Tumgik
#Inhuman fanfic
cyrwrites · 10 months
Text
Pinocchio
Talon needed someone to show it what being human was. It remembered the Flying Graysons, the Circus and the giant elephant, Zitka, but it didn't remember being the boy that had been Dick Grayson. All that remained was a weapon that the Court had whet in even, rhythmic strokes. Because of that, its former Masters had paid in blood. However, that left it bereft, and without any kind of purpose.
Or so it thought, until the assassin came across a teenager doing parkour in a stormy night. Just by looking, Talon could tell the teenager was not there voluntarily, or doing the graceful moves out of amusement, as he was being chased with an army of people with guns, who were seemingly overconfident as they closed in on their kill.
They were wrong to assume they were safe or even victorious. Even as prepared as they were, even as armed as they were, they would not be a problem for someone who'd been the greatest asset of Court of Owls.
-----------
Talon signaled to the teenager with the hand that was clasping the knife. In the torrential rain, the assassin easily ignored the blood caking the extremity. But the teen was especially aware of the way the blood dripped onto the concrete. That was fine; it needed the teen's eyes on it. Horrified eyes kept straying to the pile of corpses sitting across from them.
"You- teach Talon," it rasped.
"Dude- you- what?" the teen wheezed.
"You teach Talon- how to- human," Talon insisted. The assassin resisted the urge to crowd and intimidate; Talon knew that was the best way to send the human teen scrambling away to whatever relative safety one could find in Gotham.
How to human, the teen mouthed to himself almost incredulously.
"You want me to- what? Teach you how to be human, man?"
"I save you," Talon nodded, firmly. "You teach."
1K notes · View notes
staryukis · 5 months
Text
sooo many vampire!gojo thoughts.. (MDNI)
vampire!gojo who is quite particular about who his victims are, because after centuries of tasting human blood he’s found he has a preference for certain blood types. it’s weird to explain but to him he finds that some just taste sweeter than others (he’s always had such a major sweet tooth after all)
vampire!gojo who catches your scent when you walk past him one day in public and he just knows he has to taste you. he finds you again later that evening and he’s so enthralled with you, the way your heart beats so fast with fear and anticipation. with his heightened senses he could hear the blood pumping through your veins and he all but moans when he finally sinks his teeth into your neck
vampire!gojo who doesn’t normally kill his victims, either, but he’s especially careful when it comes to you. your blood tastes sweeter than any he’s ever had before and it drives him crazy. every time he’s drinking from you he’s torn between the primal urge to suck you dry and the very limited self-control he has to employ to pull away when you start getting lightheaded
vampire!gojo who gets incredibly needy around you because of this. you both get off on this so when he has to pull his lips away he starts whimpering and whining like a little bitch in heat, doing kitten licks at the blood trickling down the open wound on your neck while rutting his clothed erection against your thigh, moaning into your ear about how you’re the sweetest little thing he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. whole time your head is spinning from the blood loss but the way he started humping your leg when he was drinking you made you start to lazily rub at yourself, breathlessly moaning out his name every time he pressed his tongue flat against the two holes in your neck
vampire!gojo who, despite how much you beg him, refuses to actually turn you, mainly because vampire blood tastes significantly different and he is too addicted to your taste right now to let it go. but then he finds out you got attacked by another vampire and almost killed, and he gets so scared when confronted with your mortality that he turns you on the spot. he never would’ve guessed this would happen, but somehow your blood tasted even sweeter after you turned. you were going to be his sweet thing forever now
. . . ⇢ masterlist
650 notes · View notes
anika-ann · 4 months
Text
Back and Forth - masterlist
Pairing: Steve Rogers x agent! Inhuman!reader
Type: enemies-ish to lovers series
Summary: Calling yourself an Avenger would be overstatement, even if you have been joining them on missions quite frequently lately. Calling them your friends would be an overstatement also. Calling you and Steve Rogers friends, now that would be an insult to the entity of friendship – though unlike him, you have enough self-awareness to admit that he isn't the only one to blame for that. Most of the time anyway.
However, the Avengers need your abilities and so you and Steve tolerate each other – or at least you’re trying, your back and forth visibly annoying your colleagues and exhausting you both.
And then you’re thrown into a situation where mere tolerance isn’t an option. That should end well, shouldn’t it?
Tumblr media
Characters to appear: Steve Rogers, ‘reader’, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark, Sam Wilson, mentions of Phil Coulson, Daisy Johnson and few others
Setting: slight AU 'cause everyone lives thank you very much, no Civil War or further, references to Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D without a fixed timeline
Warnings: besides canon-typical violence, this series deals with topics which might be trigerring for some people - please, read with caution and resposibility
Playlist 🎵 (NEW)
Tumblr media
STORYLINE:
Prologue 
Part 1 
Part 2 
Part 3.1 // Part 3.2
Part 4.1 // Part 4.2 
Part 5 
Part 6
Part 7
Epilogue
Number of parts/chapters is estimated. Did I add one extra already? Yeah, but shhh
Dividers by firefly-graphics, moodboard by me - and created for the vibes, for it does not necessarily reflect the reader's appearance.
Tumblr media
Taglist open 🥰
313 notes · View notes
mrsrookhunt · 6 months
Text
It's Friday the 13th but there's 30 minutes left so this is going to be short and sweet.
🎃 Inhuman Rook Hunt hcs 🎃
Warnings: None it's pretty wholesome
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><
Inhuman!Rook who is immediately enthralled with you when you pass his cabin in the woods on an offchance.
Inhuman!Rook who has been warned by the many generations of his species not to fall for a human. They don't understand, they don't get it, Rook, please, don't hurt yourself like this, they just don't get it---
Inhuman!Rook who is so deeply in love with you he opens his home, hides his secrets, and puts on a human disguise, all for you.
Inhuman!Rook who loves you so deeply he's named all your future children, picked out a home even farther removed from society, at the foothills of a great mountain range he knows you will be at ease at, and busied himself with textbooks on marriage and parenting customs among humans.
Inhuman!Rook who learns how humans show love so that he can be the best husband, best friend, and lover to you, and show you his love as deeply as he could ever express that deep-set affection within his mind.
Inhuman!Rook who is willing to cast aside the solace he found in loneliness for the love he took a gamble on.
Inhuman!Rook who is willing to leave the only community of his species he's ever known, for your happiness, because 'happy' for him is when you are happy.
Inhuman!Rook who loves you more than life itself.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><
October 13th, 2023
Also shout out for E.B.'s birthday today :)
-Kaori
291 notes · View notes
gottawritesomething · 18 days
Text
A God's Folly (1/2)
Scene of an unsettling conversation/connection between God!Gale and his Chosen.
Tumblr media
Huge thank you to @ceasesanity for their GodGale Gif
____________________________________
The God of Ambition’s realm had been chiseled into Elysium in painstaking detail. Spiraling towers of marble trimmed with gold reliefs. Dramatized carvings depicting his accession to godhood decorating the various buildings adorning the land. Many of them replications of the most ambitious constructions from Faerun’s history. Rumors among his followers suggested that there was a perfect recreation of Waterdeep somewhere deep within the bounds of the realm. The truth of it mattered little, when the concept seemed so fanciful.
The God of Ambition watched the Great Wizard haughtily from his ornate throne room. It had been an extreme act of generosity to even allow him entry to his realm. Though it provided a unique opportunity to turn Elminster to the ways of Ambition as he'd done with so many before. Mortal’s hearts and minds had proven remarkably easy to capture; there was always something they wanted that he could provide a taste of. A lost love’s eyes resting on them for a moment, an acknowledgment from someone they respected, the sounds of an applauding audience chanting their name, the bitter denouncement of a rival. These harmless promises cultivated their belief in him, elevating him to a source of inspiration. Demonstrating the vast possibilities at his fingertips that they too could share in, if they'd just put their faith in him. Elminster suffered no such wonderment or distraction; he’d been set to his purpose and no pomp or circumstance would deter him. The elderly wizard swept through the grandest of structures, libraries, gardens, and palaces without a moment’s pause. The God of Ambition felt something that might have once been annoyance as he assessed Elminster’s approach. But of course, Gods were above such pettiness, that lay with the incessant squabbling of the mortal masses.
“Elminster Aumar, Chosen of Mystra, you should consider yourself lucky I allow you to stand in my presence given the disrespect your goddess has subjected me to. Know that you enter my plane by my will alone. Though it is not too late for you to rectify your misplaced faith. Galerian creed could bolster your already formidable reputation to new heights, perhaps claim deitydom for yourself.“
Elminster bowed deeply, regarding the God with a resigned gaze. There, again, was the prickle of irritation; the God dismissed the frivolous feelings.
“Your magnanimity knows no bounds, my lord, but I come seeking your Chosen. So that we may broker a peace between the warring temples in Amn. I seek no quarrel with you.”
“And yet, a quarrel you may still have. I see no reason to quell the conflict. Even battle has its ambitious aims.” The God of Ambition reclined, feigning disinterest. 
“If I am not mistaken, my lord, your worship benefits from living practitioners. The casualties from the schism have been significant enough that the city discusses closing both temples; I would never seek to deny your followers a place to worship.”
The God of Ambition considered attempting a laugh, unsure if he still knew how to feint a convincing one. 
“Very well, she'll assist you.”
With blink, he established a calling portal before returning his attention to Elminster, a smug smile flickering across his features.
“You may attempt to turn her head, Elminster but she remains my most loyal follower, her Ambition is to remain at my side.” The God twined something carefully through his fingers. 
A different man's life ago as they'd sat in a paltry conjured boat. Gale had asked her to have the best version of him, she'd told him that she could not, because to pursue the crown would destroy him. It had seemed she meant it when the God of Ambition first came for her. She could hardly look upon his visage and withdrew herself from his hold. But he'd been too new, too overwhelmed with the eternity now within grasp. He'd come for her too soon.
But soon, she'd returned to him of her own volition. She'd heard of the incorporation of their great love story into his expanding mythos. Initially, so full of fire and outrage. At the time, she’d not understood the need for it to be carved into temple walls. Or why bards composed songs about how no two beings had never been so suited. He explained the hope it gave his followers and all those who heard their tale. The appeal of the story of a man who had nothing and was nothing, pursuing the hero of Baldur's Gate. That she'd recognized in him, innately, this capacity of power, which he'd gone on to claim in her name. The embellishments, he’d assured her, only served to make it more inspiring. Still, she’d stormed, passionate and fiery. He'd eventually managed to settle her in a way he could never, while mortal. 
By that point, his command over the Galerian Weave was absolute. In his expertise, he'd realized her connection to its very fibers. He’d hypothesized that their bond and the thoughts of her as he ascended had etched her within its structure. That despite her mortal existence, she’d somehow become fused with his Weave. As such he’d come to know her as deeply as he knew all Weave. Her innermost being now observable to him, providing him with her most inescapable truth. 
The orb had only confirmed what the God of Ambition had already suspected: he had her heart entire. That she loved him senselessly, impossibly, that there was no action he could take that would remove him from her every beat of her heart. Her protestations falling away when confronted with this fact. 
It had occurred to him how Mystra had demonstrated a decidedly ungodly naivete in seeking out mortal companionship. An attempt to recapture the part of her that burned away when she ascended, he suspected. He still held a fondness for his Chosen of course… She represented a facsimile of his mortal wants and life. He’d once entertained the thought that perhaps he’d called to her himself. That somewhere within was a wisp of the man he'd been, clawing and sobbing for her, an element he'd never successfully excised. But instead culled, preventing it from further dulling his divine senses.
Elminster’s eyes remained wary as Tav stepped through the God's portal. 
She was dressed in exotic and delicate fineries, impossible materials intricately embroidered. The fabric shifted in color and flow around her as she walked. The beauty of the garment almost obscuring the exhaustion in her face.
Elminster explained the situation in detail, with Tav nodding slowly. With his summation done, the God of Ambition returned the ailing wizard to the tenuous grasp of his goddess, returning his full attention to his Chosen. Did they know how shatterable they were? That he dwarfed her not only in size but also in the sheer power at his fingertips. The glimmer within him would have screamed until his throat bled at the imbalance, if he’d paid it any heed.
“As ever my dear, I am sure you will do the Galerian faith proud. Though do keep an eye on Elminster, I feel his influence ring through some of my more far-flung sects.”
Tav nodded stoically. A flash of something pushed the God of Ambition to require more from her, to prove the tangibleness of their connection.
“Of course, I needn’t wonder about his influence on you.” He attempted a smile, Tav’s stony demeanor unleashing something unbecoming of a deity within him. “Not when there is such evidential proof of your love for me.” There was a flash of blinding light, and like a curtain lifting, a chain coiled upon the throne room floor, revealing its snaking path towards his chosen, traveling up her form to rest at her chest—at her heart. It glowed a pale blue, pulsing the heartbeat of Galerian Weave. The beat of both their hearts. Tav followed the chain with her eyes, the thin, impossible chain curled delicately around the orb’s scar as The God of Ambition wove it between his fingers. 
He invaded her every sense, sliding like smooth water over her skin, raw power of his energy crackling over her. Noting the goosebumps that erupted on her skin. A whispered plea fell from his lips for only her ears.
“Tell me you love me, still.”
Her eyes fixed on his, the intensity of her sorrow and love mixing in an intoxicating blend. To feel so much and so strongly was so utterly mortal. At times, it felt as though she was looking beyond him, peering deeply into him as if searching for something.
“Of course, my lord.”
The God of Ambition wished she’d used his name, but for the moment, the need was satiated. 
“Then go forth.” With a dismissive hand wave, he returned his Chosen returned to their mortal duties. The unease of their encounter soothed as the God of Ambition surveyed his domain once more. The delicate balance maintained requiring that not even a passing thought linger on the fact that the chain's end was not within his hands—that it, too, disappeared into his chest.
____________________________________
LINK to Follow up part 2
69 notes · View notes
bellaschinchilla · 3 months
Text
i've tried to ignore the current toymaker brain rot, i really have
but this weird cunt-serving thing sauntered in, performed a well-choreographed spice girls number, and then left with no further explanation, and somehow i'm supposed to not hyperfixate?
78 notes · View notes
daisy-mooon · 9 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Ms Marvel stans lost today. But we also won.
125 notes · View notes
fractally · 2 days
Text
I think the thing that I find so odd and off-putting about the online discussion of ace/aro identities is how black and white people are about it. I guess that is the genuine lived experience of some people so fair game but my experience especially as I've gotten older has been much more nuanced than any tumblr post would let you believe
25 notes · View notes
chadoe-dex · 5 months
Text
Canary Song
Chapter 2: Back to the Birdcage (word count: 2,999) [ao3 Link]
Read: (Prev , Next)
Thankfully the rain had slowed down significantly. Despite not having a comm, Jimmy attempted to take the shortest route he could figure out to the Facility. Fifteen minutes past patrol change, he made it back to the second-floor bathroom window he had snuck out from, chosen thanks to its blind spot to the cameras that overlooked the grounds.
The Facility wasn’t anything too impressive. It was a large circular building with three floors, sections separated for offices and conference rooms, training areas, the dining hall and kitchen, and most importantly living spaces for all the heroes. On the lot, but in a different building, was the medical ward where the inhumans got their own separate hospital facilities.
The bathroom he entered from was semi-public, open to any heroes on the floor to gather their gear or train. The window was tucked away from view on the back wall behind the stalls, where a janitor bucket and emergency hose faucet were.
He tore off his borrowed gear, taking a bag he hid inside the bucket and pulling out his regular gloves and shoes. Thankfully he had prepared a little bit and brought a change of socks. The rest of him was still sopping wet but at least his socks weren’t squishy in his shoes. Now all he needed to do was find a way to sneak all the way to the third floor where his room was and hope nobody saw him along the way. Easy peasy. Focused on trying to at least get rid of some of the water, Jimmy took off his hoodie and wrung it out, ignoring the fabric burns it gave him. His jeans were a lost cause, so he let them be and grabbed handfuls of paper towels to finish drying off his hair.
He opened the bathroom door slowly, peeking both ways. He was lucky, it looked like the floor was empty. Still watching both ways, he made his way down the hall towards the stairs. There was no way he was going to be caught dead on the elevator like this. He turned the corner to the stairway blindly, watching over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t—
“JIMMY!”
—snuck up on.
Jimmy jumped, spinning around and stumbling back. He’d almost bumped into a fuming Joel, who was decked out in his hero suit— a poet shirt underneath a brown leather armor vest and tucked into brown sweatpants, calf-high boots, and multiple pieces of leather armor protecting any sensitive or vulnerable areas. The bottom half 0f a gas mask for anonymity finished the look. Per his preference, his suit also consisted of a green sash tied around his waist as an impromptu belt that matched a chunk of his hair dyed the same color.
Jimmy grinned nervously at him. “Joel!”
“Shut up, where’s my comm?” Joel pushed a finger into Jimmy’s chest, clearly upset.
“I don’t— how d’you even know if I got it?”
“Because it’s gone and you look like you’ve gone somewhere with it.”
“Jimmy, just give him the damn thing,” a third voice chimed in. He turned to see Scott, who was also dressed in his hero outfit. It was more dramatic than Joel's, having a tight black top and light blue joggers, a loose colorful jacket, and a masquerade bird mask to match. Like Joel and every other superhero, his suit came with additional armor that matched. “We’re already late because Joel went to every door on the third and second floor looking for you. Even though I told him you snuck out again” Scott added that last bit under his breath.
“Yeah, because I can leave without my comm.”
“You could have borrowed one. Like Jimmy did.” Scott gestured to him with a fake smile.
Jimmy rolled his eyes as Joel spun back on him, still fuming. He pulled the comm out of his pocket and said as he handed it to him, “I didn’t know I grabbed yours until I left, okay? It’s not my fault you and Lizzie share comm chargers.” As adorable as Joel and Lizzie were, it was annoying how they did things like that.
Joel laughed. “Nice try, but Lizzie just got off patrol there’s no way hers would’ve been charging.”
“Let’s just go,” Scott pushed past Jimmy and grabbed Joel’s upper arm, dragging him towards the staircase.
“Scott the elevator is the other way.”
“It’s only one storey, we’re falling through the middle!” he responded over his shoulder, Joel protesting the whole way. Jimmy remembered too late that the comm was dead.
Oh well.
In any case, two overbearing sibling figures friends were dealt with. Now all he had to do was sneak up to his room. If he’s quick he could change before Lizzie and Grian get back.
『⁽ଘଓ⁾』
He made it to the top of the stairs. Then he was ambushed by Pearl, who evidently just woke up.
“You,” she squinted her eyes at him as soon as she registered it was him. Jimmy froze, caught. “You snuck out behind my back!”
“Uh, that’s sorta in the description of ‘sneaking out’ Pearl,” Jimmy grabbed her by the shoulder and led her down the hall towards his room. “Which, by the way, let’s not announce that where everyone could hear.”
Pearl just grumbled. “Lizzie told me to make sure you stayed in tonight. I can’t believe you tricked me into falling asleep.” It wasn’t hard, really. Those Attenborough documentaries were really easy to fall asleep to, especially if you were Pearl who used them to fall asleep ever since she first got her powers. Jimmy isn’t sure why specifically nature documentaries, but it was the one weakness he knew he could use so he wasn’t complaining.
“To be fair, I don’t know why you agreed to watch Our Planet.” They reached his room, where said nature documentary was still playing on the TV with Pearl’s blanket abandoned on one of the two bean bag chairs in front of it. She changed the channel to some cartoon and dropped down on the chair, still pouting at him grumpily. He walked across the room to his dresser, digging for some pj’s and fuzzy socks.
His room, like every other one, wasn’t very big. It was roughly the size of a college dorm room, with a dresser against the right wall and a small TV he convinced Lizzie to let him have mounted on the wall above a small bookcase. His bed wasn’t actually a bed, his balcony bench just being carved out to fit cushioning and creating what Grian called a ‘makeshift nest’.
The whole nest thing wasn't too weird to him, although the origin of it sort of was in his opinion. There was a period of time where Grian went through a weird ‘wing-brothers’ phase that he preferred to accuse Jimmy of, and remodeling Jimmy’s bed came out of that. Jimmy didn’t mind too much since they are the only two avian inhumans and Grian had been alone with that for longer than him. The bed itself wasn't too terrible to sleep in, but it was fitted more for his younger and shorter self, so if his legs were feeling too cramped on a particular day he had a hammock-like-canopy hanging over the top of his room as a backup.
Pulling a pair of flannel pants and a tank top out of his drawer, Jimmy whined, “Besides, I can't believe Lizzie sent you to babysit me. I wouldn't have left if she trusted me to stay.”
He didn't have to look to know she rolled her eyes. “Oh please, Jimmy, you've been antsy for days. You sneak out once, you do it again, it's like an addiction. This is your, what, third time?”
“That should be like a record, actually.” Jimmy mused. “In twelve years I've only ever snuck out 'round three times.” He made his way to the bathroom door.
“Don't sneak out that window!” Pearl called as he closed the door.
In all honesty, Pearl was a blessing. Of the thirteen inhuman members of the Heroes Commission, he and Pearl were the only two with older siblings. It was the one thing they always bonded over, and by extension was the one thing that made Lizzie and Grian such good friends. As a fellow younger sibling, Pearl usually sided with Jimmy. They're practically siblings themselves, or at least cousin-like, with how close they've gotten over their years at the facility.
Jimmy left the bathroom to see Pearl laughing at something happening on the TV. He was about to join her when there was a knock on his door.
Pearl lowered the TV volume. “Uh, oh, they're back already.”
“Are we telling them I snuck past you or let her not worry?”
Pearl frowned. “Let her bring it up first.”
Jimmy opened the door, greeting Lizzie with a grin. “You didn't die!”
Lizzie smiled and pushed past him, a tired-looking Grian following after. “It wasn't a rough night, people were pretty tame.”
The people were pretty tame, she says. Where were you when I was getting held at knifepoint, Jimmy thought bitterly.
Both were freshly changed and most likely showered, in pajamas and matching cat slippers Pearl and Jimmy had managed to get them on their birthdays.
Grian, half asleep, invaded Pearl's bean bag and used his wings as a makeshift blanket. “Hey—Grian scooch over!”
“Just five minutes,” Grian grumbled.
“There's another bean!”
“How was your impromptu sleepover?” Lizzie asked, taking Jimmy's bed for herself. Jimmy sat in the second bean bag, turning it to face her more.
“It was not impromptu, you sent her to watch over me!”
Lizzie raised an eyebrow. “Only because I knew it was going to rain late. You didn't leave anyway, right? It'd be terrible if you got a cold again.”
Oh. That reasoning made more sense. Jimmy held back a wince, it was… unpleasant when he got colds. Mostly thanks to the unpredictability of his powers being heightened when he was sick and weak, once even destroying his gloves every time he sneezed.
“Well, Pearl did babysit me. Against my will.” Jimmy turned back to the TV, not wanting to talk further. He felt a nudge from behind.
“Jimmy. Jim, you do realize I saw Joel and Scott on their way out?”
Shoot. Act casual.
“Really? I saw them right before they left, they were running late for some reason.”
“What was the reason, Jimmy?”
“Dunno. Didn't say.” He heard her sigh, then get up, and felt the beanbag dip from her sitting next to him. “I should invest in more beanbags.” He commented.
“Jim.” Her tone was soft, tethering the line of pity and sympathy.
“I just borrowed it,” Jimmy caved weakly. “I got bored.”
“I know. Did you take anything else?”
“Borrowed,” he insisted. “...And yes.”
“Are you going to return them anytime soon? Actually, we can go right now.”
Jimmy frowned. “I don’t need you to go with me. I’ll put them back tomorrow.”
Lizzie stood, stretching her arms above her head. “Too bad, we’re going now. Pearl, you and Grian staying in here?”
Pearl popped her head out of the little cave Grian created. “I’m going to my bed, it’s late. Dunno bout him he’s on his own.” Lizzie nodded, then looked down at Jimmy. She kicked his legs.
“I’m going.”
『⁽ଘଓ⁾』
They used the elevator. The lockers were only on the second floor, so really there was no reason to, but Lizzie had just spent her whole evening walking, running, etc so Jimmy didn’t say anything about it.
“Did you get back before the rain started?” Lizzie asked after a few moments of silence. Jimmy shook his head. At this point, there was no reason to lie to her. If anything he owed her the truth for accusing her of only sending Pearl because she didn’t trust him to follow the rules. Seeing his expression, she elbowed him. “Don’t look so glum, I’m not mad ju—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Jimmy mumbled miserably. Lizzie just giggled.
“Where’d you go today? I’m more curious about that anyway.”
Jimmy recounted his adventure in the city as the elevator doors opened and they made their way around the floor to where the locker rooms were. Just a visit to the park, walking on the roofs of a shopping outlet, then rushing home when he realized the rain was starting. He hesitated as he got to the most interesting part of his night.
Noticing his hesitation, Lizzie asked, “Did anything else happen?”
Jimmy cleared his throat. “No, that was pretty much it. I almost got lost on my way back ‘cause of the rain but,” he shrugged. “I think I avoided being seen by people.”
Lizzie laughed at this. “Jim, you’re lucky no one saw you, especially with those wings. I bet the only winged person they’ve ever seen is Xelqua, hero of the skies.” She said the last part in a deeper voice, mocking Grian’s dramatic hero name. Jimmy laughed along with her.
“What do you think my name could be when I become a hero?” Lizzie’s grin weakened, and their upbeat mood dropped. Despite already knowing what the question would bring up and the answer to it he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.
“Well, that’s a bit hard to predict,” Lizzie started carefully. Walking on eggshells like she did every time the conversation turned up.
“Liz, I’m eighteen already—”
“I know you are. You’re three years overdue.” She looked away, tapping her fingers on her arms anxiously. “But your power is too unstable, you know this.”
“Well, I can’t just stay locked up here forever.” She exhaled deeply, closing her eyes.
“If anything happens, the Commission goes down in flames and it’s over for us. People still aren’t used to the idea of superpowers. Releasing a— a maybe or maybe not fatal power can completely ruin whatever dreams for a better future there are for people like us.” Jimmy collapsed against the lockers, sitting with his arms crossed over his knees and his chin rested on top. It was a speech he’s heard a million different times before from everyone he’s ever asked about officially debuting as a hero.
“My power is more than ‘destructive’.”
“I know that.”
“And the gloves help!”
“That’s why I let you get away with leaving every once in a while. But I can’t protect you forever, a lot of the others already know you’ve snuck out. If the Commission chairs find out it’s over.” Jimmy glanced up as she walked across the room to him, crouching down and placing a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
Fighting back tears, Jimmy buried his head into his arms. “I’m tired of being trapped here. I just want to go out, even if it’s just a few hours. To see what living is like.”
Lizzie grabbed his arms and pulled him into a hug. He knew it wasn’t her fault, for years she tried her best to help him and try to convince the Commission to let Jimmy have more freedom. It was the Commission who shut her down at almost every turn, saying they sympathized with Jimmy’s situation but their hands were tied. It made Jimmy want to scream, he couldn’t imagine how she felt, seeing her younger brother trapped in a birdcage and powerless to do anything about it.
She held him while he cried for a while— which made him feel guilty since she must’ve felt exhausted after patrol. Since there were so few heroes, the schedule was stretched out between three pairs of heroes a day. The city wasn’t gigantic but it was still moderately sized, meaning there was a lot of ground for two heroes to cover over the course of eight hours. They weren’t entirely alone, having any emergency services and the newly implemented Protectors able to take calls or assist them when needed, but it still wasn’t easy.
The system was too new. In other places, inhumans started popping up slowly but steadily over time, some cities gaining vigilantes and villains overnight while others took the authoritarian route and locked them away until they could find out what to do with them.
Traphic city had been undergoing its own fundamental changes years before inhumans started showing up. By the time the first inhuman showed himself in Traphic, the city council had enacted plans to repurpose an abandoned police department to prepare for whatever wave of inhumans would come. The preparation helped kick-start negotiations between the first inhuman and the city to find a system that could possibly work out until people actually knew how to deal with inhumans. The idea behind the hero program was to get regular people more used to inhumans and ease away any mistrust or bias against powered people. By having Heroes, the humans had a positive view of inhumans.
Unfortunately , nobody planned for someone with a destruction-based power to come along only three years after the hero program was proposed, but Jimmy’s life is full of misfortune so maybe it’s just his curse.
They sat there in the locker room of the heroes until Jimmy willed his eyes to dry and Lizzie gently helped him to his feet. They made their way to his room, where she hugged him one last time and wished him goodnight before leaving for her own. Grian and Pearl had left already, leaving the TV off and the controller on his bed. He stood on the ledge of it, and climbed shakily into his canopy only reaching down to pull his blanket up with him.
Sleep didn't come easy to him at first. His mind had moved between Lizzie and the Commission to Tango, the stranger he met by some chance.
As he fell asleep, he considered taking the offer extended to him. The only problem he faced was how on earth he would find Tango again.
36 notes · View notes
outlawssweetheart · 1 year
Photo
Tumblr media
Fanfiction >>>>> Canon 🤷🏽‍♀️
242 notes · View notes
blackrosesandwhump · 2 months
Text
Treasure Planet AU, Part 4
Part 3
Whumpuary No. 12: "You're awake"
CW: false drowning, captivity, inhuman whumpers
Jim’s consciousness returned slowly, and with it, a horrific sensation, one that felt like…drowning.
His eyes snapped open underwater. He was drowning. He opened his mouth to scream for help, and bubbles of air floated to the surface just a few inches above his head. If he could only reach it…but something was pulling him down. A pair of manacles around his ankles. He was trapped in some kind of tank, imprisoned underwater, just below the surface. So close…and yet so far. He clamped his mouth tight, forcing himself not to breathe, thrashing desperately to wrench himself free.
“You are awake.”
The voice sounded right inside his ear. Someone was watching him drown. He screamed, and the last of his air expelled itself from his lungs in a flurry of bubbles.
“Breathe, young human. You are not dying.”
Breathe? But how? He was about to lose consciousness.
If I’m going to die anyway, I might as well try.
He let the water enter his lungs.
The sensation was horrific. For a moment, Jim thought it was over.
But then, somehow, he was still conscious, still alive. And the burning pain in his head and lungs was…disappearing.
“You see? Not dying. We want to keep you alive.”
Shock and adrenaline surged through his body.
They want to keep me alive. But why?
He looked down at himself. Naked, except for his underwear. At least the water was kind of warm. The scene outside his tank was a little blurry, but he could see enough. A large chamber, the same color as the endless tunnels (from what he’d been able to see of them), lit with glowing orbs full of some swirling substance. Other tanks just like his lined one end; they looked empty. And two figures stood motionless in front of him, watching.
The Hunters. They had to be. Not just because of the well-used weapons fastened at their sides and their sinister armor, but also because of the unmistakable hungry look in their colorless eyes.
Jim started to speak, but all that came out was a sound like “Ubbllubummlug.”
“We cannot free you, young human,” the taller Hunter said, its tone almost apologetic. “We need you. And yes, we can read your thoughts,” it added, as Jim let out a stream of confused bubbles.
Need me…why would they need me? And why did they have to imprison me in a tank of all places?
“You are not yet strong enough to survive outside the life liquid,” the alien said, busy with a pair of tubes connected to the side of the tank. “But soon.”
“We cannot wait long,” the other Hunter interrupted. “The princess is—”
“He is not yet strong enough! He would not survive!”
Jim tensed, his mind racing. The water suddenly felt cold, the manacles securing him to the bottom suddenly tight.
Survive? Survive what? What are they talking about?
The alien Hunter drew close, so close Jim could see it grotesque, inhuman face clearly through the wall of the tank. It seemed to sigh before answering.
“We require your skin and blood, young human. But you are not yet ready for harvesting.”
@forthetaintedsorrow-whump @whumping-to-conclusions @whumping-out-of-time @painful-pooch @kawhump @briars7 @theelvishcowgirl @whumpuary
8 notes · View notes
n1nthrule · 3 months
Text
He stares at me from across the living room. On the TV there's the news broadcast of the night before: a sickly grin carved out with green paint, eyes blazing apartment blocks.
Chinese demon. 
Dragon of avarice.
Before we got over the sides of the building, I saw him shaking. He’d never been so close to the edge. He looked so small, like roadkill. 
Tyler slapped him in the back of the head and told him, he’s not allowed to be a wimp. Fucking girl. All that training, going to nothing. And then he pushed him over the ledge. 
The rest of us just watched.
The first rule of Project Mayhem is you do not ask questions.
There’s green paint sticking in all our fingernails. Blondie over there, the guy who was touched by Tyler himself, is picking his down to stumps. 
Last week, when we all gathered under the one light and Tyler started with his usual speech, Blondie came out of the circle of guys all with shaved heads and asked, what’s next?
What’s the plan?
What are we looking towards?
Tyler tagged him for a fight immediately.
The second rule of Project Mayhem is you do not ask questions.
I watched him go down from just three hits, his weak little roadkill face left all smashed up with blood. The guys around him gestured weakly, too scared to call an ambulance, too angry to call the cops. Some guy in the corner said he knew first aid, and covered Blondie’s whole head with bandages. His weak little angel face, all bruised over, with just a few small slits for his eyes and mouth. If you get close, you can hear his breathing, laced with dyspnea. 
The woman in the news report gestures at the burning apartment blocks, and says the council has already started searching for the culprits.
When we go to sleep, in our military surplus bunk beds tucked into the Paper Street basement, Blondie comes over to mine as softly as he can. He asks me, what’s next?
What are we looking towards?
Has Tyler said?
His big roadkill angel eyes look up at me through their bandaged slits.
To calm him down, to make him smile, I tell him what Tyler told me the day I joined.
“Picture yourself planting radishes and seed potatoes on the fifteenth green of a forgotten golf course.
“You’ll hunt elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of the Rockefeller Centre, and dig clams next to the skeleton of the Space Needle leaning at a forty-five degree angle.
“We’ll paint the skyscrapers with huge totem faces and goblin tikis, and every evening what’s left of mankind will retreat to empty zoos and lock itself in cages as protection against bears and big cats and wolves that pace and watch us from outside the cage bars at night.”
“And Tyler?” He asks. His voice trembles with the weight of it. “Where’s he?”
I tell him Tyler’s gone. Lost in the fight for better things. He dies assassinating the President or blowing up the grave of the Queen of England and we give him a big Viking funeral. We send his coffin out to sea and leave it to the piranhas.
Blondie sighs into my lap. His face is concentrated on the bunk above as if he’s counting the planks slowly.
“That’s a good dream.” he tells me. So I say I'm gonna make it real. All of it. For him. He stalks off back to his bunk with a faint smile hanging on his bloody lips.
9 notes · View notes
valentine-cafe · 4 months
Note
(928b)
Talisen, you really are pretty. Did you know that? I myself am a poet too and I would like to make you my muse..... If you would let me.
⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ earth 928b zhao talisen
Tumblr media
a myriad of flustered laughs and chuckles slip past talisen's red painted lips as his face flushes red, almost matching the maroon irises that stare into yours,
"you do make my head spin a bit baobei," he hums and intertwines your fingers with his, before pulling you close and dancing you around to the soft music playing in the background.
"but i would love nothing more than to be your muse qin'ai de, while also being the poet who writes entire libraries about you." he whispers and hides his face in your shoulder, trailing kisses up the blade of it to your neck and sighing contentedly.
Tumblr media
9 notes · View notes
anika-ann · 2 months
Text
Back and Forth - part 3.2
Part 3 - Bounce Back - 2/2
Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader
Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 14000
Chapter summary:  In which you have to survive the charity auction and it's not easy... for several reasons.
Tumblr media
Series masterlist
Warnings: overthinking, self-doubt and issues with self-image, A+ parenting and its consequences, mentions of (in)human experimentation, alcohol (briefly as a coping mechanism), SPOILER armed assault, language and charming Steve, because he is most definitely a warning
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: Second 'half' of the 3rd chapter. As you might have noticed, this is a long one. But with hints of fluff. So…yay? 💕 If you wish/need to split the reading, I recommend to end a reading session at the second in-text divider 😊
Tumblr media
Daisy Johnson, despite being the legendary Quake, did in fact have a moment – which was enough of a shock to stop your headache from getting worse, even if your hands seemed to get a little clammy as your phone lit up with her response.
You would have done just fine without anyone’s input, you considered yourself competent enough to choose an evening gown, thank you very much. But after the day you had had so far – you could hardly believe it wasn’t even noon yet – there was a small traitorous voice of hope in the back of your head. Despite the heavy feeling in your stomach weighing you down, a dull reminder of being alone in this world, it urged you to reach out to the one group of people that once made you believe that you could share more with someone than workload or more than lust that turned into ashes and smoke once the fire had been lit up too strong. Daisy had been in the centre of it – she and maybe Coulson.
It was a dangerous game you played, indulging in the one thing you knew would come back to slap you in the face; entertaining the idea that there was someone who genuinely cared for you regardless of your abilities was setting you up for disappointment. But there was something about Daisy, so honest and sincere, that had wormed its way through the walls you had sworn to keep up for support, several inches thick and vibranium-strong. And that didn’t change, even as you had been given, not for the first time, the evidence of how volatile a faith in friendship can turn just short of two hours ago.
Knowing that Daisy didn’t turn her back to people, not even to her father after all he had done wrong, knowing she chose to see the good in people and to put her heart into nurturing it in them despite the risk of getting hurt in more ways than one, left you defenceless against her powers that had nothing to do with her genetic code. She was, even if distantly, the closest thing to a sister to you, older, due to her experience with Inhuman powers and in Coulson’s team, and younger, due to her pure heart and excitement about new things; once she had managed her powers which she had got about a half a year before you did, she became your guide and confidant; though you hadn’t dared to taint her with the knowledge of your pain.
While you had started search for the dress without her, she texted you barely a half an hour in; fresh out of a meeting, apologizing she’d only have twenty minutes before they’d be in the drop-zone for their current mission. Twenty minutes. And yet, she had made the time for you. Somewhere, thousands of feet in the air, in between preparing her mission gear, she had decided to sneak in a few minutes for you.
The knowledge alone eased the pressure in your stomach and gave way to a wholly different feeling, equally dizzying. She cared. Yes, you could argue that since she had been tasked to lead the division of Inhuman agents of SHIELD, it was her duty to respond – and at times, you reminded yourself of that, that you really weren’t special – but the fact was that she was. And she truly did care. You hadn’t been wrong to call her a friend yesterday; and Daisy-the-teenager couldn’t have had picked a better role-model in life. For most part anyway.
It didn’t matter in the slightest that Daisy Johnson had barely squeezed you into her schedule; it still carried meaning. And it would be enough, because she could be very efficient, sorting through the dresses you had considered so far as easily as if she had been slicing through the security system of the Pentagon – for a person with her hacking experience anyway.
A set of easy questions you yourself had been asking was her effective tactics.
Mission or fun? she had asked first, no doubt already knowing the answer as she went through the early picks. There was a reason why no dress had bare back, while all of them had necklines designed high enough to hide at least a strapless bra.
Me: They call it a mission to have fun, but I’ll be damned if I go without being ready other kind of mission.
DJ: Fair
DJ: Charming or sexy?
Your lips twitched in a small smile, your mind conjuring the image of Daisy’s face when she was typing the question. She was one of very few people – probably the only one – who could make you feel the teenage-like excitement about challenging authority. There was always a reason to the madness of doing so, but there was something about her attitude that always whispered of poking the bear for the sake of fun only.
Charming, you replied, almost regretfully. As much fun as it would be to see brains of some of those pretentious jerks you were about to meet short-circuit just because they were seeing an extra silver of flesh on a young woman – a thing that would make for as much of an icky feeling as hilarity – your mission was to represent, not cause havoc or seduce.
Blah. Colour-coordinating with anyone? she asked then and you chuckled at her poorly hidden attempt to fish for gossip – and at the idea of actually trying to do what she was suggesting. No. You were not going to go and ask Rogers what colour he was about to wear. Less so since chances were high that he was about opt for a traditional black tuxedo suit with a white shirt.
Me: Nope.
DJ: Come on! At least tell me who you’re going with?!!
DJ: You know this is a much of a secure channel as it gets
DJ: And you said it wasn’t really a mission, so it can’t be classified
DJ: …and I can’t find it within the system.
I’ll tell you if we survive it, you replied simply, even as laughter already bubbled in your chest, cheeks beginning to hurt from disuse and the sudden exercise as to stop you from grinning.
You should have known that she’d hack the system and go straight for the mission database unless you told her the details. Tony, bless him, threw a tantrum whenever she did that – which wasn’t too often, but it had happened before. On days when you allowed yourself to ponder, you wondered why he never told anyone – as far as you knew, that was, because no one came down on you, raining holy fire of wrath, despite it being obvious you were the cause of Daisy’s hacks – and why he tolerated it. Some days, you thought he was amused by it and felt bad for you, seeing you missed your former team, granting you connection with Daisy even if the way she went about it drove him absolutely nuts. Other days, you were sure he simply enjoyed a challenge and this was as good one of those as any – and he’d be caught dead before he’d admit in front of anyone that someone was able to crack into his system. Most days, you were content not to look given horse in the mouth.
Like clockwork, FRIDAY’s mechanical voice interrupted your thoughts:
“Agent Spectre, Mr. Stark would like to know if, I quote, you know anything about some punk kid sneaking into the mission logs again, maybe Little Miss Richter Scale, end of quote,” she stated, causing a snort of laughter actually escape you at Tony’s new and dead-on nickname. You’d have to tell Daisy that later – she’d have a good laugh at that
Me: You’re getting better and better.
Me: He’s onto you now though.
DJ: He should, he’s slacking, took him forever to notice
Sometimes, you wondered what would happen if Tony Stark and Daisy Johnson found themselves in one room and she’d tell him that to his face; but that was a thought to entertain another day.
“Thanks, FRIDAY. Tell Mr. Stark to relax. We’re safe, it is just Daisy.”
“Very well. Apologies for interrupting your free time, Agent Spectre. However, I was also tasked to inform you that Sergeant Wilson prepared enough lunch for an army and extended the invitation to join him to everyone on the team. Even to those who are currently on a mission out of state, which I find odd and, frankly, despicable.”
Even though the corner of your lips twitched at FRIDAY’s comment, your heart skipped a startled beat, a fist of cold feeling squeezing your stomach. The invitation was a nice gesture, even if not meant for you. You could read between the lines: the family the Avengers team had built themselves into, even if the second strangest you had ever seen, did not involve you. You were barely a part of the team, a temporary loan, so to speak, even as you had signed a contract. Extending the invitation to the team meant extending it to friends, to that very family. As kind and welcoming as Sam seemed, you certainly did not belong to that category.
The vibration of your phone startled you; the message as amusing as bittersweet.
DJ: Fine, keep your secrets, Ms Avenger
Right. Ms. Avenger. Case on point. You might be one, technically, on paper, but in spirit… hardly. At best, you were determined to try and prove that the way you controlled your abilities could be at least Avengers-adjacent. The harsh truth however, was that if anyone from your old team would have had it in them to become a true Avenger, it was Daisy herself. Alas, she was too busy running and flying the world with another team, protecting, teaching, and recruiting Inhumans... and saving the world in the process.
DJ: Crap gotta run
DJ: Number four is the one I think
Whoever you’re going with is gonna lose their shit when they see you, she added, once again making you snort, this time without humour.
Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen. If chances of becoming a friend to an Avenger were astronomical, chances that Steve Rogers would be impressed by you dressing up to the nines were outside of all the realms known to Thor himself. But it was a nice sentiment, you supposed; the flicker of affection towards the optimist in Daisy was a testimony to that.
Me: Thank you for the help. Stay safe out there.
DJ: You too
DJ: But from what I saw about yesterday, you got it
DJ: …Ms Avenger
Shaking your head, this time unable to stop the smile taking over your lips, you set the phone down and ordered the dress to be delivered express, and moved onto shoes and a handbag; you ignored the growling of your hungry stomach and distantly couldn’t but wonder if maybe there’d be some leftovers of Sam’s pasta to have for lunch later.
Tumblr media
Tony was not exaggerating when he was talking about the charity auction being a mission. A mission required preparation; having documents land in your inbox along with an alert of high-priority intel relevant to your mission lightning up your StarkWatch yesterday evening, you had never been more grateful for being obliged to read up on something.
As you were putting the last touches to your make-up in the quinjet bathroom, you sent another mental thank you to Tony, because the extensive files on all expected guests, besides having potential to be useful to you during the event, gave you the perfect excuse as to why leave last preparations to the flight.
Naturally, the intel itself was a message with a bitter aftertaste, because it highlighted your role and tasks. Represent. Make small-talk. Show interest. Compliment a healthy amount; meaning bootlick a bit, if necessary. You knew the dance and it had always made your head spin in the worst way. To show enough admiration and knowledge about the world’s finest to look professional and a bit of a fan, but not as a stalker, even as there were people among the attendees tonight who would have probably appreciated a stalker-level interest and considered it a compliment.
But despite the slight nausea hitting you when leafing through the files, you had appreciated the out Tony had given you, whether it was intentional or not; because with an excuse of mountains of intel to try to learn by heart, you didn’t have to sit opposite to Steve in the quinjet in awkward silence. Or worse, trying to make small talk with him, just as awkward. Or, in the worst-case scenario – which would be in the direct conflict with one of the mission’s laughable objectives, specifically trying not to kill each other – fight with him.
And you probably would have done exactly that because there was no way Captain America himself had been wrestled into this the same way you had. They might have had to twist his arm to make him go with you, but not to go. He had been given a choice and chose to attend, despite the concerns you had voiced. And you probably hadn’t been the only one, which meant Steve had to be hyperaware of the potential security issue and he deliberately ignored it. Of course. Why wouldn’t he? He was Mr. Captain America and nothing could ever happen to him; be it because he thought there was no danger and you were allegedly making it bigger deal than necessary or – which drove you all high up the wall and made you want to punch him into his damn perfect teeth or at least punch his stupidly firm pec – the threat was nothing he couldn’t handle.
Goddamn him.
You crumbled the fabric of your dress between your fingers in a firm grip as you breathed through the rush of pure indignation with him being a brave stubborn dismissive dumbass and breathed in slowly; you held your breath for a few seconds, and only then released it along with the grip on your dress. You blinked at yourself in the mirror and repeated the action, arranging your face into a neutral expression at least.
Tony might have as well come up with the idea to send the intel solely to prevent you from attempting to strangle Steven Grant Rogers before you even landed, so it would be polite to honour his efforts.
When you finally exited the bathroom and entered the main space, you found Steve in one of the seats with a tablet in his hand, the screen dimly illuminating his face. He looked up as you approached, rising to his feet almost as if on instinct, his lips slightly parted for a brief moment. His gaze glided over the dress from where it brushed your ankles, over the line of the skirt, the slit reaching mid-thigh opening and closing as you walked, revealing a silver of your leg tastefully and covering you again, then over the waist, V-shaped neckline ending mid-sternum, short sleeves with delicate frills. For a moment, the intensity of his gaze surprised you; but then you realized that he was committing the dress to memory to find you easily in the crowd in case any Avengers-related business came up.
Then, an obtrusively gentle thought nudged at your mind; he was an amateur artist. You had got a glimpse of him several times, a sketchbook and a pencil in his fingers, look distant or extremely focused on the paper in front of him. He could appreciate beauty – and the dress you chose was without doubt an embodiment of it. The glimmer of it was subtle and the sparkles sparce; in the rich dark blue blending into a purple just as dark, it resembled the sky just after dusk, with the first stars coming out. Whether he had a sense for fashion or not wouldn’t matter – the dress was, at least in your eyes, gorgeous. Not flashy, not too shiny to attract too much attention, but with an idea making up for the otherwise simple design.
When Steve met your eyes, the light of the quinjet made it appear as if there was a tinge of pink in his cheeks. And there actually might be, since his eyes lingered on the dress for a moment too long; which wouldn’t be a crime if you weren’t already wearing them, making it seem like he was staring.
“You look beautiful,” he said, the soft tone making it sound almost as if it escaped him unwittingly.
It was the most ordinary of compliments and yet, it surprised you that he had even paid it. Perhaps it shouldn’t have, as he was a product of his time – a time in which if men didn’t compliment a woman’s appearance, they were probably called louts. And yet. Even with that knowledge, something akin to warmth fluttered in your chest, a brief smile passing over your lips, the silent ‘thank you’ the least courtesy you could give in return.
If he had tried to commit your dress to memory, you’d allow yourself the same luxury. A quality black tuxedo with a faint navy-blue glint, pristine white shirt, a black bow-tie. His outfit would be but a drop in the sea, nothing that would stand out among those of other men; but you had the advantage of him being easily found in the crowd thanks to his physique alone. The broadness and strength he radiated could carry the weight of the world – and it felt like it did – narrowing beautifully into the trim waist in a ratio not even a loose jacket could hope to hide, let alone such well-fitting one which seemed to accentuate it a little more than was strictly necessary. With him towering over about ninety-five percent of people and having shoulders wider than about ninety-nine percent of the usual present company, he was truly hard to miss.
Unfortunately, it also made him an easy target who was truly hard to miss indeed.
And now you were staring and he was no doubt aware – it was impossible not to, less so with how much attention he paid to things. So you stood there in silence, awkward one, precisely the one you had wanted to avoid and yet managed to reach it in thirty seconds flat – but at least neither of you were yelling. Yet.
As glad as you were to see that Steve Rogers had clearly decided to leave whatever disagreements you had ever had back at the Tower for the sake of this mission, trying his best to be the exact opposite of antagonistic, you were not going to tell him he looked extremely good to make things even more awkward. You wouldn’t even think it, as right as the assessment was. It would be inappropriate, even as he had complimented you first.  You needed to be professional. There was a task at hand.
Right. The mission.
Steve was still watching you, something akin to curiosity in his gaze.
You cleared your throat, nodding towards the tablet in his hand.
“You were going through the files on the guests?”
Steve blinked, seemingly snapped from his thoughts.
“Yes. Have you?” he asked as he laid the tablet on the seat, straightening to his full height again; it was ridiculous how tall he seemed in the low-ceiling cabin of this type of quinjets. There was a faint smile on his lips, no tension in his jaw as he watched you; he already knew the answer and he wasn’t trying to provoke you.
Small talk it was.
“Yes, Captain,” you replied dutifully. You would swear a little twinkle of humour appeared in his eye – but it was probably just the lights reflecting in his cerulean blues. “Yesterday and today. Should be more than enough to represent properly.”
Alright, it must have been humour, because the corner of his lips twitched now at the lightest trace of defiance in your voice. Then he smiled fully, the spark burning brighter, your stomach somersaulting a bit.
Who were you kidding you had no idea; he looked more than just extremely good and handsome. In a different kind of suit than you were used to, bright eyes with their blue accentuated by the colour of his tuxedo, with uncharacteristically relaxed features and even a smile aimed at you, the beauty of him seemed so surreal you might have as well entered another dimension. Which, given your experience with Coulson’s team, was not unplausible. And yet, your heart fluttering had nothing to with fear as he went to sidestep you.
What was wrong with you today?
“Well… good. I’m sure you’ll have the two remaining objectives handled as well,” he said kindly.
You blinked, neurons firing in all directions, heart leaping to your throat. Surely, he didn’t just—the two remaining objectives. That wasn’t--- that didn’t mean anything. He probably didn’t receive the same documents, his mission package different from yours as he was one of the original Avengers, the strategist.
And yet, a worm of curiosity had already chewed its way through to your brain, an itch you needed to scratch otherwise you’d go crazy. Certainly, he couldn’t have implied-
He stepped out towards the bathroom, only to be stopped in his tracks by your impulsive words.
“Can I borrow your tablet for one more moment?” you blurted out, clearly taking him by surprise; but not unpleasantly. “I just… I just want to check on some of the guests again.”
“Sure.”
With the same faint smile adorning his absurdly handsome face, he took a few steps back to reach for the tablet, unlocking it for you and opening the file with individual documents for you to browse before taking his leave.
You weren’t sure why you needed to check – if you were a sucker for pain, needing to know your assumption he had only received three objectives was correct – but you opened the mission overview anyway.
A lump grew in your throat as you skimmed through the document, your stomach suddenly unbearably warm.
He didn’t mean it. He forgot there were four not three objectives, a sharp voice in your head argued, instantly opposed by another, even if less insistent, reminding you that Captain Rogers was believed to have eidetic memory and you had seen his impressive memory indeed in action before.
It didn’t matter. You were making a big deal out of nothing; and ocne you came back from this excuse of a mission, you needed to have your heart checked, because the irregularities in rhythm and the palpitations upon simply reading had to signal an underlying health issue.
But it was right there, in his device, in one of the documents he had just been reading through. The overview.
Location.
Time.
Two names.
Four objectives.
Four objectives which were no doubt written down by Tony, given the choice of words and their existence to begin with, because no one else would have treated an official document this way.
Make Avengers look good; Look good; Have fun (includes using Stark/Avengers card in the auction); Try not to kill each other.
You felt your cheeks heat up even though there was not a single reason to feel that way. You were a grown woman. You had been complimented countless times before, in much more flattering ways, though less playful ones. Steve was just being… polite. And a little teasing, trying to put you at ease, probably thinking you couldn’t handle yourself, having been informed about your… reluctance to attend the auction. His niceness was in overdrive since he had been literally given orders not to treat you as if he wanted to kill you. He didn’t mean it and even if he did, you had no business reacting this way.
But still. It seemed that Steve Rogers decided that for the sake of the mission, he would more than just leave your differences of opinions behind for the night; he decided to truly work hard on the one single objective that did not come easily to him. There was no other reason for that, but despite your better judgement, it brought a ghost of a smile to your face, one that felt a little stupid.
As you heard him open the door, you were quick to close the document and tap on a random one concerning the guests, just in case Steve would want to check. You pretended that you were too immersed in reading to address him as he walked to you, but there was no need.
The gentle swing of the quinjet slowing down made you forget about whatever he had been trying to imply alarmingly fast.
You were almost there; in the lion’s den. It was time to pull yourself together, be the picture perfect this mission required even if you were not. Just because your idea of a useful mission was different, you wouldn’t treat this one with any less focus or professionalism; even if you’d rather find yourself tied-up and gagged an abandoned warehouse in a middle of nowhere, with no back-up in sight, than kept a fake smile plastered to your face for hours.
Avenger or not, your task was to represent. And so you would, conveniently with the man who represented the goals and values of the team better than anyone else ever could. You’d do your best to support him in that, and you’d do so while fulfilling all the objectives of the mission indeed, even if you doubted that you’d be any better than an accessory the size of Steve’s cufflink. You doubted that Steve Rogers would need the slightest support in charming rich people and the staff alike.
Just for that, you mentally added a fifth objective, an objective anyone drawing up the document should have added themselves. For Steve, it would be not to be a dumbass and not to get himself hurt, hit by anti-serum, kidnapped or killed. For you, not to let any of these things happen to him.
It wouldn’t have been an issue in the first place if it was anyone else with you, but since Steve goddamn Rogers had decided to--- no. Not today. He truly was trying to be bearable. You’d meet him halfway; but you’d be damned if you didn’t keep your eyes open.
“I forgot to tell you earlier,” you murmured as the quinjet touched down on one of the rooftops on a nearby hotel, courtesy of Tony’s negotiating skills – his irresistible charm, as he would say – earning you Steve’s startled look. “You clean up well too.”
His shoulders sagged, eyebrow arching subtly, but his surprise melted into a slight smile again. “Thank you. Shall we?”
Like the gentleman he had been raised to be, he offered you an elbow as the ramp of the quinjet opened for you to step out. There was no need – you had walked on far worse surfaces than this in heels before, you had been forced to run and kick in them too – and you had to physically swallow the remark that would inform Steve about that. But you’d be an idiot to not see that he didn’t offer you an arm to be condescending; he did so to be nice. You could work with nice.
“Thanks.”
And with that, you stepped out, counting steps until you’d walk into the lion’s den indeed.
Tumblr media
To say that functions, balls and auctions were not your scene would be a serious understatement. Not in the sense of you being unable to tackle them, no – you had plenty of experience – but in the sense of you absolutely despising them. Specifically, you couldn’t stand what people pretended to be when in that environment; and that included you.
It hadn’t always been like that; visiting events like this started off pleasant. People in luxury robes with wide smiles and subtle laughs echoing in glimmering halls were a thrilling environment before. Before you could fully understand what was happening, before you could read the room. It was only much later when you’d identify these events as necessary evil when working for SHIELD and the time between the two points was a long journey.
Your father would have sneaked into these, either in his own ways or through your mother’s alleged renown status; and you, naturally, went with them. She’d often leave you and your father to your own devices, charming guests into adoring her, speaking of her dedication to both her work and her family, particularly to her daughter, her tone speaking louder than her words in the case of the latter; contempt.
Meanwhile, your father was the complete opposite. He had you joined at his hip, a crutch for when his own tactics of pretending to be someone truly indispensable to SHIELD failed. If people roaming higher circles of society didn’t recognize him as the god’s gift to humanity he hoped to come across as, you’d come in; a charming young lady ready to take the world by storm, his beloved daughter, his pride and joy. Errors made that day, that week or past months didn’t matter – they didn’t exist at the moment, your performance always painted as perfect for the sake of the bragging.
It was a divine experience to receive so much praise, him sounding so earnest in front of all those people; it got sicker and more twisted the older you got, seeing the mask slipping on and off as it suited him, knowing that in the discomfort of home, you were none of what he described you as that to him. And yet. To be finally loved and seen as exceptional by your own father, the one person who had always believed in you and told you so; who wouldn’t want that? Just a taste; like melting hot chocolate on your tongue, thoroughly warming your very being, the softest of blankets that turned scratchy the moment you left the room, snatched away to leave you out in the cold reality of being born a hope and growing up a failure. But those moments, those moments you craved as much as you hated them. Because you knew they would never last.
It was one of the many contradictions of your childhood and adolescence, one of many topics of your therapy sessions that seemed to have no end. It reminded you of what Lincoln always said – that every Inhuman had a purpose and that every Inhuman’s power reflected, to a point, who they were. The way you felt you were often being pulled in two directions, loved and despised, dotted on and ignored, obedient and rebellious, to be exactly who your father had always intended for you to be and find your own path – or pretend you could, for a bit at least, to give him a glimpse of a real disappointment; all goals in direct opposition to each other. You were surprised your ability wasn’t the same as Alisha’s who could literally split herself into several images of herself. But you were hardly an overachiever, were you? You had learned long time ago that perfection was out of your reach, no matter how much you’d cry and bleed and clawed your way through to it, only to see the top of the mountain move when your fingers had almost touched it at last. And on top of that mountain; people like Steve Rogers. The man who could shove it into anyone’s face that it wasn’t that the summit was too high; it was just that they were too small of a person. That you weren’t enough.
It wasn’t fair to despise him for it. But it wasn’t fair that some of these people could insult you to your face and imply you were a lesser Avenger – while representing them nevertheless – and you had no chance to truly fight back without somewhat proving them right.
About a hundred and then some boring conversations later, encounters in which you felt your skin crawl because you hated rubbing elbows, facing fake smiles and carefully crafted politeness with veiled insults weaved between the words of those who could afford it, you were ready to take a break and you were afraid it was beginning to show too.
Captain Steve Rogers, of course, did not seem tired of pleasantries in the slightest; the golden boy still roamed among the crowds, more than willing to engage in any conversation, shaking hands and rubbing elbows indeed as if he had been born to do exactly that. Crowds loved him and that was a fact, whether what Tony had insinuated was correct or not and Steve couldn’t stand this kind environment either indeed.
You had to give it to Steve, however – and truly, you should have expected it, because this was Steve Rogers, originally a little man who could not stand people looking down at others, less so diminish someone’s worth, and he was the protector, the ultimate good guy, the perfection personified – the encounters you had handled side by side with him did not see you neglected. Quite the opposite. If someone didn’t recognize you, which applied to the majority, he was happy to introduce you, or, as it had been in most cases, he had you introduce yourself and only then he highlighted your importance to the team if anyone seemed less that impressed.
Contrary to what you would believe, his words and demeanour, however, pushed the icky sensation of the scene away rather than intensified it. Unlike your father, Steve didn’t have you trail after him. He didn’t belittle you to lift himself up. He didn’t boast about his brilliant decision to reassign you to the team since you were so useful When he spoke of you as the new addition to the team, he didn’t highlight your most recent accomplishment either, not with a condescending or patronizing tone or words that would make it sound as if he as saying oh she saved a few people just two days ago, including Natasha Romanoff, someone give her a candy.
Steve didn’t speak of you as if you were hisachievement, didn’t speak of letting you join the team, of the cooperation being his or their choice.
“We are honoured to have her join the team,” he’d say instead.
“With every mission she takes on, she proves how fortunate we are that she is one of us.”
“Her contributions to our common goal are invaluable.”
“She is an essential part of our team and we are thankful she continues to make this world a safer place with the rest of us.”
On one hand, it was almost sweet; on the other, it was irritating. You didn’t need him to earn you their respect and it should make you livid he was trying to do that, to play the hero who’d rush to your rescue. To a point, it did, because you could fight your own battles; but this battlefield tended to make you slip into a mindset you hated – made you slip into a skin you hated wearing. Still, Steve’s tendency to make it his personal mission that you were not overshadowed by him – a futile effort truly – should make your blood boil, because there he was, the world’s mightiest saviour in action again.
But the way his body language changed when someone eyed you as if you were an unwanted addition to the conversation seemed to whisper of other things than self-proclaimed white knight needing to sweep in; it expressed itself as a personal insult to him that your supposed brilliance was not acknowledged. It seemed almost as if he was gesturing to you wildly with his large palms, his voice as if demanding from the people he spoke to: do you really not see how amazing she is? Are you an idiot? Naturally, he was doing so in much distinguished manner, but that was how it felt.
You were certain someone must have got to you before Tony did back in the park, landing a hit to your head or two, causing a microtrauma that only now manifested in your entirely skewed perception and hallucinations. They must have, there was no other plausible explanation. Or maybe you had actually died; laying your life for Natasha’s would have certainly been a worthy cause. Or perhaps it wasn’t so dramatic and you had simply slipped into a coma and this was some weird manifestation of your brain recovering.
And yet, you had a feeling that if you pinched yourself, you would still feel as grounded in this strange reality as you did now, the intense surge of affection for the man still overwhelming, the satisfaction of seeing the swellheads meek and slightly embarrassed at Steve’s tone upon them dismissing you curling hot in your core. You needed to stop revel in it so much.
But be as it might, despite trying to carefully shield yourself from the effect of Steve’s very public words of appreciation due to knowing it wouldn’t last, you felt yourself grow taller than you ever had been in an event like this. You didn’t feel as obliged to smile politely just for the sake of pleasing others, even as you did smile. Despite the presence of Captain America, larger than life, you felt confident and powerful, even if this kind of feeling normally only came when you were on a mission with the target already in your pocket.
And yet, this surge of courage – and all the wondering about what an alternate reality you had entered – didn’t make the game of social chess less exhausting or brought it closer to your ideas of fun. After almost another hour of wandering on your own, tending to every conversation necessary and even those less necessary, you did find yourself in a need of a break and you liked to think you deserved one.
Naturally, fate – if there was such thing – did not grant you such courtesy.
When you finally did find yourself at the bar, it was one godawful encounter later – a single polite conversation that had sucked all life out of you, all of the little glow you felt you had gathered swept away with a single snap of fingers. It was unfair. It was unfair that your mother still had such hold on you after a lifetime of you being nothing but a bug on her windshield as she tried to drive into the sunset of her own glory, even months and months after her final abandonment.
The matter was only worse since it wasn’t even her. Just a distant colleague – her superior, no less. A few minutes, every second dragging since the moment Doctor Franklin had mentioned your mother, and you were ready to hit the bar for something far stronger than champagne.
“Ah, I knew I saw a resemblance. You must be so proud to wear your mother’s features and name. A strong woman, a survivor, truly dedicated to science, exploring the wonders of the nature of Inhuman transformation. Examining her own genetic code to be able to share fascinating facts of the uniqueness of her case. Even the draft of her study was most intriguing… pardon me, what was it that your abilities are after you, unlike her, simply acquired powers like everyone else?”
It shouldn’t have affected you; but it did. With what felt like chunks of metal in your stomach, the tickle of nausea in the back of your throat, you were almost proud you managed to hold somewhat of a smile, actually uncertain if the woman was clueless in the matter of politeness and tact or whether she was making a calculated insult.
“I’m afraid the exact nature of my abilities is classified, ma’am,” you replied. The words, even if they should feel full of vindication, tasted bitter on your tongue.
Trust your mother to finally find her exceptionality and built the pinnacle of her career on a flaw in her genetic code. Of fucking course. Making herself the centre of attention while being the primary source of that attention at the same time; what a brilliant move. Someone should give her a damn Nobel. You really were doing something wrong in your life.
So truly, you felt like were entitled to a breather as you walked away with a polite nod, trying not to throw up in your mouth as the world got slightly blurry at the edges for a moment, your heart pounding, knees feeling a little weak. You felt the sticky remnants of Doctor Franklin’s words linger on your skin, resisting the urge to rub it off.
You deserved a shot of something stronger. You weren’t sure anything weaker than absinth would do the trick and help you snap from the strange haze your body slipped into; but facing the man behind the improvised bar, you couldn’t make yourself ask for that however.
Well-aware that you needed to keep at least some face since the mission of the evening was to represent, you opted for vodka, small shot only. And despite the weary conversations, you didn’t forget: in addition to representing, you wanted to be ready to fight whoever could possibly go after Rogers. As much as you’d like to get wasted to feel actual nausea instead, something tangible and real like the burn of the strongest alcohol known to mankind, you couldn’t. Vodka it was.
You turned the shot bottoms-up, focusing fully on the hot trickle down your throat, the fire dampening all your other senses; and for a few second, it was bliss.
Until your nostrils were hit by an unfairly familiar cologne and aftershave, a deep timbre soaking into your bones whenever spoken despite how much you tried not to let it do exactly that.
“Having fun as we were ordered?”
You froze, shame, indignation and the alcohol lightning you up like a wildfire.
Great, Mr. Morality is here, you thought darkly, setting the glass down, turning to Steve with poorly masked annoyance. Annoyance which was quickly wiped out, the flames licking at your gut put out.
You expected his face to be full of judgement, anger and disappointment; but much like his voice had been, you realized, it was free of any bite or sting, simply showing light amusement and compassion, a slightly worried crinkle between his brows.
His voice had been quiet, purposely so, as not to attract lookers-on. It was a little naïve – to think he could walk in anywhere without at least ten pairs of eyes following him – but it was nice of him that he was trying not to embarrass you by publicly calling you an alcoholic.
But the gentle mix of emotion adorning his expression only made your stomach twist. It was a great paradox really; it would be so much easier to deal with tonight if he was being insufferable and judged you. But that bastard, the irritatingly handsome bastard, was being simply amazing. A much greater person you could ever be. And he didn’t mean to, probably – but he was just screaming exactly that to your face with every little action he had opted for tonight.
Not his fault, not his fault, you tried to remind yourself as he continued to watch you, curiosity sneaking into his gaze now.
Make Avengers look good.
Look good.
Have fun.
Do not kill each other.
Do not kill each other. Got it.
“Guilty as charged,” you said finally, the light tone you had hoped for not coming out quite right; but he didn’t hold it against you.
“Nothing to be guilty about,” he said, shrugging subtly. “I… might have gone for one of those myself had it had any effect on me.”
Right, you realized. Supersoldier. Accelerated healing, fast metabolism. You did happen to know he burned off most things even faster than other men built like mountains. Shorter and less broad mountains, that was.
You felt you head instinctively tilt to side a bit, contemplating what he said without spelling it out. He didn’t seemlike he needed a strong drink. In fact, he seemed perfectly like a fish in water among the sea of piranhas of people – and yes, you were aware that was a harsh judgement on some of them who were indeed rather pleasant to talk to – but Tony’s words echoed in your head.
He’s good at rubbing elbows, even if he hates it, he had said. Steve was exactly that; but apparently, he was also pretty great at hiding his distaste.
Of course that he was, you thought bitterly, even as a hint of compassion nudged at your mind; just because he was good at disguising it, it didn’t mean he didn’t feel just as sick filling the role of the most excellent companion.  
“You could do it just to feel the heat,” you suggested half-heartedly, regretting the words as soon as they left your mind.
You had to phrase it just like that, didn’t you.
Steve watched you with unnerving intensity for a moment, before he seemed to shake off whatever dark thought had occurred to him, a small smile appearing on his face.
“That is true, but somehow it’s even more disappointing if that’s the only consequence, you know?”
“…right.”
He cleared his throat, your gaze falling to his bowtie as he released you from the trap of his gaze.
“Either way. Would you like to dance?”
Your head snapped back up, shock no doubt painting your face, rendering you mute. He wasn’t--- oh he was.
Despite your expression – one painfully resembling of a deer in the headlights of an off-road SUV coming at it at hundred miles an hour – he seemed unfazed, a slight twinkle of amusement in his eye barely noticeable in the otherwise genuine demeanour. You frowned, suspicion dying out as fast as it had arisen.
Whatever motive he had to ask, it couldn’t hurt the mission, you supposed. And it would be impolite to decline. You had promised yourself to meet him halfway in his attempts to be civil; and he had gone far beyond that. For the past two weeks, not having confronted you about either the flash-drive situation nor the went-full-spectre-in-a-public-park incident, that had been him being civil. Tonight, he was courteous even. Pleasant. Kind. You had no idea why he hadn’t sought you out to get answers or scold you, nor why he went this far out of his way to treat you like this tonight, but you had enough common sense not to poke even as it had been eating away at the back of your mind.
You just needed to accept it and be thankful, and needed to aid the common goal; and maybe, just maybe, revel in it and store the memory for later, even if such luxuries only burned with emptiness once they were gone.
But how could you do any different?
“Sure,” you said simply. “Why not.”
How could you feel any different when his lips smiled half-heartedly, but his eyes showed true warmth? A startling warmth almost; but it was nothing in comparison to the heat of his body when he offered you his elbow and led you to the small dancefloor in the adjacent room with only a few high tables lining the walls; it was nothing in comparison to the soft jolt of electricity that ran through your nerves all the way down your spine when his hand took yours carefully, eyes fixed on your face, checking for any sign of discomfort when he pulled you close at the first notes of a waltz.
Up close, without either of you screaming into each other’s faces, he was painfully beautiful; you knew that. You knew that already, because you had played the forbidden game of imagining what it would be like to see his face from this distance; but the reality of it was startling, a tingle of a thrill and pain at once. Inches close and miles away from reach. To be at the receiving end of the look in his eyes, painted partly by delusion and the aforementioned hits in the head you had probably suffered, was the sweetest torture.
It was impossible to ignore his firm but gentle grip, his confident lead; a wall of perfectly controlled muscle, hard planes of his body and yet its surprising softness and warmth, leaving your head spinning and sending your thoughts to an indecent dangerous direction; what would it be to feel him even closer? What would it be like to—
You’d never know. For a large part, of your own doing; for another part, of his own, because you had never met a more irritating person in your life and you had met a quite a few. He was impossible in his very unique different way – even as you knew that was tainted by your own perception – he was impossible in a way you couldn’t but want anyway.
“You’re a wonderful dancer,” he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear, snapping you from your useless musings back to reality.
Yeah, thanks, I was signed up for ballet class about as soon as I could walk, because it should have helped my posture and body coordination in preparation for working for SHIELD before I could attend martial class lessons. Because a kid younger of six years getting punched would have been a bad image for my parents. Not that I knew any of that at that time. Anyway, I had to rediscover my love for dancing much later on-
You cut off your train of thought, swallowing the unnecessarily hostile and dark truth. Instead, you reciprocated his easy subtle smile, something inside your quivering at the casualness and sincerity of the compliment.
“Depends on the lead, right?” you murmured.
Mentally, you sighed, cursing yourself for your loose mouth.
You could have said something along the lines of you too, and it would be an understatement; Steve’s lead indeed was firm but not forceful, elegant ease without a shred of indecency, his sense of rhythm impeccable, which was much more than you could say about some of your companions on the dancefloor. But no; you chose to mention his leading skills, instantly circling back to what was bothering you – you having standing up to his lead as a Captain before and him not mentioning it. He had kept blissfully quiet and here you were, dangling the topic you should have been glad had been put to rest in front of him as if you wanted him to take the bait no matter the cost.
You really must have been hit in the head; or perhaps you were finally returning to normal yourself.
But Steve Rogers was a man of many faces and surprises up his sleeves, apparently. His smile only widened briefly at your note, eyes flashing with amusement, before a little frown creased his brow.
“Don’t sell yourself so short.”
You gulped. Again. He complimented you with such ease, as if it was the most natural thing in the world; and it seemed like he meant every bit. The way your heart fluttered at that ached pleasantly. Hadn’t it been for the sober voice in the back of your head, telling you were on a borrowed time of this kind of treatment, it wouldn’t ache at all. It almost, almost didn’t.
Because the one word you had left out when thinking about his lead on the dancefloor, having avoided it on purpose, was safe. You entered an uncharted territory tonight; you knew Captain America’s lead from your numerous missions you had been chosen for under his command. And even as you had challenged his leadership before, you trusted him on that front. But tonight was a very different thing; and still, he somehow emitted the same aura, in a considerably more intimate way.
It was terrifying.
But as much as you were taken aback, with no clue how to even respond to that, your instincts – probably all over the place, because had you been in sound mind, you would have run for the hills before accepting his offer in the first place – whispered you were safe indeed.
And if you’d turn it into a joke, you’d be even safer.
“If that was a reference to my height, I’d like to point out everyone is short compared to you. And that is with all the extra inches--- that my heels have.”
Oh for god’s-
Your fingers flexed reflexively on his arm; your hand in his would have twitched if he hadn’t held it so firmly. You did not just say that, did you? Closing your eyes briefly, you felt your face burn hot, the furnace of Steve’s body suddenly feeling like ice in comparison. Why on Earth did you talk about inches? First feeling the heat, then this, damn Freudian slips, damn his well-fitting suit and handsome face-
Bless him, his chuckle was good-natured and not in the slightest dirty – then again, you should have expected nothing less from the golden boy, shouldn’t you? He wouldn’t hold it against you and had it been anyone else, you would have been grateful, much like in any other situation. But this was him and tonight your mission was literally to avoid this kind of embarrassing phrasing.
“You know what I meant,” he said, not unkindly – much to your relief and irritation.
You hummed noncommittally, still processing this was somehow a reality you had found yourself in. A reality in which Steve Rogers was a pleasant company, kept you close and safe enough that you had spent several moments with your eyes closed while dancing without fearing you’d end up with a broken ankle, a reality where-
“I wanted to apologize.”
-he just said he was sorry.
Your eyes snapped open, your step, a second nature you barely needed to think about, faltering just a fraction. You found your footing with the very next step and perhaps not even Steve had noticed; but he for sure must have noticed the undiluted shock that overtook your features.
Yet, he held calm in the face of your awe and bewilderment, gaze fixed on yours whispering of nothing but sincerity and regret indeed.
He was apologizing.The sudden lump in your throat was the only thing in physical reality that felt real at all; the rest truly must have been but a fever dream. That and the frantic beats of your heart.
“For what?” you asked quietly.
You weren’t trying to be petty, if he truly was apologizing. You meant it.
Naturally, you had a good idea what he was referring to, but that was part of the reason why it was so puzzling; more so since he now knew what the intel was about, since he was aware who exactly you put in danger by failing. Then again, the fact you were both here despite it told you all over again that he didn’t let that bother him too much.
But even with him deliberately ignoring the threat…
Yes, he had not acted very thoughtfully, but whether you liked it or not, he wasyour superior, he had put together that mission and so you understood the frustration he had felt at the moment. Hell, you had felt it yourself – you would have yelled at yourself too. And looking back, you knew that some of your momentary view of his behaviour and attitude, of his actions, stemmed from the fact you had been disappointed in yourself too; and that most time, he did in fact realize he could do wrong and that he in fact did care for every single member of the team. He probably did give a damn about the fact that you – your spectre anyway – got shot. He probably cared about the fact that two days ago, you left a big damn opening when you projected in public without making sure you had someone in your corner.
You weren’t sure that there was any need to apologize, even with him yelling at you in front of everyone to the point where you hadn’t been able to stand it and a few tears had escaped you – because damn, did he touch a nerve – even if he had been a bit of an asshole.
Most people apologized because they felt the need to ease their conscience, to keep up appearances; but seeing Steve now, the soft and strict lines of his face, told you that he was apologizing for your benefit mainly. It would be sweet if it was so irritating.
Golden boy. Shoved straight to your face. You could never be as good as him, because he simply wasn’t human – and you were the Inhuman from the pair. God, he had his hands on you and he didn’t even try to cop a feel or anything for crying out loud. He was being kind and respectful and so damn beautiful and tall.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he said slowly, gaze intent as if he wanted to make sure you absorbed every word. “I shouldn’t have done that to begin with, but the witnesses made it even worse. And all you did was making a quick decision in a difficult situation, according to your best conscience no doubt. I might not have agreed with it, but you still didn’t deserve such treatment.”
“And you’d do the same,” you added.
You almost slapped your hand over your mouth as soon as the words were out.
This was what happened when you felt safe. You talked back. Dammit.
You could see – and feel, because his chest was practically brushing yours, something you were hyperaware of even as you tried your best not to be– him breathe in to retort.
You really needed to have your head checked out. You should have just taken the apology and cherish it, like any normal person, even if it irked you that Steve Rogers was capable of self-reflection and had enough strength to admit his shortcomings. He was simply better than everyone else. It was easy to see that with no emergency in sight, but that didn’t make it easier to accept that and act accordingly every second of the day.
Yet, you tried at least now.
“Sorry! Sorry. Don’t push it, Spectre. Got it,” you blurted out, fixing a quick smile and you would have sworn you had seen a sparkle on mischief in his blue irises under the indignation. You cleared your throat. “Apology accepted, Captain.”
His relaxed his tense jaw, gaze softening further; painfully so.
“Thank you. And I thought you knew you could call me Steve.”
Golden boy – case on point. You swallowed, unable to keep the swirl of warmth in your chest from creeping into your voice even as you knew you were diving into dangerous waters with reckless abandon by following his request.
“Apology accepted, Steve.”
If your voice was warm, his smile was half the power of the sun, heating your very bones, your heart stumbling in your chest. You should run; you should run because you were never going to receive a gift like that again and the longer you basked in it, the worse it would be when it was gone. But you had already established that sometimes, you couldn’t help but throw caution out of the window despite knowing how much it would hurt later when you’d have to go and scramble to gather it again, hadn’t you?
And so when the song blended into another, the smallest squeeze to your fingers a wordless question, you nodded against your better judgement.
Steve’s smile grew a fraction, feet quick to adjust to the new rhythm, the air around you warmer another few degrees. It was hard to let his apology and kindness linger in the air and not react to it; even as you needed to breathe in and out a few times, eyes examining his face carefully as to predict whether what you were about to say would come back stabbing you in the back.
“I’m sorry for my outburst too. I… acted emotional.” As you recalled the traitorous tears that had escaped you, you thought that to say that was an understatement, but Steve didn’t seem to hold it against you. Instead, he listened with unnerving intent to all you had to say. “Which isn’t an excuse, but I’m still sorry. I… didn’t exactly watched my tongue. I mean, I didn’t-“
­-I didn’t mean what I said, you wanted to say, your voice dying in your throat at the startingly gentle blue of Steve’s eyes, your breath hitching at the sudden vice squeezing your chest. This moment, whatever it was, was becoming overwhelming fast; and you found yourself unable to force the words out.
Because they weren’t true; you had definitely meant a few things, your anger with Steve snapping you back when you had been this close to gathering intel on something that threatened, without exaggeration, his life, just because he had been outraged at… whatever, that was very real. Much like him, you had had a reason for your outburst; and for that itself, you couldn’t apologize. Not when you wouldn’t mean it. Not when he was looking at you like he’d trust anything you said. You couldn’t but reciprocate his honesty even if it should earn you an official demerit from Captain America himself.
“…I didn’t mean at least half of the things I said.”
Steve’s welcoming expression shifted in an instant, your heart already startling in reaction to the change, muscles tensing in an instinctual fight-or-flight response.
And then your brain caught up.
Steve was grinning. He was grinning with mischief lightning up his face bright, humour dancing in his eyes – good-natured humour without a single trace of offense, but maybe with a little speckle of surprise; and if you looked close enough and entertained the thought, pride.
And by god he was breath-taking, leaving you feel like you had flown too close to the sun for a moment unaware that the inevitable fall would kill you.
“Well, as long as it was only a half,” he hummed, his amusement audible in his voice too. There was a strange but not unpleasant tilt to it; almost as if he knew that if he simply accepted your apology right away, the situation would have had you run for the hills indeed. “Apology accepted, Spectre.”
You gulped, taking a wavering breath, flying just a little higher. “You know you can call me by my first name too, right?”
That was only fair, no? That was what you told yourself until Steve smiled softly and repeated himself slowly, this time with your name indeed. That was when you realized you really had caught yourself in a foolish indulgence, because the feeling washing over you was… nice. Very, very nice. His tone, his words were both indescribably nice, and so was the way he held you to lead your through the room without an ounce of indecency, and so was his proximity and his warmth. It was dangerously nice and you felt your chest, having briefly be filled with that tender fragile feeling, tighten instead.
And then Steve spoke up again.
“…and you’re probably right.”
Your eyebrows shot up, gasping; and had you any different company than a room full of important or at least self-important people dressed in black-tie attire, you wouldn’t have stopped your jaw from falling.
Did he just-
Stop the presses! you wanted to shout.
Did he just admit he himself was a hothead?
What peculiar kind of an alternate reality had you entered indeed to see Steve Rogers admit he had been a hypocrite?
This was simply too satisfying to be true.
“But that doesn’t mean I’m the best example,” he added.
You found yourself chuckling through your shock, earning a glare that might have no anger in it, but certainly emitted indignation and gravity. Except the corners of Steve’s lips were twitching.
Damn him. Damn him and his charming side. Since when did he have a charming side and engaged in self-reflection so deep?
Since always, an annoying voice whispered in your head, reminding you that at certain times, you were, in fact, very well aware that Steve Rogers was just as golden as people claimed – even if in way they couldn’t hope to fathom and neither could, not fully.
“Nah, I think it’s one of the very rare traits of yours that should definitely be copied,” you retorted cheekily, never having time to wonder if you went too far since Steve simply kept him mouth shut.
It was a good thing he did, because if he didn’t, you might get tangled in your lie; and might have to admit that you believed that while there were a few of those that shouldn’t be copied in order for the world to maintain some shreds of sanity, there were many more of those which, should they be replicated, would make the world a better place. He probably knew that anyway; he strived to be the example to all. He didn’t need to hear it from you, didn’t need to know that despite your disagreements, you felt everything but contempt for him, with respect on top of the list. And then there was the fact that you were not blind to him being literally meant to be built like the peak of man and looked precisely like it.
And still, his silence surprised you. Despite what you thought of him on better days, it was still a wonder he didn’t try to disprove you; he was full of surprises tonight.
Then again, that was probably the point.
“You know, Tony and Pepper would probably have had no problem coming here tonight,” you spoke lowly into to the silence that settled between you. “They just pushed us together to do something like this.”
Steve’s eyebrows jumped a bit, a brief smirk passing his lips.
“Well-aware. Does that bother you?” he asked, head tilted to side slightly.
You pondered his question for a bit, not sure why. You could have easily said anything, the first or the second or third lie popping up in your mind. But his genuinely curious gaze observing you as he waited for your response, his demeanour the whole evening, and his surprisingly open expression made you want to tell the truth again.
“Not that much. You’re not a bad dancer yourself,” you teased him lightly, feeling your lips permanently stuck in a smile now.
His own smirk melted into a smile again as well, soft crinkle in the corner of his eye.
“Thank you. I know I said it before, but you do look beautiful.”
You blinked.
There he went again, driving his point across; he wanted you to think, to believe perhaps, that his compliments were genuine, not a turn of speech. Why? And what could you even say to that when he kept looking at you like he meant it, the world around you blurring a bit, falling into but a background noise, years of training and his confident hold on you leading you through the dancefloor with ease still, even as the song must have changed again. Had it?
You wished conversation would come just as easy, even when emotions swirled in your chest wilder than your skirts around your calves.
“…thanks. Uhm, Tony said to buy something nice-“
“Mission accomplished, it suits you-“
“-I think he was probably sick of us clashing a lot lately,” you added quickly, almost speaking over him.
He was a lot smarter than people gave him credit for – after all, he had brought up the topic of your fight in an environment where it would have been rude of you to flee just in case you wanted to and he wasn’t called a master strategist for nothing – so he caught your attempt to deflect. And he graced it with brief silence, not pushing, letting your words hang in the air for a moment. Golden boy. Perfect. Too good.
“I suppose that’s fair,” he hummed, one corner of his lips rising higher, his smile almost boyish now. “Did I mention I was sorry?”
“Yeah... did I?”
“You did.”
“Good,” you muttered, blissfully lost in his gentle gaze, even as you had to crane you neck a bit.
The moment was sweet. Slightly electric. Surprisingly comfortable. Peaceful.
Peace.
That was a specific word. With a pang in your chest, it occurred to you that was precisely what it was that Tony intended to achieve when he assigned you to this. To begin to renew the peace that had been within the Avengers family before your presence disrupted it. And Steve had accepted the invitation with you attached to it because he saw the importance of the team holding together from the strategic point of view.
Tonight was a mission. Necessary networking, even as Steve had tried to make it feel like anything but, and necessary attempt at smoothening the relationships within the team. Yes, it was beautiful, but Tony himself had called you a Cinderella. This was but a fairy-tale. An illusion. A projection.
The very spectre of you and Steve, of you being a full Avenger.
Once tonight was over, you’d have to snap back, like you always did. And like always, the pain of what you had lost as a spectre, be it blood or a warm embrace, would linger too. Back in your cold aching reality.
But not in Steve’s; Steve would remain who he was, to the world, to his team, to his friends. To you. It had been a sweet sentiment, a good-natured attempt; and for the night, it lasted. Once again, you felt played by your own naivety, already feeling your waxed wings melting and slowly prepared yourself for the brutal landing.
You kept up your smile, even as you felt the pleasant hum in your ribcage fall silent, your eyes not burning, because there was no reason for it, was there?
“You have good friends, Steve,” you whispered, the blue of his gaze warming up with fondness as he no doubt agreed. “They might be nosy, but they mean well.”
“And they are your friends too,” he replied softly, the pang in your ribcage stronger this time. He believed that, he genuinely did. Maybe that was why it hurt so much; he had seen the worst of the world and believed in the best still; you could read it in his actions, in his expression right now.
But you couldn’t bear it anymore, your gaze falling to the smooth fabric of his bowtie, contrasting with the pristinely white shirt indeed, just as you had known from the start he would wear. Pure. The symbol of all goodness in your culture. Just like him.
You heard what he was saying and yes, it was a tempting thought you had fallen for before. That you could be friends with the team, that the others cared – but you could count the number of people who cared for you on one hand and still had fingers left. People cared for your abilities, admired them maybe, sure. But you were a realist. Even before the Natasha incident – which truly was just her doing her job – you knew and you kept repeating it to yourself, because entertaining any other possibility was dangerous: your abilities, your results or the lack of them, those were what truly mattered. To everyone. To your father, eventually your mother too, to your SHIELD team, to your fellow Avengers. To Steve too. Had those powers come in a different meatsuit than yours, it wouldn’t change a thing. You were just a casing for what they needed.
It wasn’t okay, but it was alright.
The thing was, you couldn’t make Steve admit that – not him. He was a good man – infuriating one, yes, not without fault, yes, but incredibly undeniably good in his core. All the Avengers cared for people too, you would be an idiot not to see it, but if there was one person who would try to look the furthest beyond the abilities you carried, it would be him. Perhaps that was the scariest part of tonight – of him being not only civil, but perfectly pleasant and meaning it. Because he was just that perfect.
And perfect was never in your reach.
“Sure,” you replied absently as you looked up again.
You could tell his own gaze never left your face; and he no doubt noticed the change. His eyes were roaming your features, searching, wondering and seeing; you found yourself slipping into a neutral mask, your way too relaxed stance straightening, muscles tensing.
You only tensed further when you recognized softness and understanding creeping into his gaze, his voice quiet.
“You know-“
You thanked your lucky stars when the song ended and you were allowed to step back from him with an awkward smile.
“I’m going to find the restroom, excuse me.”
You swallowed heavily upon seeing something akin to disappointment and exasperation on his face; but when you pulled away, he didn’t stop you, didn’t use his strength to keep you in place, leaving the choice – as much as he clearly not approved of it – to you. You tried to force your smile further, grateful for that if not for nothing else.
“Thank you for the dance, stranger.”
And with that, you disappeared to the crowd, well-aware that if he wanted, he could have followed, because even in the sea of robes, his eidetic memory told him exactly what yours looked like.
Tumblr media
Getting a fifteen-minute break from people, one in particular, was more than generous and yet you granted it to yourself; because putting yourself back together took time. Not for the first time, you sent a silent thank you to Agent May for having taught you her ways of accepting your emotions as they were, locking them away for later and channel them in the right direction when needed.
If you counted your dances with Steve – even as you tried very hard not to think about them – it added up for almost half an hour of the breather you had planned when getting the drink. You needed to go back to work, back to networking, because it was getting late; you had no doubt there were still people to talk to, no matter how efficient your colleague had been.
As you walked the halls with a smile arranged on your face, nodding politely at people admiring the various pieces of art of all forms, from drawings and paintings to sculptures and installations, your gaze fell on one of auctioned objects.
You smile slipped, your steps faltering along with the steady beat of your heart; and then you forced the corners of your lips back up, nails digging into the back of your hand as you folded them in front of your abdomen, to stop yourself from running to the glass stand where what seemed like a very old artifact was laid proudly on display.
And by old, you meant thousands of years old. And you really, really prayed that you were wrong, that your mind was simply playing tricks on you to avoid the emotional turmoil of today, to-
“Son of a-”
Three more steps closer and the curse was on your lips before you could swallow it completely, heart thundering in your chest against the sudden tightness. You didn’t like to be wrong; but in this particular case, you really wished you had been.
But apparently not.
See, this is why we can’t have nice things, you thought to yourself as you released a wavering breath and took off in the search of Steve, as if you hadn’t run from what seemed to be particularly nice things yourself only a little over ten minutes ago.
You swallowed the panic rising in your throat as you caught a glimpse of him talking to an elderly couple, telling yourself that your discovery was the only reason for that. Because that would be plausible and completely valid; an appearance of what SHIELD called an 0-8-4, an object of unknown origin, was never good news.
Except you were rather certain of its origin and that only made it worse.
Steve spotted you now, a small smile lighting up his face as if you hadn’t just taken an escape from when he tried to convince you were a part of the team in the friendliest sense of the word, gesturing to you lightly so the couple turned to you as well.
You smiled wider, squeezed your hand stronger. Too bad – the Lewises – had seemed nice enough when you had read up on them, were one of the rare attendees who were here for their genuine interest in art.
“Good evening, I am so sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Lewis, Mr. Lewis,” you said sincerely, introducing yourself as the lady already extended her hand to you, followed by her husband’s. “It is a pleasure to meet you and I would be very happy to talk to you if you’d be willing, but I need to borrow Captain Rogers for a little bit-“  
“By all means, Agent, don’t let a couple of old folks keep you two,” Mrs. Lewis chuckled, gently touching Steve’s forearm as she smiled at him almost motherly. “Thank you, young man, it’s nice to see bright young minds interested in conversations about thought-provoking art. Do find us if you can spare another minute later.”
“I would personally use the words lovely couple, Mrs. Lewis,” you said warmly before turning to Mr. Lewis. “I promise to bring him back as soon as possible.”
“It’s been a pleasure,” Steve added as he covered her feebly hand on his, squeezing gently. “Agent?”
“Just a small issue, I’m sure it can be dealt with quickly,” you assured him in front of them, your face growing more serious the second you turned away, your voice falling so low only his enhanced hearing could hopefully catch it. “Thought-provoking art indeed. There’s an 0-8-4 on the items list.”
The way Steve’s back straightened, a sign of him turning mission-alert in an instant, would have been a treat to watch in any other circumstance, you supposed. But not in yours. And not in this case.
As you walked away, he followed your unhurried tempo, stopping by the displays briefly when you did, as if you were simply admiring the art. His face gave away nothing unusual happening beyond a minor inconvenience; you weren’t sure if he believed you were making a big deal out of nothing or if he was that good of an actor.
“Anything you encountered before? Potentially how dangerous are we talking?”
His voice had dropped too, but barely enough for you to hear. To an untrained eye, it probably looked like a normal hushed conversation, a couple – of friends – sharing opinions on the auction items indeed. Good. You didn’t need to spread panic on top of barely containing your own.
“Yes and no, I only recognize the symbols. And I can’t tell, but I wouldn’t underestimate it,” you uttered as you gradually moved closer, the artifact now in sight.
Steve stood diagonally beside you, barely a step behind your shoulder; he could keep his voice very low that way, practically whispering to your ear, while you could keep talking almost soundlessly.  
“Should I recognize this? I’m not familiar.”
You bit back a bitter smile, stepping in front of the display together at last. The item itself looked unassuming; a stabile built of plates of metal, interwoven and reaching out of the tangle like tentacles. Except the surface of the plates wasn’t smooth; an intricate pattern of lines and circles rose slightly above it, a geometrical masterpiece only a few people on Earth knew the meaning of. Outside of Earth, well; you wouldn’t dare to guess.
The good news, hopefully, was that the sculpture meant to be in one piece was broken into two; that meant that if the effect was, like with many others you had encountered, tied to breaking the casing of whatever weapon it could be hiding, it had been out for a while and thus might not pose danger anymore. But you weren’t willing to take that chance.
“I’m not sure,” you whispered, almost choking out the words, wary of one word in particular as not to alarm anyone in vicinity just in case. “It is mostly Coulson’s team that handles all the… Kree mess.”
Short silence followed, only for Steve to draw in a shaky breath.
“…are you positive?”
It probably wasn’t meant to be a challenge, but you took it as one anyway, a flare of anger rushing through your veins, because was he serious? That was genuinely insulting. You spent practically your whole post-academy service to SHIELD with Coulson’s team following the trail of artifacts left behind by the lovely alien race Kree were – in fact, artifacts uncomfortably resembling this one. So yes, you were pretty bloody positiveyou were right.
You turned to Steve and took a step back to throw to his face – in as calm manner as was socially acceptable despite wanting to just spit it out – that you were pretty damn certain, because one did simply not forget a single thing about the literally blue aliens that indirectly gave them powers. Except you never got to make a single sound, because Steve’s eyes widened all of sudden, gaze still fixed on the display you had just turned your back to and his fingers closed around your wrist and tugged you closer to him again with surprising force given how gentle he had held you when you-- so not the time.
“Alright, point proven,” he whispered hastily, stepping back and releasing you before you could question him just turning from a gentleman of the year to a lout who just… grabbed a woman and manhandled her.
Frowning, you glanced over your shoulder just in time to see a faint light of the symbols dying out, your panic skyrocketing and making you forget all about your exasperation.
Oh. Oh, that was not good at all.
It recognized you. It sensed the Inhuman in you as you had unwittingly moved closer to it. It was reacting even sooner than the Diviner had, the first Kree artifact your team had encountered, whose symbols only lit up upon being touched by an Inhuman, or a person carrying Inhuman markers in their DNA yet to be turned into one.
“Sorry for-“
“It’s fine,” you interrupted his apology, appreciating it nevertheless. Yet, your smile probably turned out to be more of a grimace, bitter sarcasm bleeding into your tone. “Well, Tony said we should bid on something anyway, right? I’ve got my pick”.
Steve’s eyebrow twitched without a hint of amusement, but he didn’t disprove you, moving to scan the room for any vendor to start bidding indeed; you automatically reached for your black-tie-attire-friendly StarkWatch, to alert the HQ.
You never got to finish the message.
Steve never got to even step out.
A tell-tale metallic sound, a clink of a grenade hitting the tiled floor had both of you snap your head to the source, losing two precious seconds by looking for where exactly it landed, startled intakes of breath taken before a scream could gather in your lungs to warn people to get down.
There was no time to react. The screams aligned with the eardrum-rupturing noise of an explosion, a blur of a movement to your right and a force to be reckon with slamming into you.
Even without his signature weapon, Steve automatically threw himself between you and the grenade, pushing you down and shielding you with his body at least. The heat licked at your skin just as the pressure wave slammed into you both, sending you flying and crashing hard into the glass cabinet, Steve’s arm taking large portion of the brunt of impact.
A jolt of electricity rushed through your nerves along with the pain, a dull crack in your head, the edges of your vision blurring. You barely registered the stream of agents in black gear cutting through the clouds of smoke and vapour tear gas. Smell of copper and iron hit your nostrils, strong enough to make you nauseous; blood and fire. Steve’s cologne; then more blood. Lights and shadows bleeding into one, the former too bright for your smoke-filled teary eyes. The noise was deafening too – shouts and shrieks of terror you knew you should respond to, because it was your duty as an agent and as a half-baked Avenger.
But you didn’t seem to control your body for long enough to as much as lift your hand to check if the sharp pain in the back of your head was an open wound or not, let alone to climb to your feet as Steve’s voice echoed in your ears, warm hands firm on your waist, prickling sensations like thousand needles piercing through your skin all over.
The pain tore through every single cell of your body without warning, but you didn’t have time to find the cause or wallow in it; darkness enveloped you completely and you sank into its thick waters without a chance to fight it, until it swallowed you whole.
Tumblr media
Next chapter
Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist
Tumblr media
Hope you don’t mind a little cliffhanger, hehe... as a treat for reading! I wanna say I was really excited about this chapter, sneaking in something soft and fluffy in between the angst, but I’m excited to share everything so... yeah.
I would like to take a moment or two to thank you, again, for your comments. They give me a rush of joy and I read every single one of them more than once; they give me strength to continue even when sudden feeling of ‘this is meh’ attacks me and the thoughts you share ground me back in the story when I feel like I’m slipping away from where I wanted to take it. I cherish your feedback, no matter the form, so much. Thank you 💕
Tumblr media
91 notes · View notes
Text
Through the Wall Chapter 1
Nanatsu no Taizai Fanfic 
Written for my mutuals because I could. 
A Fanfic Story Featuring!! : Pre Holy War, demons and goddesses fighting for some reason, TC Meliodas’s Questionable battle strategy, Zeldris being a literal brat (child Zel!) but a very smart one, the Ten Commandments doing their job well for once but behind the Demon King’s back, Fraudrin being forced into the role of NPC after he unfortunately finds himself as the smartest person in the room, the predecessors of the Six Knights of Black being even worse at their job than the ones the Sins beat in Prisoners of the Sky, the lack of goddess characters forcing me to come up with one on the spot, Ludociel not understanding the assignment (the assignmnent being ethics), (child!) Mael’s rebellious phase (hit me with some ideas for that), Bloodstained Elizabeth terrifying everyone around her by just being her jolly old self, humans cowering in the background, Indura, and a lot of dialouge. Also inspired by those pack mentality demon posts because please give the TC some sort of bond, how would they survive all alone how else would Meliodas not go insane as their leader. Can’t give the demons a society (yet) but I can give them Shenanigans. I don’t know how to change the font which is a bummer because I found special ones just for this. Anyway-
More than 3,000 years ago.
~~~Demon Realm. Demon King’s Stronghold. 
It was a terrible, no good, possibly dangerous idea to disturb the Commander right now. Fraudrin knew this. But right now, he was the only one familiar enough with the Ten Commandments to approach him. He would tell one of the others - oh, he wanted to - but they were spread thin throughout the Demon Realm defending major cities. Of all the times, why did there have to be a major influx of Indura activity now, when the goddesses had found another way to ambush demon settlements? Well. No use in complaining about nature. There was nothing left to do but kill them before they could wipe out civilian villages - but like with the goddesses, that was easier said than done.
Especially since the Ten Commandments’ absence from the front lines wasn’t … ah… approved explicably by the King, who had designated lower-level soldiers to deal with the Indura situation. It was Meliodas who sent the Ten Commandments out. Those of the demon army who didn’t know any better perceived it as him obeying the King’s specific instructions as he always (ha!) did. But Fraudrin knew protecting rural settlements was the furthest thing from the Demon King’s mind at the moment. He felt it like a stab of unease in his soul. In all his days of service, and all the days he spent being privy to the Ten Commandments’ business, he had never been so worried - the unsettling emotion made him feel even more ill- about the Demon Prince. Because with what news he was about to deliver, the hero of the demon clan might curse whatever prompted him to be one.
Even so, he couldn't hesitate to open the door to Meliodas’s personal study. He slipped inside and closed the door quietly as if this whole misadventure would stay a secret from everyone for long. He felt the Commander’s attention shift to him - felt the lack of politeness he was expressing so keenly he had to force his limbs to stay steady. Meliodas didn't turn to face him but sat perfectly still at his desk, no doubt questioning who would dare enter his personal quarters without permission.
“Commander.” It felt odd calling him that just now, despite everything dictating that he should do so. Because he knew this was more personal to Meliodas than anything. “I was asked to deliver a message to you. Information to be shared in confidence.”
Papers flew to the other end of the desk. Clearly, Meliodas wasn’t happy about this breach of privacy. “I would not come here, to this place, unless -”
Darkness shot out from around him, latching onto Fraudrin’s waist and yanking him forward. As his surroundings blurred together, turning black and purple before throwing him abruptly back into the world of color, he thought he was in for a venomous verbal assault. His body slammed against something - the back of the armchair? - but there was no pain. The darkness gently released him, sinking into the floor in the shape of a familiar sigil. Gowther’s invention. This was an invitation to speak freely.
Fraudrin relaxed somewhat, more than he should while standing inches from the demon called the Destroyer. “There was another full-blown attack near the southern portal to Britannia. The goddess forces were taken care of. I heard every one of the citizens was evacuated successfully, thanks to some timely intervention from...” Damnit, now was not the time for speculation! “Well... before they were asked to be discrete about the matter, they said it was His Highness, Prince Zeldris, who stepped in when the soldiers couldn’t.” He couldn’t see Meliodas’s face. Couldn’t decide if that was a torment or a mercy. “They left quickly to reinforce nearby cities without even noticing the Prince, so . . . regarding his whereabouts after that moment, according to those who were there... Prince Zeldris has been... he’s - ” Fraudrin choked on his own words and immediately cursed himself a thousand times over. Now was not the time to have zero eloquence!
“I assume the Six Knights of Black are dead as well if that's the case.”
Daring to look down, Fraudrin noticed Meliodas’ small hands were clutched together against his chest, tight enough to draw blood with his quickly forming claws. That tone like black thunder would have alerted even a human to Meliodas’s swift transformation into a more demonic state. Right now, he undoubtedly had every ounce of his power right at his fingertips. He would send this section of the castle straight to purgatory if he was so inclined, and at this point, the six aforementioned knights would have been reduced to a blubbering mess of nerves.
Fraudin, counting himself better than them, simply talked faster. “No. NO. Barely escaped with their lives, to come and tell you that he's been captured by a goddess. An archangel unexpectedly showed up after most of the goddesses were dead - they said it was Ludociel.”
“Can't even do one thing, huh. Or come tell me themselves.” His power exploded outward, dark tendrils stabbing through a wall to the left. At that, Fraudrin did flinch. And maybe grab the top of the chair to steady himself. The smaller demon rose from his chair just as his darkness retracted, carrying his signature coat and boots right to him. Not going to question that, thought Fraudrin. He stared at the wall that was a portal to hell knows where for a second while his commander donned his uniform. He chucked his shirt under the desk and raked a clawed hand through his golden hair, smoothing down the static frizz until he was content. This only messed his hair up further but the motion seemed to calm the demon. When he spoke again, the darkness writhing across his forearms had retreated back into his body. “Well. Well. Well. I'll be stopping by them anyways. Fraudrin. Where?”
With more concern in his hearts than there should be for the powerful demon prince, Fraudrin led the way.
~~~
Meliodas stood in front of the large door with his aura oddly relaxed. It was more terrifying than when the magnitude of his power forced warriors to their knees. “Come out.”
They did not. Understandably. The whole point of assigning a guard to the young, yet untrained prince was to make sure he never got close to actual fighting - or even worse, alerted anyone who would tell the Demon King he was doing anything besides wasting away under a pile of books or whatever it was the prince was supposed to be doing during the time he'd normally spend with Meliodas and the commandments. Did the Six Knights even pay attention to where they were going on this little adventure? Did they seriously think their task wasn't a big deal? Fraudrin feared the answers. They had failed a very important test - and even more unluckily for them, he didn't think they even realized what Meliodas would do if anything happened to his baby brother, their fault or not.
Needless to say, when Meliodas snapped the door open with his darkness and strode in without further preamble, he hesitated to follow. The door closed abruptly behind Meliodas- apparently, Fraudrin wasn't supposed to.
He waited in the silence. Taking the time to appreciate the thick walls that blocked out conversation, he stood unmoving and wished they would also block out the sound of his heartbeats. It was like that for a while - the silence and the standing and heartbeats and no, don’t look out the windows, just stare at the door. Waiting and waiting and CRASH. The sound broke the barrier of the walls.  A shudder ran through him like a shockwave as he worked to process what he just heard. He just heard a sound like...
Like... the outer castle wall had been...
Meliodas stepped briskly out of the room. The door clipped shut behind him. Fraudrin looked only at his Commander’s face, paying no attention to what could be behind him. Praying that Meliodas’s wrath was satisfied when he motioned for Fraudrin to follow him down the corridor. 
He could have left the door wide open if he wanted, displaying its mysterious contents to all - which he knew - but the eldest prince valued discretion in this moment. He did not remind Fraudrin of this. Not that he needed to, but... normally, he would. 
The possible show of trust wasn’t a comfort. Not today.
 As Meliodas strode forward, his gaze was directed straight down the hallway, to where the large windows displayed the full range of the soldiers’ training grounds. That calculating stare seemed to focus on a point much farther away, and Fraudrin felt sick to his stomach, knowing the young prince was out there somewhere. He quite possibly could not be saved in time.
With that far-off gaze indistinguishable from his usual calculating, Commander-of-the-Demon-Army poker face, Meliodas said, “I'll need a list of suitable candidates for a new Six Knights of Black. These ones seem to have found a taste for desertion.”
Fraudrin tried not to imagine what had just gone down. “Yes, Commander. And the recent skirmish - do you want a more detailed report? I can-”
“Oh, not now.” The Commander’s eyes locked onto his. “The commandments and I are heading out to the front lines in a moment- not that I need to be telling you. I'll be checking over that list of yours when I get back.”
Fraudrin made a face he probably shouldn't. A face that hinted at more emotion than the son of the demon king should be able to understand. But Meliodas could. (He learned long ago never to underestimate him.) Whether he would still chew him out for broadcasting uncertainty and doubt and disbelief in the middle of the goddamn war wing of the castle, well. That remained to be seen.
Fraudrin felt himself utter the words: “Commander, when do you expect to be back?” It was the only nonsuspicious question he could think of, but an audacious one of someone of his station.
Meliodas’s answering hum caught him by surprise. Even at times like this, with the castle almost deserted, he rarely spoke with any personality when there wasn’t rage to mask it. Or maybe he was just so enraged, he didn’t care what potential onlookers thought. That might be worse. “Welllll, that would depend on what the goddesses decide to counter with. If we don’t get into a major battle within the next week, we should be back to check on the realm soon. I don’t have to tell you and the soldiers on guard here not to slack off ‘till then- do I?”
“No, Commander.”
“Hmm. Well, I’ll believe you.” Switching to his usual no-nonsense tone, he ordered, “Fraudrin. Don’t concern yourself with what I’m doing. It’s above you. And if you get distracted and falter in the tasks I’ve assigned to you, you’ll regret you ever got the chance to speak to me face-to-face.”
He couldn’t repress a shiver of awe as he stared into Meliodas’s unblinking black eyes. Could he really resolve this situation before it escalated? Who knew? But if anyone could...
“I’ll look after His Highness the Prince while you’re gone. I’ll protect him with my life, my lord.”
“I’m sure you will.”
With that last pretense, Zeldris’s older brother strode off into the empty hallway, soon to leave his father’s domain for the wilds of the demon realm.
35 notes · View notes
artzzyb00-27 · 5 months
Text
{❤️Victim and Savior❤️}
Trigger Warning for people who don't like human experimentation. The reader in this is Indigenous Algonquian. It was requested by someone and I took the opportunity to represent people of this ethnicity/group. I myself don't have direct connections to them as I am mainly Mexican, however I still find it important for them to be represented.
Tumblr media
It had been a couple of days since the attempted invasion of the Kraang an the city was being rebuilt from the destruction that had occurred. After beginning to team up with the NYPD, the turtles were able to investigate any potential signs of mutagen that had occurred at TCRI. Of course, there had obviously been some. More specifically a mutant somewhere in _ at a facility secured by foot ninja members.
Donnie had been tapping into their security systems trying to find a weak spot when loud footsteps were heard. Turning slightly to his right putting his eyes on Raph who was pacing back and forth in his lab huffing and puffing.
"Did you fight with Leo again?" Donnie asked with annoyance, trying to concentrate fully on how the hell to get into the fire wall of the files this place had. Raph rolled his eyes at his nerdy brother and kept pacing back and forth.
"Nah, just bored and don't know what to do with the sun out." the aggressive brother expressed while throwing his head back in annoyance. Whilst listening, Donnie had typed in random codes into his hacking system. 1/20000 worked and it revealed a dozen files that showed pictures of Kenyans, Saudi Arabians, Mesoamericans, Vietnamese, and one Native American girl. Donnies' eyes widened in horror at the files.
"Holy shit-" he breathed out getting the attention of his brother who got a better look at the screen and stared in disgust. Getting closer he read the files alongside Donnie. Most of these people were proclaimed; Dead- Experiment gone wrong. Raphs' stomach twisted inside him as he pulled his eyes away from the screen.
"Guys get in here! Ya' gotta see this!" he called out to his other brothers who at the time were reading comics in their gaming area. As they came piling in, they were able to get a glimpse of what their other brother was looking at before trying to not look away. Donnie clicked on the Natives' file and read it over. Scanning it quickly, and coming to a quick and easy decision.
"Most of them are still alive, stationed by the Connecticut border. They're not that far from here, let's go!" he yelled as he geared up and grabbed the his equipment heading towards the garage were their 'Tartarugo Brothers' van. While it took getting onto backroads to avoid the sunsetting on the freeway they made it to a forest nearby Connecticut and stopped it about one mile away from the building.
Jumping from tree to tree, the turtles saw guards walking around with AR-15's and and enforced body armor. Donnie took out his pea shooter and replaced the peas with tranq-darts. Having accurate aim, he was able to make a clearing for him and his brothers. Breaking in and sneaking around, they found an elevator that would take them to the lower levels.
"Think they'll be down there?" Mikey asked. Leo looked at the elevator more and then looked down the hall. Donnie put a hacking device on the keypad for the elevator and opened it.
"Anyone else gettin' flashbacks?" Raph asked making the others smile from memories. 'Elevator Beat Box' was probably one of their most favorite moments.
Once getting to the level that indicated life forms in cells, the turtles braced themselves for whatever was waiting for them. What they got,... was definitely unexpected.
Blood splattered on the walls. Mutants and humans, some from the files Donnie had been able to see, we're laying around the corridors. Ahead, to the right, and to the left. At least 26 different piles of bodies.
"Jesus Christ-" Leo breathed out. Sheathing his twin katanas into their respective holders on his shell. His brothers moving around with less care, more en captivated by the sight in front of them. "What now D?"
The purple bandana'd brother didn't know what to do. He knew there would have probably been things down here they wouldn't want to willingly see, but this felt sickening. A few of the bodies were small, children to be simplistic.
"Some of these people are younger than 10." He informed no one in particular. As his brothers pretended not to hear the oh wonderful news.
Looking at his tablet again, he realized that the life forms he had seen were still ahead alive. The tablet hadn't been wrong. He nudged Leo and led them down the right.
After a bit of walking the turtles came across a giant door that opened to a code. Using the same device, Donnie was able to unlock the door and check to see if the people in there were safe.
Once the door opened the brothers stepped in, revealing another hallway. This one filled with pictures of some of the test subjects with there files. There was around 10 other beings there. Six of them were mutated, while the others looked human. The Native girl was there too. Raph studied her photograph more and saw how short her hair was.
Not that he was an expert by any means, but he was pretty sure most Natives had long hair and mainly braided together. Maybe that was racist, maybe it wasn't. Who knows, all he knew was that him and his brothers needed to get these guys out of here as soon as they could.
Once at the end of the hall, the turtles saw the girl with other people and mutants. All covered in blood from themselves or the guards who were laying around. One gecko mutant spotted them and nudged the Native girl who had her arm extended outwards. Paying closer attention, Raph and his brothers saw that she was making one of the guards float and spin around. She turned around and saw the brothers. No emotion evident except in here eyes. Brown eyes, the color of earth that held precious metals and life.
"Woah!" Mikey reacted to the girls power. She turned back to the guard, made him stop spinning and threw him at the wall. Pulling the small mutant boy next to her close and motioning to the others around her to get near. Looking at the turtles again and placed her focus on Raph. His red color palette drawing her attention.
"What floor did you come from?" she asked. Her voice soft yet sturdy. An accent evident in there as well. They couldn't place what kind of accent though. Trying to get over the initial shock of all the mutants, Raph gathered up thoughts to respond.
"We ain't from here, we're from da city. Who are you guys?" he asked wanting to pummel the people who did this to them. All of them had some type of scarring. Though it seemed that that was taken care of already. Donnie saw a blue heeler-pup mutant and went to check on them. They had a gash going across their arm so it needed to be patched up.
Leo looked around studying them all while Mikey tried to comfort the younger looking mutants and children. Including the gecko boy that didn't want to leave the girls' side. One of the humans, a Malian girl with a tattoo on her shoulder blade, stood in shock at her friend. Going up to her then looking at Raph. She tapped her and pulled her aside and started using sign language. The girl responded back and made the other girl sigh. She walked up to Leo and Raph and introduced herself.
"The name given to me is O-9, but the name given to me by my mother is Mathi." she said to which Leo nodded and Raph gave a small smile. He looked back to the girl from earlier and saw her crouching down next to small girl with red curly hair and green eyes. She wasn't saying anything but instead just made signs and gave a comforting hand to the girl to lean against on. He went up to her and began conversation with her. She replied happily though it wasn't that evident on her face. Mathi turned to them and gained a puzzled look. "She never speaks. Not with me or anyone she doesn't know. She must see something special in him." Leo listened and began to think. What could Raph have that allowed the presumably mute girl to talk with ease.
After getting the names of everyone, and the base of how each of them got there, the turtles found out none of them were adults. Only a few being eighteen, but even then, that's still considered a child in most cultures. So they called up the chief and asked for trucks big enough to carry anywhere from small mutant rodents to a large mutant crocodile. Within 40 minutes, coming from back roads, the chief stepped out with a few officers and some doctors to inspect the health of the injured. Other cops were arresting who they could and began interrogating.
"There's an abandoned manor near the city. It should be big enough to house them and it's connected with the sewers so you can check in on them whenever you want." she assured the turtles. Mathi and the girl overheard and went over to introduce themselves. "Ah, are you two the ones the turtles told me about?" they nodded and Vincent continued. "My wife's a fashion designer, she can make some clothes for your friends to be more comfortable." the girls nodded in appreciation.
"I'm Mathi, this is my friend Abooksigun. It means wildcat in her language." Vincent smiled and offered her hand for them to shake but put it down quickly when they flinched. The smile gone quickly. Then returned to cover up and faced the turtles.
Abook' was in thought. Deep thought. These turtles were mutants like her friends. Like her brothers and sisters. But not like them. They seemed more content. Sort of. It's was difficult to explain.
"Hey there! I'm Mikey, the cute one of my brothers. That's Donatello, brains with never ending sass," the turtle with tech gear struck a pose which gained a curious look from Mathi. "Leonardo, our fearless leader who is denial of feelings in general," the one with katanas on his shell rolled his eyes with a side smile. "and finally Raphael, the big brute with an even bigger heart." The red-bandana'd turtle looked down avoiding eye contact.
Abook' smiled and went closer to Raph. He looked up at her slightly and caught her hand coming up.
"Kwe." She said making him raise a brow muscle. Donnie typed something on his watch and translated.
"She's saying 'Hi' in her native language." He told his meat-headed brother who nodded and turned the attention back to her. He put his hand out and shook hers. The size difference was hilarious and also kind of endearing.
"Hey there. A-again," After that, the checkups of the other mutants and humans with powers went well, and Raph was able to get her to talk about herself more. Her powers were telekinesis. Controlling objects, and living beings with her mind. She could tear them apart if she was angry enough. Something they had in common, ironically.
Mathi had the ability of far-sight. Being able to know where people were at all times. She had to see the person first though. It helped to know if her friends were okay when they were still locked away.
--------------------------------
After a few months of visiting, bonding, sleeping over with the turtles. Abook' was able to form strong connections with them. Especially with Splinter and Raphael. Though she only ever talked to Raph, the friendship was strong. They even trained sometimes, with her powers or not.
He cared for her more than she knew. More than she could imagine. More than she wanted to imagine. Seems narcissistic, or dramatic, but from the eyes of someone who was only ever socialized with people who gained everything but gave nothing did that to you. He knew this. Hated this. But understood it.
So much that he made Donnie teach him her language. Seeing she was more comfortable speaking to him with it. The others tried talking to her, but only gained head movement or expressions that correlated to 'yes' or 'no'. Aside from that, they got along pretty well. It made for a comforting environment for her. Abook' was wandering the lair looking for Raph when suddenly the alarm went off. She ran to Donnies' lab and saw the turtles standing around him.
"It's the foot clan! They're attacking the markets down by the docks. We need to get down there." He informed, mainly Leo, but told all his brothers. Ordering them to gear up and hurry to that truck, Leo rushed by Abook' and gave her a nod of notice. Mikey ran by with Donnie following saying 'Hi,' while Raph stayed there looking at her. Knowing what she was going to say but would shut down immediately.
"Manininatakin!"('Take me with you,' in Algonquin most likely) Raph shook his head and tried to walk past him.
"Saraminoke, you're not ready for this."('No can do,')He explained trying to not make eye contact. Abook' grabbed his wrist and used her powers to make him stop.
"Please, I can help! Give me a chance to-"
"No! You go out there with us and they realize what you can do, it won't end well. I know you can take them, but I can't have you be taken and tortured again for the purpose of data." Breathing in again after that tangent, he turned to look at her and met a concerned expression on the girl. Like her spirit and will power, her hair had grown and had been braided by Raph. Having three fingers was an advantage sometimes. "I'm sorry Abook', you can't come. Mathi will come to stay with you, watch over Splinter for us."
That was what he said ten minutes ago. Now Abook' was walking back and forth in front of Mathi and Splinter, who kept looking at each other wondering what they should do.
"It's taking them too long," she said, with stress evident in her voice. "They've been gone for too long."
"Abs', they're probably kicking butt still, you've heard how persistent the Foot Clan can be. Also, it's been ten minutes." Mathi said trying to calm down her sister. Not that it would go away, but the sentiment was comforting to Abook'. She stopped pacing and looked down.
"I need to go help them. Splinter please let me go!" she asked her best friend's father. He ran his hand through his beard and contemplated. After 3 seconds he sighed and begrudgingly nodded his head in approval. "Thank you, I will bring them back. I promise!"
"Not without me!" Mathi said using her power to see where they were. Still at the docks fighting the Foot Clan and what appeared to be a giant dog mutant. "They're at the docks still, let's go!" she said grabbing her spear and ran off through the tunnels. Meanwhile Abook' grabbed her bow and arrows and ran after her.
Once running through the rooftops and shadows of the city night, they arrived at the edge of the docks to see Foot soldiers knocked out and the turtles with scrapes on them. Gashes big enough for blood to pour out slowly and panting heavily. Looking around, Abook' saw the mutant dog they were fighting. They had cream colored fur with a big bushy tail and giant front paws. Using her telekinesis, she lowered herself and Mathi down to the ground and lifted the turtles towards them before the dog could get to them again and, most likely, kill them.
The turtles looked up in shock, Raph with fear. He went to grab Abooks' arm but she and Mathi had already ran in to stall for them. Mathi ran up to the mutant and jumped in the air throwing the spear impaling their arm. Abook' used her power to rip the weapon out and gave it back to her friend. She steadied her arrows and fired them, directing them towards the canines chest.
Dodging but getting skimmed on the side causing more blood pour out. Using his ears, he realized Abook' was readying more arrows and Mathi was in fighting position. He ran off leaving a trail of blood and the turtles had come back from the alley and went up to the girls. Mikey and Donnie thanked them while Leo applauded them for their techniques.
Raph on the other hand was off to the side looking down at the floor holding his injured arm. Abook' noticed and walk over to his side, putting a hand on his other arm. He flinched slightly but calmed down when he saw it was her. 
"I told you to stay put." he grumbled making the girl stare at him with a side smile. He sighed and patted her head. "Thank you, I'm glad you're here." she smiled and used her powers to levitate up to his level and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Raph froze and lifted his hand to his face and stood in shock. Hearing snickering, Abook' turned and saw the turtle brothers and Mathi taking the scene in wonderfully.
She smiled in content of her new life. Every dark beginning really does have a good ending eventually.
9 notes · View notes