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so-long-soldier-writes · 1 year ago

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One of Those Days

poly!mikaelsons x reader | request

summary: between the constant fighting and city clamor, you're overstimulated from the minute you wake up. you try to isolate until you feel better, but sometimes, that only makes things worse. luckily, your loving vampire partners are always there for you.

tags: sensory issues, mental health, overstimulation, arguing, mild emotional hurt / comfort

word count: ~2.6k

a/n: requested by @asexualaromosafezone - i am SO SORRY this took me literal months to complete. a couple days ago, i suddenly remembered i never filled it and finished it asap. i hope you like it, and again, so many apologies!

Sometimes, you wake up, and can immediately tell it’ll be a hard day. The sun has barely risen, yet there’s already a million noises coming through your window. Chatters of people having their morning walks, car horns from those too impatient to let them cross, the distant clang of a dropped pot, and-

“REBEKAHHH!”

-Klaus, yelling for his sister. At seven in the morning.

“What the bloody hell are you shouting for?! I’m right here!”

You sigh, glad that mystery solved quickly.

There’s probably a few more minutes until your alarm rings, so instead of getting up a little earlier, you opt to enjoy your last minutes of peace. Though you soon realize that’s impossible, given your circumstances. On top of the city sounds, there’s a bird right outside your window, and when you try to turn away from it, the tag on your blanket itches the inside of your thigh.

“Ugh!” You toss the blanket off.

Your alarm sounds not a second later.

With a slap to your phone and then another to your forehead, you decide to just get ready for the day. Luckily, not much is planned. Marcel still has control over the city, and with you being human, your Mikaelson hosts don’t want you outside at all.

See, you live with the family of original vampires. You used to be a Mystic Falls’ resident, but then after developing a close connection with the siblings, decided to move to New Orleans with them and get a fresh start. You were tired of the small town life, and while the big city can be overwhelming at times, you’ll never get sick of the culture it has to offer. Besides, living with the most powerful family makes you happier than you ever believed you could be.

As much as you love them, though, they can be a pain. Like when Klaus can’t find his sister, but forgets a whisper would summon her just as effectively. Instead, he has to wake up the whole quarter, and inconvenience you with a headache. When you reach the dining room that day, you slump your head on the table.

“Everything alright, darling?” Kol’s voice floats over your head, making you aware of his presence.

“Tired.”

“Is your bed comfortable enough? Do you need more blankets?”

You haven’t been in the city long, and his consideration warms your heart.

“Oh, I’m okay. I’m very comfy. Just haven’t gotten used to the city yet.”

“Ah, I understand.”

His attention drifts to his sister. You busy yourself with a plate of food and ignore how tired you feel. When Elijah sits beside you, you offer a smile, but don’t say anything. The man, polite as ever, does the same. Though while two of the siblings are quiet, the other two aren’t. Klaus and Rebekah are still on the same topic from earlier. They bounce off each other quickly, childish banter turning into an argument.

You try to eat in peace and ignore them, but it’s difficult. And it doesn’t help that you’ve been feeling down lately, anyway. It’s rather unexplainable, the way you feel. Some days you’d rather stay in bed all day than face the world. Your whole body could be begging for you to get up and get things done, but you just can’t. No matter how hard you fight your own mind, sometimes there’s no winning the raging war.

To make matters worse, you’re always hypersensitive when you find yourself in these low moods. Every little thing is overstimulating and there’s no pause button. This morning, you didn’t even get a chance to wake up before the sounds started. (Thanks, Klaus.) You roll your eyes in your head, annoyed.

“Hey.” A poke to your shoulder startles you, making you jump. “You okay?”

“Ooh, you caught me off guard.”

“Sorry,” Kol smiles, “you in deep thought, or rolling your eyes at Klaus’ statement?”

“Uh…” You bite your lip. You were rolling your eyes about Klaus, but missed whatever statement it was that he just made. “What did he say?”

“That he was on his way to have a little chat with Marcel. That will go swimmingly.”

“Oh.” You snort and decide to joke. “Both.”

Kol grins at you, but then, thankfully, leaves you alone again.

After breakfast, you retreat back into your room, not in the mood to face the day. If Klaus is really going to start shit with Marcel, it’ll be an intense day. You’ve never met the current king of the French Quarter, but Elijah’s told stories. Marcel and the family used to be close, but then, like all their other relationships, ties ended drastically.

“But not with you, of course,” he had promised. “You’re our girl.”

You were skeptical for a moment. Who wouldn’t be, knowing the Mikaelsons? But then Klaus approached you from behind with a kiss to your hair and confirmed his brother’s words,

“As long as we have your loyalty, you’ll always have ours.”

You could see the truth in his statement. Everyone who ended up on their bad side had betrayed them in some way. So, as long as you didn’t repeat others’ mistakes; as long as you kept your trust in the family, you would be considered family. And ever since the day you first grew close, you have been their family.

You’re close with all of the siblings. Elijah, first, when you couldn’t take your eyes off him at Damon’s dinner party. Then Rebekah, and then Kol, when he undaggered. Even Finn, before his untimely death - thanks to Matt, your good friend now worst enemy. Klaus took the longest to trust you, and you can’t blame him for having trust issues, but once he realized how much his siblings adored you, he was quick to accept your place with them.

Now, the five of you live together, nine hundred miles from your hometown. It’s certainly a change, but every day with them is an adventure.

Like today, you suddenly think, overhearing Elijah’s footsteps in the hallway. Today has definitely been one of those days.

“Y/N?” He stops outside your door.

“Mhm?”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

Elijah opens the door, but doesn’t fully enter your room. He looks you up and down before smiling. “I just thought you seemed sad earlier and wanted to check on you. Is everything okay?”

“Oh!” You put on a brave face to mask the tiredness you feel internally. “Yeah, I’m just out of sorts today. It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure? Because if someone’s bothering you, that’s something we can take care of.”

“No, no, I promise. It’s all just me. Just having a day.”

“You’re positive?” He asks for confirmation again.

“Have I ever lied to you, ‘Lijah?”

He looks down at his shoes, embarrassed. “No, you haven’t. I apologize for doubting you.”

“It’s okay,” you step closer to him, resting against the door frame. “No need to apologize. But I swear, I just… woke up on the wrong side of the bed or something. New Orleans is a loud city. I’m still adjusting.”

“Okay. Well, call if you need anything. Even the smallest thing.”

“I will.”

“Oh, and be careful in the off-chance that Marcel storms in here. There’s a fight brewing in the quarter.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Better yet, stay inside for the day. So you’re not in harm’s way at all.”

“Okay, ‘Lijah.”

He smiles at you, then kisses your hand. “Now, I need to neutralize my brother. But I needed to make sure our girl was okay first.”

“She’s okay. Go deal with him.”

Elijah straightens his collar before speeding off to no doubt defend his brother in a fight. You love Klaus, but man, does he get angry. And then from anger, comes pure rage, then absolute chaos. Once situations escalate that far, the whole block better hide if they want to keep their hearts in their chest.

You sigh, thinking of the carnage that may come. You’re not sure you can deal with his anger issues today, especially not coupled with those of Marcel. Of all the days they have to fight, it’s the one that you might snap, too, if he raises his voice one more time.

Suddenly, your bed looks like the perfect oasis away from the mess behind your door. A good pillow over the ears might prevent an impending meltdown. You crawl into it at once and let your body melt into the mattress.

You hadn’t lied to Elijah, though you hadn’t given him the full truth, either. Yes, you are, in general, okay. Not necessarily today, but at that moment, you were. Also yes, you’re not feeling great today, partly because of all the city noise. And, finally, yes, most of it is just you and your body not in the mood to be awake. Though Klaus is contributing, just a little bit, to your mental distress today. Elijah would understand, of course, but then he’d have a talk with his brother about it, and you really didn’t want to burden either of them in that way, so you put on a smile and didn’t mention it. You’d bet Elijah knows the full truth, and knows why you won’t admit it, but he respects you if you don’t want to talk about it. That’s one of the reasons you love him so much.

You get a couple hours of rest until your slumber is interrupted by a new knock on your door. It’s not soft, like Elijah’s, so it must be one of the younger two.

“Oh no,” you mutter, wondering what it must be now.

“Y/N?” Rebekah’s voice comes from the other side. “Are you awake?”

“I am now.”

She opens the door as you reply. “Oh what the bloody hell are you still doing in bed?”

“Sleeping.”

“Obviously! Come watch a movie with Kol and I! We’d love your company.”

“An actual movie, or the public display of violence happening outside in the quarter?”

“We haven’t decided yet!” She grabs your hand. “Come on!”

You yawn. “I’m gonna pass today, I’m not up for it.”

“Awh, Y/N! It won’t be as fun without you!”

“I have a headache, Bex,” you fib.

“Do you want some blood for that?”

“Does that even work like that?”

She shrugs, “not sure.”

You cuddle into your pillow. “Another time, okay?”

The girl smiles, then leans forward to kiss your head. “Okay. If you change your mind, come find us.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“Dinner’s at seven. Will you be there?”

“Yeah,” you promise, “I should be better by then.”

You are not, in fact, better by then. If anything, your foul mood progressed into an actual headache within thirty minutes of Rebekah leaving. Shouts throughout the city managed to penetrate the thin glass of your windows, and you could hear almost everything as Klaus heckled the current king. For hours, it went on, until the sun went down and they assumedly put it off for another day. By seven o’clock, you were able to sneak in another nap, but you still felt way overstimulated from the day’s events.

Not to mention the fact that you spent all day in bed. Sometimes, you’re overstimulated by too much going on, but today you partly did it to yourself by hiding away all day. The guilt of avoiding everyone weighs on your chest. Rebekah had invited you to a movie; Elijah went out of his way to check up on you, and you had more or less dismissed them both. A bitter taste sits in your mouth when you think about it. Water doesn’t wash it out.

Hopefully dinner will.

For the first ten minutes, the night passes peacefully. Most of the conversation is focused between the meal and the movie the two had watched. The events of the day, seemingly, are left in the past.

But then, of course, Kol has to make a comment on something he overheard that he thought was funny. And that set Klaus off into a spewing of anger. He’s pissed at Marcel, but now, also, at Kol for bringing it up. Elijah puts his face in his hands, and Rebekah sends both a huge eye roll.

What was a moment of much-appreciated silence is now a yelling match. After five minutes, you reach your breaking point.

“Why do you feel the need to comment on that, Kol? It was so insignificant, but you’ve felt the need to bring it up, and now I’m reminded of how much Marcel has done to piss me off!”

“I didn’t mean to make you upset, bloody hell! I thought it was funny!”

“It wasn’t funny to me when he was spitting in my face! I-”

“Oh my god! Are you ever not arguing?!” You suddenly shout.

The table goes silent and all eyes are on you. A needle could be dropped and it would be heard across the quarter.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize quickly, embarrassed.

“Love,” Elijah puts a hand on your shoulder, “are you alright?”

At his touch, you flinch. He retracts his hand quickly, but doesn’t move his body away from its proximity to yours.

Klaus, although upset at the interruption, notices this and calms a little. “Everything okay, Y/N?”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

“That little outburst didn’t sound like nothing.”

“I’m just stressed.”

“Darling, what’s got you all upset? Tell us and we’ll sort it out now.”

“It’s no one, Kol, I’m just not feeling well.”

“Still have a headache, sweetheart?” Rebekah asks.

“You have a headache?” Klaus butts in.

The assortment of questions makes you drop your head. It nearly hits the table, but Elijah grabs your frame before you can fall. Tears form in your eyes, visibly.

“I’m just really overstimulated today. I woke up weird and this city is loud, and then there was all the fighting all day long, and then I hid in my room all day, but then I felt bad about hiding, and now I’m making you all worried because I can’t get my shit under control!”

“And that’s your fault, how?” Elijah asks, “you cannot blame yourself for the way you feel.”

“But I need to handle my emotions better. I’m sorry.”

“No apologies necessary, love,” Klaus adds, “I certainly haven’t helped, fighting with children all day.”

“Niklaus,” Elijah warns, but Klaus doesn’t argue with him this time.

“I should’ve stayed with you when you said you had a headache.”

“Don’t blame yourself either, Bex. It’s not your fault.”

“But we could’ve cuddled,” she frowns.

“It’s okay. I got a nap, and it helped a little. I just need to get used to my life being different now. None of you are at fault.”

“Nor are you,” the eldest reminds, “it’s been quite a day for us all.”

Kol clears his throat, “say, after dinner, if you feel up to it, we could all watch a movie and cuddle around you? I think some comfort is much needed.”

“Sure,” you agree, “but I might fall asleep during it.”

“That’s quite alright,” he smiles. He then stands up to hug you, but when his arms wrap around your neck, you freeze.

“Not yet, please. I’m still a bit stressed.”

He gives you a wink. “Of course, darling. Let me know when you’re ready.”

Klaus flicks his napkin across the table. He’s folded it into the shape of a heart. “We love you. You know that, right?”

You take the heart, kiss it, and put it in your pocket. “I do. I love you all, too. Thanks for understanding.”

#poly!mikaelsons x reader #poly!mikaelsons #elijah mikaelson x reader #kol mikaelson x reader #rebekah mikealson x reader #klaus mikaelson x reader #tw mental health #i feel so bad for taking so long on this

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chroniccoolness · 2 years ago

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disability pride ask game

I'm so sleepy but I have persisted anyway bc i am so brave

feel free to reblog, try and send an ask to the person you're reblogging from so the game doesn't die, and absolutely never be pressured to answer anything that feels too personal--this is about/inspiration for what you Want to share about disability and experiences being disabled, not what you feel like you have to! (also: this ask game is PRO SELF DX.)

what disability/ies do you have? (and are they mental, physical, or both?)

how long have you known you're disabled? does that match up with diagnosis?

what, if any, disability aids do you use? (mobility aids, sensory aids, braces, communicative devices, IVs, etc. meds also count here). do you customize them/their containers/outsides?

do you know any disabled people irl? what about online?

if you have multiple disabilities: do they affect each other? how?

what's something good that's come out of being disabled?

what's a struggle you wish more people talked about?

does your disability affect how you experience other parts of your identity? (gender, queerness, culture, even hobbies/life goals you're very passionate about)

how do you measure your energy? (spoons, battery, something else?)

whats something youve come up with or integrated into your life that makes disability easier, besides typical aids?

how would you label your support needs?

what's something (a struggle, a symptom, a weird phenomenon, or even a funny experience) people don't realize about your disability?

whats the most Abled Person Thing someone has said to you?

has there ever been a time where you felt solidarity/community with another disabled person in a situation with you?

what does disability pride mean to you?

free space to talk about whatever disability issue or experience you want !

#disability pride month #disability pride #disabled #disability #physical disability #mental disability

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mitskicodedwukong · 13 days ago

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✨ REDSON, SIX-EARED MACAQUE, & SUN WUKONG WITH AN ADHD S/O ✨

» three-thirty (AJR) « 0:45 ─〇───── 4:07

╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝🍑╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗ AUTHOR'S NOTE ╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗🍑╔⏤⏤⏤╝ ➤ This is reposted from my old account, @nothyenlowz :3 ➤ These are headcanons. ➤ This is romantic. ➤ Reader is afab & uses she/her! ➤ I don't think I went as in depth as I could have been I still hope it's accurate and you enjoy it! ➤ TRIGGER WARNINGS include profanity, a little bit of angst, and minor violence. ➤ Word count: 1,361

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

❝ You wanna skip it if it's wordy, but fit the whole song in three-thirty .❞

╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗ REDSON 🔥 ╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝

➤ before he finds out you have ADHD, i imagine he's confused by your behavior at best and frustrated by it at worst.

➤ your daydreaming and procrastination can be annoying for him, someone who's always about work, work, work. when you're talking to him about your fixations, he gets irritated because either he 1.) has no idea what you're talking about or 2.) thinks you're making fun of him since he often rambles about his inventions in a similar manner.

➤ he just doesn't understand why you're doing those things and neither do you. it causes a lot of struggles for you both initially, leading to shit communication and hurt feelings.

�� when you're finally diagnosed, redson listens very closely. now your quirks are starting to make sense, but you still don't have as much information as he'd like. he researches ADHD in AFAB people rather meticulously on his own time (sometimes interrupted by his own anger at the lacking information for females), and by the end of it, he has a much improved understanding.

➤ and boy does he feel shitty. hindsight is 20/20 or something.

➤ the idea that he blew up at you for things out of your control makes him feel ashamed, especially when some of those things (like info-dumping) are signs of affection. so you don't see him for a while, partially due to some unhealthy self-punishment on his end, and also because he's trying to come up with a solution—that being a way to make it up to you, of course, not "fix" you.

➤ when redson stops avoiding you, he takes you out on a date with all your favorite activities and thoroughly apologizes to you. he promises to adjust his behavior to accommodate and support you.

➤ (which might have made you cry, considering you've always been treated like you're the problem.)

➤ true to his word, redson changes a lot. he leaves little notes for you as reminders, sets alarms for you, helps you finish or do tasks you don't have the energy for, etc. he even starts prompting info-dumping, reading up on the source material so he can ask questions.

➤ he also does his very best to educate himself on masking and burnout so he can a.) keep you from going there or b.) recognize the signs when you are there and help you. i like to imagine he made a sensory room for you that has all your favorite things and you can just go there to chill and unwind.

➤ he's also super protective over you. if people make fun of your stims, say you talk a lot, undermine your sensory issues, etc., he will DESTROY them. no way in hell is he letting you be disrespected like that. verbal smackdown, here we come.

➤ ultimately, it's a learning process. but it's one he's more than willing to thoroughly explore for you.

╔⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤╝╚⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤╗ SIX-EARED MACAQUE 🔮 ╚⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤╗╔⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤╝

➤ HONESTLY i headcanon macaque as autistic, so i feel like he had a feeling that you were ADHD before you did.

➤ probably made jokes like "it's the ADHD lol" for certain behaviors until you decided to do some research on it and were like "🧍‍♂️ yeah so—"

➤ not surprised at all when you're diagnosed, obviously. he uses the opportunity to show you coping mechanisms he's learned (though some have to be tweaked for your needs since autism isn't ADHD), and even begins to unmask more around you (which was inevitable anyway tbh, but it's easier now that he doesn't feel so different from you).

➤ since macaque thrives under routine/structure, he often handles reminders. he also keeps you on track, verbally and physically, if you have things to do. ALSO is super on you about eating, since he likes cooking.

➤ macaque's experienced dozens of burnouts in his long life, so he knows how awful they are. he can sniff out a burnout a mile away so i'd like to think that you don't experience many while with him because he's really good at pacing the both of you/being aware of your emotional and mental state. the dojo's pretty chill like 90% of the time due to his own sensory issues so it's a good place to unwind and relax.

➤ you guys have picked up so many phrases from each other. he'll be working on a script for a shadow play while you're cleaning and he'll just hear you laugh and go, "wow, didn't see that one comin'." it definitely flusters him that he's included in your echolalia.

➤ macaque rambles to you about theatrical pieces from various cultures. if you introduce him to new ones, tell him something he doesn't know about a piece he's already familiar with, etc. he'll kiss you istg. anyway this is to say the feeling is mutual and he probably ends up getting into some of the media/hobbies you tell him about!

➤ you guys mutually bully each other lmao. you'll be trying to do some work, get to talking to him about whatever comes to you, and then suddenly it's three hours later. you're like "FUCK" and he just laughs at you (you get him back, of course, and it's all in good fun).

➤ he barely thinks beating anyone who talks shit about you is an overreaction, but if you don't like it then you'll just have a clone stick around in your shadow or something to scare the shit out of anyone who decides to open their mouth to you.

➤ in summary, macaque is very helpful and teaches you coping skills when it comes to sensory issues + overload.

╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝❀╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗ SUN WUKONG 🍑 ╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝

➤ first off, i headcanon Wukong as ADHD, too.

➤ with that said, i feel like Wukong just... assumed you knew you were ADHD and rolled with it.

➤ like you guys constantly quoted/repeated each other/shows and stimmed at/with each other. you'd get in loops. you'd adapt each other's phrases/stims. neurotypicals don't do that.

➤ it's genuinely amusing thinking about you two just repeating the same things at each other. it's such a serotonin boost and it makes you both laugh. same for when you stim together, especially hand-flapping and jumping up and down.

➤ you're both trash at remembering stuff but fortunately you seem to have an awful lot of capacity for the other—meaning you remind wukong he has a session with MK today because he forgot, and he reminds you that you agreed to make noodles with pigsy today because you forgot.

➤ i don't think remembering to eat or drink is a big problem for you, since wukong is a big comfort eater and shares his snacks with you so you kinda just... roll with it lol.

➤ wukong has a bunch of homemade stim tools. once he sees that you're interested, he makes some more for you. even after your diagnosis, you don't try "professionally" made stim toys—you just don't need them when wukong's work so well.

➤ you guys spend hours talking about your interests, ping-ponging off each other. like: "OH, did you know x?" "NO, but did you hear about x?" x1000.

➤ you guys also bully each other. "Hey Great Sage you forgot do the dishes again, you crusty bitch"; "says the dumbass who started folding laundry and then did a fashion show with the monkeys".

➤ like macaque, wukong's had his fair share of burnouts. unfortunately, he's not super good at preventing them or even realizing he's in them until it's been a few months, but you guys take care of each other if the other is struggling. you're also very aware of the other's limits so if one of you is pushing it, you can help each other step back.

➤ wukong learned a great deal of patience and mercy from his journey, so people being unkind to him doesn't really bother him. plus, he barely leaves his mountain as is—but if one of those times, someone doesn't to be a dick while you're stimming or something? best case scenario, he has some very choice words—worst case scenario, bro's taking it upon himself to remind the public why you should be more considerate of who you're snarking to.

➤ basically, nothing changes after you get diagnosed lol. you and wukong are very happy ADHD gremlins who are celebrating your neurodivergency :)

❝ I thought I had the ADHD, but that's a real thing (and I'm just lazy) .❞

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 8 months ago

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Cancelled

Jake Lockley x GN!Reader • Rating: T •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist• ko-fi •

Summary: Your plans change.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: Sat on a few of these fics for ages because I'm overthinking them, but thought 'ahhh, I need to post them now in time for the event!' Having a deadline is very helpful.

Warnings: Reader experiencing some sensory issues, Jake reading smutty books, overuse of italics, typos, not beta read, rail-road sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 801

Your phone buzzes on the bed. The drone is muffled slightly by the pillow it’s under. You finish fixing your outfit in the mirror and sigh.

The material was ever so slightly wrong today. Normally it was fine, but now the feel of it just irritated you. But this was the seventh outfit you’d tried on and honestly if you were going to make it to the restaurant by 8pm, even with Jake’s ingenious driving, you had to leave now.

You pick up your phone, glancing at the screen as you unlock it.

One message.

From one of your friends you were meeting up with. Probably something along the lines of ‘see everyone soon’. Usually you were excited to see them. They were some of your oldest and dearest friends, and you loved their company. But today it just felt off. Getting dressed up and going out. Eating at a semi expensive (for your budget anyway) restaurant that you didn’t even like that much. Putting on your ‘social interaction face’. It all just seems far too exhausting.

Your eyes widened as you read the messages on the group chat.

‘Can’t make it, stupid traffic at the tunnel! Been stuck for 50 mins and haven’t moved!’

‘I can’t either, babysitter fell through!’

‘So sorry everyone, maybe it’s for the best, I’ve got a horrible headache and was gonna power through, but maybe it’s best if we reschedule?’

The last message had you at-ted.

‘It’s that okay with you? Sorry you let you down! <3’

Relief floods your veins and you hastily type a, ‘no worries, let’s reschedule’, adding several happy face emojis out of paranoia that your message could be misread, before you wish everyone well and to have a good evening.

Jake hears you throw your bedroom door open, but doesn’t glance up from where he’s slouched over your armchair reading. It’s one of those bodice-ripping paperbacks from the 80s with the fabulously illustrated covers. Jake’s guilty pleasure. While he knows that Marc and Steven wouldn’t care, and most likely wouldn’t be bothered at all by his reading choices, he also very much does not want them to know. A feeling he’s sure he should try to unpack at some point.

But that was a future Jake task.

Which is why he’d taken to either hiding them behind the cistern in Steven’s flat or keeping them at yours, tucked neatly on your bookshelf (with your permission) behind a row of your books.

“You ready to go amor?” He asked as he turned the page.

You bounded over to him, ripping your stupid, itchy top off in the process. “Excellent news!” You stopped in front of him, smacking your hands onto the armchair for emphasis.

Jake didn’t even flinch, half absorbed in his book and half used to your dramatic flare.

“Oh?” He glanced up at you and paused, a small frown of interest crossing his face. “You don’t have a top on.”

“Exceptional observation skills Lockey.”

He smirks.

“Guess what?”

“You’re embracing a new life as a nudist?”

“The meal’s cancelled.”

“What?”

“The meal’s cancelled. You know cancelled, as in not happening.” You grin.

He gives you a playful look and swats your upper arm softly with his book. (His middle finger pressed inside to keep his page.) “I know what cancelled means, why?”

“Traffic, no babysitter, and headache.” You list the reasons as you count them on your hand excitedly.

He smiles. “Really weren’t feeling it today were you?”

“How could you tell?” You say playfully.

“Well, you kicking the door open to tell me was a good give away.”

You laugh.

“Plus, you really were leaving it pretty fine to get there on time.” He slips his bookmark between the pages and puts the book down on the floor before inching forward, he wraps his arms around your waist and gently pulls you into his lap, giving you plenty of time to step back if you wanted to. “I know how much being late makes you anxious.”

You snuggle up to him, wrapping your own arms around his shoulders and kissing his cheek. His day old stubble rubs against your skin. But this sensation is comforting. Like home.

“So you letting it get to this time without us going, or without you telling me off for reading instead of putting my shoes on.”

“I don’t tell you off.” You grumble, your words muffled by how your mouth is pressed against his neck.

Jake laughs. “Playfully.”

You tut affectionately. “Alright, playfully.” You adjust your position on his lap, getting comfortable.

“So, what do you want to do tonight?” He presses a light kiss to your temple.

“Hmm, how about… pizza and you can read some of your smutty book to me?”

He laughs again and kisses your lips. “Sounds good.”

____________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh @romanarose @strangerhands @saturn-rings-writes @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponcho @steven-grants-world @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie @silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @apesarecuul @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom @alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr @soft-girl-musings @spxctorsslxt @novarosewood

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

#jake lockley #moon knight #moon knight mcu #jake lockley x reader #x reader #jake lockley x you #x you #jake lockley x gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #jake lockley x gn!reader #x gn!reader #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

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thedomesticanthropologist · 10 months ago

Text

BG3 characters and how I'd Flirty Foreplay with em

Gale: Honestly, I have sensory issues, so kissing that bearded face does not appeal. However, scritching the beard and rubbing his boobs, absolutely. He's getting titty massage, and he's getting fingers through his hair, but I wouldn't be able to stop myself from blowing raspberries on his tummy to make him giggle and kick his feet.

Wyll: The wrestling thing he does would turn into real wrestling and when he pins me I might hiss and snarl and kick and he'd have to check in to see if I'm still playing, at which point I'd get the upper hand and start tickling him mercilessly. This does count as foreplay.

Lae'zel: bait her with words until she destroys me and then say thank you (if I can still speak)

Shadowheart: Shy touches. I'd touch her arms, brush my fingers along the back of her hand. Squeeze her knee, her thigh. Sit too close. Smother her with compliments that make her pretend to gag. Touch the tip of her nose, her lips, her cheek bones. Let her know how grateful I am just to be this close at all. I'd lean in and breath her in, my nose pressed right to where her neck meets her shoulder. I'd say please.

Astarion: Teasing. Verbal foreplay to the max but it's hard to tell if we are being insulting or flirting. Tugging on clothes, poking in the ribs. Offer him a massage, but somewhere unexpected- most likely his hands. Kiss the palms when I'm done.

Karlach: straddle her and wiggle until she bursts info flames and has her way with me

Halsin: Soft eyes, long stares. Hand on his arm, his waist, throughout the day. The sort of foreplay that couldn't even be called foreplay, except it burns steadily all day until the moon rises and he's shaking. You know, tucking his hair behind his ear and tugging his earlobe after. Fixing the laces of his shirt and pressing a little close at the end, sighing quietly with contentment. Tempting him until he throws me over his shoulder and walks away with me.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 wyll #baldurs gate wyll #bg3 karlach #lae'zel #laezel #shadowheart #halsin #halsin silverbough #halsin the druid

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another-fanfic-haven · 3 months ago

Text

Stress

so, uhhh. comfort post. i'm extremely uncomfortable since yes. Word count: 1209 Song? If anyone's interested: Nikitata - Paranoia

What a terrible luck you must have. You thought your life was getting back on track after you took the chance and moved out of your parents' homestead, diving head-first into the unknown.

And now, all your choices come to bite back, reminding you of all the unresolved issues you carry.

You thought you had your life figured out and your career path chosen. Now, doubt is clouding your conscience. Was that the right path? Why does it feel so wrong? That's what I wanted to do, for Christ's sake!

But you feel... trapped. Trapped in a career with no sight of going anywhere higher, trapped in a crappy, tiny apartment, not to mention - shared with a person you know nothing but their name.

But you can't return either. Your pride isn't letting you. To come back, would mean to admit a defeat, hanging a white flag, and proving everyone around you right; You aren't as good as you made yourself seem.

You sat in front of your computer, staring blankly at the blinking cursor in an open document - a report waiting for you to finish it, your hands clawing into your arms with bruising strength, clinging onto any sensory stimuli - even pain. God, it is horrible, isn't it? You feel like you're fading in and out of existence, your heart beating rapidly, indicating another wave of that dreaded feeling - the feeling of uncertainty, surreality. Nothing feels real - YOU don't feel real. Closing your eyes and breathing isn't helping you much either - and if anything - it makes the sensation worse, plaguing your vision with terrifying figures and flashbacks to the gruesome crime scene photographs. The sounds around you disappear, replaced by deafening screech in your ears.

Oh gods another wave.

And now you feel like the whole universe is judging you, staring straight through the persona you've maintained so well for so long - you're not as strong as you made yourself seem.

"Hey, are you okay?" A voice rang through the booming sound in your head, paired with a warm sensation on your shoulder. Someone noticed your struggle, fantastic as if this day couldn't get any worse! The hand pulled on your shoulder, turning the chair - and you on it - away from the screen. You couldn't look up, frozen in this hunched position. All you could see were the deep blue button-up shirt, neatly tucked into the combat pants.

The person sighed, either in pity or worry. Or both.

"You're taking a break, rookie." The person stated, pulling you gently up from the chair and wrapping one arm around your shoulders, keeping you close to their body. "Redfield! Be useful for once and make some tea for them. Chamomile if there's any left."

Your conscience came back - at least for a moment. You looked up sheepishly, squinting your eyes against the bright light. Albert glanced down at you, giving you a soft nod and nudging you to come with him. Not like you had any choice - he held you close and tight to his side. He was gentle with you, leading you into his office, making you sit on the soft, leather chair - the same one you sat all these months ago during your interview. Except now you were a trembling, anxious mess, digging your nails so deep into your arms that they left crescent-shaped scars.

His hands gently pulled your hands away from further hurting yourself, holding each of your palms in his. He kneeled in front, looking into your eyes - or trying to, you're staring blankly into your hands - now held by Albert. His thumbs traced across your knuckles, gently pressing on them, giving you the comfort you clearly need.

"Wait here." He stood up, placing your hands on your knees. The warm, comforting sensation left as he made his way across his office, and before you knew it, your body felt enveloped in something - heavy and soft - his officer jacket. The weight feels like a balm for your sore body, cocooning and grounding.

Gods, not again. You're on the verge of tears. And for what reason? Hell, if you knew. You close your eyes shut, praying silently, trying and hoping that this burning sensation in your throat and tears threatening to spill from under your eyelids will dissipate.

His hands returned to yours the moment the first tear rolled down your cheek. His touch was... oddly gentle. You've never expected this cold captain to have such warm, tender hands.

"Hey. Calm down." He whispered, looking at you. His expression was... sympathetic. If you can call the usual deadpan face with an almost clinical gaze disguised by worry gentle in any way, that is.

"Tell me what you see. Look around, describe it." He nudged your hands, pressing onto every finger. You nodded, lifting your head and looking around. Your head feels so wrong, empty and busy, thoughts running through like on a highway, yet you can't find the right words.

"I- I see..." You stuttered, battling the sensation that you were about to break apart. You took a deep breath, collecting your thoughts one more time - at least attempting to. "I see... bookshelves. Your computer. Some binders... The S.T.A.R.S. banner? Or is it a poster?" You focused your eyes on the decoration behind his chair - the same insignia you and he display so proudly on your shoulders.

"It's a banner, good observation." He nodded, moving his hands to your wrists, massaging the inner parts with his thumb. "What else do you see."

You swallowed the tears, giving the room one more look. You shuddered a shaky breath, the tension in your body leaving with each breath you took, growing steadier, calmer.

"I see... a desk lamp, with a cord hanging from it. And the desk, it's dark and looks heavy. I see... metal blinds on the window. And a coat hanger by the door."

And as if on command, Chris barged in with a large mug in his hands.

"Sorry Wesker, had to convince Becca to use her tea col-" He called, his voice cutting halfway through once he saw you - hunched over and Wesker's hands resting on yours. "Shit should've knocked..." He added.

"You should've," Albert commented. His demeanor immediately seemed to change from caring to cold and bossy in an instant. How does he do that? "Put the tea on the desk and leave."

Chris did as ordered, trying to not overstep his welcome. He hurried, giving you one sidelong glance - looks like he's worried, too. The doors closed behind him as he left, leaving the two of you alone once more.

Albert stood up, leaving your hands alone - after they trailed behind his, longing for more of the contact. Nothing good lasts forever, after all.

"Drink this. It should make you feel better. And you're taking the rest of the day off. No whining, no "buts" you're in no shape to work." He handed you the mug, placing it in your hands and guiding them into the handle.

"Now, do you have someone to check on you later?" He asked, leaning on his desk and crossing his arms on his chest.

#albert wesker #resident evil #albert wesker x reader #resident evil x reader #re wesker #re x reader #resident evil wesker #x reader #resident evil fanfic #resident evil fanfiction #albert wesker x you #wesker x reader #stars wesker #i am severely unwell yes

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multi-fan-dom-madness · 6 months ago

Note

Hello

I would like to request a smut prompt for Sergeant Hunter. (Only if you’re up for it oc)

I had ❛ let me come in you, please. i want to fill you up. ❜ in mind. It’s fits him so well 👀

Or, if you’re in the mood for something else,

❛ you're mine, and i take care of what belongs to me. ❜

The choice is yours, cheers ^^

emerges from my cave, writes hurt/comfort instead of smut, disappears back into my cave. sorry nonnie, the smut muse didn't want to cooperate for this one

Tell Me

Summary: Hunter does his best to protect you, but feels he must prove it in more ways than one. Prompt in bold and red.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: allusions to harassment, Hunter being bad at talking about his feelings, fade to black so nothing NSFW but this blog is still 18+, first kiss, hurt/comfort vibes

You've never experienced Hunter's anger like this. He usually doesn't let his emotions get the better of him and, no matter his own issues, ensures the squad stays mostly on task. Even when hiccups interrupt the plan, he rolls with the punches. The Bad Batch has a 100% mission success rate for a reason.

But tonight the issue is so much more than a mere hiccup. No, the creep at the cantina was far more unpleasant.

The squad can gather intel in its sleep; any of you could've staked the cantina out alone and been successful. Hunter had insisted everyone partake. In hindsight, you're glad he pushed for it, even if you and Crosshair both grumbled aloud at Hunter's mother-hennishness. You'd strode straight into the shithole bar, determined to get what you were sent for and get out as quickly as possible.

Then that stranger got a little too friendly. He'd invaded your personal space and put his hands on you despite your very evident discomfort, reeking of cheap alcohol and bad decisions.

Hunter had stepped in. Well... he'd done more than that. You're not envious of the stranger and his freshly broken nose.

The sergeant, glowering and shaking his hand out, had growled at the others to stay put and finish the mission. Then he'd all but ordered you back to the ship, giving you no choice but to follow or risk his wrath as well.

Now, back on board the Marauder, you sigh as your irritation grows, prickly and uncomfortable in your chest. "Hunter."

"What," he snaps.

"You don't have to babysit me." Crossing your arms, you lean against the bulkhead, fixing him with an unimpressed glare.

"I'm not—" He turns away, jaw working. Shadows play over his face, backlit by the ship's control panels. His heaving chest gives enough indication that he's mentally working through something.

Softening, you take a step toward him. "Will you at least talk to me?"

His nostrils flare as you move closer. "You— You smell him now."

"I'm sorry?"

"S'not your fault," he says, misinterpreting your words. His shoulders slump. "It's my job to protect you- you all. And I was so close to failing tonight."

"Hunter," you say gently, holding one hand out.

He looks down at your outstretched palm and tentatively reaches to hook your fingertips together. Even through the coarse fabric of his blacks, his warmth scorches through you. Though his nose remains scrunched, when his eyes find yours, he seems to finally step back from the edge of anger. But the emotions continuing to shine in his eyes give you pause.

Swallowing down the burgeoning hope in your chest forcing out the irritation, you squeeze his fingers. "I appreciate you looking out for me. I really do. But is this about protecting me? Or is this something else? I- I can shower if it's a sensory issue—"

"No," he interrupts. Adjusting his hold, his fingers twine between yours. He tugs you closer. "I mean—it won't be an issue for long. Kark, I'm goin' about this all wrong."

The sergeant sighs, pulling you in for a hug. While you've embraced him before, surprise hums along your veins. Tentative, you wrap your arms around his middle, and tuck your face into the crook of his neck, where his own scent is strongest, a unique blend of earth and musk and sweat that makes your insides stir. He tightens his arms.

"Not that this isn't nice," you say, voice muffled, "but what're you doing?"

He's quiet for a moment. "Making you smell like me."

You blink. "Oh." Without meaning to, you inhale a deep breath, his warm scent swirling within your lungs. "You do smell good."

Hunter chuckles. The sound vibrates against your chest. "That right?"

Humming in affirmation, you press the bridge of your nose to his skin. His pulse beats against your nose; its pace quickens. For a heartbeat, you manage to contain the response that leaps to the tip of your tongue. Is this really the time?

But then again, you've been waiting for the right time to broach the subject of your feelings for months. You've shared a few hugs, left countless lingering looks when you think he isn't looking, chased an orgasm or two in silence when he's not around. If you keep waiting, the right time won't ever happen. And you'll be left wondering.

Throwing caution to the wind, you say, "Be easier if you take your armor off."

"Mesh'la," he murmurs. The endearment somehow sounds like a warning. "I- Your heart is racing. You're not thinking clearly."

Gnawing at the inside of your cheek, you resist the urge to pull away at what feels like a rejection. Have you been reading all the signs wrong? Did you misread the situation earlier? You're relatively certain any of the squad would have jumped to your defense--but would the others have needed to be physically restrained from doing more damage? Would Wrecker have had to pry Tech, or Crosshair, or Echo, away from your assailant like he'd done to Hunter?

No, you decide, you've been reading the signs correctly. Stepping out of his embrace but not his orbit, you search Hunter's gaze. Threading your fingers together once again, you raise his hand to brush your lips over the knuckles surely bruising under his gloves. Hunter's lips part in surprise.

"I'm thinking perfectly clearly." You hesitate, then forge ahead. "Tell me you don't feel anything for me, and I'll go back to pining in silence. Tell me I'm the only one who sees something here. Tell me... Tell me you broke his face because I'm part of the squad, and no other reason. Please."

Hunter inhales a shallow breath. His eyes, gray in the dim light of the Marauder's controls, sear into yours with an unidentifiable mix of emotions. "I can't."

Relief floods through you. With a weak smile, you gesture to yourself. "Do I still smell like him?"

He nods.

"Do you care for me?"

Another nod, stronger than the previous.

"Then do something about it, Hunter." Guiding his gloved touch to your face, you lean into his warmth.

His throat bobs when he swallows. After another moment of silent indecision, Hunter steps into your personal space, gaze searching your expression. He must not find anything worth stopping for, because his grip tightens behind your jaw. The tip of his crooked nose slides along the side of your own nose, breath puffing warm and unsteady over your face.

You close the gap. Your mouths slot together, and it's like coming home after a long time away. Humming in the back of your throat, you press closer, deepening the kiss without hesitation. Hunter follows your lead. His armor still blocks you from truly feeling him, but you don't care. His lips are on yours, and your heart is his.

Your name slips from his lips like a prayer. Eyes fluttering open, you peer up at him from beneath your lashes. "Yes?"

"A-Are you sure?"

"I am."

"Then let me prove that you're mine," he murmurs. His touch lingers along your waist before drifting towards your center. "Let me prove that I take care of what belongs to me."

A shiver skates up your spine. "Show me."

Ragu list: to be added or removed go here!

@dystopicjumpsuit @littlemissmanga @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations

@523rdrebel @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles

@starqueensthings @idontgetanysleep @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator

@sleepycreativewriter @bobaprint @dickarchivist @a-single-tulip

@thorsterstrudle @droids-you-are-looking-for @goblininawig @cw80831

@mssbridgerton @isaidonyourknees @dreamie411 @jedi-hawkins

@dangraccoon @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @9902sgirl @zenrobbins0021

#tbb hunter x reader #hunter x reader #the bad batch x reader #tbb x reader #the clone wars x reader #rhiwrites #rhiplies #tell me

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brooklynisher · 8 months ago

Text

Alright, I'll post it here. Please be nice, it's my first published writing on here :}

CW for emotional distress, yelling, and animal abuse

Green Light

The Spine has been called on by Peter Walter to participate in a few tests, but The Spine can’t help but feel that there’s something very wrong about these tests.

The Spine stood still counting the number of wires in the room. He counted the wires, then the flasks, then the ratio of flasks, empty to full to partially full. He would read the paper. Making sure to read each and every word carefully and slowly. Refusing to continue until he understood every last bit of what he just read. This is how he spends his free time. It’s not like he has much else to do. Aside from the fact that he and all of the other robots haven’t been around for more than a few months, there’s also a lot he’s simply not allowed to do. But as much as he hates being unable to do anything he wants, he has developed some essential skills considerably faster than the others.

When he learned how to read, that’s all he really did, though he limited himself to the newspapers. He was pretty caught up in current events as a result. Counting, fractioning, identifying things around the room, while being relatively simple tasks to most adults, was a huge learning experience for the titanium robot. Anything he can do to be just a bit smarter was propitious.

Peter Walter walks in with a strange expression on his face. The Spine can’t tell if he’s angry, passionate, if his feelings are strong or dull, he simply can’t tell. He feels it’s a failure in his ability to identify facial expressions.

“The Spine,” Peter starts.

“Yes sir?” The Spine straightens his posture.

“I need you to come with me.”

He makes a small gesture urging The Spine to follow him. The Spine spine responds with a simple, “Yes sir.” before taking his inventor’s lead. He tries to make sure any anxiety doesn’t show. He’s a robot after all. He’s not supposed to be feeling things like anxiety. Yet he can’t help but feel slightly anxious every time Peter calls on him to do something he doesn’t know anything about. They arrived in a small concrete room. It’s mostly empty with the exception of an oddly colorful board hanging high up on the wall. The board contains the names of each Walter automaton followed by 5 red lightbulbs. A few of the bulbs for each robot are green, but none are out of order. Peter orders The Spine to stay put before leaving the room. The Spine tries to make observations while he waits.

“Rabbit… 3 green lights… 2 red… Zer0… 5 green lights… 0 red… Hatchworth-”

Peter Walter has returned. The Spine straightens his posture once again. Peter seems to be pulling a large wagon of some kind. The contents inside the wagon are covered with a beige tarp. Peter approaches The Spine.

“The Spine,” Peter starts.

“Yes sir?”

“Take my wrist.”

He pulls up his sleeve. The Spine notices that Peter’s wrist seems to be oddly beat up. He’s not sure what this could mean, but he must obey orders. He grips his wrist as gently as possible trying not to harm him.

“Squeeze it,” Peter commands.

Squeeze it? But The Spine is made out of metal. Peter is made out of flesh. The Spine doesn’t have sensory receptors. Peter does. For all he knows, he already has a tight grip around Peter’s wrist. What if he hurts him? What would he do? But The Spine has learned that obedience is better than defiance. Even if it’s at the risk of causing more issues. He squeezes his wrist.

“AUGH!”

Peter pulls his hand away and turns his back towards The Spine. The Spine is instantly filled with regret, grabbing his own hand as if to keep it under control. He canes his neck just enough to see the damage he has caused. Peter’s hand is limp. Oh god.

“Pe- Mister Walter! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean- I- I was just-” He tries to apologize, but the words struggle to escape him. He’s not even allowed to apologize. If he apologizes, then that means he made a mistake. And mistakes are a no-go here.

“Stop your stammering!” Peter hisses at him.

The Spine only hangs his head low. Ready to endure whatever it is that he deserves. Peter takes a big shaky breath in.

“You’re… you’re fine… This is good. You’re very strong. Maybe even the strongest automaton I’ve built yet… I could do without the apologizing and the stuttering.”

What? Good? He just broke his inventor’s wrist! Of all the mistakes The Spine made in his short lifespan, how was THIS the one that Peter excuses? Hell, he seems more angry about him apologizing and stuttering than he is about him breaking his wrist. What kind of twisted logic is that? Does he want The Spine to hurt him? But those are questions for later. The least The Spine can do right now is be considerate. He waits for a couple of moments to gather his thoughts before speaking.

“Sir, will your wrist be alright?”

“The depths of science in which I have delved are unlike any other. If I can build such a great number of automatons in such a short period using a substance I alone have discovered, then surely I can heal a broken wrist.”

He takes a controller out of his pocket with his good hand and pushes a button. One of the lights next to The Spine’s name turns green. He then turns to the wagon and pulls off one of the tarps, unveiling a dummy. He drags it out of the wagon and places it down on the ground using one arm. The Spine feels bad leaving him to struggle on his own like this, but he didn’t ask for help, so it’s best he just leaves it to him.

“Alright The Spine. Hit it.”

“... Anywhere?”

“As hard as you can.”

The Spine nods and faces the dummy. He can’t necessarily hit “hard” as he doesn’t have muscle but he can hit fast. So he curls his hand up into a fist and punches the dummy in the head as the humans do in news stories at full speed. The body is pushed back, head flying off. The head slams into the wall creating a small shockwave of dust. The Spine flinches. Peter side-eyes him but doesn’t say anything. He hits another button, and another bulb by his name goes green. He moves back to the wagon unveiling another dummy. He drags it to the center and looks straight towards The Spine.

“Activate voice protocol. The Spine,”

The Spine nods involuntarily.

“Activate blue matter ray projector arrays.”

And just like so, The Spine’s arm shifts into an intense-looking weapon. This throws The Spine off guard, but he keeps quiet.

“The Spine, I’d like you to shoot that dummy.”

The Spine looks at the dummy, then back at his hand.

“... How… How do I do that sir?” The Spine asks unaware he even had this feature installed.

“You’re going to have to figure it out on your own. Just as you will in order to disable it.”

The Spine looks back up at the dummy. He doesn’t understand what to do but still points his arm in its direction. He tries to move each part of his arm as if it were normal, and to his surprise, he is successful. The blue matter ray charged up. He aimed it toward the chest of the dummy feeling slightly uneasy. Something about this feels wrong, but he shoots. Before the beam hit, Peter managed to open up an umbrella, shielding himself from the bright red substance that now covers the room. The Spine’s body becomes a mess of red. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. What… What was that? While The Spine was still trying to process what had just happened, he didn’t notice Peter’s glare.

“Relax yourself.”

The Spine closes his mouth, straightens his posture, and tries to rest his shoulders and eyes. However, he finds that he is struggling to calm down. He doesn’t know why he feels so distressed, but something about that didn’t sit right with him. The third light next to his name turns green as Peter hits the button. He pulls out one more dummy, which makes The Spine feel nervous.

“Activate voice protocol. The Spine, activate chainsaw.”

His other arm switches into a chainsaw, alarming him quite a bit. He tries to disable his other arm so that he has a free hand. As he does this, Peter simply stands against a wall and watches. He doesn’t say anything. The Spine looks back at him, hoping he tells him to do something different, but Peter only observes. It’s obvious what he wants him to do. The Spine turned back to the dummy.

“It’s probably just ink…” He thinks to himself still feeling uneasy. He preps his chainsaw and turns it on. The vibrations it produces are undeniably strong. It was almost as if he could feel it. He closes his eyes and slashes the chainsaw through the dummy. His eyes reopened to the sound of screaming. It’s even messier than before. He pulls his chainsaw back staring at the brutalized dummy now dyed red. Did it scream? Was it alive? He doesn’t move. His chainsaw slows to a full stop. What did he do? Another light turned green, he’s now down to his last light before all five of them turn green.

“Are you ready for your final test?” Peter asks.

Is that what they were? Not that it mattered what they were. The Spine was not ready. If anything he was afraid. He was afraid of what came next. He was afraid of Peter Walter. So of course, he nodded. Peter unveils the final hidden object in the wagon as The Spine deactivates his chainsaw. The final hidden object is none other than a crate. A crate… He opens the crate and pulls out a dog…

“No.” The Spine accidentally says out loud. He looks away, trying to hide his face.

“I’ll let you use any method you’d like.”

“No.” Though it was stupid before, it’s almost as though he can’t control himself. He knows what’s going to happen. He’s not going to follow through with this. Peter doesn’t say anything for a second. He then starts to speak.

“You know… there’s a reason why I’m not with the others right now.”

The Spine doesn’t respond.

“The others are sweet robots. And lighthearted ones at that. But they’ve always been a little bit… zany. Compared to you at least.”

The Spine grimaces.

“The only reason why I’m so ‘normal’ compared to the others is because you forced me to be! If I had it my way, I’d be just as wacky as the others, if not a bit more mature.” He wanted to say. But he knew arguing wouldn’t do him any good. Especially in a situation like this where that’s not the problem. So as much as he wanted to fight Peter on this, the best he could do for himself was bite his tongue.

“Such wild and eccentric personalities… They’d never want to hurt a soul… but that doesn’t mean they won’t.”

By now, four of the six main automatons have already achieved all five lights. That leaves one other who has yet to complete the test.

“And I’ll admit, it was partially my fault. My idea of the perfect robot would’ve never led up to this moment, yet it has. So for the sake of humanity, I’m going to need you to let go of some of what I had taught you. Obedience is key. Listen to me The Spine.”

The Spine slouches a little shaking his head.

“I can’t.”

“You have to.”

“But I can’t.”

“The Spine-”

“It’s a living creature! I can’t make myself do it…” The Spine then makes the mistake of looking at the puppy. It yawns a big yawn before lying down. His resistance grows stronger. How is he supposed to kill this thing?

“Kill the dog The Spine.”

“Why don’t you just make me kill the dog? Won’t that be easier? It’s not like you don’t have the power to.” His response comes out much more disrespectful than he meant it to, but it seems like there’s no stopping himself at this point. Peter’s eyes widen.

“You’re going to kill the dog whether you want to or not.”

“That’s how it’s always been, hasn’t it? You’re asking me to do things on my own accord but not unless you allow me to. What kind of sense does that make?” It was unlike The Spine to talk back so much. Even during moments where he was defiant, he’s never been this much of a brat about it.

“Spine-”

“You want me to kill Rabbit next? Make me kill your favorite robot just so you can yell at me for it afterward?” At this point, The Spine’s retorts became less relevant. Peter is getting fed up with his behavior. His patience now gone.

“DO YOU WANT THE BECILES TO WIN OR NOT?” Peter yells. This is enough to get The Spine to quiet down. He’s not sure if he knows what he means.

“WE ARE ON THE BRINK OF WAR. BECILE HAS GONE MAD AND IF HE WINS THIS COULD DETERMINE MORE THAN THE FATE OF SCIENCE. IT COULD DETERMINE THE FATE OF OUR STATE. IT CAN DETERMINE THE FATE OF THE WORLD. A SCIENTIST AS CRAZY AS HIM SHOULD NOT HAVE ACCESS TO SUCH INTENSE TECHNOLOGY AND SUCH INTENSE POWER. DO YOU WANT HIM TO GET AWAY WITH THAT?”

The Spine only looks down at the ground out of guilt. He’s not quite sure what Peter is talking about, but he knows he’s blaming him for… something. At least, that’s what it feels like. He pauses for a few seconds before finally saying something.

“I’m sorry Mister Walter… but… I can’t help it that I’m… I’m an individual… and I can’t… I can’t kill an innocent creature. I just can’t… I don’t want the Beciles to win, but I’m just not capable of this sort of thing. I’m sorry…”

Peter is about to respond when he hears a small yelp from the other room. The Jon’s 5th light has turned green. He looks back down at The Spine, but he doesn’t say anything. Even so, The Spine knows what he would say. When it comes to animals, The Jon was always the best with them. Something about his presence would just attract animals stronger than any bait. He loves animals, and the animals love him. It could not have been an easy assignment for him to kill a creature of any kind. Especially one as innocent and as sweet as a puppy. Yet he still had the guts to kill it. The Spine’s relationship with animals was minimal, yet he refused to kill one just because he didn’t want to. He knew this made him weak, but it didn’t change his stance. He simply hangs his head low out of shame.

Peter notices that he’s still reluctant to complete the task, so he turns to his last resort. He sighs as he lights a match. The Spine hears this and looks up at him. His eyes widened in terror. He’s heard horror stories about being burned alive. He knows what he’s going to do.

“Don’t. Please Mister Walter don’t hurt it-”

The Spine continues to beg Peter to leave the puppy alone, but ultimately he ignores him. Soon enough, the small animal begins screeching and yelping in pain. The sounds were enough to drive The Spine over the edge. He pulls out his blue matter ray and shoots the poor thing down as quickly as possible. The Spine can feel an intense amount of steam leaving his body, yet his body still feels unbearably hot. It’s as if the steam from his body wasn’t releasing fast enough. That was the last thing The Spine wanted to do, but he really didn’t have another choice. There was nothing he could’ve reliably used to put out the flames and even if he did find something, he wouldn’t know how to heal the small pup. It would only die slower. The only thing he could do was speed up the process.

Peter places a hand on his shoulder. The Spine stiffens. He’s using every last atom in his metal body to resist the urge to tear his inventor apart.

“Why did you kill it?” Peter asks.

“I- You set it on fire! It was suffering! It was in pain! I couldn’t just let it die such a terrible fate like that…”

“Mm..” Peter nods.

“The Spine, there’s something you need to understand.”

The Spine only looks at him.

“In war, everyone is always suffering.”

“...”

“Now, come with me. It’s clear to me that you need some serious repairs.”

The final red light turns green.

#SORRY IF IT SUCKS YALL #There's a few aspects I wish I could expand on more #like Peter seems pretty harsh here. and I feel like I didn't get the whole idea of “This is because of war” out very clearly #if not very forced #but I guess colonels often seem harsh when it comes to training from an outsider's perspective rather than from their own #so maybe it's appropriate #steam powered giraffe #spg #the spine spg #peter walter i #my stuff #writing #fanfic #spg fanfic

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anika-ann · 9 months ago

Text

Back and Forth - part 6.1

Part 6 - Back-Up 1/2

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 7500

Chapter summary: In which the rescue party arrives for you and Steve... and Steve reflects back to the time in captivity. With you.

Series masterlist

Warnings: mentions of sensory overload, mentions of mental health issues, canon-typical violence, blood, violent thoughts, mentions of death, mentions of pain and unhealthy relationship to pain, mentions of chronic pan and chronic illness, questionable medical procedures, feels, language

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

A/N2: To the surprise of no one but me, we're getting anotehr two-part chapter. Ah well.... we get Steve's POV in return! Enjoy ✨

Being overwhelmed was far from a foreign state to Steve Rogers.

In fact, given his history, he would have thought he had seen it nearly all – and not only seen.

Earning enhanced senses, after having lived for over two decades with his sight and hearing impaired due to a long list of illnesses, equalled sudden sharp clarity and cacophony of overwhelming noise of all colours, tastes and smells. As welcomed as the change had been, since his body was finally widely regarded as useful enough, the transformation came as a package deal with an occasional sensory overload even after all the years he had had to adjust.

Enhanced memory, too, came with a price; with a crushing amount of detail laced into heart-warming memories as well the terrifying and painful ones, trapping him in his mind at times, during daylight as much as during night-time when he had less control over his own thoughts.

Assuming the title and mantle of Captain America, be in the past century or in the new millennium, was tied to a whole another source of overload, both mental and physical.

So truly, Steve was rather used to being overwhelmed in various senses of the word, handling it better at certain times and worse at others.

And yet – the past few hours were overwhelming in an entirely new sense, indescribable and as corporal as intangible.

Perhaps it was you.

Perhaps it was him being back to a regular human, even if not quite.

Perhaps it was becoming part Inhuman.

Perhaps it was everything hitting him at once on whole new scale he was not used to.

His brain was in a hazy overdrive by now; a strange fog and clarity, thoughts crawling in and dragging painfully and at lightning speed at once. Onslaught of emotions. Body drained from fighting a non-existent gunshot wound as well as a real one, still processing what he had experienced – and what he had learned.

Steve tried to push it all away and think hard how to help instead,despite your agonized scream still echoing in his ears pilling misery on top of his own – but spite could only get him so far.

The rollercoaster of the past hours was taking a true toll on him; and it was almost ironic that while his body had partially regressed to one of a regular human, it was the emotional and mental load that seemed to drain him hundred times more severely than the physical exertion – and overwhelmingly indeed.

Steve wasn’t one to cut himself some slack often, but perhaps he deserved it this time. And perhaps he would grant himself the luxury – once this endless, horrible experience only fool might call an adventure was over.

Seconds had felt like hours. Hours had felt like days. And every soul on Earth had better believe that Steve had been counting, trying to scramble for any resemblance of control, even as he had none.

Counting seconds, in thousands, hoping you hadn’t been taken too; then, that if you had been taken, that you were close to him somewhere. Then, praying that you were at least still alive, anywhere.

Yet, to have his second and third wish fulfilled brought no real joy and only a speckle of relief, because he had been taking stock; and while he knew you were nearby, he had no idea where you two actually were.

What he had known for quite a while was that something was wrong. He had known the moment when he first woken up, tied and chained – but that wasn’t exactly a new, let alone useful piece of information.

Helplessness and uncharacteristic weakness were everything but a good feeling too. Those didn’t look on anyone; but for a man of his past, feeling like having regressed to the weak body he used to own – and to have that happen in the least convenient moment possible, in the moment where he needed to be stronger than ever – forged the heaviest chain of all. One wrapped around his neck and tightening with every second ticking off.

And the crushing waves of emotion wouldn’t cease coming. Not to you; clearly, understandably.

And most definitely not to him.

Your panicked frustrated voice when you couldn’t project, cutting right through anger and frustration he himself felt but for entirely different reasons. A creeping suspicion he didn't dare to speak of, even as ‘impossible’ was a word Steve barely bothered to keep in his vernacular these days.

Then, your shared shock when the impossible turned out to be true; the briefest feeling of belonging and connection. He gripped onto that and used that to stomp on his doubts, anger and fears – because he had to. For your benefit. For the benefit of you both.

He slipped into the role of a leader because you deserved that.

You needed reassurance and guidance so you could rediscover that incredibly brave and capable person he knew; only to have the rug pulled right under your feet as soon as you found your footing, sending you literally to the ground – and sending Steve down a rapid spiral of chocking panic when he heard not one but two gunshots from your cell.

A heavy thud.

Complete, terrifying silence, interrupted only by his own deafeningly pounding heart before he managed to find his voice at least to defend you with words.

If there was anything to defend still.

The confident leader façade he had put on despite feeling lost cracked like an empty eggshell. A suffocating weight found seat on his chest instead, rage smouldering. His own thundering shouts contrasted starkly to the silent promise he made, to whoever was able to listen – that if Hydra had--- if you were-- he'd tear them apart with his bare fucking hands and it didn’t matter he couldn’t do that now, even if the fire in his veins burned all the hotter for that. He couldn’t do a single damn thing; trapped like a pathetic little human quivering and jerking his body in laughable attempt to free himself from bounds some cruel god had trapped him in.

He barely felt the jolt of sharp pain aside from the initial tug, as something in his shoulder snapped along with one of the many chains, but he did feel a stab of that pain with every other yank, exhausting and fuelling him at once.

You still made no sound; no scream, no whimper, nothing to latch his hopes onto. Had he had the capacity, he would blame the burning of tears in his eyes on the physical pain as not to let Hydra see he cared.

But he was beyond that. That was the damn least important of his problems at the moment. You were at the forefront and if he had thought seconds had felt like hours before, they felt like days at that moment.

And you were still silent.

Steve way beyond caring what information regarding his rather complicated relationship to you he’d give away. But he wasn’t above begging. Not when it was his responsibility to protect. To save. Not when it was you. Not when he hadn’t even had the chance to-

Please.

The suffocating relief at hearing your voice diluted his panic a fraction, but only accentuated the utter helplessness of his position; his hands literally tied, while you were stuck hanging with your life on a thread and having to help yourself, just so you wouldn’t bleed out in a cell right next to him.

God, the love and hate he had for your spite, for all the fight left in you, even if directed against him as you verbally snapped back. Fuck, so be it, he thought, even as his voice didn’t listen to him at all, barking orders he had wished he could have executed himself. So be it, just hold onto that fight in you.

And then, the most heartbreaking crack in your voice when you begged him.

Begged him not to make you do what you had to in order to survive.

You couldn’t have had the slightest clue about the firm grip you took on his heart that moment, how hard you squeezed and how violently you tugged – and it wasn't important. Nor was Steve’s acute need to grab you, hold you tight and somehow save you, sweep you away, to do the impossible task for you, to take away even the littlest fraction of your burden, somehow.

Projecting to you, as surreal as it was, was ironically the first thing that felt right in the past hours; even as the image of you, frail despite having just proven immense strength, was all kinds of wrong.

Steve hated fighting with you but seeing you there in a pool of blood, he would have taken hundreds of fights. It was almost funny that you hadn’t fought him about going to the gala, only protested in front of Tony – because Steve would love to take on that fight now, travel back in time and for all the sweet moments of holding you and talking to you, he'd let you win that fight and would have never gone to that damn place. Not if this was the outcome. The gorgeous image you had been only few hours prior kept flickering in Steve’s mind like a firefly teasing him to follow, to try to catch it, only for its light to die out and show dark crimson soaking the remnants of your dress instead.

The reason for trying his hardest to be soft when he treated you wasn’t guilt, even as he knew that this, all this wouldn’t have happened if it hadn’t been for him and it laid heavy on his conscience.

He'd treat you with utmost care possible in the conditions anyway; but his conscience made for his shaky hands. His conscience and the sight of you so ashen, a ghost of the stunning woman he had shared a dance with, the stubborn brave woman he worked with. He hoped his damnest that you didn't notice the tremble: he couldn’t afford that. You needed his support. You needed a rock to lean your weight onto even as he felt like a pebble that would fall apart to sand if someone squeezed it in their palm.

And he was so damn proud of what you had accomplished – proud and relieved – his respect for you growing tenfold. Grateful when you brushed over the slip of his tongue, smiling even, showing your humour even when he had let the endearments slip from his lips.

The tug on his heart at that was gentler this time, but no less insistent. The sheer trust in your eyes, the careful nuzzle into his touch when he crossed ever boundary possible because he needed to touch you, was a balm to his soul and acid at once, because maybe this was the only moment he’d get to touch you like this. Maybe that effort was fruitless and you two wouldn’t make it out. Maybe you would, but you’d quit, rushing back to Coulson’s team. Maybe you’d stay, but the wall that seemed to always be between you, preventing you from understanding each other, from listening, from growing closer, would only grow higher.

And yet; Steve revelled at the brief sensations, because he viscerally needed to feel that you were still there, not slipping away.

And then you did.

And so did he, the gaping hole in his chest burning and suffocating even as his flesh seemed unharmed, even if within seconds, his arm wasn't.

Bewilderment. Pain. And then that goddamn hope that this was just him – this was him feeling the pain, a little extra revenge from the artifact that had switched your powers for the effects of his serum. The faint hope slowly cracking as his mind filled with images of you wincing, hunching, grimacing in moments when you had probably thought no one was looking, barely visible but always there after having been hurt in your spectral form.

Then, all worry and wondering briefly forgotten as he preened, bewildered all over again but no less pleased of how high you regarded him, much higher than he deserved and certainly higher than he had ever thought. The threads of connection to you he had felt before solidifying and hardening in a difficult moment.

Understanding, a warm one – and then another, ice cold, turning below freezing. Your barely audible voice responding to questions charged with emotions Steve could barely contain with a battle raging within him. Because you had kept a painful secret. More than one.

Not where I come from.

Determination.

Admiration.

Compassion and affectionate sense of belonging, born anew; the understanding of one achy heart of another.

A promise he wasn’t sure he'd be able to keep when they barged into his cell and yours – and made him slip back into desperation and rage and self-hatred for his inability to project again and protect at least if not save. Steve hated himself for the swirl of pride in his chest when you refused to give up, trying to stall, to make them talk... until you couldn’t be brave anymore. Until you were begging him to stop trying to help, scared for yourself no doubt; but the fear for him, the stubborn conviction that it was your duty to protect the paradigm of perfection and virtue with speckless of recklessness and stubbornness you apparently thought he was, dripped from your quiet breathy voice.

A breathless I'm sorry, Steve, tearing a fresh gaping hole of panic in Steve’s stomach at the resignation in your voice speaking so painstakingly clearly of how you thought these were your final words to him.

“I’m sorry, Steve.”

Fuck everything.

Not in this damn life, not on his damn watch.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to goddamn at least try to block the pulsing pain and project again, heedless of your request, not caring if it tempted the Hydra agents in his cell to shoot him again – because there no universe in which he'd just stare into Hydra’s face and listened to your end and did nothing.

And then, at least, overwhelming relief flooding his veins; faster than his actual thoughts, since he was at his wits end.

The realization that it wasabout to be over was dull and intense, sudden as much as unexpected.

He registered the ground shaking under his feet barely seconds before two Avengers blasted through the door of his cell, only having just connected the dots as to what a sudden earthquake could mean besides a movement of tectonic plates.

Agent Daisy Johnson. Quake. The Inhuman with ability to feel and control vibrations, natural frequency of particles in every living and non-living thing. It flashed through Steve mind like a lightning; he hoped she’d quake Hydra agents’ bones apart.

But she wasn’t the one to appear in front of him as the sounds of repulsors hit his ears instead, a deadly shadow of enraged Winter Soldier knocking the two Hydra agents down as they still clutched on their fresh wounds caused by the Ironman himself.

Steve had never been so relieved to see a man in a metallic suit to leisurely walk into the room, his mask clicking open as the dust settled, revealing a half-smile, half-smirk.

The pressure in Steve’s chest, however, barely eased. Sharp pain still radiated from his non-existent and yet very real gunshot wound, as well as the one on his arm, and from the shoulder he had likely dislocated during his most intense fight against the maddeningly unyielding chains; his ribcage felt all the tighter not only for all that, but for the lingering anger and feeling of utter helplessness as he had been stuck and stunned while you had been tortured in ways he didn’t want to imagine but would haunt his nightmares anyway.

It crashed into his mind anew even as it had never left, a wake-up call snapping his from his haze.

Steve was overwhelmed to death and tired just as much, but it was still nothing compared to how injured you were.

And that was why the first thing he choked out through the tightness in his chest and throat, gaze burning into Tony’s irritatingly calm face was:

“She needs immediate med evac!”

“Hello to you too,” Tony hummed with what almost seemed as amusement, eyeing the chains with raised brows, and made his way to him.

Series of cries and crashes sounded from behind the wall, making Steve wince, head snapping the direction just as the ground shook again, a thud and something that distinctly sounded like breaking of a bone amplified tenfold causing his heart to stumble in his chest in fear. He knew sounds of a fight when he heard it; and while he knew that was a good thing – the recue party being able to what you couldn’t at the moment, exactly what he had wished for barely five seconds ago – it didn’t mean his body wasn’t vibrating with need to move to join that very fight.

And Tony was still walking to him calmly, without care in the world but seemingly with all the time there was in it, as if you hadn’t been shot twice, bleeding out, the only thing disturbing Tony from his walk of fame being a stray bullet from a Hydra agent who got punched to his face for the trouble, and that was distinctly your voice whimpering and Tony was just-

Steve yanked at the cuffs stubbornly, gritting his teeth when the action made his shoulder throb, little spots dancing at the edge of his vision – fresh wave of dread and rage pooled in his gut and made his vision laser sharp, much like his voice.

“Goddammit Tony, I’m serious! She’s-”

“We know Steve,” Bucky said evenly, worried gaze trailing over Steve’s body as he himself was twisting one of the goon’s arm behind his back in what Steve knew was a very painful angle. Good, he thought fleetingly, these bastards deserved to suffer. “Johnson managed to hack the cameras with Friday’s help as soon as we located you. The emergency team is ready...”

Almost pointed brief silence followed Bucky’s words, the noise of battle dying out, followed by gentler sounds; shuffling, gasps, voices speaking quietly; worried and disturbed, but firm.

Bucky smiled a bit. “And I'm sure Spectre’s getting medical attention as we speak.”

Steve’s eyes slipped shut as he took a wavering, agonized breath as his own wound cried for attention – but the violence in him, having been brewing for hours now, didn’t subdue. Your screams still echoed in his skull, even with his momentary memory working as one of an almost ordinary human.

He’d never forget that sound – not when you screamed the first time when they had shot you. Not when you screamed just a few moments ago when they had done god-only-knows-what to bring you more pain.

He felt the curse roll off his tongue, acute desire to swear on Bucky and Tony and others for having wasted time hacking secured feed and watching as the wicked voices from behind the wall hurt you more, instead of rushing to the rescue faster – but in the back of his mind, he knew all too well they had done their best. Because they always did – especiallywhen not one, but two of them had fallen into Hydra’s clutches.

Steve knew that; but a lot of good that had done, hadn’t it?

Couldn’t they have just— if they had only arrived at least a few moments earlier, flown in faster, infiltrated the base more effectively, if Steve had pulled harder, if he had been able to focus a little further and project again, shield you, because apparently, he wasn’t about to bleed out or suffocate upon being shot to his damn chest in the spectral form even if it felt that way-- and had he had set himself on the death road by catching another, very real bullet, it wouldn’t have mattered because at least he’d be able to do something, goddammit, instead of being a sitting goddamn duck.

“Didn’t anyone tell you sleeveless shirts got out of fashion and were never actually fashionable, Cap?” Tony noted, seemingly unbothered and completely blind and deaf to Steve’s inner turmoil.

As Steve snapped his eyes open and shot him a murderous glare, he saw a flash of worry and anger in his friend’s face.

Distantly, Steve remembered that this was how Tony coped when he was overwhelmed himself.

Responding would have been a waste of breath and would have blocked the precious noise from behind the wall, telling Steve that you were indeed being taken care of, probably having already carried away while others took care of Doctor Barret and other excuses for human beings that had been in the cell with you.

You were being treated. You had the serum – or some version of it anyway. You’d be fine.

Even as ‘fine’ was the last word he’d use to describe the utter shitshow that had taken place in this base. Nothing about what had happened here was fine, even as there were fractions of it that Steve would now always cherish; too bad they were overweighted by the ton of things he’d rather never think of again but stuck to his memories like molasses to his fingers.

The pain from your spectral wounds lingered? You had always felt like this, even if no one could see a scratch? Could you still feel the wound from two weeks ago when you had been retrieving the data Hydra had planted now, as you had two actual gunshot wounds to your thighs, so poorly taken care of, wrapped in the missing sleeves Tony was mocking? Was it like that? As if it wasn’t enough that blood was no doubt seeping through the fabric still, and maybe they had pushed against those, poking-

Jesus Christ.

“This might hurt a bit,” Tony warned him, kneeling next to him and frowning at the chains again, clearly wondering about the safest and fastest way to remove them.

Steve automatically sighed a thank you as Tony’s metal-clad hands moved to break the metal with sheer strength, before Steve turned his gaze to Bucky again, the question nudging insistently on his brain; a phantom image of you, dressed in what had been a breathtaking gown soaked in blood, torn and dusty, pristine white cloth coloured crimson around your thighs, face distorted in agony even when he had tried his best to work in the gentlest way possible. God, the undiluted innocent trust in your eyes-

“How long you’ve been watching? What did they— they hurt her further. How?”

Bucky met Steve’s intense gaze, his own disapproving and resigned at once – a silent conversation not longer than two second took place. Bucky clearly didn’t want Steve to know, aware it would only twist the figurative knife in his gut, the knowledge of whatever had happened in the other room torturing him, feeding his blame for simply having sat there while you had suffered.

He was right. But Bucky was just as well-aware of the fact Steve would find out anyway; hell, Bucky probably thought Steve would watch the footage just to learn.

And he was damn right.

So he came to the correct conclusion that it was better to just tell. And Steve was grateful, even as he braced himself for a figurative punch to his stomach.

“Long enough to know not to mess with the artifact. Johson cursed like a sailor when she saw it,” Bucky said slowly, pausing as he cuffed the other Hydra agent. Steve’s eyes kept burning a hole into his head as Bucky glanced at him again, no doubt hoping Steve would change his mind. Vainly – but he hadn’t expected as much. His weary sigh told Steve that. “They restrained her so she couldn’t escape the touch of the artifact, even though they never got to that part. They forced her on her knees. She had to put her weight on her legs-“

Steve gritted his teeth as inferno of pure fury exploded inside him, flooding his strained muscles with power; his hands curled into fists, his left hand, still trapped, breaking the last remaining string on metal on him with ease when he pushed his whole body into a single tug.

He was going to smash their faces.

He was going to break every little bone in the sleazy Hydra bastard who sounded like he was revelling in your cries and he was going to enjoy it-

“Cool it, Rambo,” Tony said flatly, the thinnest thread of satisfaction lacing his voice nevertheless. “We get it, you’re mad as hell, but we need to take care of you too. You can go all John Wick on them later. You don’t have your usual strength, you’ve been shot, have about a thousand cuts, those shoulders of yours don’t look as hot as usual either and you breathe like you have at least five broken ribs,” he listed, surprisingly accurate. Not that Steve cared. He didn’t need to be enhanced nor in full strength to release the violence he was now brimming with; he had seen ordinary humans commit unspeakable crimes with their bare hands. He could do the same if he pleased. And it would – please him, that was. They had hurt you; and then they hurt you further, just because they could, when you couldn’t even defend yourself, when he was right fucking there- “Come on, Cap. Let’s leave this shitshow behind.”

Two of Coulson’s agents whom Steve vaguely recalled by name – Agent Mackenzie and Agent May – strode in, taking the two Hydra agents off Bucky’s hands. Bucky was by Steve’s side in a blink of an eye, helping him up; it honestly surprised Steve how much he had to appreciate that, his legs wobbly, the world a little hazy at the edges of his vision causing him to grip on Bucky’s arm, the pressure transferring to the centre of Steve’s chest and causing him to wheeze silently at the fresh burst of pain.

Okay, shit, maybe giving Hydra hell could be postponed a bit-

“Easy, pal. You’ll be okay, but you really look like hell now,” Bucky said, Steve involuntarily proving his point when his left knee gave out momentarily, the only thing saving him from falling being Tony’s swift reaction as he supported him from other side. When had he got so light-headed? “Yeah okay, maybe walking isn’t the best idea-“

“I’m fine.”

He was. Definitely in an infinitely better state than you.

“Sure you are, pal, and I’m the President-“

“Stark, don’t, the situation is horror-like enough as it is,” Bucky huffed, helping Steve hobble. “You stumble again, I’m carrying you bridal style, punk. Then we figure out how to reverse the effect of that damn thing and-“

“No!” Steve cried out on instinct, energized at once – and earning glances shocked enough to elaborate. “I mean… there’s enough time for that. I’m… not fine, but I’m alright enough. We need to make sure the change is safe first. We… we don’t know how exactly it works. And trial and error is not an option.”

It was not. There was no chance in hell Steve was going to test whether you’d be able to hold on without the serum with the injuries you had even in a controlled medical environment, and that was just one of his concerns. There were several others.

Where Tony was satisfied with his explanation, Bucky’s gaze lingered on him, a silent question he didn’t have to voice, because he already knew the answer; a fond and exasperated faint smile formed on his face.

You want the healing factor to do its work before you switch it again, don’t you?

Damn right Steve wanted that.

His feet might feel heavy, blood-flow restoring only now as he had moved the stiff muscle, but his brain was still working – and there was no way he’d touch that damn artifact with a ten-feet pole until he knew you were stabilized at least. Preferably later, because God knew Bucky was right; Steve might be aching all over, but you most definitely needed his healing factor a lot more at the moment.

And if there was the slightest chance that artifact might mess with either of you and your powers further, that was just more reason – one Steve would gladly share and point out at the reason – to wait.

The switch would be attempted – for sure.

The chance was probably never going to be a clean zero and the mere idea of staying this way – without an essential part of him, the part of him that enabled him to fight for what he believed in – was paralysing, no matter that he would have had a different and very useful power in return. He imagined that beside the healing factor which you could immensely benefit from, you might appreciate the other quirks too, but would prefer having your powers back still. Even as you were an excellent fighter and could hold your own more than well, with your true power, one that had nothing to do with mutations, being in your mind and heart. But your Inhuman power was a part of you as much as the serum was part of him.

The switch would be attempted – but in the right time.Steve was not going to take another risk, nor approve of anyone else taking it. But for sure - both of you would definitely welcome the return to the norm; at least where abilities were concerned.

If you’d revert to your old ways in your interaction as well remained to be seen – but unlike with the power switch, no amount of prior research or stalling would help Steve predict the outcome.

“Is Agent Campbell with you?” Steve panted, forcing himself to stay focused on the puzzle he could actually help solving. “He’s-“

“-not, he’s already diving into archives and all the retrieved records from the cute little cult-like community of Inhumans they had, researching the artifact,” Tony interjected, a brief smirk audible in his voice. “If anyone can make sense of Jiaying’s notes, it’s him. We know. We might not have not had our head strategist but we can do okay when it comes to it, Cap.”

A tired smile curled Steve’s lips upward.

“Thank you. I know you’re just fine without me,” Steve noted, smile slowly slipping when he remembered another piece of intel they needed to explore. “Can you-- we need to check up on Spectre’s mother.”

Bucky frowned at him in confusion. “They took her too? No other prisoner has been reported in this facility yet.”

Stev took a wavering breath as they exited the building, fresh air feeling like heaven despite the burning in his lungs – and the sight of multiple quinjets as well – and only then explained.

“Not sure. They just mentioned her in passing. Could be that she’s working with them. Could be they used her Inhumans research. Could be she’s in danger or hurt. I’m not sure, maybe they just mentioned her to get a rise out of Spectre. Either way, we need to know.”

“We’ll get right on that, pal,” Bucky assured him, grabbing his arm firmer to help him hop on the jet. “Now let’s get you home.”

A whole medical team was on Steve the second he stepped into the plane. However, as Tony started the quinjet, the ramp rising however, Steve was deaf to the questions asked; something much more important caught his attention.

One of Tony’s brilliant inventions, a modification of his suits, a stretcher designed for the field where wheels were a real inconvenience.

Two field medics; and you.

He only got a glimpse as the group headed towards the quinjet, but he had seen enough.

Unconscious. Ashen. Bloodied. Improvised bandages soaked through with crimson as you had been apparently forced to your knees. Remnants of your beautiful evening gown, one that made his heart beat its way out of his chest and sear, a precious sight to behold, a memory to cherish; the sight and all other senses full of you as you had smiled mildly, as you chuckled, as he held you in his arms, having moved almost effortlessly across the dancefloor.

And this was the price you paid; your punishment for Steve’s and others’ insistence that it would be fine to go to the auction.

God, he was such an idiot.

Arrogant idiot who had thought that if something had gone awry a bit, he’d handle it, especially with you by his side. He had seen the golden opportunity to apologize, to smoothen the rough relationship between you two at least a bit, to make a nice memory with you, so desperate to take a chance to show himself in a better light that for once he hadn’t minded Tony meddling.

This was Steve’s punishment for that arrogance and focusing on his own agenda; and it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair, because you were taking the brunt of the impact of the consequences of his actions – and the lack of it. You were paying the price for his irresponsibility, for his incompetence.

God, how he wished he could turn the clock back.

Like so many times before.

He was sure his lips were moving, automatically responding to the questions of the meticulous medical team eventually. But that image of you remained in his mind, even when he closed his eyes, hazy due to pain medication he didn’t remember receiving.

The fact that it had done nothing to relieve the pain from the wound he had suffered when in his spectral form only made his stomach turn further.

Your pain lingered. And unless his brain was more messed up than he had thought, not only that your pain lingered for days, weeks even, but you also had no relief for it.

Steve just wanted to scream and punch and tear something apart.

“You won’t believe me, but it needs to be said,” a mild voice sounded next to him, causing his eyes to snap open in fright; he hadn’t noticed people moving around. Hadn’t noticed another of his friends arriving. Did you have someone close nearby? They might be operating on you already, despite the risks, so probably not. “Steve, look at me.”

It was hard to resist Natasha’s gentle command, but Steve had been through a lot harder trials today. Yesterday? Both? It had been light outside…

He kept staring ahead, her face, the flash of red hair, appearing on his vision even as his gaze wouldn’t focus on her.

He knew what she was going to say. It was clear as day – and she was right about one thing. He wouldn’t believe her. He couldn’t.

“This isn’t your fault.”

If Steve’s chest didn’t hurt so much and if he wasn’t trying to pretend like he was listening, he’d scoff.

“Listen to the lady, punk,” Bucky added. “She knows her shit. We all… pushed you a little bit to go. No one could have known.”

“We should have.” I should have.

Both of his friends’ faces came into focus as Steve spoke up, uncannily similar concerned expression on their features.

“Maybe. But we can’t change that now – and you know I hate trying to look at the bright side of things just to cover up for the hard dark facts, but we did discover a large base of operations and eliminated it thanks to you two,” Natasha noted and Steve gritted his teeth as he inhaled sharply, his lungs crying out in consequence. “That might have not been the plan, but it still counts. What you two have been through there – and we don’t know half of it, I’m sure – wasn’t for nothing.”

Steve gulped, averting her gaze. He couldn’t say she didn’t have valid arguments; there were good things that came out it indeed, the truth about how your powers worked among them, because at least now Steve would be able to take that into account after you hopefully managed to switch powers back. But that didn’t mean the horrible experience was lessened for it.

It didn’t mean it had been worth it.

“And you did a damn good job patching her up in that situation,” Bucky argued further, only making Steve’s stomach churn. Because that wasn’t true. He hadn’t been fast enough. You did the hardest work. You- “We know enough to understand you managed to project? I mean-“

“She dug out the bullets herself,” Steve said dully, despite the images his mind had conjured about that flaring up inside his head again being impossibly vivid and nauseating.

Bucky’s voice fell silent and Steve took satisfaction – a sick one, one knew – in the horror casting shadows over both Natasha’s and Bucky faces. Good. He needed them to understand. He needed them to understand that despite the state they found you in – precisely for that, perhaps – you were a goddamn fighter.

And he had failed you.

“She dug out the bullets herself while coaching me through projecting to the hallway so we could get out. Only when that didn’t work, I projected to her and found her barely conscious, but with two damn bullets out and her hands and legs soaking in her own blood. Don’t tell me-“

“She’s one tough agent, Steve, we get the message,” Natasha interrupted his sombre speech flatly, face strict when he snapped his gaze to her; but her voice still spoke of warmth. “We know that and my respect to her only grows with every mission, but that doesn’t diminish your merit. Controlling a power which you had an entirety of few hours – of which most you spent unconscious, I assume – enough to get to her, taking care of her after that, was still hard work. You were both without your usual powers. Clearly, you both pushed beyond your limits. And survived, thanks to each other. But you alone did a good job.”

Steve averted her gaze, his face and the burn of angry exhausted tears probably saying it all: Did I?

I did nothing.

I didn’t do enough.

When she said it like that, it sounded like he had managed quite the feat, but it still didn’t feel like enough. It still felt like a failure on his part; but God, was she right when she said you had outdone yourself, fighting tooth and nail and pushing yourself to do the unthinkable and succeeding.

Steve cleared his throat, hoping to swallow the lump having grown there.

“How did you find us?” he asked, aware his friends would recognize that as clear evasion of digging deeper into the topic.

And hopefully, they’d take it.

Even with that sigh on their part.

The corners of Steve’s lips twitched up a bit at the ridiculously coordinated sound of exasperation and exhaustion from Bucky and Natasha; they were good for each other. Absurdly so.

“Barret was on the shortlist of my suspects,” Natasha explained simply. “For all the sophisticated manipulations and tricks, trying to get our scientists do their dirty work, no one thought of the possibility of us tracking him once we knew he could be the mole.”

“Cocky bastards,” Bucky hummed. “Luckily.”

Steve couldn’t but agree; he might have been pissed at the universe for the team not having appeared earlier, but he didn’t want to imagine what they would have found had they come later.

“How did Coulson’s team get involved?”

Bucky’s sudden grin seemed out of place, but warmed Steve’s heart anyway.

“You’ll like this one. Johnson was keeping tabs on the mission – the gala, that is. She actually recovered a draft of Spectre’s message about the artifact as soon as she found out about the ambush, came barging into the Tower with a few friends at her heels. She still had a cut on her forehead from their own mission. Speaking of tough women…”

Natasha smirked; and Steve’s smile widened, the sign of joy feeling genuine for the first time.

You did have someone by your bedside, even as most of your current team fussed over him, maybe even for that exact reason. Coulson’s team – your friends – were in your corner. Likely in every sense of the world. Good.

His stomach dropped to his feet only when the idea occurred to him that it might be enough for you to draw you back to Coulson. Away from the Avengers. Him included.

Gritting his teeth, he forbade himself to worry about that now. Even if that was the case, he would have to accept it; he’d have to be happy for you. He’d have to. He wouldn’t have a word to say against that decision. He hadn’t exactly done the stellar job of making you feel welcome, and as for keeping you safe-

“That’s good,” Steve said weakly at least, stomping on the unpleasant thoughts, latching onto the bright side – if it wasn’t for Agent Johnson, the rescue party could have been smaller. And slower. He was beyond grateful for the friends you had. “She’s a good friend… and I hope she’s been treated by now?”

“She was. As much as was possible during the flight anyway. And she does seem like a good friend... one who drives Tony crazy.”

Steve couldn’t but grin at Natasha’s sidenote, especially since he heard someone approaching from behind, probably the man in question himself. “Even better.”

“I heard that, Cap! How’s he doing, doc?”

Doctor Shaw glanced at Steve briefly, waiting for his approval, before he secured another butterfly band-aid over the cut on his forearm. Steve just nodded.

“Well, I’ll be able to tell more once we’re at the Tower, but for now, I’m confident enough to say that the patient will eventually make a full recovery.”

“Especially after he gets his mojo back, right?” Tony added, earning a slightly amused raised brow from the man.

“If you are referring to regaining the effects of the serum, particularly the increased accelerated healing factor, then yes, Mr. Stark. I’m hopeful.”

“There’s no rush with that-“ Steve protested instinctively, only for Natasha to carefully wrap her fingers around his left wrist – the least injured non-intimate part of a body she could find.

“We’ll figure it out, Steve. Together.”

And she’ll be fine too, the look in her eyes said, causing Steve’s shoulders to slump and making him internally wince in pain.

“Alright, Captain Rogers. Are you comfortable with me reporting-“

“Yes, Doctor Shaw. Proceed,” Steve said before the doctor could finish asking about sharing his medical information with three other people present, causing the man to smile briefly.

“Right. Your dislocated shoulder is stabilized for now, as is the gunshot wound. I would advise rest, bedrest preferably, and I’d recommend you to respect it this time as the effects of the serum, particularly the healing factor, do not seem to be present.”

Steve pointedly ignored the two piercing gazes and one snort from his friends at the note about him respecting doctor’s orders. He did respect all medical personnel immensely, both as people and professionals – there were simply times at which he couldn’t entirely follow their recommendations.

Doctor Shaw cleared his throat before he continued.

“The cut on your forehead was minor, as the majority of the cuts on your arms, apart from three of them with about two stitches each, they should heal within a few days. We disinfected it thoroughly, but we will monitor the progress regularly, especially for signs of infection. Again, if you could limit straining your muscles by let’s say lifting heavy objects, it would certainly help. As for the injury under your eye and over your cheek, there is no fracture and the swelling is going to disperse within hours. Do expect a bruise, however. Again, my recommendation is to rest. And do not hesitate to report if you feel that you should receive a higher dose of pain medication – I admit we do have slight trouble calculating the dose as we are in the process of determining the metabolization of various medication in the current state of your body.”

He made another pause, frowning, first at his notes in the chart and then at Steve.

“Now, before I leave you to it, I detected no injuries to your ribs or sternum, no swelling or bruising or worse, yet you are clearly in pain, having difficulty breathing. We can talk about fresh higher dose of fentanyl once we get to the base to relieve you, but as of now, do you have any idea what could be the cause for-“

“I’m fine. It’s… my pain is about two on the scale-“ of three “of ten, the breathing it probably just the adrenalin still wearing off. That is possible, no?” Steve suggested, hoping his lie sounded at least a fraction more convincing to the doctor and his friends than to himself.

Now that the pain from other injuries subdued, it felt like someone was drilling a hole not his chest and then poked around once he broke through the bone to the insides; or as if someone shot him. But he couldn’t say that without casting suspicion on you. He couldn’t do that until he had a plan of approaching the issue, preferably with you even if he felt like benching you forever for the stunt you had been pulling at him and the whole team – and possibly you previous team. What were you even thinking?

The doctor eyed him curiously, but nodded at last, clearly satisfied for the moment.

“I’m simply going to take some rest and then I’ll be as good as new,” Steve added, an innocent – but honestly grateful to all the care the medical provided – smile on his lips.

He would swear Bucky mumbled ‘little shit’ under his breath. Doctor Shaw dared to raise a questioning eyebrow, clearly seeing Steve was trying to butter him up, but didn’t protest and took his leave.

Steve felt three slightly suspicious glares remain, but no one asked. For now.

They were about to land anyway.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

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