A whumpee with broken ribs. They just got out of a situation, and Caretaker, who doesn't realize that they were injured, hugs them tightly. Cue Caretaker's frantic apologizing as Whumpee doubles over from the pain in their ribs.
A knight returning from training with their far-too-strict trainer. They look fine walking to their room, but as the squire undoes their armor, you can see very clearly that armor protects from piercing - not blunt force.
Heaving and aching around broken ribs as they try to keep their posture straight. Don’t want to look weak, do we?
Hey there mate, a while ago I started reading this one fic and now i can’t find it. The avengers, after a mission go off to a safe house ( Clint’s wife’s family house) and rest. Peter can’t sleep because of sore ribs and tony can’t sleep because of shitty coffee. And they end up talking in the kitchen at like 3 am.
here you go
Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) by whumphoarder
Following a mission, a blizzard strands the Avengers together in a small cabin somewhere in rural Minnesota. Peter can’t sleep because of broken ribs. Tony can’t sleep because of shitty coffee.
Kiv still didn't know what to make of it when all eyes were on him.
It felt different every time. When he was dumped on some lightless street the eyes felt heavy, like he was being measured, like he was small enough to be torn apart. When he passed the same street days later, covered in someone else's blood, the eyes were fearful. Respectful. He was measured quicker then, deemed a threat.
He'd learned then that it felt better to be a threat than to be prey.
Now, as he stood in the doorway of some high-ceilinged room, the eyes on him felt different. All the people in here, with their drinks and their perfect, untorn clothes, had gone silent.
They didn't think he'd come back. Kiv's purpose had been made clear the last time he was in this shining purple monolith. He'd been created to die. He was disposable.
But not anymore.
Kiv threw the bloodied cybernetic into the room and it hit the glossy black floor with a clang. Proof that he'd done what they couldn't, that the bounty hunter they'd tried to trick would never be tricked again. The way they all looked at it, horror or disgust as they took in the twisted metal, the bits of tissue still clinging to wire, that felt good. Good enough to keep him on his feet even when everything ached, when the cuts and bruises from the fight still throbbed, when his face still hurt from the beating Sir had given him not long after he'd taken his first breath.
He was stronger than they thought. He'd proven them all wrong and he'd proven himself.
Kiv forced himself to stand straight, shoulders squared, even though his legs were close to shaking. He scanned the room until his own eyes fell on the man he was supposed to die for.
Some deep satisfaction—the same he'd felt when he first hit back, the same he’d felt when he survived—pulled at the corner of his mouth, filling his chest with a feeling like laughter.
Hello again.
Sir’s eyes seemed to burn, and Kiv thought he understood the feeling behind them. That this wasn't supposed to happen, this couldn't happen, something Kiv had felt before under Sir’s own hand.
You're a decoy.
He was more than a decoy.
Finally, someone in the crowd spoke.
“What's it doing here?”
It. Kiv's skull burned under his skin, making the bruises on his face throb. “I finished my mission,” he said, letting the word bite. “He's dead.”
“That wasn't your mission,” Sir said in a cool voice.
Run and don't get caught. Die if you do. That was what he was meant to do, but Kiv had gotten caught, and he'd done better than just survive it. The bounty hunter was dead and all his stalking robots had fallen when Kiv smashed his cyberarm against a wall until its lights died. It had all hurt so bad. Being clawed at, burned, battered. Kiv thought his heart would explode, everything was just a blur, he was so afraid, but then it was over and it was all fucking worth it. He'd crawled out of the alleyway once he could choke down his sobs and he found his way back here against all odds. He'd won.
He bared his teeth at Sir, hoping it all showed on his face. “Then I found a better one.”
A few snickers went up in the crowd, and Sir’s mouth tightened.
That felt good too. Kiv stumbled further into the room, trying to make his halting movements look like a careful swagger. Probably failing, but did it matter? They were all sipping drinks at a party while he just escaped a fight to the death. His clothes were torn, he was filthy, and he stood out like a blood splatter on a white shirt. Good. Right now, he wanted to stand out.
Sir scowled at him as he got closer. “What do you think you're doing?”
“I did you a service, and now I want a drink,” Kiv said. Everyone was still looking at him. He told himself that was still a good thing.
“Get out.”
“No.”
More muted snickers. “What's wrong Vic, can't control your own clone?” called someone from the back of the crowd.
Sir’s expression remained cool. “What you did was nothing. If you really wanted to show off your mettle, you should've been smarter than to come crawling back here.”
“Nothing,” Kiv said through his teeth. “It was nothing, but it was enough for you to send a clone to handle it. Coward.”
The look that flashed in Sir’s eyes as soon as Kiv spit out the word filled his throat with something icy, threatened to stop his heart.
No, no, he wouldn't take it back, he wasn't afraid, he'd stand his ground this time—
But his breath choked in his throat as Sir strode towards him. His knees nearly buckled, memories of last time flashing behind his eyes, bringing his hands up to shield his face before Sir even had the chance to reach him.
Stupid, stupid, fight back—
His scalp burned as Sir grabbed him by the hair, yanking him off balance. Tears pricked at his eyes, mouth opening as if to scream or yelp, but his own throat choked the sound back. Sir jerked him backwards, back towards the door, and Kiv's feet could barely keep up.
“Stop—” Kiv clawed at the hand in his hair, but nothing would loosen it. His eyes cracked open, catching one final view of the room—streaked purple light and silhouettes that all faced him—before being thrown into darkness.
He landed hard on his back. Same slippery tile, but this room was empty, lightless. Sir's boot came down before Kiv could orient himself, heel driving into his stomach with such force that he retched.
Why? I did what you wanted.
“Stupid. Pathetic. Any other traits you'd like to make a grand showing of?” The boot cracked into Kiv's ribs, sending a burst of fire through his chest that only got worse when he gasped. White flashed behind his eyes when Sir hit the spot a second time. Aimed for it.
“You should've kept your mouth shut. Maybe then I would've just shot you in the head.”
Pain exploded in Kiv's knee as Sir drove his heel into it. Too much pain to think, to do anything other than to cry out, try to writhe away, try to shield his head from the onslaught.
“Please—” he choked out, and the word burned in his mouth but he didn't care, it hurt too much, there was only pain and more pain coming and all thoughts of glory and acceptance were gone, he just wanted it to stop—
Sir knelt on his chest, stoking fire in his broken ribs. One hand curled in the collar of Kiv's shirt—borrowed from Sir himself to make the illusion more true. He couldn't fight it as he was pulled halfway up, hands numb as they tried to tighten around Sir’s wrist.
“No. Go on. Say it again. Beg for your life.” His voice was softer than it had been, but his hands were tight on Kiv's collar, his knee compressing his lungs.
“Please…” Kiv wheezed out. Sir slammed his head into the floor. The room seemed to spin around them both.
“Say it again,” Sir said.
“Stop—”
Kiv's head rocked to the side as Sir punched him, the metallic salt of his own blood filling his mouth.
“Say it again.”
There was no winning. Kiv sobbed the words out, unable to stop himself, no longer caring about the shame as Sir hit him again and again. All the parts of him that hurt bled into each other, his body nothing more than a tangle of burning nerves. He just wanted it to stop, please, stop.
And suddenly, it did.
Every part of him throbbed, hurt too much to try and move, but the blows stopped falling and the pressure left his chest as Sir stood.
Someone was… someone was talking.
“...orders. He said it would be a waste if you just killed it now.”
“I paid for it myself. I can do what I want with my property.”
“Bax thinks there's a profit to be made.”
“That thing is not going to the fucking hosts.”
“Take it up with Bax then. But he said not to let you kill it. Should probably get it to a healing pod.”
“Tell Bax to arrange that if he wants it so bad. I'm not touching it.”
Kiv tried to open his eyes. Even just doing that brought pain, and barely a sliver of vision with it, too blurry to see anything but the faint purple glow from the next room over, Sir’s silhouette blurring into the darkness beyond.
What did that mean? Kiv was alive, so they were keeping him on, right? Wasn't that what he wanted?
He shifted as the room's lights flickered on, and the movement spurred a wave of pain so strong he cried out, not even caring about the weakness his voice carried, not right now.
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah. Don't piss off Shepard.”
New hands wrapped around Kiv's arms, hauling him up, wracking him with fresh pain. He broke out into a cry, the sound fading to whimpering sobs as the men dragged him off to somewhere.
Was this what you wanted? A voice asked beneath every layer of agony, and somehow the question was almost worse than the grating of his broken bones, the deep ache in his head.
Yes, he told himself. I win. I won.
The men dragged him through the hall by his arms, ignoring his screams when they pulled him down a flight of stairs. The words stayed in his head all the while; Kiv insisting them to himself through the tears and the pain he couldn't hope to escape. Every ache, every throb, every bump that rang up like lightning through his skeleton.
I won, I won, I won.
He could almost make himself believe them.
But he still wasn't sure he knew what winning meant.
