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set-phasers-to-whump · 1 year

Text

shatter

prompt: voice breaking

whumpee: peter sutherland

fandom: the night agent

hi hi hi!! sorry it's been absolute ages since i last posted, school was a Thing but i'm on break now so i'm actually gonna finish off this card at long last :) anyways i watched this show a couple weeks ago and really enjoyed it, hope you'll like this fic!

The first time they actually, literally sleep together is the night after Peter returns from wherever it was that the FBI had shipped him off to (information that Rose, apparently, is still not allowed to know). She isn’t expecting him: he’d called her from a burner when he’d landed in DC that morning, but he hadn’t said anything at all about coming out to California.

So she’s understandably surprised that evening when he shows up on her doorstep with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his hair slightly damp from the drizzle outside.

As soon as she’d seen him pop up on her security feed, she’d gone to unlock the front door, and he doesn’t even have the chance to ring the bell before she’s opening the door and pulling him inside.

“Peter!”

She wraps him in a hug, pressing her head to his chest and listening to his heartbeat and just breathing in his presence. It’s only been a little over a month since they’ve seen each other, but the calls had been sporadic and short and anyway, nothing compares to having him here, now, slowly dripping water onto the tiles of the foyer in her small one-bedroom house with all the security features of a billionaire’s mansion.

“Hey, Rose,” he says against the side of her head. His voice is heavy with exhaustion and he’s leaning into her enough that she has to work to keep her balance. He doesn’t show any signs of letting go of her anytime soon, and honestly she’d be willing to stay like this forever, but she can feel herself starting to keel over, so she reluctantly pulls away from him before they both go falling to the ground.

For a few seconds, they both just stand there, looking at each other.

Peter looks terrible. During their one hectic week together (which feels simultaneously as though it had been years ago and just yesterday), when she knows he’d barely slept at all, he’d looked less tired than this.

There are dark circles beneath his eyes, almost black, one puffier than the other. Quite likely there’s a black eye hiding beneath the exhaustion. There’s a fresh scrape across the bridge of his nose and a yellowing bruise on his temple and he’s almost shaking - she can see it in the way his fingers grip the strap of his bag.

“You look terrible, Peter,” she says, trying for a tone somewhere between joking and concerned. She pulls the duffel away from him - he winces when the strap brushes his ear, though there’s no visible injury - and sets it down on the floor.

“Thanks,” he replies. She doesn’t know whether it’s meant to be a sarcastic acknowledgement of her you look terrible comment or a genuine appreciation for her taking his bag.

She’s about to ask this question, but something in the way that Peter is looking at her makes her hesitate. It’s his eyes, she thinks. Their unnatural shine in the soft light. How he looks simultaneously afraid and ashamed and just fucking raw.

“Hey,” she whispers, stepping forwards to grab onto him at the same moment that he all but collapses into her. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

She guides them both to the ground, leaning against the wall. Peter doesn’t say anything.

“Hey,” she repeats, more insistent. “Look at me.”

He does, but he still doesn’t say anything. He looks so miserable and so tired and she just wants to help but she doesn’t know how, doesn’t know what he needs, doesn’t know what’s wrong. She can make guesses, but she can’t actually - she doesn’t actually know how to help if he won’t tell her what’s wrong.

But she isn’t going to push him. She sometimes forgets that they’ve known each other for less than two months. She doesn’t know everything about him yet. Doesn’t quite know how far, how hard, to push. She’ll let him come to her.

He looks away from her again, stares at their knees pressed together, side-by-side. Then, at long last, he speaks.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“This?” For a heart-wrenching moment, she thinks that he means this, the two of them, and she braces herself for a blow that never comes.

“This,” Peter repeats, gesturing loosely to himself with a hand that is now definitely shaking.

Oh.

“Can I - What do you need?”

She’s never seen him look quite so lost.

“I don’t…I don’t know.” His voice is strained until it breaks on the last word, and Rose doesn’t let herself think. She just reaches out and wraps her arms around him, guiding his head to rest on her shoulder, and Peter freezes up for a fraction of a second, and then he just shatters.

He falls apart nearly silently, but Rose can hear the hitches in his breathing, can feel him trembling, feel the tears soak into her t-shirt.

“I don’t know what to do,” Peter whispers after a while, his voice rough and a little unsteady. One of his hands loosely twists the hem of her shirt, and Rose cautiously threads her fingers into his hair.

“You don’t have to know anything right now,” she whispers back. She imagines the Bureau might feel differently about this, but for the time being, it’s just them. Nothing else matters.

Peter shakes his head against her shoulder. “I thought I would like it.”

“But?”

He shrugs, sniffs. “I was good at it. But - the Metro bombing, the assassination plot - plots - it’s not…it’s not the same as this.”

Rose thinks she understands. There’s a difference between being thrust into something and jumping in voluntarily, between a day or a week and a month. Between being with someone and being essentially alone.

Peter doesn’t say anything else. At first Rose assumes he’s just thinking, and then she realizes he’s falling asleep.

“Hey, c’mon,” she says softly, nudging him. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Peter looks up at her for the first time in what feels like forever. His already-battered face is now tearstained, his cheeks and eyes pink.

“Sorry about all that,” he tells her, as the two of them get to their feet.

“Don’t even think about apologizing,” Rose responds, taking him by the hand and leading him to her bedroom. “I’d say you’re more than allowed to fall apart on me, all things considered.”

Peter doesn’t say anything to this, but he squeezes her hand and doesn’t offer up any resistance when she goes to help him out of his still-damp clothes and shoes.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Rose says, gesturing to the bed, as she leaves the room to sweep the house. She checks that all of the doors and windows are locked, makes sure the alarm and cameras are set, then grabs Peter’s forgotten duffel bag and brings it to her bedroom.

He’s almost asleep by the time she returns. One of his arms has been left outside of the comforter, and there’s a massive bruise on the elbow. She thinks about the various injuries she’d glimpsed while helping him undress and decides to spend some serious time cataloging them all in the morning, if only to make sure that nothing is seriously wrong.

For now, though, she just double checks the window above the bed, changes into her pajamas, and climbs into bed beside him.

There will be time for everything else tomorrow.

thanks for reading!! hope neither of them was too ooc, this is my first time writing them (but probably not my last). love you all (and sorry for the massive unplanned break lmao)!!

#bad things happen bingo #the night agent #peter sutherland #voice breaking #emotional whump #crying #held #comfort #my writing #i say things #anyways i have a lot of thoughts about peter and like him being sent off so quickly after All Of That and the adjustment period that must #come along with going from a basement to the Real Fucking World so quickly and with probably not a whole lot of training cause like #there's a massive difference between something happening to you randomly and you getting put into a situation voluntarily but also not #completely voluntarily if you get me. and so like. you really have to think about what it is you want and whether this is going to be #something you want to do. yknow? anyway.

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eldrytchcryptid · 1 month

Text

Oh no

No no no

My throat already hurts from my voice breaking,

No, cold, I don't need it

Oh it's so spicy make it end

#voice breaking #voice cracking #hrt #im sick #transgender #trans #trans man

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crash-bump-bring-the-whump · 1 year

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Mariano........

BTHB 2023 - Fill 7 - Voice Breaking

I'm not even going to lie this was partially just to see what silly stretch of the imagination I needed to turn this ask into a BTHB fill. Borrowing @brinkofdiscovery's Evritt again! A followup to this which is a followup to this!

TWs: Overextension/overworking, brief discussion of hospitalization, needle mention

Mariano didn't like wheelchairs. He didn't like the insistence of the very kind nurses that they were going to push him, that he didn't need to wear himself out. He didn't like the gentle, necessary, prying questions. He didn't like how shaken his teenage employees looked when they visited, an impossibly-soft plush mug of coffee with glittering eyes and a tiny smile in their hands. He didn't like how carefully Bastian held his hand whenever he was at his side. The worst was when Evritt had visited: his dark eyes hadn't been able to stop wandering along the tubes and wires that had been keeping Mariano stable.

Mariano was much more partial to finally having the IV lines and monitors removed, but it had meant one more wheelchair ride to the front entrance. Leaving the suffocatingly caring environment was the biggest weight off his shoulders. If he could've signed himself out earlier without Bastian threatening to bring him right back, he would've.

Never mind that he felt out of breath just walking from his hospital bed to the bathroom, and never mind how easily he got tired. Those would get better with time. He had time, though. Especially now that he was being helped one last time into Bastian's beat up van, tattooed fingers at the small of his back as he stepped up.

The drive back to the apartment was surreal. His hospital room had had windows, of course, but nothing compared to being able to open those windows to enjoy the morning breeze. Bastian's music blared, the hard guitar and driving drums feeling like home, even as Mariano's eyes drooped closed and his cheek pressed into the seat belt.

He reluctantly let Bastian help him up the stairs to their apartment, the ratty, beer-stained carpet looking impossibly inviting by the time they got inside. "Go lie down, you still look like shit." Bastian had said, all but herding him to the couch. They'd both known there was no way Mariano was climbing into another bed so soon.

Neither of them had quite been expecting Evritt to show up late that afternoon however, reusable grocery bags in hand. Mariano looked up from his book, eyebrows raised as Evritt stood there, looking up at Bastian. "I..." He started, as quiet as ever. "Thought you both would appreciate some dinner."

Bastian glanced back at Mariano, looking just as confused, before shrugging. "Sure man, knock yourself out. I was just gonna order delivery." Bastian said, stepping aside to let Evritt pass.

Suspicion ignited in Mariano's chest, watching Evritt make his way to their tiny kitchen. He certainly hadn't asked Evritt to come cook, and he hadn't mentioned wanting to when he'd visited in the hospital. "It's good to see you, Evritt." He said, smiling anyway.

Evritt glanced over, gaze lingering and softening before he responded. "Good to see you too, I'm glad you're back home." He was definitely up to something. "How do you feel about stir fry? I have the supplies for fried chicken." Evritt wasn't in uniform, but his hair was still carefully styled. The odds were fifty-fifty on whether or not he'd gone shopping immediately after work.

"That would be nice." Mariano said, hesitant to return to his book. "You...don't have to cook, you know." He tried, watching as Evritt bustled about the kitchen, starting to put ingredients into the fridge and wash the dishes. "Bastian likes to get takeout for people, he won't mind if you join in."

"I want to do this for you." Evritt said, voice as steady and sure as ever. "I'm sure the hospital food wasn't fantastic."

Mariano laughed, wincing despite how gentle the sound was. "I can't complain. Still better than prison food." When he met Evritt's eyes again, that odd softness was back in his brow.

Evritt fell back into his task, the clinking of dishes starting to lull Mariano back into a doze. His book slowly started to droop to his lap, the side of his head gradually leaning against the back of the couch. The quiet of his and Bastian's living room drained more and more tension from his limbs, even as he listened to Evritt drain the sink and dry his hands.

When footsteps approached, Mariano didn't even bother opening his eyes. He knew that careful, calculated gait. A soft, lingering kiss at his temple pulled Mariano's lips into a smile, even as his book was taken from his hands and his glasses were set aside. A blanket being draped over him was the signal that Evritt was returning to the kitchen.

Even so, a nagging bit of worry kept Mariano from falling too deeply into his nap.

Something was off. He needed to be on the watch for something, but he couldn't put his finger on it. It wasn't the same intensity as when he'd first been released, nor when he'd first immigrated and had to be monitored, but...it was something. It was there, and waiting.

The sharp pop of glass shattering made Mariano jump. He gasped, eyes flying open and heart hammering as his tired mind raced through half-formed possibilities. A raid--surprise strike--a breach to capture--surrounded and tense and waiting to hurt or be hurt...but two other sounds broke through the rush. A shuddering breath, and knees hitting the ground.

Sniffing, quiet and shaking, came from the kitchen. It only got quieter when Mariano pushed himself to his feet with a grunt and hobbled to the kitchen. "Evritt...are you alright?" He asked, blinking as he put his glasses back on.

Surrounded by the shattered remains of one of their glasses, Evritt sat on the kitchen vinyl, hands pressed to his mouth and tears brimming in his eyes.

"Hey," Mariano started, slipping on his sandals before approaching. "Hey, Evritt." He crouched down, suppressing another wince as his injured hip protested. "Look at me." He said, reaching a hand out to cup Evritt's face. He finally looked at Mariano, and something seemed to crumble.

"I'm sorry, I'm--" Evritt's shoulders shook, and Mariano shifted his hands to his shoulders to help guide Evritt into standing again. Evritt's arms wrapped around himself, clinging like he would fall apart completely without the extra help. "I'll clean it up..."

Mariano looped an arm around him properly when they both stood. He guided them to the entrance of the kitchen, getting both of their shoes off before they stepped onto the carpet. "You won't. Bastian can." He said, taking Evritt to the couch and sitting down next to him.

"I'm sorry, you're so hurt, and I..." Evritt choked out, his hands on his knees, clenching and unclenching. "I thought, I want to do something. I want to help take care of you."

"I'm fine." Mariano said, trying to get Evritt to turn towards him, to look at him. His favorite knight's eyes stayed glued to the carpet. "Evritt, hey, I'm okay. Look at me. I'm right here, Ev." He put his hands on Evritt's shoulders. "I'm alive."

Evritt slowly, trembling, curled in on himself at those words. Deep shuddering sobs rolled through him, pulling him tighter and tighter until his forehead was on his knees. He could barely seem to catch a breath between his choking cries.

Mariano's eyes went wide, hands hovering in the air where Evritt's shoulders had been. Brows creasing, his chest twisted watching Evritt bury his face in his hands. "Hey," He started, his voice dipping into something even softer. "Hey, whoa...

"Come here, come here." Carefully, Mariano wrapped his arms around Evritt. Without much warning, Evritt turned and fell into him. His arms wrapped around Mariano's waist, and his face pressed into Mariano's good shoulder. His clinging was so cautious, it was like he thought any undue pressure might send Mariano right back to the hospital.

"What's going on, Evritt?" He asked, leaning his head against Evritt's. "Talk to me."

"I couldn't do anything." Evritt finally managed to get out between gasps. "You were...you were, god you were so limp when they took you away and--and small, and...!" He clutched Mariano's shirt, twisting his fingers in the fabric with far more force than the hug held. "Mariano..." His voice shattered, his crying returning at full force.

Mariano's hands slid along Evritt's back, one raising up to press his head harder into Mariano's shoulder. This...made sense. Everything about the evening made sense now--Evritt had said that he'd been one of the knights who'd responded to the shooting. Mariano knew he couldn't have looked any sort of good when help had gotten there. "I'm alive, Evritt. I'm okay now." He whispered, leaning them both back against the pile of pillows he'd been napping against. "Is this why you were trying to do so much?"

Evritt couldn't answer beyond a nod. Mariano held him as tightly as he could, feeling himself get shaken by the force of Evritt's sobs. "You don't have to. I just like having you here." He said, pressing a kiss to Evritt's temple.

"Your eyes weren't, they weren't all the way closed, when they left with you." Evritt managed, pressing ever closer as Mariano held him. "I thought--you just, you looked..." He gasped in air, unable to finish the thought.

Mariano just nodded against Evritt's temple. "...I'm sorry." He said. "It's...scary to see people looking like that." Mariano shifted, letting Evritt rest his head over where his heart was. He needed to feel the steady pulse right then, and hear Mariano breathe. "But I'm still here, and I'm not going anywhere."

They laid like that until the sun sank below the buildings, Mariano scratching his blunt nails through Evritt's hair and holding him close. Now and then, Evritt would fall back into crying, and Mariano would just squeeze him tighter, whispering reassurances until his shaking subsided again. The biggest victory of the day, though, Mariano thought as Evritt finally dozed off, was that he remembered Evritt's favorite entree from the restaurant Bastian finally ordered dinner from.

#whump #emotional whump #bthb #bad things happen bingo #voice breaking #overworking #overextension #discussion of hospitalization #needle mention #mage of violence #evritt

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iwritewhump · 2 years

Text

whumptember days 21 and 22

title: choice

prompts: “you made your choice”, voice breaking, crying, double crossed, working for the enemy

warnings: young whumpee (not specified but around 20-22), gun, mild cursing

characters: henchman, sidekick, villain, hero

440 words

Henchman pulled away from Sidekick as Villain called for help from the other room. He stared at her in disbelief. “Tell me you didn’t.”

Sidekick bit her cheek and sniffed, “Villain is wrong. I did what I had to do.”

She turned away from him and ran out of the room. Henchman took a deep breath and wiped his eyes. This could wait.

Villain, as always, stood his ground. Hero advanced forward, trying to force Villain back into a corner, but all she managed to do was get in his face. Henchman watched as she glared at him. He looked at her, hand moving to his dagger as she whispered something and he rolled his eyes.

“Wow. That’s original.” he chided.

Hero scowled. She flicked her wrist and Sidekick sprung into action. She leapt behind Henchman, wrapped an arm around his neck and pressed a gun to his head. Henchman tensed, “Sidekick.” he whispered, “What the hell are you doing?”

She ignored him and pressed the gun harder against his temple, if either of them noticed her hand shaking, they ignored it.

“Since you aren’t taking me seriously,” Hero said. “I will make you. If you don’t tell me everything I want to know- I will kill Henchman.”

Villain swallowed thickly and took his hand off the hilt of his blade. Taking a step back, he held his hands in the air and watched as Henchman’s breathing sped up.

“Hero.” he said, voice breaking. “L-let him go. I’ll do whatever you want me to. I promise. He’s just a kid, let him go. Please.”

Hero frowned and pursed her lips, pretending to consider what he had said. “You made your choice. So did he.”

Villain looked at Henchman and nodded. “Ok. I’ll tell you what you want to know. Let him go first.”

“As if,” Hero said. “You’re both coming with me and I’ll let him go only once I get everything I need. Besides, it’s too risky to just let him go now. He’d probably do something stupid and get himself killed. It’s much safer for him with me.”

She walked behind Villain and shoved him towards the door. Sidekick followed, pushing Henchman gently forward. She pulled the gun away from Henchman’s head and put it back in its holster, once it was put away, they both visibly relaxed.

Hero herded them into the car and handcuffed Villain to the door. She nodded towards Henchman. “Is he gonna give us any trouble?”

Sidekick looked in the backseat and stared at him. He didn’t look back. She shook her head and climbed into the passenger seat. “He won’t do anything.”

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