#I even took Tylenol already but my brain demands escape

[blazewatergem]

I better not get sick the day before Halloween. I feel like that meme about how you’ve exercised, drank water, got sun, and ate food but the brain is still being a brat. Like, c’mon brain, we took good care of ourselves today why are you hurting 😂 😓

This is totally because I went and saw goats yesterday wasn’t it. Dang it…

Anyways, I think I’m gonna set up my Halloween stories for automatic posting :’D so in case tomorrow I’m taken down for spooky night via migraine, they still get put up. I’m really excited to see what everyone thinks of them, the “Sweet” story in particular has been in the works for a bit.

[earlgreydream]

injured.

| stucky x reader | fluff | smut |

anon requested. After so many pleads for Y/N to stay home and be safe away from the mission; she still goes on that solo mission. However, when an injury occurs, she fears that Steve and Bucky will forbid/get mad at her for going. So she tries to hide it. However, when lust take over the same night she comes home; shower sex is in play between her lovers and her. And during all that, Steve and Bucky find the injury on her body and question it. Yet all Y/N wants to do is finish what they had started... yet to bad, having overprotective boyfriends are just what she has.

cw: mentions of violence, injury

“Shit,” you limped onto your jet, nearly collapsing to your knees on the floor.

The glass was cold and unforgiving, and you struggled to inhale, black bruises forming on your side. A sharp pain shot through your chest when you took a breath, and you wondered if your ribs were fractured, otherwise deeply bruised.

You hit the autopilot, sighing as the jet lifted and set for home. You laid back on the floor, unconsciousness clouding your mind. You fought it off, trying to keep your eyes open and focusing on breathing.

.

“Don’t go, Y/N. It’s a solo, Stark can send someone else,” Steve argued with you, knowing the dangers of sending you alone to Sokovian ruins to retrieve intel.

“You’re being ridiculous. I’ll be perfectly fine. I go on team missions all the time, and this is just intel. You worry too much,” you’d shaken your head, giving him a kiss.

Bucky was unsettled, joining Steve in his attempts to convince you to stay behind. You had brushed them off, excited to finally be assigned a solo mission. You were a newer addition to the avengers team, and you hadn’t had a chance to take a solo mission. It didn’t help when you had not one, but two overly protective boyfriends. With Steve being responsible for most mission assignments, you had been placed in groups— usually with both Steve and Bucky. You were aptly trained, but they still feared for you.

.

You laid on the floor of the jet, thinking about your mission that had gone horribly wrong.

Panic seized you as you realized that Steve and Bucky were going to lose their shit. They’d told you to stay home and you’d ignored them, and ended up injured.

What was supposed to be a simple intel gain, had turned violent when someone realized you were undercover. You’d managed to escape the sleazy club with the help of a local, but only after you’d been brutally beaten.

You had barely made it back to the jet, and now pain was flooding through your body, leaving you exhausted, and struggling to take shallow breaths. You ached, but the fear of Steve and Bucky banning you from missions was worse.

Steve could be an extremist, overly anxious about your safety. Bucky was much more level-headed and rational, but you doubted that even he would remain calm when he saw your bruises.

No problem, you just had to figure out a way to cover it up. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, and you didn’t intend to let them find out.

Your brain spun through how you were going to hide it, coming up short with ideas. You pushed yourself onto your knees and iced the bruises, taking some painkiller that Stark kept on the jet.

.

You managed to get yourself standing by the time you arrived back at the compound, though you still looked a mess.

Stark greeted you when the jet opened, and you hurried onto the tarmac. His eyes widened when he saw you, and you swore.

“That bad?”

“Yeah. You look like death. What the hell happened?” Stark demanded, following you inside.

Luckily, Steve and Bucky were caught up on a mission somewhere else, and you had a couple of hours before they returned.

“Morozova caught on. Gave me a beating, but I’m fine. And I managed to get the intel you asked for. But Tony, promise me you won’t tell the boys!” You begged, and the inventor looked hesitant.

“I’m fine, and you know they’ll overreact. I’ll be more careful next time, but don’t blow this for me, please!” You pleaded, walking with him to the lab.

“Fine. But only because I owe you. And if they find out, you deny that I knew. Come on, let’s get you some help.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, thanking Tony and letting him inspect your injuries. He concluded all your bones were intact, and you didn’t have internal bleeding. He cleaned your scrapes and cuts, and told you to watch the bruising. It was clear you’d had the shit kicked out of you, your ribs, stomach, hips, legs, and back evidence of the assault.

“This looks painful. You’ll need to be careful, and no physical training until you’re healed up. Got it?”

“Got it. Thanks, Stark.”

He hummed in his annoyed, impatient tone, and you watched him go. You gave yourself a moment before walking to your suite, changing into leggings and Bucky’s vintage “Stark Industries” hoodie, knowing it would hide all the bruising. You fell asleep waiting for them, exhaustion getting to you.

.

You slowly opened your eyes when lips pressed against your forehead. The touch was familiar, and you tilted your head back to meet Bucky’s mouth.

“Hi, doll,” he murmured, smiling against your lips.

You sat up, greeting the boys and kissing Steve.

“How was the mission?” Steve brushed hair from your face.

“I got all the intel for Stark,” you smiled, earning proud grins from the boys.

“That’s my girl,” Bucky kissed your cheek.

You were thankful you hadn’t been dragged into their arms, squeezed and smothered like they occasionally preferred. You concealed your pain, reduced to a dull ache from the Tylenol.

“Let’s shower, calm down a bit?” Bucky offered, kissing your neck, making your spine prickle with need.

“I’m good, go ahead. I’ve already showered.” The lie slipped out before you could stop it, and Bucky drew away from kissing your neck.

He exchanged a look with Steve before turning back to you, steel and sky blue eyes narrowing at you.

“Y/N…” Steve began, but cut off, allowing you an opportunity to explain your lie.

“I mean, I just, don’t feel up to it…” you tried, shying away from Steve when he reached out to set his hand on your leg.

“Doll, what’s wrong?” Bucky asked, worry flashing across his eyes.

“Nothing, honey. I’m fine,” you promised, touching his scruffy face and giving him a kiss.

“Then let’s have some shower sex,” Steve met your gaze.

You nodded, going in the bathroom first. You got in the shower, and they followed, seeing your body covered in bruises and scrapes.

“Y/N!” Bucky cried, lifting your arm and inspecting your injuries.

“It’s fine, really. No broken bones or internal bleeding.”

“What happened? Why didn’t you tell us?!” Steve raised his voice, making you sink back against the cold tile.

“Because I didn’t want you to get angry and forbid me from going on missions!” You defended yourself.

Both men tried to contain their agitation, not wanting you to feel like they were angry. Their fears became tangible, seeing you wounded.

“Sweetheart, you’ve been injured, we’re just worried. You need to tell us when you’re hurt,” Steve’s tone softened.

“I’m sorry,” you finally conceded.

“Don’t be. First of all, are you okay?” Bucky asked, tilting your face up.

“It hurts,” you admitted.

Bucky winced at your tone, understanding how much pain you were in. You abandoned your attempts to conceal it, and he could hear the agony in your voice.

“I’m so sorry,” he leaned down and gently kissed your bruises. Steve joined, and suddenly they were kissing all over your body.

Your hands went to Bucky’s hair as he kissed your hip, and sparkling grey eyes gazed up at you. Steve kissed your inner thigh, and you bit your lip, need pooling between your legs. Tingling started to spread through your body, and you were seconds away from begging your boyfriends to touch you.

Steve stood, towering over you from behind. Strong arms gently snaked around you, supporting your weight without putting pressure on the bruises.

“Steve-?” You looked up at him, but you tightened your grip on Bucky’s hair as his mouth went where you desired.

“Oh,” you breathed as Bucky’s tongue gently lapped through your folds, brushing over your clit.

“We’re going to be gentle, doll,” Steve promised, pressing his lips just below your ear.

“Going to make some of that ache go away,” Bucky mumbled against your heat, his speech sending echoed vibrations through your sex.

You gripped Steve’s arm, thankful he was holding you up, or else your knees would’ve buckled, weak from Bucky eating you out.

He reached up, gently brushing his fingertips over your entrance, gauging your reaction. Your muscles fluttered at the touch, trying to pull him in. He smirked against you, sucking on your clit and using his tongue to tease you. You fisted his dark hair, slipping between your fingers from being soaked by the shower, and you struggled to find solidity.

“James!” You cried, throwing your head back on Steve’s shoulder as Bucky pushed two fingers inside of you, stroking your velvety walls.

Steve gently groped your chest, teasingly rolling your nipple between his fingers. The boys knew how to get you off— and knew how to do it gently. You’d never been more thankful for them as you were in this moment, soft heat wrapping around your body, mixing with the steam of the warm shower.

Your eyes fell closed and you arched your sore back off of Steve, grinding against Bucky’s face before he coaxed an orgasm from you.

“That’s it, pretty girl, come all over Buck’s face,” Steve smirked into your neck. 

You cried out, yanking on Bucky’s hair and collapsing against Steve. You winced as he bumped your bruises, trying to catch you. He murmured out an apology, and Bucky leaned back under the water, grinning up at you. 

“Let’s get you clean, then you can rest, doll.”

You were so tired you could barely keep your eyes open as they helped you wash up, sending you to dry off so they could take care of one another. You offered to jerk them off, returning the favor, but Steve just laughed and kissed you.

“Go get in bed. We’ll join you in a bit.”

You didn’t argue, sliding into bed in fresh pajamas, printed with Steve’s shields. He’d gotten them for you as a bit of a joke, but you’d loved them, wearing them all the time. The boys’ dog tags rested under the button-down top, cold against your warm skin. You were nearly lulled to sleep by the hum of the shower, struggling to stay awake as the two boys returned to your bedroom, going to either side. 

“What happened on the mission, love?” Steve asked quietly, lying down with his face inches from yours. 

“I was in a meeting, getting the information that Stark wanted on the Hydra transfers. I’m not sure what gave it away, but General Morozova found out that I was under cover. He beat me, but a Sokovian helped me escape,” you explained wearily, sighing as Bucky’s arm went around you protectively.

“You’re safe now. Once you’re recovered, we’ll talk about future missions.”

“So you’re not banning me?” you asked hopefully, looking up at Steve.

“You’re too valuable, but you’re not going on missions without Bucky and I for a while,” Steve conceded, kissing your nose.

“I could be okay with that,” you squeezed them in a hug, ignoring the pain that shot through you. 

You giggled as kisses were littered all over your face, the three of you talking until you fell asleep. 

[turtle-steverogers]

Relapse

here’s some sad stuff for @irondad-spiderson-duo who suggested ralbert angst

ship: platonic ralbert

warnings: minor character death, alcohol addiction, breakdown and shiz

editing: nah nah

Albert’s phone rang loudly next to him, and he put down the highlighter he was using to annotate Jane Eyre to pick it up.  It was his 14 year old brother, Thomas, calling and Albert frowned.  Usually if they needed to reach him, Albert’s brothers texted him.  It was rare that they’d ever call.

He picked up tentatively, “Thomas?” Loud, frantic breaths could be heard on the other end and Albert sat up straighter, instantly feeling more alert.

“Al-Albert,” Thomas panted out, sobs intermixing with his breaths, “Albert, I can’t- he, I- and dad didn’t- fuck, Albie, help.”

“Thomas, Thomas, hey,” Albert soothed, running an anxious hand through his hair, “Breathe for me, man.  I’ll help you however I can, but you need to breathe first so you can tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t do it, Albert, I,” He hiccuped brokenly, “Elijah, he-”

Albert’s stomach sank, “Thomas,” he said, dread causing his stomach to clench, “What’s wrong with Eli?”  Elijah was his 10 year old brother whom he’d raised along with Thomas.  Their father had been absent emotionally ever since their mother’s suicide in Albert’s junior year of high school.  The two of them meant everything to Albert and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if something happened to one of them.

“Th-there was a car crash,” Thomas choked out, “And Elijah- Albert, I can’t.”

Albert swallowed any fear that consumed him in the moment and switched his mind into parent mode, “Thomas, dude, can you try and take a deep breath for me?  Do you remember how we used to do it?  In for four, hold for four, out for four.”  He could hear Thomas struggling through the breathing exercises on the other end and he patiently coached him through until he sounded somewhat calmer.  He was still crying, but he was no longer hyperventilating, which was an improvement.

“Awesome, man,” Albert praised, “Now, can you tell me what’s happening?”

“His neck snapped,” Thomas said, a fresh wave of sobs coming through the speaker, “Albie, he’s gone.”

Albert was speechless.  Suddenly, Thomas’ cries seemed a million miles away.  All thoughts slipped out of Albert’s mind as Thomas’ words bounced around in his head.  ‘He’s gone’.  He’s dead.  Elijah’s dead.  His neck snapped and he’s dead.

“Albie, I’m sorry,” Thomas cried, “I’m so, so sorry.  I should have-”

Albert snapped back to the present.  He cut Thomas off, his voice more controlled than it should have been, “Thomas, I need you to listen to me, are you listening?”

“Y-yeah.”

“This is not your fault.  Whatever happened wasn’t your fault, you hear me?”

“But maybe if I had just-”

“Stop it, Thomas, I won’t have you blaming yourself for this.  His death is not your fault,” The reality of the situation sank in and Albert felt the air leave his lungs.  Being on the phone with Thomas felt like too much all of a sudden, and before he could think about what he was doing, Albert said, “I gotta go, man, I’ll call you back in a bit.”  He hung up without waiting for an answer, feeling slightly guilty that he’d left Thomas on his own.  But these feelings were soon forgotten as grief engulfed his entire being.  

His brain felt like mush.  He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t.  He wanted to scream, but no sound came out.  He wanted to punch something, but his limbs weren’t cooperating.  

He found himself in the kitchen with no recollection of how he got there.  Numbly, he stumbled towards the kitchen sink and opened the cabinet underneath.  Near the back was his stash of liquor.  Two small whiskey flasks and one large bottle of vodka were hidden behind the hand towels.  In his freshman year of college, the first time he’d been able to escape his father’s abuses, Albert turned to alcohol to deal with his pent up trauma from his time at home.  It quickly turned into an addiction, affecting every aspect of his life.  There was rarely a time when Albert wasn’t drunk on something.  Whether it be hard liquor, or a beer, he was constantly buzzed.  It was an escape from his own mind.  He could numb out the rest of the world, while simultaneously feeling more than he had in years.  He depended on the warmth that alcohol brought him.  His addiction lasted until his liver almost failed and he had to be hospitalized in his sophomore year.  After he was released from the hospital, his roommate and high school best friend, Racetrack Higgins, put his foot down and demanded he quit.  In his words, ‘if not for your own good, then for your brothers’’.  It took awhile, but eventually Albert was weaned off his dependency, but he could never bring himself to fully get rid of his stash, always keeping some kind of juice under the sink for emergencies.  

This was an emergency.  Albert reached for the vodka and desperately screwed off the cap.  He brought the bottle to his lips and down a quarter of the vile liquid in under five seconds.  Tears pricked Albert’s eyes as the alcohol burned his throat and instantly, he felt a new sense of calm wash over him as it spread through his system.  

Closing his eyes, he took another large gulp and his brain began to feel fuzzy.  The pain of Elijah’s death lingered at the back of his mind, but for now, he was lost in the serenity of the buzz.  He drank more, half the bottle already gone.  He could tell that he was approaching drunk, but he didn’t care.  Heavily, he lowered himself to the floor and was just about the take another swig, when the apartment door opened.

“Yo, Al,” He heard Race call, “You here? Oh, there you-” Race froze as he took in Albert, sitting on the floor, bottle in hand.  His head was lolling to the side slightly and his eyes were heavily hooded.  He was drunk.

“Albert, man,” Race said, anger, confusion, and concern tugging at his gut, “What are you doing?”

“The fuck does it look like, Higgins,” Albert slurred, holding up the vodka for emphasis, “M’partyin’.”

“Albert,” Race didn’t leave the disappointment out of his voice, “You were doing so well,” he crossed over to him and carefully tugged the bottle away.  Albert tried to fight back, but he was weaker than Race in his drunken state.  Race dumped the rest of the vodka into the sink and tossed the bottle in the recycling.

“Is there any more?” He asked in the same tone.  Albert nodded wordlessly and pointed to the sink cabinet.  Race sighed and knelt down to dig through, quickly finding the flasks of whiskey.  He disposed of those as well, then hoisted Albert up.  

Albert leaned heavily on Race as he dragged him to his bedroom.  Albert flopped onto his bed, sleep overcoming him almost immediately.

By the time he woke up, it was dark outside.  A massive headache was pounding his skull and he groaned loudly.  Everything that had happened earlier in the day came flooding back and Albert had to resist the urge to vomit as guilt and grief mixed with his nausea.  Race entered his room, holding a tall glass of water and two tylenol tablets in his hands.  He handed them to Albert, who took the pills and downed the water greedily.  Race sat at the foot of his bed, waiting for him to finish.  Albert set the now empty glass on his bedside table and sat up against the headboard, pulling his knees up to his chest.  

“We need to talk about this, man,” Race said, softly.  Albert kept his gaze on his sheets, refusing to look at Race, “Why’d you relapse?”

Feeling surged back into Albert as he remembered Elijah’s passing, bringing unbearable pain with it and he soon felt like he was drowning.  The room felt too small and he pushed off his blankets as emotions suffocated him.

“Hey, hey,” Race said, eyes widening, “Breathe, dude, breathe.”

Albert forced himself to take a couple deep breaths, becoming acutely aware of the fact that his face was wet with tears, “E-Elijah,” he croaked, “You know my brother, Elijah.”

“I know Elijah, yes,” Race said, eyebrows knitting together, “What about him?”

“Thomas called me earlier to tell me there was a car crash.  Eli didn’t make it.  His neck snapped and he-” Albert let out a sob and he pushed himself further into the headboard.

Race blanched and he shifted further onto the bed, reaching out hesitantly to Albert.  He allowed his hand to hover above Albert’s shoulder in silent question.  When Albert nodded, Race pulled him in and held him tightly.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Race murmured, sounding close to tears himself, “I can’t even imagine…”

“He was ten fucking years old,” Albert cried into his shoulder, “He didn’t even get to middle school.”

Race hushed him, rubbing his bicep soothingly.  They stayed in that position for what seemed like forever while Albert cried.  Eventually his sobs slowed to small hiccups and he pulled away, rubbing at his face.

It was quiet for a few moments, then Race asked, “What do you need?” He’d learned a while back never to ask Albert if he was okay, because if they were in a situation that warranted that question, the answer was most likely ‘no’.  Instead, he had taken to asking him what he could do for him.  This way, Albert didn’t need to outright ask for help- something he was never good at- instead, he could simply request comfort.

“Could you..” He trailed off, biting his lip.

“Could I what?  I’ll do whatever you need me to,” Race said, gently squeezing his knee in encouragement.

“Could you stay the night?” Albert blushed, feeling ashamed.

Race smiled kindly, “Of course, Al.”  He toed off his socks and climbed into the bed next to Albert.

“Blankets or no?” He asked, nonchalantly.

“Uh, sure,” Albert said, settling his head back onto one of his pillows.

“Okay, let me know if you need them or me off at any point,” Race said, pulling the blankets over the two of them.  Albert curled onto Race’s chest and closed his eyes, breathing in his best friend’s familiar and comforting scent.  He was briefly brought back to high school when he’d escape to Race’s house if his dad was being particularly harsh or physical and they’d share a bed, Race holding Albert tightly.  

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Race,” Albert whispered, voice hitching slightly.

“I’ve got you, Al,” Race whispered back, “I’ll help you figure this out.”

“Thank you, Tony.”

“I’m here for you, Albert, but do me one favor.”

“What.”

Race’s voice took on a certain sternness as he said, “Next time you feel like you might want to drink again, call me first.  I swear to God I’ll come home right away.”

Albert hesitated, emotions rising in his throat again, “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Race said, “I’m not mad, I swear.  I just want you to come to me next time, yeah?”

Albert nodded, “Yeah.”

“Thank you.  Now try and sleep, I’ll be here all night if you need me.”

“Okay, thank you.  Goodnight, Racer.”

“Goodnight Albert.”

--

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