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threeminutesoflife · 4 years

Text

Grooming Limestone

Pairings: Dark!Steve x Reader Summary: Reader is a rising lithography and etching artist. As her art dealer, Steve is determined to groom her for greatness. Warning: manipulation, nightmares, see a/n x 2 for details Word Count: 3.3k

Prompt: “There’s more people in this world than you.”

a/n: This is for the ever-sweet @golden-ariess Lucid Dream Challenge. Be sure to check out her masterlist ❣️ 🧡

a/n x 2: This one shot has three different endings. Pick your ending like you would in a lucid dream, each ending is marked with their own warnings and start off from the same jumping point.

3m masterlist

“You said you’d contribute four pieces for the show,” Steve tensely reminded you over the phone. “Ink the piece and fill the order.”

“I haven’t been...” you stalled, trying to figure out a way to explain why you couldn’t focus, without actually having to, “...I haven’t been feeling well. But I have three printings ready. Can you give one of the other artists my fourth slot?”

Steve’s words were hard to make out over his loud, labored exhale, “You want me to help your competition?”

“It’s not like that…” you adjusted the phone by your ear. God, you were so tired of arguing with him. “This is for a fundraiser, are they really a competitor when the focus is helping a charity?”

“When your name’s attached to the piece, it is!” Steve boomed.

“Steve-”

“No. You listen. Are you gaining any recognition off a space you give away?”

“Well, no.”

“Then that’s your competition! Stop giving away opportunities,” Steve snapped into the receiver. “Exposure is essential, positive exposure is favorable. Four fundraising gifts are better than three. It’s simple math. There’ll be a journalist at the showing. I pulled some strings and she’s covering each of your four pieces. You said four, uphold your promise.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to fill the slot. Wouldn’t you like knowing the space will be filled for sure? I’m too tired to create another-”

“-You’re filling the damn spot, not your competition. I won’t be telling the journalist you only donated three,” Steve spat. “But since you asked what I would like, I’d like for you to reach your goddamn potential and quit with the excuses.”

Steve would not allow you to make him look like a fool to the art magazine. He pulled several favors to secure that photo layout for the four printings you swore to deliver in time.

You were gaining favor in the art scene, your lithography and etchings drew a following, and he’d be damn to let you squander this chance of more publicity.

“Steve, I can’t sleep. When I do- everything is just…” your voice dropped off.

“It’s just, what?” Steve’s tone softened with practiced concern, his eyes narrowing at a newly found hangnail. “What’s really the issue?”

You didn’t want to admit your problems to your art dealer, it was bad enough asking if you could turn in three pieces instead of four. But with a deep breath, you did.

“It’s a mess, they’re happening more often.”

This wasn’t a negative in Steve’s eyes. Your sleep paralysis was the main inspiration for your artwork. More terrors meant more creations. And more creations meant you’d need Steve to manage additional sales.

The more disturbing your dreams were- the higher the amount your prints sold at. The edginess and grit in your work drew people in. You stained darkness and fear into the limestone; your blemished vision of a macabre world called to buyers.

The burrs you scraped up and out of the metal made people swear they could feel the rough edges of your subject’s screams right off the page. And inking and rolling the plate of metal through the press gave you a sense of accomplishment when peeling back the printed paper.

The metal you exposed under the waxy coating on your etchings made viewers feel naked and vulnerable, too. With each scrape across the plate and every slash down to the metal- the art world grew more enraptured with your style.

Obscene and gruesome art were being craved on a main stream level, and your inspirational night terrors allowed Steve to cash in. He believed in your talent- and the profit it provided. In Steve’s mind, the more nightmares you suffered, the sooner you’d reached your financial potential.

That’s all Steve wanted for you both, for you reach to the goals he set for you. Stumbling across your painted limestone in a workshop by chance, he saw your raw talent etched in that soft stone. You only needed someone to help sculpt and steer you in the right direction, and he would be that for you. With his dedication and proper grooming- your name would become a brand in the art world.

“They’re getting worse,” you confessed through the phone.

“They’re inspirational, you’re being inspired,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. Stop whining, nightmares pay too well.

“But-”

“No, no.” He said forcefully. “You control them and I contro- I help you. Remember we talked about this, when the dreams-”

“They’re not just dreams!” you interjected. “When you call them dreams, you make it sound like they’re a good thing.”

Vacation homes are a good thing. Early retirement’s a good thing, Steve thought.

“All right, you’re right,” he placated, finishing his game of computer solitaire and starting another round. “I am here for you, always ready to listen.”

“Thank you,” you sniffled through the receiver.

“Yeah, well.. what you need to do- is repeat what we said if you couldn’t sleep,” Steve stifled a yawn at the word, sleep.

“I was thinking about seeing someone about the dreams. Josh, suggested trying acupuncture.”

Steve sat up straighter, an edgy tone in his question, “Who’s Josh?”

“He’s...” you thought of how to describe him. “A friend. Well, a friend of a friend- but we’ve been talking. It’s been fun. He’s thoughtful. You’d like him.”

“I doubt that. Is this boy the reason why you’re failing to create a fourth printing for me?” Steve asked, annoyed with your lack of drive to your art and him.

You blinked, unsure if you should be offended, “No. You know why, I just told you why. But Josh suggested acupuncture could help me sleep.”

“An acupuncturist is going to help you with your art? Will his name be on your fourth piece? Do I need to order an additional tag for the wall?”

“Steve, stop. You know what I meant.”

“Did you tell him why you can’t sleep?”

“Not really,” you sighed and moved the phone to your other ear. “A friend told Josh in passing but he wants to help. That’s nice, right? I mean, at first, I was uncomfortable. But it’s made talking to him easier with him already knowing about it.”

“He’s going to help stop your nightmares?...And you agreed?” Steve drew out the questions slowly.

“I miss sleeping like a normal person, Steve.”

“You realize your art is based on your dreams, right?” He could no longer hold back his disbelief at your selfish stupidity.

“Steve…”

“He realizes your art sells because of your night terrors, right? And you’re letting him take that away?” Steve asked heatedly. You stupid girl.

The thought of his meal ticket being cured of her source of inspiration gave him heartburn. Holding back a groan at your silence, Steve rubbed his forehead.

Losing his hold over you was not in his itinerary for today. He needed to cool down and collect himself, take a different route with you.

Steve wasn’t about to allow money and fame escape you both- just so you could have afternoon visits with some random asshole to an acupuncturist’s office.

“What’s his last name?” Steve reached for a pen, he’d vet this loser and find a way to keep Josh away. “I’ll put his name on the admission list for the showing.”

With a small, trust-filled thanks, you gave Josh’s last name and contact information.

Underlining the name too passionately, Steve’s pen ripped through the notepad. “Forget the acupuncture stuff and repeat to me what we agreed upon.”

Taking a sip of water, you cleared your throat and recited, “After any terrors, I write them down.”

“And why do you do that?” Steve asked as if he was speaking to a toddler.

“So I can be in control of them and rewrite the endings.”

‘So we can make a profit’, Steve smirked as “winner” flashed across the solitaire screen.

“What else?” he clipped.

“Take a bath, get something warm to drink, and meditate.”

“Good. You treat yourself right and I’ll treat you better. Speaking of treats,” he tapped on the office window and waved at his assistant. “I’m having Marco pick up some of those bath bombs you like so much. He’ll drop off dinner, too.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Hey, I’m just looking out for you. Start on the ideas for the new print and then relax.”

Marco knocked on the office door as Steve hung up the phone. Nodding for him to enter, Steve grabbed a new notepad and jotted down a list.

“Here,” he folded the paper before dropping back in the winged chair. “Run to these places and then drop the items off.”

Marco smiled when he saw your name, at least seeing you would be a friendlier task compared to some of Steve’s other artists, “Anything else, sir?”

“Stick around long enough to make sure she starts thinking about ideas for a new piece. I don’t need her wasting any more of my time.”

Marco nodded and clicked the door close behind him.

“Alright, asshole.” Steve opened a new window on his computer and typed in Josh’s name. “Let’s see how you like people meddling in your affairs.”

________________________________

____ Ending 1 - You can’t leave when you’re buried (warning: funeral home setting/viewing room, character death- no description)

The organ music played quietly in the empty funeral home. Steve loomed over your resting body and ran his hand over your cheek. He found it cold and firm to the touch as he traced your cheekbone.

“This should have worked out better. I tried with you, I did- but this is your fault. You couldn’t bother to listen. No matter how I steered you, you pulled the opposite way. And for what, a new friend that’s not even here now? And what else- some lost sleep? Your name could have been memorable- I could have gotten you there- you had so much potential!” Steve shifted his feet and lowered his voice after realizing how loud he became, the anger still fresh in him.

He hadn’t forgiven you for wanting to end your art career, telling him you were breaking ties and pursuing another field.

When you said goodbye, he could only see his plans for you and his investments imploding. All the time spent guiding you and building your name was wasted with that bloody, selfish announcement.

“I only had the best intentions, you should have taken my advice,” he whispered darkly. “This is your fault.”

Steve looked over his shoulder, ensuring himself the room was still empty. He leaned his head against the lid of the casket, the glossy varnish cooling his forehead.

“There’s more people in this world than you,” Steve gripped the casket lid and let it fall, shaking the coffin with you inside. “So ungrateful.”

⏰--- Your eyes shot open, your bed bouncing from your body’s jolt. You assured yourself it was just a dream- you're still in bed and not a pine box.

With a groan, you flipped to the cool side of the pillow and laid back. You wouldn’t be getting any more sleep tonight but this did give you inspiration for the fourth lithography print.

________________________________

____ Ending 2- Marionettes move how the marionettist wishes (warning: breakups, horror figure, blackmail)

No matter how you tried, Josh wouldn’t face you. Every time you moved, he moved away. You spun around him trying to catch his eyes, but he kept pivoting his back to you in reply. Despite frantically begging him to look you in the eyes as he broke up with you, he wouldn’t.

“Please, Josh, sit down. I’ll skip the charity show tonight, just talk to me.”

“No, you need to go. Can’t be tardy for Steven. Can’t be late for the puppet master,” he added acidly.

He received the envelope today, filled with the old photographs of his youth. Archived misdeeds he thought were buried, but Steve Rogers was able to dig them up.

The message was clear- leave you alone. If not, his past would resurface. It seemed Steve dealt more than just art, and Josh couldn’t allow the casket of his misconduct to open. You'd simply have to accept his absence.

“Puppet master?” You repeated his words in disbelief.

Name-calling, breaking up with you so coldly- this wasn’t the Josh you knew.

“Go to your show before Steven yanks your strings, little puppet. Wouldn’t want you to trip when falling in line for him.”

“Josh, stop. We always talked so easily, don't act like this,” you pleaded, quickly moving in another attempt to see his face.

He immediately turned, giving you the back of his head again, “I already told you, it's over. Don’t contact me again.”

“At least tell me why!” you grabbed his shoulder and he harshly jerked away. “Why are you acting like this? Ride with me in the cab at least, tell me the reason. You were my friend first, just explain.”

“Are you hard of hearing?” He sneered, his voice full of disgust.

“Turn around, Josh! Turn around and look me in the eyes!”

Josh turned suddenly then, advancing towards you. Sucking in your breath, you watched him raise his head. But those familiar, kind eyes were no longer there.

Josh had no face. His features were blurred by a covering. As he walked closer, you realized what the covering was. Strips of skin wove a design over his face, disappearing into his hairline. Flaps of flesh expanding and deflating over his mouth as he breathed.

“There’s more people in this world than you,” Josh mumbled through the thin veil of domed skin. “What you want doesn’t matter. Fucking puppet.”

⏰--- Blinking, you wiped the crusted drool off your chin and turned on your side. Pulling your legs up to your chest, you tried shaking the scrambled visual of what was Josh’s face out of your memory. But you couldn’t.

Pulling an art pad off the nightstand, you sketched Josh’s camouflage face. Darkening the lines and detailing the skin slabs that folded over one another. You shaded the latticed flesh covering where his eyes, nose and mouth should have been. Another night without sleep, but at least you had an idea for the fourth etching.

________________________________

____ Ending 3 - Smearing the truth and rolling out lies (warning: manipulation, grooming)

After fixing your skirt, you hopped down the apartment hallway towards the knocking at your front door, one ballet slipper on and the other in hand.

“One sec, Josh!” you shouted before sliding the shoe on your foot. A louder, more impatient knock slammed against the door making you stumble.

“What in the world, I’m coming,” you said while unlocking the door, only to become confused when seeing Steve on your welcome mat instead of Josh.

Steve watched with hidden amusement as the puzzlement fall across your face. Gesturing you back, he let himself inside and shut the door behind him.

“Is everything okay?” you inquired, concern pushing away the confusion. “Did something happen?”

“What are you wearing?” Steve surveyed the skirt and blouse you picked out for tonight’s art show.

Ignoring his impolite question, you asked, “What are you doing here? You said to meet you at the gallery.”

“Change of plans,” Steve flicked the collar of your blouse, insulted by the material. “Josh won’t be making it tonight, so I’m taking you.”

“He didn’t tell me.”

“New friends are fickle. You’re lucky to have me,” Steve settled down on your couch. “Where’s the dress I sent for you to wear?”

“Steve, what do you mean he’s not coming?”

“Go change. I’ll wait this time but be quick about it.”

“I’m comfortable, I’m wearing this.”

“Flats? No. Put on the high heels I bought you when your first printing sold with me.”

“I’m not changing. What happened to Josh, Steve?”

Steve heatedly picked up a magazine next to him and smacked it against the coffee table silencing you.

“I didn’t want this to ruin our- your night, but you seem insistent,” Steve’s eyes narrowed before remembering to soften them for his rehearsed monologue. “Sorry. It’s what I discovered that's making me angry, not you.”

Steve paused, counting in his head. Delivery was everything, he needed to pace himself. “I hate to tell you this, but Josh’s intentions for you were never friendly, only self-serving. You were misled. When I put his name on the list for the art show, someone recognized it.”

Easing next to Steve on the couch, your stomach began to twist at his words, “Recognized?”

With a well-played sigh, Steve continued with his lie, “I figured they were mistaken. You’re a good judge of character, look at our relationship. But then I checked into him myself- to be sure, for you. He's a scammer. I am so sorry, my girl.”

Steve looked solemnly at you and tried to read your reaction as you bit your lip at the news.

“That can’t be, Steve.”

“He befriends people with health issues or who are struggling and then he suggests solutions, but his solutions involve accomplices that are in on the scam, too. He brings the people to them- doctors, therapists. That acupuncturist he suggested? He's with Josh, they split the fees people pay for the office visits.”

You tried to place all the conversations with Josh together. Was this something he would have done? He always sounded genuine when you spoke. “That doesn’t sound-”

“-What?” Steve interrupted. “It doesn’t sound like something a conman would do?”

Your eyes teared slightly, was Josh a con man? You only had one session with the acupuncturist but the office visit did cost a good amount of money since your health insurance wouldn’t cover it. And Josh swore it was worth the fee, even when the acupuncturist said it would take several sessions before seeing a difference.

If anything, the nightmares seemed to intensify after the visit giving you the inspiration for the fourth printing you promised Steve.

“He lied his way to get close to you,” Steve pressed his hand over yours and squeezed it. “I’m sorry this happened to you. This is something that we’ll have to watch out for. You have so much potential. People will try to take advantage of you, sweet girl.”

Steve handed you a tissue as you toed off your ballet flats and loosened the top button of your blouse.

“If anything, this showed me that I need to watch over you better. I’m sorry you didn’t mention him sooner. You need to tell me everything from now on,” Steve took another tissue and dabbed away a tear on your cheek. “But I’m glad I was here for you and could stop him before it got worse. I’m looking out for you, sweetheart.”

“I need to hear this for myself. I need to talk to him.”

“No, push away that hurt for now. He’ll only deny it and lie to you more. Don’t let him ruin our night, sweetheart. You worked too hard,” Steve rubbed your shoulders tenderly. “Going on with our plans for tonight and shutting him out of your life completely- that’s the best revenge.”

“I don’t feel like going to a party, even if my printings are hanging there.”

“None of that, put on the dress I sent and make me smile. Hey, you owe me after all- I got rid of the bad guy for you,” Steve patted your thigh. “You’ll look like a knockout in the magazine layout with that dress. Go on. I always have your best interests in mind. It’s just you and me, precious girl.”

You nodded. Thankful for Steve, he stopped you from getting scammed further by someone you thought was trustworthy, “Thank you. I owe you one.”

“Don’t mention it, just remember it,” he teased with a toothy grin. “Oh! And put on that lipstick I had Marco drop off- it’ll compliment you better.”

Scurrying back to your bedroom, you did as you were told and wiped away the earlier applied lipstick. Smoothing down the freshly selected dress, you leaned toward the mirror and uncapped the new lipstick. Running it across your bottom lip, you admitted this was a better look.

Pressing your lips together, you gratefully thought how knowledgeable Steve was. You shouldn’t argue with him so much.

The high heels clicked down the hallway announcing your return. Steve rose with a whistle of appreciation and helped you with your coat.

“You look perfect. Now, time to go- there’s more people in this world than you,” he teased with a wink. “Can’t keep the buyers waiting too long, tonight we remind them of your full potential.”

⏰--- The alarm continued to blared as you ignored it and looked up at the ceiling. Kicking the blankets off, you tried making sense of the dream.

Was this a warning? Or were you just anxious about tomorrow’s acupuncture appointment with Josh? Did the dream pick up on your guilt from the argument you had earlier with Steve?

Grabbing your phone, you hit record, “New idea for the fourth printing- a man with two faces.”

#dark!steve x reader #garieswritingchallenge #dark!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #dark!steve #dark!steve rogers

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inscribeddiatribes · 4 years

Text

Only If For A Night

—

Summary: Steve’s decision to go back to the past has unintended consequences.

—

A/N: I decided to participate in the lucid dreams challenge by one of my favorite writers, @golden-ariess. This fic has literally taken me forever to write, but it’s finally finished!

Prompt: “Then tell me how I’m supposed to be.” I was also inspired by the lyrics from Only If for a Night by Florence + the Machine.

Time travel logistics and some endgame scenes have been changed.

Warnings: Contains Angst, Endgame spoilers, Steve Rogers centric, Slightly Yandere/Obsessive, Death.

—

It was supposed to be a simple mission. A final task to put an end to the chaos that Thanos had singlehandedly caused.

As Steve prepared to say his goodbyes, he mused on his current life. He had friends, a support system, and shockingly, he had Bucky back. Losing Bucky had affected him more than he’d care to admit. The loss of Bucky had left him reeling. It seemed like he was destined to feel miserable and all alone.

However, in the five years that he had spent without Bucky, he had found you. You muddled through life the same way he did, but you continued to live your life to the best of your ability by taking the time to find and improve yourself. In many ways he envied you, but you had been utterly alone for years before The Snap, which was a reality he didn’t have to face. He had lost Bucky, and while he may have felt alone, he never truly was.

You were unique, he fondly thought. There were probably a million words that he could use to describe you, but unique was the one that fit best.

Bucky and Sam would understand his decision, but you would be a different story.

—

After leaving Sam, Steve slowly made his way over to you. You looked at him as he came to a stop next to you.

You coolly stated, “I heard they figured out how to fix everything. I’m guessing that’s not what you’re here for though.”

His blood ran cold at the thought that you already knew what he was going to do. He opened his mouth to fumble out an explanation, but you interjected, “If you want to go… then go. I won’t stop you.”

You looked away from him and stared straight ahead. Steve could tell that you were beginning to shut him out. This wasn’t how he expected this to go. How could you shut down at a time like this? He finally had a chance to live a normal life, yet you weren’t happy for him. The words flew out before he could stop himself, “This isn’t how you’re supposed to be.”

You turned towards him and fixed him with a piercing glare, “Then tell me how I’m supposed to be.”

A wave of silence passed over you two. Steve heard you sigh. He desperately wished he knew what to say to fix this, but he was left speechless for once in his life. Steve muttered an apology and made his way back to his teammates.

—

Mission. Home. Idle Chatting. Repeat.

Steve could recite his routine like clockwork. His enjoyment of being with Peggy hadn’t been preserved over the years. His weariness of life frequently clashed with Peggy’s personality. Steve had quickly realized that her zeal and unwavering optimism exhausted him. Peggy understood war better than an average Joe, but she didn’t understand what horrors the future held. By extension, she didn’t understand him either — not anymore. It was inevitable that they wouldn’t last together.

A year. A year is how long it took for Steve to realize that he didn’t belong with Peggy. She was determined, smart, and ambitious. All traits that would please most people. However, she just wasn’t right. She just wasn’t… you. The decision to end things came easy to both of them. Peggy sent him on his way with a tight lipped smiled and a knowing glance.

—

He was back. For the first time in months, he was finally excited.

Steve quickly realized that he had no idea where everyone was. He followed the path closest to him to a road and hoped that a driver would be crazy enough to give him a ride to the Avengers building. He somehow managed to cause a traffic jam as people clambered out of their cars to stare at him in disbelief. It’d definitely be a long ride.

—

Fury sharply stared at Steve, “You’ve managed to make quite the commotion with that little stunt you pulled earlier, Rogers. You disappeared for four years, how could you expect anything less? You’re lucky that we have all the witnesses under control until we can release a new statement.”

Four years? How was that even possible? He had just been gone one year.

Bucky walked through the doorway and approached Fury. Bucky directed his eyes toward a plaque on the wall. It was… your plaque? It was enough to make Fury pause. Fury took a quick glance at Steve and proceeded to leave the room with a grimace. He immediately became suspicious. Fury would never give up an opportunity to yell at someone. Where were you?

Bucky softly sighed, “Pal, I know it’s a lot to take in. A lot of things have changed since you’ve been gone. Y/N isn’t here anymore. There was an attack and we couldn’t get to them in time, I’m so sorry. I have to join Sam on his mission soon, but SHIELD gave me an apartment I never stay at. You can stay there for as long as you want. A company car can take you there.”

Steve felt himself still. You were… dead? You didn’t deserve that. You should be here with him… no, he should have never left in the first place. You were gone. Why you? Why him? This couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t. He feels his chest tightening and morbidly hopes that he’ll be the next to go.

He couldn’t bear to look at the sympathetic look on Bucky’s face. Steve takes the key from Bucky’s outstretched hand. Bucky pats him on the shoulder and Steve manages to drag himself to the car awaiting him outside.

Steve had ruined his own happiness. The thought that he had messed things up this badly was enough to want to make him start sobbing. He briefly wonders if you had been in this much pain when he left.

—

He spent his nights spent holed up in Bucky’s apartment desperate for any form of interaction. He spent his days at parks during the day in hopes that some eager fan would spot him and bombard him with even something as simple as an awkward, sweaty handshake. Yet no one ever paid him any attention after his initial reappearance. His absence in The Avengers was quite apparent. Thousands of articles about his sudden departure and Sam’s new identity had easily convinced the world that he was a sham.

Even Bucky was slowly starting to give up on him. He never explicitly said that, but his lack of calls and abundance of mission said enough. He was alone.

He wanted to see you again. You were — and still are — his only escape from his loneliness and misery. He thought about you on that consequential day when he had decided to leave. The sunshine baring down on the both of you contrasted the mood of the whole affair. He wished he would have stopped to consider how you truly felt about him leaving. How your coldness towards him was only a coping method. He wished he could go back and scream at himself to stay.

Closing his eyes again, he cleared those thoughts away and willed himself to fall asleep. Dreams were his refuge. He was able to create happy memories of you that he never got to experience with you in real life. Vacations, garden tours, café dates. He did anything and everything with you. You and the whole world were at his fingertips in his dreams. You were his, only if for a night.

—

Bathroom. Eat. Dream. Repeat. Another routine that he could recite like clockwork, only he couldn’t leave this time.

Days passed by. Then weeks. Then months. Everything started blurring together. There was no point in trying to remember them. No one had any need for him anymore. He was no longer Captain America, that role was taken.

He realized he couldn’t be upset, he was the one that had caused this. It still stung to know that everyone had moved on and most importantly, that you were gone.

There was nothing he could now. It was too late. He had lost Peggy. He had lost his friends. Now, he had lost you too. No amount of dreaming would bring you back. He was alone again. He would always be alone — a man out of time.

—

Lyrics:

“And I heard your voice as clear as day. And you told me I should concentrate. It was all so strange and so surreal. That a ghost should be so practical. Only if for a night.”

I don’t own these characters, songs, or lyrics, nor did I create any of them. This work is strictly for fair use/ entertainment purposes. No money has been received from this work.

Check out my masterlist, you might find something you like! Reblogs are welcome! Follow for more :)

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nekoannie-chan · 4 years

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Suffocation

Pairing: Brock Rumlow X Mutant! Reader

Word count: 1585 words.

Summary: How did the fact that people didn't accept mutants in the past affect you?

Warnings: Angst, lots of angst, panic attacks, PTSD, low self-esteem, past anti-mutant sentimental and actions, depression, anxiety.

A/N: “Mutie” is a derogatory way to call the mutants that some people use in The Gifted.

The sources I checked are in Spanish because I need to understand deeply all the concepts and are these: PTSD 1, PTSD 2, panic attack 1, panic attack 2

Flashbacks are in italics.

The dream is in italics and bold.

This is my entry to the @golden-ariess ‘s Lucid Dreams Writing Challenge with the prompt:

“You keep saying love isn’t real, how would you know if you haven’t given it a real chance”

Also is my entry to the @jbbarnesnnoble ‘s Mental Health Awareness Month Writing Challenge with the dialogue prompt #4:

“You ever feel like you can’t breathe? Like the whole world is collapsing in on itself and no one notices? No one cares? Like you can’t escape it?”

And my entry to the @stareyedplanet ‘s Lin’s 100 Follower Challenge with the angst prompt # 8:

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong. And don’t try lying to me!”

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

If you like it please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

These days were always difficult, the memories... Despite seeking help, it seemed as if it hadn't worked, the medication wasn't a solution either, it wasn't helping you at all, but your powers were affected. You've already tried too many things, but NOTHING worked.

You saw how your other team members were happy, but it was like you felt like you didn't deserve it... or rather as if something was going to happen and it would ruin it.

You couldn't help thinking that you could have done something else to save them... if you had never made those mistakes...

You were out of the room when the team showed up, basically just seeing them for training and missions, other than that, you avoided them, Brock realized; it wasn't the first time you'd done it and that worried him.

It was known that Brock was not very expressive with his feelings, like you, so everyone was surprised when they discovered that you and he had a relationship.

You had your head hidden in your arms on the base garden table after a long workout.

The night before you had that nightmare again, that nightmare that always seemed so real, but you knew it couldn't be real; it was simply the memories that overwhelmed your mind. It was always so real as if you were back in those moments.

"Are you too tired because of training?” Brock asked you sitting in front of you.

You raised your head when you heard it and you just nodded.

"You're lying," he said.

"I beg your pardon?”

"Whenever you lie, you're lying, nose wrinkles, and it gives you away," Brock said.

You were perplexed, you've never noticed, you'd pay more attention the next time.

"Have you been spying on me? “You questioned trying to change the subject of conversation.

"What? No, it's just a very noticeable thing," Brock said.

"So what?”

"Don't change the subject, you seem to be hiding something and the presence of others...”

"Nobody likes mutants and it's not something new," you interrupted him.

"Don't say those things, I do, I like you Y/N," he replied.

"You must be joking, I don't like anyone, love is for children, it's not real; It's just a lie...

"It's not true, if only...”

"If only nothing, I say it because it's the truth.”

“You keep saying love isn’t real, how would you know if you haven’t given it a real chance”

You opened your mouth without being able to say anything, your mind was trying to process what you just heard.

"Give me a chance, I can prove you wrong," Brock continued.

He came close enough and kissed you, you kissed him too.

You opened your eyes, again you were in your high school, but alone inside the classroom, you opened the door, the hallway seemed empty, you started walking, the other doors of the place were closed, you breathed deep, trying not to panic, the road took you to the gym.

Suddenly a basketball hit your back, you turned around and you were surrounded by your classmates, who started throwing you more and more balls.

“Get out of here mutie, we don't want you here,”

"You're not well received.”

"All muties do is bring troubles.”

You were going backwards, you wanted them to shut up, you didn't see the pool behind you and when you fell into it, you tried to get out, you couldn't, the panic in you started to increase, you couldn’t breathe...

“Y/N!” Brock called you again trying to wake you up.

You woke up and tried to get him off his back thinking you were still dreaming while you were screaming.

"It's me, Brock, you're safe, it was just a nightmare," he said, trying to sound calm.

"Brock?” You asked between sobs.

"Yes babe, it's me.”

You hugged him and wept in his arms, he stroked your hair to comfort you.

"Do you want to talk?” He asked.

You shook your head, you kept your head sunk in your chest.

"Y/N, don't you want to play monopoly with us? Natasha invited you.

"No thanks," you declined.

"Come on Y/N," Brock tried to cheer you up.

"No, I have... things to do.”

You knew that if you stayed with them for a long time, something bad would happen, or worse, you thought that at any moment I was going to attack you for being a mutant.

The team had broken into a mission, you didn't know where the others were, you went into a small room, you checked your gun, you no longer had ammunition, you locked the door if any enemy found you, and you were at a disadvantage.

You tried to open the door after a few moments, but this one didn't give way. You had become trapped, you felt that you could not breathe, you were terrified, you had tried to ask for help through the intercom, no sound came out of your mouth, you were paralyzed from fear, and you could not bear to be in dark or small places for long.

You felt that space was shrinking, as if the walls were moving to trap you, you couldn't think clearly, no one knew you were there.

The guy you liked took your hand, at sixteen it was too exciting.

"Do you think we should go in?” He asked you pointing his head towards the door in front of them.

You nodded shyly, was he going to kiss you, what was going to happen in there?

He opened the door, turned to you and smiled at you.

"Ladies first," he said by holding your hand to get you in.

Once you were near the door he pushed you hard inside the place and closed on the outside.

"This is what the muties deserve," he said from the outside.

You tried to open it, but it was stuck, you screamed, it seemed that no one was listening to you or if they did they were ignoring you and probably mocking you; you weren't sure if it was minutes or hours, the anguish was starting to grow, you were in the dark, you didn't know there was around you; somehow you managed and managed to get out with the help of your powers, outside there was no one and it was dark.

You immediately went to your house, your parents were worried, and they didn't know where you'd been.

"Y/N, where were you?”

"A guy in my class locked me up...”

Someone knocked on the door interrupting, your father peeked out.

"You need to leave, the Sentinel Services is here," he ordered you.

Your mom got you out of the house, yet they got caught, you got to hear her screams asking you to leave.

That day you ran like you've never done before. They had died at the Mutant Detention Center.

Brock managed to find you, opened the door, called you several times, but it was like you didn't hear it, he came over and took your hand.

"Baby, can you hear me?”

There was no answer, your face reflected terror, with the other hand raised your face.

"Y/N, come on, breathe with me, everything's fine.”

You did what he told you.

"Are you all right? He asked you after they got off the ship on their way back.

"Yes," you answered and set out to enter the base.

Brock took your arm and stopped you, he needed to know what was going on.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong. And don’t try lying to me!”

"I'm fine.”

"Y/N, you lie, I know you very well, you hide something, and you can trust me.”

There was no escape, you knew sooner or later you had to tell him what happened.

“You ever feel like you can’t breathe? Like the whole world is collapsing in on itself and no one notices? No one cares? Like you can’t escape it?”

"No, I've never felt it," he replied a confusedly.

"Forget it," you answered, trying to get out.

"Please, I love you and I want to help you.”

"Can we go somewhere else? I don't want others to know.”

You went to the bedroom you shared, you sat on the bed, and you took some air.

"Since my classmates found out I was a mutant... they played jokes on me and gave me horrible nicknames; especially the girls, once they left me locked up in the dark, I had to use my powers to get out, but that meant that the Sentinel Services were for my family and me to our house, I managed to run away thanks to my mom, but they did not make it. Bad things always happen to people I love because of me...

"Is that why you're turning away from everyone?” He interrupted you.

"I don't deserve to be happy...”

"No, don't say that you're not to blame for anything," Brock said, stroking your face.

"But...”

"You know, my mother and I ran away from my father, he beat us, in the end, I think we have some things in common, but that doesn't matter, I don't even care if you're a mutant or not, all I know is that I love you, I'll help you and I'll support you with everything.”

You smiled shyly, then you kept telling him everything that had happened over the years. He listened to you carefully while still hugging you.

He was going to be whatever it took to make you happy.

#Garieswritingchallenge #JBBNNMHAMChallenge #lins100celebration #brock rumlow x reader #brock x mutant reader #brock rumlow x mutant reader #brock x y/n #brock x you #brock x reader #brock rumlow x you #brock rumlow x y/n

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golden-ariess · 4 years

Text

✨

Below you will find all the beautiful writings that was written for the.

"Golden Aries Lucid Dreams Writing Challenge"

Hope you enjoy and please give these lovely writers some love 🌠

🌙

Precious Little One {S.S}

By the lovely @constantaking ☄️

Summary: Sebastian's three year old daughter joins him for her first comic con and accidentally spills the tea.

Numb {}

By the amazing @sapphirescrolls ✨

Summary: Wanna taste?

It’s Kinda Magic {}

By the beautiful @imanuglywombat ☄️

Summary: Oops!… Tony did it again! SHIELD employees has been cursed after Iron Man pissed off a witch and you are not exempt. Your dreams are about to come true with the woman you has crushed on for months thanks to Tony, a witch and cat feet.

Only For A Night {}

By the wonderful @inscribeddiatribes ✨

Summary: Steve’s decision to go back to the past has unintended consequences.

Relevance of Lonely Hearts {}

By the magnificent @sophiria ☄️

Summary: He was wasting your time. He had to get out of here, no matter how gentle you had been wif him. And how pretty you were.

Grooming Limestone {}

By the marvelous @threeminutesoflife ✨

Summary: Reader is a rising lithography and etching artist. As her art dealer, Steve is determined to groom her for greatness.

#writing challenge Masterlist #garieswritingchallenge

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nekoannie-chan · 4 years

Text

Sofocación

Pareja: Brock Rumlow X Lectora mutante.

Palabras: 1446 palabras.

Sinopsis: ¿Cómo te afectó el hecho que las personas no aceptasen a los mutantes en el pasado?

Advertencias: Angst, mucho angst, ataques de pánico, estrés post-traumático (TEPT), baja autoestima, comportamiento y sentimientos anti-mutantes, depresion y ansiedad.

N/A: “Mutie” es una forma despectiva de llamar a los mutantes que usan algunas personas en The Gifted.

Las fuentes de información que consulté para entender más algunos conceptos son estas: TEPT 1, TEPT 2, ataque de pánico 1, ataque de pánico 2

Los recuerdos están en cursivas.

El sueño está en cursiva y negritas.

Esta es mi entrada para Golden Aries Lucid Dreams Writing Challenge con la frase:

“Sigues diciendo que el amor no es real, ¿cómo lo sabrás si no le has dado una oportunidad real?”

También es mi entrada para Jbbarnesnoble’s Mental Health Awareness Month Writing Challenge con la frase #4:

“¿Alguna vez has sientes que no puedes respirar? ¿Como si el mundo entero se derrumbara en sí mismo y nadie se diera cuenta? ¿A nadie le importa? ¿Como si no fueras a escapar?”

Y mi entrada para Lin’s 100 Follower Challenge con la frase angst # 8:

“No me iré hasta que me digas qué pasa. ¡Y no intentes mentirme!”

No doy ningún permiso para que mis fics sean publicados en otra plataforma o idioma (yo traduzco mi propio trabajo) o el uso de mis gráficos (mis separadores de texto también están incluidos), los cuales hice exclusivamente para mis fics, por favor respeta mi trabajo y no lo robes. Aquí en la plataforma hay personas que hacen separadores de texto para que cualquiera los pueda usar, los míos no son públicos, por favor busca los de dichas personas. La única excepción serían los regalos que he hecho ya que ahora pertenecen a alguien más. Si encuentras alguno de mis trabajos en una plataforma diferente y no es alguna de mis cuentas, por favor avísame. Los reblogs y comentarios están bien.

DISCLAIMER: Los personajes de Marvel no me pertenecen (desafortunadamente), exceptuando por los personajes originales y la historia.

Otros lugares donde publico: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

Si te gusto por favor vota, comenta y rebloguea.

Estos días siempre eran difíciles, los recuerdos…a pesar de haber buscado ayuda, parecía como si no hubiese funcionado, la medicación tampoco era una solución, no te estaba ayudando en nada, pero si afectaba tus poderes. Ya habías intentado demasiadas cosas, NADA funcionaba.

Veías como tus compañeros eran felices, pero era como si sintieras que no lo merecías…o más bien como si algo fuese a pasar y lo arruinaría.

No podías dejar de pensar en que podías haber hecho algo más para salvarles…si nunca hubieras cometido esos errores…

Te habías ido de la sala cuando el equipo apareció, básicamente sólo los veías para los entrenamientos y las misiones, fuera de eso, los evitabas, Brock se dio cuenta; no era la primera vez que lo hacías y eso le preocupaba.

Era sabido que Brock no era muy expresivo con sus sentimientos, al igual que tú, por eso todos estaban sorprendidos cuando descubrieron que tú y él tenían una relación de pareja.

Tenías la cabeza escondida entre tus brazos sobre la mesa del jardín de la base después de un largo entrenamiento.

La noche anterior habías vuelto a tener esa pesadilla, esa pesadilla que siempre parecía tan real, pero sabías que era imposible que fuese real; simplemente era los recuerdos que abrumaban tu mente…siempre era tan real, como si volvieses a estar en esos momentos.

— ¿Te cansaste mucho con el entrenamiento? —te preguntó Brock sentándose enfrente de ti.

Alzaste la cabeza al escucharlo y simplemente asentiste.

—Mientes —sentenció.

— ¿Disculpa?

—Siempre que mientes arrugas la nariz y eso te delata —señaló Brock.

Te quedaste perpleja, nunca lo habías notado, pondrías más atención la siguiente vez.

— ¿Me has estado espiando? —cuestionaste tratando de cambiar el tema de conversación.

— ¿Qué? No, es sólo algo muy notorio —señaló Brock.

— ¿Entonces?

—No cambies el tema, parece que ocultas algo y que la presencia de los demás…

—A nadie le gusta los mutantes y es no es una novedad —lo interrumpiste.

—No digas esas cosas, a mí sí, de hecho, tú me gustas T/N —contestó.

—Debes estar bromeando, yo no le gusto a nadie, el amor es para niños, no es real; no es más que una mentira…

—No es cierto, si tan solo…

—Si tan solo nada, lo digo porque es la verdad…

—Sigues diciendo que el amor no es real, ¿cómo lo sabrás si no le has dado una oportunidad real?

Abriste la boca sin poder decir algo, tu mente intentaba procesar lo que acabas de escuchar.

—Dame una oportunidad, te puedo demostrar que estás equivocada —Brock continuó.

Él se acercó lo suficiente y te besó, tú le correspondiste.

Abriste los ojos, de nuevo estabas en tu preparatoria, pero sola adentro del salón, abriste la puerta, el pasillo parecía vacío, comenzaste a caminar, las demás puertas del lugar estaban cerradas, respiraste profundo, intentando no entrar en pánico, el camino te llevó hasta el gimnasio.

De pronto una pelota de basquetbol te golpeó la espalda, volteaste y estabas rodeada por tus compañeros, quienes comenzaron a tirarte más y más balones.

—Lárgate mutie, no te queremos aquí —

—No eres bien recibida.

—Lo único que hacen los muties son traer problemas.

Ibas retrocediendo, querías que se callaran, no viste la piscina atrás de ti y cuando caíste en ella, intentaste salir, no podías, el pánico en ti comenzaba a incrementar, el aire comenzaba a faltarte…

— ¡T/N! —te llamó Brock de nuevo intentando despertarte.

Te despertaste e intentaste quitarlo de encima creyendo que aún estabas soñando mientas gritabas.

—Soy yo, Brock, estás a salvo, sólo fue una pesadilla —dijo tratando de sonar tranquilo.

— ¿Brock? —preguntaste entre sollozos.

—Si amor, soy yo.

Lo abrazaste y lloraste entre sus brazos, él acarició tu cabello para consolarte.

— ¿Quieres hablar? —preguntó.

Negaste con la cabeza, seguiste con la cabeza hundida en su pecho.

—T/N, ¿no quieres jugar monopoly con nosotros? —te invitó Natasha.

—No gracias —rechazaste.

—Vamos T/N —intentó animarte Brock.

—No, tengo…cosas que hacer.

Sabías que si convivías mucho tiempo con ellos, algo malo pasaría, o peor aún, creías que en cualquier momento iba a atacarte por ser una mutante.

El equipo se había dividido en plena misión, no sabías donde estaban los demás, te metiste en un pequeño cuarto, checaste tu arma, ya no tenías municiones, cerraste la puerta, si algún enemigo te encontraba, estabas en desventaja.

Trataste de abrir la puerta luego de algunos momentos, pero ésta no cedió. Te habías quedado atrapada, sentías que no podías respirar, estabas aterrada, habías intentado pedir ayuda por medio del intercomunicador, ningún sonido salía de tu boca, estabas paralizada del miedo, no soportabas estar mucho tiempo en lugares oscuros o pequeños.

Sentías que el espacio se iba reduciendo, como si movieran las paredes para que estuvieses atrapada, no podías pensar claramente, nadie sabía que estabas ahí.

El chico que te gustaba te tomó de la mano, a los dieciséis años resultaba demasiado emocionante.

— ¿Te parece si entramos? —te preguntó señalando con la cabeza hacia la puerta que tenían enfrente.

Asentiste tímidamente, ¿te iba a besar?, ¿qué es lo que iba a pasar ahí adentro?

Él abrió la puerta, volteó hacia ti y te sonrió.

—Las damas primero —dijo tomándote de la mano para hacerte entrar.

Una vez que estabas cerca de la puerta te empujó con fuerza al interior del lugar y cerró por fuera.

—Esto es lo que los muties se merecen —dijo desde afuera.

Intentaste abrirla, pero estaba trabada, gritaste, parecía que nadie te escuchaba o si lo hacían te estaban ignorando y seguramente burlándose de ti; no estabas segura si habían pasado minutos u horas, la angustia comenzaba a crecer, estabas a oscuras, no sabías que había a tu alrededor; de alguna manera te las ingeniaste y lograste salir con ayuda de tus poderes, afuera ya no había nadie y había anochecido.

De inmediato fuiste a tu casa, tus padres estaban preocupados, no sabían dónde habías estado.

—T/N, ¿dónde estabas?

—Un chico de mi clase me dejó encerrada…

Tocaron la puerta interrumpiendo, tu padre se asomó.

—Necesitan irse, los Servicios Centinela están aquí —les ordenó.

Tu mamá logró que salieras de la casa, sin embargo a ellos los atraparon, alcanzaste a escuchar los gritos de ella pidiéndote que te fueras.

Ese día corriste como nunca antes lo habías hecho. Ellos habían muerto en el Centro de Detención de Mutantes.

Brock logró encontrarte, abrió la puerta, te llamó varias veces, pero era como si tú no lo escucharas, se acercó y tomó tu mano.

—Amor, ¿me escuchas?

No hubo respuesta, tu rostro reflejaba terror, con la otra mano alzó tu rostro.

—T/N, vamos, respira conmigo, todo está bien.

Hiciste lo que él te dijo.

— ¿Estás bien? —te preguntó después de que bajaron de la nave al regresar.

—Si —respondiste y te dispusiste a entrar a la base.

Brock te detuvo del brazo, necesitaba saber qué era lo que realemnte estaba pasando.

—No me iré hasta que me digas qué pasa. ¡Y no intentes mentirme!

—En serio estoy bien.

—T/N, mientes, te conozco muy bien, ocultas algo, puedes confiar en mí.

No había escapatoria, sabías que tarde o temprano tenías que decirle lo que pasó.

— ¿Alguna vez has sientes que no puedes respirar? ¿Como si el mundo entero se derrumbara en sí mismo y nadie se diera cuenta? ¿A nadie le importa? ¿Como si no fueras a escapar?

—No, nunca lo he sentido —respondió confundido.

—Olvídalo —contestaste tratando de zafarte.

—Por favor, te amo y quiero ayudarte.

—Podemos ir a otro lado, no quiero que los demás sepan.

Fueron a la recámara que compartían, te sentaste en la cama, tomaste aire.

—Desde que mis compañeros se enteraron que era mutante…me jugaban bromas y ponían apodos horribles; especialmente las chicas, una vez me dejaron encerrada en la oscuridad, tuve que usar mis poderes para salir, pero eso significó que los Servicios Centinelas fueron por mi familia y por mí a la casa, alcancé a huir gracias a mi mamá, pero ellos no lo lograron. Siempre les pasa cosas malas a las personas que amo por mi culpa…

— ¿Por eso te apartas de todos? —te interrumpió.

—No merezco ser feliz…

—No, no digas eso, tú no tienes la culpa de nada —dijo Brock acariciando tu rostro.

—Pero…

—Sabes, mi madre y yo huimos de mi padre, él nos golpeaba, al final creo que tenemos algunas cosas en común, pero eso no importa, ni siquiera me importa si eres mutante o no, lo único que sé es que te amo, te ayudaré y apoyaré con todo.

Sonreíste tímidamente, después le seguiste contando todo lo que había pasado a lo largo de los años. Él te escuchó atentamente sin dejar de abrazarte.

Él iba a ser lo que fuese necesario para que fueses feliz.

#garieswritingchallenge #JBBNNMHAMChallenge #lins100celebration #brock rumlow x lectora #brock rumlow x lectora mutante #brock x lectora mutante

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