You’re dating and they discover you’ve started self-harming again.

Tony: Self hatred was something that Tony was all too familiar with.  Not a day went by that he didn’t hate himself for one reason or another.  Today, he hated himself because he hadn’t noticed.  He had been completely oblivious to the way that you had secluded yourself more and more in the recent weeks.  He hadn’t noticed the fresh cut marks on your arms.  He had let you down.

He’d caught you coming out of the shower; meaning to be cheeky about it and hopefully coax you back into the shower with him.  Clad in nothing but a towel your new scars were all too visible against the cream towel.  Surprised, you pulled the towel closer to your body, twisting your arms in such a way that your scars were hidden, pressed against your chest.  “Tony.”  Before you could continue he had left the bathroom, silently stalking away to leave you to scramble to get dressed.

Changing quickly you came out of the bathroom to find Tony sitting on the bed, back leaning against the headboard with a pillow in his lap.  His fingers twirled and twirled around a stray thread of the pillowcase, eyes focused somewhere just over your shoulder.  Quietly you neared the bed; crawling onto the mattress and sitting shoulder to shoulder with Tony.

“It’s my fault.”  He began, meticulously wrapping the thread around his pointer finger to cut off the blood before slowly unwinding it again.  “Is it because I’m too caught up with work all the time?  Because I can spend less time in the lab.  We can take a week off.  A month off.  Hell, let’s travel for a year.  We’ll go wherever you want.  No work.  No distractions.  Just you and me.”

“Tony.”  You cut him off quietly.  “It’s not your fault.”  The tears in his eyes when he finally looked at you caused tears of your own to well in your eyes.

“How do I help you?  I thought we were on the right path.  I thought we were figuring it out.  Why didn’t you come to me?”

Sighing you wedged your arm between Tony’s own arm and his chest, curling against his side enough to lay your head against his shoulder.  “I’m sorry.”

His other hand came up to cradle your face as he turned his head and pressed his lips against the top of your head.  He hovered there for a long time, thumb brushing against your cheek as he held your face.  “I love you.  So much that it hurts.”

“I love you too.”

Steve: With a loud ‘oomf’ your back hit the floor pad once again, head cracking against the relatively soft padding as Steve wins the sparring match.  A big triumphant smile had him showing off all of his perfect teeth as he reached an arm down to help you back onto your feet.  Without thinking, you accept his offered hand, the sleeve of your hoodie riding up to expose the fresh scars lining your wrists.  The moment you were on your feet again you were pulling your sleeve back down, hoping that Steve hadn’t noticed.

He had, of course.  Almost nothing escaped Steve’s notice.  With a deep frown he kept your hand trapped in his own, keeping you anchored to him.  With his free hand he pulled up your sleeve enough to reveal the first of the line of scrrs before you violently pulled your sleeve back down.  “What do you think you’re doing.”

“Y/N…”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”  You caught him off guard by yanking your arm away from him hard.  Turning on your heel you stepped quickly.  “I’m going to shower off.”

                                                          ~*~*~*~*~*

You had hoped that by the time you were done showering Steve would have left the gym.  Purposely packing your gym clothes away slowly you hoisted the bag over your shoulder and slowly opened the door back into the gym.  Of course, Steve was seated on a bench close to the door.  Waiting for you.

“Ready to talk about it?”  He asked, rising to his feet as you started walking quickly out of the gym.  Easily he matched your pace, making sure to keep step with you no matter how fast or how slow you tried to move.

“No.”  You snapped.  “It’s not a big deal.”  Steve remained silent, hands stuffed in his pockets as you walked the halls quietly.  Reaching the room to your dorm, you sighed and glanced over at him.  “You’re not going away are you?”

“Not a chance.”

Huffing loudly you kicked open the door to your room and let your bag drop to the floor.  “Fine.  Let’s talk about it.”

Thor: “Y/N?”  Thor’s voice boomed from the bathroom.  Rolling over in bed, sleep still in your eyes, you let out a loud hum as answer.  Light from the bathroom interrupted the darkness of your bedroom when Thor opened the door, gingerly holding something between his thumb and pointer finger.  “What is this?”  Blinking to focus your eyes, the small razor became noticeable in Thor’s grasp.

“Where’d you find that?”  Sitting up now your heart began to beat a little faster, nervous kicking in.  Thor stepped forward to near the bed, holding the razor out like he thought you couldn’t see it properly.

“On the countertop.  Beside the sink.”  Mentally you cursed yourself for forgetting to put it away.  Holding out your hand Thor gently placed the razor in your palm.

“It looks like a miniature sword.  But it’s oddly designed.”  His blatant oblivion to what the razor represented calmed your nerves minutely.  “What is it used for?”  The bed dipped as he sat beside you.

Weighing the razor in your hand for a moment you deposited it on the nightstand.  “It’s used for cutting things, like a sword would be.  People usually use it for cutting paper, or string or something like that when they’re sewing.”

“What have you used it for?”  His question shocked you into silence.  While he had meant it to be innocent, there was a weight behind his words that he couldn’t understand.  Not unless you told him.

Slowly you pulled back the sleeve of your pajama top, revealing the stained white bandage underneath.  Thor’s giant hand quickly enclosed your own, brow furrowing as he frowned at the covered injury.  “You hurt yourself?” He asked, casting a menacing glance at the razor.

“I haven’t in a long time.  This week just,”  You paused, searching for the right words.  “This week was just tough.”  Nodding in understanding Thor released your hand and grabbed the razor instead.  Crossing the room with wide strides he dropped the razor into the trash can before coming back to the bed.

“Now it cannot hurt you anymore.”  Once again taking hold of your hand he tugged your wrist up enough so that he could press an innocent kiss against the bandage.

Clint: “Let’s have a lazy morning.”  Clint grumbled as you turned off the ringing alarm clock.  To accentuate his statement his arm flexed around your waist, holding you down.  Not that you were fighting to get up and start your morning.

“Work will miss us.”  You tried to reason.  Clint laughed behind you, breathing hot air against the back of your neck.

“No they won’t.  Besides, you deserve to relax a little bit.  Take your mind off of everything.”  His hand reached down across your body to gently wrap around your wrist, tugging your hand up to press a kiss to the pulse point of your wrist.

“How long have you known for?”  You asked, twisting around in his grasp to face him.  Letting go of your hand to rest it against his face Clint hugged your waist once again.

“A while.  You’re not a good liar, you know.”  Embarrassed, you let your eyes drop away from Clints face.  “Play hooky with me today.  Maybe it will help.”  With two fingers he tilted your chin back up to force you to look at him.

“Okay.”

Bruce: You hadn’t meant to cut as deeply as you had.  You’d tried to stifle it with towel after towel, and had finally managed to get it to slow enough to use a bandage, but that left a mess of blood stained towels across the bathroom floor and in the sink.  Knowing that Bruce was due home soon you did what you could to clean the blood, only managing to clean the sink before you heard the front door open.

Abandoning your cleaning venture, you slipped out of the bathroom and closed the door securely behind you.  Taking a deep breath you walked to the front hall, smiling softly when you saw Bruce hanging his jacket up by the door.  “Hi, honey.”  He smiles brightly, wrapping an arm around your waist and pecking you on the lips quickly.  As he went to move past you into the living room you grabbed onto the front of his shirt.

“I have to show you something.”  If you didn’t show him now, he’d find it later.  And while neither one was favorable, this was the best option.  Taking his hand you quietly lead him to the bathroom, opening the door to reveal the mess of towels still on the floor.  “I cut deeper than I meant to.  I couldn’t clean it up in time.”

Carefully detracting his hand from yours Bruce rolled up the sleeves to his button up shirt to his elbows.  Squeezing past you and the door frame he surveyed the bathroom with a weary look.  “Why don’t you go lay down on the couch and I’ll clean up here. Then we can have some tea.  Talk.”

“I didn’t mean to.”  You apologized.  Bruce smiled softly back at you before he began cleaning.

“I know.  But I don’t want you to worry about it right now.  Go relax.  I’ll be there soon.”

Love was never supposed to hurt this much

Plot - Loving him was never easy, but no one said it was going to be. Love could conquer anything. Right?

Words - 5,400

Pairing - Bucky X Reader

Warnings - ANGST! Major character death. The smallest amount of fluff in the world.

A/N - I have already posted this once before so if you think you’ve read it then you probably have. I deleted my secondary blog with the same name so I could change it to my primary. Anyway, I’m sorry for making you all suffer again. The angst is real.

Originally posted by stupidteletubbie

**

Love. It had always been a foreign concept to you, but god the moment you laid eyes on him you knew – you damn well knew he was the one.

Even from birth you never knew the meaning of love. Your parents? The people who are supposed to love you unconditionally, it seemed they didn’t understand the meaning of it either – or maybe it was because your dad left so long ago, and it spiralled your mother into depression, pushing her towards alcohol. Then years later, when your mind was ridden with self-hatred, and depression sank its claws into your flesh, he came along.

The moment your eyes fell on him the breath was stolen from your lungs, yet you felt like you could breathe all-over again. Everything about him was beautiful – from the way his brunette hair fell into his eyes – and on the topic of his eyes, oh they were the most beautiful things you had ever seen in your life. They were bright blue, like the sky on a summers night – yet they were so dark and steely that you found yourself drowning in their depths, they were breath-taking on a whole other level. Then there was the way that his expanse of muscle rippled underneath his clothes and a smile which lit up your entire world and gave you the light you needed to guide you from the tunnel of self-hatred. He was perfect in every way possible.

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Jercy headcanon that when they’re both already old and retired, that Jason Grace is that one grandpa who answers crossword puzzle on newspapers and probably plays chess or something with all the other grandpas on a local park and Percy Jackson would always show up and treathen to whip him with his cane before pinch-pulling his ears and scold him on their way home because he forgot to feed their many cats.