#Cure Sensor | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

plasticflowersinahistorycemetery · 2 months ago

Text

cipher

one-shot

Paring: Demon!Dean x Ex-Spy!Reader

Summary: You've tracked Dean down, and you're going on a hunt with him before you get him back to the bunker to cure him... you didn't anticipate the mission going quite like this.

Warnings: 18+!, language, violence, smut (cunnilingus/oral, p in v, biting, marking), lil bit of pining, I think that's all.

Word Count: 7,215

A/N: I think I got way too into the plot for this one. I don't know if it's actually good, or if I'm just hoping it is. The delusion is real. I've proofread it so many times that I don't even know if it comes across the way I wanted it to anymore. I kinda love Ex-Spy!Reader, she feels so badass to me! And Dean having a soft spot for her is just so yum. All the love.

Shoutout to my lovely @mostlymarvelgirl for the request. <3

The night stretched wide and lawless before you, all ink-black desert and distant starlight, the neon flicker of roadside motels long behind. The Impala prowled down the empty highway, her engine a low, steady growl beneath Dean’s easy grip. The air inside smelled like leather and gun oil, like cigarette smoke curling from the ashtray, like the static hum of something that should not be.

“You’re awful quiet over there, sweetheart.” His voice was silk dragged over gravel, rough in all the right places. “Regretting trading in Sammy for a ride with the devil?”

You rolled your eyes, staring out at the endless stretch of nothing ahead. The music thrumming low from the speakers—Jailbreak by Thin Lizzy—was a little too on the nose.

“This isn’t a trade,” you muttered. “It’s a mission.”

Dean huffed out a laugh, something sharp and indulgent. He tapped his fingers against the wheel in time with the music, but you could feel the weight of his gaze, cutting sideways to study you like a puzzle he was just starting to enjoy solving. “That so?”

You didn’t answer. The truth sat heavy in your chest, unspoken but relentless. You’d left Sam behind, against his wishes, against reason. You’d spent weeks—months—searching for Dean at his side, chasing cold leads, following blood trails gone dry. But when you caught the first real whisper of him—Dean, feral and free—you knew Sam wouldn’t be able to do what needed to be done. Not yet.

So, you came alone.

One hunt. One last job before you dragged him back kicking and screaming. If you had to.

“Y’know, I gotta say,” Dean mused, his voice dripping with amusement, “I never figured you’d be the type to ditch the Boy Scout routine. But here you are, riding shotgun to hell.”

You scoffed. “You’re not hell.”

He glanced at you then, and something flickered behind his darkened eyes. A smirk ghosted his lips. “Oh, sweetheart. I am.”

The words slithered through you like something half-living, but you forced your expression to stay blank. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Instead, you shifted forward, elbows resting on your knees as you studied the map spread across the dash. “Let’s focus, yeah? The base perimeter is covered in infrared sensors, but there’s a blind spot here.” You tapped a point on the page. “Southwest access road. They switch shifts at exactly 0300. Gives us a two-minute window.”

Dean snorted, unimpressed. “And what, we just stroll into Area 51 like we own the place?”

“No.” You smirked now, slow and sharp. “I get us inside.”

Dean’s fingers drummed against the wheel, his gaze dragging over you with something new now—curiosity, suspicion, something darker curling at the edges. Interest.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Colour me intrigued.”

The Impala roared on through the desert, into the dark, into the unknown.

And Dean Winchester—the thing he had become—was watching you now, truly watching, as if he’d just noticed you for the very first time.

The silence stretched between you, thick with static, the kind that only came before a storm. The Impala ate up the miles, gravel crunching beneath her tires as you got closer to the dead zone where no cameras, no patrols, no wandering eyes would catch your approach. You had planned this to the second. Dean didn’t know that yet.

“You wanna tell me something, sweetheart?” His voice was all easy arrogance, but there was something sharper underneath, something restless. “Because I knew you were good, but this? Infrared blind spots, security rotation schedules, access codes? That’s not just ‘good.’ That’s trained.”

You didn’t look at him, keeping your eyes ahead as you checked your watch. “You’re welcome.”

Dean let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “See, that’s what’s got me curious. What else have you been holding out on me, huh? Double life? Secret government clearance? Or are you just that good at looking innocent?” His voice dropped an octave, thick with something shameless. “I gotta say, sweetheart, I always liked the way you played hard to get. Turns out, you’ve been playing me the whole damn time.”

You sighed, already tired of the game. “I had a life before hunting.”

“Yeah? What, Girl Scouts?”

You shot him a look. He grinned, all teeth and danger, like he could smell the past on you, taste the blood you’d once spilled. “Come on, just a little hint. How many bodies you got under your belt? And don’t say it like that—unless you want me to take it that way.”

You exhaled sharply, rubbing at your temple. “Jesus, Dean.”

He laughed again, the sound wicked and unrepentant, like he was getting off on rattling you. “Relax, sweetheart. You’ll tell me eventually. I can be real persuasive.”

You ignored him, reaching under the seat and pulling out a small duffel bag, double-checking your gear. Firearms, knives, USB drive, signal jammer. Everything was there.

Dean’s gaze lingered on the bag before flicking back up to you. “You ready for this?”

“Always.”

The car slowed to a crawl, then stopped. The base was still a half-mile out, its outermost fencing barely visible in the distance. You popped the door open, stepping into the cool desert air. The sky above was vast and endless, the stars stretching out like pinpricks in velvet.

Dean followed, stretching his arms above his head with a satisfied sigh. “Man, I love a good break-in. All this sneaking around, you and me against the world—kinda romantic, don’t you think?”

You shot him a flat look. “No.”

Dean smirked, undeterred. “You wound me.”

You adjusted the strap of your bag, eyes locked on the target ahead. “Let’s get this done.”

Dean fell into step beside you, too damn pleased with himself. “Whatever you say, agent.”

And just like that, the hunt began.

The desert stretched wide and restless, sand whispering beneath your boots as you moved quick and quiet, the fencing of the base looming closer with every step. The night was deep, black and bottomless, the air still, thick with the taste of metal and heat.

Dean, of course, wasn’t in any damn hurry.

You could hear him behind you, his steps unhurried, his pace easy—too easy. You glanced back over your shoulder and there he was, swaggering along like the clock wasn’t ticking, like you hadn’t calculated exactly how long you had before the 0300 shift change. He was enjoying this, the slow burn of the night, the game of it all, like you weren’t minutes away from breaking into a goddamn government black site.

“Dean,” you hissed, turning just enough to glare at him. “Will you move?”

He smirked, hands slipping into his jacket pockets like this was just another night at the bar, like you weren’t both trespassing on one of the most classified pieces of land in the country.

“I’d hurry up if you told me a little truth, sweetheart,” he said, voice lazy, full of knowing. “You got all these tricks up your sleeve, all these little secrets. Figured if I just let you keep talking, you’d let something slip.”

You let out a sharp breath, whipping back around to focus on the path ahead. “We do not have time for this, Winchester. Pull your fucking socks up and get over here.”

Dean chuckled, unbothered. “Come on, sweetheart. Indulge me. I’m over here biting, and you’re just stomping your feet and walking away from me.”

You didn’t respond. You just picked up the pace, keeping your head down, eyes sharp as you scanned the perimeter.

Dean let out a low whistle, and you knew—you knew—he was grinning before he even spoke.

“Not that I mind watching you walk away.”

You bristled, but you didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. “Will you get a fucking move on? And quit staring at my ass, you pervert.”

Dean barked out a laugh, the sound rich, smug as hell. “Sweetheart, I will never stop looking at your ass. I couldn’t before, and I’m even less inclined to now.”

Your jaw clenched, but you refused to give him the reaction he wanted. You kept your eyes forward, scanning for the fence, for the guard rotations, for anything that might throw off your window.

Dean, of course, stayed a few steps behind, watching you like a wolf circling prey. But there was something else in his stare, something weighing in the air between you—like he was unraveling something, pulling at a thread he didn’t even know was there until tonight.

Then, up ahead—the fence.

Immediately, you slowed, your body shifting into something quieter, something sharper. Dean, for all his cocky swagger, matched your movements, years of instinct settling into place. The smirk dimmed—not gone, just tempered.

You both stopped just short of the chain-link, shadows stretching long beneath the red-washed floodlights in the distance.

The fence was just the beginning.

You moved quickly, cutting across the sand like a shadow, every step calculated, every movement designed for silence. The cold metal of the bolt cutters bit into your palm as you crouched at the weak point in the chain-link, slicing through with precision. The wind carried the sound away, swallowed it into the vastness of the desert.

Dean? He was watching. Not helping—just leaning against a rock, grinning like he had all the time in the world.

“Gotta say, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice thick with amusement. “It’s kinda sexy watching you work. All that focus. If I’d known you were good with your hands, I’d have put you to better use sooner.”

Your jaw clenched, but you didn’t look at him. “Do me a favour, Dean?"

"Anything for you."

"Shut up.”

He chuckled low, dark. “So bossy.”

The last wire snapped, and you pushed the cut section aside. “Go.”

Dean sauntered past, movements slow and deliberate, like you weren’t pressed for time. The shift change was minutes away, and he was acting like you had the luxury of waiting for an engraved invitation.

You both slipped through, boots sinking into the dry dirt. The yard stretched out ahead of you—open space, floodlights sweeping slow arcs across the terrain. Your pulse pounded steady, controlled, as you scanned the movements of the guards.

One lingered by a utility post, his attention half-there, fingers tapping against his radio. Still awake. Still watching.

Dean let out a dramatic sigh. “This part’s boring. Could just rip his spine out, y’know. Save us the trouble.”

You shot him a sharp look. “We’re doing this clean.”

Dean made a face. “Boring.”

Ignoring him, you pulled a knife from your belt, slipping through the shadows. The guard barely had time to react—your arm wrapped tight around his neck, cutting off his air, your knife cold against his throat. He struggled for a second, then slumped, unconscious before he hit the ground. You eased him down, silent, calculated.

A slow whistle cut through the night.

You turned to see Dean watching you with something new in his gaze—something dark, considering.

“Huh,” he muttered.

You wiped your blade clean. “What?”

Dean’s smirk was pure sin. “No wonder Sammy likes you. You’re just as bossy.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response, just grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him along. He let you, but you felt the tension in his arm, the sheer thrill humming beneath his skin. He was enjoying this. The hunt, the danger, the way you took control. It fed something in him.

The access panel was ahead—a reinforced security door, glowing red from the keycard reader embedded in the steel. You crouched in front of it, pulling a small device from your bag, fingers moving fast as you hacked into the system.

Dean crouched beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat of him. “You’ve definitely done this before.”

You ignored him, pressing a final command. The panel flickered, beeped twice. The lock disengaged with a soft hiss.

Dean let out a low chuckle. “Damn. I think I might be in love.”

You shoved him inside before the cameras caught you both. The air changed the second you stepped in. The hallway was sterile, humming with artificial light. Too cold. Too still. Your instincts screamed wrong.

Blood streaked the floor. Old, dark smears leading toward reinforced doors lining the corridor.

Dean stepped forward, rolling his shoulders, head tilting like he was listening for something just beneath the surface. The Mark of Cain was humming—you could feel the shift in him, the way his grip flexed around the handle of his blade.

“This isn’t just a science lab,” you murmured.

Dean’s voice was low, sharp. “No shit.”

Then, a sound. A low growl. Chains rattling.

You turned the corner and stopped short. A containment cell. Reinforced glass, lined with sigils, locking something inside. A demon. Bound, trapped, black eyes flickering in the dim light.

It looked at Dean. And smiled.

“Oh… you’re gonna love what they’ve got planned for you, Winchester.”

Dean’s jaw twitched, his fingers flexing around the First Blade.

You exhaled, steadying yourself. “What the hell does that mean?”

Dean didn’t answer. But you knew, with sudden, sinking certainty—this just got a lot worse.

The air was thick between you, tension coiling tight as you moved deeper into the facility, boots silent against the cold floor. The metallic tang of blood still lingered in the sterile air, clinging to the walls, the floors, the past sins of whatever had gone down in this place. You were focused, pushing forward, calculating the next steps.

Dean? He was right behind you. Close. Too close.

The sound of approaching footsteps snapped your instincts into place. A security patrol, moving fast. You barely had a second to react before you grabbed Dean by the sleeve and pulled him into the nearest alcove—narrow, tight, barely enough space for two people.

His body pressed against yours, broad, solid, immovable. Your back hit the cold metal wall, his arms bracketing you in before you could shove him off. The patrol passed, their voices muffled, footsteps fading. But Dean didn’t move.

He was watching you.

“Y’know, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low, teasing, “I always knew you had a thing for me.”

You stiffened, forcing your hands to stay still at your sides, resisting the urge to shove him away. “Bullshit.”

Dean smirked, lazy and knowing. “Come on. You think I didn’t notice? All those nights? All those close calls?”

Your breath hitched. The memories hit harder.

Nights in the Impala, the heat of his arm against yours, the way he looked at you over the rim of a whiskey glass in shitty motel rooms, that night in the bunker when the power was out and neither of you had slept, the way his voice had gone softer, the way you’d almost closed the space between you.

Almost.

Dean leaned in, the heat of him sinking into your skin, the scent of leather and something darker curling around you. “You wanted me then,” he said, voice like velvet dragged over gravel. “And you want me now.”

His fingers trailed up your arm, slow, deliberate. Your breath faltered. You hated that he could pull this reaction out of you. Hated that he was right.

“Difference is…” His lips barely brushed the shell of your ear. “Now, there’s nothing stopping you.”

Your hands clenched into fists. He was right. There was nothing stopping you.

Except yourself.

The space between you was razor-thin, your pulse slamming against your ribs. He was warm, too warm. The Mark of Cain hummed beneath his skin, an energy that wrapped around you, that pulled. It would be so easy. So easy to give in, to let this happen, to drown in him like you’d wanted to all those times before.

Dean knew it too. His smirk deepened, eyes half-lidded, drinking in the way your breath came short, the way your resolve wavered for just a second.

“All you gotta do is say the word, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I’ll make you forget everything else.”

For a moment, you almost did.

Then the alarm blared.

The sharp wail cut through the air like a knife, echoing off the walls. Your body jerked, snapping back into reality, into focus. You shoved Dean back, hard, your breath coming fast as you ripped yourself free of the heat, the pull, the inevitable crash.

Dean only laughed, breathless, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair. Like he knew. Like he had felt you falter. Like he had already won something, even if he hadn’t.

You didn’t look at him. You turned, took off down the hallway, gun drawn, senses sharpened by adrenaline and something worse.

Dean’s voice followed you, smug as hell. “You almost had me, sweetheart.”

You clenched your jaw and didn’t answer. Because the worst part? He was right.

The servers hummed, their glow casting eerie shadows along the walls, sterile blue light cutting through the darkness. Your fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard, bypassing encrypted firewalls, dismantling layers of government-grade security like you’d been doing it your entire life.

Because you had.

Dean was right behind you. Too close. The heat of him, the weight of him, pressing in without touching. His breath, slow and measured, just over your shoulder. Every shift of his stance brought him against you—chest grazing your back, hips nearly flush with yours, his hands braced on the desk on either side of you, caging you in like you were his favourite game to play.

“Sweetheart,” his voice was low, thick, dangerous, “if you keep wiggling that sweet little ass in front of me, I’m gonna have to do something about it.”

Your fingers faltered for just a second. Just enough for Dean to chuckle, breath hot against the shell of your ear.

“Focus, Winchester,” you bit out, forcing yourself to keep typing, to ignore the molten pull in your stomach.

Dean smirked against your skin. “Oh, I am. Just not on the same thing as you.”

He shifted slightly—just enough to let you feel how hard he was, how much he was enjoying this. It was deliberate, teasing, a slow drag against the base of your spine that had your breath catching in your throat before you could stop it.

Dean groaned, low and knowing. “Son of a bitch, you’re so focused. So determined. Bet you're like this in bed, too.”

Your thighs clenched instinctively, body betraying you. He noticed. Of course he did.

“Y’know, sweetheart…” His voice dropped, gravel-slick and dark. “I’ve been real patient. But if you keep looking at that screen like that, I’m gonna bend you over this desk and make you look at me instead.”

A violent shudder raked through you before you could control it. You hated how much he affected you, how much he always had—but never like this. Not when he was himself, not when there were still lines left between you. But now? Now there were no lines, no rules. Just hunger. Just Dean, burning through you like something primal, something inevitable.

A slow smirk curled at the edge of his lips. He had you. He knew he had you.

“See?” He murmured. “There it is.”

You gritted your teeth, forcing your attention back to the screen. The firewall fell, one last keystroke giving you access to the files you needed. You yanked a USB drive from your pocket and shoved it into the port, transferring everything at once.

The sound of boots against tile made your breath hitch.

Dean’s head snapped toward the hallway, that razor-sharp smirk curving into something feral. “Well, finally.”

You barely had time to pull the drive free before the first guard entered the room.

Dean was on him before the poor bastard could draw his weapon. A brutal crack of bone, the sickening sound of a body hitting the ground, and then chaos erupted.

Dean moved like a storm, his body fluid, effortless, deadly. Fast. Brutal. His hands wrapped around a man’s throat, squeezing until the gasps stopped, until there was no sound left but the dull thump of a corpse hitting the floor.

You pivoted, sidestepping a punch, snapping your attacker’s wrist before driving your knee into his solar plexus. His choked wheeze barely left his lips before you finished him, one sharp twist of his neck sending him crumpling at your feet.

Another guard charged you, but you were faster. A swift strike to his throat, a kick to his knee, and he was down.

Across the room, Dean was enjoying himself. The way he moved was almost beautiful—graceful, effortless violence, an executioner painting in blood. He laughed as he drove his blade into the last man standing, eyes black, lips curled in something akin to ecstasy.

And then silence.

You stood there, chest heaving, the scent of iron thick in the air, bodies littering the floor around you. Blood smeared across your arm, cooling against your skin.

Dean turned toward you, his own chest rising and falling, a bead of blood rolling down his cheek. He licked it away absently, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

Then, that slow, wolfish smirk.

“Now, that’s my girl.”

Your pulse slammed against your ribs. Your fingers curled into fists. And God help you, because you wanted him.

You wanted him.

The scent of blood still clung to the air, thick and metallic, the only sound the distant hum of the servers and the cooling bodies scattered across the floor.

You exhaled, steadying yourself as you wiped a smear of crimson from your cheek. Dean was still grinning, tongue darting out to catch the remnants of someone else’s blood from his lips.

“Alright,” you muttered, adjusting your grip on your weapon. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Dean wiped his blade clean against the sleeve of his jacket, casting a glance back toward the containment cells. “And what about our little friend?”

You followed his gaze. The demon, still trapped behind reinforced glass, watching, waiting. The thing had known him—really known him. And that alone made it dangerous.

“We kill it.” Your voice was even, steady. Uncompromising. “Before it gets the chance to tell someone worse that you’re here.”

Dean hummed low in his throat, rolling his shoulders, considering. “Alright. We gank it.”

Then, suddenly, he was in your space.

A shift of movement, a blur of predatory grace, and you barely had time to react before your back hit cold metal, his body pressing in, caging you between solid muscle and unyielding steel. His hands braced against the wall on either side of you, his breath warm against your jaw.

“But first…” he drawled, slow and deliberate, the syllables curling like smoke.

Your pulse kicked.

The heat in his eyes wasn’t just hunger—it was something sharper, something honed, something starving. The grin he gave you was pure demon, sharp at the edges, an animal baring its teeth before the bite.

“You gonna tell me how the hell you know how to do all this?” His voice was velvet and gravel, his eyes black for the briefest flicker before they burned back to green.

You pressed your hands against his chest, trying to create space. “We don’t have time for this, Dean.”

A mistake.

The second you touched him, his hand slid down your side, slow, deceptively soft, trailing over the curve of your waist, an echo of something before. A memory of who he used to be, before the Mark, before he died and came back, before this. But it was tainted now, something darker curling beneath it, something that sent a shiver up your spine for an entirely different reason.

Dean caught it. He felt it.

His smirk deepened, voice dropping to something molten. “Oh, sweetheart…”

His other hand ghosted up your arm, fingers brushing along your collarbone, featherlight, teasing, coaxing. His hips barely, barely rocked forward, pressing against you in a way that had you biting the inside of your cheek to keep your breath steady. His lips ghosted yours, not quite a kiss, just a warning, a promise, a test of how much you could take.

“Tell me the truth,” he murmured. “The sooner you do, the sooner we can get the hell out of here.”

You refused to react. Refused to give him the satisfaction.

Dean chuckled, dark and knowing. “C’mon, sweetheart. You’re so hot when you’re trying not to fall apart on me.” He tilted his head, lips nearly brushing yours. “Got me all worked up.”

Your breath stuttered, but you forced yourself to scoff. “It’s the goddamn Mark that’s got you worked up, not me.”

His teeth flashed, a sharp grin. “Can’t it be both?”

You clenched your jaw, twisting to try and slip out from beneath him. But he was faster—his hand shot up, catching the back of your neck, pivoting you before you could break free. Your breath hitched as he turned you back toward him, holding you firm, his grip possessive but not bruising.

This time, when he leaned in, it was almost sweet.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, almost coaxing now, but the danger still coiled beneath his tone. “Tell me who the hell you are.”

The silence stretched between you like a wire pulled too tight, humming with tension, ready to snap. Dean still pressed against you, his body warm, solid, caging you in, waiting for the answer he already knew was going to wreck him.

You swallowed hard. There was no getting out of this.

“I wasn’t always a hunter.”

Dean’s expression flickered—smugness didn’t leave, but something sharpened in his gaze, something interested.

“No shit, sweetheart. I figured that part out an hour ago.”

Your jaw tensed. You exhaled through your nose, steady, controlled. “I was something else before this. Something that didn’t exist on paper. Someone the government made sure didn’t exist.”

Dean let out a sharp laugh, but there was no humour in it. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

His grip on your hip tightened, his fingers digging in—not hurting, just holding. Keeping you right there. “You were a fed?”

You shook your head. “No. I was a ghost. Someone they used, someone they cut loose when I wasn’t useful anymore.”

Dean went silent.

Not because he didn’t believe you. Not because he needed time to process. But because he was pissed.

His nostrils flared, his jaw tightening before he let out a slow exhale. His grip on you flexed. His voice, when it came, was calm. Too calm.

“And when exactly were you planning on telling me?” He tilted his head slightly, eyes dark, unreadable. “Or were you just gonna keep playing house with me and Sammy, keep your little secret tucked away while we ran around thinking we knew you?”

His words cut deeper than you expected. Your throat tightened, but you pushed past it. “It didn’t matter.”

Dean let out a sharp breath, almost a laugh. “Bullshit.”

His hand moved—trailing up your side, slow, dragging over your ribs, over the curve of your waist, something deceptively soft, something dangerous.

“I mean, damn, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice curling like smoke. “You’ve been lying to us this whole damn time. Playing the innocent little hunter, when really, you’ve been something else completely.”

His fingers found your collarbone, tracing it, his touch featherlight. His other hand braced against the wall beside your head, his chest flush with yours. His head dipped lower, his lips ghosting over your cheek, close, so close.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, almost to himself. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Your breath caught. Your body betrayed you, muscles coiling, heat licking at your spine.

Dean felt it.

His smirk deepened, his nose brushing against yours. “All this time… you let me think I was the dangerous one.”

His teeth scraped against the shell of your ear, slow, deliberate, like he wanted to savour the way your breath hitched, the way you shivered.

“Turns out, you were just waiting for the right moment to show me who you really are.”

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. “Dean.”

The warning in your voice was weak.

Dean chuckled, the sound low and knowing. His hand moved lower, pressing at the dip of your spine, his thigh slipping between yours just enough to make your heartbeat hammer against your ribs.

“I should be pissed,” he murmured. “Hell, I am pissed.”

Then his voice dipped lower, rougher, thick with something twisted.

“But right now? I don’t know if I wanna punish you for keeping that from me…”

He shifted, his thigh pressing against you, his fingers digging just slightly into your hip.

“Or if I wanna fuck you stupid for it.”

The breath in your lungs turned sharp, jagged. You barely had time to register what he said before—

A snarl cut through the air.

You both turned, the spell breaking just enough for clarity to sink back in.

The demon.

It grinned at you from behind reinforced glass, its black eyes glinting with something cruel. “Oh, at least get to the good part. I'm dying from the suspense.”

Dean’s expression snapped. His eyes went black, full demon now, no hesitation, no warning.

Your breath came fast as you shoved at his chest, creating space. Focus. Reset.

“We kill it.” Your voice was steady, controlled, back in the moment.

Dean’s fingers flexed around his knife. His grin was something wicked, something feral.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, rolling his shoulders, cracking his neck. “That?”

His gaze locked onto the demon, full of promise.

“That part? I was looking forward to.”

The containment cell’s glow flickered, unstable, as your blade scraped through some of the painted sigils. The moment the etched line severed, the air shifted—the energy that had been holding the demon in place cracked like shattered glass.

And then? All hell broke loose.

The demon surged forward, its body snapping into motion, black eyes gleaming with something wicked.

Dean was faster.

He caught it mid-air, slamming it back against the glass, the impact sending a violent crack through the reinforced surface. His grip tightened around its throat, his knife pressing just beneath its jaw. The demon choked out a strangled laugh, its teeth glinting with amusement even as its body twitched in pain.

“Oh, you really are gone, aren’t you?” It sneered, voice syrupy with mock sympathy. “Tell me, Dean—how long until you tear her apart too?”

Dean’s smirk was slow, deliberate, dark. “Nah. You first.”

And then, he drove the blade home.

The demon’s body seized, eyes going wide as the blade burned through it like fire, deep and precise. A raw, guttural scream tore from its throat as black smoke spewed from its mouth, curling and writhing, before dispersing into nothing. The body crumpled, empty, dead.

Silence fell, heavy and sharp. The only sound was the distant hum of alarms, the blood pounding in your ears.

Dean exhaled, slow and controlled, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the high of the kill. But when he turned to face you, his breath was still uneven, his pupils blown wide, eyes dark with something else entirely.

“That,” he murmured, voice thick, “was fucking hot.”

Your jaw tightened, forcing yourself to ignore the way your stomach twisted. The way his words sent something unsteady through your veins.

“We need to go.”

Dean tilted his head, his smirk curling at the edges. “Oh, now you wanna leave? Could’ve fooled me a minute ago.”

You pushed past him, your body still vibrating with adrenaline, but he was faster. His hand snapped out, catching your wrist, dragging you back.

Your breath hitched as he pivoted you, pressing in close, his grip firm but not bruising. His thumb dragged slow across your pulse point, tracing the heat beneath your skin. His eyes—still dark, still predatory—searched yours, something unreadable flickering in the depths.

“You and me?” His voice was a whisper now, low and dangerous. “We’re not done talking about this.”

The way he said it sent a thrill down your spine.

Then, he tugged you forward, and you ran. Out of the facility, through the silent, blood-soaked hallways, past the bodies left in your wake. You weren’t sure whether you were running from the guards, or from something worse—

But you knew exactly where you were going.

Back to the Impala. And if the heat still crackling between you was anything to go by? The Impala was about to get very steamed up.

The second you reached the car, Dean snapped.

He caught your wrist, spinning you, yanking you against him. Your bodies collided, the heat of the fight still burning through your skin, through your veins. Then his mouth crashed against yours—hungry, violent, claiming.

You barely had time to catch your breath before his hands were on you, gripping, taking. He lifted you clean off the ground, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as his fingers dug into your thighs. Then? He threw you down onto the hood of the Impala.

The cold metal bit into your back, but you barely felt it. Not with the way Dean was moving—possessive, relentless, mouth trailing over your jaw, throat, dragging his teeth across your pulse like he wanted to mark you from the inside out.

You gasped against him, high on adrenaline, on him, on this.

His breath was ragged, his hands tore at clothes, fingers curling in fabric, tugging, desperate. His mouth sealed over yours again, heat and hunger pouring into the kiss, like he’d been waiting for this for years and now? Now, there was nothing stopping him.

Between frantic kisses, you tried to pull yourself together, tried to form words, tried to push logic through the thick haze of lust clouding your mind. “Dean—” you gasped, gripping his biceps, nails biting into his skin.

He growled, low and dangerous, pressing harder against you. The metal beneath you creaked.

“We need to get out of here.”

Dean didn’t answer—not immediately. His mouth was too busy burning a path down your throat, teeth scraping, tongue soothing. His hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding under your jacket, tracing the heat of your skin like he was memorising it.

“Dean.” Your voice wasn’t steady anymore.

He snarled but pulled back, just enough to meet your gaze. His pupils were blown, his breath ragged, his lips red from kissing, his whole body radiating heat.

His frustration dripped from every inch of him. His jaw clenched, his fingers flexing against your waist before—“Fucking fine.”

Then he yanked you off the hood, dragged you to the passenger door, and shoved you inside.

The road was dark. The Impala tore through the night, dirt kicking up behind her, tires spinning, the growl of the engine mirroring the hunger burning between the two of you.

Inside? Everything was red.

The dash lights bled crimson into the dim interior. The blood still clinging to your skin smelled red, thick and metallic, still warm. The heat was red. The tension was red. The want, the ache, the hunger—

Red.

Dean drove like a maniac. One hand white-knuckling the wheel, the other? On you. His palm burned against your thigh, fingers gripping too tight, too possessive. His thumb stroked slow circles, teasing, dangerous.

The tension coiled, winding tighter and tighter as his fingers drifted higher, pressing between your legs, rubbing slow, lazy circles through your clothes.

Your breath stuttered.

Dean smirked. Didn’t even look at you. Just kept driving, eyes locked on the dark road ahead, dust swirling in the Impala’s rearview.

The only indication he felt anything? The way his fingers flexed, pressing harder, deliberate, testing.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to sit up straighter, forcing yourself to breathe. “Dean—”

“Shh.” His voice was wrecked, a low, dangerous thing. Dark and knowing. His fingers curled, pressing against your clothed-cunt in slow, taunting circles.

“Focus on the road,” you warned, voice weaker than you wanted it to be.

Dean laughed—low, dark, full of sin. “Oh, sweetheart,” he rasped, pressing harder, watching your legs tense beneath his touch.

“I am focused.” His fingers drifted higher. “Just not on the same thing as you.”

The same words he'd said not an hour ago. The heat between you, unbearable now. The red inside the car felt suffocating, thick with blood, lust, adrenaline, the echo of the kill still fresh between you.

Then, suddenly, Dean yanked the wheel.

The Impala spun into the motel parking lot, tires screeching against gravel. Dust clouded the air, swirling in red as he slammed the brakes, throwing the car into park.

Silence.

Your breath was uneven, heart hammering against your ribs like a living thing desperate for escape. Dean’s hand was still on your thigh. The weight of it sent a shiver down your spine. Slowly, he turned his head, eyes dark, mouth parted, still hungry.

His voice? Raw. Shattered. Starved.

“Get in the back.”

The neon sign outside the motel bled red through the Impala’s windows, pulsing like a heartbeat, like a warning, like the last gasp before everything went up in flames. The air was thick inside the car—too hot, too heavy, too full of everything that had been simmering between you and Dean for years, and now? Now it was finally spilling over.

Your pulse hammered. You glanced at the motel, the vacancy sign flickering. “Dean, there’s a motel right there.”

His grin was wicked, smug as sin. “Oh, sweetheart. You think I’m not gonna take you in there after?” He leaned in, breath hot against your ear. “But right now? I wanna fuck you in my car to make up for lost time.”

A full-body shiver rolled through you. Your thighs clenched involuntarily.

“Okay.”

You turned, already shifting over the front bench, crawling between the seats—

And then? Teeth. A sharp, stinging bite to your ass, hard enough to make you yelp.

Dean laughed, low and sinful, the sound curling into your bones. “Fuck, you sound sweet when you squeal, sweetheart.”

You glared at him over your shoulder, breathless. “You’re a goddamn menace.”

His smirk deepened. “And you love it.”

Your stomach flipped, heat pooling low, but you ignored it, settling into the backseat. Dean followed with his eyes, watching you strip. Your jacket hit the floor first. Your fingers hooked into your jeans, sliding them down, slow.

Dean? Absolutely gone.

His gaze dragged down, locked onto the darkened fabric between your legs. And then? He laughed.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You’re already soaked.”

Your face burned. “Shut up, Dean.”

His smirk turned feral. “Why? You embarrassed?” He reached out, dragging a single taunting finger over the damp cotton. “This all for me?”

You swatted his hand away. “Get your ass back here already.”

And just like that? He was on you. The second he climbed into the backseat, his lips crashed into yours, devouring. His hands were everywhere—gripping, possessing, dragging you closer, tighter, deeper.

He was growling between kisses, voice wrecked, rasping against your lips. “You don’t get it, do you?”

His teeth scraped over your jaw, down your throat.

“How bad I’ve wanted this.”

His hands dug into your thighs, spreading them.

“How many nights I had to sneak out to the Impala to jerk off while we were sharing motel rooms.”

Your breath stuttered.

Dean groaned, mouth trailing lower.

“Had to listen to you breathing soft in the next bed over while I was out here in this backseat, picturing what you’d sound like if I got my hands on you.”

Your fingers knotted into his hair, tugging.

Dean laughed, breathless, wrecked, desperate. His fingers curled against the waistband of your panties, tugging, teasing.

“You got any idea what you do to me?”

His breath was hot against your stomach. His fingers dragged down, slow, deliberate, teasing.

“Gonna show you, sweetheart.”

He pushed the soaked fabric to the side, spreading you with his fingers, sliding inside—

Slow. Deep. Deliberate.

Your head slammed back against the door. Dean let out a low, guttural groan, watching the way you took him, watching the way your body clenched around his fingers, warm and tight and perfect.

“Jesus. You’re taking me so fucking easy.”

His other hand braced against your thigh, spreading you open further, locking you down. Your breath came sharp, eyes fluttering closed—

And Dean tutted. His fingers curled inside you, pressing just right. Your head snapped back down, locking eyes with him.

His smirk burned through you. “Look at me, sweetheart. Don’t you dare shut those pretty eyes.”

Your breath hitched, body trembling as heat licked at your spine, tension pulling tighter, tighter. Then his mouth was on you.

Hot. Wet. Perfect.

You shattered. The orgasm hit fast, blinding, an electric shock rolling through every inch of you. Dean moaned against you, greedy, devouring, drinking in every shudder, every gasp. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you there, keeping you open as he licked you clean.

“That’s it. That’s my fucking girl.”

Your whole body was trembling, still pulsing from the aftershocks. And before you could even think, before your breath could even settle—Dean was moving. He was up, towering over you, pupils blown, lips slick. His hands shoved his jeans down just enough. His cock—thick, flushed, dripping—sprang free.

Your stomach flipped.

He grabbed himself, dragging the head over you, teasing, coating himself in your slick.

“Jesus fucking Christ, sweetheart.” He was breathless, trembling with restraint. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”

He lined up, pressing just barely inside. His hands braced against your hips, locking you down. His voice was wrecked, raw, full of everything he’d held back for too damn long.

“I’m gonna make you mine.”

Then? He thrust all the way in. No hesitation. And the whole world went red.

The Impala had seen things. Bloodstains in the leather, bullet holes patched over, the ghosts of too many hunts clinging to her frame. But never this. Never you and him, tangled in the backseat, drenched in sweat and moonlight and the neon red bleeding through the windows like a prophecy fulfilled.

The air inside the car was stifling—thick with heat, with want, with the gravity of inevitability.

Dean’s grip on your hips was bruising, fingers digging in, possessive, reverent, like he was anchoring himself to something holy. His cock buried deep, stretching you, filling every aching space inside of you, and he groaned—low, shattered, wrecked.

“Jesus fucking Christ, sweetheart. You were made for me.”

His hands moved like scripture, tracing the lines of your body like they held secrets only he was meant to read. Deciphering you. Cracking you open. Like you were a code that needed breaking, a secret written in heat and moans and teeth against skin.

The slow, devastating pull of his hips turned brutal, sharp. Each thrust was a translation, a revelation.

“Always knew this would happen.” His voice was dark, desperate, too far gone.

His forehead pressed against yours, breath hot, body burning. “Didn’t know when, didn’t know how, but fuck—”

His teeth scraped along your jaw, down your throat, biting down just enough to make you arch.

“Knew you’d be mine one day.”

His tongue soothed where he bit, but his hands were still unrelenting, gripping your hips, keeping you open for him, keeping you his.

“You are mine, aren’t you?”

Your breath stuttered, head tipping back, body drowning in sensation, in him. Dean pulled back just enough to see you—really see you—waiting for the answer. Your lips parted, but you could barely find the air to speak. Every thrust pulled something loose inside you, something sacred.

“I’m yours, Dean.”

The sound he made? Fucking primal.

He lost it. His thrusts turned desperate, ruthless, chasing something just beyond reach. His mouth was everywhere—on your throat, your jaw, your collarbone, sucking bruises into your skin, biting down like a claim, a vow, a goddamn brand.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Say it again.”

Your fingers clawed at his back, at his hair, at anything you could hold onto.

“I’m yours.”

Dean groaned, the sound ripped straight from his chest.

His thumb pressed against your clit—circling, teasing, knowing. The pressure built, hot, unbearable, climbing higher, higher, higher. Then his tongue was at your ear, whispering filth, destruction, devotion.

“Gonna come for me, baby? Come on my cock while I tell you how fucking obsessed I am with you?”

It broke you. The orgasm was violent, raw, dragging you under and ripping you apart at the same time.

Dean groaned, thrusts stuttering, control slipping. His teeth sank into the curve of your shoulder, muffling the sound of his own wreckage as he followed you over the edge. His release filled you, marking you, making you his from the inside out.

The Impala sat still, silent but for the ragged breathing between you, the echo of what just happened still heavy in the air.

Dean was still inside you, still panting against your throat. His lips pressed a slow, almost tender kiss over the bruise he just left.

“Never letting you go now, sweetheart.”

You shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold. You knew—deep in your bones, deep in the red-tinted dark of the car—that he meant it. That he was never going to let you go. And that you never wanted him to.

But now you had to figure out how to get Dean back to the bunker, back to Sam, so that you could cure him. You knew how to crack a system, how to break through firewalls, how to decode the things that were never meant to be seen.

But Dean Winchester was a cipher you weren’t sure you’d ever fully solve.

taglist: @mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @kayleighwinchester @lyarr24 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @cevansbaby-dove @paristheonewhoreads <3

#pfiahc writes #my writing #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean x female!reader #dean x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #supernatural x reader #spn x reader #spn x you #supernatural x you

220 notes · View notes

avecra · 11 months ago

Text

Dosed

summary: When you are laced with a deadly pathogen, the team finds themselves working endlessly to find a cure. Only it might not be enough.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 6.7k

warnings: canon level violence, illness symptoms (fever, cough, vomiting), angst on top of angst with a happy ending, bucky goes through many emotions

a/n: hi hello it has been a hot minute since I have been active im so sorry :( i had a lot of personal issues to deal with but now im hoping to be a little bit more active and post more stories :)

You could feel the heavy rumble of the jet as it landed on the muddy grounds. An overcast covered the sky and emitted a soft grey through the thick glass of the display of the jet, the light pitter of rain tapped against the window.

Bucky’s gentle touch stole your gaze from the window to the super soldier, his fingers wrapped around the Kevlar vest and he began to tighten the straps around your shoulders, pulling them into place.

“Do I really have to wear this? Steve said that the building is supposed to be empty,” you said, trailing a finger along the front of your vest, over the stitched ‘Barnes’ that sat over the thick fabric.

“Yes, honey,” Bucky chuckled, tightening the straps over your back. “Just cause Steve says it’s empty doesn’t mean it is. I can’t risk anything happening to you, therefore you get to wear my vest.” He winked at you and tightened the last strap across your abdomen. “Gotta keep my girl safe, now don’t I?”

You smiled sheepishly and nodded, continued to watch him strap a few guns and knives to his body. Exhaling a tense sigh, you ran your sweaty palms down the side of your tactical uniform, Bucky noticed. “It’s gonna be okay, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

“I know,” you whispered, grabbing his hand. “I’m not exactly equipped for these types of missions, I’m just a little nervous.”

Bucky’s eyes softened when he heard the small crack in your voice, his hands encased around yours and he tenderly pressed a kiss to the back of your palm. “I’m gonna be right by your side the entire time.”

You bobbed your head, taking in a deep breath as Bucky gently slid a gun into the holster on your thigh. “But just in case.”

The two of you had been assigned to track down a lone mercenary in the middle of western Canada. The stormy weather had made it difficult for the jet sensors to get a read on the building that sat in a nearly empty forest.

A mercenary hacker under the name Roman Donovan had been on Tony Stark’s radar for quite some time, after noticing the many sudden security pop ups, indicating that Donovan had smothered his way into Tony’s tech. Both Steve and Tony had been working relentlessly to find a position on him, until a sudden location popped up.

You had your doubts, whether you were the best candidate for this mission, but Steve had reassured you with your technical and computer knowledge that you were the perfect fit. A squeeze to your hand reminded you that Bucky would be with you every step of the way.

With a nod from you, Bucky placed the small comm device into your ear, tapping it a few times so he could hear the breaths that left your lips. He slipped one into his ear as well, tapping it a few times until he could catch the chatter of the two agents in the cockpit of the jet.

“Prescott and Logan, stand by. We’ll radio you in case we need backup,” Bucky announced, pressing the button that opened up the ramp of the jet. He turned to you with a soft, comforting smile. “It’s just a simple extraction of files,” he reminded with a gentle hand to your back. “Ready?”

A final nod of your head, you looked at him. Ready.”

---

The building had been vacant this far, Bucky had led the both of you to the control room where you rapidly typed on the main computer. Bucky stood by the door, sending cautious glances over his shoulder every few seconds to survey the dark hallway.

“I’m almost done,” you called out to him, fingers dancing across the keyboard, desperately pushing into the numbers and letters faster. “It had more firewalls than I expected.”

Bucky glanced over in your direction, a frown taking over his features. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not necessarily. Just means this guy wants to keep people like me out of his stuff,” you mumbled. Bucky chuckled under his breath.

A few more clicks to the keyboard, you powered off the system and the flash drive ejected out of the main computer. Stepping back, you watched the monitors as the files slowly disappeared from folders and main screen savers, until all the screens went dark.

“I think I got it,” you muttered, eyes wide as they focused on the screens. The flash drive began to flicker a blue color, indicating that the files had transferred successfully without a trace of Stark technology.

The loud slamming of a door alerted Bucky, as he raised his rifle up, pointing towards the sudden sound. You pocketed the flash drive and raised your head at the sudden sound, eyes filled with confusion as they flickered over to Bucky’s alarmed blue ones.

“Get behind me,” You quickly made your way over to him and his hand immediately darted out to grab your wrist. Though you could feel the tension riding off his body in waves, his hold on your arm was gentle. “Stay low.”

You nodded and grasped the back of Bucky’s tactical vest, fisting the thick fabric. With a cautious foot forwards, Bucky stepped out into the hallway, taking slow, steady steps into the dimly lit corridor.��

Your hands made their way from the fabric of his shirt to his vibranium hand, and you gripped as tightly as you could, in a way to ground you. He couldn’t feel the tight pressure, but he could feel the weight of your hand in his.

The two of you stealthily made your way through sets of hallways and stairwells, inching closer and closer to the doorway, until the loud slamming of boots against the tile floors halted you in your stance. Fear corrupted every fiber of your body, you couldn’t take your eyes off the panicked look in Bucky’s blue ones.

You felt Bucky push you away behind him, before a sudden force knocked him to the ground, grunts passed through his lips.

“Y/n, run!”

Not looking back, you trusted Bucky enough to know that he would make it out unscathed, with only a few scrapes and bruises. You, however, were not a field trained agent, with little combat knowledge. You bolted the other direction, on the way to warn the two agents standing by in the jet.

“I need backup! Logan, Prescott, to the northeast side of the building, now!”

It wasn’t until you felt the pull of your vest and the weight of someone did you register your head slam against the ground, rather harshly. A strangled cry left your lips when you felt a needle puncture your skin, just at the conjunction between your shoulder and neck.

His hand pressed down on your neck harshly, cutting off your air supply, but you were frozen in fear - he head injected something into your skin. You did not find the strength to fight back.

Fear paralyzed every fiber of your body.

Grunts and strangled screams were heard, you didn’t know if it came from you, but suddenly the weight was lifted off you, though you registered nothing of it. A few greedy breaths of fresh air. The pulsing of your heartbeat rang out in your ear, chiming and pudding against your skull. You laid frozen.

“Y/n is down, I have Donovan apprehended. I need backup, please!” Bucky spoke into the comms a moment later as he threw the hacker on his stomach and pinned his wrists behind his back. He was tempted to sap his wrist, but he held back.

“Roman Donovan, you are a hard son of a bitch to find,” Bucky growled in his ear, reaching into his vest to pull out a pair of wrist restraints, tightening them to Donovan’s wrist. The man yelled in pain and discomfort.

Bucky glanced over to you, eyes softening when he took in your fragile form on the concrete. You just laid there, almost lifeless, but once Bucky saw the rise and fall of your chest, only a little relief came to him. It quickly rushed away when blue eyes focused on the empty syringe near your foot.

“There’s a lot more pain coming your way. What did you inject her with?” Bucky yelled viciously, grabbing Donovan roughly by the hair. But the man simply let out a dark chuckle, eyes narrowing on you. The way weak coughs passed through your lips, the way you burrowed deeper into yourself.

“I know your weak spots, James Barnes.” was all he said.

The hurried footsteps of Prescott and Logan reached his ears and Bucky abruptly stood up and watched the two agents haul the mercenary to his feet and slam him against the wall, patting him, finding a gun strapped to his back and a small grenade.

“Secure him to the panel near the bay doors. Bastard can fly out for all I care.”

Bucky wasted no time in making his way over to you. A gentle hand soothed comforting circles up and down your arm, gently coaxing you and Bucky gently lifted you up in his arms and leant you against the wall, concerned as your head lolled back.

“Baby, are you okay?” His panicked gaze flickered from the bleeding gash on your temple, to the light bruising around your neck, the small dot of blood at the conjunction between your neck and shoulder. He sighed, bringing a hand to rest on your cheek. “Y/n, answer me baby, what hurts?”

Your eyes were clenched shut and you brought a shaky hand to rest over Bucky’s, and you lifted your gaze to meet his worried blue ones. “I’m okay… I think.”

“You think?” Bucky asked, running a hand over your hair.

“I-I don’t know, I feel fuzzy,” you mumbled, leaning your head back against the wall.

Taking slow, deep breaths, you felt Bucky rub slow, soothing circles up and down your thigh. There was a buzzing sensation circling throughout your temples, down to your cheeks, along our jaw until it spread through the rest of your body.

“Deep breaths in and out, baby,” Bucky whispered soothingly, leaning down to kiss your knee.

But then, in a moment or two, you felt it suddenly disperse. As if the wave of numbness rid itself out of your body. You allowed Bucky to help you to your feet, brushing his hands over the front of the vest before making sure you had no further injuries.

“We’ll check you over at the compound,” Bucky said as he wrapped an arm around your waist and led you down the hall, following the two agents in suit. “Let’s get out of here.”

---

Bucky watched helplessly as he and Steve watched as Dr. Cho and her team scanned over your body. He couldn’t imagine how confused and scared you were, hands gripping the sheets. Your first field mission had been a complete disaster. Bruce walked in, the used syringe in an examination tube.

“What do you think he injected her with?” Bucky asked after a couple of minutes of silence.

“It’s weird,” Bruce began, handing the folder over to Bucky.

“I pushed it through a scanner, to see if I could find any sort of answer to what this is. All tests come back negative for a virus or disease. Has she had any of her symptoms progress on the way home?”

Bucky shook his head, “No, she’s just been… frozen, paralyzed almost. He has injected her with something; I saw the blood on her neck and it seemed like he had tried to… kill her or something.”

“You think he would?”

“Why else would he press his fucking hand over her throat?”

“That, I am not sure. So unless she starts to show signs of some sort of sickness, I unfortunately have no answers. I’ll check in with Tony, see if he has any answers. I’ll keep you guys updated.”

“Thanks, Bruce.” Bucky sighed, watching as the doctor left. He opened the file, reading over the diagnosis levels. “I still don’t get it.”

Steve hummed, taking the file out of his hand.

“The only thing he said to me was ‘I know your weak spots’ and then called me out by name. But I have never come into contact with this guy, not even as the Winter Soldier. The dude is early twenties and lived with his grandma in east Maryland up until two years ago, living in some studio in Princeton up in Jersey. How the hell did he end up in Canada?”

“That doesn’t track at all. Unless he has dug up on all of us. He probably just wanted to get you by surprise.” Steve said. “Real name is Benjamin Croot. 24 years old.”

“Sergeant Barnes,” Dr. Cho’s voice broke through on the intercom. “She is asking for you.”

Bucky moved faster than he could process. He rushed through the doors and you turned your head at the sound of his boots.

“Is she okay? She’s not hurt or anything?” Worried questions spewed out, his hands came to grip yours as tight without hurting you. He brushed his hand over your warm, sweaty forehead. “She’s warm.”

Dr. Cho nodded. “My team ran all the tests imaginable for this certain… situation. And everything came back negative, which worries me. If what Y/n described is true, then he must have injected her with something that is lethal or close to being lethal.

“She said to have felt numb, fuzzy almost. Those are usually the signs of a virus or even… a pathogen starts to form. But what I don’t get is that I could not find a single trace of.. well anything really.”

“Dr. Banner doesn’t have an answer either, though he’s checking in with Stark as we speak.” Bucky said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “What should we do? Keep her here?”

The woman sighed, pieces of her hair falling from the neat bun. “Honestly, I’m not sure. Part of me wants to keep her in the medical wing, just in case, but her stats are all normal, though her temperature is abnormally high.”

“How high?”

She flipped open the chart. You hadn’t really been present in the time either of them were talking. You were just so tired. Physically and mentally.

“The last time I took it, her temperature was sitting at about 100.5, which isn’t that bad, but it’s not great either. So, I would advise to just rest for the night, and when she wakes up we will run a couple more tests, see if anything has changed.”

Bucky nodded, squeezing your hand as the doctor excused herself.

“Whatcha thinkin’, sweetheart?” Bucky sat on the edge of the cot, brushing hair away from your eyes.

“Tired.” He could tell your energy was scarce.

“Let’s go to bed then, hm.”

His movements started before you even had the chance to reply. As gently as he could, he slid his arms around your waist and shoulders and helped you up to your feet. The two of you made your way from the medical bay to the residential wing, to yours and Bucky’s shared room.

“Don’t you have the interrogation to do?” you mumbled, watching his features contort when he pressed his thumb against the scanner and led you into the room. In your fuzzy mind, you barely registered Bucky’s touch as he gently peeled your uniform off and slid your pajamas on.

“I’ll do it tomorrow. Besides it’s late, sweetheart and I think I speak for the both of us when I say it’s been a long day,” He gently eased you onto the bed, gently covering your form with a blanket.

A shiver racked through you and Bucky watched with a concerned look as you tightened the blanket around your shoulders. He flicked off the lights and crawled into bed next to and wrapped an arm around your waist.

“Sleep, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” You faintly nodded and relaxed into his hold, feeling his hands run smoothly up and down your arms. The faint glow of the television set and the low volume did nothing to tear you from your due slumber, though you faintly felt the coolness of Bucky’s appendage running over your hair before you slipped into a dreamless sleep.

---

Sweat coated every part of your body as you woke up with a sharp gasp of air.

Pounding temples, you peeled your eyes open and sat up; the faint glow of the TV caught your eye. The movie Bucky played had finished and had been playing in an endless loop.

The clock on your nightstand read 2:07am, you reached for the cup of water and took slow sips, barely and faintly registering the sounds of Bucky’s light snores.

You felt the nausea before anything else. It ran from your stomach up to your chest and you clamped a hand over your mouth, threw off the covers and made a beeline for the bathroom.

That was until a wave of dizziness hit you and your knees buckled. Vision tunneling, you would have fallen to the floor if it weren’t for the strong pair of arms that wrapped around your waist before you could touch the carpet. I’ve got you, a tired voice murmured, but your hazy mind didn’t hear the quiet mutter.

The warmth of Bucky’s chest touched your heated back as he sped to the bathroom, flicked on the light and watched helplessly as you crashed to your knees and emptied what was in your stomach into the toilet.

Bucky kneeled behind you and grasped your hair in one hand and rubbed soothing circles along your back. He felt you slacken in his arms, head resting back against his shoulder and when he pressed his palm flat against your forehead, he almost hissed at the radiating heat.

“You’re burnin’ up, sweetheart,” His wide blue eyes darted to your half-lidded ones, cerulean darting over your sweaty, clammy skin.

“I don’t feel good.” you croaked.

It hit him in one, big wave as he took over your tattered form. The confusion, the fatigue, to your spiked fever, Something wasn’t right, considering the fact that you rarely felt under the weather.

Those are usually the signs of a virus or even… a pathogen starts to form. Cho’s voice rang in his voice

Weakly, you flushed the toilet and leaned back into Bucky. Shivers racked through your body and Bucky peeled your shirt off your shoulder to see a dark blooming bruise where Donovan had injected the needle.

“FRIDAY, wake Steve and Dr. Cho. Tell them to meet me in the medical wing,” Bucky called for the AI and slipped his hand under your back and knees and lifted you up against his chest.

You jolted slightly, dizziness clouding your mind as Bucky stood up. You were limp in his arms, like jell-o.

The cool air of the hallway felt like a slap in the face, you pressed your cheek into the warmth of Bucky. A low whine passed through your lips and Bucky ran his thumb just below the back of your knee.

“Buck,” Steve called, eyes widening as they fell on your shivering form. “What happened?”

But Bucky didn’t stop his movements, he spared a glance to Steve and kept heading towards the direction of the medical bay. Steve followed Bucky’s fast pace, quickly matching his speed.

“Her temperature is too high,” Bucky said, glancing over at his friend. “When we checked into the medbay, Cho noticed that her temperature was a little higher than normal, but when she got up a couple minutes ago, she was burning hot.”

A slick sheet of sweat coated your forehead, Steve noticed, and how small tremors racked through your body every so often. His eyes fell to the darkening bruise on your shoulder, Bucky caught his eye.

“I think she was laced with something.”

Your fingers grazed the fabric of his shirt and Bucky looked down, continuing his trek to the medical wing with Steve hot on his tail. You could feel the rapid thumping of Bucky’s heartbeat as you weakly bunched his shirt in your fist.

“Laced? Laced with what?” Steve questioned as he rounded the corner, eyes locking onto Cho’s at the end of the hall.

Bucky looked down at you, clammy skin, eyes barely open, though you kept a strong grip on his shirt. “I don’t know.”

Everything was hazy the moment Bucky set you down on the hospital bed. Though sweat coated nearly every inch of your body, shivers racked through your body relentlessly. It was sweltering and freezing simultaneously.

Nurses rushed around you, obstructing Bucky’s view from you, one of them placed a cannula just under your nose, an IV into your arm. The thought of more needles sinking into your skin made you sick.

The last time someone used a needle on you, he was malicious as he jammed the needle into neck harshly. The memory brought nothing but fear to you.

You were hot. Uncomfortable. The pain in your head was nearly unbearable.

“Bucky,” you called out, only it came out more of a whimper. “W-where’s Bucky?”

Metal clamped gently on your hand, the other hand coming to smoothly brush your sweaty hair back. “I’m here baby, I’m right here.”

“It… it hurts,” Bucky watched as another nurse attempted to put another needle through your skin, he noticed the subtle shaking of your head, the whimpers.

“Is that really necessary?” he asked with a sharp glare, it melted away when he looked over at you. “What is it, baby? What hurts?”

“My head.”

Worried eyes wandered over to Cho’s as she placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Sergeant Barnes, I understand you want to offer her comfort, but I can assure she is in good hands with my team.”

Bucky nodded, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. His finger trailed over your forehead gently, and when he saw Steve and Sam in his peripherals, he sighed to himself. “I’ll check up on you later, sweet girl. I have something to take care of.”

You nodded drowsily, the dizziness taking control.

Bucky reluctantly moved away from your bedside to his two closest friends, solemn looks on their faces. Sam kept his eyes on you, watching as the nurses took your temperature.

“How is she?” he asked. Bucky kept his eye on you the entire time, watching your tired eyes start to close.

“It’s not looking good,” Bucky sighed. “Her temperature is extremely high, nausea, light-headed and dizziness. Whatever this bastard did to her, he has to deal with me now.”

“He’s downstairs, whenever you’re ready.” Steve said, his eyes laying on your frail body. “It is 2 in the morning and one of my teammates is lying on a hospital bed with a fever of over 100 degrees and a migraine that’s probably killing her. Let’s get this over with.”

---

Roman Donovan sat in a cold, bright room, hands cuffed to the tables with two SHIELD agents armed standing at the entrance. A smug smirk sat on his face as he fidgeted with his fingers. His head perked up at the sound of the door opening.

“Well, if it isn’t the mighty Winter Soldier, what a traitor you are to your own country, huh? I mean, working for the people who you literally fought against-” Sam walked behind him and gripped his shoulders tightly, fingers digging into his muscles.

“I am only gonna say this once, so you better fucking listen to me. What did you do to her?”

Donovan chuckled, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, old man.”

Bucky shook his head, vibranium fist clenched.

“You know, Roman, this guy isn’t too fond of repeating himself. Especially to arrogant assholes like you.”

“What did you do to her, Donovan?” Bucky was strangely calm.. “You know the woman you attacked earlier, the one whose throat you almost crushed after you injected her with drugs? She’s got three degrees in chemistry, computer engineering and computer science, so I get why you, a man of your personality, would go after someone who is not strong enough to put up a fight against you.”

Steve looked on through the window, phone pinging. He pulled it out, the text from Natasha sent dread through himself.

Temperature over 105, tests coming back positive for some type of influenza. Cho is really worried. Not looking too good for her.

“Shit.”

He went on and walked into the room, leaning over to where Sam stood.

“So aggressive, James. And for what reason?”

Sam chuckled, crossing his arms. “If you think this is aggressive, you’re in for a ride.”

“I’m gonna ask one more time, and if I don’t get an answer, that means you’re straight up out of luck.” Bucky leaned forward, black and gold vibranium reached for the chain of his restraints and pulled him down, causing Donovan to hit his head. “What did you inject her with?”

The man tilted his head, blood dripping down his cheek. “What makes you think I injected her with anything?” he cockily sneered. “I thought all the Avengers were required to be knowledgeable in the field, cause let me tell you, Sergeant, that little girlfriend of yours is such an easy target.”

Steve nudged Sam, leaning his phone towards his eyeline, showing the text message. Sam felt a pang of worry settle deep in his stomach, sharing a worried glance with him.

There wasn’t much time left for you.

Steve stepped forward, pulling Bucky aside to show him the text message.

Blue eyes raked over the words he had been dreading the most. "Not looking too good for her.”

“Well Donovan, I want my answer.”

The man smirked. “Yeah? Or what?”

Bucky’s left hand reached out and grabbed a fistful of Donovan’s hair and slammed his head against the metal desk one time only, though it was enough to break the man’s nose. Screams of pain resounded in the small but soundproof room.

“No one’s gonna hear you, Donovan! Those guys with the big ass guns? They’re not gonna help you either. Not when one of their own is about to die in this building. And so help me, Benjamin,” Bucky sneered into his ear, the man’s eyes wide with fear, “if she dies under your hand, there is nothing on the green earth that is going to stop me from tearing you apart. I’m gonna ask one more time, what did you inject her with?”

“A deadly pathogen! It’s a pathogen that kills its hosts within 24 hours of it being administered.”

Bucky’s eyes glanced at the clock. 2:58 AM. It was a late night mission, the jet had landed in Canada at 7:45 PM. Meaning you had to have been injected with it at 8:00 or so. Meaning six hours had already passed, he had eighteen hours left. You had eighteen hours left.

“Did you know adults that experience fevers that go over 105 degrees can run into complications causing serious implications of brain damage,” Sam blurted out. “means you’re in the dog house if we lose her. And ain’t a single one of us is gonna stop that mean.”

“Is there an antidote for it?”

Donovan nodded. Bucky slammed a pen and a notepad down on the table, causing the man to jump in fear. “I suggest you better start writing it down. Now you get to deal with Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. Better start writing.”

Eighteen hours would go by quickly.

---

“Sergeant, it’s not looking good for her,” Dr. Cho said, voice breaking slightly. “This virus that she’s fighting, it’s too strong.”

Bucky looked through the window, heart shattering as his blue eyes fell on the breathing mask they covered your mouth with, the tubes that kept you hydrated. You looked so… lifeless. Natasha sat by your side, her hand gripping your wrist, though you were so out of it, eyes barely open.

“He injected her with some sort of influenza. He knows the antidote, but he has less than eighteen hours.”

She noticed the worried look in his eyes.

“She was constantly asking for you. Even in a state of being delirious, she was still calling for you. Natasha was able to calm her down.”

The soldier gulped. “Is… is she going to die?”

For a moment, Dr. Cho couldn’t answer. She didn’t know the probability of the antidote being made on time.

“James, I cannot answer that. But what I can say is that I will do everything in my power to keep her alive. She’s a fighter.” With that, she excused herself. Bucky stood still for a moment before pushing the door open.

The sounds of your heart monitor and the sounds of oxygen traveling through the tubes filled the room. Natasha’s emerald eyes met Bucky’s, a small smile presented on her face.

“Any updates yet?” she asked, but it fell on deaf ears as Bucky kneeled at your bedside, grasping your limp hand tightly in his.

The amount of pain that swirled in his mind was almost too unbearable. Your eyes met his, though you couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Tears welled in your eyes as they rushed down your cheeks.

“It’s okay, my love. I am right here.” His voice was above a whisper and pressed a kiss to your palm. “Tony and Bruce are gonna find a cure for you, honey. I promise. It’ll all be okay.” He felt you weakly try to grasp his hand back, but the action alone made you more tired.

“I love you so much, baby. Words can’t comprehend my love for you. I want you to know that,” Tears welled in his own eyes, his hands reached up to cradle your cheek. You leaned into him. “I love you.”

Your skin was so warm under his touch. His eyes read over the stats on the open chart, seeing your temperature rise every hour.

“She was injected with some sort of influenza. Tony and Bruce are working right now.”

“Did you find anything else?”

Bucky kissed your hand, gently guiding your head back on the pillows. “Son of a bitch has the antidote. Had to break his nose just to get him to spill it out.”

Natasha placed her hand on his shoulder. “I will stay with her and I’ll alert you guys if anything changes. Just try to hurry.”

Bucky nodded and leaned down, hugging your frail, weakened body and pressed a kiss against your chapped lips. “I love you, Y/n. I’m gonna fix this.”

He did not spare Natasha a glance as he stormed out of the medical wing, boots stomping with every step he took. Long strides took him to the end of the hall, where the elevator was.

“FRIDAY, where is Stark and Banner?”

“Both are in Mr. Stark’s lab. Shall I notify them that you are coming?”

“Tell them I have a stop to make first.” Bucky slammed the button to the interrogation level. “ I’m coming with the antidote.”

---

Donovan jumped in his seat when the doors opened, revealing the shadow of Bucky’s figure. A knife sat in his hand. The prisoner visibly shivered.

“You know what I’m here for, Donovan.”

“Come on, man! It hasn’t even been-”

The knife that was once held in Bucky’s hand was now lodged into metal table, an inch away from Donovan’s finger.

“You’re fucking crazy!”

“What happened to the tough guy act, huh? You wanted to act all big and bad up in Canada. Why the sudden change of heart?” Bucky taunted him, walking closer to the pad of paper that had been scribbled on, step by step, three pages, front and back. “Remember, you’re targeting my weak spot.”

He seemed ashamed, guilty almost. But it wasn’t because your life was in jeopardy. It was because he was caught, with no one left to save him.

“You know, you’re already facing five counts of criminal charges of unauthorized access into government systems, you wanna add a murder charge to that? Assault with intent to cause bodily harm? That sounds like fifty years to me, that is with just the unauthorized access charges.” Bucky sat down across from him. “And if this,” he held up the paper, “isn’t true or it doesn’t cure her, you’re facing a very serious murder charge of a federal agent.”

“You’re nothing but a coward, Benjamin Croot. Tough guy act falls the minute you’re faced against someone who overpowers you. You’re gonna rot in that prison for the rest of your life.”

---

It was morning.

The sun had risen fully.

10:47 AM

Tony and Bruce had been hard at work, trying to figure out the antidote. It was nearing the afternoon, and they had been at it since nearly four in the morning. But neither were giving up. Not when your life was on a timer.

Bucky had dropped off the paper before going back up to the medical bay, spending his time with you. He hadn’t slept since he first woke up, his groggy eyes immediately landing on you staggering to the bathroom.

He laid in the small bed with you, balancing himself on the edge, giving you all the space. He had laid a damp rag over your forehead, in hope to cool you down a little. Tremors racked through your body suddenly, Bucky jolted.

You laid still for a moment, eyes clenched shut, brows furrowed. An unpleasant gurgling sound came from you, body jerking slightly. Bucky’s eyes widened and he pressed the call button repeatedly before running to your side. You weren’t awake, you were warmer than before, heartbeat rapid as the monitor started to go crazy, alarms blasting. Dr. Cho and a couple nurses suddenly bursted into the room, eyes wide

“What’s wrong? What’s happening to her?” Bucky cried out, helplessly watching as they pushed you on the side.

“She’s choking. Her lungs are filling up with fluids, and if we don't drain it, she will lose her.” Bucky’s eyes filled with horror. “Sergeant Barnes, I know you’re concerned for her health and safety, but I need my full attention if I’m gonna save her. Please.”

Bucky wordlessly nodded, his eyes fixated on your body, your face.

Eyes closed.

Pale skin.

Lifeless, almost.

The monitor flatlined. Bucky was pushed out of the room. Sheets pulled around your bed as voices screamed and yelled, though it was all distorted.

“Bucky?” He turned to Sam, tears spilled over his cheeks.

“She’s…” A cry got caught in his throat. “she’s flatlining.”

Chocolate eyes widened.

“I need to find Tony and Bruce.”

Sam loved you like a sister. The two of you had always been close, ever since you joined the team. And when Sam laid eyes on you, defibrillator pads pressed on the exposed skin of your chest, head laid back, a knife twisted into his heart.

Neither men didn’t move a muscle until the flatline changed to a faint beeping.

---

“Please tell me you’re somewhat close to putting an antidote together.” Bucky and Sam pushed through the doors. Tony looked up, “How is she?”

“She’s running out of time, she flatlined for a minute,” Bucky rambled out. “Please, Tony. What do you have so far?”

“It’s almost done, I think. We followed every single one of the steps, used past remedies that have helped even Thor himself from a virus. But if this guys even altered one of these steps-”

“He’ll have to face me then.” Bucky finished. “Is it ready?” Tony nodded, though he had a look of hesitancy. “What is it?”

Tony looked over at Bruce, having just placed the antidote in the freezer. “It needs to maintain a temperature of -50 degrees. Meaning…”

“You need to bring her down here, or else it won’t work. I have all the medical supplies she’ll need down here. I just need you to transport her.”

“I’ll do it.” Bucky said, not that anyone else would have even offered. “Have every single thing ready by the time I step foot in here.”

“I’ll inform Cho.”

Both scientists nodded, scrambling to ready the emergency medical cot. Sam followed Bucky as they raced through the stairwell, racing up the stairs, though adrenaline gave Bucky all the energy in the world it seemed.

Once he reached the room, Sam sprinted to ready the elevators, to get you to the lab as quickly as possible. Dr. Cho had removed all the tubes and wires off of you, only an oxygen mask with a tank attached.

“Come on, baby,” Bucky strapped the oxygen tank to his back and slid his arms underneath your knees and shoulders, and ever so gently he lifted you up, grey hospital gown drenched in sweat. Your head lolled back, arms and legs completely limp. “I got you, baby, I’ve got you.”

With you laid against his chest, he moved swiftly, his pace faster than normal and it wasn’t long until he was in the elevator with you, nearly unconscious in his arms. Bucky looked down at you and rested his forehead against your sweaty hair, though it did not bother him in the slightest.

Your brows furrowed for a moment, followed by a whimper. “We’re getting there, love. We’re almost there.”

The doors opened and Bucky made a beeline for the lab doors, immediately going to the corner of the room where they had the cot set up. As gently as he could, he cradled the back of your head as he placed you down on the mat, softly placing the tank on the ground.

“Okay, now Tony.” Bruce unbuttoned the gown at the shoulder, revealing where you were attacked. Bucky held the side of your face, caressing your cheek.

He had placed a part of his armor on the hand piece as he took it out of the freezer, glancing at the space from the freezer to you, and in two big strides he held the needle just above the darkening bruise and quickly administered it into your skin. He pressed the button and a fluid was shot into your shoulder.

Your body shuddered for a moment, there was no sudden movement from you.

It was the longest minute of Bucky’s life, his eyes filling up with tears. The sudden rise and fall of your chest kept getting stronger with every breath you sucked in. The bruise surrounding your shoulder slowly vanished, your natural skin color coming back.

When your eyes peeled open, Bucky nearly sobbed in relief, crashing on his knees as he gripped your arms.

“Y/n, baby, can you hear me?” he pleaded desperately.

“B-Bucky,” your voice was raspy and raw.

“Oh my god, you’re okay. You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” he muttered over and over like a mantra, cradling the back of your head as he peppered your forehead and cheeks with kisses. You were still a little warm, not as life threatening as it was beforehand.

“W-where am I?” you tiredly asked, eyes roaming around the lab. “What happened?”

Bucky gently took the oxygen mask off, replacing it with a nasal tube. “You were poisoned, honey.” Flashes of you flatlining not even two hours ago flooded his mind, but he shook them away. You were well and alive, breathing with a steady pulse. “You were really sick for a while,

but Tony and Bruce here made a cure for you.”

You nodded, still a bit drowsy from the near death experience. “What about… him?”

Though your voice was barely above a whisper, Bucky heard you clearly. “He’s already taken care of. If I had it my way, the bastard would spend the rest of his life on Raft for all I care.”

Tony chuckled, coming over to pat your hair and a quick kiss to your head. “Leave that to me, kiddo. This kid doesn’t know what’s coming to him. Get some rest, hon.”

Bruce, Tony and Sam all bidded you a goodbye, leaving the two of you alone.

Bucky cradled your face in his hands, pressing a soft kiss against your lips. “I love you, sweet girl.”

“I love you, too, Bucky.” You sounded downright exhausted. But you could finally rest. “This is why I stay behind the computers.”

Bucky chuckled and laid against the pillows, pulling you to lay on his chest. “Valid.” Your laugh was a tired one, Bucky could tell. “C’mon baby, let’s nap together.”

You had no obligations on that, closing your eyes as you held onto Bucky’s arm, lulling to sleep.

Finally, Bucky could rest knowing that you were at ease and finally able to rest without being in pain. His eyes drifted shut and you both finally succumbed to a well deserved rest.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #sickficbutmakeitdark

714 notes · View notes

drowning-in-your-moonlight · 3 months ago

Text

I'm not too sure how many diabetics we got in Fandom, but I can't stop thinking about Shadow being similar to those diabetic alert dogs.

Shadow's whole thing was being a cure for Maria, but we know that he was also her emotional support and physical support around the ARK, so the idea's been stuck in my head of him being really supportive/helpful of your disability. I just have T1D so that's the focus here ^_^

Shadow sensing your blood sugar dropping or going too high before even you do, and pushing you to check your blood sugar for yourself. Or grabbing you a snack—a juice, if needed. He's pretty attached at your hip, and might often wake you in the middle of the night to let you know you need more insulin.

But also Shadow being a caring, attentive partner. You don't feel like refilling your pump because it's too early in the morning? He'll do it for you and he will be gentle as possible when laying on a new injection site. He always helps you replace your sensors, especially if you use the one that's supposed to go only on the back of your arm. Keeps you on a schedule, etc etc.. he's happy to fulfill this type of role again, I think.

#sorry this is so indulgent #t1d #type 1 diabetes #shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow x reader #shadow the hedgehog #sth #sonic the hedgehog #a kiss under the stars - writing tag

150 notes · View notes

crying-fantasies · 10 months ago

Text

In health and sickness

Masterlist

Many words could describe him at the moment.

Overprotective, over doting conjunx, overwhelming, overbearing and many others that could be an excellent reflection of his actions and reactions, it's the second one that catches him off guard because he isn't sure if it was due to embarrassment or that it felt like a joke at his expense.

There are little options when his system charge way before the programmed hour, not knowing what is going on before his sensors show him in deep red alarms a focus of temperature in the room and the low registration of CO2 in the room, there is a way too short time for decision making as he finds you looking at the ceiling without blinking, chest hardly moving before a horrendous sound erupts, like an engine got stuck somewhere or a spark giving up, almost like a dying cybertronian or an idiot that consumed some corrosive substance.

He has heard both frequently in the battlefield, that's his excuse to call, and appear, at ungodly hours to the nearest clinic going full police car, poor the souls of any mech on his way while you were hardly battling off the mucus on your throat and the pain of your insides twisting, churning, trying to get whatever kept oxygen out of your lungs.

Nothing too hard, just the main problem being what humans call a virus, Prowl has to download once again the basics of your species and the recently updated papers about the whole deal, how did it came to Iacon when he was so sure the outbreak was limited to Stanix? How is it possible that there is no cure for this humorless pest, almost strangling the medic with his bare servos when the indications of "just let them rest well, a lot of fluids and a healthy diet" were all he could give you apart from medicine to only temporarily placate any symptoms.

Prowl knew that humans had a terrible automatic cleansing and protective program, but it still was ridiculous how it only took a little microscopic individual to have you in the verge of dehydration and suffocation, assaulting as an opportunist in your weakest state of mind to have him saying the same as always: you don't have to work, he'll take care of everything, you don't have to stress yourself because here you're safe, but his words aren't that believable as this is the result of the heat generators in the city falling once again because he can't still keep the energy flow uninterrupted, your little body caught in a decreasing temperature in mere minutes before someone else gave you a heated metal blanket to stop a freezing coma or something worse.

There is nothing left to do, only make it bearable for you, as long as it can last because even the most advanced remedies are lacking and he can't have something better in at least a few more years when he needs them by yesterday when it all began.

"It's okay", you try to calm him, knowing well how under his stoic faceplate he is freaking out, you just have to see how far Prowl is going, this is his second day working from home, his scowl is present as always but the way his door wings move at any sound from the street show just right how in the edge he is.

Somehow, your words seem to make it worse, his angry expression almost scares you, "don't talk back now", is his only response, putting a little cube with warm lemonade next to your side of the berth, internally, you cringe, thinking of the warm but also stinging fluid going down your sore throat, thinking how expensive a single lemon is in Cybertron.

But, above all else, seeing him so on edge puts you in the same circumstances, trying to talk him down from submitting a complain to Stanix's medical officers regarding the virus now in Iacon, he is so engrossed in it, not even putting his datapad down when there is an obvious notification of intruders on your door, Prowl only gives it attention when Bonecrusher ends up decimating the door of the living quarters by brutal force, falling with it and still punching the poor thing, growling and roaring like a wild animal, soon after the rest of the constructicons follow, but they look in a way you've never seen before from them.

Wild gazes, bared dentae, vents puffing out hot air, their armor moves and stands threateningly, they look murderous enough for Prowl to hold you in his servos, almost preparing himself to be attacked before Long Haul claims, "Where is it?! Where is the slag fragger, son of a glitch-?!"

Turns out, Prowl's anger and worry could be felt by them.

Turns out, also, that they don't have his filter of supposed control.

"What? What is this?"

Turns out, easily freaked decepticons, who have very little real interaction with humans, shouldn't enter the medical area of a corny website probably made by a doctor wannabe.

And it shows, in how Hook push them all out of his way when you cough once again, too hard this time, the paper on your hand now with a tingle of blood in between, before any word of assurance can be said from your part Prowl is the first to hold you near, Hook is fast to ask what is going in and someone is already crying out loud for a medic.

So much for a peaceful Saturday morning.

"This will do, this has to do the work", Mixmaster usual anxious movements seem to reach another point, normally steady servos seem to shake ominously when mixing something that smells like bleach, "concentrated citric acid, this'll kill it, show that thing not to mess with us", a drop of the thing reaches the table, an acid like reaction eating away the metal, Long Haul and Scavenger look with dread as the thing keeps eating part of the floor, smoke frizzing out of it, visors wide with obvious panic, the bigger 'con putting a protective servo over you, using his own frame and stopping his partner to get near in his hysteria while the smallest started to cry yet again while clutching your hand between massive digits, said cries only decreasing when you started to promise you were going to be okay, hard to believe when another coughing session appeared again, "it'll work, I swear, only a few sips of it and those parasites will be gone forever!"

Hook shouted too, "it's vitamin C! Vitamin C!", he holds down Mixmaster, who at the end just let's go of the cube with a strangled growl.

Prowl would never admit it but he could act normal if Long Haul was watching over you.

"We should punch them in the faceplates", Bonecrusher keeps going, going from one side of the place to the other, barely kept anger on him.

You try, you really do, to push yourself out of the different blankets above of you, but they have made the sentence of "keep warm to improve the process" a lot more unnecessary, as you're sure at least one of those is your weighted blanket, "I'll be fine" you promise once again, mucus on the nose, throat incredibly raw, pretty sure they can read the increasing fever in their sensors, Scavenger is the one closest to you, and is also the one hearing every word of yours and give it real credit, "this takes a week as much, just let it-"

Another fit of coughing erupted, and this time followed by sneezing, more blood coming and showing like an alarm on the white tissue, and someone shouting "MEDIC!" as if you have just been injured on the battlefield.

You're ready to die from mortification, preparing your lengthy apology to whoever has the disgrace to treat you as Prowl drives back to the hospital with 5 constructicons after him.

For my Prowl lovers fellows (sorry for the constructiprowl content but boy I love all of them together) @dundeey, @lovenotcomputed and @ikkosu.

275 notes · View notes

supertrainstationh · 1 month ago

Text

DOCTORS OF DOG LAND

by A. Griffin / Super Train Station H

•••••••••••••

Once upon a time, in a country far away, lived a society of canines that walked on only two legs. They wore shirts, and also pants, and could hold things with their hands, and they ran a hospital whose science work was quite advanced. One patient they cared for, submitted by her parents, had symptoms most unusual, their cause far from apparent. When happy without fail rather than simply wag her tail, she weirded others out by doing strange things with her mouth, making expressions unacceptable, whose wrongness needn’t be mentioned, reacting to being glad by making a face that threatened - with twisted corners of the mouth, demanding bad attention. For a dog to show their teeth, threatens a bite to all who see - that a happy pup would act like that was strange, and near obscene. There were other factors too, filling the folder of her case - as stimuli of normal life caused vividly painful headaches. Senses smashed by overwhelming force, over-loads would occur, bending sight and sound, into phantasmagoric blur. She'd also stare at certain plants, then strangely say, they were pretty, so came batteries of fancy tests to diagnose her quickly. The doctors sat down grimly with her father and her mother, and explained that their dear little girl had visions plagued by "color". A study of her eyes determined over-active cones, making normal waves of light appear as strange and separate tones. Her enjoyment of these hues expunged alternative conclusions - this afflicted little girl was clearly suffering delusions. Arcs of broken light she said, bowed skyward after rain, illusions such as these signaled a misdeveloped brain. And for the chronic headaches there was nothing they could do, but they prescribed her medication so she'd see as others do. Isolated as she was she longed to be included - since strange things made her happy, it fit perfect to remove them. She called chromatic deviations wonderful, and nice to see, but disturbing thoughts like that could be suppressed with therapy. Patient complaints of her new vision, were really nothing worth a listen - professionals were sparing her the pain of seeing different. It would be cruel not to address her habit with her mouth - that teeth-exposing tick, when happy, needed wringing out. Just how to come about a cure, posed somewhat of a puzzle, until a genius doctor strapped the girl up in a muzzle. Its calibrated sensors administered electric shocks, that provided helpful feedback, each and every time she talked - and also if she regressed, by wasting time staring at flowers, there was no doubt she could be fixed, with scientific power. There was word that special glasses, might be all that it would take, to lessen certain bands of light that triggered her headaches, but that would signal "strange condition" and cause outsider suspicion - and making her look normal was the object of the mission. There were extremists out there who claimed the "color" thing was cool, though those mutts lacked PhDs and couldn't change the rules. And if some had become doctors, and spectromatic sight they had, that disqualifying trait signaled they needed to be banned. The goal was not to understand and lend a helping hand - enforcing homogeneity was normalcy's demand. Oh if struggle could be softened, without persecuting patients - but thinking so inventive, was the future's innovation. So within the narrow focus of the logic then at hand, they heeled unto textbook commands, for treatment plans in Dog Land.

If you liked this poem, you might like my work-in-progress YouTube video series Barrier Aggression, in which I provide detailed commentary on a few non-disabled disability gatekeepers who have put themselves in charge of an "autism advocacy" nonprofit.

(this isn't a criticism of science/medicine helping disabled people, its a criticism of science/medicine "treating" characteristics that are only problems in the context of them not being seen as "normal" by typical people)

•••••••••••••

MY LINKS

[🅗Twitch] [🅗Carrd] [🅗VOD Channel] [🅗 FA] [🅗Ko-fi]

#autism #disability #actually autistic #poetry #writing #writeblr #autism month #autism acceptance month #autism acceptance #furry #anthropomorphic #a. griffin writes #SuperTrainStationH #autistic

85 notes · View notes

cripplecharacters · 5 months ago

Note

this might sound weird, but allow me to explain. I’m writing a fanfiction where a Deaf character dies and reincarnates as an animatronic. I don’t want to remove his disability when he is reborn, because that feels iffy at best, but I wasn’t sure what was the best way to go about keeping it. He does need to detect where people are, but I don’t want to make this like a “cure” scenario. So far, I have a few ideas.

Just say his animatronic doesn’t have audio sensors to avoid complications

Give him the ability to feel vibrations from other people’s movements through the animatronic, but not restore his hearing

Allow him to sense ghosts and souls through a sort of sixth

all of the above?

I’m wondering which of these makes the most sense or is the least harmful, or if this whole thing feels iffy, what I could do as an alternative. I don’t want to tokenize or trivialize this character, but he is also Literally in Five Nights at Freddy’s, which is… not great at realistic disability rep. At all. And the situation is just so precise I don’t have anything else I can look towards for reference. (and as a final note: abled and disabled characters get turned into animatronics, it’s not just him.)

Hi!

I don't know the source material, so please correct if I make mistakes!

Idea #1 sounds great to me. That's a simple way to explain he's a Deaf animatronic.

Idea #2 also seems fine. Sensing vibrations is realistic. A cue in Deaf communication to get attention can be tapping or shaking a floor/table.

I'm not in love with idea #3. Unless that is an ability of all animatronics, you have other d/Deaf animatronics without the ability, and/or he had it when he was alive, it feels like a specific cure for your Deaf character. I would avoid this one.

Mod Rock

#mod rock #deaf character #anonymous

52 notes · View notes

tiredfoxtf · 6 months ago

Text

Hello, I had a spontaneous stupid idea and did this.

What if. Hear me out. A Life Series season where there's only overworld, but it's all hazardous custom biomes. (i know it would be a pain to code, but LISTEN)

Heavily inspired by Pale Garden and Deep Dark we have here all dangerous in it's own way biomes in the style of "pick your poison!".

The desert will make you want to drink, and you will have to watch your sun exposure to not get fatigued and watch out for them quicksands. The snowy taiga will make you want to huddle for warmth near a fire and will deplete your hunger faster. The sea and beach are in the constant storms with a strong wind that will blow you in every direction unless you move, hide or holding crouch, also beware of the lightning! The swamp's water is poisonous and the weather's forecast is fog for foreseeable future. Forests are full of tall trees and different poisonous plants and thorns, the mobs spawn more and will never burn and it's kinda dark here. Nether corruption biome is a weird collection of some Nether biomes in one and also it has blazes. Pale Garden stays the same. All caves are now covered in skulk, sensors and shriekers, making any caving experience an intrusion.

If you complete a unique achievement attached to the biome, you will get something really cool.

But the real game changer would be a role mechanic. Yeah, you heard me, the boogieman is back. But not just the boogieman, I want to introduce a new randomly selected role - The Phantom! The phantom is a unique role that is exact opposite of the boogieman, meaning - the phantom wants to be killed. If the phantom isn't killed in the end of the session - they will lose a life. Only yellow names and higher can be phantoms, there's always only one phantom per session. If someone kills the phantom - phantom doesn't lose a life, instead the person who attempted to kill them does. Killing a phantom won't cure the boogieman curse and once phantom is killed their curse is gone and they can be targeted.

#> tired shitpost #i need a tag for stupid ideas

54 notes · View notes

tadc-and-md-sideblog · 4 months ago

Text

"With No One Left For Me"

first Murder Drones fic let's goooo BASED ON THE SCENE AFTER UZI TRIED TO SAVE N AND SACRIFICE HERSELF AND FOR A FEW MINUTES N PROBABLY WOULD'VE THOUGHT THAT HE JUST LOST LITERALLY EVERYONE :( happy ending tho obvs

AO3 version

“Hey. Thanks for, like, everything.”

The way she’d smiled so sadly at him.

“UZI, DON’T YOU DARE!” N had shouted, immediately understanding what she was going to do.

She’d done it anyway. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Uzi had always been a rebel, but that knowledge hadn’t made this particular instance hurt any less.

The image of her leaping over the massive pit, throwing the keys to the spaceship at him, flashing one last symbol across her visor— “DIE MAD” — before using her Solver to push him far away from the pit, straight out the door of the cathedral… was stuck behind his eyes.

Still lying flat on his back across the stone stairs outside, N stared up at the clouded sky in a hollow state of shock.

She’d always been a rebel.

Even in… death.

He shook his head and sat up, fighting to control his breathing. This couldn’t be the end. He couldn’t just believe that.

Because if he did… that would be it. He’d be alone. Completely.

V was gone. Even if he no longer had feelings for her, she was still his childhood best friend and he would’ve always cared deeply for her. But she was gone. Taken down by the Sentinels, like so many of the other Disassembly Drones.

He’d thought he had Tessa again, the closest thing he had to a mother figure. He’d made the hard choice to kill her when she’d gone too far in threatening and hurting Uzi. The Tessa he remembered would’ve never done that.

Except that hadn’t even been Tessa. Just her corpse, being puppeteered by someone that he’d once seen as a little sister. Someone who was now not at all his sister; someone who was now out to kill them all, just because she could.

And then there was Uzi.

The feelings that stirred whenever he’d been with her over the last couple weeks were familiar but strange, yet he’d embraced them. He didn’t know when it started. He just knew that being with her made things easier. Fun, even, in the midst of the horror world they’d been living in. Being with her brought an easy smile to his face. Watching her storm around in all her over-the-top edginess, only to soften and light up whenever she saw him, warmed him on the inside.

Everything had been scary and confusing, especially when “Tessa” had tried to tell him that they would have to kill Uzi, to protect the rest of the planet from her Solver virus. That had stirred a fear that he hadn’t been ready for. The fear of losing her in all this mess.

He'd refused to hurt her. He just couldn’t. She was too special to him. Too precious. There had to be a way to cure her.

But here they were. She’d saved him and sacrificed herself. For all he knew, she was gone. And he was alone.

Very. Very. Alone.

N stood up, wobbling a little on his feet, panting. He studied the open doors again, then gritted his teeth and extended his wings. With a quick burst of determination, desperation, vain hope, whatever it was, he started to launch himself back inside to find her—

Then everything exploded.

N didn’t know how else to describe what happened. Light split the floor all around him, and before he’d gotten a chance to process that, he was thrown far, far, far up into the sky with a surprised shriek as the air filled with a huge BOOM that quickly quieted the higher he got.

His sensors went offline for a few minutes, but when he’d regained awareness, he was floating in space. Surrounded by floating rocks. Enormous pieces of Copper 9 were hovering in a broken sphere around the exposed core.

Oh. The core had exploded again.

Just like Earth. Just like the other exoplanets.

Okay, then.

Still determined, still refusing to give up hope, N spread his wings again and started trying to swim his way through the space void. He would search through every bit of the floating wreckage if it meant finding Uzi again.

As far as he knew, she was the only one left that could possibly still be alive.

Fortunately, he came across “Tessa” and J’s spaceship first. Quickly he climbed inside, then let his programming take over as he started up the ship with the keys Uzi had tossed at him. She’d meant for him to use them to get away, definitely, but he would not leave without her.

As he expertly navigated the ship through the drifting wreckage, N kept a careful eye on the screens displaying what was around the outside the ship. Searching desperately for any glimpse of purple, or a Solver symbol that wasn’t yellow, anything.

Please still be here. Please still be alive. Please don’t leave me.

I need you.

Then, like a reply from the heavens, he saw her, and a huge smile spread across his face. She was sitting on a rock up ahead. He couldn’t see what she was doing, but she was alive; it was definitely her. He’d found her.

She was okay.

Everything else switched to tunnel vision as he excitedly sped up the ship, trying to catch up to her. The ship wouldn’t be able to slow down easily with the lack of air friction out here in space, so his best bet would be to just fly the ship straight into her. He could pull her inside afterwards. He knew she would be fine.

Uzi freaked out and threw a wrench at him initially, exclaiming that her mom had been back there, but when he apologized in a panic and started scrambling to turn the ship around, she simply stomped closer and threw her arms around him, burying her face against his shoulder.

“You were supposed to get away,” she mumbled, almost in a pout, hugging him tighter. Her expression was out of sight, and he figured that was how she wanted it to be.

“Yeah—” N frowned for a moment, not genuinely angry, but still rattled from earlier. “I’m kind of, like, actually mad about what you did,” he informed her, crossing his arms. “But, we can talk lateeEEERRRR!”

His words were interrupted by a mad scramble to navigate the ship through more wreckage and debris without crashing, but the sentiment stood. Those minutes of being alone, thinking he could’ve been alone for the rest of his life, had been legitimately terrifying and painful.

But he’d never been so glad to have been wrong. Uzi was alive, and she was here with him. His life had been a terrifying spiral, especially in the past couple weeks as the truth about everything had slowly unfolded. He didn’t know what lay ahead, with Cyn trying to destroy everything. But he hadn’t lost everyone.

Uzi was the most precious person to him in his life. She was all he had left, but despite it all, she was more than enough.

Whatever lay ahead, they would face it together. Just like always.

#murder drones #serial designation n #uzi doorman #nuzi #fanfic #fanfiction #murder drones fanfic #absolute end #murder drones finale #n x uzi #ao3 #murder drones fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #ANGST #comfort ship fr #basically the canon script and scenes plus some lol #can they all just get therapy pls

36 notes · View notes

threepandas · 10 months ago

Text

The Vod's List: Part 1.5

Fox sat in the medcenter staring blankly at the 'sensor's read out. They all were. A numb sort of horror silencing the normally busy room. The only real noise was the steady churning hum of the substance analyzer off on a table to the side, still busy churning away at what exact compound EXACTLY were in the liquid drying on his face. Running in random chaotic lines of slowly drying death, down his neck.

He really needed to change before he got reinfected.

But... but all he could do was stare.

There was a chip in his head.

WAS. It was half gone and disappearing even as they watched. Whatever let it hide itself the first thing destroyed, by what now flowed in his blood. His head felt like it was going to pop. Yet? As... WHATEVER those things were? Worked? Processed. Attacked. Did what ever it was they were designed to DO... the less his head hurt.

The medic said it looked like they went after the connection filaments first. Then traced them back to the chip itself. Because... because he had a CHIP in his brain.

He was compromised.

How long had he been compromised?

Were the others? Or was it just him? Was it because of his position of command? Should the other commanders get checked? What is he saying. Of course they should. They have too. He has no idea when this could even have OCCURRED. It could be a threat to the Republic. To the Vod.

The analyzer chimes. His vod numbly going through the motions to check the read out. Only to pause. Check again. Then again. Fixer calls over another medic. Well... that reassuring.

They have samples, scraped from his cheek and neck. He expect then to pop them into another machine, when they pick the vial up. But instead? The rest of them watch in confused horror as the two medics apply some two a swab, grab a vibroscalpel, and make cuts along their arms. Pressing the swabs to the fresh wounds.

Deliberately... infecting... themselves...

VOD WHAT IN THE FRESH HELLS?!

One set chrono and a vicious shouting match later? The truth reveals itself. Two more scans. Two matching chips, being eaten away. It's Kamino cure, they say. Half way across the known galaxy, probably has all sorts of side effects they'll have to look out for, but? Assuming they SURVIVE it?

This could fix every karked up thing the long necks ever put in them, known or unknown.

It's DESIGNED to "fix" it's host, no matter the cost. That is... assuming the host can endure the pain. Kriff. His mind can't help but shoot back. The civilian. An aid to an aid so many layers down in the senate, they're barely one step above the Vod themselves. Glorified furniture with a purpose.

She'd been...

The sheer HORROR in her eyes, when she realized she'd shared what was inside her. When they met, she was in a karking muzzle, too. Sure, it was designed to be "humane". But she couldn't even run in it. It suffocated her. Did she endure? Was that why she froze up? Every injury the threat of something so much WORSE?

He could see the same thought, spreading like everything always does with the Vod.

Fast and impossible to contain.

Kriff... he ran a hand down his face, exhausted. They hadn't even figured out who was behind THIS attack. Anti-war protesters, kidnapping attempt, assassination attempt. Some sleemo who wanted to watch the galaxy burn, maybe. It didn't matter. What DID was that they contain it.

....maybe get a gaurd or two on their new friend.

I mean... it wasn't UNREASONABLE, right? She... she COULD be a target. Natural bioweapon. People can be terrible. Wouldn't put it past somebody right? And they really SHOULD have complete coverage of the senate building. Even the lower levels. That's were trouble makers try to slip in.

It's reasonable.

It's not like she's THEIR Civilian. They don't HAVE an anything. The other Vod have their generals. Various officers, if their Generals aren't that great. The Gaurd doesn't... they don't NEED...

I mean... it would be NICE...

No. Focus.

Just because she helped you and yours... just because she's SOFT and CIVILIAN and VULNERABLE to threats-! Don't. Do not. Vod, I can FEEL you-

"Did you know most Technoganic never leave their planet?" Nose piped up from near the door, little shit could never leave anything alone if he TRIED. He had his datapad out. "Says here they are highly priority targets for slavers."

Every Vod in the room twitched.

Well... there went HIS calm. His hand went to his com-link, already fighting to keep from clenching his jaw. A.. FEW gaurds wouldn't hurt. For Senatorial safety. They aren't giving anyone preferential treatment! Just. Being cautious.

Doing their job.

They should check in.

Just in case.

#threepandas #yandere #the vods list #and so their descent begins #their are TOTALLY gonna be SO normal about this guys #SO NORMAL #yandere star wars #yandere clone troopers #clone troopers #yandere x reader

80 notes · View notes

shadysubject06 · 3 months ago

Text

So I finally saw Sonic 3 last night and I am so....mixed.

This is gonna be a VERY long ramble and definitely will not cover all of my thoughts but I really need to write just any of it down because I cannot rant to myself for another 3 hours.

Firstly, Shadow

Every scene of Shadow is perfect. Period. The fact that he did the first chase on a motorcycle, the fact that he didn't need the motorcycle, the fact that he teleports the motorcycle in the air next to a skyscraper - used his power to make the motorcycle stick to the building so he could ride it up the side - THEN Akira slid off the top and used the motorcycle as a platform to launch himself from?

Perfect.

An element of Shadow that's not utilized as much as it should be is how specifically his "effortless coolness" happens. Sonic will do Extra shit either because it's fun, or because it's cool. Shadow just Does It, and you don't know if he's doing it to be cool or because he just sees something he can use and uses it. There's also how he chose to pick off Team Sonic one by one in the GUN base. He stands in the dark until Knuckles sees him just to scare him, he floats behind Stone and Tails silently with glowing red eyes (can he do that by choice since they didn't glow while sneaking up on Knux?), and while he does take down Sonic much more seriously all of this is still important. Because it shows pieces of how Shadow can be playful in how he does things. He doesn't emote facially or vocally, but he'll still act in a way that's clearly done just to fuck with people. He could have been a bit of a trickster in the past, it's still present in the present, and it can be something he embraces more in the future. (Small Tangent) I know that the Twitter Takeover's are kinda ooc, but they really do feel like a natural development for Shadow's character after all of the trauma and amnesia has been addressed. He thinks he's cooler than everyone, states it as a fact, riles up Sonic for fun, and would still kill and die for any of the cast. He's an opposite to Sonic in attitude but not morals. He feels like a Lego Batman type, with "I'm the Ultimate Lifeform" being his "I'm Batman" where it's not a satisfying answer...but it really is the only one. (tangent over)

The new backstory could have worked really well. I was very surprised by just how much they gutted his og origins, and it lowkey did hurt a bit, but the new backstory isn't bad, just badly executed. Shadow's not a lab experiment created to cure Maria's terminal illness. He was found in a meteor and brought to a GUN lab where they could run tests. Gerald was the head scientist and Maria was there because "he brings her everywhere". Gerald's attachment to Maria is barely touched on other than her death being the reason he wants to kill everyone. He takes her everywhere but we see no scenes of them interacting until her death. Shadow's backstory is told through one exposition dump, one montage flashback, and a final flashback that's just how Maria died. There is so little Shadow in this movie I can't understand it. The exposition dump is done by the Olive Garden Military Guy from Sonic 1. He tells team Sonic that a meteor crashed in Oklahoma years ago, and inside was "a lifeform. The Ultimate Lifeform." He says that they found that Shadow had a huge amount of unstable Chaos energy, and the visuals show that they siphoned it from him by having him run in circles in a giant circular room. We also see his energy filling up a canister. And you need to remember that and what it looks like for the final flashback. But with THIS it's very clear how dehumanized the military is towards Shadow. He's basically running on a hamster wheel. And in the Maria Bonding Flashback Montage, it looks like they would just stick Shadow in tubes of water when they weren't doing tests. There's also another scene where scientists have sensor things on him, and Maria sneaks in and helps him sneak out so that they can have fun. And if there was MORE of that, it would make Maria's presence more impactful. She's not a sick girl trapped in space and slowly dying. (THERE IS NO SPACE COLONY ARK, THEY'RE IN A BUNKER LAB THAT'S FRONT DOOR IS AT GROUND LEVEL) Maria is instead, a normal girl, who just wants to have fun with him and treat him like a friend. They watch a Godzilla-esque movie that says "Beware the Alien Freak", and Shadow gets a horrified look on his face. And in the next convo they have he asks her if she thinks he's dangerous. This is set-up for something the movie never executes. Because in flashback 3, Maria's death, it's Shadow's POWER that kills her. The bullet meant for her misses and hits a container, and if you remember the exposition dump from Olive Garden Guy, and remember what that container looks like, you'll realize what it is. It's Shadow's unstable chaos energy, it gets knicked by the gunshot, explodes, and that's what kills Maria. And am I saying that the movie should have pointed out that it was Shadow's power that caused the explosion? No! But considering how much the movie flops from filler to "direct answer exposition that just tells you what happens", it's just so confusing to finally see something subtle, and it's something that should have been much bigger. Especially because Shadow's main turmoil is 1, he considers himself a dangerous alien, and 2, he's acting on pain and grief that's been stewing for 50 years. But there's a moment that's supposed to play on this directly and obviously, and it's done SO BADLY Also Shadow takes off his inhibitor rings at the end but the movie hasn't even mentioned them, so if you don't know any Shadow lore it means absolutely nothing.

I need to go on a longer rant about the WHOLE GUN HQ SEgMENT, but I'll focus just on the Walters/Olive Garden guy part. The movie made it so that he was a GUN agent stationed at the lab studying Shadow, and even made it where he was there to witness Shadow big put into stasis (That scene? Shadow is conscious and trapped in a tube while it fills with water. That is the energy they needed for the entirety of his backstory). Walters even was a good military goon who tried to stop one out of like 10 guys from firing on "children" (Shadow and Maria) implying that he saw Shadow as a child. But I do not fall for the good guy military shit so boohoo I guess. BIG THING IS?? YOUNG WALTERS LOOKS LIKE TOM. I thought it was James Marsden playing him at first. And remember in the first movie Tom said that a Wachowski has been Green Hills' sherif for 50 years and we all thought Tom was descended from the guy who shot Maria? Yeah that apparently meant nothing. But there's a scene where it SHOULD HAVE BEEN I SWEAR TO GOD Tom is disguised as old Walters, Shadow sees him and assumes that he's Walters The Young Guy Who Froze Me (and he also needs to steal a thing he's holding), and rocks Tom's shit. The disguise powers off and Shadow sees that it's Tom. Sonic pulls up, freaks out, Shadow is reminded of himself when Maria died, and looks sad before resigning to his actions with the "What I had to" line. Because this is supposed to read as Shadow going "I really am a dangerous thing, I've the same grief I have onto Sonic." EXCEPT THAT DOESN'T WORK IF SHADOW WAS INTENTIONALLY ATTACKING THAT OLD MAN. HIM NOT BEING TO OLD MAN HE MEANT TO FUCK UP DOESN'T CHANGE THAT. HE WOULD HAVE PUNCHED AN OLD GUY TO THE HOSPITAL IF IT WAS WALTERS, IT NOT BEING WALTERS DOESN'T SUDDENLY MAKE SHADOW BAD OR EVIL. Because what SHOULD have happened is that Tom doesn't reactivate the disguise before Shadow shows up. He looks like himself. And when Shadow sees Tom in a GUN uniform, looking like young Walters, he gets a flashback of being trapped in the stasis tube as it fills with water - Young Walters staring at him from across the room. Because he's reliving it, he punches forward, trying to break out, and punches Tom on accident. Shadow then grounds himself, realizes where he is, and sees that Tom isn't Walters. Sonic shows up, gets upset that his dad got his shit wrecked, and Shadow is now faced with "even when trying to protect myself I cause pain to others. I really am dangerous", which THEN makes the fact that he tries to goad Sonic into killing him in the final battle hit that much WORSE because not only is that Shadow telling Sonic to give into his revenge and grief, but it's Shadow saying "kill me, I deserve it." And I have many more thoughts but I needed to get that out.

#Sonic 3 #sonic movie 3 #sonic the hedgehog #sonic series #shadow the hedgehog

26 notes · View notes

korpuskat · 2 years ago

Text

Engineering Ecstasy

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader (Gender Neutral, implied to have a vagina) Rating: Explicit WC: 2,065 Warnings: None

-----

Surrounded by tools and screens and lights, Ramattra stands in his workshop and stares at the device before him. It floats softly on a light pad. Beside it, a screen shows off its blueprints, complete with a cut-away view, to show where each piece will lay, where the sensors are suspended, the indicator lights. It's rather a marvel, if he's truly being genuine- the design is custom, the inlaid nodes are all cutting edge, fast and sensitive and durable. Every aspect has been nurtured and guided into the form displayed before him.

And this is the lowest he has ever felt.

Because the appendage that floats before him is an imitation of a human cock. A mockery, even, intended in every way to be better, but perhaps... familiar enough to not be off-putting. He hopes.

It's shameful.

Making the thing itself is not the problem. Life was meant to be enjoyed, omnics were meant to explore and seek new experiences and integrate themselves among humanity- sex was a part of that. Even at the monastery it wasn't unusual for those omnics that had the hardware to use it- and to discuss the implications of having it to begin with. But he did not envy his brothers and sister who were made with genitals. Ramattra had never seen the appeal; all the ecstasy and release from sensory overload could be achieved without any attachments.

He had not understood the desire until you.

You and your laughter that plays endlessly in his memory banks, your soft, fleeting touches to his plating that tingle hours after, your kind words that pull his mind from the task at hand. He's itched endlessly to reach out and touch you, to know what it is about you that's made his processors hang, caught endlessly in the minutia of your existence. And how he wishes it was just simple fascination- he hates how quickly it turned to him prodding at his own sensory nodes, plucking wires in his hips and wishing it was your hands instead.

This- the purple silicone device in his hand- is only the latest fantasy he's indulged.

After all, what if he were to finally approach you and you were uninterested in toying with his systems? And even if you were, he wouldn't be able to please you at the same time-- he would not risk an unintentional twitch of his hands. This... this was just an investment in the future. He hadn't quite gathered your input on the design or shape or size-- or expressed his interest in you at all-- but he'd invested time to research popular shapes, ones well-received by humans. This... he's fairly sure will please you, if you let him- and if it isn't to your tastes, then he'll make it again and-

...

He should probably test it, before he gets ahead of himself.

He takes the cock in one hand and examines the ports, where it will connect to his frame. He squeezes it, feeling the firmness of the silicone. Honestly, he isn’t sure what density he was aiming for; it’s so much softer than his plating, he has no idea what would be ideal. Not just for what you want from him either; if the silicone's curing has somehow distorted a wire or dulled the sensors’ abilities, then the whole design will have to be scrapped.

Ramattra's hands shake as he disconnects the paneling at the end of his torso. Before, this little crevice had only housed a chip for monitoring the health of his hip joints. Now that was pushed further back towards his spine- with a minor upgrade to allow for more precise movements, smoother rotation of the joint- given the purpose of the device, it felt appropriate to make sure he could use it correctly. Where the chip had sat before is a new plate with two jack outputs.

They line up with the ports, at least. Ramattra allows himself one more moment of preparation before slotting them together. The circuits connect at once- and the buses inside are still working, aligning themselves with his systems, synchronizing, adjusting the pre-loaded drivers, running a self-check automatically. The internal display of his model updates- and another wave of shame nearly makes him pluck it off again as the cock- his cock- appears on the diagram.

The self-check concludes, the indicator lights flash green- muddied through the purple- then match his preset red. Every system reports back: ready, online. Between his legs his cock stands proudly. The translucent silicone glows where the red lights shine just under the surface.

He could leave it at that…

but he should test the sensors. After all, they all might be online, but they still might need adjustments. He has no idea if the silicone has disturbed their functionality at all. Hesitantly, as though the appendage would burn him, Ramattra touches the surface above one LED. It's smooth and cool to the touch. Something prickles in his sensory subroutines, the data input on his cock is so minuscule and yet so sensitive.

He wraps one finger and thumb around the base. Instantaneously, warmth spreads through his circuits, settles into those wires at his hips. He strokes upwards-

”Aaah…” The noise slides from his voice box unbidden, a kernel-level reaction to stimuli coming forth unintentionally. And Ramattra would make a note to investigate that, to minimize uncontrolled reactions- except that every process is overridden by the drag of silicone on metal, on the rubber pad of his palm, on how every wire in his body is lighting up.

One stroke and it’s like you’ve breathed on every sensor in his body. And you- how does his mind always wander back to you?- your hands would be so much smaller, softer- delicate, even. You would- he shudders, delves into fantasy- You would start so slowly, fingers barely touching him. His hand mimics his thoughts, loosening until there’s barely any pressure, stroking so slowly it hurts. Maybe you’d be nervous- it’s okay, he would be too.

And you- you would see how he’ll try to be still, to let you explore him, and you’d see how badly he needs more. You would be kind to him, wouldn't you? With those soft smiles, you wouldn't deny him. At least, in his fantasy. His grasp tightens again, thinks only of your little hands on his cock.

Each motion brings fire through his circuits, a haze to his mind. You… oh, you could do this to him as long as you wanted. Forever, maybe, if it always felt like he was burning from the inside out. Maybe... you would touch him elsewhere, too. Perhaps bracing yourself against his chest or shoulder, or exploring his ribbon cables or along his neck, down the sensitive, covered wires of his spine. He can almost feel you, your weight across his thighs, stroking with one hand and holding him close with the other- and he would hold you, splay his hands across your back and lean in closer to press his array to your forehead.

The thought alone has him shuddering, warmth spreading in his chest and-

and he needs more.

He would whisper to you, May I have you?, but even in his own mind he sounds desperate, aching.

It wouldn't matter, because you would say Yes, of course, I'm yours.

He groans aloud at the last one; yes, yes, he wants- he needs you. To have you, not just in physicality, but in every other way he can imagine. And he imagines much. Like how you'd move, how you'd reveal yourself to him. It isn't what lies beneath that excites him- it's you doing it at all, showing him what you hide from everyone else. Letting him explore you the same way, though he's not sure what you would feel like. Most of his experience with human skin and flesh is not what he wants to associate with you, so he skims this part of his fantasy until he's prodding between your thighs.

The internet has helped him visualize this part. He may not know what sensations you would provide him there, but he can picture your face when he slides into you. How your brow pinches, how your lips part- and you would be so wet for him-

and suddenly the drag of metal and rubber on silicone is not nearly enough. He needs- he needs to know how it would feel, that slickness you would surround him with. His workshop table provides an obvious option. A bottle of machine lubricant would be close enough- anything at all to sate the impulse. He pours the oil over his hands- and thinks of his fingers covered in your arousal instead.

When he strokes this time, there's hardly any friction at all. A smooth glide from root to tip has him throwing his head back, voice box crackling out another broken moan. All of that burning inside becomes liquid, waves of hot pleasure that crash over him with stunning ease. His hips twitch into his palm- and he lets the instinctive chase of desire take over, fucking into his fist with abandon.

He imagines you on top of him- and oh, he'd have to be so gentle with you, but he can't with himself now. He'd hold you, careful with his hands when his hips aren't. You'd cling to him, barely keeping yourself up as he fucks you- and he likes that, how you'd melt against him in pleasure. The pleasure he gives you. You would trust him with this, that he wouldn't harm you. And in turn, the moans he's heard in his research would be nothing compared to the noises from your lips. Would you be loud, quiet? Would you call his name- oh, yes- an overheat warning pops into his HUD, he likes that. How you'd sound saying his name, moaning it in broken tones, like his staticked voice as he pleases you until you-

his frame shudders as he strokes himself faster, imagines how your face would twist and pinch as you'd near your end with him. Would you tremble when you finished? And inside, what does it feel like in-

His ventilation falters, half his fans seizing as tips over the edge. Pleasure floods the same wires he used to manipulate, a white static rushing through every logic circuit, drowning out every thought as his body rushes to dump the excess sensory input. Heat surrounds him- literal heat, as his processors run and run with no coolant pumping. A droning noise fills his workshop- and it takes much too long for him to realize it's his own synth.

A pop-up tells his release vents have opened- a quiet hissing of steam and hot air rushing out somewhere. His fans resume their buzzing pace as he finally begins to cool off.

Ramattra falls back onto his workshop table and lays there, waiting for his systems to completely refresh- and enjoying the lingering tingles like sparks between wires. After only a few moments the high has passed, systems flushed and returned to working order. An automatic check returns ready, online across every parameter.

And Ramattra is left with his own cock once more standing proudly between his thighs. Perhaps that would be awkward for you, in the time afterwards.

Afterwards. When you're flushed and panting and curled up next to him- you would stay, wouldn't you? He's read humans need care once the activity itself has concluded. His refresh would mean he could tend to you in whatever way you needed; sustenance, contact (though, he would have to purchase pillows), perhaps he could clean you. A stray thought slips by, the image conjured before he can stop himself: What would you look like with...?

The shame returns, but Ramattra suspends the feeling and adds a note to the blueprints of his cock- should he make another, he'll add a fluid reservoir tank. It's practical, he argues. Self-lubrication would make this much easier.

With an internal tank he could leave his fluids on you- in you. Non-toxic- in case you wanted to... A prickle of stray electricity runs down his spine. His fist curls around the silicone again, still slick with oil. With the thought of your tongue peaking out to taste him, he can't stop himself from beginning to stroke again.

After all, another set of data would be very useful...

#ramattra x you #ramattra x reader #overwatch #ramattra #overwatch x you #overwatch x reader #reader insert

311 notes · View notes