deep as you adjusted to his size.  You squeezed your fingers in his hair tighter, tugging his head back half an inch, enough to send a shock of pleasure down his spine and a groan up his throat.  

“I’m yours too,” you sighed into his neck as you slowly lifted your hips, just to deliberately drop back down onto him.    

“Yeah,” he whined, “Yeah you are. You’re mine. God, baby - fuck me. Please fuck me.”

You adopted an easy rhythm, each drop of your hips into his just as deep as the last.  You swore you could feel him throbbing - that, or you were so turned on that it felt like your pussy had its own heartbeat. Maybe a bit of both, but either way, it felt incredible.  And paired with the noises and gasped curses coming from Harry’s mouth, you just wanted more.        

You propped yourself up on your elbows, hovering over him to watch his head crack back on his neck as he tried to stifle a moan.  

“Just like that,” he groaned, his cuffs clinky noisily above you as he tugged.  “Please don’t stop. Please, please.”  His voice was broken, the beg so strong it made your skin tingle.  

You could see the way his eyebrows were raised, creasing angrily as he laid there, letting you take him for everything he was worth.  Not being able to touch you, not being able to see you, barely being able to move.  You had every advantage over him, and yet he never felt more free.  

You squeezed his hair again, getting a low hum from the back of his throat in return, just before you took his mouth in yours.  His lips were so puffy, his cupid’s bow tucking between your lips perfectly. You were the one humming as you sucked, loving the taste of him and how his lips molded to yours so easily each time.  His mouth was lethal, always giving and taking the perfect amount to have pleasure rolling across your skin.  

“Feels so fucking good,” he moans under his breath as he starts to meet your hips with his own small thrusts.  

His voice was like honey, slow moving and sweet as anything.  The words rolled off his tongue as if he was drunk, practically slurring together in one drawn out sentence.  You knew he was close.  His head was fuzzy and every moan that slipped past his lips was deeper than the last.  It just made you work your hips over his faster, wanting - needing - to get him there.      

“God, you’re so snug. Fit around me perfectly. Fucking made for me,” he babbled as your lips dragged across his cheek and down his jaw.  

You dropped your hips onto his harder, the sound of skin slapping mixing with your moans and echoing around you.  

“Mhm,” you agreed against his jaw. “Just like you’re made for me. No one has ever felt as good as you.”  

“Fuck, oh fuck - god.”  

His groans came on every drop of your hips, and when he felt your core spasming around him it took everything inside him not to let go.  You were close, he knew you were.  He was hyper aware of the way your hips rolled on his, your clit rubbing against his pelvic bone on every thrust.  He wanted to hold out for you.  

You whined his name roughly, sucking a kiss to the side of neck as you ground your hips down on his deeper.  Your pulse pounded in your ears as you lifted yourself up, nails digging into his thick chest as you fucked him harder.  “Oh my god,” you breathed as your head fell back on your neck.  

“Fuck, please, please - you have to come. Please,” he rushed, swallowing down a moan.  

“I’m so close, baby.”  

He groaned louder, the sound shooting sparks across your skin and your arousal coating his length more on every drop of your hips.  He was so deep, it felt like he could hit the actual essence of your core.  

You didn’t even think about it, all of a sudden you were falling back down onto his chest and slanting your mouth over his, reaching up to frantically push the bandana up and away from him.  His head lifted from the mattress, his arms pulled taut above him as your hands pushed through his hair, tugging mercilessly as his tongue met yours.  He was completely still except for his lips chasing yours, absorbing every ounce of pleasure you gave as you fucked him into the mattress.  Hard, deep pumps of your hips, each one bringing you closer and closer.  

You tugged his head back down to the mattress, one of your palms cupping the side of this throat as your other squeezed his hair tighter.  His lashes fluttered in a daze before wet irises met yours.  His brows creased deeper and his mouth hung open in a silent moan as he held your eyes, sinking into the mattress more, letting you take him.  

You were a moaning mess above him, entranced by the look of awe written all over his flushed face.  And when a tear escaped the corner of his eye, stippling down his temple and into his hair, all you felt was heart clenching love.  

You grazed your thumb over his wet skin, just for a choked moan to slip up his throat and another weak tear to slip down his cheek when he squeezed his eyes closed. You cupped his face, kissing him once more before resting your forehead on his.  

“Oh my god,” you breathed against his warm lips. “Come with me.”  

“Fuck,” he groaned deeply, pushing his chin up to catch your lips again, moaning into your mouth as you finally brought him over the edge with a few hard thrusts.  The choked moans that came from his mouth, the look on his face when you pulled back enough to watch him come, his tensed arms and even tenser stomach, every single part of him sent you spiraling.  

You clenched around him tighter, riding out your high as he practically cried through his.  You’d never seen him come so hard before.  He was so vocal - moaning and whining as he drenched your walls.  It felt like it went on forever. Every time you squeezed him tighter, his hips would push into you further, as if he wanted to make sure he was as deep as possible. And he was, he was as deep as he could physically be. But you were so linked emotionally - more than you ever thought was possible - and it only intensified when you were physically linked.    

You hadn’t even fully come down yet, but your shaky hands reached up to unhook the cuffs, because you knew he needed to touch you.  And you needed his touch too.  

Aching arms wrapped around you one by one, squeezing you close to his chest as you tucked your face into his sweaty neck and stroked your fingers through his hair.  His breathing was shaky for a while, slowly evening out as you played with his hair and kissed the spots you knew soothed him - his jaw, his cheek, his temple.  

You slowly lifted off his softening length, both of you moaning quietly as he slipped from you.  But he didn’t let you go far, squeezing you closer to him yet again.  You were silent for a while, listening to him breathe and holding him close.  You knew the bath that you would inevitably take together could wait a little while longer.  You knew that Harry just needed you for a little while longer.  

“I love you,” you breathed against his throat.  

He angled his face down, nudging your head with his chin as a signal to give him your lips.  And you happily obliged, kissing him slowly as your tongues met with the tiniest lick of fire.  

“I love you so much,” he murmured, kissing you once more before whispering a soft “thank you” just loud enough for your heart to hear.  

***

Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it. Don’t forget to show all the other PYPFC writers lots of love on their pieces!  

Huge thank you to my babes @andwhenshesays and @oh-honey-styles for beta-ing and being the best hype women, I don’t deserve them one bit. Check out the edit @harryspearlsx​​ made here, I’m obsessed!  

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#harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #pypfc #wby

[barnesnmrnoble]

The Fallen Leaf

(GIF not mine. Credit to owners.)

Main Masterlist - Steve Rogers Masterlist

There is a tree in New York, standing y’all in the depths of the greenery of Central Park. It’s a tree that represents the life and death of the city. With each new life brought into the world, a new leaf blossoms from a it’s branches but with each death that befalls the city a leaf floats and falls to the ground signifying its end.

Every Saturday, Steve watches her smile grow somber, her eyes become glassy with tears unshed and watches as her feet carry her away to the city. He never knows where she goes and never dares ask in fear of watching her already dampened smile fade to nothing. Until one day he can’t handle it any longer and follows her.

Word Count: 3168

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death and blood, car accident

A/n:  It’s been a minute since I’ve been able to post, school and finals have been kicking my ass so hopefully this is the start of me coming back. There should also be a new chapter of Lost in Time in the coming days! I hope you all enjoy! If you do, leave a like and a reblog or comment! I’d love to hear what you think and honestly I’m human and I need the validation. (This was based of a @writing-prompt-s post )

Read on AO3!

There is a tree, standing tall in the depths of the thick greenery of Central Park. It’s larger than life, standing high above the rest of the forest that surrounds it, from the ground looking up, it almost competes with the skyscrapers that line the blue sky. Though it’s not blue today, it’s never blue when she leaves her home for this. It’s dark and dreary, grey clouds rolling in over the city. It’s a reflection of how she feels on these days.

She remembers when she first learned of the tree, her mother sitting her down on a bench nearby it, overlooking the lake in front of her. Her mother held her newborn baby in her arms, gently calming him when he stirred in his sleep. He was only days old, but already had the biggest personality, just like her own. The wind blew around them, almost drowning out her voice when she quietly asked her mother to hold her new baby brother. Her mother had smiled at her, handing her the small infant, keeping her hands underneath her daughter’s. Her mother leaned down to push a wind blown stray hair away from her eyes, smiling as she retold the story her own parents had taught her at this age. She recited it as if it was a fairy tale straight from a story book she had on the bookshelf at home.

It had been centuries ago, when the city had started to come to life. Statues and monuments locals saw each day as they walked into their jobs, had been created then. Stories that would be known until the end of time, started here. A man, whose name she couldn’t remember no matter how many times she’d  told and been told the story --which admittedly wasn’t very often-- had come to the green space in the city. He found solace in the quietness of the forest, found peace from the world. He’d found a place to rest, a clearing in the trees, and in the middle sat a small sapling, no taller than his hip. It’s color was more potent than what he’d seen, greens of every shade covered the few leaves it had. The man pulled a small brown cloth pouch from his clothing, dipping his fingers into the soft mineral powder inside. The powder gleamed against the sun’s bright rays of light, as the man brought it from the pouch and sprinkled it around the tree.

Her mother continues to stroke her hair and finishes her telling of the story with a flourish, “And the rest, as they say, is history.” She smiles up to her mother, fascination running around her brain like a herd of wild horses. But, she can’t help but pause for a moment, her mother had told her an amazing fairy tale of the tree that grew taller than the rest in the middle of the city, but never once did she mention its significance. When she asked to know more about the tree, to know why leaves of varying shades and colors grew from its branches her mother only grabbed her small hand in hers and lead her to the edge of the clearing. “You’ll understand soon, but you must see it.”

It had truly been magical, that day, hearing the stories told from generation to generation had set her mind aflurry, her imagination running wild. Her mother had taken her to see the tree up close, leaves of every color and shade scattered across branches that never seemed to end. If she’d been counting the branches, she was sure to end in the thousands before giving up.  Some leaves had fallen from their branches, dispersed on the ground beneath it, stretching out several feet from its base and covering large roots that measured larger than herself. Her small feet carried her to the edge of where the leaves lay peacefully on the ground, she didn’t dare go further, wouldn’t have even if she hadn’t had her mother still holding her hand. It felt wrong, a deep seeding feeling of disrespect if she crossed the imaginary line in front of her.

____________ . _______________ . ____________ . ___________

She wrapped her scarf around her neck, the soft navy blue one Steve had gifted her a while back, and stroked her fingers over the fabric savoring the comfort it brought her.  It was silly, really. To think a scarf of soft fabric could bring her so much comfort on a day that was so hard, but it was what it represented to her that brought her the feeling of a warm embrace, when the cold around her chilled her to her bones. It was the representation of family, of a shoulder to lean on, open arms to fall into when the world pushed too hard, it was the representation of all that she had lost and then gained once again. She never knew a scarf could represent so much to her.

The clouds that rolled in over the sky were dark and dreary, a nipping wind biting at those who dared walk out in the world. The wind slammed against her cheeks the moment she opened the door and slid into the hustle and bustle of the city. It felt like small pricks against her skin, the ever changing pattern of the wind switching the pins from on side of her face to the other every few steps she took. She blended into the crowd around her, just another face, another set of feet moving from point a to point b, at least until she slid from the bulk of the crowd taking a side street into the park. She walked along the path she always took, a back way to avoid the people she just didn’t have the energy to be around and to bask in the nature around her.

The trees were still bare, a few leaves poking through the cold to find the sun. The winter had started to subside and make way for the spring, letting leaves grow in bunches, grass regain its beautiful green hue, and flower bloom underneath her feet. She loved it here. Her mind wandered with her feet, carrying her to the place she always found herself on these days, the tree of the city.

No matter the time of year, winter, spring, summer, or fall, the leaves of the tree always grew against their branches. It was never failing in its beauty or its life. Before she even had realized she’d taken the backpath, her feet slowed to a stop against the outermost edge of the leaves, the imaginary line forced a stop to her feet. She reached into her coat and pulled out the small picture frame she usually kept hidden away from prying eyes. The dark and worn frame, whose paint had been chipped and rubbed away by her loss and anxiously twiddling thumbs, slid to the end of her grasp and escaped the downpour of her tears. Her delicate fingers traced over the outline of the purple colored leaf and over the letters engraved forever on its skin.

Her brother’s name stared at her through the glass frame under her thumbs, twisting the grip on her heart, one that refused to let up, and hadn’t for two years. It had been a dreary Saturday morning, much like today or really everyday she walked the lone path to the tree. She’d still been living at her old apartment down in Brooklyn, her life as an avenger hadn’t started yet, she was still months out from that part of her life. Her brother had come home from University for the weekend and managed to squeeze in just enough time to have lunch with her before he had to get back, it’d been the first time she’d seen him in months.

But he never showed up.

It was a call she never wished to get, a feeling she would never wish on the worst of people. It had quite literally felt like her heart had been torn from her chest and buried six feet under for no hope of ever finding it again. “Your brother’s been in an accident.” She could hear the helplessness and fear that laced her mother’s voice, she could hear her own sobs permeating the soft air of the diner she’d been waiting for him at. She didn’t care for the odd looks she received for her wailing sobs, or the angry stares she got for “ruining” someone’s dinner. She didn’t care.

Her brothers car was a mangled mess when she passed the awful wreck. She wished she could’ve avoided it, put off seeing horrors no one should ever face, but it was the only way to the hospital. Her stomach churned and threaten to let the bile she’d been struggling to hold down up as she passed the car. She could see blood streaking the inside of the car, a gaping hole where they’d had to cut him from the vehicle.

They waited for hours in the hospital, sitting in awful and uncomfortable chairs that made it impossible it find a position to sit in that didn’t make her back ache. Her hand never left her mother’s, both holding onto each other as if it was the only thing holding them together. Though in reality, it was the only thing holding them together.

The world became darker with each passing moment of agonizing waiting, wondering, hoping, and praying. It became a macabre world of black and white, a world of muted feelings to the point of total numbness. The blank wall in front of her eyes became a seemingly interesting story being told, her eyes never wavering from the spot they’d fixated on hours upon hours ago. Distantly she heard talking, people milling about in the hospital, each one feeling much different from the last. Nurses and doctors held somber looks, though some held smiles as they came out a child’s room, or a room from which someone was still living, still breathing, where they were recovering.

One somber face stood out from the rest. It overrode every feeling of numbness in her until she felt everything all at once, letting it quite literally knock her out of her chair. His eyes were tearful, his gait slow and heartbroken. His shoes were covered in blood, his scrubs he wore didn’t look much better, streaks of red striping what once was a sky blue top into a painful red nightmare. She didn’t need to be told, she didn’t, nor did she want to hear the words spoken out into the world, because if they were that would prove their truthfulness and that wasn’t a truth she was or ever would be willing to come to terms with.

Her baby brother was gone.

The pain settled deep within her heart, never once letting her forget that day, or the feelings of guilt and sadness that she felt everyday when she opened her eyes in the morning. She’d thrown herself into work, isolated herself from friends and family, barely ate and when she did it was nothing more than a birds meal. She even begun a new job, on top of her regular job. She had to, sitting at home and wallowing in the pain was doing nothing for her so she did what she knew and kept herself distracted. Eventually leading her into the arms of the avengers, where her anger and guilt could be used as the driving motion to do some good in the world, just what her brother would’ve wanted for her.

It had taken her several months before she could even bring herself to face the tree that had once held her brothers leaf high on the branches that reached upwards until they touched the blue of the sky. Little by little she brought up her courage and pushed away the pain until the one day she stepped past the imaginary line her feet always stopped her at. She’d sifted through so many leaves, sat for hours and hours until she found the jagged edges of the purple leaf, his favorite color, that held his name. And so, every Saturday she slid out of compound at the early hours of the morning to commemorate him and his life. She went early enough to beat the crowds that lingered around the tree, mostly of those who tried to find their own leaves, they were too cheerful for her. And early enough to avoid or arouse suspicion from that of her teammates. But in a building full of trained soldiers, assassins and geniuses, one was bound to see her slip from the gates with fresh tears already making their way down her cheeks.

Steve had seen her a few months ago, slip from her room and quietly out of the compound, he’d made to ask her where she was headed but as soon as he saw her somber smile and glassy eyes, he just opened his arms for her to seek comfort in. And she did, she never told him anything more than a cop-out answer of “it’s a long story.” or “I’m okay, just a hard week.” but he was never one to push it, it wasn’t his place and he wouldn’t be able to handle it if he was the reason her smiled dampened even more than it already was.

It had been months of her tearful gaze and isolation and Steve couldn’t handle the continuing struggle he could see for her to keep her smile from fading until there was nothing and he snapped. She always left, every Saturday in the early mornings, so Steve was awake just before he knew she’d slide from her room and away for the day and followed her.

He followed her down the backpath she took through the deepest parts of the park, her feet slow moving across the dirt packed path. He listened with a heart heavier than lead as she cried with each step she took, she radiated the pain she felt outwards pushing an invisible force down onto Steve that made each step harder than the last as they rounded the last corner to the open clearing that perfectly framed the tree. He’d seen the tree before, mourned over the leafs on the ground etched with names of his past life, but it had taken him time to even make it as far as the clearing. His fear of seeing those names and coming to terms with the lives and deaths of the people he loved most winning out over his need to have the closure.

He remembered seeing the tree back in the 40s, he’d drawn it countless times in his sketchbook. Though never once did he think his drawings did it’s unmatched beauty any sort of justice. To him, he would never be able to capture the emotions, the happy, the sad, the rejoicing, and the mourning done at the base of this tree, no color palette could ever capture the unique colors that scattered the mass amounts of branches that would’ve taken years to finish drawing. Still he tried, spending many a days out sketching in the warmth of the sun and the coolness he felt when it started to fall beneath the horizon. When his mother had passed, Steve had spent less time in the clearing, pushing it away because it held the memories of his mother, the one woman in his life that meant more to him than anything, because nothing else could compare to her sweet, compassionate personality.

Her feet paused at the outermost edge of the clearing, never crossing the line from the dirt path to the soft green grass the spread from the base of the tree. He watched her grab something from the inside of her coat, her weight shifting from foot to foot and her shoulders slumping even more than they already had. Steve couldn’t handle it, he loved seeing her infectious smile and had since she’d started with the avengers. She’d been a breath of fresh air, she was amazingly capable at what she did-- he couldn’t even counted on his fingers how many times she’d saved his ass-- but even more than that she had helped everyone come down from their minds. Without her, the avengers would probably never have eaten or learned how to cook for themselves, they wouldn’t have days where they could just be people and play games and be the family they really were.

“You know, I came here after I lost Bucky. I stood right where you are, to afraid to cross into the clearing, because if I did and I found the leaf with his name on it, it would mean he was really gone, confirming just what I’d seen on the train. I never moved past that line.” His voice came from behind her, sending her jumping away from where she stood. His hand reached out and grabbed her hand, he laced their fingers together and pulled her into his arms. He didn’t need words, he needed her to know no matter what was going on, she had someone to come to. It was a small gesture but it was just what she needed.

His heart broke with her sobs, his arms gripping onto her waist and holding her steady and she collapsed in his arms and took them both to the ground. They sat in the dirt for hours, some just watching those who showed up to admire the tree, to those who mourned along with them, some just relishing in the comfort of having each other. She told stories of her brother, of the silly games they played, of the crazy pranks they pulled on each other, of the day and the accident that took his life. Each story yanked on Steve’s heart strings until they were stretched farther than a rubber band, he was so close to breaking and letting his tears spill over, to letting his resolve snap into pieces like a rubber band stretched to far.

Part of him did snap, he let silent tears fall, trying and failing to quell his shudders of the sobs he quieted. Her heart so hurt, so closed off from a tragedy he’d never wish on the worst of his enemies. To lose someone so close to you, to not even be able to say goodbye, to see them happy and alive one last time, Steve couldn’t imagine it. She was strong, stronger than anyone knew because despite the horrors she’d lived through, the tragedy she faced, she carried on, pushed past the pain to do her job and do to it well. But more than that she never forgot to take the time to mourn her loss, to remember the life of her brother and to remember what brought her to where she was.

He bent his head down pressing a delicate kiss to her forehead and once again hugging her tight to his body.

“Let’s go home.”

#Steve Rogers #Steven Grant Rogers #Steve Rogers x reader #Steven Grant Rogers x reader #Steve x reader #angst #the fallen leaf