#Alexa! play let the light in by Lana Del Rey | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

widowsofchaos · 8 months

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8 with steve rogers please🥺🥺♥️ thank you

𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧

synopsis: a mission goes wrong, and all there is left is pain. but, there’s always light.

ao3

a/n: “You take me instead, do you hear me? Give her back and take me instead!” requested 8 from this dialogue prompt list, with Steve Rogers. sorry tumblr ate the inbox message.

warnings: mention of SA, ptsd, minor angst, recovery.

The ruins of ghosts’ past haunt you.

You were once as pure as a church, clean and holy —- now desolate, abandoned, and corrupted. Ruined. Broken pews where little children once bowed their little heads in prayer.

All these disregulated nerves alight with fire, and terror. Cautiously awaiting for the monsters to come out of the darkness, and finally devour the remaining carcass.

Five months ago.

Armed to the teeth with strapped weaponry, and confidence. An abandoned Hydra base left to rot in the middle of wilderness.

Cautious steps tread the corridors with precision, and stealth. As your husband was scouting the other end of the base, he entrusted you to be safe.

Found a laboratory, old vials of chemicals, and gasses. Dead silence hung over you as a wet blanket—- ears straining, faint footsteps near.

It was a blur.

All you can recall was the acidic scent of gas, shouting, a kick to your ribs, and your name being shouted through your comm.

His sweet voice bellowing, pleading for your life, sweet Steve. ‘You take me instead, do you hear me? Give her back and take me instead!’

Held onto those words wound tight, as if you could weave them between your fingers from it’s vibrations, pull the static itself and wear it as brass knuckles.

Endless days of pain, stripped of your sanity, stripped to the marrow of nothingness. Girlflesh licked and bit at, one eye swollen shut, and upper lip plumped to a ripe bruise.

Split knuckles, torn and raw. Calculated blows bled to feral clawing, and biting, punches earning cherry stained ivories. Pinned to the cold floor by your wrists, and ankles by filthy palms, multiple men snickering in German, as they hovered over you, thrusting as swine.

Locked away to rot, no sunlight, no fresh air, only the stale scent of your urine, and … other bodily fluids. Every few hours, another agent came, and beat your weakened state.

It was hell.

Time was nothing but imagination.

Until finally, yells and gunfire erupted from the outside. A man’s skull smashed against the door, bursting the metal door wide open.

Light surrounded his blonde tresses as a halo. Towering over you, with soft hands.

He gently held your body, causing you to shrill in agony. Steve silently cried over you, whispering ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry’ under his breath, pleading for forgiveness for every wail that seeped from you.

Steve held you all through the ride on the jet. Friday’s monitors checking over your vitals, and not even blinking away.

Once the doctors at the compound told him the extent of your injuries, and what was found inside of you. He nearly broke into a rampage that only settled with Bucky tackling him into a bear hug.

The mental scars weren’t healing. You felt pathetic, and weak. You never lost control.

Tiresome training that stretched itself through hours, day after day, demanding for the most brutal discipline from Natasha. Demanding for more and more, barely any water breaks—- for a moment to breathe.

Compulsive need to feel the pain, to bare your teeth in reaction, triggering fear which led to lashing out and screaming—- and a concerned Natasha.

Eventually, this habit led to a halt with a towering Natasha hissing, enough . Her green eyes lidded, with concern. Hands at the jut of her hips.

“Replacing the grief with aggression, isn’t going to fix it.”

“How would you know? You’re the world’s deadliest woman.” You snarked back, monotone and sarcastic.

A pregnant silence.

“I wasn’t always.”

Her tone is soft, and speaks with an unspoken feeling. You understood, but didn’t dare ask. Ending the conversation at that.

And it was never brought up again.

Sex only brought revulsion, not towards Steve. But towards yourself, all you saw was ugliness. A mere touch brought you back to that dark cell.

Vices became familiar habits again, smoking, and rarely eating.

Every-time he touched you, you cried. Bawled as a child, hysterically. Hyperventilating as all he can do is watch, and guide you through it, just like the therapist instructed.

Days not spent on training, are held up in your bedroom, blankly staring up at the ceiling, tailbone aching from oversleeping.

The waves of stress crash against the strong willed ship that is your marriage. Irritated to even talk, disconnected from everyone, every mirror has been smashed.

Now you lay here, in the dark.

From the corner of your oculus, faintly in the crevices of your mind, there is an inky black mass—— just staring, always near.

And yet, somehow, you’re convinced that it’s real, that you must respond to the plaguing thoughts; but the body doesn’t recognize false visions, only fear.

The bedroom door quietly opens. Taking most of the entrances' space, divine shoulders squared, and those knowing blue pools with murky green swirls.

Coiffed blonde hair, and tender blue eyes. A nose that rivals a roman god, a man that would be mounted in a church, the face of a saint.

Your saint.

Century old eyes that seen more than it can bear, ever so knowing. Perhaps, he heard your thoughts, and came to your aid.

His footsteps dull against the carpet, gently coming towards you. His hand hesitatingly stretches out, unaware if touch is right.

But you yearn for it, silently asking for comfort.

Gently his hand lays on your chest, circular rubs to soothe the haggard breathing. Shooing away the bad thoughts as a mother would.

“Deep breaths.” Steve says, “It’s okay.” Filling your chest with gusts of air, being guided by his voice, with the lulling twang of that Brooklyn accent.

You want to break through the fog. You yearn to heal these angry wounds.

Watery sigh escapes you, eyes never leaving the ceiling, and for a fleeting moment, you wish you died in the cell. Then maybe, you wouldn’t subject your husband—-

“Mama?”

—- and your daughter to your troubles.

A creek at the door is followed by small footsteps. Her small body shuffles and ruffles on the blanket at the edge of the bed, quickly lifted by Steve by her belly.

Steve gently shushes her, a reminder saying, ‘be careful, remember, mommy isn’t well’. Soft snuffles, and grunts follow with each tug of the blanket, and your legs as support.

Climbing over your body, your daughter’s little chubby hands dents onto the flesh of your body. Slowly the black mass evaporates, its suffocating presence dissipates into nothing.

As a fog clears from your mind, and a small smile forms at the corner of your mouth. Steve smiles a little, his hand caressing her little head.

“Mama, are you okay?” Her baby voice lulls you, and brings tears to your eyes. “Yeah,” your voice raspy, “Mama’s okay.” Nodding weakly.

What was it your therapist said, again?

‘There’s always light at the tunnel. You just have to find it.’

Her little cherub brown cheeks puffed, and plump. Ripe for kisses. Her little fingers toying with your face.

‘And if that light isn’t your husband,’

Your eyes gaze up at Steve, love emitting from his blue hues. Your weak hand shakingly moves to his cheek, he leans into your touch, closing his eyes.

‘Then I’m damn sure, it’s your little girl.’

Slowly, your eyes sheen wet at the brim, looking at such innocence. Untainted, and pure. Life doesn’t end, it just changes, like the seasons. Some good, and some bad.

‘You don’t have to heal today, and I don’t expect you to heal tomorrow. But remember what we have created. She’s so much more than us.’ Steve’s words from therapy ring in your mind.

It doesn’t end.

“I love you, mama.”

You inhale a watery breath, smiling from ear to ear. A relief curling in your chest.

“I love you too, my little bubble.”

#widowsofchaos wrote this #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader angst #drabble #Alexa! play let the light in by Lana Del Rey

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midnightblosm-blog · 5 years

Text

((drabble 01)) kit + olivia

// [ @hopelesswxnderers ] kit + olivia

.with(out) you.

Of course it was raining. That’s all it’s been doing lately. She drew the curtains closed and clicked on the lamp that only provided dim lighting in the room. Olivia grew tired of the rain tapping on the windowpanes, the beauty of it wore off after day two. In the corner, her dog was sleeping on his bed, which left the space entirely too quiet for her liking. “Alexa, play music.” She mumbled, just barely audible for the Echo to pick up her voice and start emitting a random playlist through its speaker. Lana Del Rey, how fitting. She almost rolled her eyes at the random, yet very appropriate mood now set in her flat, entirely unintentional but so, so fitting. She was entirely ready to stop feeling this way... to stop being dejected just because one person doesn’t react the way she wants them to. Expects them to. Whatever the case may be.

She dropped the cork of the wine bottle in the sink and poured the red wine directly in the glass. Olivia couldn’t be bothered to aerate the wine properly, so she swirled it in the glass as she sat down on the sofa. One, two, three sips down as her eyes stared at the opened laptop on the coffee table. Twitter. That evil fucking invention that just... ruined everything sometimes.

The truth was, that Olivia couldn’t quite remember a time without Kit. Well, she could, but it probably wasn’t a time she’d care to think of. Bruises, cuts, bloody lips, and a thousand excuses as to why it was okay that it happened to her. Why she was probably the one who provoked it, and how it wouldn’t happen a second time. A fifth time. A tenth time. It was... a much worse life before Kit walked in and changed it.

Of course, he didn’t know that. How could he, if she never said a word?

Olivia, to Kit, was sunshine and maybe a little bit of the annoying prickles a sunburn could bring. But she did tell him that she loved the rain.

The ding of a notification startled her out of her daze, her eyes finding the little box that said Kit replied to you. It likely wasn’t the reply she wanted. A sigh passed her lips before she set the wine glass back down on the table and leaned forward to click on the notification.

“no, we were cute.”

She smiled.

Her fingers slid up the touchpad to scroll back up to the initial post -- a photo of them when she was still new to the city. Three years ago? No, four. Four years ago, because she remembered that night.

She’d known him for about two months at that time. He was... freshly out of a relationship, and she was learning that whatever she had been in, was not much of one. Kit treated her better than the guy she was with, and he barely knew her. Didn’t see her or speak to her every day, but when they did, it was still better than Jason.

But he was still just Cleo’s brother. Conversation with the kind brunette sparked when her roommate introduced Olivia to her girlfriend, and the friendship blossomed quickly. Cleo became her confidante, her shoulder to lean on, much more than her roommate. Her brother... he was a nice surprise.

“Liv! Olivia! Over here!” The small brunette waved her arms in hopes that the equally as small blonde would spot her in the crowded room. “Finally!” Cleo dragged Olivia towards a group of people, and grabbed the hand of a tall male. When he turned around, Oliva stopped breathing. “Olivia, this is Kit, my brother.”

Another ding. A notification for a dm from Tamaryn popped up on her laptop, once again snapping her out of her daze. But this time, she didn’t click on it. Instead, her eyes found the photo again and she stared at it. His hand on her waist. Her body pressed close to his. They really were cute. For a moment, Olivia wondered what if. What if she’d thrown caution to the wind, decided to leave her boyfriend right then and there, and actually make a move on Kit? Turn to him and tell him that she liked him, that she wanted to go on a date with him. Just the two of them, alone. What if...?

It was so crowded around that table that night. The restaurant was so loud, but all she could remember was him. It was the first time that they were left to their own devices -- with Cleo clear across the room and her girlfriend beside her, Kit was the only other person she knew and she spent the entirety of the night talking to only him.

It was also the last time they spent together before their banter and friendship really began, and Olivia felt her chances with him slipping away.

Not that they didn’t have a great friendship, she wouldn’t actually trade what they had for anything else in the world. He gave her hell, she gave him grief, but at the end of the day, they were good friends. Hell, this flat was basically his other home. Her dog liked him more than he liked her sometimes. And they were close enough to grind every single one of the other’s nerves on a daily fucking basis without actually falling apart. Olivia supposed there was something to be said about that kind of friendship.

So then why did she feel that there was so much he didn’t tell her?

Her fingers wrapped around the stem of the wine glass as she brought it back to her lips. Two, four, five sips.

“I’m sure Aaron will keep Lucia on her toes.”

Olivia sighed and stared at Tamaryn’s dm. Why? Why did she feel so... weird about this? She knew she had no right to feel slighted by Kit when he tripped all over himself about Lucia on twitter. It was none of her business, and she... shouldn’t feel the way she was feeling right now. She sat the glass back down, typed a quick reply to Tamaryn, then clicked over to Kit’s profile.

Then, she clicked on the little envelope right by his name. Right. Time to dm him, maybe... talk. He knew her, he knew something was off even if she denied it. Her fingers hovered over her keyboard as her teeth bit down on her bottom lip. Can we talk? No, that sounds needy. I think we need to talk. No, that sounds too dramatic.

Well, shit.

Olivia sighed and sat back. Four years. Four years, and these feelings were just now coming back. Or perhaps they never left. She needed to get herself sorted, she couldn’t just.... have feelings for him. The cursor blinked in the empty text box. Playing pretend with him would be... so much more difficult at this rate She couldn’t let herself feel these things. It just wasn’t a good idea.

The X closed out the dm box and she closed her laptop. On her phone, notifications still dinged as she grabbed her glass and walked into the kitchen.

More wine. More wine, and maybe more daydreams of the chances she missed out on.

#hopelesswxnderers #olivia + kit #s ; olivia + kit #d ; olivia + kit #moved it here from my old blog

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