#my leg exercises Have Actually Helped with the knee pain so like. i should. do them

[cripple-culture-is]

Cripple culture is not wanting to go to PT anymore after just six weeks because it feels like your (phys abled) physical therapists don't understand anything about your situation and keep pushing for you to stop using the mobility aids that have increased your quality of life ten-fold.

I don't care if I'm relying on my mobility aids "too much". They want me to not use my crutches as much (which already don't help as much as I need them to) because I'm "strong enough" to not need them, according to them. Maybe my muscles are strong enough, but several times I have not been able to just go across the parking lot to get into the clinic from the car without my knees failing me, especially my bad one, or my hips and/or knees hurting like hell, or both. I'm strong as hell, sure, but that doesn't do shit when I'm scared to just go to the vending machine in my school alone because I'm worried my knee will dislocate or subluxate in the middle of me walking in the hallway for five minutes--which has happened on too many occasions to count. Not to mention my hips subluxating on multiple occasions when I'm not even doing anything--just laying in bed or on the couch on my back.

Or, get this, I went to [big city] and walked around for 45 minutes, and I was already knocked out. Then my family decided that we had to go to the store, and we did, and halfway through the shopping, I was in so weak and in so much pain that I physically could not talk. Once we got home, even after hours of resting, even after a full day, I could not walk more than ten feet without my crutches, and I couldn't walk at all without pain, even with crutches.

That's not even mentioning how, without my crutches, I am regularly banging into walls and door frames, and I have a relatively wide stance because I have no balance when I try to stand "normally" without them and am constantly consciously self-correcting so that I don't topple over. I've slammed my face into so many closed doors not because I don't see them, but because of how shite my balance and proprioception are. I run up the stairs on all fours when I don't have my crutches because A) it helps me not fall over because I feel like I'm about to pass out whenever I stand up, B) it helps me not fall over because I have awful balance, and C) it takes the weight off my legs and makes it less likely that they're going to collapse beneath me, especially on bad days.

I feel like they're so fucking desperate to cure me so I can walk "normally", that they're less focused on my actual quality of life and more focused on getting me to stop the mobility aids that I've needed since seventh grade at least, and only just got in August of last year. I bet that if I told them I wanted a wheelchair (and have wanted since seventh grade because every time I stood up, I felt like I was going to pass out), they would be mortified and tell me that I'm just making things worse for myself. They act like I'm overreacting and exaggerating all of my experiences, meanwhile I haven't been able to write with a pencil--especially non-mechanical pencils--for longer than ten seconds because of how much pain I'm in; meanwhile I have to catch my breath whenever I sit down after walking more than ten feet; meanwhile I can't even use a lot of exercise equipment, especially for the legs, because after just thirty seconds it feels like my bad knee is stabbing me.

(Sorry about the vent, I'm just so fucking tired of this shit. Tl;dr, my physical therapists don't listen to me and act like because I have strong muscles, I actually don't need my mobility aids as much as I do because they personally think, after six 45-minute tops sessions where we barely talk about my abilities in the real world, that I'm basically healthy aside from chronic pain, meanwhile I regularly risk subluxating my hips and knees just walking the distance from the parking lot to the clinic where I go to see them.)

Oh no! I'm so sorry you're dealing with that. They should really know better. As a disabled person, you are the only one who truly knows what will work for you. If your mobility aids help you, keep using them, your PT's reaction and opinion be damned. It isn't about them. It's about you.

If walking without them increases your fall risk, use your crutches.

#cripple punk #cripplepunk #crip punk #cpunk #physical disability #physically disabled #physical disabilities #cripple problems #cripple life #cripple culture is

[andrasandreas]

I've had knee pain on & off since I was a kid, like while riding a bike or kneeling down - Doctors said it was "growing pains" so it'll stop eventually, weeell it didn't.

I used to be unable to crouch for more than a few seconds without it hurting so much I had to stop, but I actually improved in that area after learning to roller skate had me bending my knees a lot more, so I thought since it kinda went away that I should just ignore the lesser residual pain I still kept feeling.

This year, I started having days where I woke up with stiff knees, and they would get more sore as the day went on. My job is 99% standing/walking, so I definitely feel it. But thinking back to how my knees have just hurt forever and everybody I told was like "Huh, well that sucks I guess you just have bad knees 🤷," the only thing I tried to do to address it was start wearing compression/support sleeves on the days it was really bad.

My knees were stiff & hurting so often that I ended up wearing the sleeves every single day - But by the time I was thinking mayyyybe I should see a doctor about this, they stopped bothering me as much and I didn't need the knee sleeves (most of the time).

Then there were a few months where my knees didn't really hurt (too bad) at all, but last week I woke up with pain in my hip sockets. If I moved my leg too far backwards or turned them out too far I'd get a super sharp pain. It also just generally hurt in my hip socket area, and I could feel the pain affecting my knees as well. But again, by the time I got around to thinking mayyyybe I should see a doctor, the hip socket pain went away and my legs could move freely again.

Now today, in the middle of my shift, I got this pain that started in my butt but gradually moved down my leg. It would like hurt in one section for a while then move to the next section and hurt there for a while. I've had that pain before, but it was a long while ago and it went away in just a few hours. But this time, the pain was so much that I started limping, and it just kept worsening until it felt like I could barely stand up or walk. But I took some Ibuprofen and then the pain went away.

I called the hospital to make an appointment about my leg/knee pain after that, cause one suspected possibility is rheumatoid arthritis (which runs in my family). And I know it's like if you have arthritis you need to get on treatment ASAP.

But I'm honestly scared of what'll happen at the appointment. Not because I'm afraid of getting an arthritis diagnosis, but because I'm afraid they won't diagnose me with anything.

Every time I've gone to a doctor for lifelong health concerns, they go "Huh that's weird, have you tried eating more vegetables & fiber" and send me away. Then I spend $700 out of pocket on that appointment. Because I can't afford to waste money on non-life-threatening appointments where nothing happens, I go a long time without returning to the doctor. But then when the problem gets bad enough that I consider getting a doctor's help again, since it's been so long since my last appointment, the next time I see them they go "Huh that's weird, have you been eating vegetables & fiber?" And when I say yeah, but sometimes I forget to do that every single day, and I still have the problem either way, they're like "Well try eating more vegetables & fiber" and I pay $700 again.

So when it comes to my lifelong knee pain, that has already been dismissed many times before, even though I'm getting to the point where I'm struggling to literally stay standing on my legs, I'm still scared that the doctor's going to tell me something like do yoga or stretch more or drink water or get more exercise. If that advice didn't cost me $700 to hear every single time, I might not be so worried about it.

#personal

[ionlytalktodogs]

hii! I had a mobility aid related question. no pressure to answer I just kinda wanted to talk to about mobility aid stuff to someone who uses one. is it okay to get a mobility aid even if ur in phys therapy to try to strengthen yourself and have muscle atrophy? would it be considered “giving up/letting myself become worse” to them if I used one? they said movement is good for me and good for people with pain but it’s hard to do things with pain and weakness and I would like to also do the exercises they give me but would it not make a difference if I got a mobility aid? would I just mess it up even if I’m doing the exercises? both of my knees/legs cause trouble and so do my arms, back, shoulders, and hands so I thought maybe a cane and rollater wouldn’t be a good option but possibly forearm crutches and a wheelchair would be? but since I have weakness/pain in my arms/hands/etc would it be difficult to use those? or could it even help build strength in my upper body by doing so? tbh it’s just. when is it okay to get a mobility aid do u have to have a doctors approval? would I be ruining any progress I could make by using an aid?

Oh my gosh I love this ask because I literally had all these same questions less than a year ago and now I actually know the answers! Obligatory I’m not a doctor this is based on personal experience take it with a grain of salt

First of all muscle strengthening and muscle atrophy:

Muscle atrophy in mobility aid users is a complicated subject but the way people discuss it is entirely incorrect. If you have a paralyzed body part and cannot move it at all, it might atrophy since the muscles aren’t…you know…muscling. But the thing is if you aren’t paralyzed, you are moving your muscles all the time. You change positions while sitting, you use the bathroom, even if you use a wheelchair all the time just being able to move your legs at all means you’re using your muscles (muscles flex, stretch, and contract often without you even realizing it).

My brother sits in a gaming chair all day. He spends all his time gaming, he only gets up to use the bathroom or occasionally get some food to bring to his room and eat while he games. As a wheelchair user, I walk about the same amount as he does (to use the bathroom and occasionally I’ll go into another room in my house without my chair). His muscles don’t atrophy, mine don’t either. Also? Using mobility aids in of itself IS exercise. Pushing a chair is hard work. Using forearm crutches is hard work. Carrying around a cane is hard work. Pushing a walker or rollator is hard work. Etc.

Anyway here’s my point: using a mobility aid is NOT giving up and it won’t make your muscles weaken or atrophy. There’s nothing wrong with using a mobility aid while being in PT either! PT can take months or even years to go into effect, you need to be able to live your life in the meantime.

Here’s the hard part: you probably will be told you’re “giving up” or “letting yourself go” if you get an aid. Abled people love to say that you should push yourself to your limits and no pain no gain! Truth is you deserve rest, you deserve to not be in pain all the time, if that comes with using an aid then DO IT! Screw what anyone says! You deserve a life without suffering!

You do NOT have to have a doctor’s approval to use a mobility aid! You know your body. And you most likely would not be ruining your progress, if you choose the right aid.

The thing about physical therapy is it’s about strengthening over time. Sitting down for one second does not negate the fact that you lifted a fifty pound weight at the gym. Sleeping does not negate that you ran a mile in track. So using a mobility aid does not negate the work you do in physical therapy. And sitting down for a second means maybe when you get up again you can lift a hundred pounds instead of fifty! Sleeping means maybe you can run two miles in track instead of one! Using a mobility aid means you’ll have even more energy (and less pain) for your exercises! Rest is just as important as exercise when you’re strengthening your muscles.

Now here’s the thing: choosing the right aid is hard. I don’t know what your specific condition is but if you have a lot of pain in your arms and hands I might suggest not doing a wheelchair. If you have weakness and you’re looking to strengthen your arms and hands, a wheelchair is probably one of the best things you can do imo lol I can say for sure I have way better upper body strength now then before I got my chair, but if pushing it would exacerbate your pain I would not recommend that. An electric wheelchair would work but those are really expensive.

I would recommend forearm crutches perhaps? They could strengthen your upper body without putting too much weight on your hands or arms. I definitely recommend researching ones with good cushioning and ergonomic structure though! However I don’t have a lot of personal experience with these since I’ve mostly just used underarm crutches so I recommend doing a lot of research!

I hope that helps! Sorry this was such a long post I’m passionate about this subject lol

#again take this with a grain of salt

[gillodom81]

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[toytulini]

when u wanna do ur physical therapy exercises but ur knees hurt too much 😔😔😔

#toy txt post #maybe if id done them yesterday they wouldn't hurt so much today HMMMMMM? #chronic pain #its like this weirdass feeling like theyre slightly twisting like suuuuuuuper slowly and its like. pls #also if this wad back pain id be like yea eveb if i did them yesterday id still be hurting but #my leg exercises Have Actually Helped with the knee pain so like. i should. do them

[starshipsofstarlord]

Legs

Pairing | Brie Larson x reader

Summary | your housemate Brie wants to be left alone so that she can focus on doing yoga, however, you want her to pay attention to you.

Warnings | includes smut, tribbing, sexual tension, mouth spitting, swearing

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Situating her leg into a stretched position, Brie strained her muscles upon the yoga mat, positioning her arms in front of her, as her air pods played her playlist for these particular workouts.

Though, with her music blaring directly into her ear canal, she could not hear your footsteps streak through the hallway, as you carried the bag of groceries.

As you peeked into the living room, you licked your lips at the sight of your roommate, there was sweat straining in the dips of her muscles, and she absentmindedly licked some that was resting on the top of her lip.

Brie looked good, it had always been clear that she was fuelled by her work and career to stay in shape, but damn.

Tilting your head, your heart almost jumped out of your chest as her face turned towards you, surprised by her blatant expression that had seemingly sensed your presence all along.

Shaking your head, you left the room, going to put away the groceries, and take a cold drink of water, to cool yourself off, despite the lack of exercise that you had committed to.

As you were gulping and quenching your thirst that the sight of your roommate had brought on, you heard the kitchen door open, and in policy, you turned, watching as Brie damped her towel, and patted her forehead with it. It was as though she has forgotten that there was a bathroom just the room beside.

“It’s rude to stare y/n.” She cocked her brow at you, watching as you tensed up at her words. “If you wanted me to teach you yoga, you could have just asked.”

A smirk riddled its way onto her face, causing your breath to hitch, knowing that she was teasing you, and was getting a hell of a kick out of it.

“Yeah, that’s what I wanted.” You bit your lip, feeling your veins flush with surpassed embarrassment. “I have groceries to put away though, so maybe another time.”

“Or you could join me afterwards, and I can show you the way to bend your body into the correct positions. But if not, then I suggest you don’t disturb me again, otherwise it won’t be worthwhile.”

She reached into the paper bag, pulling out an apple, biting in it, before walking away with it in her hand, leaving you once more to your lonesome.

Altogether, her exit was a relief and a displeasure. You pondered on her previous words as you grabbed each individual item, putting it where it belonged, before you concluded yourself to a great decision.

You would accompany her in the ways of bodily art, and learn how to cope with seeing so much of her skin and restraining from doing anything rash.

You hung your coat up by the front door, before going to your room to change into more flexible attire. Brie did not seem surprised in the slightest to see that you had indeed taken her up on the offer, and chosen to join her.

“What do I do?” You asked her, paying much attention to the way she splayed her strong legs far behind herself, managing to balance her weight with their self forced partition.

In attempt, you tried to shadow her movements, copying them with your own limbs, you could only imagine how awkward you looked whilst doing so.

There was no coordination within your movements, which caused Brie to incessantly roll her eyes at you.

That made you more aware of what you were doing, and thus, you tried to change the direction of your knees, causing the blonde to audibly sigh.

“Let me help you, then we might actually get somewhere.” The actress insisted, collapsing her form so that she could sit beside you, as she grasped at your hips, roughly moving them to tilt upwards.

The action on her part caused a moan of emotional surrender to pivot out your lips, and once you realised what you had just done, your eyes went wide.

However, Brie remained the same, still touching you as she stroked her marvellous hands across your waist, that was slumping under her physical pressure.

“You have great structure, if you had been silent for the last few months, maybe I’d have noticed. Perfect for doing more than yoga.”

“Are you hitting on me?” The question came out as a sonorous gasp, Brie’s hands raking down to drag over your ass, causing you to lose your balance, and flop against the floor.

If the situation was any different, you were sure that you’d feel embarrassed though right now, you were more focused on how tentative she was treating your body.

It was no secret, that when you had first decided to room within the same residence, the two of you happened to clash. At first, you had thought it to be your personalities repelling each other’s, yet after time, it became clear that the two of you easily managed to frustrate the other.

And soon it became clear that such annoyance has turned into a sexual categorisation of stress, it flowering like a budding rose, naturally consuming itself in the air with its scent, although, the affects pricked like the rope of thorns, leaving you with a false facade of resentment towards the beauty of your two’s relationship.

“Always so naive, and I think instead of bracing me with various, pointless and dumb questions, you should do as I say, and keep quiet, unless you are moaning for me. Am I understood y/n?”

Biting back a whimper, you nodded, bracing yourself on your forearms as you rolled over to be on your back, closely watching her and whatever she had in mind.

“Take that sports bra off, it’s doing nothing for your figure.” Her tone was more of a snap, her penetrating eyes scouring into you as you did as she asked, lifting the article of clothing over your head, and tossing it onto her yoga mat.

Next your leggings were told to be dismissed of, causing you to become very aware of how you ahead decided to forgo panties, having priorly thought of how you it had entered your mind that it would be easier to move into tight and confusing positions if you were bare underneath.

And in some way you had been right, considering that you were being told to strip anyways. It seemed that Brie seemed rather impressed to see your cunt uncovered.

She licked her lips, and for a moment, you thought that she was going to move forwards, and eat you. But you found yourself to be rather wrong, when she pushed you down, and straddled you.

Her head moved down, suffocating your mouth with her own. Using her tongue, she pried past your lips, enforcing you to moan within her mouth, frowning as she leant back, only to grasp the sides of your mouth, and drop a bead of spit into it.

Without any hesitation, you swallowed, hardly keeping your mouth closed as she trailed her fingertips down, only to rub circles upon your clit, making your body writhe from the stimulated sensation. “Brie- fuck.”

“Want me to show you my favourite position?” She asked endearingly, and for just a second, you were confused, thinking that the two of you had moved past the concept of yoga.

And then you realised, when she unclothed herself, leaving you in a state of admirable awe, what the position was. Brie pushed your legs to acquire her body between, turning it to the side, as she raised her cunt directly over yours.

Slowly she lowered herself, situating her pussy against yours, both of your clits evoking a wave of sincere pleasure out of you. Her leg went over the top of your thigh, planting it on the ground beside, rutting her hips to blend your juices in a sweet matrimony.

“I always knew you’d feel this good.” Brie huffed, placing her hands upon both of your tits, one on each, to aid herself with leverage for her movements.

A slight sound could be heard, induced by the pressing of your cunts, as she rode your cunts, your lips spread open by her own. It coaxed noises of complete euphoria out of you, as you tugged on your own hair, almost pulling a few strands out.

“Holy shit Brie, so fuckin’ good. Mmm.” A light scream stumbled out of your moth afterwards, being a say all to you being close to reaching your peak.

“Be a good girl and cum. Cum you annoying bitch.” She squeezed your breasts harsher, bringing you somewhat pain, as you fell over the edge. “Good girl baby, so wet.”

She ground harder, until she too released upon your pussy, giving a couple more fluid motions until she moved off of you, pulling her juicy cunt away from your own, and rolling beside you, going to tug her clothes on. “We may have to practice yoga together more often.”

“Yeah.” You muttered, finally upholding your tight grasp upon your hair. It was a definite consumption to satisfy your frustration with her again, after all, you were roommates, and that meant plenty of opportunities.

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[chronicillschronicpills]

Hello! I saw an old post of yours abt sex and chronic pain and I guess I wanted to see if you or anyone else would have any advice for me!

I'm unfortunately having a bad flare day- and I think a large amount of it is because my partner and I did stuff yesterday. My partner is very sweet and kind about my condition, and always asks me during if the things we're doing are okay. The thing is, I always want to try even if it hurts because I love doing it and I miss being able to do it without such awful pain.

I can't find a position that doesn't make me hurt a lot afterward. Him on top of me makes my legs and hips hurt (legs in air), me on top of him makes my hips and knees hurt, from behind makes my hips and knees hurt, and forget any of my weight being on my hands. My disability has taken over every aspect of my life and I'm so frustrated. I just want to enjoy myself for once.

If you or anyone else has some advice on positions or pain relief I would really appreciate it!!! Thank you so much 💜💜💜

SEX AND CHRONIC ILLNESS;

Hi, there love,

I swear I have a defective Tumblr and I never get any noti's from my inbox, so I'm sorry if you sent this months ago!

I'm gonna try to give my best advice and hope that my followers will also help with advice.

First of all, pretty much any physical activity can throw me into a flare so I can understand that sex can definitely have a real impact on flares. You are most definitely not alone. I can also empathise with the frustration of your disability taking a lot from you and your life. I am so happy you're partner is supportive too and I hope that you guys are great at communicating with each other about sex which is probably the MOST important thing in this. I am going to give my advice under the assumption that you guys have great, healthy communication.

Sex positions that could be worth a try, it seems as if any stretching of the hips and pressure on the knees and hands are out of the questions so here are not only some of my all-time favourites, but also should be friendly for these issues:

Lazy doggy (lying face down on your stomach with your legs together): that way you don't need any weight bearing on knees or hands, no stretching of the hips and you basically just lay face down, I like this position as it also takes little energy and it's quite easy for you or your partner to stimulate your clitoris at the same time. you can also try this position with a pillow or wedge under your hips for a different angle and extra support on your hips

Spooning sex: I find this a great position, you just lay on your side, your good side that day, and sometimes putting a pillow between your knees can help with that.

I personally don't fuck with this position but standing up sex facing a wall is also considered to be pretty easy on these joints.

This one is slightly harder to explain (its a modified missionary variant) but if you are laying on your back and you put your legs straight or bent vertically and lay them on your partner's chest (kind of like an L position with the legs up), and then he would be either standing or on his knees (so your partner would be the P and u the L; PL). This means your hips aren't stretched outward, your knees and hands don't have pressure on them, your partner does not have their body weight on you and your partner can hold onto your legs for extra support. You can add a pillow under your hips for extra support. I really hope this makes sense, and if someone knows if this has an actual name, please help!

You could also try a seated position and you could face away from him to keep the hip angle easier

other general tips;

Take MAD advantage of pillows and wedges; this could help with him on top of you if you bulk up on either side of your hips so you don't have to strain or stretch as much.

Rethink your idea of sex: some days there may be no position that is comfortable. Sex is whatever feels good for you. You don't need penetration to have sex. Have your partner go down on you or stimulate you with their hands. If you really like the penetrative feeling, buy some toys and your partner can use them on you in any position that's comfy for you. Buy lots of sex toys, to be honest, that can be super fun and accessible. You can get full pleasure and give full pleasure without vagina/penis penetration.

Something my therapist has taught me is to pace myself and practice patience with MYSELF! I can tell you probably push yourself because you always want to still try even if it hurts. For example, I don't exercise, but one day I decided to go to the trampoline park and do gymnastics (i used to do gymnastics) and then was fucked for a week. Another example, I tried to do gymnastics at home and broke my foot. Just keep throwing myself into the deep end and end up making it worse; 1 step forward, 12 steps back. So pace yourself, and practice patience, and don't be too hard on yourself. Treat yourself with kindness.

I know sex is often spontaneous, but honestly stretching and warming up could help, and maybe even during foreplay, you could get a massage to warm up and connect with your partner. Also if you know you're going to have sex, you could take some painkillers or weed (if you're into it) beforehand.

I really really really hope that a) everything made sense and b) that it would actually help! Please send me a message if you feel comfortable if this helped at all.

Please leave your most accessible sex positions in the comments or reblog with advice!

#chronic pain #chronic illness #sex and disability #chronic fatigue #lupus #sle

[cripple-culture-is]

Cripple culture is just,,, this rant I sent on discord be warned I reached the text limit on this so uh yeah:

(Also "us" is used because plurality but that's unrelated to this)

So apparently my sister told my mom she saw us using our cane in the halls in school. She (mom) tried to say there's nothing wrong with us and literally said that using aids makes you dependent on them and makes your situation worse because you're taking strain off. She literally said that if someone is using a wheelchair who can use their legs they shouldn't because they're "making it worse for themselves". She didn't want to listen to us and kept saying we were fine. Like, yeah, according to the doctors were "fine" (they ignored us both when we specifically got it checked out and at a general checkup when we mentioned it) but that doesn't mean we're not in pain. Walking is really tiring for us and it's still tiring with the cane, it just lessens it to the point where we actually have the energy to do stuff after school. She literally ||fucking|| said to just "exercise more" and when we explained how we'd tried that before and it didn't help, she was like "not with (horrible gym teacher) just like taking walks and stuff" you don't think we tried that?! Some nights we literally cannot get to sleep without melatonin or painkillers because of the pain. We wake up feeling so stiff we can't get up for minimum 15mins. We've been mentioning this ever since it started (we tend to date it to last summer but it's probably farther back) and nobody's taken us seriously. It's our money we spent, it's our decision, and even though she's our mom, this decision should be entirely on us. I don't think she gets an opinion on what we do at school.

Trying not to cry too loud because our moms friend is here/going to be here soon

This is why we didn't tell them. We were scared of this response. This is why we haven't shared that we wanna transition (not all of us are transmasc but we all hate the boobs) or that we're plural at all. Or multiple other personal details we feel would get a reaction like that. Now we're back to the miserable 2020 mindset of "I can't wait to move out"

Ok sorry that's long

Basically sister saw cane, told mom, she said it was unnecessary and mobility aids make it worse

I'm not gonna stop using it tho

No worries 😊 Never apologize for long submissions/asks like this, I love reading all of these submissions, even though many make me angry--this one in particular.

Your mother sounds like someone I wouldn't want to he around. I'm looking into a mobility aid to use for when I attend college next year. Even though I can walk fine, standing for long periods of tike hurts, and I can only walk for so long.

Your mother was incredibly out of line, and she honestly sounds like a very ableist, narrow-minded person. I'm sorry you have to live in an environment like that 😢 That must stink. Your mother sounds like someone who has never experienced disability for herself.

If your mobility aid helps you, then that's enough of a reason to keep using it. Non-crippled people don't need to use mobility aids in order to function just like everyone else does.

Nothing is a cure all, and I hate when people think it is. My disability is a lot better than it was when I was younger. But no matter how "abled" I become, I will always be disabled. Walking is fun to me, but it doesn't cure me and if I overdo it, my knees start burning.

You shouldn't stop using it, no matter what anyone says ❤

#cripple punk #cripplepunk #physical disability #physically disabled #cripple problems #cripple life #physical disabilities #cpunk #crip punk #cripple culture is

[shemarmooresfedora]

Collision Course

Summary: You and Spencer were just bound to collide. Only fate could plan a first meeting that unique.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content/Warnings: fluff, minor car crash (no serious injuries), swearing, sexual harassment (specifically cat-calling from a stranger), mentions of eating a lot of food, implied allusion to sex (not specifically stated)

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: this is my one-shot entry for @ellesgreenaway ‘s 1k follower celebration! congratulations! <3 i’ve had this fic in my drive for a while but i never got around to finishing it until now

Masterlist

The metro was down for scheduled repairs today. JJ offered to bring Spencer in but he politely declined. He figured he should drive his car at least every once and a while so it doesn’t just collect rust in his parking spot.

Leaving his apartment 15 minutes earlier than he normally would to account for his rather slow driving, Spencer cautiously reversed out of his space.

He sighed in relief that he had not hit the neighboring cars. Spencer began to pull out of the parking garage. Unfortunately, he was so relieved from his little victory that he forgot to check both ways when he drove out of the parking garage.

Spencer slammed on the brakes but it was too late. He hit a young woman jogging and knocked her to the ground. Luckily, his average speed was that of a snail so he hoped her injuries were not too bad.

Spencer put the car in park and got out, “Oh god, oh god, oh god. Are you okay, miss?”

“I think so,” you were on the ground, assessing your body for any damage.

“Can you stand?” Spencer extended his hand to help you up.

You carefully stood, wincing a little when you put pressure on your left ankle.

“Is there anyone I can call? Do you want me to drive you to the ER?” Spencer frantically asked.

Your eyes widened, “No!” you stated a little too loudly, “Um I mean no thank you. I should finish my run anyways. I have a 5k for Alzheimer’s research coming up and I need to run or else I don’t raise any money,” you politely waved and took off again, much slower this time.

Spencer cringed as he watched you limp slightly every time you stepped on your left ankle, knowing it was his fault you were in pain. He sighed and pulled out his phone.

“Hey JJ, have you left yet? I need a ride, I’ll explain in the car.”

-

“Pretty Boy, how was your drive in?” Derek asked as soon as Spencer stepped off the elevator with JJ.

“I got about 20 feet and then hit someone with my car and had to call JJ so not great,” he admitted.

“Boy Wonder, you did WHAT? Are they okay?” Penelope gasped.

“She insisted she was fine but then she was limping away. I offered her a ride but she didn’t seem too keen on getting in a car with me,” Spencer explained.

“I wonder why,” Emily chuckled.

-

So there Spencer was. In the park in his only pair of short athletic shorts and a hoodie.

He had asked Penelope to sign him up for the 5k as a way to sort of make it up to the woman he hit. Plus, obviously it was for a good cause that was near and dear to his heart because of his mother.

Spencer had to take a lot of water breaks, periodically stopping to walk for a bit.

In the distance, he saw you on a bench and he suddenly felt the energy again to continue running to you. As he approached, he saw you tightening an ankle brace around your left foot and to make matters worse, you had a wrist brace as well.

Spencer considered just leaving you alone but he felt the need to apologize.

“H-Hello,” he awkwardly sputtered.

“Oh, hi,” you replied.

“I am so so sorry. Please let me pay your medical bills and any other expenses that I caused,” Spencer apologized.

“Unless you meant to hit me then it’s fine,” you stood from the bench.

“I definitely didn’t and I wasn’t on my phone or anything like that. I just barely ever drive but the metro was down today,” Spencer explained.

“You don’t have to pay my medical bills. I’m friends with a nurse so she did this for free. However, I would allow you to sponsor me for the 5k,” you answered.

“Absolutely,” Spencer nodded, “And funny story, you inspired me to register as well. I got everyone in my office to sponsor me.”

“That’s so great! The money is certainly going to a good cause.”

Spencer saw you smile for the first time since he met you.

“I’ve never been much of an athlete though. I barely passed my fitness test for work,” Spencer admitted.

“What kind of job has a fitness test?” you asked.

“I work for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI,” Spencer stated.

“Oh shit, you’re a federal agent? Maybe I will sue you and make bank,” you grinned.

Spencer’s face reddened.

“It was just a joke. You can laugh, then that means the incident is in the past and no hard feelings,” you smiled, “I’m Y/N.”

“Spencer.”

“Well, Spencer, if you ever need a running buddy, I’m more than happy to come along seeing as we both are training for the same thing. But I do have to warn you, this brace is kind of a bitch so I’m a little slower than normal.”

“I can assure you that you will probably still be faster than me with the brace on so maybe it was a good thing for me that I hit you with my car so you won’t be miles ahead,” Spencer grinned.

You laughed wholeheartedly, “See, Spencer! I’m laughing about it so no hard feelings, all is forgiven.”

“I’m just finishing up for the day but I was planning on being here again on Wednesday at the same time if you want to meet at this bench,” you offered.

“Yeah, I can do that,” Spencer nodded.

“See you around, Spencer. Hopefully not in your car though,” you winked and waved.

-

“Oh god, you’ve fallen in love with the chick you almost killed,” Derek groaned.

“Not love...well, yet anyways. She’s so pretty and easy to talk to and isn’t mean to me after everything that has happened and her laugh is like honey,” Spencer smiled softly, recalling the sound in his mind.

“Okay, lover boy,” Penelope giggled, “Did you get her number?”

“No but we’re meeting for a run tomorrow. We actually met at the park when I was training,” Spencer said.

“So she’s seen you in those short shorts and agreed to another meeting? Maybe you do have a chance, kid, cause you really put it all out there,” Derek smirked.

“Speaking of, I actually need to get more of them,” Spencer sipped his coffee.

“Just go all the way and get spandex. Leave nothing to the imagination,” Derek chuckled as Spencer rolled his eyes.

-

“Jesus, I’m going to have to hit your right leg this time if I’m going to have any chance of keeping up with you,” Spencer huffed as he bent over his knees to catch his breath.

“Well good news is that was four miles so you definitely will be able to run a 5k because it’s only 3.1 miles,” you encouraged him.

“Technically, it’s 3.10686 miles but I see your point,” Spencer heaved.

“I know a really good smoothie place nearby. Come on, it’s on me,” you grabbed his hand.

Luckily, Spencer’s face was already red from exercising so you weren’t able to see the blush that formed on his cheeks.

“No, it’s definitely on me. I know you said we’re fine but I am forever going to be indebted to you because of the incident.”

“Spencer, really just forget about it,” you assured him.

“I can’t, I have an eidetic memory,” he grinned.

“Ah, I see. Fine, you buy me one smoothie but then we’re even,” you conceded.

You were walking down the street to the cafe when you heard a whistle come from one of the cars driving by.

“Damn, your ass is looking sexy in those leggings,” a man hollered from his passing truck.

You flipped him off and tried to pull your shirt down as much as possible, crossing your arms tightly around your front.

Spencer unzipped his hoodie and extended it towards you, “Sorry, it’s a little sweaty but if you want to wear it, you can.”

You smiled softly and accepted the sweatshirt, feeling more comfortable now.

“I’ve got his license plate number memorized and I intend to file a police report. Unfortunately, reports like these usually don’t go very far but I’ll keep pushing it through. I’ll also call the company that was printed on the side of the truck and ask to speak to his supervisor,” Spencer spoke softly after a few minutes.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you leaned your head on his shoulder and sighed.

“You don’t have to thank me for that. I’m just doing what’s right. He had no right to make comments about your body,” Spencer said, wrapping a gentle arm around your upper waist.

-

“Welcome to Y/N’s carbo-loading extravaganza!” you opened the door of your apartment to let Spencer in.

“I brought dessert as requested,” Spencer held up a chocolate cake.

“I like how you think, Spencer. Dinner’s all ready,” you smiled.

“Spaghetti, meatballs, and crispy buttery garlic bread,” you pulled the bread out of the oven.

“Looks absolutely delicious,” he complimented.

“Eating carbohydrates before a race boosts the glycogen storage in your muscles allowing you to work out longer,” Spencer informed you.

“Interesting, I never knew the science behind it but I’m never going to complain about eating tons of pasta and bread,” you twirled some pasta on to your fork.

Halfway through the meal, Spencer accidentally got a sauce stain on his pale pink shirt.

“Oh no,” you said as he tried to dab it away.

“That needs to soak right away. I don’t want any casualties at the carbo-loading extravaganza. Give it to me to scrub and I’ll get you another shirt.”

Spencer unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off. You gulped at the sight of him shirtless, grabbing the shirt and heading to your bathroom sink to scrub it with laundry detergent.

“You can just grab any t-shirt from my room that you think will fit,” you called out to him.

Spencer settled on a light gray shirt with a golden retriever on the front.

“Okay, the stain is out! It’s just soaking now-“ you immediately stopped talking as soon as you saw the shirt Spencer was wearing.

He noticed your eyes were beginning to glisten with tears, “I’m so sorry. I can pick a different shirt,” Spencer was already beginning to pull it over the top of his head.

“No it’s fine, Spencer. That’s just my grandma’s t-shirt. I forgot I even had it.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he spoke guiltily.

“You didn’t know, besides it looks good on you anyways,” you smiled, “My grandma is the whole reason I’m running the 5k.”

“My mom has Alzheimer’s too so I understand that it’s extremely hard to watch a loved one go through that,” Spencer pulled you in for a hug.

You cried into his chest as he rubbed soothing circles on your back.

After Spencer hadn’t heard any sniffles in a while, he whispered, “Do you have any tea I can make you?”

You nodded and Spencer guided you to the couch, wrapping you in a blanket before turning the kettle on.

-

Spencer answered the cheerful knocking at his front door early in the morning.

“Race day! Are you ready?” you exclaimed.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” Spencer smiled.

“I promise we are sticking together the whole time because it doesn’t matter how long it takes us as long as we finish,” you held up your pinky.

“Together,” Spencer affirmed, locking his pinky with yours.

The starting line in the park was only a short distance away from Spencer’s apartment so you and Spencer decided to walk there as a little warm-up.

You and Spencer were doing quad stretches when you saw his eyes wander to something behind you and then widen. His face immediately reddening.

“What?” you asked, turning around to see a group of people with a sign that read ‘Go Spencer and his girlfriend!’

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t expect them to do that,” Spencer stammered.

The poor boy was so flustered so you decided to take it easy on him.

“I don’t mind,” you shrugged with a slight smile.

“You don’t?” Spencer clarified, “I’m not very good with words or flirting in general but I would like to see you again after the race is over. Maybe I could take you out to dinner?”

“Yes but my only condition is...I’m driving,” you smirked.

“Oh, you’ll pay for that,” Spencer grinned.

An air horn sounded, signaling the start of the race.

“I think you’re going to have to catch me first, Dr. Reid,” you giggled as you sprinted ahead.

-

“It’s in sight, Spencer! We can do this!” you pointed to the finish line in the distance.

“Y/N, you’re going to have to carry me. I can’t,” Spencer heaved.

“If you finish this race, I will…” you cupped your hand to his ear and whispered something.

Spencer immediately perked up and started running again.

“Hey, wait up!” you laughed.

You and Spencer crossed the finish line at the same time. Spencer’s legs immediately gave out which caused you to fall too, collapsing on top of him.

“I know I’m really sweaty and gross right now but can I please kiss you?” Spencer whispered.

Your lips were pressed on his as soon as he finished his sentence. You honestly didn’t know how long you had been kissing for but you didn’t look up until you heard one of the race officials shout, “Hey lovebirds! That’s very sweet but other people are trying to cross the finish line.”

“Sorry!” you and Spencer apologized, scrambling to your feet.

“Not really,” Spencer whispered to you and you jabbed him in the side with your elbow playfully, stifling a laugh.

what slightly inspired this fic is one time @samuel-de-champagne-problems commented on one of my posts “i could never stay mad at spencer” and then i thought to myself “same. i couldn’t stay mad at him even if he hit me with his car” and now here we are... 🚙

taglist: (just ask to be added or removed!): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @harrystylesandthegoobs @cmily @jswessie187 @rem-ariiana @hoodpankow @mochionly

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #cm fanfic #spencer x reader #reid x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x fem!reader #ellesgreenawaybookclub

[anika-ann]

Just a Human (S.R.)

Type: mini-series turned one-shot, SHIELD recruit!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader     Word count: 8750

Summary: Being a SHIELD recruit was a dream come true, especially with people like Sergeant Barnes or Captain Rogers offering an input to your class’ training.

It was also hard work for many different reasons. One of them being all those guys around; not all of them were exactly fit to become heroes, simply because they were not good people.

Maybe you shouldn’t have pointed it out so openly though. Then again, what would the world turn into if you kept your mouth shut when feeling like speaking up?

WARNINGS: so-so graphic description of assault almost turned sexual, violence and a bit of blood, boys being boys in a real bad way, language

A/N: Steve Rogers vs assholes, round 2. Also, ‘you’ vs. assholes. And Bucky in the mix.

A/N: This was originally posted as a miniseries on AO3, but now edited, I decided to thrown it in as a long, sort-of three part one-shot. Enjoy and mind the warnings.

(gif source dailymcugifs, divider by firefly-graphics)

A Handful of Spite

“Can you believe the fucking nerve on him?!” Henry hissed, punching the bag harder and catching your attention. The statement was followed by his companion nodding grimly.

You tried to ignore the walking testosterone jerks; you never liked either Henry or Jim. The reason was simple – they were, as you loved to remind people, an advertisement on toxic masculinity. Bullies on top of that. The kind of people you wanted to avoid at all costs.

You weren’t that lucky to have that chance though.

So instead, you scoffed under your breath and continued your sit-ups series. You had more important things to do than wonder about what they were talking about this time.

It was your regular training session with the other SHIELD recruits led by Sergeant Barnes – which--- oh my. When joining the academy, you had no clue that the director’s ‘you’ll be learning from the best’ meant that of all things; trained by the more-than-once-believed-late James Buchanan Barnes. Everyone here knew his story – or at least some of it. The brainwashing. The murders. His heroics to make up for them as much as he could. His everlasting friendship and a nickname that was tied to it. Bucky; the very best friend of the oh-so-praised Captain America.

Oh, speaking of which, he joined the sessions too. You were being trained by not one, but two supersoldiers slash war heroes. You couldn’t believe this was your life sometimes, but you were not one to dwell on it. You just accepted it as a fact. An abso-fucking-lutely incredible fact.

“He’s just a fucker, man. Forget about Barnes, you have Cassie in your pocket. Just ‘cause he’s all sticky sweet on her doesn’t mean she’ll suck his-“

You made a disgusting face, pushing harder to tune out the conversation. You wanted to gag and at the same time, your blood was boiling.

Could there be a jerk who was objectifying women more than Jim? A guy who was using his lower brain more frequently than him? Doubtful. You really wanted to throw up at rubbish that was leaving his mouth.

Not to mention that he was throwing dirt on Sergeant Barnes who absolutely didn’t deserve it.

“-he’s like that to all of them. The chicks. And they fucking dig him, it’s disgusting. He makes the poor brainwashed kicked puppy face, reminding the sob story of his and they’re all dropping to their knees I swear…” Jim continued, practically spitting the venomous words.

You squeezed your eyes shut, half furious and half guilty; the sergeant did have a heart-breaking backstory and many girls were making eyes on him, their hearts softened by the tragedy and his bravery, yes. And you couldn’t say it wasn’t moving you as well, filling you with compassion – but compassion only. Obviously, Sergeant Barnes was objectively a very attractive man too, but what they were saying… ugh.

He didn’t deserve these insults; he was not trying anything on anyone, he wasn’t offering his ‘sob story’, actually being rather secretive about it for obvious and no doubt painful reasons. He couldn’t really couldn’t be blamed for the girls fawning over him a bit more because of it, could he? What was he supposed to do? Stop breathing? Stop doing what he chose to be his job?

It wasn’t his problem – and thank god for that – that these two assholes had egos the size of Texas and couldn’t handle a little competition.

Seriously. Walking testosterone-filled jerks. You seriously considered moving from the station you had been given, eyeing Captain Rogers, checking if he would notice.

“Well, he’s not. Getting. Any. From. My. Chick. Asshole!”

The bag swung wildly under Henry’s blows despite Jim holding it. You laid off, taking your fifteen second break.

“I bet he’s fucking them all on side. Always so… so soft on them. I bet he’s leaving all the hard shit for bed,” Jim snorted, somewhere between angry at him competition and amused at his own crude joke.

You were gonna puke. You were sure of it.

“And he’s too hard on us. Showing off for them. I would fucking want to see him holding up against us without that metal arm-“

You had enough. You sat up sharply, panting, your face flushed, unsure whether it was from the exercise or the exchange you were listening to.

“Are you serious?!” you hissed their way, earning their shocked glances.

And then, Jim’s face twisted in annoyance and disgust.

“Oh geez, you’re one of them, aren’t you?” he snarked, rolling his eyes. “The fangirls.”

More heat burned in your cheeks. You weren’t kidding anyone; both the sergeant and the captain had showed up in your not so innocent dreams, but you were only human, alright. There was only so much time you could spend with two very fine men like them in one room, a bit sweaty and rough (or just slightly gentler with the ladies) until your brain reacted. Mostly to the captain. Not the point.

But actually crossing the line? Being a part of the thing they were describing if it ever existed? Waiting in the line until one of them picked you for the evening with a promise to do it again after they… Jesus what, tried all the others? No, thank you. You had some dignity left.

Also, you simply couldn’t imagine them doing such thing. Raised in a different era, tried by war and pain and lost, yet remaining the great men they were? Just nope.

“No! Jesus, are you even listening to yourself?” you hissed, minding your volume. You hoped that the low hum of voice in the room, of others working out, giving each other pointers and the noise of the machines would offer you a cover from the rest of your companion.

“What, you wanna tell me they’re not going easy on you? On any chick, really?”

“Yeah, well, maybe because they don’t actually want to break our bones during training. Supersoldiers. Superstrength. Does that ring a bell?” you pointed out, reaching for your water bottle, hoping either of your trainers would forgive you when seeing you only took a sec to have a sip.

Henry scoffed, leaning onto the bag. “Sounds like someone has a crush…”

You couldn’t help the motion of your hands, inconspicuously throwing them in the air in frustration.

Why were you even speaking to them? You should have kept your mouth shut!

“Oh go to hell, Ulrich! You’re just jealous and scared that your girl whom you treat like a piece of shit will run off,” you murmured, wiping your forehead off sweat.

“Yeah, because they’re sure pulling their punches with guys too,” Jim complained again, rolling his eyes as Henry now watched you, eyes narrowed in anger – oh you hit a nail on the head, alright.

You couldn’t but mirror Jim’s action, deciding to stick to Devil’s advocate, because…. yeah, because it wasn’t fair to either Rogers or Barnes. They were good people and didn’t deserve this.

“So they’re not beating the shit out of us like they do with you, get over it.”

“They’re humiliating us! Showing off their big muscles, trying to impress all the chicks-“

You chuckled incredulously as they actually admitted the real reason behind their bitching so openly; as if you hadn’t known the whole time. Ego. Ohhh, the ego was bruised. Call 911, CPR is gonna be needed! God, how did they even live with ego this big? Compensating for something?

“They’re doing their job. Training. Yes, they go a bit harder on you, because your physiology can take it. Did it ever occur to you that they have bigger problems than entering a pissing contest with you just so they could steal the girls? Jeez… just… maybe try to be less of assholes and the girls will be into you too… ”

You missed the hard look Henry gave you, laying down again, this time on your belly to work on your back.

You wheezed when a knee suddenly dug into your back, violently and painfully knocking the air out of your lungs. Before you could react, one of your arms was twisted behind your back, Henry’s voice raspy right into your ear, low and dangerous.

“Listen, you little bitch, you don’t get to talk to me like that. Understand? Huh?”

He was so proving your point, but you didn’t have the time You tried to breathe in properly, and free your arm while pushing up on the free one, your muscles burning with the effort. Shit, he was heavy. You wheezed again instead of the answer.

“Can’t hear you, sweetie. What was that?”

Peripherally, you could see heavy boots approaching rapidly, making a quick guess of who that could be. You gritted your teeth, tears of humiliation pricking your eyes. You were not about to give Henry the satisfaction of proving his point of your trainers being sweet on all the girls even if this so wasn’t that.

“Screw. You,” you let out with the last oxygen left, grabbing his left calf and sharply tugging to the very same side. A half-second later when his weight of you eased just a fraction, you threw your body to the left as well, adding a jerk of your legs.

Both of you rolled over, him ending up under you and you quickly spun away, gasping, desperately fighting for air. As it burned your windpipe, it was as painful as welcomed. Little spots danced inf ornt of your eyes, but you quickly blinked them away – luckily for you, Henry didn’t dare to attack you again.

You shook your head before pushing to sit up, only to meet with Captain Rogers’s strict gaze.

“What the hell is going on in here?” he demanded, sharp blue eyes flickering between the three of you.

Maybe you were hallucinating, but he seemed to be murdering Henry with his eyes. Uh-uh. You would have been glad he was, hadn’t Henry been talking about favouritism only few moments ago. You pushed up simultaneously with him and you both stood straight, facing the captain.

“Apologies, sir,” you stated mechanically, his gaze immediately shifting to you. Your heart stopped. Oh wow, you would swear the blue of his irises was on fire. You gulped. “We had a slight disagreement with Mr. Ulrich. I’m aware I shouldn’t have been talking to him in the first place. I’ll take whatever punishment is given to me.”

“Yeah, I bet you’d liked taking a punishment from him, wouldn’t you…” Jim muttered under his breath, making your gut twist in disgust.

Was he ever not thinking about sex? You prayed the captain didn’t hear him and you had to stop yourself from shooting Jim a murderous glare.  

“I don’t think that’s necessary. Consider it a warning. Mr. Ulrich? You have something to add before you take a few laps?”

You could literally hear Henry’s blood boiling. You opened your mouth to ask for the same punishment, not wanting to have his point proved. You never got the chance to speak.

“No, sir. I only don’t understand why I’m the only one being punished,” Henry questioned innocently and you gritted your teeth.

Maybe because you attacked me, you dickhead?

Captain glared at him for a moment before his gaze shifted to Jim. “You’re not. Mr. Larkin is following your example.”

You pressed your lips together, this time to stop a smile threatening to spread on your lips. God, who knew America’s Golden Boy could get that sassy? You cleared your throat.

“If I might speak, sir, I deserve to run the laps as well,” you noted carefully, earning a curious expression from your superior. You could tell he wavered, a strange spark appearing in his eyes.

You desperately wanted him to let you run too even if you breathing was still a bit difficult; because otherwise Henry would be proved right. Yeah, nope.

“Very well, then. Ten laps around the gym, recruits. Then you move to the station free at the moment. Go. Don’t let it happen again.”

The three of you nodded dutifully and picked up a pace. For some reason, you could feel the captain’s eyes on you while he walked back to assisting his friend with hand-to-hand training. You glimpsed the sergeant leaning to him, probably asking what was that about, but the blond just shook his head.

Towards the eighth lap, you were being overpassed by Henry and Jim, who ran together; faster than you, whether you liked it or not.

“This isn’t over, bitch,” his hateful hiss reached your ears and you picked up speed stubbornly, not showing them that they might intimidate you even for a second.

They wished.

Even when leaving the room after the session was finished, you would swear there was a pair of blue eyes burning a hole to the back of your head. You hoped that you’d soon be free of the captain’s attention.

You sure didn’t want him to watch too closely. You didn’t need him behind your back to see mistakes you sometimes made just like anybody else. Also, it would be harder to admire and ogle him; you did that occasionally, okay. You were just a human, after all.

A Handful of Mistakes

Shauna, your roommate and bestie from science division of SHIELD, was very patient listening to your lament about guys being dicks; she was awesome like that.

So you vigorously vented your frustration with male population, rolled your eyes when mimicking the silent threat of ‘this not being over’, had a very unhealthy piece of cake at the cafeteria that afternoon and moved on.  

You should have known better.

Henry’s words came haunting you few days later; which was too bad, because you had already forgotten about them, until the very moment they had punched you to the face.

…or rather to your shoulder and it wasn’t even a punch, more like one of those bumps people did, especially when they were being jerks, shoving you too hard for you to believe it was an accident.

“Sorry, didn’t see you there,” you threw over your shoulder sarcastically, continuing your way to the women’s locker room.

In hindsight, that was probably mistake number one; ignoring Henry and not starting a fight right there, not to mention being mouthy.

To be fair, you had no interest in further interaction; you were exhausted from the training, you were sticky and sweaty and all you craved was a shower. You would have just gone to have one at your dorm, but Shauna was having a hot date and you didn’t want to step on her toes. So you had taken your toiletries with you, using the showers near the gym.

Using the gym shower; mistake number two. It meant all of the students being gone by the time you emerged in fresh homey clothes, hair dripping water, because you hated hair-dryers and avoided them unless they were completely necessary.

You had spent much longer in the shower than needed, allowing your muscles to completely relax under the spray of water. That was mistake number three.

The fourth mistake was your pride. When you saw Henry, Jim, George (at least you thought, you weren’t sure, not having many classes with him) and Frank in the corridor, clearly waiting for you, since they bounced off the wall they had been resting against when you appeared, you should have probably been smarter and scream for help right away.

But no, you were being Miss Future Agent and you weren’t intimidated by four equivalents of high school jocks. Yep, this one was definitely the biggest mistake of yours.

“Fellas,” you beckoned to them, passing them gracefully, your bag over your shoulder along with the wet towel.

You barely made a few steps before a hand gripped your arm, harshly tugging you back. Your heart jumped into your throat, but you tried your best not to let it show. You turned to Henry, looking at his face, head tilted back just slightly due to his height.

“Is there a problem, Ulrich?” you asked calmly, earning a lift of his eyebrows at your tone.

“You know there is. I told you it was not over.”

You tried to ignore your pulse skyrocketing and the panic rising in your gut. You were not that stupid – you understood the implications. You knew that with four guys slowly circling you, you would have to fight bites and nails if it came to it and probably still lose. Sometimes it was just better to walk away and swallow your pride; a concept Henry and Jim clearly didn’t understand.

You jerked from Ulrich’s grip, still hoping you could walk away and call it day.

“It is over for me. Now if you’ll excuse me…“

Yes, you were being naïve thinking it would work.

The bag was torn away from your shoulder, your fingers automatically letting go to stay attached to your hand. You gritted your teeth, blood slowly reaching the boiling point.

Also, maybe you were more than just a bit afraid. Not that you would ever admit it to them.

Henry’s hand reached for your chin and your snatched it away in disgust before he could even make contact with your skin. Amusement dances in his eyes along with a flash of anger.

“Oh, kitty has claws?”

You felt another hand on your backside, sending a shudder up your spine, so you grabbed it, shoving it away as well.

Jim. Why weren’t you surprised? Pigs. What the fuck was their problem?

“I’ll let you know when I meet any. Now get out of my way,” you spat, your gut twisting as a sly grin spread on Henry’s face and he made a step right into your route.

“Or what? You’ll scratch, kitty? Or you’ll scream? Like a little girl?” he mocked you in high-pitched voice, his face lowering to yours so you were only inches apart.

“Bet you’d like that,” you murmured, narrowing your eyes when his breath with an unmistakable hint of alcohol fanned over your face. “No, I’ll offer you a breath-mint, because honestly you should do something about your breath.”

Yep, that was the mistake no.5 and definitely an enormous one.

You heard one of the guys chuckle, but you never got to enjoy the thrill of victory.

Out of blue, there was something around your neck, the weight of the towel shifting (add that to the mistake list) and your body flew backwards, colliding with a male one. George was it?

Your hands went to instinctively grab after the towel crushing your throat, but suddenly they were wrested down and pinned to your sides by strong arms. Jim had caught one, Henry another. Fucking cowards.

With your breath coming out short with both lack of oxygen and rising fear, your pulse thundering in your ears, you tried to jerk from their grip, but they wouldn’t budge, having an undeniable advantage.

Oh fuck, fuck, you were so fucked.

“Sassy little mouth, aren’t we?” Henry hummed, wry expression on his ugly face. “So dirty, feels like we should wash it with something. Who wants to go first, fellas?”

Loud alarm bells rang in your head, icy shiver running down your spine, stomach turning over.

Oh no, you don’t.

Your knee snapped up on instinct to gain the momentum, followed by a swift low kick to Jim’s knee.

He yelped and let go of your arm, allowing you to send an elbow straight to George’s face; and finally, your airways were free as the assault as the towel trap loosened.

You coughed, fighting for oxygen and mindlessly threw the item away to have at least one arm free.

“Bitch!” one of the men yelled; you weren’t sure which one, but you didn’t waste time thinking too much. Survival instinct took over.

Tears prickled in the corners of your eyes and you barely silenced the scream when Henry took advantage of your hesitation, twisting your arm behind your back. Fuck he really had a thing for that, didn’t he?

You tried to kick him, but someone else’s leg somehow managed to swept their leg under yours and you fell on your knees. Sharp tug on your hair caused you to cry out and obediently tilt your head back. Few tears escaped you, but you pushed up in attempt to get up again.

A kick coming from behind threw your body forwards and you nearly fell on your face when Henry finally let go of you. You tasted blood as you bit your cheek, but you managed to at least land on your shoulder instead of face-planting.

It still hurt like a bitch, but at least you still had all your teeth… or you thought so, not having time to check. Catching a movement from the corner of your eye, you managed to roll over before a kick to your side could hit you with full force. Frank’s foot only brushed you, but you were sure you’d have a bruise as a souvenir anyway.

A punch landed next to your face when you dodged it in the last moment, someone grabbing your legs and holding them together. Between your efforts to free them, you didn’t have time to chase away the body suddenly holding your arms as well.

“Fuck--- she’s a handful.”

A ragged battle cry erupted from your throat as you tried to jerk your body from their grip on pure instinct, every self-defence move you had ever learned flying of the window.

“More fun to break her, don’t you think?” Henry purred, his hand sneaking around your waist under the hem of your t-shirt.

Your head spun like crazy at the skin-to-skin contact and nausea hitting you hard. You wanted to puke and scream and punch and you couldn’t make yourself to do either, tears rolling down your cheeks as your body convulsed in a desperate attempt to break free.

There was ringing in your ears, disorienting you, but aware of the hand suddenly covering your mouth you tried to bite it on instinct holding you down.

“Oh-ho, biting!“ you heard, strangely muffled as if you were under water.

“I like them feisty-“

“Playing hard to get!”

“Shit, SHIT-“

The pressure on your legs eased all of sudden and you immediately kicked with all you had, catching the rising figure in the calf, knocking them off balance.

“Fuck!”

You would swear the floor vibrated, but in must have only been your mind playing tricks on you. George disappeared from your field of blurry vision; you only saw a fist sending him flying sideways.

Yep, your mind was fucking making up things, because there was no way he could have been thrown away like this by a single punch. You weren’t complaining; the relief the illusion provided was almost blissful.

Henry’s body weight vanished as well in nearly supersonic speed as if he wanted to escape the illusion. So you did the first thing that came to your mind; with your hands free, you grabbed his ankle, stopping him from running away. Which, thinking about it, was stupid, because only a moment before, you would have given anything to get him the fuck away from you.

He kicked back blindly, but his sole never met with your body – he was dragged away and… and lifted to the air as if he weighted nothing.

Blinking your tears away, your fuzzy mind cleared.

Only to reveal a very muscled and very much pissed off blond slamming Henry against a wall and then letting his suddenly unconscious body slide down.

You gasped, your eyes catching a glimpse of the fourth figure – Frank – several feet away, running for his life.

“Buck?!” came a shout and before you could question it, a metal arm emerged from behind the corner, stopping Frank dead as he rushed straight into it.

“Yep?!” the dark-haired supersoldier yelled back, sounding almost amused.

What the hell was happening? What the hell just happened?!

You blood sizzled in your veins, loud and rapid thump-thump-thump banging in your ears, face damp with several shed tears, body aching and your mind fucking racing.

You heard a whimper on your left, automatically turning to the sound. It left Jim’s lips, his form crumbled on the floor, struggling to stand up.

The captain’s knee seemed to come out of nowhere, digging into Jim’s back and pinning him down again before you even registered a movement.

“Is it fucking over now?”

“Steve, let him be. Not worth it,” Barnes’ voice tried to reason, sounding rather growly, but not nearly as loud as before. He approached your group in rapid pace and Rogers scoffed and let go.

You gulped at sergeant’s angry grimace, crazily convinced he was angry with you for all the mistakes you made that lead to this; but his expression softened when his gaze fell on you.

“Hey there,” he greeted you almost casually, holding out a hand to help you up. “Can you stand?”

You blinked several times at the suddenly dispassionate tone, even if you still sensed something bubbling under it. You shook off the thought and accepted the offered hand – the flesh one. The detail didn’t escape you, your bran in overdrive. Of course he hadn’t offered you the metal arm. He didn’t want to scare you. He was thoughtful like that-

-or not. The strength he dragged you up with was way too much for you, more so when combined with the speed and your state. You stumbled over your feet, a wave of dizziness messing with your balance.

You awaited the upcoming reunion with the floor, unable to stop the fall, but it never happened. Before you could as much as reel, gentle hands supported you in a firm grip, pleasantly warm against your bare arms.

“Whoa, take it easy,” Rogers’ voice warned you, soothing. For some reason, it felt more like ‘I got you,’ instead of ‘take it easy.’

You took a deep breath, Barnes’ hand letting go of yours as he semi-voluntarily handed you over to his friend.  

“You’re bleeding from your mouth.”

Thanks for the reminder, I noticed.

You swallowed the snarky remark, well-aware of the sergeant’s care. You fought against the urge to spit the blood out.

“Is fine…” you muttered, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Bit my cheek. I’m pretty sure I—“ you quickly ran your tongue over your teeth just to confirm your theory, “-still have all of my teeth.”

Sergeant Barnes gave you a tiny smile, the worried crinkle that had found its way between his brows disappearing.

“Whatever you say.”

His gaze flickered to something behind your head, probably in order of exchanging a wordless conversation with your still present crutch. Not that you were complaining. The weight of what had happened was slowly settling on your shoulders and you were grateful for any support – and who were you kidding, Captain America made for a pretty reliable support.

“Why don’t we leave you in pu- Cap’s capable hands while I-“ Barnes’ jaw clenched, pale eyes scanning the four bodies on the floor, calculating. “-take out the trash?”

You nearly choked at the choice of his words, wincing. Captain Rogers’ hands squeezed your shoulders reassuringly and you nodded, not sure what else to do.

You didn’t want to look at Henry. Or Jim. Or their loyal companions.

So when the captain carefully spun you on your heels, you didn’t protest and your feet started moving on autopilot in the direction he had set.

“You okay to walk without support?” he asked softly, a stark contrast to the voice you remembered from earlier or from the training sessions.

You knew that if you said yes, he would let go of you. Honestly, his touch felt damn nice, firm and yet somewhat gentle, a pleasant contrast to harsh fingers of the men who had the nerve to attack you – you had to swallow bile rising to your mouth at the awfully fresh memory. Fuck, it had been so close, just a minute later and--- you shook your head mentally and tried your best to erase this memory from existence.

You decided not to abuse the kindness the captain was offering. After several indulging steps, you quietly confirmed he could release you. You found out that sensing his large frame by your side as if he was your bodyguard was nearly as comforting. Nearly.

You didn’t have the strength admonish yourself for basking the light of his protective persona. Future agent of not, you still had the right to want to feel secure at times.

After all, you were only human.

A Handful of Truths

You didn’t realize you were shaking until a blanket was tossed over your shoulders.

You were sitting on a short couch in what looked like a cosy office, hair still damp, body finally registering the ache caused by previous events, just like your brain was slowly taking in what had happened.

Captain Rogers, whose courtesy was to escort you from the hellhole you had been attacked in, had clearly took it as a personal mission to take care of your injuries; it hadn’t dawned to you until you were seated and your mind helpfully supplied you with ‘This isn’t the infirmary’.

He pulled a swivel chair to sit face to face with you, a box of medical supplies left open on the coffee table at your side. You didn’t realize he had moved the chair or dug the box from god-knew-where until the items were simply there.

“How do you feel?” he inquired, attentive eyes scanning your hunched form. You instinctively curled onto yourself, snuggling further into the blanket. You knew you should come up with an answer, but your brain started to hurt with the effort to do so. “I guess that’s fair. Can you tell me what hurts the most?”

You quickly glanced at his openly kind face, his baby blues still watching for any reaction that would clue him. Your throat went dry at the compassion of display and you had to swallow before speaking – and think. What hurt the most…?

You didn’t know what possessed you to tell him what you did, but it came out before you could stop yourself.

“My pride,” you croaked, causing his eyebrows jump just like the corner of his lips.

“That’s probably fair too. Then again, I’d rather know about something I can fix.”

You felt your body relax a little at his informal tone – you might even say a jovial one, but you could still sense too much worry behind it to call it that. You attempted a tiny smile at least to show him that you were more or less fine – you weren’t – and brilliantly failed.

“Landed on my shoulder. Probably gonna have a bruise on my side from when… when they kicked me. Ribs and arms might be a bit tender for few days, ‘cause they were heavy as they--- they’re heavy,” you voice wavered as you saw the muscles on the captain’s forearms clench and his hands curled up in fists. You sheepishly looked up to his face. “I got lucky.”

His eyebrows rose again in a ‘figures’ manner as he leaned back to the chair.

“Nothing else apart from that, your cheek and your pride?”

“I’m a little cold, but you took care of that,” you admitted, taking a deep breath in as you tugged on the blanket pointedly.

Despite what you were saying, you didn’t feel okay, the tremble never quite leaving your body. It wasn’t hard to figure out why. You stared at your knight in shining armour, gathering courage to do what was needed. You tried your best to meet his gaze, feeling so small and embarrassingly weak in front of him.

“Could have been much worse if you haven’t showed up. Thank you.”

He pressed his lips together, shaking his head. He leaned in, his elbows on his knees.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t faster... I should have kept closer eye on Ulrich,” he muttered under his breath, making you wonder if you only imagined it. “Your pride shouldn’t be hurt. You held yourself against them just fine.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the honestly his voice held – and you were honestly grateful for the slight shift of attention. Oh. Had he forgotten how things had been when he had arrived?

You weren’t sure whether you should remind him. You definitely didn’t want to remind yourself, but before you could solve your little dilemma, he clarified.

“You haven’t started training the combat against multiple opponents yet. Let alone four opponents, all of them having both height and weight advantage. You couldn’t exactly go all Black Widow on them if no one showed you how.”

He accented his words with a reassuring smile and you almost believed him. The shivers finally eased, most likely thanks to the warm treatment you were being given in all senses of the word. The inner cold gradually melted and you were left in nothing but pleasant warmth.

Mentally, you patted your pride gently on its head; you couldn’t quite disagree with him. No matter how helpless you had felt earlier and how ashamed for it you were, the truth was you were still learning. You weren’t a finished agent yet.

You breathed in and out, avoiding the gaze that was still on you. It felt like a freaking brand with how intense it was. You couldn’t say you hated it necessarily, you only wished you at least didn’t look so pathetic. No make-up, probably red with a smudge on blood somewhere, perhaps with some bruising already forming, hair wet and messy. You absently ran your fingers through it in attempt to fix it a bit as if it could help.

What had you been talking about? Right… those assholes being cowards and coming at your four against one.

“I… I just fucking hate bullies,” you grumbled darkly, your hand immediately covering your mouth when you realized what you had said. Oh. Language. Still your superior you’re talking to, no matter how nice. “Sorry. Please, pretend you didn’t hear the f-word. I just hate bullies, period.”

“I might have sworn earlier too, so let’s call it even,” the captain offered, one corner of his lips raised. Oh. He had, hadn’t he? ‘Is it fucking over now?’ What did that even mean? “And so I heard.”

“What?” you yelped, your mind racing again in search for the meaning behind his words.

“I mean… I heard you. When you were defending Bucky, in the gym. I’m pretty sure your exact words were about a ‘pissing contest’.”

“Oh god,” you breathed out, your face no doubt set aflame. He had heard you; that was why he had said he should have kept a closer eye on Henry. Oh. Ohhhh.

Also, did he just say ‘pissing’?

“You weren’t wrong by the way. But… neither were them.”

You blinked in surprise. What? “About?”

You knew he didn’t mean the sleeping around with recruits, your gut was screaming that at you, because they wouldn’t, but still, you rather asked for clarification. If he didn’t mean that part, which one then?

“Ladies do fall over for Bucky,” he hummed with a lopsided smile, a playful twinkle in his eyes. It did something to your belly, a strange familiar shift that was very inappropriate, but hell, people needed to cut you some slack. He was impossible not to ogle and you didn’t have the energy to control your reaction after today’s events. “And I don’t really pull my punches when I’m training those two in particular.”

“Why?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself and think better of it.

His gaze bored into yours, burning with intensity and with a glint of something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“I don’t like bullies either.”

Did he lean in even more or were you so focused on his face it only seemed closer?

You weren’t able to look away. His blue eyes simply locked you in, not allowing you to escape. The strangest thing was that it wasn’t scary. It should be, he was— he was a freaking captain, your superior, a superior to a lot of people, which you were constantly forgetting ever since he had saved you from falling on your ass in the hallway and you had to remember that.

Before you could though, your racing mind packed up and let your body, your mouth to be precise, act without supervision.

“Not trying to impress the ladies then, huh?”

His tiny sheepish smile cut off the uprising panic in your chest when you realized how bold of you was to say that. He lowered his gaze, giving a subtle shrug. “Guess I wouldn’t want one falling for guy’s muscles and a show-off of dominance.”

“What for then? Honesty? Sincerity? Kind eyes? Strong moral compass?” you heard yourself prying, internally horrified how far you had come when saying that. Your face was drained of colour when it clicked. You were literally naming things you liked about him, absolutely shamelessly putting them in the open. Oh shit. Fix it, fix it, fix it! “…the sass?”

His eyes went wide and he burst out laughing so loud it startled you for a second, especially as he threw his head back with the outburst. Then you reluctantly joined him, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment.

“The sass!” he howled, unable to hold back another fit of laughter and when you peeked at him through between your fingers, you saw his palm resting against his chest as if it could help him stop laughing.

Just like that, blood rushed back into your cheeks.

“Oh god, I made it worse!” you cried out, wishing for the earth to swallow you, frantically looking around for the fastest escape route. “Oh my god, I have to switch schools now… excuse me-“

You hastily got up from your seat, but a quick hand snatched yours, pulling you back.

You stumbled, landing ungracefully right back in your place, this time without the blanket. Captain Rogers was watching you with the corners of his lips high, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Sorry for grabbing you like that. But no, please. Stay.”

Your throat closed off when you heard his soft plea, only traces of humour in it. Yeah, you bet he hadn’t met anyone with such big mouth for a while, so he thought it was better to keep the comic around.

“Captain Rogers, I-I- what I said, it was completely out of line-“ you stuttered, only to be interrupted.

“Were you making it up?” he questioned.

You gulped, your mind screaming at you to say yes to save you the humiliation. And yet, with the cerulean irises staring into your eyes, your mouth did the exact opposite.

“No.”

Dammit.

“Then why would you go?” he questioned softly. His hand still didn’t leave yours, only easing the grip into a kinder one. You felt like a brand was being burned into your skin. A pleasant one, so you didn’t retreat. Oh, you’d never. But what on Earth was he getting at? “We need someone honest like you. People who stand up for others, even if only to defend their honour. That is the kind of people who should be in this line of work. The good ones.”

You opened your mouth, no sound coming out as his speech shook you to your core, tickling your stomach pleasantly along with your pride. His words seemed to be coming from heart, genuine, which was not helping your blood pressure and suddenly wobbling limbs.

“Even when they have potty mouth and put their foot in it? ‘Cause I seem to excel in that.”

“Especially then,” he chuckled and you could tell there was no pinch of a lie in it.

Something was in the air, crackling deliciously, and you liked it. You wouldn’t be able to describe it properly, the feeling simply too unique, but it was tickling your fancy so weren’t about to complain.

“O-okay. Thank you, Captain,” you whispered, revelling in the sight of the gentle curve of his lips.

“You started with the compliments, Agent.”

And just like that, you wanted to run for your life again, drowning in embarrassment.

What were you even still doing here? Complimenting him? Enjoying his touch? Flirting with him?

Were you nuts?!

Him, a captain— no, the captain. And you, an agent--- hell, you were not even an agent yet!

The captain whose eyes flickered to not-an-agent’s lips for the shortest of moments, widening a fraction before returning to her eyes.

Oh, now you were definitely going nuts. You were hallucinating. You must have hit your head too. He wasn’t into you and you being into him was very stupid.

You should go.

…any moment now.

…just get off your ass for god’s sake-

“Can I ask you something?”

You blinked yourself back to reality, shushing the voice in your head, curious smile appearing on your lips involuntarily. The softness of his voice felt better than the blanket before and you wanted to cocoon yourself in it, postponing the leaving plans to never.

“Sure,” you replied, the smile remaining on your face despite your better judgement.

He lowered his eyes to your joined hands, his thumb running over the back of your hand in a feather-light touch. You heart positively stopped at the moment, your breath hitching. Holy shit, what was he doing?

“This, does it… do you hate it?” he whispered the question, not meeting your eyes as if he was too shy, which was… ridiculous. He had no reason to be shy.

It still felt like a shot through your heart – a nice one, though, it that was possible. The words combined with the way they were spoken, it stirred something in your belly, warming it up and you couldn’t deny it anymore.

You really wanted this man; whatever this was, it was getting beyond a silly crush. Also, for some reason, it seemed as if he was trying to tell you he was interested too, which you thought was pretty freaking crazy.

“Stay honest, please,” he pleaded when you didn’t answer right away.

Did you hate it? The chastest display of affection if you dared to call it that? Your mind raced, trying to figure out why on earth he would ask that. Because the only reason you had come up with so far was completely impossible.

“No,” you said simply, earning a brief glance up before he looked down again. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Good. That’s good… and would you… I’m aware this is out of line and I—I want you to answer truthfully without fearing the consequences-…“

It was your turn to swallow loudly, because what? What did he want to ask that he considered it out of line? He was your superior – you could think of thousand ways of how you could get out of line, but him? And why should you fear the consequences?! Did he want you to help him to hide a body?

That’s not it and you know it. You know what he wants to ask, you rational side admonished you.

Oh please, shut up. Since when you switched sides?

“O-okay. What— what is it-- Steve?” you stuttered out, freezing when his name left your lips and his head snapped up, his hand giving yours a squeeze. Oh boy.

“Would you possibly say you like it?” he blurted out and your brain went to overdrive at the hope behind his expression.

Huh. He really just asked that. Oh shit. Oh wow. Your jaw fell into your lap – only figuratively, you hoped –, your ears buzzing, your blood bursting in excitement.

Oh yeah, you understood why he mentioned the consequences. Either you could say no and you’d fear he might treat you differently or you could say yes and you’d ‘fear’ he might treat you differently.

The fire in your insides burned hotter at the idea of the latter.

His hand slowly left yours, giving you a simple choice you still couldn’t believe you were given.

Holy shit. What do you even say to something like that? Coming from someone like him? Your brain froze as you only managed to stare.

Did his— did the corners of his lips turn down? Was that sadness pooling in the sea of blue of his eyes?

Oh no, you don’t.

“Y-yes,” you admitted sheepishly, closing your eyes at the heaviness of your confession.

You could feel the weight on your shoulders as silence fell, only interrupted by your soft breathing that sounded ominously loud.

Your fingers twitched when his warm palm covered them again, your lips parting in surprise. You kept your eyes closed, indulging the strange moment. His free hand caressed your other as well, the gentlest of touches, tender, contrasting with rough callouses on his fingers.

“I like it too.”

At that, you gathered enough courage to look at him, only to see him inspecting your face closely, observing your reactions. It shocked you that it wasn’t uncomfortable as you would expect; must have been the kindness and wonder in his gaze. You forced your lips to curl up in a tiniest smile. Steve smiled back with same hesitance, his face lighting up.

He looked like a boy next door (making it to a modelling agency), shining eyes and happy grin forming on his lips. He was more gorgeous than ever.

Still keeping your hands, he raised his right one, his knuckles brushing your unharmed cheek. The gesture was so tender it brought tears into your eyes, causing him quickly retreat.

“Sorry-“

You shook your head with a self-deprecating chuckle, squeezing his fingers before he could let go of you completely.

“It’s not you—I mean… it is you,” you babbled nonsensically, taking a breath to gather your thoughts. “It’s just— that was really sweet. No, that’s not-“ Not the right word. “It was beautiful. I swear I never felt so…” loved “-cared for in my life.”

He frowned, a shadow of pain running over his face. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I know that today was… unpleasant.”

Seeing his reluctance and discomfort, you went for the first thing that came up to your mind. You straightened up and pressed a light kiss on his cheek, withdrawing much slowly because once you were in his orbit, it was hard to leave.

His breath hitched, his eyes glued to you intently, flickering to your lips again.

“You didn’t upset me, Steve. That’s the last thing you could do with that,” you assured him, face still inches from his. His name rolled off your tongue easily this time, even though it still left your heart fluttering.

“And if I asked you to have dinner with me?”

Your stomach twisted in a pleasant knot at that suggestion, your lizard brain already thinking about having a dessert for a second; and you weren’t thinking cake or ice-cream.

Yeah, barely. This was a guy ready to treat you right, you were sure of it. He certainly wasn’t about to kiss you now, not afar what happened today, he might go for it after the dinner and that was only if you got lucky enough. You swallowed the disappointment at the idea, quickly shaking it off.

Make up your goddamn mind, woman. You should be glad that men who weren’t thinking with their lower brain still existed and one of those was clearly interested in you, which… yeah, what the hell, that might take a while getting used to. Add the fact that he was being incredibly considerate of how you might feel after being assaulted and you had a winner of your heart. You realized you were actually happy he wouldn’t try anything even nearly ‘funny’.

You were fine with hand-holding and brushes of his fingers on your face, which honestly, the tenderness behind that gesture made you toes curl. You didn’t care much if that made you a freaking sap.

“Still not upset,” you gave an answer at last, deciding he probably liked when you were a bit cheeky.

He offered a closed lipped smile in response, confirming your theory.

“Does that count like a yes?”

You shrugged, the corners of your lips twitching. You had no idea when the change had happened, but all you wanted now was to giggle. And maybe snuggle, but you weren’t about to say that out loud.

“You tell me.”

He licked his lips and shook his head as he retreated. Before you could protest – or have a heart attack, because the motion of his tongue attracted your gaze like a magnet, setting your core on fire –, he sat beside you, leaving enough space in case you didn’t like it.

You liked it, subtly moving an inch closer to his side. Damn, he radiated warmth. Maybe just a bit closer…?

“Cheeky dame, aren’t you?” Steve more stated than asked, reaching for the blanket pooled around you to cover you again.

You didn’t realize you had goosebumps before his hands gently tugged you in, careful not to touch you where you could consider it inappropriate.

Yeah, forget about any funny business any time soon.

You huffed. “Clearly. It did get me into trouble before.”

His eyes darkened a bit, his face noticeably falling.

No, nope, bad move, miss not-an-agent.

“I should walk you back to your dorm,” he remarked, already rising to his feet.

You first reaction was to say no, because you weren’t ready to say goodbye yet. Your second was to say no also, because Shauna probably still had her hot date.

Instead, your hand shot up to catch his, effectively stopping him. He froze before returning to his seat, tiny question mark in a place of his face right next to his soft smile.

You cleared your throat, deciding to give him the latter reason.

“Uhm… my roommate has a date. If I go there, I’ll probably find a sock on the doorknob,” you admitted, biting your lip when he raised an eyebrow and relaxed to the cushions.

“People still do that?”

You chuckled, the fact that not only he was a captain, but also Captain America, which meant he was about hundred years old, hitting you like a train.

“Yeah, people still do that,” you assured him, amused.

He pouted, which you found unfairly adorable and… kissable. Nope, later.

“Sure, make fun of the old man…” he uttered, but a spark of laughter lighted up in his irises, so you assessed he wasn’t too offended. He was most likely used to the teasing.

As an idea of interpreting his words differently popped in your mind, you grinned.

“Is that a permission to make fun of Sergeant Barnes?” you pried playfully, sending Steve into another surprised fit of laughter, not unlike when you had complimented his sass. Your heart swelled at the joyful picture of him and the prospect of seeing more of it in future.

Due to his laughter, you didn’t hear he knock on the door if there was any n the first place. The door simply swung open, revealing the other supersoldier. Speak of the Devil…

Seeing his friend, Steve burst out laughing once more. Sergeant Barnes closed the door with a puzzled look.

You just shrugged in response, opening your mouth without a sound coming out and he took in the scene in front of him again, a smirk appearing on his lips. Under that gaze, you felt your face heat up. You could only imagine how that looked like, Steve cosily close to you, laughing, your hand right next to his thigh as his outburst had sent it sliding from his hand.

The smirk on the supersoldier’s face only deepened when he noticed how flustered he had made you.

“Punk?” he questioned and Steve wheezed once more, raising a palm in the sergeant’s direction, turning to you first.

He offered you a hand to shake. Confused, you accepted as his eyes twinkling in mischief bored into yours.

“Deal,” he mouthed, sending your lips twitching, and only then he shifted his attention to his friend. “Buck?”

The supersoldier had his eyes narrowed, watching you suspiciously.

“I’m gonna regret sending you with her instead of doing it the other way around, aren’t I?” he stated, not actually asking as his gaze flickered between the two of you.

His expression pushed you over the edge and the giggle building up in your chest for the last few minutes finally broke free. You simply couldn’t contain it anymore despite having two superiors in the room. Steve gave you a warm smile as the sound left your lips, clearly not bothered by it.

You hoped you’d be forgiven by Sergeant Barnes as well. After all, you were just human.

“Yeah, Buck, I think you are.”

S.R. masterlist

Sorry for the cavities at the end. Or should I say ‘you’re welcome’? Whatever works for you :))

Thank you for reading! 

#fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #mcu #marvel #shield #shield recruit reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers #captain america x you #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #captain america #just a human #anika ann

[thatdiabolicalfeminist]

I suspect I have ME/CFS but I'm not clinically diagnosed, and idk how I would even get diagnosed, but do you have any tips for beds or comfort? Do you have any comfort tips for someone who doesn't want to be in bed but fatigues early/easily?

So it's actually pretty important to figure out whether what you're ill with is actually ME/CFS or an illness with similar symptoms. Things that are good for ME patients can make people with similar chronic illnesses worse, and vice versa, and if you have something different to ME (or in addition to it) it may require medical treatment, either to make you feel better or to stop or slow serious damage.

If you have access to a rheumatologist, they should be able to run tests that can rule out lupus and rheumatoid arthritis, and they may be able to evaluate you for fibromyalgia as well. They'd likely run panels to check your blood counts and rule out vitamin deficiencies that can cause things from fatigue to neurological damage.

These are good things to do even if you're 100% sure you have M.E., because some of this stuff is commonly comorbid. (Oh, and if you have M.E. you might wanna get checked out for the most common comorbidities, like POTS or fibro or hEDS or IBS, to see if you can limit the strain your body's experiencing. Treat any comorbid migraines, etc.)

Check out the international consensus criteria to verify for yourself if you have M.E. Your GP may be willing to diagnose you if that's something you need or want to pursue - my original diagnosis was from a family doctor. A rheumatologist is better though, because they'll understand autoimmune stuff and know what to rule out. My rheumatologist caught ME symptoms I hadn't even noticed before.

In general though, being an ME patient means doing a lot of your own research. Doctors frequently know very little and only some are willing to read up on it. Don't let anyone try to sell you on graded exercise therapy - research shows it makes ME patients sicker, but some doctors recommend it anyway since it's good for many illnesses with similar symptoms.

As for what you actually asked about -

I think what you need/want as far as comfortable beds etc is going to be very specific to your particular body.

My main advice is to pay attention and not let yourself dissociate from your body.

People with chronic pain and fatigue often ignore our own bodies most of the time to avoid feeling that pain and fatigue so much, and it means we can have a hard time knowing what helps or hurts.

Experiment and be deliberate about noticing what feels restful and what doesn't.

In bed, you might find that you want extra pillows to support different parts of your body - a knee pillow makes a huge difference for me, and a body pillow under the edge of my back when I lie on my side.

Outside of bed, sit often and sit comfortably. As much as possible. I have found that it's WAY more draining to let my legs dangle down than to pull them up and cross them, so I sit cross legged a lot. I also have a day bed in the dining area so I can lie down when I get tired without missing out on socializing, or without leaving the room when I'm cooking. I've found that a chair with a back is less tiring than a chair without one. I also have a wheeled stool in the kitchen so I can cook sitting down and move around the kitchen without walking. It’s a lifesaver.

If you're not already using a mobility aid, consider getting one. I tire way, way less quickly with my rollator than I do with my cane, and I tire way less quickly with the cane than I do walking unsupported. (Also, some rollators and even some canes have convenient sitting when you're out and about!)

A cheap hand-propelled wheelchair doesn't save me energy unless someone else can push, but fancier ones are much easier to move, and motorized ones are least draining of all.

But honestly a $10 cane can be a lifesaver all on its own, even if you only use it on big fatigue days or when no one else is around.

Pay attention to whether light or sound tires you out, and if it does, try to reduce light and sound in the area where you rest. Same with other sensory input that can be quietly fatiguing. You may want to limit this input even outside of rest, so you don't wear out as fast. Lastly, if you're pretty sure you do have M.E., read up on pacing. My rheumatologist gave me this very easy to understand, nicely packaged guide to pacing, complete with charts to help you keep track of your activity patterns and explanations for friends and family so they can understand enough to be supportive.

Pacing is the number one best thing you can do to protect your health if you have M.E. The less often you go into post exertional malaise, the more ability you will retain.

Sorry this is so long but I hope it helps!

#myalgic encephalomyelitis #me cfs #thatdiabolicalfeminist #long covid #chronic fatigue syndrome #long post #asks #anon #anon asks

[lalainajanes]

For klarosummerbingo, my “mango lassi” square! Did I order Indian food for dinner? Yes, yes I did.

Masks Off

When she notices the goon tailing her – shaved head, seasonally inappropriate leather jacket, neck tattoos – Caroline’s pissed off.

And exhausted.

She’d spent all day cooped up in the boardroom at Forbes Industries, listening to men twice her age complain about dividends and try to suggest that workers didn’t really need a raise subtly.

It had been a tedious and pointless exercise, one she suffers quarterly. Caroline holds 51% of the company’s shares and can easily wrangle another block of shareholders into voting with her. Her parent’s wills, read out fourteen years ago, had bequeathed a stake in FI to several loyal employees. People they’d loved, who’d stepped in to help raise Caroline after they’d passed.

The board knows she has the final say, and it kills them. They think she’s an idiot, that she’d bought her degrees and can’t comprehend the financial statements. They try to ply her with compliments and flattery, attempt unsubtle fibs – Caroline plays dumb and tolerates the bullshit because she knows she can control them. Another board might not be so easy to manipulate.

She’d had a headache by the time the meeting had wrapped, had been so grateful to see Enzo waiting at the curb. She’d practically dived into the backseat of the town car, had rolled the partition down, and enjoyed a satisfying debrief and bitch session on the drive back to her apartment. Enzo had offered to grab her dinner before he went off the clock, but Caroline knew he had a date night planned. She’d shoed him away, told him she’d order in.

Once safely tucked away in her place Caroline had gotten restless.

She’d changed out of her boring suit, pulled out the pins in her hair, and loosely braided it back. After changing into a pale blue cotton dress and pair of oversized sunglasses, then selecting a few Forbes Industries prototypes, Caroline had headed out for sustenance.

She hadn’t bothered to let her security detail know. She’s adept at sneaking away under their noses. The detail is mostly for show, to make sure no one connects Caroline Forbes, wild child heiress, to the vigilante who’s working on tidying up the city streets.

She’ll slip into the leather ensemble she’d commissioned once night falls and load up with weapons. Then she’ll head to the garage where she keeps her armored vehicles and larger toys.

There’s a new villain who’s been popping up more and more frequently on her patrols. She hasn’t caught him doing anything untoward just yet, and he’s yet to make the papers and have a ridiculous name bestowed upon him. She’s scoured papers from England, then the rest of Europe, checking to see if there was a reputation that preceded him. So far, she’s found nothing, but  Caroline knows he must be working on something big.

Why else would he be so determined to attract her attention? He must have some kind of plan cooking up, wants her looking in another direction when he enacts it.

The walk to the restaurant had been uneventful. Caroline had to wait a few minutes for her order to be ready, but passing the time on a bench outside, unnoticed, her people-watching undisturbed, had been a nice change from how she’d spent the rest of the day.

It promised to be a hot evening, even though the sun would be setting shortly. Sweat had begun gathering near her hairline, forcing curls out of her braid. Caroline had added a mango lassi to her order and collected her dinner, inhaled appreciatively at the warm, spicy scent emanating from the paper bag.

She’d begun her walk home, sipping her drink contentedly, weaving through the growing number of pedestrians who were venturing out for the evening.

She’d noted the guy shadowing her about three blocks from her building, had heaved a dramatic sigh that had the guy waiting for the walk light with her edging away.

She’d just wanted to stuff herself with naan, biryani, and saag paneer and become one with her couch for a few hours before she went out to take out her frustrations on some bad guys. Was that too much to ask?

Caroline takes a turn, heading east to where there should be fewer people, reaching into her bag to slide her fingers into the modified brass knuckles (not actually brass but a proprietary FI compound) and grasping the extendable baton.

She takes another turn to check that she’s not paranoid, but the goon mirrors it.

As does another person.

Caroline pretends to adjust the strap of her dress, twisting her head to get a better look at her second pursuer. It’s an impressively muscular woman, her considerable height only enhanced by her spiked hair, dressed in skin-tight shorts and a mesh crop top.

She doesn’t seem to mind that Caroline’s spotted her, wiggling her fingers and offering a challenging smile.

There are two possibilities. Either the people following her are cocky and stupid – really the ideal scenario – or they’re cocky because they’ve got a solid plan and some big guns.

When a hand grabs her upper arm and yanks her into an alley, spilling the mango lassi and staining her dress, Caroline suspects it might be the latter. She’s thrown against a wall, just managing to get her hands up to save her face from being smashed into the brick.

She hears footsteps pounding against concrete, and the two pursuers she’s noticed join the man who’d yanked her into the alley. Regretfully, Caroline drops her takeout and her bag and backs away, hiding her weapons in the folds out of the skirt. She forces a quaver into her voice, “What do you want?”

It’s unlikely that three people who seem to have stepped right out of the goon for hire catalog have just decided to rob her. Caroline doesn’t want to assume there’s a larger plot. She’s hoping this won’t turn into a big thing, and she’s out of luck if people are planning to kidnap Caroline Forbes for ransom.

But it’ll be even messier if a bad guy’s clocked her extracurricular activities.

The spiky-haired woman takes the lead, stalking towards Caroline. She’s got a knife in her hand now, “What do I want? Twenty million dollars, to start with.”

Oh good. It’s just a kidnapping.

Honestly, kind of an insulting one. She won’t even have to liquate any assets to come up with the twenty million. Caroline stops moving, straightens her spine. “Done!” she chirps brightly. “Wire transfer, or cheque? I can do cash too, but that’s like ten briefcases. What are you going to do with them after?”

She’s been hoping to catch her attempted kidnapper off guard, but the woman doesn’t falter. She snorts, “You’re funny. I didn’t expect that.”

“Thanks, I get that a lot. I’m chock full of surprises.”

Spike lunges forward, and Caroline dodges, stepping past her and whipping her arm out, until her weapon lengthens fully. She crouches, extending her leg and spinning while slashing with her baton. Caroline lands a brutal strike on Spike’s kidneys. Spikes grunts, stumbles forward, arm banding over her stomach protectively. Caroline completes her spin and rises, catching Spike with a punch before she pauses, poised on the balls of her feet, back to a wall.

Her would-be kidnappers no longer look as confident. Spikes spits blood, expression enraged. The other two watch Caroline with calculative gazes.

“Girls gotta keep in shape, right? The tabloids are brutal. It turns out the elliptical is super boring, so I had to find something a little more fun.” Caroline leaps forward, tucking into a roll, snagging a brick from the ground and using her momentum to throw it into Leather Jacket’s face.

The brick makes contact with a gross crunch of blood, bone, tissue, and teeth. Leather Jacket howls, his hand coming up to cover his head. She jumps again, thighs locking around his neck, spinning to bring him to the ground. She digs her knee into his spine, gripping his head and slamming it into the ground for good measure until he goes limp underneath her.

Caroline stands, wiping her hand on her already ruined dress. “One down,” she says.

Only to instantly regret the proclamation. Bonnie says she needs to lay off on the monologuing, and maybe she’s got a point.

She senses movement behind her, near the mouth of the alley. Caroline turns warily, head swiveling between her two attackers and the men who are now freaking rappelling from the rooftops. Six of them. In black tactical gear, strapped with weapons and wearing black ski masks.

Well, crap.

If she’d been on patrol, with her protective suit and gadgets, she might have been able to take them. Now, in flats and a sundress, with two flimsy weapons and no backup, she doesn’t like her odds.

Caroline tosses the baton aside, pastes on the smile she uses when she has to ignore paparazzi shouting rude questions about her sex life at her. She lifts her hands slowly, palms open. “So, I’m guessing you don’t only want cash, huh?”

“Funny and smart,” Spikes says spitefully, coming up behind Caroline and yanking her hair. “What a rosy life you must lead.”

She feels a sharp sting in the side of her neck, then a flood of wooziness. Brief pain when she collapses.

She’s vaguely aware of being heaved up and over someone’s shoulder, of being alarmed by how her limbs won’t cooperate when she tries to fight back. She’s tossed in a trunk, encased in blackness.

Caroline fights it, the tiredness, her thoughts growing meandering and disorganized. When the engine rumbles to life underneath her, Caroline loses consciousness.

* * * * *

Caroline realizes she’s tied to a chair as soon as awareness returns.

She can hear voices murmuring, too soft for her to make out any words even when she strains. Caroline’s slumped over, pulling against the ropes. She’s definitely going to have some fun bruises tomorrow. Her head’s resting limply against her chest, and she stays as still as she can, barely opening her eyes while trying to get a good look at her surroundings.

Unfortunately, she seems to be in a pretty generic warehouse—grimy, smelly, cavernous, decorated with random overlapping graffiti.

She spots a tray of shiny, sharp medical instruments to her right.

Which is not ideal.

Caroline tests her bonds slowly, checking for any give or weakness. Any kind of opportunity. One of her captors has eagle eyes and notices her movements. She flinches when his voice booms out, “Sleeping beauty awakes!”

Damn it.

Caroline lifts her head, rolling her neck to work out the cramp that’s developed. “I prefer the modern Disney princesses, thank you.” She’s not the type to wait around for a handsome prince to come to her rescue.

She studies the guy who’d spoken. He’s got steel-grey hair and tanned skin, thick biceps. His face doesn’t show even a hint of emotion, and he doesn’t acknowledge she’d spoken. She’d guess he’s a pro, probably some variety of ex-military, likely expensive. Caroline hears the clomp of heavy boots and twists her head to see some familiar faces joining the party.

Moderately damaged familiar faces, but she’s not sorry about that.

“So about that ransom,” Caroline begins hopefully. “Twenty-five million, was it?”

The guy who’d taken a brick to the face grunts, “Thirty now. For our trouble.”

Caroline can admit that’s fair.

“I get it. Plastic surgery’s not cheap. Not that I’ve had any work done, despite what the tabloids might claim. I’m only twenty-seven. Of course my boobs look fantastic in a bikini.”

No one even cracks a smile.

“Okay, so you’re not interested in jokes. We could discuss the fact that it’s super gross that people follow me around the world and stalk me with long-lens cameras. Am I not entitled to take a vacation?”

No response.

Caroline sighs, shifting in her chair in an attempt to get more comfortable. “Tough crowd.”

Spike drags a second chair over, sitting down and resting a booted foot on her opposite knee. “Thirty million dollars. I have a list of six prisoners that I need to be released from the Super Max. And I want something from the Forbes Industries Vault. The subterranean one that most of your employees don’t know about.”

Caroline tips her head back, considering. Thirty million dollars, no big deal. The prisoners might be hard to arrange, but she’s got connections. She knows exactly who she’d need to bribe. She can always scoop them up later, wrap ‘em in a pretty little bow and leave them on the steps of city hall.

The Vault though? That’s not happening. She’s going to have to figure out how they even know about it, who else might have bought the info, but that’s a problem for later.

“How about fifty million dollars and a couple of extra prisoners? Maybe someone from the asylum?”

Spike leans over, her hand drifting over the tray of instruments. She plucks up one with a serrated edge, twirling it through her fingers. “I know you’re used to snapping your fingers and getting everything your little heart desires, but this isn’t a negotiation.”

She leans forward, resting the blade against the dip between Caroline’s collarbones. She taps it against Caroline’s skin with each carefully enunciated word, “Money. Prisoners. Vault.” She pulls back, gives the instrument another spin. “That’s my only offer. You can say yes, and we’ll give you a phone, so you’re servants can start arranging things. Or, we can do this the hard way.”

She doesn’t insult Caroline’s intelligence by spelling out what the hard way would entail.

Caroline swallows, straightens her spine. “No one gets in my vault.”

Spike sighs in faux disappointment, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. “The hard way it is, then.”

Caroline closes her eyes, holds her breath, waits for the first cut to come.

It doesn’t come from where she’d expected.

Glass shatters from high above, showering down, leaving dozens of tiny nicks across her bare shoulders. She feels a rush of air before a body landing in front of her, knees bent.

A familiar man, one who’s been taking up way too much of Caroline’s free time, smirks at her, “Hello, love.”

Caroline gapes at him, and he pivots, backing up until her bent knees brush the back of his calves. She sees few bright flashes, but his back obscures her view of what’s happening. Whatever he’s doing, it’s painfully loud. Popping sounds interrupt shouts and screams of pain, and heavy thuds ring out. Caroline cringes, tucking her ear against her shoulder in an attempt to muffle the cacophony.

Silence, when it comes, scant moments after the chaos began, is jarring. Caroline leans as far to the side as she can, eyes widening when she spots the pile of bodies. She watches as the man, who she doesn’t know if she can call her rescuer since at this point he might also be planning on ransoming her, yanks a handful of zip cuffs from his pocket.

He moves swiftly and with grace, seemingly very at home his body and aware of its capabilities. Caroline’s eyes narrow, mind whirling as he secures her attackers, and she tries to assimilate this new information. He pulls off his leather gloves when he’s done, returning to her side. His expression grows regretful, and his fingertips brush her shoulders, skimming over the cuts and scrapes there. “Sorry about these. The skylight was the best entry point. Make sure you clean them up, hmm?”

He steps passed her, and Caroline feels him make quick work of her handcuffs. She hears the snick of a knife unsheathing and stiffens, but he only uses it on the ropes that bind her legs and torso. Caroline shakes them off, stands hesitantly.

“Okay,” she says, crossing her arms and turning until they’re once more face to face, separated by the metal chair. “What exactly is happening here? Who are you?”

“I’m afraid I’m not yet ready for you to know my identity. In due time, I promise.”

Caroline sucks in a sharp breath, her teeth grinding together. “Um, how about no?”

He blinks, and Caroline steps a little closer. They’ve always met in the dark, and he’d purposely stuck to the shadows as he’d teased and tossed questions at her. She’s never been this close to him. His eyes are blue, his lashes annoyingly long in a way men never appropriately appreciate. He wears a black mask, covering from the top of his forehead to his upper lip. His hair is slicked back, but she thinks it might be on the lighter side, given the shade of his stubble.

He clears his throat and shifts his weight, but he doesn’t step back or shy away. “I… I beg your pardon?”

“I have had a garbage day. It was long, it was boring, I had to argue over things I know I’m right about, with people who think I’m a bimbo and spend way too much time trying to look down my tops. My dinner got tossed aside when goons r us scooped me up. I love this dress, and it’s ruined. I’m bleeding. I don’t know where my shoes are. I’m hungry, I’m tired, and I want to go home!” she’s shouting when she’s done ranting, out of breath.

“Right.” Her rescuer, she’s decided on the term now, shoves the chair aside. He steps forward until his feet bracket hers, wraps his arm around her waist. Caroline grips his biceps, too shocked to admonish this rude invasion of her space. “Hold on. Step up onto my feet.”

She throws her hands up in frustration, “Hello? Did anything I just said sink in?”

His lips, which she’s now noticing are very nice, full and soft looking, compress. She’s pretty sure he’s trying to swallow a laugh. “I heard every word. I’m trying to assist in getting you home. In service of that, if you could please step up onto my feet and hold on.”

His right arm rises, and Caroline recognizes the device in his hand. She’s about to ask him if he’s seriously rescuing her with a device he’d stolen from her but thinks better of it.

He’d stolen the grappling hook from a vigilante who rocks a rose pink leather catsuit, not from Caroline Forbes. It would have been a monster slip, a true testament to how rattled she is from the day’s events that she’d almost blurted out her secret identity to a guy with questionable motives and an unknown name.

Instead, she smiles tightly, loops her arms around his neck, and gingerly steps onto his heavy boots. “For future reference,” she says sweetly, “I generally only like following orders in the bedroom.”

The strangled choking noise he makes as they hurtle upward is immensely satisfying.

* * * * *

Two days later, Caroline’s on her couch watching news footage of a gala she’d been supposed to attend. She’d had a great dress, red and scandalous, all ready to go, but trying to cover her scabby shoulders with makeup had made her look like she’d contracted some kind of infectious skin issue.

She’d sent her regrets and a fat check, resigned herself to a solo evening in her comfy sweats. On her TV, a society reporter’s chattering away about the guest she’d just finished talking to, a lech who’s at least smart enough to hire a publicist good enough to hide his dealings with loan sharks. She trails off in the middle of a sentence, fingertips coming up to press at her earpiece.

The reporter looks right at the camera, excitement on her face. “I’ve just been given some breaking news! A surprise guest has arrived, all the way from the UK. Klaus Mikaelson has shied away from public life since his messy exit from his father’s corporation five years ago. He’s built his own tech firm from the ground up. Buzz had been building since they announced their intention to go public. Let’s see if we can get a few words.”

Bored with the fawning, Caroline’s just about to switch channels. She knows all about Klaus’ Mikaelson’s company. Blurbs about it have been showing up in the intelligence reports she has complied since he’d lured a pair of promising engineers from FI’s Paris offices.

She’s planning on investing in his IPO because he might have scummy HR policies, but his business is sound.

There haven’t been many pictures of him available; apparently, he’d hardly been a social butterfly even when he’d been welcome in the family fold. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen or so in the ones Caroline’s seen, in which he’d been gangly and angular and sporting a terrible haircut.

The image changes, swinging to the red carpet before Caroline can grab the remote. She pauses, impressed because Klaus Mikaelson has grown up nicely. She might be distracted by the flawless fit of his tux, which Caroline knows can cover a world of sins, so she leans closer as the camera pans up to his face.

And promptly drops her wine class.

The blue eyes. That smile, the dimple it carves into his stubbled cheek. She’d brushed her lips over that cheek barely more than forty-eight hours ago when she’d thanked him for what he’d done for her.

Klaus Mikaelson had accompanied her home the other night, had neatly deflected her probing questions, his amusement never turning to exasperation at Caroline’s dogged persistence.

She’d seriously considered inviting him into her home. She’d told herself it was only in search of more information, but a tiny part of her, the one that was unfailingly honest and sometimes gets her in trouble, had admitted her rescuer intrigued her, even without a name.

Well. Now she has one. A plan forms rapidly, and Caroline scrambles for her phone, digging it out of her couch cushions. She taps the screen, connecting a call to Bonnie. “Bon? Sorry to bug you when you’re off the clock. But I need you to find someone for me.”

She stands, walking into her bedroom as she explains what she needs.

Bonnie’s a genius, well worth the exorbitant salary Caroline pays her. She gets the address within an hour.

* * * * *

Caroline drops a rope onto the terrace of Klaus’ apartment, slips down with barely a whisper of sound, landing lightly. She hugs the side of the building, inching over to the open French doors. She’s fully suited up, hair tightly controlled, and mask on. She eases her foot over the threshold, eyes darting around.

Ugh, of course, he has excellent taste.

Caroline likes light and airy, fun patterns and textures. But she can appreciate the sumptuousness of Klaus’ living room. It’s done up in burgundies and neutrals, hints of gold. There’s a buttery leather sofa facing a fireplace, thick carpets that muffle the sounds of her boots as she walks further in. She can imagine a pleasant night in front of a crackling fire, curled up on the couch when the weather turns cold.

But she’s getting ahead of herself.

Her nose twitches, picking up the smell of curry, cardamom, and turmeric.

She hears a door click shut, whirls to find Klaus, barefoot and still dressed up from The Gala, though he’s ditched the jacket and tie. He leans against the now-closed doors to the terrace. He smiles at her warmly, “Hello, Caroline.”

Which answers one of her most pressing questions.

Caroline yanks her mask off, tossing it aside. “I realize this is going to give you déjà vu, but what exactly is happening here?”

Klaus pushes off from the door, ambles towards her, studying her reaction carefully. Caroline doesn’t flinch away or retreat. “I have a proposition for you. And I have dinner. Takeaway from that place you visited the other day when your evening plans were… interrupted. I even got the mango lassi.”

Caroline narrows her eyes, “I have weapons, you know. Way more than you’d think, given how tight this outfit is.”

He laughs, a low husky sound that Caroline knows would be easy to get addicted to. “I’m sure you do. I’m not worried about you using them on me. I only want you to hear out my proposal. You can leave anytime you wish.”

She wonders if it’s stupid to believe him, but she does. He’d had the upper hand two days ago, had no trouble dispatching the group that had taken her. If he had nefarious intentions, he could have picked up right where they left off with the torture.

Caroline’s learned to trust her instincts. They’re telling her she’s safe.

She tugs her hair out of its elastic, loosens her collar slightly, pulling the zipper down a few inches. “Mind lending me something to wear? This totally isn’t designed for sitting for long periods.”

Klaus directs her to a guestroom, gathers a few things of his for her to wear. When she gets to the dining room, she finds he’s arranged the food on gleaming platters and lit candles. Her mango lassi, in its plastic cup, looks wildly out of place.

Caroline refuses to find it endearing.

At least until she’s confirmed that her instincts are correct.

#klaroline #klarosummerbingo #klaroline fanfiction #batman vibes #but where the author is only aware of batman because it's a ubiquitous pop culture thing #so maybe bad batman vibes idk

[aquietwritingcorner]

March Mildness Day 16: Coffee/Tea       Word Count: 1762   Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: G/K   Characters:  Jean Havoc   Warning:     Summary: Havoc’s at rehab, and visiting hours are open. He’s not really expecting anyone to drop by. He should have known better.   Notes:     AO3 || ff.net

__________________________

Coffee/Tea

One thing that everyone told you, but no one could really tell you, was that physical therapy was hard. Oh, sure, people said that it was going to be, and joked about physical therapists being torturers, but until you were really, actually, doing it, you didn’t realize just how hard it was going to be. Even the most confident and capable of men found themselves brought to their knees by physical therapy.

Sometimes literally.

Jean Havoc sat on the floor beneath the parallel bars, breathing hard. His legs had given out, and he had collapsed right there. It was a bit embarrassing, and he hated that he hadn’t been able to make it all the way across, but he did have to admit that he was glad about the fact that he could sit on his knees like this and keep himself upright. He couldn’t do that before.

“Alright, Mr. Havoc, I think that’s enough for the day.”

His physical therapist, a cute girl named Cindy with a perky smile and quite possibly related to the Armstrongs if her strength meant anything, came over to him, pushing his wheelchair towards him. She was smiling and happy and Havoc was pretty sure she enjoyed causing him pain. She hooked her arms under his and, even though she was shorter than him and smaller than him, hauled him upright.

“Alright. Hold on to me and let’s make your way back into your chair. Just like we’ve done before.”

“Yeah,” Havoc panted out.

“Aww, where’s the wit I look forward to?” she quipped as she helped him walk to the end of the bars and maneuver into his wheelchair. “No smart comments today?”

She helped Havoc lower himself slowly into his chair, instead of just plopping in it like he sort of wanted to do, provided it didn’t roll away like the last time he’d tried.

“I left my wit with my dignity—on the floor,” Havoc said, still breathing heavily.

Cindy let out what would have been a charming laugh, except that Havoc had been caused pain at her hands one too many times.

“There it is!” she said, heading around behind him. “Alright, you know the rules. I have to push you to the entry way, and then a nurse will take you back to your room.”

“Yeah, until you come to torture me again,” he muttered.

She must have heard, because Cindy responded. “Actually, no. Today is a day for visitors to come in and stay a bit longer. We like to do this every so often for our patients. Besides,” she leaned down closer to Havoc’s ear which, for her, wasn’t far, even if Havoc was sitting down. “It would have been Amelia’s turn to come get you.”

Havoc shuddered. Amelia was worse than Cindy! Only she made him to all sorts of flexibility exercises and Havoc was convinced that he must have dated her and forgot or dated someone she knew because there was no way all that she made him do could be recommended medical procedures.

“Thank the stars for small favors,” Havoc said.

“Aww, don’t be like that,” Cindy said. “You’re one of her favorites.”

Before he could even begin to process that, they were at the entry way. “Alright, you wait here, Mr. Havoc. Someone will be here soon.” She patted him on the shoulder and turned to leave. “Ah, Mr. Buchanan! I’m glad you’re on time!”

Havoc mentally sent up well wishes for whoever Mr. Buchanan was and waited for a nurse to come. He’d never admit it, but he kind of liked this policy. Physical therapy wore him out, and not having to strain himself to go back to his room was nice.

It wasn’t long before a chatty young nurse came, one that never let Havoc get a word in edgewise. Almost before Havoc knew it, he was back in his room and in the bed, with a fluffed pillow, a glass or water, a snack, three puzzle books, a magazine on cars, and a romance novel, with the radio tuned to the local news, all curtesy of the nurse. She was a whirlwind, and while he normally would have commented, right now Havoc was just happy to rest. He opened a puzzle book, leaned his head back, and put it over his eyes.

He had only been dozing a few minutes when he heard the clack of high heels on the floor. It wasn’t the nurses, that he knew, although he figured it could be a visitor for another patient. But the clacks were near his door, and he was the last one on the hall. Curiously, he lifted the book from his eyes.

Peering in was Riza Hawkeye, dressed nicely for a day out in an attractive skirt outfit. Hayate’s leash was around her arm, and she was carrying something that he couldn’t see. He took the book off of his head.

“Hey, Ri!” he greeted.

“Hey, Jean,” she said back. “I hope I’m not bothering you,”

“Nah, he said, waving his arm. “I think I’m done with this puzzle book for the day.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Riza said as she entered, clearly amused. “It seemed like it was doing a good job being a mask.”

“Yeah, but now I’ve got you to look at, and that’s better than…” he looked at the book. “Whatever the heck Sudoku is.”

Hawkeye smiled and sat down what she was carrying on the rolling table he had. “I’m sure either Breda or Falman could tell us.”

“Probably,” Havoc agreed. “Whatcha got there?”

“I brought you something!” she said and handed him a cup. “It’s not much, but I hope you’ll like it. Before they left, Mei Chang left a list of tea blends that might be useful. Of course, I had to go to Xingtown to get it translated and find some of them, but I did find them helpful. This one,” she nodded at the cup, “is supposed to be served cold, and helps with aches and pains. I figured you might be feeling a few of those now.”

“Oh, boy, am I,” Havoc said. “Ri, let me tell you—you know those rumor surrounding just how Olivier Armstrong gets information out of Drachman prisoners? I don’t think she had anything on the girls here.”

Hawkeye laughed and sat down, Hayate stretching up to the side of the bed, trying for pets from Havoc. “Tell me all about it.”

They had only been about ten minutes into the visit when there had been another knock on the door. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Havoc looked over to see Breda standing in the doorway, two cups held in his hand. Havoc waved him in, “Nah, not at all. I’m just recounting my tortures here to Riza.”

Breda rolled his eyes, but smirked. “Don’t let him fool ya. He’s making progress.”

“I’m sure he is,” Hawkeye said.

“Whatcha got there?” Havoc asked.

Breda looked at Hawkeye a little apologetically. “I brought us some coffee,” he said. “I would have brought some for you too, if I had known you’d be here.”

Hawkeye shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I have my tea. Pull up a chair, Heymans.”

“Yeah, sit down,” Havoc said. “I need to know the latest gossip since you were here last.”

“I can fill you both in, since Riza’s not back to full-time duty yet.” Breda said, pulling up the other chair in the room. Hawkeye made a bit of a face at his statement, but otherwise said nothing.

Breda was only a few minutes into the latest that he knew, when there was another knock at the door. All three of them turned to look, and saw Fuery, Falman, and Maria standing there, each of them holding something.

“Hey guys,” Havoc said. “Come to join the party?”

“Not intentionally,” Fuery said, looking a bit sheepish.

“We all ran into each other downstairs,” Falman explained, “and decided to come up together.”

“We also all had the same idea, apparently,” Maria said, holding up the two drinks she had. Falman and Fuery had apparently had the same idea, and soon two more cups of coffee and one more of tea had joined the other cups on his table.

It was a little crowded in the room with all of them there, but everyone managed to find a place to perch, and soon there was conversation flowing as people started to add their two bits to whatever was being talked about. It was just getting going well when a voice broke through.

“I hope I’m not crashing the party.”

Everyone turned towards the door. Mustang was standing there, two drinks in his hand.

“It seems we all had the same idea,” he said. “Both in visiting and in gifts.”

“The more the merrier,” Havoc said. “Come on in, General!”

“Not quite yet,” he said with a smirk. “But almost.”

He entered in, and the conversation began anew.

It was hours later when everyone finally left, no one really wanting to, but eventually being chased out by a nurse who, apparently, didn’t let important names dissuade her from her job.

Really. All the people here had some sort of immunity to common decency about them.

Havoc looked about his room. There were empty and half-drunk cups of coffee and tea on his table, all arranged neatly and some of them already washed out by Hawkeye. His puzzle books were laying around, where Breda, Falman, Maria, and Mustang had been half-arguing over the Sudoku game. The car magazine was laying near a pen, where Fuery had been drawing schematics on some of them. The romance novel was laying on the radiator, drying, after Hayate had knocked it and his glass of water over.

Havoc smiled and picked up the Sudoku book to cover his eyes with. It had been a good visit, and one that he needed, but he was tired. He paused, though, before he put the book over his eyes, leafing through the pages quickly, and laughed. It was already half done, mostly in Falman’s precise handwriting and in pen, which shouldn’t have surprised Havoc.

He had missed his team and their little idiosyncrasies. Falman filling in puzzle books, Hawkeye neatly saving and storing things, Fuery’s schematics and drawings everywhere, Breda’s tactics and notes half-worked out on sheets of paper, half-drawn alchemic arrays mixed into Mustang’s work, Maria’s Xingese scrawlings…

He couldn’t wait to get back to work. Even if it meant letting Cindy, Amelia, and whoever else torture him while he was here.

#March Mildness 2022 #Jean Havoc #team mustang #fma #Fullmetal Alchemist #fma fanfic #Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction