Summary: when steve learns that Tony and his gang of misfits is after you, he moves you into his home. [wc 1k] [ao3]
warnings: mafia au, angst
You donβt even realize how bad it is at first. Steve shows up at your apartment unannounced.Not unusual. Not really. He has a key you never asked for but never took away, either. He lets himself in like he belongs thereβlike you belong to him, even if neither of you have ever said it out loud.
But tonight? Somethingβs off. He doesnβt greet you. Doesnβt smile. Doesnβt soften. He just stands there, broad shoulders filling the doorway, jaw tight enough to crack teeth. βPack a bag.β
You blink at him from the couch. βSteveβ?β
βNow.β Thereβs no room for argument in his voice. Not tonight. And thatβs what scares you.
βYou wanna tell me whatβs going on?β you ask, trying to keep your voice steady as you shove clothes into a bag minutes later.
He doesnβt answer right away. Heβs pacingβslow, controlled, like a caged animal trying very hard not to lose control. βThey said your name.β
That stops you cold. ββ¦Who did?β
He looks at you then. Really looks at you. And thereβs something dark in his eyesβsomething that doesnβt belong to the man who brings you coffee in the mornings and fixes your sink without being asked.
βStark.β The word lands heavy.
You knew, of course. You werenβt stupid. You knew Steve hadβ¦ connections. That people listened when he spoke. That sometimes he disappeared for days and came back with bruised knuckles and silence in his eyes.
But hearing it like this? Out loud?
βThey donβt get to know you,β he continues, voice low, dangerous. βThey donβt get to touch you. They donβt even get to think about you.β
Your throat tightens. βSteveββ
βI shouldβve kept you further away.β Thereβs anger thereβbut not at you. Never at you. βThatβs on me.β
You take a careful step toward him. βYou didnβt do anythingββ
βI did,β he snaps, then exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. Softer now, but worse somehow. βI let myself get comfortable.β
That hurts more than it should.
βComfortableβ¦ with me?β
His eyes flick back to yours. βYeah.β
The ride to his place is quiet. Too quiet. Steveβs hand never leaves your knee the entire time. Not gentle. Not exactly. More likeβ¦ grounding. Like he needs to feel you there. Real. Safe. Every time the car slows, his grip tightens. Every time someone walks too close to the vehicle, his gaze sharpens, calculating, ready.
Youβve never seen him like this before. Not fully. And it fucking terrifies you in ways you couldn't begin to describe out loud.
His house is something out of another world. Guards. Cameras. Gates that look like they could survive a war.
You hesitate as you step inside. βI canβt stay here,β you murmur. βSteve, this isβthis is your world, not mine.β
He shuts the door behind you with a quiet, final click. βYeah,β he says. βThatβs the problem.β
You turn to face him. And suddenly heβs right there. Close. Too close. Hands braced on either side of you against the wall, caging you in without touching. βThey dragged you into it anyway,β he says quietly. βSo now you stay where I can see you.β
Your pulse jumps. βThat sounds a lot like kidnapping.β
His mouth twitchesβjust barely. βIf I wanted to kidnap you,β he murmurs, leaning in slightly, βyou wouldnβt be standing.β
Your breath catches. Because you believe him. And somehowβ¦ that doesnβt make you want to run.
βYouβll have a room,β he says later, a little more composed now. βAnywhere you want. Top floorβs the safest. Fewer access points.β
βAnd you?β
He pauses. Then, casuallyβtoo casually: βIβm right down the hall.β Of course he is. Of course youβre not far from him. Not tonight. Not ever again, if he has anything to say about it.
The first night, you canβt sleep. Every creak feels too loud. Every shadow too sharp. So you wander. Barefoot. Quiet. And you find him. Steveβs in his office, sleeves rolled, tie gone, staring at a map spread across his desk. Red marks everywhere. Names. Routes. Plans.
War plans. For you.
He doesnβt look up when you enter. βI told you to stay in your room.β
βI couldnβt sleep.β
That gets his attention. His expression softensβjust a fraction. ββ¦Come here.β
You hesitate for half a second before stepping closer.
He pulls out a chair beside him. You sit. Close enough that your knees brush.
βYouβre safe here,β he says, voice low.
βYou donβt sound convinced.β
His jaw tightens again. βI am,β he corrects. βI just donβt like risks.β
You study him. The tension in his shoulders. The way his fingers tap against the table like heβs counting down to something violent.
βYouβre going to hurt him,β you say quietly. "All of them."
Itβs not a question.
Steve finally looks at you. And thereβs no softness left this time. βThey threatened you.β
Your stomach flips. βSteveββ
βThey donβt get to walk away from that.β
Your hand finds his before you can stop yourself. His fingers still instantly. βHey,β you whisper. βIβm right here. Iβm okay.β
Something shifts in his expression. Not gone. Not fixed. Butβ¦ anchored. His thumb brushes against your knuckles. ββ¦You shouldnβt be,β he mutters.
βWhy?β
βBecause people like me,β he says, eyes locked on yours, βruin things like you.β
Your heart stutters. βThen why am I here?β
Silence. Heavy. Loaded.
And then, βBecause Iβm not letting anyone else have the chance to.β
He walks you back to your room. Stands in the doorway a second too long. Like he wants to say something. Like he wonβt. "β¦Lock the door,β he finally says.
You nod. He turns to leave. βSteve?β
He stops.
You swallow. βStay. Just until I fall asleep.β
Thereβs a long pause. You can practically hear the war inside himβdiscipline vs. desire, control vs. something softer, more dangerous. ββ¦Alright.β He sits on the edge of your bed. Doesnβt touch you at first. Just watches. Waits.
But when your hand drifts toward his, half-asleep, seekingβ He takes it. Firm. Steady. Like a promise. Like a warning. And somewhere in the quiet, guarded dark of his worldβ You realize something terrifying. Youβre not just under his protection anymore. Youβre his.
You never expected your life to turn out like this half trained in chaos magic, half-trained by an ex-assassin with a vibranium arm and a deeply buried heart. Your mother, Wanda Maximoff, had always kept you close. Protective. Quiet. Isolated. But ever since Westviewβand the unraveling of everything you once called home, she had changed.
After what she did, trying to bring your brothers back, part of you understood. And part of you couldnβt even look in a mirror without seeing the grief etched into her face.
Then, one day, she was just gone.
No goodbye. No explanation. Only a single note left on the kitchen table:
βYouβll be safer with your father. Learn from him. Be better than both of us.β
Thatβs how you ended up with Bucky Barnes.
At first, it was awkward. Youβd spent most of your life knowing of him, he was the man with the metal arm, the Winter Soldier, the name your mother spoke of with a mix of regret and affection, like a wound that never healed properly. But now, he was your legal guardian. Yourβ¦ Dad.
βStill weird calling him that,β you muttered under your breath as you sat on the edge of the jet, watching the landscape blur past beneath the clouds.
Bucky glanced at you from across the cabin, a protein bar half-eaten in one hand. βWhatβs weird?β
You blinked. βNothing.β
He gave you that look, eyebrows knit, jaw tight, like he wasnβt sure if he should press or not. He usually didnβt. Bucky was all about unspoken understanding. It was part of his charm. Or trauma. Probably both.
The Thunderbolts mission had come together faster than expected, and even though he told you not to come, Valentina had other ideas. She wanted a Maximoff on the team. Even if you were still⦠learning.
βYouβre not her,β Bucky had told you after your first sparring session with Taskmaster, when you blew out three lights in the gym after losing control. βYouβve got her power, yeah, but not her pain. Donβt carry it like itβs yours.β
But it was yours. She was your mother. And her pain had bled into you long before you ever touched real magic.
Now, as the Thunderbolts assembled at the base, you kept a wary eye on the othersβYelena, Ghost, Red Guardian, even Walker. You didnβt trust any of them. You barely trusted yourself.
βHey,β Bucky said, walking up beside you. His voice was lower now. Softer. βYou okay?β
You nodded, arms crossed. βJustβ¦ thinking.β
βYou always get quiet when youβre thinking.β
You shrugged. βThatβs because when I talk, people look at me like Iβm about to hex them into oblivion.β
He chuckled under his breath, and it startled you.
βYou kind of did hex that vending machine last week.β
You gave him a dry look. βIt stole my Snickers.β
Bucky smirked, then reached into his jacket pocket and handed you one. βWell, good news. Youβve got a dad now. One who knows how to steal from vending machines the old-fashioned way.β
You took the candy bar and looked at him, really looked at him. His hair was a little grayer. The lines around his eyes a little deeper. But for the first time, he didnβt look like the Winter Soldier. He just looked likeβ¦ Bucky. Your dad.
βThanks,β you said, quietly.
βAnytime, kid.β
For a moment, you let your head rest on his shoulder, the metal of his arm warm beside you. No words. Just⦠peace. However fleeting.
Summary: you get a migraine and Helmut helps you through it. [WC 872] [AO3]
Warnings: reader has chronic migraines, fluff,
Request: Zemo x reader where the reader has chronic migraines and he does his best to help her manage @goblin-king-of-anarchy67
You donβt realize itβs coming at first.
It starts as a whisper behind your eyesβfaint, almost ignorable. Youβre used to it. Youβve always been used to it. So you keep reading, keep pretending the words on the page arenβt beginning to blur, that the candlelight isnβt suddenly too sharp, too loud somehow.
Across the room, Helmut notices before you say anything. He always does. βYouβre squinting,β he says softly, not looking up from the record heβs carefully placing onto the turntable. His voice is low, measured, but thereβs a shift in itβsubtle tension.
βIβm fine,β you murmur. A lie. A practiced one.
The music never starts.
Helmutβs hand stills mid-motion. Then, with deliberate care, he lifts the needle back before it can touch the vinyl. Silence settles instead.
He turns to you fully now.
βLiebling,β he says, quieter, βlook at me.β
You donβt want to. The light hurts. Everything is beginning to hurt. But you do. And thatβs all it takes. The faint crease between his brows deepensβnot dramatic, not panicked. Helmut does not panic. But there is something sharper beneath the surface now. Focus. Precision. Care sharpened into something almost surgical.
βWhen did it start?β
βA few minutes ago,β you admit, voice small despite yourself.
He crosses the room immediately. Not rushedβnever rushedβbut efficient. Controlled. Like every movement has already been calculated. βUp,β he says gently, offering his hand.
You hesitate. βI can walkββ
βI know you can,β he interrupts, not unkindly. His thumb brushes once against your knuckles, grounding. βYou shouldnβt have to.β
Thatβs the thing about Helmut Zemo. He never treats you like youβre weak. But he refuses to let you suffer unnecessarily. You let him help you up.
The bedroom is already dim. You donβt remember when he started doing thatβkeeping one room perpetually prepared, curtains thick and drawn, lights low and warm. A space carved out just for days like this. For you. He guides you to the bed, movements quieter now, like the world itself needs to soften around you.
βShoes,β he murmurs. You barely register him slipping them off. βDrink this.β
A glass presses into your handβcool, steady. Water. Always water first.
You take a sip, then another.
βGood,β he says, almost to himself.
The pain is building nowβslow, crushing pressure behind your eyes, crawling into your skull. You wince, pressing your fingers to your temple.
His hand intercepts yours. βDonβt,β he says gently. His fingers replace yours. He knows exactly where to press. Not too hard. Not too soft. Just enough to ground you, to dull the sharpest edge of the pain. His thumb moves in slow, deliberate circles at your temple, his other hand bracing lightly at your jaw.
You exhale, shaky. βI hate this,β you whisper.
βI know.β Thereβs no empty reassurance. No itβll be fine. Just truth. And presence.
Minutes blur. Or maybe itβs longer.
The pain crests and you curl slightly into yourself. Helmut adjusts instantly, shifting behind you on the bed, guiding you back until your head rests against his chest. One arm wraps around you firm enough that you donβt feel like youβre drifting apart. His fingers find your wrist. Counting. Always counting.
You noticed it once, asked him about it. Heβd only said, βYour pulse tells me what you cannot.β Now, he tracks it quietly, adjusting his touch when your breathing stutters, when your body tenses. βBreathe,β he murmurs near your hair. βSlowly. With me.β
You follow his rhythm. In. Out. In. Out. The world narrows to that. To his voice. His hands. The steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.
At some point, you whisper, βIβm sorry.β
His hand stills. ββ¦For what?β
βFor being like this. Forββ You gesture weakly. βRuining things.β
The silence that follows is different. Not soft. Not gentle. Sharp.
Helmut shifts, just enough to tilt your chin upward despite the way you flinch at the movement. βLook at me.β
You do, barely. And there it isβthat intensity he usually keeps buried. Not anger. Not at you.
Something more dangerous. βYou are not an inconvenience,β he says, each word precise. βYou are not a burden. And you do not βruinβ anything.β His thumb brushes under your eye, softer now. βThis,β he gestures faintly to you, to the room, to the quiet he has built around you, βis simply something we manage.β
We.
Your throat tightens.
βYou understand?β
You nod. He studies you for a second longer, as if committing the moment to memory, making sure the thought is goneβerased.
Then he presses a light kiss to your forehead. βGood.β
The pain doesnβt vanish. It never does. But it dulls. Edges soften. The pressure loosens its grip, bit by bit. You drift, half-asleep, still tucked against him. Helmut doesnβt move. Not when your breathing evens out. Not when your grip on his shirt loosens. Not even when time stretches long past comfort.
He stays exactly where he isβone hand resting over yours, the other still lightly at your temple, just in case. Always just in case.
Because if thereβs one thing Helmut Zemo does well, itβs preparation. And if thereβs one thing he does better itβs taking care of you.
Summary: you get a migraine and Helmut helps you through it. [WC 872] [AO3]
Warnings: reader has chronic migraines, fluff,
Request: Zemo x reader where the reader has chronic migraines and he does his best to help her manage @goblin-king-of-anarchy67
You donβt realize itβs coming at first.
It starts as a whisper behind your eyesβfaint, almost ignorable. Youβre used to it. Youβve always been used to it. So you keep reading, keep pretending the words on the page arenβt beginning to blur, that the candlelight isnβt suddenly too sharp, too loud somehow.
Across the room, Helmut notices before you say anything. He always does. βYouβre squinting,β he says softly, not looking up from the record heβs carefully placing onto the turntable. His voice is low, measured, but thereβs a shift in itβsubtle tension.
βIβm fine,β you murmur. A lie. A practiced one.
The music never starts.
Helmutβs hand stills mid-motion. Then, with deliberate care, he lifts the needle back before it can touch the vinyl. Silence settles instead.
He turns to you fully now.
βLiebling,β he says, quieter, βlook at me.β
You donβt want to. The light hurts. Everything is beginning to hurt. But you do. And thatβs all it takes. The faint crease between his brows deepensβnot dramatic, not panicked. Helmut does not panic. But there is something sharper beneath the surface now. Focus. Precision. Care sharpened into something almost surgical.
βWhen did it start?β
βA few minutes ago,β you admit, voice small despite yourself.
He crosses the room immediately. Not rushedβnever rushedβbut efficient. Controlled. Like every movement has already been calculated. βUp,β he says gently, offering his hand.
You hesitate. βI can walkββ
βI know you can,β he interrupts, not unkindly. His thumb brushes once against your knuckles, grounding. βYou shouldnβt have to.β
Thatβs the thing about Helmut Zemo. He never treats you like youβre weak. But he refuses to let you suffer unnecessarily. You let him help you up.
The bedroom is already dim. You donβt remember when he started doing thatβkeeping one room perpetually prepared, curtains thick and drawn, lights low and warm. A space carved out just for days like this. For you. He guides you to the bed, movements quieter now, like the world itself needs to soften around you.
βShoes,β he murmurs. You barely register him slipping them off. βDrink this.β
A glass presses into your handβcool, steady. Water. Always water first.
You take a sip, then another.
βGood,β he says, almost to himself.
The pain is building nowβslow, crushing pressure behind your eyes, crawling into your skull. You wince, pressing your fingers to your temple.
His hand intercepts yours. βDonβt,β he says gently. His fingers replace yours. He knows exactly where to press. Not too hard. Not too soft. Just enough to ground you, to dull the sharpest edge of the pain. His thumb moves in slow, deliberate circles at your temple, his other hand bracing lightly at your jaw.
You exhale, shaky. βI hate this,β you whisper.
βI know.β Thereβs no empty reassurance. No itβll be fine. Just truth. And presence.
Minutes blur. Or maybe itβs longer.
The pain crests and you curl slightly into yourself. Helmut adjusts instantly, shifting behind you on the bed, guiding you back until your head rests against his chest. One arm wraps around you firm enough that you donβt feel like youβre drifting apart. His fingers find your wrist. Counting. Always counting.
You noticed it once, asked him about it. Heβd only said, βYour pulse tells me what you cannot.β Now, he tracks it quietly, adjusting his touch when your breathing stutters, when your body tenses. βBreathe,β he murmurs near your hair. βSlowly. With me.β
You follow his rhythm. In. Out. In. Out. The world narrows to that. To his voice. His hands. The steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.
At some point, you whisper, βIβm sorry.β
His hand stills. ββ¦For what?β
βFor being like this. Forββ You gesture weakly. βRuining things.β
The silence that follows is different. Not soft. Not gentle. Sharp.
Helmut shifts, just enough to tilt your chin upward despite the way you flinch at the movement. βLook at me.β
You do, barely. And there it isβthat intensity he usually keeps buried. Not anger. Not at you.
Something more dangerous. βYou are not an inconvenience,β he says, each word precise. βYou are not a burden. And you do not βruinβ anything.β His thumb brushes under your eye, softer now. βThis,β he gestures faintly to you, to the room, to the quiet he has built around you, βis simply something we manage.β
We.
Your throat tightens.
βYou understand?β
You nod. He studies you for a second longer, as if committing the moment to memory, making sure the thought is goneβerased.
Then he presses a light kiss to your forehead. βGood.β
The pain doesnβt vanish. It never does. But it dulls. Edges soften. The pressure loosens its grip, bit by bit. You drift, half-asleep, still tucked against him. Helmut doesnβt move. Not when your breathing evens out. Not when your grip on his shirt loosens. Not even when time stretches long past comfort.
He stays exactly where he isβone hand resting over yours, the other still lightly at your temple, just in case. Always just in case.
Because if thereβs one thing Helmut Zemo does well, itβs preparation. And if thereβs one thing he does better itβs taking care of you.
Being the holder of the soul stone (Headcanons)(Reader Insert)
Summary: Most of your life, you've been ostracized because of your personality. Granted, it can be a little unsettling...but you swear you don't mean any harm at all! And to top it all, adding the soul stone to your possession is something you did not expect.
Word Count: 1.2k
Warnings: Themes surrounding death, reader is quite lonely and was considered creepy/weird from childhood.
A/N: I kinda based her personality off of Columbina a little cuz I love her so much, enjoy!!
ββΉ. Since childhood, you have been considered weird or creepy just because you prefer to observe rather than engage. Your peers would often tend to avoid you most of the time, and that took a toll on. From then on, you learned to survive in the world without expecting any sorts of companionship. Although, that doesn't mean you ached for one every now and then.
ββΉ. You would be seen observing almost anything, and you liked to do so. With hands behind your back, head tilted,Β you would observe from the clouds to flowers to passerbys to nearby stray cats. You would learn so much from just doing that.
ββΉ. Since you don't speak much, you talk softly, although not quietly. When people get to know you, they grow to love that aspect of you, almost as if your voice is soothing to them. You don't play around and get to the point fairly quickly with your words.
ββΉ. Things changed once the soul stone was in your possession. Having such a powerful tool at your hands was quite scary, but soon, you grew to get comfortable with it once you got the hang of it. As if the right power came to the right person. You became less lonely afterwards. Because one of the powers of soul stone is being able to give life to inanimate objects.
ββΉ. You found this out on accident when out of nowhere you two plushies, Meep the sheep and Lilo the panda started to talk. It was fascinating how alive they were with the unique personalities you envisioned them with as a child. You soon realised that you could be in big danger because of your power. Luckily, the Avengers had your back.
ββΉ. You were offered to be part of the team, but you were not quite interested in combat. Still, they offered a place at the compound nonetheless as they preferred to keep you close, mainly Tony. He wasΒ curious about the stone in itself and you didn'tmind entertaining him. Soon, you moved in.
ββΉ. With their help, you were able to learn your abilities which were: you can recognise souls and manipulate them,Β you could converse with the dead, bring life to inanimate objects, and can reside/visit a pocket dimension called the 'Soul World'. However, what surprised you and the rest was that you didn't trade any life to possess the stone, not that you quite remember doing something similar, more like it has become a part of you.
ββΉ. You were so happy after you moved in with the rest of the Avengers. You have never felt less lonely. Of course, you didn't forget Meep and Lilo. The younger members of the team were quite fond of them. Even though you mentioned that you didn't want to engage in any fights, Steve and Natasha offered to teach you, just in case.
ββΉ. Loki and Dr. Strange offered to teach you the rules and instructions about the magic system, and the more you understood, the more powerful you felt. Strange would mentor you and take you to places for the benefit of your knowledge. You get to meet a lot of people like in Kamar Taj. However, because of your abilities, you were confronted to grant them certain wishes, such as them wanting to meet their loved ones.
ββΉ. It felt wrong to do so, and you were quite sure that actions like that could cost something. You've already seen too much despair with having to converse and deal with the dead. And you were known as the bridge between life and death. So you refrain from meeting such people. Even if you did, you'll have someone by your side helping you get through the messΒ like Loki or Strange.
ββΉ. You and Loki were quite the duo. Your two plushies were very protective of you, and Loki was one of the very few people they tolerated. You were not quite sneaky or mischievous, and you don't try to be. However, Loki insists on bringing that invisible side of you. He even sneaked you into Asgard much to Thor's dismay (he only wanted to tag along...). Your love for learning magic only grew because of him and sort of dreamed that you'd get to his level. He assured you that won't happen, but he'd like to see you try.
ββΉ. Bucky and Peter were weirded out when they first saw you, and to be fair, you were just standing there eerily. They weren't aware of your intentions, and they onyl grew more nervous around you. It was after Peter broke out of the shell he decided to greet you, and soon he grew to like your company. As scary as you may sound, you bring a sort of peace to him to his stressful life, and the same could be said to Bucky. He was the first person to assist you when you wanted to roam around the city.
ββΉ. Natasha teased how he looked like a grumpy bodyguard, and the contrast was evident. Speaking of Natasha, you two match the vibes somehow, and the same could be said to Yelena, too. Something about the silence when the three of you are in public and the opposite when indoors seems to be just right. And soon Wanda and Carol would join the circle.
ββΉ.Β You loved to wear flowy outfits that made you look like an angel of some sort. Bonus points if they were of light colors. You were quite proud of your taste, and others could tell even though you don't show it in your expression. You would start to ramble all of a sudden, and it only happens with someone close to you. Steve was the first person to witness it.
ββΉ. You startled him when a while ago you were just sitting by his side after dinner daydreaming about the moon, you spoke about how you wanted to live there.
"Wha-"
"It would be so nice, isn't it? Living in the moon all alone, with no worries at all..."
"Wouldn't that be boring?"
"Huh?"
"Just saying...it would be pretty lonely too, to be honest."
"I don't have an issue with being alone - although you are kinda right about the boring part."
"I...guess..."
"Hmm~"
ββΉ. They all got used to it after a while. And soon you'd be drifting your head to their shoulder deep in sleep and oh how you love to sleep. The team would find you sleeping in odd places. They would either wake you up to send you to your room or carry you to your bed. You'd feel bad after waking up if someone did carry you, and in return, you would try to bake or make something for them.
ββΉ. Despite your soft nature, you could get scary when you stand on business. After all, you're the owner of the soul stone. You could just suck out someone's soul with a flick of a wrist and many (cough cough Thanos) have tried to take that power from you and failed.
ββΉ. You are very loyal to your friends who are practically your family by now, and they could say the same to you too. They were quite glad to have someone like you with them, and a powerful ally like you would not be out of their reach for sure. However, you aren't just an ally to them, and you are quite aware of that.
Commenting/reblogging would really be appreciated. Constructive criticism is welcomed!
Your eyes fluttered open to the warm, intrusive sunlight as your android caretaker drew the curtains. His rigid form traveled to the dresser, where he picked a suitable outfit for the outside temperature. You tried to sit up, and his sharp eyes immediately darted to your fatigued body as a silent warning.
"Don't try to sit up, y/n," he told you. "I'll assist you in one moment." He looked down at the outfit in his hands and held up the items, asking, "Are these to your liking? It's fifty-six degrees outside, but the humidity and sunlight make it feel more like sixty-four. I can find something different if you'd like."
You shook your head and said, "No, it's okay."
He nodded, stepping over to your bed and setting the neatly folded clothes on the edge. Then, he placed his hands on either side of your torso beneath your arms to help you up. Once you were situated, he reached for one of the various bottles of medication you were prescribed.
"Two of these big ones," he murmured, placing them in your hand and giving you a glass of water. "One of these tiny ones... and one of these medium-sized ones."
After you reluctantly took all of your medication, you attempted to slide your legs off the side of the bed, but of course, he stopped you, making sure to gently adjust you himself.
"Be careful now. How are you feeling? Are you still aching?" He knelt before you, gripping your calves and giving them a little squeeze.
"A little. Mostly really tired."
The new medication you started the day prior really threw you off balance, but Markus was always there to catch you because you were his to care for. All his.
Markus hummed thoughtfully, then rose to his feet and nodded. "I see. We will minimize the physical activity as much as possible, then. For now, let's get you dressed."
You straightened up and lifted your arms, allowing him to slip your shirt off. Then, he removed your pants and fully redressed you. To ensure your comfort, he also made sure to cover your feet with the fluffiest socks you had. When he was satisfied with his work, he gripped both your hands tightly and helped you up.
You stumbled a bit, but he wrapped an arm around you and cooed, "There we go. I have you. Now, let's get you to the bathroom." When you arrived in the next room, he made sure to shower you with praise, still keeping a supportive hand on your back. "Do you need any more help?" he asked, helping you to lean against the counter.
When you shook your head, he let go of you and respectfully gave you your space, making sure to remain but a few steps away from the bathroom in case anything went awry.
βΏββΏββΏββΏββΏ
Your transition to the hall went relatively smoothly, and as Markus helped you through the house and to the back door, he kept you in the dark, never once telling you why he was taking you outside.
You winced with every step and whined, a bit irritated, "Why won't you tell me? What is it?"
"Well, you'll see," he replied, his tone as calm as ever.
"Please just tell me. I don't like it when you keep me waiting," you pressed a bit more. "If you don't tell me, I'll stay inside all day."
Markus rolled his eyes and adjusted his grip on you. "Oh, don't be like that," he said. "You'll like it. Just trust me."
Trusting his judgment, you held onto him tighter, allowing him to guide you to the door. The moment you stepped outside, the sunlight cradled your figure, feeling almost like a warm embrace. You hadn't been outside much since your condition worsened, and the doctors recommended limited movement. Being cooped up inside certainly took a toll on your psyche, and Markus noticed. It's precisely why he led you across the path and to the garden where the small table and chairs sat. Tall wildflowers acted as a divider between the sanctuary and the house, and when you stepped near, you noticed the breakfast Markus had dutifully prepared just for you.
Seeing how deliberately he arranged everything nearly made you shed a tear, but he comfortingly rubbed your lower back and pulled out a chair for you. He took his place across from you and scanned your expression, noting how your face contorted with emotions of all kinds.
Unsure of whether or not you were happy, he asked, "Is it a nice surprise?
You sniffled and nodded eagerly, wiping the tears from your eyes. "It's wonderful," you assured him. "I'm so grateful for you."
Not knowing how to react, he just smiled and gestured to your food. "Eat up. Your body needs strength."
Not wishing to seem ungrateful, you reached for the things that immediately caught your eye and began eating, even if you didn't feel hungry. Pleased, Markus leaned back and averted his gaze, admiring the scenery.
You managed to take only one bite before losing interest and feeling inexplicably sad. Finally deciding to speak up, you said, "Markus, I feel horrible."
"Why? What's wrong? Are you hurting?" he wondered, resting his elbows on the table and attentively leaning in.
"I've felt so depressed ever since my condition worsened."
He nodded, his expression displaying great concern.
"I never leave the house, and I just need some fresh air, and I want to get away from here. I feel like I'm going to die every time I'm alone. I feel like I'll spiral without you around... and I won't be able to come back."
Markus froze, taking in the implication of your words, and he carefully spoke up. "We've already taken the first steps, y/n. I've sensed it for months, but the doctor's words concerned me. I didn't wish to cause your body any more pain than necessary, so I kept you inside. But I broke my promise, and I brought you out here today."
You bowed your head, fiddling with the fabric of your pants, and Markus observed you for a moment, finding the right words to continue.
"We are only just beginning the path to recovery. The first step is acknowledgment, which you have done... and I am proud of you. So, now, I'll do my part to enrich you so you're not staring at the same wall all day. But we need to address your feelings completely." He paused, sliding a hand across the table to offer you a comforting touch. You accepted it and placed your hand in his, feeling him swipe his thumb across your knuckles. "You mentioned that you feel like you will spiral when I'm not around, and you're afraid that you 'won't be able to come back.' That is a very dangerous feeling, especially in this state. May I suggest talking to a professional?"
Your eyes locked on the way he caressed your hand, but you hesitated, uncertain of where it would lead you.
"No." He corrected himself. "It's not a suggestion. We will find somebody for you to talk to."
Feeling a bit of relief, you relaxed, and he moved his chair closer to yours so that he was beside you. From there, he asked, "Would you like a hug?"
You immediately accepted his offer and snuggled against his chest, making yourself as small as possible. Markus wrapped one arm around your shoulders and the other around the middle of your back, making sure to gently caress you with his thumbs. His body was remarkably warm, and you fit against his broad frame perfectly.
"I care for you," he whispered. "I care for you a lot, and I don't wish to see you suffer. We will get you through this, and you can always fall back on me. Every time you fall, I will be here to pick you up, and we will continue on. You're strong."
You felt your emotions overwhelm you again, so you clung to him by the fabric of his shirt and let your tears flow freely. In his arms, you were safe, you were free of judgment, you were warm, you were simply you.
"You are so strong. But it's okay to let go of that front every once in a while. What's life if you can't feel pain, fear, or hopefulness, or joy? It's nothing. It's shallow and, well, boring, to put it simply. Sadness is a part of life, but so is happiness, so there's always something for you to look forward to. But for now, allow yourself to be weak. Allow yourself to fall apart, because I will be here to put you back together," he whispered, pressing a firm kiss to the top of your head.
A gentle silence had settled over the Sanctum. Soothing, comforting quiet with only the soft rustle of old pages disturbing the stillness.
Stephen meditated floating atop of circle of protective runes carved into the floors.
You were at a desk with tomes and scrolls scattered, though carefully placed, across the surface.
You had asked permission to use Stephen's extensive library - a personal goal in mind but nonetheless seeking knowledge from the Sorcerer Supreme.
And Stephen had agreed almost immediately. If anyone would have overheard the conversation, they would have questioned how little Stephen inquired about your goal. Usually to gain access to his personal archives, a person would need to go through heavy interrogation and questioning.
You on the other hand were welcomed with fresh tea and an excuse for Stephen to remain close.
So, he meditated. And truth be told, he did not expect the magic coursing through him to take him on a journey as it did. He was cast through worlds unlike his own - but you were there - always the center of his visions. He flicked through realities like a novel. Watching you smile and laugh - cry and scream - some showed you safe within a home and others showcased you hard at work in various ways.
What was more curious was that these visions had you see him. At least not your version of Stephen, but he was forced to watch through the eyes of another version of himself.
These versions of you smiled at him with such warmth that he felt his breath catch in his chest. When his other selves lunged to protect you, Stephen flinched as if he also wished to cast a wall between you and the threat.
His heart began to beat rapidly. Roiling emotions burned in his chest until he saw enough and dropped the spell. He landed in the center of the protective runes and his eyes fell on you in an instant.
You didn't see his flustered state. You were too busy scribbling notes into a book you brought with you - intensely locked on your research.
So many realities and in almost all of them he had some deep connection to youβ¦and it was the same here. Stephen knew that. But he didn't realize the extent of his feelings until he watched tragedy befall you in a vision.
He didn't want that to happen here.
The sudden surge of emotion in him was startling but not altogether surprising to him.
When you were finished with your research, Stephen presented you with a small trinket. It pulsed with magic - protective magic. And when you looked at him with a quizzical gaze, he merely smiled and said, "To one curious mind from another. So your research doesn't get you into trouble."
Oblivious to his turmoil, you thanked him and hurried home. Leaving the poor Sorcerer Supreme to ponder over what he saw today.
Stephen knew that any relationship with him would be difficult.
He was Sorcerer Supreme - Doctor Strange - a man who walked between realities as easily as stepping out of his home. Not only was his job rather dangerous, but he was dangerous.
And so, Stephen buried his feelings under books, magic and multi-dimensional travel. Perhaps if he made enough distance between you, he could forget the affections that had rooted itself in his mind.
He told himself he didn't have time for romance.
That you were a colleague, nothing more.
Later, when nothing worked to rid of you in his mind, Stephen would reason that he couldn't give you the dedication you deserved. His title demanded every ounce of him- he couldn't share his life with someone like he wanted with you.
But you waited for him.
Every excuse he made, you took with understanding and patience. You came to him asking if he was busy, unknowing that he'd bend time for you.
Sometimes Stephen forgot that he was trying to keep some sort of distance from you.
When you called, Stephen answered.
Sometimes you wouldn't need too. The trinket he gave you was imbued with power that began to flourish in your presence. It protected you, yes, but the intention within the trinket wasn't just to keep you safe but to keep you connected to Stephen.
He'd be the first to admit that magic was sometimes an unruly and mysterious force. To say he knew that the magic would grow like it was would be a lie - but he didn't remove the charm or change it. Just kept an eye on it.
The Sanctum started to welcome you as warmly as he did. The spirits within the halls were friendly and helpful, the magic started to serve you almost as closely as it did Stephen.
Then there was the Cloak of Levitation.
Every time you were near, it tugged you towards Stephen and crushed your bodies together in a tight, warm embrace. Like an eager pet seeing the longing glances and lingering touches - the Cloak took it upon itself to breach the distance Stephen made. You always laughed when you were tangled up.
And Stephen would never admit that he melted from the inside out when you looked at him with that smile of yours.
A world was ending.
Not your world, but another reality being plagued by a force that Stephen needed to vanquish before it bled into your reality. He was running on fumes, desperate for a solution and wrecked from a fight he didn't foresee.
He returned to the Sanctum at the same time you were there. And when you offered to help, he couldn't say no. As much as he wanted to keep you as far away from danger as possible - he needed your mind. You were smart and he could trust you.
He explained the problem while pulling books and tomes and relics from shelves. Filling you in on the important details while searching for something - anything - to help him.
Stephen didn't realize you had hurried away, too focused on his rambling and exhaustion - until you came back with a trinket. "You mentioned something and it reminded me of this. Would this help?" You asked so unsure of yourself as you presented Stephen with the very thing he needed. Stephen would tell you to never doubt yourself ever again.
Relief washed through him. Pure, euphoric relief and before he could comprehend what he was doing - The Cloak tugged you forward, wrapping around you waist and Stephen opened his arms to embrace you. Your lips clashed together - a little unceremoniously and hard given the jolt your bodies were pulled in with - but the kiss was nothing but sweet and tender.
"You're brilliant. Thank you." Stephen gasped as he pulled away. The Cloak released you, allowing Stephen to open a portal and launched himself through it without dragging you behind him.
Leaving you standing stunned in a messy, silent archive. Flustered, lips tingling, you cleared your throat and decided to ignore what just happened⦠until Stephen returns some hours later. Looking beat up, exhausted but sheepish. His voice however, was strong - sincere - when he sought you out. "I owe you everything for what you just did." He said, looking around the cleaned library. Noticing your work without you needing to point it out. "I cannot offer you much. But if you ever need my assistance-"
"What about dinner?" You asked, cutting him off. And for the first time ever, you caught Stephen unawares. Stunning him into silence. You smiled and placed down a pile of books you were sorting, stepping towards him. "I think saving another world should equal a simple dinner with you, right?"
Doctor Strange nodded, a nervous laugh breaking his still expression. "Yes. Yes, I think I can arrange that."
Summary: You're an art student at a university in New York. Your roommate kicks you out of your shared apartment and you don't have anywhere to go. But you're friend Wong allows you to move into the sanctum sanctorum. You're just nervous about Doctor Stephen Strange's reaction to you being his new roommate.
"Are you sure he's okay with this?" I asked Wong as he helped me move my things into a spare bedroom at the sanctum sanctorum. "Don't worry, y/n. I've talked to Strange and he's fine with you moving into the sanctum. Just as long as you follow all the rules." Wong replied as he used his sorcerer powers to move a particularly heavy box. "Okay... If you say so." I said with a deep sigh. Eventually all of my boxes and bags were in my new room.
I thanked Wong for helping me. He had to go to Karma Taj for training lessons, so he wasn't able to help me unpack. I didn't mind though. I was just happy that he helped me with the heavy boxes. I grabbed my cellphone and decided to play music as I started unpacking my things. I focused more on the essential items I would need first. Then moved on to other things like my surplus of books. A knock on the open door caught my attention. When I looked up I saw Doctor Stephen Strange.
He was wearing a gray t-shirt, a black button styled sweater that was unbuttoned, and a pair of blue jeans. I grabbed my cellphone and turned down the music a little. "12 to 12 by Somber, released July 24th 2025." He said, referring to the song I had been listening to. "Wong said you do that. You're quite the music enthusiast aren't you?" I said with a soft smile and he smirked a bit. "I guess you could say that," He said as he put his hands in his sweater pockets. "So... You're y/n. The struggling art student who recently got kicked out by their roommate." He added as his blue eyes studied me.
I took in his appearance as well. He was six foot tall with black hair, but the sides were graying. He also had a well kempt goatee and high cheekbones. "Yeah, that's me. I'm very grateful that you were willing to let me stay here." I replied a bit awkwardly. "Don't mention it. I do expect you to follow all the rules I laid out for you while you stay at the sanctum." He replied. "Of course. I don't plan on breaking any of them. Unless you or Wong say otherwise." I said, and I meant it. I didn't wanna mess with anything I wasn't supposed to. Especially since this place was full of relics and artifacts of the mystic arts.
He nodded and we just sort of looked at each other for a moment. "Make yourself at home. It was nice to meet you y/n." He said with a small smile. "It was nice to meet you too, Stephen." I said with a smiled of my own. He moved from the doorway and continued walking down the hallway. I really wanted to get to know him better, and I wondered if he felt the same way. I pressed my thoughts to the back of my mind as I continued to unpack my belongings.
++++++++++++
A/N: Thanks for reading!! :) <3
Feel free to make a one-shot request in the comments or send me an ask. Anonymous asks are fine as well btw. <3
"Here," Carol said, trying to hand Daryl the small package of fresh bread and dried fruit she'd traded some of her contraband goods for. But he wasn't even looking at her. His eyes were fixed on you as you were receding into the crowd. "Daryl," she said, smiling to herself.
"Huh?" He finally realized she was holding the little package out for him. "Oh. Thanks," he murmured. But his eyes went straight back to looking for you, but you were gone. He cleared his throat a little abashedly. "Who was that? That ya were talkin' to," he asked, unable to stop himself.
Carol was still smiling to herself. "Just another survivor I've connected with," she answered. "Should I introduce you?" Her smile widened.
"What? Noβ" he said quickly, ducking his head under the pretense of looking at the goods she'd handed him, letting his hair curtain across his face. "I was just curious..."
"Mhmm," she hummed knowingly. "I've been meaning to introduce you actually," Carol replied.
"Whβwhy?"
"Ohβno reason," she shrugged. But her knowing smile was still there and this time Daryl marked it.
His eyes narrowed. "Shut up," he growled, faking annoyance.
"I just have a feeling you two areβwellβI think you'll get along..."
"Y/NβStop! Would yaβ" Daryl grabbed your pack from out of your hands. His blue eyes were intense and their color seemed to flare.
"Daryl," you sighed. "Give me my pack back."
He simply stared at you, his brow heavily furrowed and his eyes narrowed.
"Listen, I need you to be on board with this, okay?" you said.
He scoffed and shook his head. "Well, guess what's not gonna fuckin' happen," he growled.
"I know it's dangerous, but he won't expect it if I'm the one who goes," you argued.
"No," he snapped. "No. If somethin' goes sideways and ya get hurtβI couldn'tβI ain't lettin' ya do this."
"I'm not asking your permission. I'm doing this for all of us," you retorted.
"I dun care. It's too risky. We'll find another way. It ain't your responsibility to sacrifice yourself for the rest of us."
You couldn't help but smile just a little. "Wow. I should have recorded this talk for you next time you're planning something reckless..."
Prompt: "Listen, I need you to be on board with this." / "Well, guess what's not going to fucking happen!"
amandla
pixelskylines
prguitarman
