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spritewrites · 4 years

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inhibitions (or, high five)

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy

Characters: Vanya & Five

Word Count: 2062

Warnings: drug use, mentions of alcohol abuse

“Ahem.”

Slam. “Ow.”

“What are you doing?” Vanya asked, peering around the cabinet door to where Five was cursing and rubbing his head.

“Nothing.”

Vanya raised her eyebrows. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Yeah, well, it’s nothing, okay?” Five snapped, sticking his sore head back in the cabinet.

Well, that’s bullshit. “You sure?”

Five huffed. “Let me assure you, I am one hundred percent certain that I am doing absolutely nothing of interest to you right now.”

He briefly pulled his head out (carefully avoiding the top) to see Vanya giving him one of her soft smiles. “Rooting around in the back of a cabinet is pretty interesting to me.”

A long, low exhale. He was eyeing her carefully, the same way he did the first day he came home. Like he didn’t know who to trust. “Fine. Do you happen to know where dear old Dad kept the alcohol?”

The crease between Vanya’s eyes deepened. “We have a whole bar, Five.”

“Yes, yes, I know, but we’re… uh, out. Did the old man have any backup storage?”

“I think he got rid of it all when Klaus started drinking.” She put a gentle hand on Five’s shoulder, startling him. Instantly, the hand was back at her side. Right. The touch thing. “Are you okay?”

He sighed, running his small hand through his hair. “Yep. Fine. Great. Just… need to take the edge off.”

Everything went still.

“Five.”

“What,” he snapped. “Are you going to lecture me about the long-term effects of alcohol on my goddamn pre-teen body like everyone else? Because trust me, I’ve calculated exactly the blood alcohol content that –”

“No, I – no. I was just going to say…” She swallowed hard, then met his gaze, her kind eyes and his blazing ones. The corner of her lip tugged upward. “I’ve got something that might help.”

Honestly, Vanya never thought that her birthday gift from Klaus would ever be anything more than a joke. “So you don’t blow up the moon again,” he’d said with a wink, “now that you’re off your pills and everything.” But now, sitting on the floor of her childhood bedroom ripping open a package of laced gummies with her 58-year-old brother, she was so, so glad she had it.

The circles under Five’s eyes had gotten worse over the past few weeks, and even though she knew he’d never say anything, it was clear that putting down the staggering weight of the apocalypse after forty-five years of carrying it was proving difficult for her brother. She saw the way he startled at his reflection, the way his fingers flexed absent-mindedly toward his hip, right where a holster might be, the way he counted the people in the room, the way he would talk too quietly or too loudly, or left out details in stories, as if he couldn’t gauge how much of a given conversation was supposed to happen in his head.

He’d taken to drinking, of course – he’d been drinking since he got back. But now he seemed to rarely be without a glass in his hand. And Vanya saw the way his shoulders relaxed when he took a sip, the way his tapping foot and twitching eyelid settled.

Vanya was used to watching. She knew how to see things.

She’d been saving the candy especially for him, for when he needed it. Tomorrow she’d go to the liquor store for him; she knew better than to recommend he go cold-turkey. Five was smart. With the right support, he’d slow down on his own, when he was ready. That was her job, being the right support.

Therapy would probably be good too.

“I don’t like sweets,” he reminded her, and for a second her heart lurched for the thirteen-year-old boy who was once caught with a half-empty can of cake frosting under his bed.

“These’ll help. Just trust me?” It was a request, an olive branch. Slowly, he nodded.

“Okay.”

“—It wasn’t even the most dangerous situation I’d been in that week! Dolores was furious at me for days, of course, but at least I got some wine out of it,” Five said, tipping his head back to stare at the popcorn ceiling. Vanya was giggling at his story, watching the faint smile dance over her brother’s face at the memory.

“I thought the apocalypse would be, just like… shitty forever.”

Five sighed. “It was. But you know. You can’t be unhappy for 45 years straight, your body doesn’t work that way. There were good times.”

Vanya giggled again. She couldn’t seem to stop doing that. “I can’t do anything straight.”

For a beat, Five studied her, his expression unreadable. Then he broke into a surprisingly bright smile.

“That was a joke.” It wasn’t a question.

Vanya gave her brother a light shove. The way a sister might to a brother. “Of course it was, idiot.”

He shoved her back, smiling wider than Vanya had seen in a long time. “Don’t call me an idiot. Idiot.” The twitch in his eyebrow was gone. Vanya suddenly went quiet, the light feeling in her core spreading throughout her chest at this realization.

“Five?”

“Hm?”

“I love you a lot.”

Five was quiet too, then, but not unusually so; Five was always quiet, when he wasn’t yelling. His eyes traced patterns in the ridges and dips of the ceiling plaster.

“I love you too.” He turned to look at her. “I missed you.”

“I know, Five,” she replied, because she did. “I missed you too.” Because she does. Did. Does.

His face split again, into that same bright, open smile. “You know what I would think about? Out in the apocalypse?”

“What?”

“When we would stay up all night sometimes talking. Remember that? Jesus, we must’ve been… ten? Eleven? And we’d be up for hours… I don’t even remember what we talked about. Math, probably.” Five shrugged. “I had conversations like that with Dolores, after. Or sometimes you.”

“Me?”

He smoothed out the fabric of his shorts. “Yeah, you were there in the apocalypse with me. I had your book, remember? Closest I could get to someone talking to me.”

Vanya tried to meet his eyes, but he was gone somewhere. A gentle hand found his arm. He flinched a little, but didn’t pull away. “I’m here now.”

He nodded, and when he spoke, it sounded strangled somehow. “Thanks.”

A passing truck honked its horn. Vanya thunked her head back on a bedpost, sinking into the floaty feeling that had settled right around her sternum. She got why Klaus did this. It felt like she could say anything, or do anything, and everything would be okay.

Five made a kind of whining noise in the back of his throat. “I want donuts.”

Vanya closed her eyes, smiling. “Shit, donuts sound great right now.”

“The jelly-filled ones from Griddy’s.”

“Yeah, when you get there at like eight p.m. and they’ve just finished the last batch of the day so they’re, like, fresh and shit.”

“Fuck,” Five sighed, pulling the back of his blazer over his head and slouching. “I want donuts.”

Despite herself, Vanya started giggling again. “You look ridiculous.”

“Excuse you,” Five replied, wrinkling his nose. “I am a trained assassin of the Commission, licensed to travel space and time with an assault rifle. I never look ridiculous.”

“You look like a Founding Father.”

The look that Five shot Vanya sent chills running down her spine. But like, in a fun way.

“Take that back.”

“No.”

“You asshole, take it –”

“No, you look like Benjamin goddamn Frank – hey!” Before she could so much as blink, Five had pounced, swatting at her arms when she laughingly brought them up to protect herself. “Go away, you know I’m right!”

Five was grinning too, slipping his fingers past her weak defenses to mess up her hair and poke at her cheeks until she had to hold her stomach in laughter. “Take it back, I said!” he crowed, sounding like he was on the edge of laughter himself. He managed a lucky strike when blunt fingernails skated over the crease of her neck, and she scrunched her shoulder with a squeal.

“No – no, fuck, Five –”

Vanya’s flailing hands struggled to gain any sort of advantage against Five’s skilled assassin reflexes, to no avail. She was horribly ticklish at the best of times, but now the ruthless pokes that were attacking her nerves overwhelmed her, and she curled up into a ball of giggles on the floor.

Through wet lashes she could see Five’s grin as he methodically took her apart, relentlessly tickling all the places he knew were torture – ears down to collarbone, and then jumping down to squeeze at her sides, making her shriek. His skinny teenage fingers were unfortunately perfect for tickling at her ribs and sneaking their way into the crease of her neck.

Vanya was laughing the hardest she’d laughed in a long time, maybe ever. Nobody in recent memory had known her like this, known her well enough to completely eviscerate her the way that Five always, always could. Damn him. This was definitely cheating.

Her laughter hit a fever pitch when Five got a hold of one of her kicking feet. Shit.

“Please, I – fuck! Okay, okay, I take it back, mercy!”

Five stopped, smirking. “Assassins don’t show mercy, except to ticklish sisters.”

A few residual giggles escaped through Vanya’s nose. “Shut up.”

“Me, shut up? Me? Excuse you, you called me a fucking Founding Father –”

“I didn’t say you were a Founding Father, I said you looked –”

“Vanya, I don’t think you understand that I am still holding on to your ankle, and strategically – hey!”

Swiftly, Vanya scooped up his own ankle and held it in her lap, a mischievous smirk on her face. She had completely forgotten about Five’s thing with unanticipated touch, but his eyes were just as bright as hers. “Oh yeah?”

Five’s smirk didn’t waver. “Nice try, I’m not ticklish.”

“Is that so?” She tugged on his leg, tucking it under her arm and hovering her fingertips over his knee. Five nearly choked.

“Wait –”

A squeeze was all it took for Five to collapse into hysterical laughter, squirming and flailing, but more squeezes couldn’t hurt. Vanya was grinning, digging in mercilessly. Served him right for attacking her, he wasn’t not the only one who remembers ticklish spots. It occurred to her that she was maybe being a little cruel, going right for his weakness immediately, but the loud, bright cackles pouring out of her brother’s mouth were worth every kick that he landed.

Five pounded a fist on the floor, mouthing something resembling words, but he couldn’t manage anything coherent through his helpless laughter. All right then, mercy it is. She graciously released his leg, which shot up into his body as he curled in on himself.

“F-fuck you,” he panted.

Vanya chuckled. “Oh come on, surely assassins are familiar with the concept of revenge?”

He said nothing, but his smile, weak from tickles, widened. She wrinkled her brow. “What’s that for?”

“S’nothing. Hic.”

“Are you… are those hiccups?”

“No.” Hic. “…Fuck off.”

Vanya burst into another fit of laughter, earning her a light shove. Five tried to school his face into an angry expression, but he was laughing too.

“I take back everything I said, I didn’t miss you, I don’t love you, you’re an asshole –”

She giggled and shoved him back. “You’re an asshole, but we love you anyway.”

The faux-anger melted away. “I know.”

For a long moment, a comfortable silence fell over the siblings, the kind that they used to fall into around four in the morning when they had both squeezed onto Five’s bed for the night to talk about training and music and math and family.

Five yawned despite himself. “M’fuckin’ sleepy,” he grumbled.

Vanya smiled. “You sound like a kid.”

“I look like one, too,” he said, and at first Vanya thought he might be angry. He usually was when he talked about his body. But then he smiled again. He kept doing that. His eyes were shining. “I’m sorry it took me so long. The calculation took years.”

Vanya shifted to face him. “Talk to me about it.”

Five’s smile grew, and Vanya knew, somewhere in her chest, that they would be okay.

#tickling #tua #umbrella academy #tickle fic #my fics #ticklish!vanya #ticklish!five #five hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #i wrote this for the pun and then it got out of hand

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onceabluemoonwrites · 3 years

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Rations and Rare Blood

Title: Rations and Rare Blood

Author: OnceABlueMoon

Rating: T

Pairing: Kozato Enma & Suzuki Adelheid

Prompt: Blood drinking

Tags/Warnings: mentions of the simon massacre and talk of blood.

You can also find this story on Ao3

Rations and Rare Blood

Let it be known that Adelheid was out for blood. Not as she usually would, no, she was a vampire with dignity. She would kill her enemies and crush their skulls for they were not worth drinking from. She was a modern, civilized vampire. She had human herds on her own island.

Emphasis on had, because Sawada Iemitsu had killed all of them except a few.

Left with only a single Kozato and only a few side dishes! The idea alone! She’d spent the last thousand years carefully cultivating her human herds until she had the Kozato: a family with blood so lovely, so hearty and tasty and good that they couldn’t be called anything but the steak amongst the low-class meat.

All her calculations down the drain! All those years of making sure the population grew just so that her personal blood banks would provide as much food as she wanted and now she was back to mere rations! She clenched her fists, long nails boring into her pale palm until it bled. Dismayed, she frowned, bringing up her hand to her mouth and quickly licking the blood up. She really couldn’t afford to lose any right now- she was stretching her supply of blood as it was. The Simon children were often pale from blood loss and though she tried to keep them healthy, it was hard when she had to be on top of her abilities to protect them. Keeping her powers up, in turn, required blood which made the whole process harder.

Grinding her fangs, she snarled into the night before her, cutting an imposing figure against the treeline, the sand beneath her feet cold as the sun had long gone down. The sea before her was a black hole, the house behind her small and well-hidden amongst the trees.

‘’Adelheid?’’ A small voice sounded behind her.

Adelheid shook her head to keep her violent thoughts away as she turned. It was Enma, barely ten years old, a band-aid on the side of his neck where she’d bitten earlier. Reduced to biting children, ridiculous.

Her heart twinged at his appearance. He’d always been a bit of a lost child, drowning in his clothes even when they ought to be the right size. The murder of his family had only made it worse, created this image of frailty where previously there had been a possibility of budding strength. He had been severely traumatized by the massacre he’d only just survived. All of the kids had been.

‘’What is it?’’ she asked, crouching down.

Enma bit his lip.

Adelheid sighed inwardly. Enma was so skittish, so young, still so breakable. Adelheid herself couldn’t even remember being human- time made memories wear away and she’d been turned so long ago that there was nary a memory left. She couldn’t remember human weakness, only the kind of weakness a vampire knew. For a vampire, weakness was the thirst. A rather simple thing to remedy, certainly, if you had enough people to drink from.��

Vampire’s that killed may live in paradise for one, two, maybe even three years, but eventually the people would rise up and kill them. Far better was a deal, a give and take that was sustainable. A give and take like Adelheid had had with the Simon.

Human weakness was hard. She could provide certain things easily in exchange for blood, like protection against other humans or even against wild animals and in some cases, nature. But like this, when she was only left with children… Human weakness were things like emotion. Human children needed affection. To a creature like her, not beholden to anyone except perhaps her sire who had long died… Ah, that was a strange thing. Something she didn’t know what to do about.

They needed her though. So she did her best.

She tried again. ‘’Why are you out of bed? I promise I won’t be mad if you tell me.’’

Enma fiddled with the edge of his night shirt. ‘’I dreamed you were gone.’’

Adelheid blinked. ‘’I’m right here, though. Have been for centuries. This was my island long before you were even born and I’ll remain its protector far longer than you will exist. I know-‘’ she swallows thickly. ‘’I know I’ve failed you. I know I wasn’t there in your hour of need, that I should have been more vigilant. But it’s too late for that now, the Vongola came too fast and struck so quickly and by the time I noticed all that was left was you. But I’m here now.’’

Enma looked up, his big eyes filled with tears and desolation. His eyes are red, like blood, and it… It hurts her, to see him like this. A child this young, this desperate. ‘’But we can’t provide enough! I’m not blind, Adelheid! You’re getting weaker by the day! Dad said- Dad said you were protecting us because of a very, very old contract and that we had to uphold it to our dying breath and even beyond! But we’re not! It’s just the six of us and we don’t know what we’re doing and the only reason we’ve survived so far is because you get us food, make sure we’re fed and clothed. I’m sorry, but please don’t leave us, Adelheid!’’

Something inside her chest twinges and before Adelheid knows what she’s doing, she puts her arms around him. It can’t be comfortable. Her skin is hard and cold as that of a corpse besides, but Enma melts into it. She can’t help but rest her head on top of his. ‘’Silly child. I’ve failed as your sentinel in the first place. This is no fault of yours. Besides, you’ll grow. You’ll grow big and strong and bigger bodies have more blood.’’ She kisses the top of his head and then lifts his chin so their eyes meet. ‘’Rest assured, Enma. Those who did this to your family will not rest easily in their beds. We’re both too weak right now. You’re too young and so are the others, and I am sorely lacking blood. But that won’t always be so.’’

Her eyes burn with determination as she thirsts for something other than blood for once. ‘’We will have our revenge. The day you’ll be old enough, the day we’ll have blood enough, we’ll leave this island and hunt those who hurt us down. Some day, I promise you, Enma, the Vongola will choke on their own blood and we will be the ones to make it so.’’

The image she stumbled upon when she got back from her trip is still so vivid, seared into her eyes: the corpses everywhere, the smell of dried blood, her failure to protect her herds dripping off them like the rain that could not wash away her pain nor the long-dried blood. How the children had come crawling out from their hiding places, frightened and filthy, looking like drowned rats as they ran to her, the only safety they had left.

The children she’s protecting are small. When she stands among them they barely come up to her hip and their hands cannot even crush fruit yet. They are weak but they can grow. They can be trained. They will never be as strong as she is, being human as they are, but they can be stronger still. As she has Enma in her arms, she sees the boy’s resolve harden before her very eyes, his jaw lock, his spine straighten. And she knows.

She knows beyond a doubt: they will have their revenge.

Author’s note:

Adelheid definitely gives little vampire love bites to her kids too, which is why Enma wears a band-aid over his nose when he’s older. Gotta disguise his guardian’s EMBARRASSING EQUIVALENT OF A GOODBYE SMOOCH.

Enma, trying to be cool in front of Tsuna: ''She's like, my older sister. Only she's more than a thousand years older and like. bloodthirsty. What I'm saying is, my blood is really good.''

Adelheid, firmly of the opinion that nothing is more attractive than offering a potential mate good blood, which Enma is in possession of: nods encouragingly from her hiding place in the tree above them

Tsuna, who knows only that Adelheid is Scary: ...okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay

Being raised by a vampire has some effects and not all of them are ''i'm an overpowered boss as far as humans go''. Enma has no idea how to flirt, which is not different from cannon, but still worse in a different way.

Is Hibari actually a vampire in this fic??? Is he old? Is he young? Is he not actually a vampire but a huge vampire groupie? Nobody knows but Mukuro sure is big on spreading that last theory around.

#khrween2020 #khr #kozato enma #suzuki adelheid #khr fic #onceabluemoonwrites fic #really excited to post this!

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alias-b · 4 years

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sins of my youth. 010

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: Hello everyone. Slice of life in Hawkins when Evie ventures out and encounters different residents. Warning that things are going to take a turn so TW for manipulating and explicit physical abuse. Light racism. Evie receives some horrible threats when she tries to make a change for the better. Thank you all for turning in. Heavy heavy chapter, way more personal than I like. TAGLIST OPEN ! Chat with me if you have time. :)

Chapter 10: A Little More Sin

There were some peculiar things Billy Hargrove noted about the way Evie Fenny slept.

She burrowed into whatever was around. Face buried like she might be trying to smother herself.

She made little noise except occasional whimpers. Arguably cute.

She went dead still. He checked to make sure the girl was breathing at one point.

His favorite were the whines that erupted when he tried to untangle himself from her on the couch. Early morning daylight streamed between curtains. Silent white noise scattered the television.

A reminder of snow tumbling fresh and pristine. Washing away what was before it. Evie had fallen asleep in her fit of exhaustion still wrapped in him.

Billy simply didn’t feel like leaving so he fell too. Cast in amber. Bodies molded together.

Evie turned to burrow into the sofa and Blue came to nestle just above her crown of big curls. Billy peered at the empty pizza box and grabbed a marker to scribble a note she’d wake to. Propped it up and grabbed his coat.

Paused to admire her because that was inevitable. One look cast before he was out into the grey morning. Ice and snow as far as the eye can see.

“Shit. I'm still in Hawkins.” Billy perched a cigarette between his lips and lit up. Prepared himself for Max’s gawking when he walked in that door.

Evie stirred another hour later. Still smelling Billy’s cologne all over the couch and herself. Blue sat perched, licking her knuckle. No doubt begging for more food.

“I know,” Evie pushed out a groan, “I got you.” Brown eyes focused on bold, black letters. Marked into the grease stained pizza box.

Billy long gone.

Probably freaked that a girl sobbed on him and passed out. Evie huffed to herself. Rubbed her eyes and plucked up the box to read.

“Gonna ask you out…again. Tonight. Seven. I’ll even let you pick where we go.”

Evie shook her head and pushed up.

Figured another night with Billy Hargrove is one of the few things in her life that won’t hurt.

*** ** **

If you asked her, she’d lie.

Evie totally wasn’t out picking a new top for her not-date with Billy. Definitely not.

She wasn't worrying over the exactly placement of her curls and wondering if Billy thought they were pretty down over her shoulders.

Poor girl just...felt the urge to thrift shop. Most of her shirts and dresses were altered items she’d found. Ugly patterns galore. Evie mused over a top with an intricately painted bowl of fruit on the front and spotted a familiar helmet of red hair sitting near the fitting rooms.

“It doesn’t fit me. It’s too big.” Came a rough woman's voice from behind the curtain.

Carol only huffed as she checked her manicure and stood. Evie hid behind a tall rack of dresses when a woman came out.

She might have had the same vibrant red hair as her daughter. Once. But it was lifeless and tossed into a bun on her head.

Carol’s mother. Dorthy Perkins. Skinny, nervous thing with a slight pouch to her stomach. Tooth gap and some healed sores in her hairline. Kept rubbing her covered arms. Sunken in and shaky. Noticeable sweat on her forehead.

Obviously in need of a fix. She used to be a beauty queen like Mona. They might have even competed together, they both had daughters too young.

She came out in a velvety blouse that was too long for her torso. Little baggy around the arms.

“You didn’t tie it right. Here.” Carol wasn’t her usual bubbly self. Not the girl who schemed about terrorizing underclassmen. “Maybe we can tuck it into something.”

“I look so ugly.” Her mother peered aside. Covered her face. “That’s why Jason walked out.”

“He’s a piece of shit.” Carol mumbled.

“He was like a father to you. We spent almost seven years together. I’m ugly.”

“Stop saying that. We’re better off without him.” Carol asserted herself that time.

“He’ll be back, he always is.”

Carol only frowned, faltering. That much was true.

The false hope of it all killed.

“This color is pretty.” She went on instead. “You like blue. We can tuck it into that black skirt you have. Maybe a belt.”

“Skirt’s no good. It’s all worn and discolored. Never should have let you do the laundry.”

“Someone had to. I said sorry. You were drunk and...I saw those needles.”

“Carol, don’t speak to me like that.” This switch flipped on. She snatched her daughter’s wrist. Looked like she might try to break it.

Evie never saw that look in Carol's eyes before. It pricked her own heart with pure, pooling fear. This girl who always looked her best and turned her nose up toward everyone else.

Because she knew better.

Carol and Evie had that much in common.

Her mother continued. Darkening.

“I was not drunk. I gave it up. I’m better.”

Carol wiggled away uncomfortably. Winced at her now irritated flesh. Looked around to make sure no one saw them.

“Just keep your voice down. We’ll figure out something. You need a nice outfit. You have to get this job. Nail place doesn't pay me enough. I just started.” Carol shook her head at the same time Evie knocked into some hangers backing up.

Instantly, she was spotted.

“Evangeline Fenny.” Her mother plastered this crackling smile as she stood taller. Carol’s arms crossed. Immediate hatred. “Did you lose weight?”

“Mom.” Carol hissed.

“Hi…” Evie blinked, lips lifting. “And, no, but thank you.”

“Oh well, you look pretty. How’s your mother?” It was a courtesy. Mona wasn’t close with Mrs. Perkins. Or Carol’s stepdad. They weren’t liked in Hawkins. Kept to themselves in a dingy house. Drinkers. Users.

But, that's all nasty gossip. Carol was quick to shut it down.

“Fine.” Evie started to shuffle off because Carol looked like she was begging silently. Paused. “I like that color too and you can hem the bottom.”

“Not all of us sew.” Carol turned to ice. Evie reached into her one of her reusable grocery bags. Pulled out a little package.

“I like to cheat with this. Hem tape. It’s fast, you just iron it along the bottom. It holds well.”

“Let me pay you for that.” Mrs. Perkins grabbed her worn purse.

“No, it’s cheap and I picked up extra. They had a sale today.” The second part was a lie. Evie held it as far out as she could. Carol crossed over. Plucked it from her hand with glittery pink gemstones for fingertips.

A beat. Two girls orbiting the same great planet. Threatening to be yanked into a storm.

“Thanks.” Carol sucked her cheeks in. “Mom, go change.”

“See you late, Evie.” The woman wandered off. Carol inhaled sharper. Peered at Evie again.

“New top to show off for Bowers when school starts?” She flicked her tangerine locks, brow lifting.

Evie pressed her lips. Brown eyes narrowing.

“It’s good to see you too, Carol.” She avoided that and turned.

“I just think you should give it up. It’s really pathetic. Everyone thinks so.” Carol sneered. Looked anywhere else. “The girl who went psycho on Tannen. Dressing up for our teacher. He’s just being nice because he feels sorry for you.”

Evie paused to peer back. Felt her own pity swell.

“Then, I guess you have nothing to worry about. Huh.” She watched Carol flame up and went to pay for her items. Not able to look back. Not able to admit a connection was possible or that such distinct planets could ever align.

Boots hurried out into the cold, cheeks blooming rosy. She wrapped her scarf tighter and got near the bus stop before a hand was jerking her around into the side of a brick building.

Speak of the devil and he’ll appear. Evie's shoulders went up.

“What the fuck, Tannen? I thought Hawkins was scum you’d never set foot in.” She grunted. Saw his furious eyes dart.

“You really think I don’t know about your fucking band of ragtag shitheads? I saw you all.” He pressed his hand into the wall.

“Heard you’re single now.” Evie remarked. Fingers ripped her up a few inches by the coat.

“Don’t fuck with me, Fenny.” He said lower. Dangerous as can be.

“You already tried that game, Brock, and you lost.” Evie spat back there in the snow. He dropped her down. Laughed.

“Got closer than you liked. We had a moment.”

“It was a kiss and you were a creep.”

"You spazzed, girl, and I'm gonna find out why. What has Evie Fenny so shaken up?"

"Have you considered it's the effect you have?" Evie sneered.

“Better be careful in the coming weeks. I just wouldn’t go anywhere alone.” Across the street, his dad hollered for him, coming out of city hall.

“Daddy’s calling. Bet you’re having trouble getting away from his watchful eyes.” Evie shrugged. Shoving his arm away. "Stay away from me."

“Like I'd ever hit this for real. Fucking Psycho Sybil. That's what we call you up at Ridgemont. You’re a fat, fucking slut and you’ll never be anything else-”

“Excuse me!” A sharper voice cut in. Tannen leaned out from Evie to peer at Mr. Clarke. Bundled and unsuspecting. Not intimidating by any means, but he wasn’t backing down. “I think you outta leave her alone, Mr. Tannen.”

“We were just talking, sir.” Tanned peered at Evie, backing up. “For now. See you around, Fenny. Bet on that.” His dad called for him again so he crossed to go to their expensive, red car.

“Are you alright, Evie?” Scott Clarke. Hawkins Middle. One of Dustin’s idols.

She just sniffled. Hadn’t realized she'd even welled up.

“Yeah. Fine.”

“You know he’s the jerk, right?”

Evie roused to laugh, nodding. Psycho Sybil. That was a new one.

“Yes, I do. Thanks.” She looked down at her feet.

“Did you take the bus here?” He had a bag of books from the library in hand. Evie nodded again. “Do you want a ride home? I’d feel better knowing you’re safe. Don’t worry about guys like that. He’s going to lose all his hair and money and amount to nothing.”

Evie broke again to giggle. Little brighter now. What a teacher.

“Y-Yeah, I guess so.” Eyes peered at Scott’s grey car. “Is...that a DeLorean?”

“Gift from me to myself. My pride and joy now. Neat, huh? Dustin loved it. Do you still babysit him?”

“Not a lot these days, he’s best friends with Steve Harrington. A real cool guy now. I’m old news.” Evie stepped forward, adjusting with all her bags.

“I’m sure that’s not true. You’re pretty snazzy as they kids say… They do say that, right?”

“Ahhh, not really.” Evie watched him chuckle.

Mr. Clarke wasn't like her dad. Lanky and sweet. Always ready to brighten your dad being dorky. Jack was a cool business man. Smooth talker. Scott always made time for his students too. That was the biggest difference.

“Can I get you home safe? No pressure, I just can’t stand to see a boy act like that.” Scott gestured and Evie pressed her lips.

“Okay.” She almost said no. Had this gut feeling she should have. Not because of Scott. The guy was a sitcom star and a genius. A genuinely good man. But, a feeling gnawed like she was being watched. The door swung up.

“Neato, right?”

“That’s certainly one word. How strange.” Evie got in and Scott came around. Turned the car on to go. “Thanks...for the ride and for saying something. You didn’t have to.”

“Of course, I did. Stepping in when we see that behavior is important. It's bare minimum. I was bullied when I was young and one day I decided I wasn't going to take it anymore. The rest is history. Good history.” He turned a corner. Fiddled with the radio trying to find something the kids listen to. Evie smirked a little at that. “How’s your mom doing?”

“She’s...okay. Working a lot more.”

“And yourself? I know you had a rough year. I hope that’s not too forward to say. I try to ask Claudia about how your family is. Purely worried teacher talk. You know? I consider Mona a good friend.” He beamed there. Blushing.

“No, uh, it’s been hard. I guess.” Evie shrugged. Stared at the trees.

“My parents divorced when I was about your age. It was hard on me. My mom was one tough cookie, even found love again and they’re still happily married. Silver lining.” Mr. Clarke explained. “And I might not understand it fully myself, but I recently ended a relationship. Couple months and we both agreed with her relocating. Still friends even. Nice end. But, it’s something hard to process. A person not being there.”

Evie turned to see him watching the road carefully. Something resonated deeply.

“Mr. Clarke?"

"Yes?"

"How...do you end a relationship nicely?”

“You just be as honest as you can, I suppose. This is a person who cares about you, they should understand at some length. Life takes us so many places.” He paused at a light and turned onto Cherry. “Which house were you?”

“4817, right next to the Hargrove’s there.” Evie pointed, gathering her items. “I’ll tell my mom you said, hello. Thanks again.”

“Certainly, do that. Strange not seeing her every morning in that cafe by her shop. Take care and don’t let losers like Mr. Tannen bring you down.”

“I won’t, Mr. Clarke.” Evie beamed again and pushed out. “See you around.” She stood and jumped at Billy next to his mailbox. A wide grin crossing because of the car make.

“Look who has style.” Billy bent over to see and Evie rolled her eyes. “Mr. Clarke. We should race sometime.”

“Staying out of trouble, Mr. Hargrove?”

“Always.” He stood taller to wink at Evie as she waved then shut the door so Mr. Clarke could drive off. "And no one's pushed that guy into a locker?"

"He's snazzy as the kids say." Evie joked. Billy snickered to himself. “So, Tannen cornered me. He’s upset.”

“He cause you trouble?” Billy was distractedly stuffing a cigarette into his mouth. Evie’s lips quirked before she plucked it out. Turned it over so he had the correct end between his teeth.

Billy blinked at her proximity.

“Tried to. His dad is on him and Mr. Clarke saved the day. I don’t care about Tannen.” Psycho Sybil. Fat slut. Trying to dress up and impress her teacher. Her teacher that she was fucking. Every syllable was another sharp tack in her stomach.

Evie shifted her eyes so he changed the subject. Suggestive.

“You get my note?”

“Hard to ignore.” She peered back at him.

“That’s how I’d best describe myself, Angel.” Billy mused, blowing smoke aside. Got closer to drop the baritone. “And if I were to show up at the scheduled time? I’ll even wear the white shirt you like.”

A smile betrayed her face. Nose crinkling. Billy matched it. Not yielding.

“I might be open to a discussion at that time.” Evie turned. Voice softening. Still intent. “There’s something I need to do first.”

Billy didn’t ask what. Just watched her saunter up into her house. Enjoyed the view.

After locking the door, Evie unpacked her bags.

“Yes, I got you something too.” She watched Blue come to paw at plastic. “I spoiled you, actually. Let’s eat and put your new collar on, shall we?”

Evie got some stuff done. Food. Real food. Got Blue set up with some cat necessities. Red collar with a shiny bell. Pulled out her sewing machine to work on a couple garments. Until her hands ached. Distractions were good.

Her personal phone trilled.

“Fenny residence.” She plucked it up. Same lacquer candy apple as her painted nails.

“Evie.” Terse.

“Fredrick. You’re calling me?”

“I know your mother isn’t home and it’s your line," he explained, "I figured we were safe.”

“I was...actually going to call you soon, can we talk?”

“Oh?” His tone changed. “Now?”

“In person.”

“Right, then I’ll come get you in a bit.”

“No, there’s a bus. I’ll take that.” Evie paused. “It’s important.”

“Don’t let anyone see you on the street. See you soon.”

“Yes.” They hung up. Evie pulled on a fresh shirt and red hoodie. Brought it up over her curls. Bundled herself to venture out around four that afternoon. Three hours should have been enough. Red riding hood venturing to see the world.

She caught the bus and got off a street over. Tried to breathe. Nervous hands applied some strawberry tinted chapstick before she knocked.

“Come in.” Fredrick hurried her inside with one arm. They stood together in the narrow hallway of his rental flat. She brought her hood down. Prepared. He jumped ahead of her, dead set. “Dear, I think I know what this is about.”

“You do?” Evie dropped her arms. Standing inches from him.

“The marriage talk. Listen, I shouldn’t have pushed it. I know you probably think coming here to agree to it is what you want. Being a young girl, running off into the sunset is what you dreamed of. But, make sure you’re choosing the best decision for you-”

“That’s not why I’m here.” Evie spoke flatter. He double took at her expression. Got almost nervous.

“It’s not?” His entire body shifted.

“No.” Evie replied. Plain and simple. Not even a second thought.

It seemed to jar him. She wasn’t swooning into his arms or falling to her knees in worship.

“Well, I’m still glad you’re here.” Instantly, Fredrick was on Evie. Snatched her jaw forth for a kiss. Cupped the back of her head and moaned. Needy and sudden. Not the cool, collected teacher who was tsking because a young girl was falling deeply for him.

“Wait.” Evie was just standing there with her lips open. Eyes on a decorative framed print of Zeus and Europa. Not reciprocating while his tongue wormed inside. “Mmf, wait.” She tilted her head back. “I wanted to talk.” Brown eyes looked all directions.

"Let's talk after," he purred, "my sweet Evie. Look so pretty in red. Straight from the pages of Lolita. Sometimes I want to call you that, it'd fit you. You never did like Evangeline." It was clearly a joke, but she didn't laugh. "Oh, what about Abigail? From The Crucible. We always liked her. Something with a little more sin."

Psycho Sybil. Abigail. Lolita.

"I really want to just talk, is that okay?" Asking permission to not have sex. That was a new one and he did appear irritated. She shuffled and held herself when he stepped back.

“What’s going on, Evie?” He stood a great deal taller, hands on his hips.

“I think…” She tried to find all the right words. “I think maybe we should slow down?”

"Slow down."

"Ah...stop." Evie corrected herself. Aching. "I think we-"

“What were you doing in that man’s car today?” Fredrick cut in. Ignoring her.

“You saw me?”

“Yes, I was running my errands and I know I can’t approach you. It’ll look too strange. What was that about?”

“It… Mr. Clarke was just giving me a ride home.” Evie brought her hand up. Clutched at her hoodie.

“I just wondered if maybe you had a pattern.” He turned his head and shook it idly. “Let’s go sit down. Talk like adults.” He ushered Evie into the living room. She didn’t want to sit but followed to do it anyways. “What’s all this about, Evie? Explain it to me.”

“I care about you. You were there for me. I know that and I don’t… I won’t take it for granted. I’m just...distracted. You know, high school is ending and I think this... “ Evie closed her eyes. The truth of it was ice. “I don’t want this.”

“This? Us?”

She pressed her lips. Tried to stare at his face. Too many emotions flitting across it.

“I think we just want different things. And that’s okay-”

“You came back, Evie. All that time we spent together. That incredible summer we had. We were happy. It can always be like that."

"But," Evie realized it too, "it won't be."

"I know you’re scared. But, the future.” He took her hand in both of his. Held it tight. “Our future. We planned it. You must be terrified. Your dad left, that doesn’t mean I’ll leave you. I'll never leave you, Evie. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

“N-No…” Evie trembled. Unable to wiggle her hand away. “I think we should...just part ways. I’ll switch classes if you want. I need to focus on finishing school and-”

“I don’t want you to switch classes, do you think I can’t be mature about this?” He narrowed on her awed face. “This isn’t you, what’s gotten into your head all the sudden? Is there someone else?”

She froze. Honesty. He loved her, he'd understand.

“It’s not about that.”

“But, there is someone else?” Fredrick shook his head. Ran one hand into blond hair. Still clutching her wrist. “You tell them about us? Huh? This isn’t some silly high school game. I asked you for one thing. To keep it together.” Her jerked Evie into him.

“No! I didn’t.” She winced. “You’re hurting me.”

“No, I’m not.” Fredrick scoffed. Like she was being truly unreasonable. Alarms started to go off in her brain.

“I’ll never tell anyone, just...please. I can’t do this. It’s me. I can’t do this. I have to work on myself and it’s not fair to you. That’s all.” Evie tried to stand.

“We’re talking still, Evangeline!” A finger pointed before he tugged her back into him. Hands latched around her arms. Squeezed harsh marks into skin. “I don’t understand. Suddenly, you want out. You’re acting all afraid of me? Who knows about us?”

“No one!” She whimpered. Lungs sputtering. “I won’t ever tell anyone. I promise. I just need to think.”

“You can think right here.” He soothed. Pulling her into his chest. All the games where he played hard to get and she crawled back were lost. He really might lose her. That blared. “Let’s get something to calm your nerves. Then, you can rest and we can keep talking. I fought so hard for us. You understand that? Do you even care?”

“I don’t need to drink. I think I should just go home. I care, that's why I need to do this. It's a good thing. We can...still be friends.” Evie’s palms were spread on his chest. “My mom-”

“Isn’t even in town. I hardly think she’ll care even if her daughter is out late. Isn’t that right, dear? We both know she’s always been more preoccupied with her salon and who she’s screwing than her own daughter.” Blue eyes were alight at her. Evie went very still. "I'm the adult, I should have told your mother from the first. But, I couldn't deny you. And she doesn't even care about you, Evie, not like I do."

"Don't say that..."

He started to charge. A mad bull clicking its hooves.

“Everything we have, you just want to throw away? Move on and giggle with all your fucking little friends about me? Is that it? Think you can laugh at me and leave like my wife did-?”

“Ow, please, let me go.” Evie started to twist in the struggle. Terrified and yanking as he tugged her back into his chest. “That hurts, Fredrick, please. You're hurting me.”

“I love you, god damn it!” He shook her. Began to flame. “You want to go? Fine!”

A hard shove sent her head bouncing into the wall. Flames burst.

Evie tumbled over into hardwood. Eyes wet. Slumped down. The world almost went black. When she didn’t get up immediately, he was over her. Shifting curls from her face as she made this odd croak. Skull throbbing white hot.

Memories flashed and burnt.

“Shit... Shit, Evie. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that. You do this to us, you know? Oh, I just love you too much, I won’t lose you. You’re okay, it’s fine. Come, let’s get you to lie down. I’ll make you feel better.”

Evie licked her lips. Curls shaking as her head rose to see him. Hands braced on the floor to steady her dizzy frame.

The truth burned now. Became ashes.

“I don’t love you anymore.” She offered. Small and assured. Fredrick exhaled, petting her hair aside. Time slowed.

“Since, when?” He grew breathless as if he didn't understand.

“Now. Just now.” Evie pushed up into the wall. Curled away from his hands. “I want to stop.”

“Stop? After everything.”

“It’s me...and it’s you. This was wrong. It's so wrong.” She sniffled. Mascara running. “I think I should go home now. I don't feel well.”

“What if I said, no? What if I said, I don’t want you to go home?” A slow hand curled around her arm again. He got close to her face. Started to kiss her lips and temple. “I’m so sorry, Evie. Just come to bed and lie down.” He cupped her tender head, nodding. A smile beamed. “We’ll talk about this. I’ll make you feel so good. Yeah? Because only I know how.”

She tried to be hard. Tried to scare this man who still cast a shadow over her body. Fredrick started to pull her up. Pawing. Evie resisted and stayed on the floor.

“Then, I’ll tell people about you. About us.”

“Evie,” he froze to speak slower as if she was stupid, “it’s your word against mine.”

“I have a lot of words to describe you and this place and things we did. Your word against mine. I don’t need the world to believe me. Just a couple people will be enough…” She trembled and steeled against him. Fredrick dropped her like she scorched him. “They’ll ask you questions. So, let me go-”

“Is that so? You want to ruin my life?” He set his jaw.

Evie’s expression wrinkled with contained fury. A wave that would destroy an oncoming ship.

“No, you do.”

One snap. She felt the air leave her body. Yanked out crudely. A jerk that howled up her stomach. Sent her diaphragm into a panic.

He’d kicked her. Hard. Directly in the side. She came up choking and Fredrick lost his mind. Kicked her in the rib and hip until she was curled against the wall. Limbs flailing.

Screaming.

Fredrick began to panic too. As the sound echoed. Started to slap at her until that screaming stopped. Evie ripped his shirt trying to wiggle away into the hall. Got jerked over on her side

“Quiet. Just be quiet, Evie! Shut up!” One knee came down into her chest, held Evie still. Metal seeped along her tongue. A fist closed and the entire crescent of her eye swelled. Sound cut. A hand smacked her lips. Smothered her down.

Evie’s whimper choked there. She stilled. Petrified.

The frame with poor Europa crashed to the floor. Long fractures cast her painted, twisting body.

Evie stared at it. The shape of the mighty, handsome bull Zeus turned himself into to lure prey. Sweeping lovely Europa off her feet. Lungs were still sputtering to take in fresh air. Not getting enough.

For a moment, Evie thought he'd really kill her. Turned pink. Then red. Then blue. Then purple.

"I...c-can't breathe." It was the tiniest squeak imaginable. His knee shifted and some air seized.

“I just need you to be quiet,” Frederick whimpered. “I’ll let you go. Okay. I’ll let you go right home if you do it silently. If you tell someone about us, I’m going to have to hurt you again. I won't let you ruin my life. Just like my fucking wife. You can't be like her. You were too special. So, I'll hurt you, Evie. Do you want that? Do you think I want this?”

The moment her head shook, his hand came up. A gasp as she was able to breathe again. Choking and coughing. Dying.

“Fuck.” Fredrick turned her body over. “Can you move everything, alright?”

Evie refused to look at him.

“Why’d you make me do that, Evie? I can’t believe you. Screaming like a fucking child. I just needed you to be quiet. I wasn't trying to hurt you, damn it, I just needed you to be quiet.” He was breathing heavily. Frantic. Same way he would after screwing her. “God damn it.”

Hands roamed to check her over. Frederick hovered, tilted her face toward his to prod.

“Look like a broken doll like this. You’re still so pretty. You’re okay. It’s not bad.” That sounded like a lie. Evie could feel her eye socket puffing. Boiling heat. “We can make it better.”

He kissed her unmoving lips. Desperately.

“You should stay here, let me look after you.” He cooed that. Came down to lie next to her. Bringing her head into his. Stroking her hair and kissing her hot, salty cheek. “I’m sorry.”

Fredrick was crying too. Into her neck. Hard.

“I can’t lose you. I can’t stop thinking about you some days. I was ready for it to be you. Do you realize that? If this is about… Just tell me, let me fix it. Evie. I don’t want you to leave me.” He came up and sniffled pathetically. Like a baby. Saw her cold, empty eyes. "I love you, I need you to take care of me. Please, Evie."

Psycho Sybil. Abigail. Lolita. Europa. A little more sin.

Evie was somewhere else. Pressed into the wall to disappear. A hand touched her knee and Evie seized up. Scrambled back. Aching. Gasping to just be far, far away.

“I won’t tell anyone.” She said without a tremor of emotions. Eyes distant. Evie pushed herself up carefully while he hovered. “I’m gonna go home now. I'll be so quiet.”

“Let me drive you. Evie. I can fix this.” He begged and pulled at her clothes. “I can put you back together.”

Evie limped to the door.

“No, you can't, Fredrick,” she droned, “but thank you for trying anyways.” That would mean something. Anything.

It had to, right?

The door shut and he didn’t run after her. Evie whimpered up to the bus stop while cold licked her cheeks dry. Snow and ice glimmered. Too beautiful for how ugly she felt. She pulled her hood up and paid. Draped herself across a seat in the back.

Another two riders got on. Tommy H with an older woman in a plush coat. His stepmom. Caused some controversy back when Tommy was a child. His white dad would marry a black woman after Tommy’s mom passed away. Cancer.

Christ. This fucking town.

Nice lady. Sometimes she came into Mona’s shop to see her because Mona knew her way around textured curls. Evie sank down, but Tommy noticed her.

It was strange, the expression that crossed his face. She was hidden in her hoodie half behind her puffy curls. But that splotchy face and discolored skin gave the obvious away.

He didn’t jeer and instead sat down. Peered out at the street and saw the orange Plymouth there. Eyes narrowed.

“Sorry about the car, mom.” He spoke when she joined him.

“It happens, honey, it’ll be out of the shop tomorrow. We’ll tell dad that I bumped the basketball hoop.” She winked so he flashed a smile, eyes shifted to Evie again intent out the window.

A couple more riders trailed on. Some hick knocked into Mrs. Hagan’s shoulder on the way. Muttered a ugly slur Evie had heard Mr. Hargrove say on his front lawn. Jeering at their perfectly normal neighbors across the way.

“You want me to kick your ass, man? Apologize to my mother!” Tommy shot up. Protective little cub. The hick wobbled on his drunk feet. Shrunk to go to a seat as Mrs. Hagen pulled her boy down.

“He’s not worth it.”

“I won’t let people talk to you that way.” Tommy’s fists curled. Beet red. "Still my mom." She only kissed his cheek and brought him to her shoulder. Evie watched the back of Tommy’s head. Felt something similar that had curled up her spine when she saw Carol today too.

We all had our shit.

Tommy watched Evie get off at her stop. Didn’t say a word. She made herself small and went up into her house. Shut the door.

Didn’t eat anything. Bones rattled while she got into bed and curled up. Hoodie pulled close. Blue nestled by her crown, purred to comfort her.

Evie stayed there. Didn’t cry. Hated herself.

Didn’t rouse when the knocks began at seven.

Psycho Sybil. Abigail. Lolita. Europa. A little more sin.

Never Evangeline.

~~~~~~~~

Thanks all for reading!!! As always, feel free to chat with me about Billy and Evie. Askbox and taglist are both open. Sorry if the tag doesn’t work! ^_^ 🍓

@80sbxtch @nottherightseason @orxhidshavana @alagalaska @alongcamedolly @kellyk-chan @stanley--barber @10blurredsmoke10

#billy hargrove #Billy hargrove x oc #Billy Hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy x angel #mine #SOMY #angel fenny #writing

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fancat-not-fangirl · 4 years

Text

Heart Attack Blues

a/n: Tag to 2x19. Because I like hurting Dean and you can’t just almost have a heart attack without getting away unscathed. At least, not in my opinion.

Heart attacks were not fun.

That much Dean Winchester was certain of.

He had experienced one the previous year when he and Sam had hunted that creature in the basement of some run down house in the middle of nowhere, and had almost died. He could still feel the pain sometimes. The tightness in his chest. The agony lacing through his body like lightning. The inability to breathe.

In short, Dean had never wanted to experience one of those again.

But, because he just happened to be a Winchester, luck was never on his side.

And so of course during their gig at the Green River County Detention Center, the spirit of Nurse Glockner had decided to jump start the memories by giving him another heart attack. Or, at least, beginning to give him one. Just in time, Dean had grabbed the salt and slashed it across her image, both freeing him and dooming Tiny in the process.

The guilt over letting Tiny die weighed heavy across his chest, as did the remaining effects of the almost-heart-attack the nurse had given him. It did not get better over time. Dean had hoped that the pain would have gone away after a few hours, but again, he was a Winchester. And Winchesters never got what they wanted.

So now the job was done and the brothers were sitting side by side in the Impala, mere minutes away from a hotel, and Dean wasn’t feeling any better. They had been on the road for hours and hours, hoping to put as much space as possible between them and the police, who were no doubt tearing apart the countryside looking for them.

It hurt to breathe, and if Dean tried to move, agony stabbed through him. The road blurred in front of him every few minutes, and at times Dean desperately fought the urge to hurl.

Sam had asked multiple times if Dean wanted to let him drive, but every time Dean refused, only to regret his decision minutes later when another bout of pain cut through him like lightning.

It might have helped to tell Sam, but Dean didn’t want to worry his brother. Sam had enough on his plate as it was, what with thinking about his “destiny” and how he could avoid turning evil. Which Dean was sure would not happen. There was no way, none at all, that his little brother was a monster. I mean, the guy would hit a squirrel with his car and mope about for weeks on end. It wasn’t possible that he could turn into a monster. It just wasn’t. Dean was sure of it.

But Sam wasn’t, and that was enough for Dean to keep his injury a secret. There was no need to lay that burden on Sam. He had been through enough.

Turning off the highway, Dean grit his teeth and kept down a gasp of pain as he turned the wheel, sending sharp twinges of pain through his chest and up his arms. Son of a bitch. Dean just crossed his fingers and prayed that Sam didn’t notice.

But Dean was a Winchester after all, and therefore nothing ever went his way.

“Hey man, you good?” Sam’s voice cut through the silence that had occupied the car previously, quiet and hesitant. To Dean, though, it sounded as if Sam had held a megaphone up to his ear and screamed the words.

Wincing, Dean forced his mouth into a grin and his eyes quickly flitted to Sam’s worried face. “I’m A-okay. I guess Deacon just walloped me in the stomach harsher than he had to. I don’t think I hit him back hard enough for that.” Sam didn’t look convinced. “I’m fine, Sammy. No need to worry your pretty princess head.”

“It’s Sam,” His brother grumbled, and Dean chuckled. That was a bad move, because his heart clenched and his chest felt like it was on fire. Crap.

Through the pain, Dean almost missed the sign that pointed to the hotel, swerving at the last second onto the parking lot. Sam gave him a concerned look, but Dean just shrugged it off. The sooner he got some rest, the better.

Sending Sam for the keys to the room, Dean hauled himself out of the car, barely holding back a cry of agony at the movement. Leaning against the car, Dean caught his breath. Why wasn’t it getting better? Back at the prison he had felt fine. Well, mostly fine. There had been a lingering tightness in his chest, but nothing like this.

“Dean? You coming or what?” Sam’s voice broke Dean painfully out of his thoughts, and Dean grunted as he grabbed the bags from the trunk and headed for their room, trying not to stumble.

Entering, Dean squinted his eyes against the brightness of the lights. Dropping the bags onto the floor, he made a beeline towards his bed, not even bothering to undress first.

“Do you want the shower?” Sam called over this shoulder as he untied his shoes.

The words cut through Dean’s head like knives, and Dean made sure his back was turned to his brother as to try to hide the look of pain that crossed his face. “Nah, you go on. I want to hit the hay.”

Sam’s response was lost in the ringing in Dean’s ears, and the older hunter collapsed onto the bed. The darkness took him before he knew it, and Dean knew no more.

<><><><><>

Dean awoke with a need for water.

His throat was parched and sore, not unlike the rest of his body. Dean had hoped that after resting for a few hours he’d feel better, but then again, he was a Winchester. And nothing ever went right for him.

Except that the sounds of running water in the bathroom told Dean that he hadn’t, in fact, rested for a few hours. More like a few minutes. The shower was still on, which meant that Sam was still in there.

At least something was going his way.

Biting back whimpers, Dean pulled himself inch by inch into an upright position. If anything, his heart hurt more now than it did before. As did his head. It felt like it was splitting open, sending waves of dizziness through Dean’s body, making him sway as he got to his feet. And his lungs. Had it always been this hard to breathe? Dean didn’t think so.

What had he wanted again?

Oh, right. Water.

Putting one foot in front of the other proved harder than he had first thought, and through the haze of pain, Dean didn’t realize that the sound of running water from the bathroom had stopped.

He made it across the room and closed his hand around a water bottle sitting on the hotel table. Bringing it to his lips, Dean closed his eyes and drank, savoring the way the cold liquid ran down his throat. It escaped his notice how most of the water had missed his mouth and had ended up dripping onto the floor.

Content with the amount of water that had made it into his mouth, Dean turned on his heel, ready to go back to bed.

That had been the wrong thing to do, as he lost his balance and staggered, ramming chest-first into the edge of the table.

The reaction was immediate. Heart seizing, the air seemed to leave Dean’s body all at once, leaving him gasping for it. Falling to his hands and knees, Dean barely had the strength to support himself with one arm, as the other was busy clawing at his chest. The pain spread through his body like wildfire, burning everything in its path. It consumed him.

Dean had hoped that he’d be able to keep his injury from Sam, but the slam of a door and a shout of his name was enough to tell him that he had failed.

After all, he was a Winchester, and things never seemed to go as planned.

Which was why Dean didn’t even fight it when, again, the darkness pulled him under.

<><><><><>

Sam knew there was something wrong with Dean.

Ever since they had left the prison. Even before then, in fact.

But it had only become blatantly obvious when Dean had relinquished the offer to shower first. Usually, Dean would be the one that would be shoving Sam out of the way and locking himself in the bathroom as soon as they’d get back from a hunt. But not today.

Sam had wanted to ask what was wrong, but knowing Dean, the answer would have been, “I’m fine,” or “Nothing,”. So Sam had decided that, fine, if Dean wanted to stew in his own pain, then let him do so.

If he was being honest, Sam was still a little mad at Dean from when his older brother demanded that they stay at the prison, risking their lives to help one of dad’s friends. They were no use to anyone dead, and it didn’t really bother Sam that a few prison lowlifes would perish in exchange.

But maybe that was the monster talking.

No.

Sam showered in scalding hot water, as if he wanted to wash away all the evil in him. But then again, it hadn’t worked before, so why would it now?

He took his time, and was finished in a little over half an hour. Dean would kill him for that, Sam thought with a small smirk, brushing his teeth. They always did this. Fought over the smallest of things. Unlike other siblings, it was weirdly the way the Winchesters showed affection.

Small jabs. Insults. Pranks. Those were all the brothers’ ways of saying, “I love you.” It was odd, yes. But they were Winchesters, which meant that nothing they ever did was normal.

And Sam was fine with that.

Except for the times his brother was an ass. A stubborn, pigheaded ass. One that wouldn’t accept help from anyone or anything. One that Sam got so frustrated with. One like he was now.

It had been obvious that he had been having trouble driving. So why not let Sam drive? It was stupid. So very, very stupid. Kind of like Dean himself. Stubborn and stupid and sometimes Sam just wanted to throttle him.

Pulling on a fresh set of sweatpants and a t-shirt, Sam switched the lights off in the bathroom and opened the door, preparing himself for another long hour of trying to convince Dean to tell Sam what was wrong with him.

But nothing could have prepared him for the sight in front of him.

Dean was on the floor, on his hands and knees, arms shaking. His head was bent, almost touching the floor. And the sounds. Sam’s heart broke with every choke and wheeze that left Dean’s mouth. Before he knew it, Sam was darting across the room and dropping to his knees beside his brother.

“Dean!”

Dean lifted his eyes and their gazes connected mere seconds before Dean’s eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed forward into Sam’s waiting arms.

“What the hell, Dean?” Sam whispered, knowing his brother couldn’t hear him. Grabbing Dean’s shoulders, Sam brought him up so that Dean was leaning against his younger brother, chests almost touching. Cupping Dean’s face, Sam tried to get his brother to wake back up.

“Dean? Dean, hey man, I need you to open your eyes, okay? Just for a second. Please, please, please just open your eyes.” Sam was pleading now, his mind a jumbled mess. What had happened? How had he missed something this serious? How was he going to help Dean if he didn’t even know what was wrong with him?

“Dean, open your goddamn eyes right now or I swear to god, I’ll sell the Impala. I will.” And just like that, Dean’s eyes were fluttering open and Sam was letting out a sigh of relief. “That’s it, Dean. That’s it. Now keep them open for me, can you do that?”

But Dean seemed to have other plans, and he tensed under Sam and lifted a hand to his chest, clawing the material covering it. His eyes were panicked, and Sam realized with an ever sinking heart that Dean was having trouble breathing.

“Oh god, Dean. You have to calm down. Take deep breaths, okay?” Sam pulled back a bit to give his brother room, but never loosening his grip on him. “Deep breaths, Dean. Just breathe. Breathe.”

But it wasn’t working. Dean was wheezing, gasping for air, and nothing Sam was doing was helping. Gritting his teeth, Sam decided to try something else. Pulling Dean flush against him, chest to chest, Sam started breathing deeply, exaggerating his breaths. In and out, in and out, all the while mumbling a mantra of soothing words into Dean’s ear. “It’s ok, Dean. I got you. Deep breaths. Don’t worry. Everything is going to be fine. I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

One of his hands was on Dean’s backs, rubbing it comfortingly, trying to ease the tension in the muscles. The other hand was cupping the back of Dean’s head, his fingers running through Dean’s hair. Gently. Softly.

And it worked. Soon, Dean’s breathing slowed, became calmer. His hands that had previously had a desperate grip on Sam’s t-shirt fabric had relaxed, as did the rest of his body. His head was pressed into the crook of Sam’s neck, and Sam could feel the small pants that brushed against his skin.

Once he was sure that Dean’s breathing was back to normal, Sam pulled back and peered into Dean’s face. His brother’s facial features were tight with pain, and Sam couldn’t help but notice the tear tracks that had made their way down Dean’s cheeks.

Sam didn’t want to do this, but he had to know what was wrong with Dean. How else was he supposed to help his brother otherwise? “Dean, what the hell just happened?”

Dean didn’t answer at first, the silence stretching between them. Then, as though he was speaking through glass, Dean managed to get out, “‘m fine, S’mmy.”

That was it. The last straw. Giving Dean an enraged look, Sam fought to keep his voice from shouting, which he knew would only make the pain worse for Dean. “You’re fine? You’re fine? Dean, you were on the floor, barely breathing! If that means ‘fine’ in your book, then you need to check the definition of ‘fine’. Because you are certainly NOT fine.” Seeing Dean wince, Sam realized that his voice had climbed in volume, and he brought it down a few notches. Yes, he was angry with his brother, but not angry enough to want to cause him additional pain. “Dean, it looked like you were having a heart attack! Now, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but-”

And then it hit Sam.

“You jerk. You big, stubborn, idiotic, jerk. You got attacked by the spirit, didn’t you?” The look on Dean’s face said it all. “I don’t believe it. And you didn’t even think to tell me? That you almost died on this job?”

Dean seemed to be getting his bearings more, being able to breathe on his own. He glanced at Sam before lowering his eyes to the floor between them. “Didn’t think it was such a big deal.”

Sam scoffed, eyes wide with disbelief. “Not a big deal? You do realize that you could have died, right? I could have given you painkillers, medicine. At least I could’ve done the driving.” Dean didn’t answer. “Dean, why the hell wouldn’t you tell me?”

“I thought it would get better.” Dean’s voice was still rough, but even then Sam strained to hear it.

“You thought it would-” Sam let out an exasperated breath and took his hand away from its supporting grip on Dean’s shoulder, running it over his face. “Okay you know what. Whatever. I don’t care. But Dean,” His hand touched Dean’s chin and raised it so that their eyes would meet. “Next time you get hurt, you have to tell me, okay? I can’t do anything if I’m too busy being worried about you.”

Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. “It’s usually me saying that to you.”

Sam glared. “Promise me, Dean.”

It didn’t look like Dean was going to answer and Sam was about to ask again before Dean sighed. “Okay Sammy. Next time I get a papercut, you’ll be the first to know.”

Sam smiled grimly at that, not even bothering to correct his brother at the nickname. It would have to do for now.

“Let’s get you up,” he said, standing and hauling Dean up with him. Dean’s face twisted at the pain that no doubt laced through him, but Sam had to get him to the bed. And then had to somehow coerce him into taking pills.

One step at a time, though.

Wrapping an arm around Dean’s waist, Sam supported most of Dean’s weight as they hobbled back to the bed, Dean letting out a muffled cry as he sank onto the mattress. Gently leaning him backwards, Sam commanded that Dean not move while he got the meds.

Coming back less than a minute later with pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other, Sam offered them to his brother, who took them without any fuss. If Sam needed a sign that his brother was most definitely not fine, then that was it. Dean must have really been in pain for him to not object being given medicine.

Swallowing the pills down, Dean then looked up at Sam. “I’m hungry.”

Oh.

When was the last time they had eaten? Hours ago, probably.

Now that he thought about it, Sam was also hungry. He’d been too wrapped up in his thoughts and worries about Dean to even realize it.

Nodding, Sam shrugged on his coat and pointed a strict finger at Dean. “Don’t move. I don’t want to drag your sorry ass to a hospital just because you were stupid enough to try to get out of bed.”

Dean just gave him a smirk. “Get me a burger.”

“Not a chance,” Sam called over his shoulder as he opened the door and walked out, closing it behind him.

<><><>

Coming back with a salad and a BLT sandwich as well as some coffee for himself, Sam was relieved that Dean hadn’t moved since he had left his brother a little over forty minutes ago. In fact, his brother had turned on the TV and was engrossed in some type of family drama that was currently on. At least something was going his way.

Setting his salad and coffee down at the table, Sam walked across the room and gave Dean his own food.

What he wasn’t expecting, though, was that Dean turned off the TV as soon as Sam sat back down at the table, and fixed his eyes on him. The look on Dean’s face was something that confused Sam. It looked sad, grave. A chill ran down Sam’s spine.

“Sammy, I have to tell you something.”

Sam froze.

Dean continued. “I thought about what you said earlier, about not hiding any injuries from you...” Did something else happen? Oh god, what if there were still injuries that Sam didn’t know about from when he had been possessed by Meg. Had he done something to Dean?

Dean looked down, fiddling with the corner of the blanket. “I didn’t know if I should tell you this, but…”

Sam couldn’t wait any longer. “What is it, Dean?”

Dean’s sullen look suddenly morphed into a sharp grin as his hand flew up into the air and flipped Sam off. “I have a paper cut.” And he did. There was a small, red line cutting across Dean’s middle finger, and Sam’s eyes immediately went to the small knife that was sticking out from underneath Dean’s pillow.

The next thing Dean knew, there was a water bottle thrown at his head, and he ducked, chuckling.

“You’re an ass, you know that?” Sam growled, but he couldn’t stop the smile that fought its way onto his face.

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

By that they meant ‘I love you’ and ‘I’m glad you’re ok’.

And, of course, because their last name was Winchester, they wouldn’t have it any other way.

#my fanfic #hurt!Dean #hurt/comfort #protective!sam #bc that's my jam #i was rewatching the episode and just couldn't NOT write a hurt!Dean abt it #whoops #supernatural #supernatural fanfic #fanfic

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myalternatepersonalititties · 4 years

Text

Tale-Section Tragedy

This is for @jtargaryen18 's Dark Curtis Holiday Challenge. Prompt is 12. “I’ll chain you to my fucking bed if I have to. You understand?” Curtis x Reader. Warnings of smut and angst.This is also the first fic I have written in over five years, so I’m very sorry if it isn’t the best. @jtargaryen18 ‘s AMAZING works have inspired me to try and start writing again.

Word Count- 2599

You were only a baby when your mother brought you onto the train. You weren’t even year old. Unbeknownst to you, your mother was one of the brave men and women who cut off arms and legs to protect children like you from being used as a meal for the strongest of the Tail Section. Her amputated limbs caused her to get an infection and die, all before you could even remember the warmth of her arms and the sweet sound of her voice.

Curtis ended up taking you under his protection, and raised you alongside Edgar. Except, you were different than Edgar. Where Curtis had a tough-love approach for him, he had a fiercely protective love for you that only grew as you got older. He was like a father to you. But you were so much more to him.

You grew to be quiet, soft, and innocent; a rarity within the tail section. Curtis had never imagined that something as sweet as you could exist in this world, and he would do anything to protect the innocence you contained.

But it was so damn difficult for him sometimes. The beauty within you was only enhanced by your looks. Though clearly malnourished, your body radiated with a warm glow. With round eyes that were almost too big for your face, and plump, soft lips that always rested in a pout, you were a sight for sore eyes within the tail section. You grew into a lovely young woman right before Curtis’ eyes.

But you were his daughter in everyone’s eyes. So there was no way he would allow himself to become attracted to you. His subconscious worked hard to push his internal thoughts aside, only allowing them to surface on occasion, usually after one of his more stressful weeks. Like this one...

It was time to make his way to the engine room. Almost everyone knew it. Even though he didn’t want to admit it, Curtis knew it too. With Andy and Timmy being taken, and Andrew’s arm being hacked off, the tail section was ready to fight against their oppression. And Curtis was the one with the plan. The plan that excluded you.

You were unhappy to say the least when you learned through Edgar that Curtis planned on leaving you in the tail section while he and the others fought their way to the front. “He just wants to keep you safe y/n,” Edgar tried to comfort you, as anger built up in your chest.

“But he’s taking you with him,” you snapped, tears of anger and hurt filled your eyes. Why did Curtis expect you to stay put, while he and your brother put themselves in danger?

“It’s not the same, I’m his son, you’re his little girl. You need to be kept safe, away from the action.”

Your throat felt raw from holding back tears. You would not cry and allow Edgar the satisfaction of winning. You would not show him that he was right, and you were too weak to join the fight. “If you’re going, I’m going,” you stood up and left the bunk that Edgar shared with you. You had to find Curtis and demand that he allow you to go. You had never stood up to him like this before, like Edgar said, you were Curtis’ little girl. His angel. You never questioned his choices and always obeyed his commands. But this wasn’t the same.

“Dad,” you called out to Curtis when he came into view. He was talking with Gilliam, confirming details of what was to soon come. “Daddy,” you tried again as you got closer to the pair. Curtis just glanced up at you and held up his finger, one second, he mouthed.

“I’m going with you to the engine room.”

That got his attention. “The hell you are,” his blue eyes glowed dangerously. “Do you honestly believe I’m taking you through that chaos?”

“I refuse to let you leave me behind when you’re taking Edgar with you.”

He laughed and rolled his eyes, “Go back to your bunk and we’ll talk about this later,” he turned back to Gilliam, planning on returning to their conversation.

“No.”

His head snapped back to you, shocked at your response. Gilliam smiled politely, “We can talk later Curtis, you know where to find me.” He began to hobble away. Curtis barely heard him as he made his way closer to you, towering over your small frame.“What did you just say?” He glowered, his eyes smoldering and angry.

A shiver of fear ran down your spine. This was new, you were never on the receiving end of any anger Curtis held. But you had to stand your ground.”I said no, I want to have this conversation now.”

His smile in response held not even a glimpse of humor, “You’re not going, end of story.”

“I am going, you can’t just leave me behind.”

“If you think for even a second, that I will take you through all that danger just so you feel included in this, you’re severely mistaken.”

You felt your eyes beginning to tear up once again, “Dad please, you have to take me with you. What if you don’t come back? Or Edgar doesn’t come back? I can’t just let you die without having the chance to help you.”

Curtis’ expression softened at the tears rolling freely down your face. He pulled you into his chest and softly ran a hand down your back. He kissed the top of your head. “You don’t know how to fight, or protect yourself, or retreat safely. I can’t let you come just to put yourself at a high risk.”

Frustration built in your chest once again. “If you won’t bring me, I’ll just follow you anyway. You can’t force me to stay here.”

“I can force you to stay here, and I will if you keep this up,” Curtis’ eyes were dark with anger again. His hand began to shake slightly as he felt himself losing control. He clenched and unclenched his fists, willing himself to push down the new thoughts that began to enter his mind. One more word of disobedience and he would not be able to stop himself.

You didn’t seem to notice his predicament, as you too were seething. “I am going Daddy, whether you want me to or not.”

You were caught off guard when you felt Curtis’ fierce grip on your wrist, followed by him forcibly dragging you to his bunk. He was coming undone.

“Now you listen and you listen close little girl. You will stay here. You will not fight with us. I’ll chain you to my fucking bed if I have to. You understand?”

You didn’t have the time to react before you felt yourself being shoved onto his bed, but you weren’t going down without a fight. “No dad, stop it.” you demanded as you wriggled underneath him; slamming your hands up to pound against his chest, kicking your legs up to shove his body away from you. Curtis just crawled on top of you, allowing you to wear yourself out, never striking him hard enough to hurt. It was almost amusing.

Your struggling only made yourself more frustrated, you were proving him right- you didn’t know how to fight. But that didn’t mean you wanted to be left behind. Finally, your leg struck up in a certain angle, hitting Curtis between his legs and forcing his attention away from keeping you trapped beneath him. He groans, and for a second you are able to slide off of his bed and run away from his bunk.

You weren’t expecting him to recover so quickly. His brain clouded with rage and he lost himself to the thoughts he had worked so hard to subdue. This was not your Curtis, the one who raised you as his daughter. This was a Curtis who wanted, no, needed to make you understand who was in charge.

He caught up to you in seconds, throwing you over his shoulder and bringing you back to his bed. “You’ve made a big mistake little one,” his voice grumbled into your ear. He shoved you onto his bed, leaning his full weight onto you to keep you still. You whimpered as he grabbed ahold of either side of your shirt and ripped it off of you.

“D-dad?” You stuttered, beginning to regret arguing with him. “Daddy stop, you’re hurting me.”

Curtis chuckled darkly, using half of your shirt to tie your your wrists together and trap them above your head, on the metal railing of his bed.You tugged against your restraints, terrified of what he was going to do next. You shivered as he brought his face close to yours, lips grazing up your neck and towards your mouth.

“W-what are you doing? C-curtis please.”

He just chuckled again, using his knife to cut the flimsy material of your bra, exposing your breasts to him. You began fighting again, tugging harshly at your wrists and trying to kick your feet up at him again. But he put all of his weight on your legs, effectively keeping them down. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted you little girl.”

“Curtis - no, you’re my d-dad.” For the third time that night you began to cry.

“Oh little one, so sweet and naive. Like nothing else on this entire train. Once I make it to the engine room, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. I just need to keep you safe until then.” He pulled one of your nipples between his teeth, tugging on it as his hand played with your other one.

“Daddy please don’t.”

Curtis’ eyes twinkled darkly at you. He knew you were scared, but he knew you’d come around. What he was about to do was necessary. It might not be what you wanted, but it was what you needed. You loved him, sure you thought of him like he was your father, but he’d be able to convince you to change your mind and love him as something more. Like the way he loved you.

“I’m sorry about this little girl,” His hand traveled down your body and began to tug down your pants and underwear, “But I promise to make it feel good.” held your legs apart and stared at the flowering lips of your virgin pussy. His cock grew harder in his pants when he saw your legs twitch and flutter. He licked his fingers and lightly tapped upon your clit, creating a sensation you have never felt before. It was clear that you had never even touched yourself before, and he couldn’t wait to teach you about the purest form of pleasure.

You squirmed and whimpered as he traced circle on your clit. He lowered his mouth towards your folds and inhaled your scent. Unable to stop himself, he pushed his lips against your pussy, using his tongue to taste all of you. You let out a squeak of pleasure, and felt ashamed at how good it felt. Curtis just smirked and layed his tongue flat against your clit, inserting one of his thick fingers inside of you. The stretch was painful, but he did his best to go slow, and make you nice and lubed up before adding a second and third finger. He smiled at how reactive you were, enjoying how wet he made you and the little squeaks that kept falling from your mouth. He curled his fingers upwards and found a spot that had you seeing stars- you let out a loud moan as he brushed his fingers across that spot a few more times. You felt something building up inside you, something you had never felt before. Curtis noticed your walls fluttering against his fingers and smiled, “Are you gonna cum for me little girl? Are you gonna cum on your daddy’d fingers?” As much as you’d hate to admit it, his words sent you over the edge and you came for the first time in your life, calling out, “Daddy.”

You closed your eyes and breathed hard, trying to regain composure. But before you opened your eyes, Curtis had his pants down and his shirt off. His hard cock pressed against your thighs and you looked down to glance at it. It was so big, you didn’t know how it was going to fit inside of you. “Daddy please, I can’t.”

He just smirked, “You can, and you will.” You heard him spit on his dick, lubing it up as much as he could, and you hoped that you were wet enough from your orgasm to help the process along. He lined himself up to you, and slowly pushed his cock inside of you. The stretch was the most painful thing you had ever felt, and you expected Curtis to start thrusting in hard, but he took his time and let you adjust to him. He wanted to make this as pleasurable as possible for you. Sure he was punishing you for disobedience, but he didn’t want to make your first time a traumatic event. He wanted you looking forward to more.

He slowly began pulling out of you-reveling in the feeling of your pussy clenching against his cock-before inserting himself again. He repeated this action twice before speeding up and letting himself get lost in you. Soon enough, the coil in the pit of your stomach rose again. Curtis slid his hand down to draw circle on your clit. “Come on little one, come on Daddy’s cock.” You cried out as you came with Curtis, losing consciousness. “I love you little girl,” you heard before everything went black.

You woke up dressed, with Curtis’ arms holding you close to him. You felt confused about your feelings towards him. You wanted so badly to be hurt that he had used your body-you thought he was your dad for goodness sake! But you knew he loved you, maybe more than he loved anything else, and for some reason that was enough for you to find peace in his arms for the night.

When you woke up the next morning, Curtis wasn’t holding you anymore. He was standing beside the bed with Edgar, both of them looking concerned. You looked at them in confusion and tried to stand up, only to be stopped by chains trapping you to the bed by your legs and chest.

“What’s going on?” you demanded, hoping this wasn’t what you thought it was, “Daddy? Edgar? Why am I chained?”

Edgar was the one to respond, “It’s the only way to be sure you stay safe y/n.”

Your heart stopped, the revolution was happening today-right now-and they were leaving you behind.”No, please. Edgar don’t leave me here. Daddy please, you have to let me come along. I can help!”

Edgar bent down and wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight for just a few seconds, “I’m sorry, we have to. I love you y/n, you’re my sister. I promise I’ll see you when this is all over, when we make it to the engine room.” He kissed your cheek and walked away, leaving you alone with Curtis for the last time.

Curtis crawled on the bed you were literally chained to, wishing he didn’t have to do this too you. “We’ll be back, little one, and everything will be different.” He kissed you, and you shocked yourself by kissing back. “I love you” was the last thing you heard from Curtis before everything went dark once again.

#darkcurtisholidaychallenge #snowpiercer #curtis everett

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years

Text

Kurtbastian fic - “A Dalton Boy Hotter than Hot” (Rated NC17)

Summary:

While in the steam room at his father’s country club, Sebastian encounters an intriguing man who’s not shy about taking what he wants. (3655 words)

Read on AO3.

“Hey, Sebastian!”

“Hey, Ms. Melanie!”

“Haven’t seen you here in a while!”

“Sorry. Been busy.” Sebastian reaches out a hand for a locker key. “School, lacrosse, getting ready for graduation, you know how it is.”

“Absolutely!” Her smile grows as she hands him a towel from the warming cabinet beside her desk. “My Mark’s going through the same. I barely see him poke his head out of his room on the weekends with all the homework school gives the seniors.”

“Yeah. You think they’d let up a bit considering we’re leaving.”

“Not a chance! For the money we spend to send you kids to Dalton, they’d better stuff you full of knowledge right up to the very end!”

“Trust me, they’ve been doing that all year. It would be nice if they let us relax.”

“You can relax when you’re dead!” Melanie laughs at her own joke, and Sebastian laughs with her. Usually he wouldn’t. He’d roll his eyes and walk away. He wouldn’t be polite about it either, so he’s sure Melanie has noticed over the years. And yet, here she is, as sweet and kind as ever, teasing him as if he were an old friend.

What an ass he’s been, treating her like she’s beneath him because she worked at his father’s country club handing out towels and her son went to Dalton on scholarship! He didn’t do it intentionally. It was always more of a subconscious reaction than a consciously decided action – the unforeseen side-effect of quote/unquote good breeding and constant exposure to the right people.

But he still did it.

He has no problem standing up for himself when sacks of shit like Hunter think they’re his betters, but when is the last time he stood up for someone else? Someone who couldn’t give him anything in return?

Maybe this is what growing up is – realizing your shit stinks more than you think it does and doing your best to keep it downwind. He’d like to say he came to that realization on his own, but it’s more than likely a symptom of the company he’s been keeping.

Company that’s humbled him both figuratively and literally.

He waves goodbye to Melanie and heads for the locker room, making a mental note to find Mark the next time he’s on campus and invite him to the commons for coffee.

He peels off his uniform and tosses it in his locker, rolling his shoulder after every article he removes. He took a few hard hits on the field today. Normally, it wouldn’t be so bad, but Hunter seemed to have it out for him. Probably because Sebastian was named MVP of yesterday’s game.

Plus, he got some ass last night to boot. That had to irk Hunter, who hasn’t gotten his dick wet in God knows when.

Sebastian wraps the towel around his waist before he slips out of his underwear. He’s not self-conscious about his body by any means. At Dalton, he has no qualms about tossing off all his clothes in the locker room after practice and strutting to the shower naked.

But this place isn’t like the locker room at school.

The boys at Dalton keep their eyes to themselves. They respect one another’s boundaries. Even if that’s simply a consequence of Dalton’s zero tolerance bullying policy, it makes for a safe and pleasant environment.

Not here.

Coming here alone after school has opened Sebastian’s eyes to a lot of things about the so-called real world - realizations that are cartoonish in their absurdity.

One of them being that married men think about sex … a lot.

Not necessarily with their partners.

And even though straight adult men around his father’s age might turn up their noses at sex with another adult male, that doesn’t mean teenaged boys are off the table. Maybe it’s because they’re attracted to youth and youth can be considered androgynous. Smooth skin and a tight ass doesn’t need to belong to a specific gender to make it appealing.

It could also be ego – the alpha inside them eager to dominate a perceived up-and-coming alpha to prove they’ve still got it. They may never act on it, not in a million years. They may even deny it.

But their eyes tell a different story.

Sebastian enters the thick cloud of steam and walks to the far end of the room, finds an empty space and sits. Finding an unoccupied bench isn’t as easy as it sounds. It’s seven in the evening and fairly crowded for a weeknight.

It always is.

Sebastian judges heavily the men gathered here who should be at home having dinner with their families. It grosses him out how many of these old farts stare at him while he sits on his bench, trying to ignore their slimy existences. He knows a handful of them – not well, not by name. But he’s seen them around the club, old money and new money alike, in the main dining hall, out on the links when he golfs with his dad, over by the pool, a lot of them with their wives and kids.

That makes it worse.

Away from their significant others, they look him over like he’s a meal, licking their lips behind the veil of steam, some with their eyes glued to his brand as if they know what it represents. And that makes him wonder …

Do they want to own him, or be him?

The question makes his skin crawl but he doesn’t leave. Sebastian came here because he needed to get away from school, from people who barge into his room uninvited and talk his ear off endlessly without taking a breath, as if they don’t see him eight hours out of the God dammed day.

But from Hunter especially.

Sebastian had a feeling Hunter would stop by his room after his shower, and he wasn’t in the mood for his crap. It filled him head to toe with tension that he didn’t need, felt it accumulate in his sore shoulder – the same shoulder as his brand.

The brand Hunter hated with a passion.

So Sebastian chose getting ogled over by pathetic old men in exchange for peace and quiet.

Seems like a reasonable exchange.

He rolls his head back on his neck and closes his eyes, and the second he does, he becomes the center of attention. He doesn’t need to see the men looking at him. He knows. He feels eyes on him, eyes that shamelessly stare, and out of pure, morbid curiosity, he opens his again to check.

To silently call them out, shame those of them who have some shame left.

A handful of men do look away. Most of the others can’t be bothered, going so far as to rub their erections through their towels as if in invitation.

Make Sebastian reconsider his seat.

But amidst the sea of flabby bellies and greying hair, Sebastian spots a man he swears he’s never seen before. He doesn’t fit in with the other fogies, which is a mark in his favor. He’s not flabby in the slightest, not a grey hair to be seen. He’s an older man, but not a dad.

More like a Daddy if Sebastian ever saw one.

From his toned arms and chest to his striking blue eyes, he cuts quite the picture. Sebastian wonders if the pudgy masses haven’t been sizing him up, too. Maybe once or twice, but not the way they do with Sebastian. They wouldn’t dare. This man gives off some serious apex predator vibes.

And right now, he has his sights set on Sebastian.

This man is gorgeous, which is not a word Sebastian tosses around lightly. He can only recall using it one other time - to describe his Porsche.

Fitting since this man is another thing he’s dying to ride.

That thought must manifest on his face because the man smirks and raises a questioning brow. Sebastian nods. He swallows hard. He inclines his head slightly toward the door, attempting to extend a subtle invitation. Sebastian knows nothing of ‘steam room etiquette’ except what he’s seen in a few cheesy ass pornos. He doesn’t even know if anything like that goes on here. He’d only started coming here on his own recently and it’s definitely not a place he’d choose to look for sex.

But there are exceptions to every rule, and this man is one fine exception.

Is Sebastian actually going to do this? Here? After having judged everyone else around him so harshly for thinking the same thing this man’s probably thinking?

Yes. Yes, he is.

He doesn’t know this man from Adam, but he’s different from the rest if for no other reason than, if he is married, he has the decency not to wear his ring.

So if he’s down to fuck, why not?

With eyes locked on those intoxicating steely blues, Sebastian rises from his bench and makes his way out of the steam room, heading for one of the more private rooms down the hall.

Ones with locks on the doors.

A skeevy guy Sebastian swears once asked his dad for stock advice a while back reaches for his towel as he passes, and Sebastian responds the same way his father had: “Not fucking likely.”

Sebastian doesn’t turn his head to see if he’s being followed – unwise considering the wrong man may have picked up on his invitation and Mr. Sexy AF may have stayed behind. But the mere chance that that man is behind him, following him down this hall, has Sebastian aroused eight ways till Sunday, the extreme tenting of his towel leading him like some obscene beacon. He goes to the farthest room and peeks in.

It’s empty.

Perfect.

If the man follows him in, it will prove they’re on the same page.

That he wants him.

Sebastian walks inside.

He leaves the door open.

It’s not a large room – roughly the size of his Dalton dorm room, maybe a few feet bigger, with benches along the wall to seat about five people. There’s another bench near the center, mounted in front of a square pedestal that comes up to Sebastian’s stomach. The top of the pedestal is recessed to hold rocks and heated underneath. Pouring water on the rocks produces steam. The more water added, the more steam produced. It billows up and over the rocks, down the column of the pedestal, and fills the room from corner to corner.

In a room this size, it’s effective at keeping things hot.

Sebastian heads for the rocks and begins ladling water over them.

Behind him, he hears the door close … and lock.

Sebastian stops ladling.

He still doesn’t know if the person behind him is the man he wants, and even though it’s going to cause one hell of a headache if it’s not him, these last moments of uncertainty provide their own erotic thrill.

The man doesn’t insult Sebastian’s intelligence, doesn’t employ any pretense, doesn’t sit down on one of the benches to make it seem like he’s there for any other reason than to pursue his prize. He puts a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder, palm pressing into his brand, and spins him around.

And there he is – sculpted cheekbones, toned chest, blue eyes and all. He stares pointedly into Sebastian’s face and says, “Tell me to leave.”

Sebastian grins. “Why would I do that? I led you here.”

The man puts a bold hand on Sebastian’s ass and pulls him close. Sebastian feels every inch of the man against him – unforgiving planes and muscles, including his cock, resting against his own. “If we do this,” he whispers, “am I going to be your first?”

“Does that matter?”

“Not if it doesn’t matter to you. I just wanted to make sure you’re not the wine and roses type.”

“Actually, I think I’m the fast and hard in a steam room type.”

The man grins. “You jewel.” He grabs Sebastian by the back of the neck and kisses him, reaching for their towels and tugging them away, tossing them on the bench behind. Salty sweat on skin mix, dripping down Sebastian’s upper lip till he can taste it on his tongue. The man reaches for their cocks and strokes them together. Sebastian’s stomach spasms. He doesn’t know how to react, where to put his hands, how to participate. This is happening so fast, it makes Sebastian’s head spin. This man isn’t like the boys Sebastian has made out with, fondled, felt up, jerked off. This man knows what he’s doing, knows what he wants. He pushes Sebastian down onto the towel-covered bench with no hesitation, gets on his knees, and sucks Sebastian off, holding on to his hips a little too hard.

But Sebastian likes it.

“Jesus Christ!” he groans, hands locking onto the bench beneath him and holding tight. He’d always considered himself well-endowed, but this man has no trouble with him, taking him all the way down his throat without gagging an inch. The man goes at him hard. Sebastian tries to back up, to slow him down, but the man won’t have it, squeezing his hips harder, digging his thumbs into pressure points until Sebastian submits. And submit he does, lying back like a lion in surrender, arms and legs draped over the sides, his abs tense but his mind giving up control, allowing only for the uttering of one weak word: “Yes … yes … yes …” Muscles in his thighs and biceps twitch as he fights not to cum, but there’s little he can do to combat this man’s voracious mouth and his exceptionally talented tongue.

Sebastian cums.

The man’s mouth disappears, and the air around Sebastian’s cock cools even though the room is sweltering.

“Oh, God,” he moans, nearly rolling off the bench in his attempt to stand.

“Nu-uh.” The man puts a hand to his branded shoulder and pushes him down. “I’m not done with you yet. Not by a long shot.”

“Good,” Sebastian growls. He may be out of his league, but that doesn’t mean he’s not enjoying it. “But I’m not too sure I can get hard again right away after that.”

“Let me worry about that. Besides, I don’t need you hard. I need you open.”

“Then open me up.” Sebastian realizes that’s a dangerous thing to say to a stranger in a locked room, but it’s hot in here, and he’s still riding high off that orgasm. Between steam and lust, he’s feeling woozy.

“So, you like being used?” The man grabs Sebastian’s ass cheeks and pulls them apart, spending a long time just looking without touching.

“As long as you’re doing the using.”

The man chuckles. “You don’t even know me.”

“Do I have to?”

“That depends …” The man spits onto his fingers and wipes them over Sebastian’s asshole in a crude attempt at lubrication “… you’re not going to get attached to me or anything, are you? I’m not sure I need you following me around like a puppy dog.”

“Hey, you followed me, remember?” Sebastian grits his teeth when he feels one finger, slick with spit and sweat, make its way inside his body. It doesn’t hurt. Sebastian’s too relaxed for it to hurt.

“But you led me in here. You said so yourself.”

Another finger joins the first, and despite Sebastian’s mellow exhaustion, he starts bucking back.

“A-ha. I led you in here so you could fuck me, not talk about it. So why don’t you get on with it?”

The flat of a hand smacks his ass as a third finger forces its way inside. It stings like all get out, but when Sebastian clenches, he and the man behind him moan.

“God!” the man growls, fingers disappearing. The head of his cock replaces them at Sebastian’s entrance, becoming his sole focus. “I’ve gotta be in you! Now!”

“What? No condom?” Sebastian teases. He doesn’t have enough blood left in his brain to recognize that this is one of those moments they warn you about in sex-ed. He’s so far gone for this man, so ready to be fucked, he couldn’t care less about the consequences.

“Nah. I need to feel you.” The man’s voice shakes as he eases inside Sebastian’s body, snapping his hips and fucking him before he’s even all the way inside. But the first long thrust that slams Sebastian’s prostate brings his face straight to the bench.

“Fuck!” Sebastian grips the bench with knuckles white to keep from sliding off on his sweaty knees.

“Your wish is my command,” the man jokes, going back to what he seems to do best – fucking and fucking hard, spreading Sebastian’s cheeks wider and driving into him so deep, Sebastian swears he can feel the head of his cock hit the back of his throat. He’s tempted to ask this man if fucking is his day job, but he doesn’t because what if it is? What if that’s the reason he’s here? What if he’s a professional, making a few extra bucks trolling a den of pitiful rich old fucks stepping out on their wives?

If that’s the case, this man has earned so much of Sebastian’s respect.

If Sebastian has to fork over a few thou after this encounter, it’ll be well worth it to support him doing God’s work.

“Here …” the man switches positions, sitting on the bench and pulling Sebastian down on him “… sit on my lap. Help me out. Arms up. Hands behind your head.”

The posing makes it difficult for Sebastian to move, but a moment later, he realizes the need. The man’s arms wrap around him, his hands roaming his body from clavicle to cock, massaging muscles and toying with his nipples before they settle between his legs. The man fondles him – balls with one hand, shaft with the other – and Sebastian’s flaccid cock springs back with a vengeance.

So much for not being able to get hard right after. He just needed to find a man who knew his was around his body.

“Fuck … fuck … fuck … fuck …” Sebastian grunts, doing his best to keep going when what he wants to do is sit on this man’s cock and let him stroke him to completion.

“My, my, my, what a mouth you have. We really need to find some way to shut you up. Maybe with my dick next time. Whaddya think?”

“Yes,” Sebastian moans.

“I want you full of me,” the man grumbles, pushing down on Sebastian’s thighs with his forearms to make him go faster. “I wanna tie you down and take turns fucking you and having you suck me off. Whaddya think about that?”

“Ye—” Sebastian mutters, finding it impossible to speak the closer he gets to cumming, bobbing on this man’s cock becoming sheer but exquisite torture.

“Here …” The man holds Sebastian steady in a crouch position inches above his lap “… stay like that. Don’t move.” He leans back, starts driving his hips up, and Sebastian’s legs begin to shake. “You’re an athletic young man. You should be able to stay like that till I’m through with you.”

Sebastian’s tongue slips. He says something he had no intention of saying, no intention of calling anyone. “Yes … Sir …”

“Sir …” The man purrs. “I like the sound of that. I like the sound of that … very … much …” The man pulls Sebastian down into his lap and holds him there, bucking inside him with small, deliberate thrusts until his entire body devolves into seizure-like shakes, his cock pulsing inside him as he cums, trapped in Sebastian’s incredible heat.

And there’s so much of it – heat enveloping his cock, heat clinging to his skin, heat pouring down his hand as he wrings Sebastian’s cock dry, heat drying out his mouth and throat, making it difficult to breathe. With Sebastian pressing on his stomach, he feels like he might suffocate.

But all in all, this wouldn’t be too bad a way to go.

“Scene … scene …” Kurt mutters, unable to get the word over out of his mouth as he pants for air, comfortably crushed beneath Sebastian’s body in the irrepressible heat.

Sebastian gasps, bending at the waist, fighting to find cool air beneath the oppressive blanket of hot “So … what … did you think … of that … Master?”

“I think you have one hell of a dirty mind on you, preppy. Shit!” Kurt laughs, wrapping an arm around Sebastian’s midsection, laying kisses over his spine. “I’m so glad I made you pick this time! I didn’t know this was one of those steam rooms! Your folks are really getting their money’s worth!”

“I—it’s … it’s not, Master,” Sebastian says, reluctant to reveal the truth with his Dom up his ass, kissing his back.

The kisses stop, and despite the world around them being somewhere in the vista of 110 degrees, Sebastian’s entire body freezes solid.

“It’s not?”

“Uh, no.”

“So, what you’re saying is …”

“We may want to jet before they call my dad.”

Sebastian can’t see Kurt’s reaction to this new information, and the longer he has to wait, the sicker he begins to feel. He expects to get yelled at, feel nails rake down his sides, maybe even get shoved to the floor.

Kurt snickering into his skin relaxes him a hair.

His full out guffawing lets Sebastian know everything’s going to be okay – between them, at least.

“Holy shit!” Kurt snorts, pushing Sebastian off his lap, but gently. “You really have issues with symbols of societal standing, don’t you?”

“I … guess? Is that bad, Master?”

“Not at all.” Kurt throws Sebastian a towel and ties his own around his waist. “I think I’m beginning to see why the fuck it is you and I get along so well.”

*** Notes:I personally feel that in a sexual relationship like Kurt and Sebastian’s, roleplaying is a really good way for us as the audience to get into the minds of the characters. You see the things that they don’t necessarily express in dialogue, even in inner monologue, including how they see themselves interacting with the world around them - how they feel despite what they say.

#kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #Frankie writes

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mutantsrisingrpg · 4 years

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Congratulations, DEL! You’ve been accepted as IO.

Del, I didn’t want to stop reading your app, and honestly? I’m a little mad that it had to end. But that makes me all the more excited to see you continue Cain’s journey on the dash! When it came to Cain’s bio, I really felt that you nailed the dichotomy between healing and hurting that was central to his skeleton. I especially loved the way he saw his abilities as curse-like at first, and how he’s been able to separate what his hands can do versus what they want to do. If Cain punched me, I’d thank him.

Welcome to Mutants Rising! Please read the checklist and submit your account within 24 hours.

Out of Character Information:

NAME/ALIAS: Del.

PRONOUNS: they/them

AGE: 24

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: HST. Tbh about a 7...maybe a 6. I'm in classes and a full time internship so I can be a bit slow but I always try to keep my activity up as best as I can!

In Character Information:

DESIRED ROLE: CAIN

GENDER/PRONOUNS: he/him

DETAILS & ANALYSIS:

So when I was reading some tips for Cain I accidentally misread it as “fists born to heal” and I really ran with that idea for a hot minute and a half.

For me, Cain is like a baseball bat to the face. He's blunt and brutal and effective. He isn't interested in politics or the nuanced exchange of power and intrigue that weave through the city like a web. He's a simple man. He has simple desires. He wants to hit stuff that pisses him off. He wants to protect the people he cares about. Thats the entire reason he sticks with the Jem Family, because being a mutant fucking sucks and that's society's fault, so fuck society.

I really want a Cain who is very straightforward. If some people are...layered ...like onions, then Cain is the type of person who’s more like a rock. Try to peel back his layers and you will accomplish only two things: 1) fucking up your hands real bad, and 2) realizing that there’s nothing underneath. With Cain, what you see is what you get. And what you get is a man who is perpetually angry and probably wants to fight you.

He is aggressive and he is angry at both a micro and a macro level and he is willing to shake the city down the bedrock if that’s what it will take to beat some sense into people. He’s not interested in maintaining peace or compliance as tensions in the city rise higher and higher. He doesn’t want to hurt people who don’t deserve to be hurt but he’s willing to do what he needs to do (though I think it’ll be interesting as conflicts and events arise to explore how willing Cain actually is to make sacrifices and see collateral damage happen). Cain wants to see the world change and he doesn’t mind if it burns a little first. I fully believe that he’ll be a big mover and shaker and shit instigator.

BIOGRAPHY:

The anger is with him all along.

It's a cyclical kind of story. His father’s father meets some poor woman, makes a baby with her, and leaves. Over two decades later his father does the same thing. This time he clears out their joint bank account before he disappears.

Cain hates his grandfather and his father. He hates that part of them is part of him, buried in his blood and his bones. They ruin his life and neither of them stick around to see it happen. The older he gets the more of his father he will see in the mirror, and the angrier he will become.

His ma is a good woman. She is a good mother. She doesn’t deserve to be married to his deadbeat, chickenshit father.

Cain adores her. She does her best. She doesn't complain when his father leaves, she doesn't even resent him for being such a shitty husband. When it becomes clear that his time out on the road is the type of time out on the road that never ends, she just sighs a deep, sad sigh from the middle of her chest. Cain will always remember that sigh, the way it sounds. It is like a reverse Pandora's box' all the hope emptying out of her at once and leaving only the bad shit behind.

She has a kid to raise and she does it without complaint. She works herself to the bone to keep him warm and keep him fed. She cleans for a living. The work is hard and the pay is shit. The hours are long. Cain spends a lot of nights waiting for her to come home. She comes back sore and tired and aching. Sometimes she is barely able to stand. Cain learns how to help as quickly as he can. Maybe this is where the healing starts; him and his mother, his hands running over her back, knuckles digging into the knots of tight, angry, wrong, and digging into them until they slowly break apart.

All of the cards are stacked against him as a kid. for most of his childhood he is a shrimp with no father. He is a dirt poor. His mother works all of the time. He's not that smart and he's not that friendly. He is at the very bottom of a very long social food chain. He gets into fights often and he is destined to lose most of them. A lot of his time is spent getting hit. He uses up the rest crying, hot angry tears in his room, alone. He makes few friends. As soon as he's old enough to fake fourteen, and even a little before that, he works. He rides newspaper routes and scrubs dishes and fixes cars and mows lawns and does anything anybody tells him to as long as it will get him paid.

There's no magical thirteenth year for Cain. He never goes away for summer and comes back gigantic. Growing up is a slow, laborious process that ticks by in centimeters and inches. There's a time where he's small and scrawny and always picking fights and always losing them. Then he starts losing them less. Eventually he isn't losing any at all. His bullies start to look small and scrawny themselves and they start to leave him alone unless there's enough of them that they think they can all gang up on him at once, but after awhile even those fights are ones that Cain can win.

That’s about when he starts to get paid to fight. This time he gets to fight in a ring. He’ll never get his chance at becoming a boxer or some MMA jackass but he’ll come pretty close. There’s no star power in Cain. He’s an angry, ragged son of a bitch. He’s got the charisma of a fly. People don’t like him much on principal. No one is ever glad to see him win a fight except maybe his mother. But you don’t have to be well liked to win, and Cain does win. He wins a lot. Eventually people start to show up to watch him fight.

That’s how he finds his father again.

Chicago is a big city. It's the kind of place where you can meet someone and never see them again for a decade, maybe two if you didn't get out much.

He’s just finished a fight in some seedy arena on the west side of town. He’s won in a single, brutal knock out and some people are excited about that but most people are pissed off that there wasn’t more of a show. Cain’s ignoring whatever the fuck people are yelling at him and Cain is just tryign to leave so he can peel of his dumbass shorts in the bathroom and go home.

And there’s a man in the crowd in front of him. He’s staring at him. Cain stares back.

He is older than Cain remembers, and he is shabbier. There’s a beer gut where there wasn’t one before and his arms are thinner. His face is lined with wrinkles and his teeth are yellow. A few are missing. If Cain were anyone else he might not recognize him

But a boy always knows his father and a man always remembers someone he hates.

This is what he remembers in that moment as his hands curl up into fists. He is a kid. He is watching his mama make some calls. She’s asking around to see if anyone has seen his father. He knows what she knows but refuses to admit. No one has seen him. No one has heard from him in days. He is gone and he is not coming back.

Eventually she dials that bank. Cain isn’t really sure what she’s talking about but he knows that it’s not good. His mother’s face goes pale and her lips go tight and thin and she nods along to whatever the man on the other line is saying even though it’s clear she’s not listening to him anymore.

She says her goodbyes in a tight, polite voice. It only shakes a little at the very end. Then she hangs up and she sighs that sigh. It’s going to stay with him all his life. His father leaving doesn’t destroy his mother. It just hollows her out. That’s worse in Cain’s opinion.

He is only 12. But even 12 year olds can want to kill people. He swears that if he ever sees his daddy again, he’s going to beat him dead.

In 15 years the anger is still there, pure and white hot. It will always be there. It will always be waiting.

He jumps out of the ring in one easy lunge and then he’s on top of his dad. He’s punching him in the face. The man spits blood and broken teeth. Cain is hitting him again and again and again and again. His hands feel hot, unnaturally so, like something other than his own blood is heating them up from the inside. Beneath him his father bleeds and spits out more teeth and groans and still Cain beats him. No amount of beating will ever be enough for him and he knows this. He knows he’s going to murder his father on this floor and he knows it will make his mother cry. He hates that these things are going to happen and he accepts them anyway. This is what needs to be done. This is what his father deserves.

He grips his father’s head in his hot, hot hands and he spits in his face.

It takes six guys to drag Cain off of his father. There aren’t enough inside the bar to do it. He knocks three out when they try. But eventually the police show up and there are enough of them. Cain is a big guy and he’s strong and he’s tough but even big strong, tough guys don’t do well when they get tazed.

They drag him outside and they shove him into a cop car and the last thing Cain sees of his father is a man, covered in blood, pulling himself off the floor with shaking arms.

He disappears before anyone has a chance to ask if he wants to press charges. Cain isn’t surprised.

Three aggravated assault and battery charges are enough to put him away for a long time, though. The sentencing is actually lighter than what he expects. Weirdly enough, despite the bloody crime scene and Cain’s size and all the witnesses who were sure they saw Cain beating his father to death, there’s no serious injuries to speak of. He hears down the legal grapevine that his father walked away that night, and that the guys who tried to pull him off didn’t even need trips to the hospital. Cain had bloodied their noses but somehow neither of them were broken. Miraculously, his public defender tells him. They all claim that they’re feeling better than ever.

Cain sits and listens to him. There’s a tick in his jaw that won’t go away, an angry jump of muscle as he grinds his teeth.

His mother does cry when he’s sentenced. He’s not happy to see that.

When he’s back in his cell, alone, he drives his fist into the wall hard enough to split the skin of his knuckles

His hands feel hot. His knuckles hurt but they stop hurting very quickly. When Cain turns them over to see, he watches his skin knit slowly back together, closing over the open wound until it looks as if there were never a wound there at all. Cain stares. He swallows. He hits the wall again, hard, in the same place. He watches blood drip from his hand and then he watches the dripping stop. The same thing happens again.

Oh, he thinks to himself. Oh fuck.

Prison is a lot like being a kid again, except his mother isn’t there to comfort him when he gets into fights or when he crawls into his bed to bleed. Everyone wants to get a piece of the new guy, especially since half the time somebody gets into a fight with Cain, none of their injuries ever really seem to take. Cain puts his hands on them. He lays them out and he holds them down and he hits them again and again and again and they hurt and they bleed and they get back up afterwards feeling fine.

He hates his powers at first. He wants to be able to beat the shit out of people the same way he has for years but the moment to hands get hot it's over. Nothing he does is really going to hurt his opponent. Sometimes they leave the fights looking better than when they came in.

It doesn't take long for his prison mates to learn what he is. It doesn't take much longer for the warden to get wind of it too.

And that is how Cain Douglas finds himself moved from Cook Corrections to Hornsbury Prison for mutants.

If Cook Corrections was prison then Hornsbury is something below it, something sub-prison where men and women aren't allowed to feel even the slightest bit human. It's the type of place that’s not even trying to pretend it's here to fix you. It's here to break you and it wants you to know it's here to break you, all that guards, all the wardens, and most of the prisoners all want you to know you're here to be broken.

He's roughed up by a couple guards in the first week. Thanks to his power not much of what they do to him manages to stick, but not much of what he does to them manages to stick either.

After that they just throw him in the hole for insubordination. It's cold in that dark, empty concrete room. It smells of the piss and fear sweat of the last guy they had in there.

He spends a lot of time in that hole. He will never admit it to anyone. But sometimes he is afraid he will die in there, all alone.

He gets out eventually. Maybe it is for good behavior. Maybe it’s because people realize that Cain can win fights but he can never end them. His hands are harmless and by extension, so is he.

There’s no job waiting for him when he gets out. He’s just spent five years in prison. Two of them were in Hornsbury. Everyone in his part of town knows about what he did to his father and worse, they know that he’s a mutant.

The first night Cain spends back in his home, someone sets fire to his mother’s front lawn.

He packs up and leaves the next day. He loves his mother. This will always be true. But he won’t stick around her if it puts her at risk.

And then there’s really nowhere for him to go but the Jem Family. He’s heard of them, before prison, but he never cared about it before becoming a mutant. He doesn’t care much about it when he first arrives either. It could have been any gang as they gave him a warm place to sleep and some food to eat. Cain isn’t picky. Unfortunately the Jem Family and Damien have a way of creeping under his skin. They’re good people. They care about people, about mutants. And they care about Cain, which more than he can say for just about everyone else in Chicago except for his mother. They give him food to eat and a place to sleep and pay him money he can send to his mother every month.

They help him learn how to control his powers. They give him back a part of himself he thought was lost forever. Thanks to the Jem Family, he gets to decide what, when and who he’s healing. He also gets to decide what and when and who he’s hurting and honestly, he’s a little more thankful for that than the former. He starts to be happy that his power is what it is. He gets to help people that he cares about. He starts to care about helping people at all.

It was easy not to care about mutants when he wasn’t one. It was easy to ignore the way they were treated.

But that’s not something Cain has the luxury of doing anymore. He sees how much people hate them. How afraid they are. He’s seen it in the scorch marks on his mother’s lawn, and in Hornsbury. He sees it now more than ever as everyone in the city starts to pick a side. It pisses him the fuck off.

This city has needed the shit kicked out of it for a long fucking time and with the gan’s finally uniting, now is as good a time as any to land the first blow.

EXPANDED CONNECTIONS:

DANA RAMONE,

HE IS JEALOUS. He’s learned to appreciate his power but that by no means means that Cain like, likes being a healer. He’d much rather have something crazy and violent and powerful to use and he would definitely be kinda salty at Dana depending on their attitude towards their power. I also think it’d be neat to explore (mun willing of course) how he feels about her lack of control because he’s struggled with that before. If there’s a warmer relationship between them I can totally see Cain maybe trying to work them with them on control because he knows what it’s like to always feel a little bit incompetent in your own body.

But y’know. If they don't’ talk that’s fine by him b-baka.

JACKSON RAEMERS,

What Cain feels about Jackson is very similar to what an older sibling feels for an annoying younger sibling. He doesn’t want them seriously injured or hurt. He cares about them deep down. But if Cain went a whole week without seeing Jackson it would be the best week of his fucking life. I think Cain would be big on just shaming them for bing such a klutz and if they come in for really superficial injuries may just make them go deal with it themselves.

LUKE ESPINOSA,

So I read on Luke’s own relationship description that they’d probably totally destroy Cain if they were allowed to use their powers on him. I want Cain to be like, very , very aware of that and totally pissed off by it. He’s not sure what makes him more angry, knowing that Luke thinks he could beat the shit out of him or knowing that it's true. He doesn't like losing. He never has. And he doesn’t like knowing that the only reason he wins against Luke is because Luke is giving him a huge handicap by not using his powers. It makes his blood boil and that definitely comes out in the way he fights with him and just deals with him in general. I’d love it if these two just sniped at each other all the time and def got into all sorts of dumb, non-competitions outside the ring to try and prove who’s the best without bringing powers into it. I’m talking some anime rivalry type shit.

EXTRA: PINTEREST! NATCH! https://www.pinterest.com/bellydeli/mootants/he-hits-stuff/

#accepted #accepted: io

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itsallavengers · 6 years

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Coming Home

The airport was crowded and the air was stale and Tony Stark was waiting.

He had been doing so for exactly 4 hours, 35 minutes and 12 seconds- that was when he'd arrived at the airport, anyway. And Steve was supposed to have arrived exactly 17 minutes and 9 seconds ago, which meant that Tony was currently waiting even more than he had been 17 minutes and 9 s-

Okay, maybe that was enough numbers for now.

Tony tapped his foot anxiously, eyes searching the crowds for the zillionth time as various people flooded through arrivals. Unfortunately, not any of the travellers were remotely important to Tony- not right then anyway. He was looking for a very particular individual; one who was currently running 17 minutes and 15 seconds late.

Goddamn it, Steve was always punctual. This was a terrible sign.

He breathed as deeply as he could and swallowed. It was just the nerves; the constant anxiety he’d been holding onto in the nine months Steve had been gone bubbling up to the surface all at once. He never dealt very well with stress. Especially not Steve-related stresses. So, of course, the letter he’d received three weeks ago saying Steve Rogers had been involved in an IED explosion and was currently being held in some backward hospital had certainly not been a good period of time for him. At all.

He can remember seeing the US Army stamp on the front of the letter and immediately feeling his knees just loose all strength. He’d thought the worst, instantly, because God only knew it kept him awake most nights anyway, and then there it was, right in front of his eyes-

The panic was still there, even now that he’d read it and knew what it was really telling him- that they were sending Steve home. He still felt that initial feeling; right in his gut like a twisted up knife, all jagged and rough. Jesus- he hadn’t seen Steve’s face in nearly six months, not even after the accident. Hadn’t had access to a phone, could you goddamn believe that? Steve had been getting treated in a place where there weren’t even fucking phones-

God, nope, there went his breathing again. He needed to focus on the positives. Steve was coming back! Steve had done his tour at the ripe old fucking age of twenty years old, and now he was coming back. Back home to Tony and their shitty flat on the shit end of Brooklyn. It was all going to be fine.

Except Steve was 18 minutes and thirty four seconds, late, and it was making Tony antsy.

(Read more, mobile users!)

He checked his watch, just to make sure the airport clock wasn’t lying to him. But yep- there were the same numbers. Even his phone read the same. Steve was definitely, unequivocally late.

He knew it was stupid, but his mind had begun working itself into a panic during the first minute Steve had failed to show. Plane crash, another bombing, taken captive, killed on the way and Tony was just waiting for the news-

Fuck. Fuck, it was stupid. Stop shaking. Stupid stupid stupid stupid.

Steve wasn’t dead. They had plans, him and Tony. They were gonna get married, definitely- whether it be in five years or twenty. Tony was putting a ring on that finger if if took him the rest of his life. He was only nineteen, currently- he had bags of time. Bags and bags.

Steve just needed to show up.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. The past month had been...well, hell, basically. He’d barely slept more than four hours a night. He’d been on edge the entire time; terrified that he’d hear a knock on his door and that would be it, Steve would be dead from whatever injuries he’d received and Tony would be alone. Rhodey had come over during a particularly anxiety-ridden period and when Tony answered the door he’d already started fucking crying, so convinced that he was going to get the KIA notice.

Yeah, it was a mess.

Looking back up, he once more checked the entrance. Nothing. 19 minutes, 43 seconds and Steve still hadn’t fucking-

Wait.

He felt the familiar lack of strength in his knees overcome him once again, though this time for entirely different reasons. The image hit him like a physical blow- Steve, pretty much running through the gates with his kitbag strung over his shoulder and his eyes wide, searching through the crowds.

Steve.

Steve, looking relatively unscathed. Not dead. Alive.

Tony was sprinting before he’d even fully processed it.

His feet squeaked on the floor and his shoulder bumped roughly up against the milling crowds but he didn’t care, he didn’t fucking care- Steve was there, it had been nine whole months and Steve was there, alive, alive alive alive-

Steve noticed him as he was halfway to his destination, and the way his face changed from slightly concerned to stupidly, joyously happy was almost comical. He made a choked-off sound in the back of his throat, dumping the bag unceremoniously on the floor as he stumbled forward, arms opening. “Tony-”

Tony didn’t let him finish, slamming into him as fast as he could before the rest of the sentence could ever leave his mouth. His heart was going crazy in his chest, and he was making some quite frankly embarrassing sounds against Steve’s neck, but again, he couldn’t really find it in himself to care. Just clutched desperately to the back of Steve’s uniform and wrapped both legs around his waist, effectively clinging to him like a deranged koala. “Steve, Steve, Steve, ohmygod, Steve,” he whispered over and over like a mantra, voice broken and full of more joy than he’d even known he had in him.

Steve’s arms wrapped so tightly around his lower back he found it a little difficult to breathe. Tony could feel Steve’s mouth pressing into his neck, could feel the little shakes of relief radiating off him as he held Tony aloft in the middle of the airport. “Tony, sweetheart, I missed you so so much, I love you, oh God-” his words couldn’t continue, mouth too busy pressing manic little kisses into the side of Tony’s face.

Steve had come home.

Tony’s face was wet and as he pressed it into Steve’s, he realised his was too. “I got the letter and I thought my heart was gonna drop out of my chest and then I couldn’t even see you and I kept thinking this is it, I’m gonna find out you’d died today and I was so worried, Steve, I love you so much-”

“I know,” Steve whispered, and Tony only realised they were dropping when he felt the jolt of Steve’s knees hitting the floor, “I’m so sorry, I’m fine, I swear, just a few sore ribs-”

“What? Oh God, fuck,” Tony stopped pressing in, horrified, but Steve made a keening noise and shook his head wildly, pulling Tony right back.

“I’m not letting you go ever again,” Steve mumbled into Tony’s temple, one hand curling around Tony’s waist and the other pulling over his shoulders, tugging him in close. “I hope you know that.”

“Please don’t,” Tony agreed, so unimaginably happy that he was wrapped up in Steve’s arms once more, protected from the entirety of the world by the embrace. He hadn’t felt Steve in nine months. He was so stupidly desperate for contact- he’d fight the rest of the military to be able to keep Steve within touching distance. And win.

“I’m okay,” Steve whispered, eyes clenched shut as he buried his face in Tony’s neck, “I am, I promise. And I’m home for good, this time. I want- I want to be with you. Properly. No more army, no more nothing- just me and you and our shitty Brooklyn apartment, right?”

Tony laughed a little hysterically. “Let’s get married,” he blurted, and maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe he’d just got the kick up the ass he needed to see that life was too short to waste on planning things, but either way, the words just slipped out of his mouth so easily and now they were out there, there wasn’t a hope in hell he was backing down on it.

He could feel Steve’s smile against his face. “You’re nineteen and the heir to one of the biggest companies in the world,” he laughed wetly, stroking the hair out of Tony’s eyes with a ridiculously reverent hand, “your dad would literally string me up by the balls and leave me for the crows. He hates me enough already.”

“Fuck my fucking dad, he doesn’t have to know,” Tony said fiercely, kissing Steve again and again and again, “we’ll elope- San Fran or Cali or wherever the fuck you wanna go, Steve, we can stay in a motel for the next two years if we have to. I’d do it. I don’t care.”

Steve rocked them both back and forth on the floor, and he was laughing, oh, God, Tony had forgotten quite how amazing that laugh was- “I know you don’t, darling. You’ve been living in a trash-pit for over a year after Howard cut you off just so that you could stay with me. I think you could handle a motel, right?”

Steve was raising his eyebrows, nose to nose with Tony and smiling from one ear to the other. Tony felt his own breath catch in his throat. Was that... was Steve agreeing?

“Tony Stark, I must have survived that explosion for a Goddamn reason. And I don’t know what I could possibly have done to deserve you, but Goddamn it, I want to fucking marry you.”

Tony thought he might black out- the crazy rollercoaster of emotion over the past two minutes sending his head spinning wildly, but he managed to hold on just so that he could kiss Steve again. He loved kissing Steve. He’s missed Steve like a lost limb.

“We’ll send a picture of us sticking up our ring fingers to the StarkInudstires Server,” Tony said through a laugh, and he was still crying- God only knew the day had been eventful enough- but it didn’t matter, because Steve was crying too and they were seriously going to get married and Steve was back he was back he was back-

“I love you,” Tony sighed elatedly, dropping his head into Steve’s sternum and shutting his eyes again, “I love you so much. I want to marry you more than anything else in the world.”

“Well, it is my job to make you happy,” Steve whispered, linking their fingers together, “we’re young and stupid and broke and this seems like a flawless plan. Why not? Let’s elope.”

Steve was back. Tony couldn’t get his head around it.

He felt a hand cup against his side, pulling him up gently. “I’m not going anywhere any time soon,” Steve murmured, foreheads pressing together, “I promise, Tony. I’m okay. And I’m here for as long as you want me.”

“Forever,” Tony replied, shutting his eyes.

Steve leaned up, pressing soft kisses to each eyelid. “Forever, I can do,” he agreed.

Ao3 / Ko-fi

#stevetony #tony stark #steve rogers #itsallavengers writes #d'awwwwwwwwwwwwww #fluff #listen we were talking about soldiers in English poetry today and they were all grim as fuck and I was TEMPTED to write a much much sadder #ending #but then I was like. nAHHHHH #let them be happy for once #I can chill with the angst. For once #Plus I had like an hour to write this and it would have been too long anyways LOL #but whatever! enjoy

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captainsimagines · 6 years

Text

RENT - Part 6

In which eight old friends in dire need move in together for one year.

Warnings: language; mentions of drug overdose; mentions of drugs; PTSD; Bucky being stupid lol

Word Count: 4,800+

A/N: Is this a late AS FUCK update or what? I'm sorry, but writer’s block is a bitch. Enjoy, babes.

PART SIX

Natasha - “Tango: Natasha”

(5) (7)

TEN YEARS AGO

“I just... need some time for myself.”

Steve shuffled slightly on the hot concrete, head down and face somber. The extra heat this spring made soccer practice that much more difficult. Although, Natasha’s words added a foreign heat within his chest- one that he chose to ignore.

He didn’t want to look Natasha in the eyes because if he knew himself, he would break down sobbing in the middle of the quad. But surprisingly, he held it together and managed to look up for once, taking in her purple highlights mixed in somewhere with all that blonde, just blazing in the spring sunlight.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he replied, interlocking his fingers with hers for the last time. Natasha stuttered over her next few words, pulling her hand back and giving Steve an equally devastating grin.

“Alone, babe.”

He didn’t want to fight and he didn’t want to pressure her. All he could think about was Sam’s constant blabbering about love and how it never works. ‘If you love something or someone, let it free!’ Sam would cry, making his words even more dramatic with the sound effects he would include. Gunshots, bell noises, yodeling- literally anything you can think of to make Sam even more annoying than he already was.

But Steve ignored his inspirational words, letting go of Natasha physically but not emotionally.

Natasha stood from the playground bench and dusted herself off. “You understand, right?”

No, he didn’t.

“Yeah. Some time apart might do us good.”

With an almost unnoticeable nod, Natasha walked away and left Steve to ponder about what the hell just happened. Two years they had dated and Natasha woke up one morning calling it quits. Steve knew she must have had her reasons, but he forgot to ask what they were.

With a broken heart and a wad of cash in one hand, Natasha sprinted down the alleyway looking for a familiar face. Checking to see if the coast was clear, she jumped up and held onto the balcony railing, pulling herself up and unlocking the bedroom window. On the inside sat a couple men in a circle, each rolling up their own specialty treat.

“Where’s Scott?” Natasha asked, avoiding eye contact at all possible costs.

No one responded, but one man pointed through the doorway and resumed his work. Natasha followed instructions, heading through the wooden, swinging doors. Once in, she saw the man she bargained with almost every week.

“I’ve got his money,” Natasha sighed, holding up the cash and stuffing her free hand in her pocket. Scott looked up from his paperwork and hummed, holding his hand up in the air so Natasha could throw it.

“Think he’ll have the rest ready by next week?” Scott asked, putting the money in a nearby drawer.

“He’d be lucky to have half.”

Scott chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “I’m sorry you have to do this for him.”

Natasha gave a nonchalant shrug, struggling to hide her true feelings about the whole situation. “He’s my dad. If I can’t get him off the needle then the least I can do is make sure he doesn’t go into massive debt.”

Scott opened another drawer and threw Natasha a new iPod, with new headphones and everything. “For all your hard work.”

Natasha rolled the gift over in her hands and sighed deeply, “You don’t have to.”

Scott held his hand up, “Don’t even mention it. You deserve so much more. Now go, before the scum of the operation show up.”

Natasha always took that advice, leaving from the same window she climbed through to get in. And every single time she left Scott to run his business to enter her own reality, Natasha wanted to scream. She wanted to scream and run away, tell you, Sam, Bucky... Steve!- about everything she had to fix and suffer with everyday after school.

Ironically, the entrance into her own reality allowed her to finally scream once she opened her father’s bedroom door to let him know she got home safely, that she was heartbroken over Steve and wanted to talk, that she had dealt with his debt and would most likely take care of it next month as well. Rolling him over and slapping him repeatedly did nothing- shaking him and yelling did nothing- and when she dragged his limp body from his messy bed and removed his clothing to submerge him in the freezing tub water, it did nothing. So, she called 911 and sat on the closed toilet seat while watching her father’s index finger twitch every so often, his eyeballs brushing alongside his thin blue eyelids as if he were peacefully dreaming.

TEN YEARS LATER

Steve stumbled out of bed, stretching his sore muscles and cracking almost every bone. Looking over at the clock he noticed it was only six in the morning, December 24th, early as shit.

He wrapped a blanket around his shoulders before standing from his bed to walk to the bathroom, eyes closed halfway and body sagging. Without thinking twice because let’s face it, he has only had roommates for three days now, he pushed open the bathroom door to take his morning piss.

“Oh my god!”

Steve tumbled to the ground at the sudden yell, scrambling across the floor to find some sort of balance. “I am so sorry!”

You held the towel close to your wet body, an expression of surprise and absolute mortification etched into your sleepy face. You rushed to the door to close it, to slam it in the pervert’s face, but you were quickly met with another tired individual who rubbed at his eyes in order to make sure he was seeing what he was really seeing. Except this individual- the exact individual responsible for your perplexed state- ran in with a handgun held high.

“What’s going on?” Bucky’s yells of confusion and Steve’s cries of “Bucky! Fuck! Bucky, put that shit down!” coupled with your outbursts of curses as well. You shielded your face, as if that was going to stop a bullet, and Steve just held onto the side of the door, looking in between you and the scared veteran.

“Boy, if you don’t-“ Sam stumbled in, yawning until he noticed Bucky’s current weapon in hand. “Oh, hell!”

It was a funny scene, a rather comical one, one that neither one of you would ever forget, but it caused mayhem. Two men cowering on the floor, you gripping onto the sink both angry and terrified, and Bucky just being... Bucky? No, he wasn’t in that moment because his sudden approach to the whole situation was a bit overdone and exaggerated. That was saying something- running in with a loaded handgun, and all.

All of you fiddled with your fingers and knocked your knees together, avoiding eye contact with the one and only Peggy Carter.

She stood there with her arms crossed, her left foot tapping, and her eyebrows raised in an almost comical sense. “Well?”

It was silent for a second, just for a bloody second, before Steve spoke and if he had known any better, he would have realized that his input wasn’t really needed. “I didn’t even know Y/N was here...”

The three of you facepalmed. You could literally feel Peggy’s cheeks redden in absolute anger.

“Okay... let’s get one thing straight,” Peggy started, pacing slowly from one side of the room to the other. You were sat in between Steve and Sam, normal clothes on now, hiding your face in your hands. “Why is there a gun in the apartment?”

You all looked at Bucky. He cleared his throat and shrugged. “Ex-vet.”

Peggy’s face seemed to change dramatically, almost as if she understood the obvious struggle. “I understand... but Bucky, I have to ask- why was your first instinct to pull out your gun?”

Bucky looked to the floor, “Like you said, it’s an instinct.”

Steve shuffled slightly, changing the focus for Bucky’s sake. “Why did no one tell me Y/N was here?”

“Dude, you got home at like... two,” Sam answered. You decided to finally speak up.

“I needed a place to crash for a couple of nights. Only until I get this creep to stop following me home.”

Bucky was about ready to pull his gun again, obviously forgetting it was in the hands of the ex-cop. “Some guy is following you?”

You brushed off his surprise, “It’s fine. Luke’s got it covered.”

Sam almost flew off the couch, “Ooo! Who’s Luke?”

Answering for you, Steve waved his hands. “Co-worker who could beat all of ours asses... at once.”

“Alright,” Bucky fist-bumped. “I trust this, Luke!” You rolled your eyes and stood from the couch.

“Yeah, and I also have to head to work.”

“Woah, this early in the morning?” Sam asked. You sighed and went to grab your backpack. “Lunch time is when we get the most customers. Working during that time is considered a freaking privilege.”

It was silent again and no one knew what else to say. You pulled on your coat and grabbed your gym bag, looking over the people standing in the below-freezing living room.

“Um... do you guys want me to pick up dinner?”

With a couple shrugs and slight mumbles, you nodded your head and sighed. Ducking your head to the floor, you quickly left the apartment with a heavy weight on your shoulders- the weight obviously resembling unspoken feelings about everything. It wasn’t love, it wasn’t jealousy- it was just so uncomfortable.

“Get up,” Wanda said, slamming the fluffiest pillow she could find onto Natasha’s back. “You have work, babe!”

Natasha groaned and rolled over, tucking her hornet’s-nest of bed hair underneath the mountain of pillows on the king-sized bed.

“Babe, if you’re late again I don’t think I could convince your boss to let you keep your job.”

“Okay,” Natasha drawled out, rolling over and over until her leg hung off the side of the bed. “I’ll be right there.”

“Alright.” Wanda scurried across the bedroom, putting on her earrings and stepping into the high heels she had recently bought. “I’ll see you at dinner?”

Natasha finally rolled off the bed, still wrapped in the duvet and warm as a child on Christmas. “Yeah, definitely.”

Multi-tasking. That’s what Natasha does best. With a dead-end job and poor income from her side, Natasha felt as though her love for Wanda was all she had to offer. She loved her, with all her heart, and if that meant suffering while making hundreds of copies of a single sheet of paper and texting Scott about the money she just acquired, then so be it.

Natasha struggled to leave that part of her life behind but the sudden rush it would give her was just too addicting and every time she brought home a little extra dough, Wanda would smile. And not one those, ‘I haven’t seen you all day, let’s go to bed’ smiles, but the one that clearly illustrates compassion and acknowledgment. She was trying, and Wanda realized that.

No, Wanda did not know about Natasha’s side business- no one did nor will anyone ever know. She no longer aided in her father’s downfall, but she did it for herself. Deal with purpose, Natasha would say, sneaking through every dark alley in New York City with her key positioned in between her index and middle finger.

“Are the copies almost finished?” T’Challa asked, walking into the copy room to check on his new proposal. Natasha hummed her response, handing him the fifty copies she had already piled up.

“Will you be taking an early lunch break as well, today?”

Natasha shrugged and answered with a quiet ‘sure’, giving T’Challa the last of the copies.

Lunch breaks for Natasha consisted of two things: actual lunch and a drug deal almost always going right. It was the rarest occurrence for a drug deal to go horribly wrong, the only instance being when Natasha had to stab some guy in the neck to get him to leave her alone. But Scott didn’t mind, he really didn’t- the less of those crooked men buying his drugs, the better. A weird drug dealer Scott was, but that’s what made him the best and it’s what kept Natasha around for so long.

“Care to join me?”

Natasha leaned back just a little, surprised by her boss’s question. “Why, may I ask?”

It was T’Challa’s turn to shrug. “I just want some company.”

So she agreed, quickly returning to her desk to shut down her computer and pick up her purse.

“I wanted to tell someone. Even a complete stranger...”

Natasha rolled her eyes and sipped her drink casually. “I bring you your coffee everyday.”

T’Challa seemed to shrink, his hands coming to rest on his thighs as he stared at his untouched lunch.

“I’m sorry about that,” he admits, looking around the restaurant, at nothing in particular.

“It’s not even my job,” Natasha continues, picking at her fries now and debating whether she should challenge her boss even more. “When I made you get my coffee, it was your job. Interns get coffee.”

T’Challa tried his best to hide his smirk, finally lifting his full burger to his mouth.

“I’m not meant to get your coffee, boss,” Natasha declared, crossing her arms and staring at the man whose mouth was currently full of food. “Interns, I tell ‘ya.”

“I admit I make you get my coffee because you annoyed me with that bowl-cut you once sported.”

Natasha’s face twitched slightly but in an amusing way, allowing T’Challa to label this lunch as friendly and overdue. “My girlfriend was never good with scissors. It was the only style I could manage.”

T’Challa nodded, “You will no longer get my coffee.”

“Wow, my prayers have been answered.”

“Because I’m quitting.”

Natasha spit out her french fry and watched it land near her boss’s soda. The two were silent for a moment before Natasha reached over and grabbed the potato, wrapping it in a napkin.

“Quitting?”

“I don’t want to be apart of the mess my father has made. I don’t want my name anywhere near it.”

“So, your plan is to run?”

“Excuse me?”

Natasha no longer sipped her drink but gulped it, nervousness spilling from the sides of her lips. “I mean, you could stay and fix it. But if you want to quit, then quit.”

T’Challa couldn’t remember the last time he spoke to someone who wasn’t trying to sign his name onto a piece of paper. It was sort of comfortable and new, a feeling T’Challa used to be well acquainted with. With a change in position and a whole new outlook on life, it was almost distasteful in the eyes of capitalism. He should be destroying buildings and constructing new and shinier ones, writing checks and stamping the outbox letters, attending gala after gala to bring home the prettiest woman there! All for the cameras, all for the spotlight, and for what exactly?

“I am not running.”

“I take it back,” Natasha stated, slurping the ice cubes from her empty glass. “But it’s what an intern would do.”

“You were met with a what this morning?”

You had to stifle your giggles after telling Luke about your rude awakening. The shower did nothing to freshen you up, but the gun, oh that worked perfectly. You quickly extracted the dollar bills from your clothing to hand them over to Luke for safe keeping. Not many of the girls did it, but everyone trusted Luke. If you didn’t have a break to put the money you earned for that hour in your locker, he would gladly keep it safe in a respected pile.

“All three of these guys I went to high school with. It was like choir all over again, except with guns instead of horribly practiced piano.”

Luke shook his head in disapproval, sliding a full glass of beer to the man down the isle. “Why does a man suffering with PTSD have a gun, anyway?”

You set down your tray of empty glasses and stared at Luke in confusion. “PTSD?”

“Sounds like a bad case if his first instinct was to kill.”

You sucked in a single ragged breath, focusing on Luke’s chin while you formulated your response to that. Bucky? PTSD? Sure, you knew he was excited to join the army after high school and ‘save the world’, he would say. He definitely wasn’t the same man considering ten years had passed since you last saw him- what, with the full grown beard, muscular build, and constant smoking habit. Oh, you could smell his breaks each time he left his bed in the middle of the night to smoke through the broken window in the living room. But PTSD? How hadn’t you figured that out by just this morning’s encounter?

“You think?”

Luke sighed and nodded, “The guy probably feels safe with that gun under his pillow. That’s enough info.”

You grimaced, “I don’t feel safe knowing it’s even there.”

“Understandable. But what are you going to do? Take it away from him?”

You chuckled slightly, picking the tray back up now that Luke changed the empty glasses to full ones. “It already has been. Steve’s neighbor took it without even asking.”

“You planning to stay there again tonight?”

You groaned, “I’m picking my shit up after my shift.”

Luke opened his mouth to speak but your boss rounded the corner to interrupt.

“Do I pay you to talk to the whores?”

Luke breathed through his nose and scrunched the napkin in his hand. You ignored your boss’s gruesome remark and instead looked over at your friend, silently begging him not to risk it. Luke resisted, like always, and whispered a small ‘sorry’. You gave Luke a little grin, walking over to the booth with the drinks and your famous hip sway.

“Could you just keep her company for a few minutes while I arrange the paperwork? She came all the way from the upper east-side because she heard my classes were just that good.”

Steve sighed but agreed anyway, because refusing the simplest request from Peggy was near damn impossible. “Sure thing.”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” Peggy cheered, grabbing her phone to head to her small office space. “I won’t be long! She’ll be here any minute!”

“I’ll make sure she enjoys herself.”

“Don’t scare her off, Rogers!”

“I won’t-!”

“Peggy?”

A small yet shrill voice sounded from the side of the studio. Peggy waved at her new customer.

“Wanda! So glad you could make it. Steve, here, will keep you company while I handle something real quick. I’ll be right back!”

“O-“ Peggy left before she could finish her sentence. “-K.”

“Um, hi! I’m Steve and I probably can’t teach you tango but I’m good company.”

Wanda set her stuff down and walked toward the middle of the room. “It’s alright.”

The air was thin for some unknown reason, but Wanda could have sworn she had the right idea. His last name sounded familiar, oh so familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. There was a heavy weight in her stomach and she begged silently for Peggy to come back. “Want to dance anyway?”

Steve chucked, “I don’t really dance.”

“Why are you here, then?”

Steve released a long “Uhhhhh...” before he crouched down to check if his shoes were neatly tied.

“You sound familiar,” Wanda verbally admits, walking over to her bag to get her dancing shoes. “Not your voice, obviously, but your name.”

“I’m not really recognizable,” Steve joked, patiently waiting for Wanda to put on her shoes or for Peggy to save this awkward encounter.

“Did we go to college together?”

“I went to NYU for like... a year.”

Wanda knew. She knew who Steve was. It took a few seconds, a few quick glances, but she knew who was standing in front of her. There was no way she could miss it considering Steve’s name spilled from Natasha’s lips every single day. Steve used to say this- Steve used to do that!- Steve was my first love!- it would never end. And it never bothered Wanda before because there wasn’t a time in her life where she thought she would ever meet the guy.

“Nevermind.”

She was going to nudge it out, reveal their similarities in partners, out of spite and a little out of pride.

“My girlfriend was going to go there but she decided to go to community college instead.”

“No shame in that,” Steve said, walking over to the stereo to start Peggy’s music and completely oblivious.

Wanda pushed further. “Yeah, Natasha was always destined for great things anyway!”

Steve stumbled a bit, clicking the buttons and blinking repeatedly. It was like he was slapped in the face with her constant, agitating tone. “That’s nice!”

Well, what else could he say? It was only a coincidence, Steve thought. There was no way the world was that small. However, Steve wasn’t stupid and knew there was a catch with this woman. If he ever knew Natasha, then he would understand the reason Wanda had traveled to the depths of fucking Brooklyn to take a dance class with a complete stranger. It was the same feeling Steve experienced when he was dating her- a feeling Wanda, without a doubt, was suffering under.

So he decided to play Wanda’s game for a while longer, nodding along to whatever ‘new’ information Wanda fed him about Natasha- how she dyed her hair red after the blonde completely killed her hair, how she studied in communications, and how she works for a brilliant martial arts studio in the winter.

Steve wasn’t about to lose this battle no matter how much he wanted to laugh at her silly attempts at picking at his insecurities. He wanted to catch Wanda completely off-guard, and that’s exactly what he did.

“Natasha sounds so different from when I used to sleep with her.”

It was low. A low blow. An incredibly derogatory, pitiful, but necessary low blow.

“Excuse me?”

The music sounded lowly, a quiet tango enveloping the two rivals. “I didn’t mean it in-”

“What did you mean, Steve?” Wanda seethed, angry that her attempts at making Steve crumble snapped back at her. The comment wasn’t even directed toward her and Wanda almost begged for it to be, but the comment centered around the love of her life. Steve insulted Natasha and all she wanted was for Steve to insult her.

“You were just going on and on! You obviously knew who I was!” Steve yelled quietly, not wanting to alert Peggy of the commotion.

“No,” Wanda said, reaching for Steve’s hands and interlocking their fingers in a tight stance, their chests resting against each other’s. “You meant something else.”

A rock to hide under sounded so good right about now. “I just wanted to make you mad.”

Wanda didn’t appreciate his response, even if she did egg him on. She was hurt, emitting the emotion throughout the studio to the one person she believed deserved to be on the receiving end.

“Hey, you’re dating my ex. Small world, but you don’t have to make me jealous about it. It’s been ten years.”

Wanda stuttered when Peggy pulled the door to her office open, both her and Steve standing close in a not-so compromising position. It felt like one, though.

“Hey! You’re dancing! Okay, I’ll only be a few more minutes!”

Then the door shut again, the music seemed to become louder, and the anger radiating from the small girl in front of Steve clogged his brain.

“This is weird.”

Steve twirled Wanda once, impressed by how quickly she snapped back into his arms, almost as if she was challenging him again with freakin’ tango. “It’s weird.”

Wanda groaned, backing up slightly but still allowing Steve to lead. “Very weird.”

“Fucking weird.”

“I’m so mad that I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, taking the liberty of leading from now on since Steve was so horrible at the simple task. “She skipped dinner and I had reservations! I was freezing while waiting for her outside that damn restaurant and to top it all off I’m with you!”

Steve swayed to the music, studying Wanda’s swirls of madness creeping from the sides of her eyes. It was familiar and from that moment on, Steve used the music and dancing to channel her anger from her. “Oh, I know this act.”

Wanda released her grip from one of Steve’s hands, unraveling and spreading her arms out. “What act?”

“It’s called, the Tango: Natasha.”

Wanda completely untangled herself from Steve, pushing him away to stare in bewilderment. “That sounds so fucking stupid.”

“Yeah,” Steve chuckled, crossing his arms and smirking. “It’s a dark, dizzy merry-go-round where she keeps you dangling and you never know what to expect! She skipped dinner, you said?”

Wanda shuffled uncomfortably, “You’re wrong.”

“She skipped dinner and her excuse was that she simply forgot, right?”

Wanda huffed a loud breath of air, “It’s different with me.”

“But you toss and you turn because her cold eyes can burn, and you’re waking up to the same routine all over again. Right?”

Wanda shook the thoughts from her head. Everything Steve was saying was unbelievably true, so sickeningly true, and her stomach was starting to churn. “Did you swoon when she walked through the door?”

Steve grinned, looking at his feet. “Everytime, so be cautious.”

Wanda rolled her eyes but persisted, “What did you think she was doing every time she skipped out?”

Steve sighed heavily and responded with a shrug. He held his hand out for her to take, eager to start the dance again instead of talking about an ex he hadn’t even spoken to since graduation. “I never assumed the worst of her. I loved her. She was just so secretive that it was slowly killing me.”

Wanda followed Steve around the studio, absentmindedly dancing for a while before she pushed him away again. Steve stumbled back but before he could ask why she did it, Wanda practically screeched, “She cheated!”

“Woah, woah! What makes you think she cheated on me?”

“No, not with you! Even though I see why she would, but she cheated on me!”

Steve stuffed the back-handed compliment deep within his chest. It wasn’t the right time to dissect that proposal. Still, he didn’t feel like comforting his ex-girlfriend’s, new girlfriend- someone he barely met- because it was just so weird.

“I doubt Natasha would-”

“I’m defeated, I should give up right now,” Wanda sputtered almost incoherently, running over to her bag to pack her things.

“Hey, don’t just assume-”

“Okay! Let’s dance!”

Steve stood completely still, eyes dramatically landing on Peggy and Wanda, Peggy and Wanda, until he threw his hands up. “Well, that’s my cue! I’ll start fixing the floor tomorrow, Peggy.”

Peggy happily giggled, unaware of the fight and revelations that just sneaked into the hard cracks on her studio floor.

“Where did you say he was?” Natasha asked, climbing through the all-to-familiar window.

“Out back.”

“Thanks.”

The apartment smelled like smoke. Not from a cigarette or a fire, but days old smoke that made even the heaviest drug addict sick to their stomach. Scott didn’t dare stay there for more than two hours. He only sat, received the money his clients made that week, and left. Each client came and went, one after the other with a fifteen minute division between each of them. No one knew each other, no one fought, and no one would even know they were working for Scott unless they stayed at his place for more than requested.

“Got it all?”

Natasha threw the wad towards him and lifted a single finger. “Don’t underestimate me.”

“I never do,” Scott smiled, taking out his checkbook to write the monthly allowance. “Still coming to the workshop this week?”

Natasha nodded, gladly accepting her earnings. “Teaching people how to fight? A fun hobby.”

“Well, when I’m not dealing heroin it’s a wonderful pastime!”

Natasha smirked and waved a small goodbye to her second boss. However, her day seemed to tragically rust because there was always that one person who found out- someone who didn’t follow the rules- and could possibly ruin the whole operation.

“I didn’t know Lang employed women.”

Stepping from the window onto the ground, Natasha clicked her key and shoved it between her fingers. She wanted to kill him, scream at him for pissing on Scott’s brilliant business tactics.

“You’re fifteen minutes early.”

The man shrugged and turned his head to chuckle, allowing Natasha to scan his body up and down. His pale skin made the smallest scratches visible, even the noticeable needle marks along his arms. If Natasha took anything away from this type of business, any rule that could follow her for the rest of her life, it would be that no one experiments with the merchandise if you’re actively selling it.

But Scott wouldn’t argue with it, because the more people he got hooked was just income.

“I see no problem here. Our little secret,” the man snickered, stepping around Natasha and climbing through that damn window.

A/N: WOW FUCKING KILL ME! I PROMISE THE NEXT UPDATE WILL BE WONDERFUL LMFAO I HATE MYSELF!

TAG LIST: @4theluvofall @ihavemymomentsstill @sumafamouxx @chook007 @shrekssunflowers @seems-sosimple @evyiione @fireflyloki28 @smollyssa

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captainvictoryboat · 6 years

Text

Behind The Scenes 4 (7/?)

Author’s note: I last minute changed a part of this scene so i am not use how much i like it or how it is going to effect everything. (technically i took a detail out so yeah i don’t want this to change things too much)

*The part i took out was because the topic was a trigger to me, so i only scratched the surface the whole thing. You still get the main idea, i just imply more that what is written. I am sorry about that*

Genre: fluff? (but with suga)

Word Count: 1793

Summary: Suga and y/n bring up kinda bring up somme deep stuff.

ALL PARTS

( i am debating making a new gif for this part. I still don’t know how far i will go with the story but this gif is like a bit over a year old haha)

You heard a loud thud right next to you. You opened your eyes and searched of the source of the sound.

“Aish.” He grunted. Immediatley you recognized who it was

Your eyes adjusted to the dark room and you saw the silhouette in the fetal position grabbing his knee.

“Yoongi are you okay?” you whispered

“Yeah” he groaned as he crawled up to you. “Scoot over and don’t hog the blanket this time.”

You moved to the wall, giving him enough space to join you

When he situated himself next to you, he fixed the blanket over the two of you. His hand went to your wait and you scooted closer to him.

You could sensed his body heat and already felt so much warmer. You could smell his faded cologne, happy that you weren’t getting any hints of beer on him

“Hi.” He said with a bit of frustration in his voice

Things had changed over the past week and a half. V went back to his room, jimin fnially able to sleep in his own bed again. Jin’s resentment towards you had come down a tiny bit and he only stuck to the enraged stare if you ever encountered each other in the living room on those late nights watching tv with v. Suga and Jhope were actually trying to cut down again. You could see it. They were still struggling but they were trying harder than they were the first time. Jungkook… There was more space between you and Jungkook. According to V, Jungkook felt you wee a bit mad at him over the argument with your dad. V said that he therefore advised Jungkook to give you some space (because he remembered how annoyed you were about Jungoook and Suga). Jimin however denied this. Jimin pointed out that Jungkook never listens to anyone so he wouldn’t listen to V’s advice. Jimin said that Jungkook was just going to the gym more because he wanted to make sure he looked good for the comeback. You weren’t too sure which was the real reason and you didn’t really care. You liked that he wasn’t around because it made everything easier with Suga. Suga was the one sneaking into your room every so often so you coud talk some more(*cough* make out a bit *cough*). Tonight was probably his third night coming over to be with you.

“Hello Mr. Grumpy.”

“I am sleep deprived, hungry, physically drained, going through withdraws, stressed, and I just tripped and hurt my knee do you really blame me for being grumpy?” he said with a tired smile “I want to get drunk so bad!” he whined. “ Remind me why I am not blacked out right now.”

“Because you claim to love me.”

“Oh yeah.” he remembered, as he leaned in for a kiss.

You let him kiss you, unable to deny his lips. But you left it at just one to let him know you were trying to be serious about not wanting him to drink.

“If you are so tired, why are you in here again?”

He gasped at you. “Again? You think I am in here too much? you don’t want me here or what?”

You laughed and slapped his arm. “You know what I mean.”

He shrugged. “I can’t sleep. You know how it is.

“You have really deep bags under your eyes from not sleeping. I am sure the stylists are mad at you. Have you tried sleeping medicine? Being sleepy isn’t gonna help with your writing either. Hobi told me that Namjoon was on your ass the other day and had a melt down at the studio.

His eyes shifted a bit. You could feel his body get tense. “Last thing in need to to get myself fixed on pills like Hobi.” He mumbled. “I just got a lot on my mind and getting drunk is the only thing that would help.” there he was bringing up the beer again. He had done well with going cold turkey so far, but by the way he was whining, things were getting harder without it.

“What do you keep thinking about?”

He rolled onto his back, putting space between the two of you. “Nothing.”

“It doesn’t seem like that. Is it the deadline? The solo?”

“No”

“Is it jin? You all have been good in keeping him away. My bruises are gone now. I am fine… except for my pa- Is that what is getting to you?" Lately that is where your mind always went. Being alone in the room, all you would do was think oof your parents. Thankfully the guys were aware and they would try to cheer you up, this being now of the reasons suga snuck in. He never said it, but you knew he went back to this tactic of sneaking into your room and coming into your bed as a way of keeping your mind off your parents. But maybe this was putting alot of stress on him, maybe you were the reason he was feeling this way.

“No!” He rolled back on his side and pulled you into hug. “you aren’t stressing me out. Don’t think that way.”

Still, just bringing them up made you sad again and you coudn;t help but start crying.

“Hey don’t cry. It’s alright.”

“I just miss them.” you whimpered.

“I know I know. But remember what we said the other night. We know that they still love you, they are just upset because that dickhead down the hall lied. And we agreed that was for the best! It means that they aren’t going to be on his radar anymore ad they are going to be safe.”

“…Yeah”

He wiped away the tears that trickled down the side of your face. “ What’s bothering me is nothing, don’t worry about it ok.”

A very stubborn you shook your head at him. You weren’t going to let yourself get distracted with your own problem “No. I know you want to talk about it. Don’t feel like you cant tell me anything anymore! I can take it. I am here for you. Tell me. Talking about it might help you sleep. It might keep you from wanting to drink. Tell me.”

You could make out his features from the light coming in between the curtain. You could see the creases on his forehead, the uneasy look in his eye as he looked at you, his quivering lip. He was conflicted. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

“Yoongi, tell me.”

“…It’s Aiko.” He said to so softly you could barey hear him despite how close he was to you

Hearing her name broght back a waved of memories and emotion. You let out a deep breath “Oh… ok” you said as you tried to hold back that tears that were forming in your eyes again

“I can’t get her out of my head.” he sniffled. “I can’t stop thinking about how her family is feeling right now. I can’t stop thinking of what things would be like if I just did one thing different. I can’t get your words out of my head. You were right, she trusted me! I hurt her when all she did was want to do something for me! And- And the little sleep I get, she is in my dreams! And- she- she talks to me and-“ that’s when he broke.

He shoved his head in to the pillow. He was crying so hard, although muffled, his sobs filled the room.

“What’s going on?” Jimin’s sleepy voice asked.

You saw jimin sit up from the bed

That’s when Suga tried to stop crying.

“Yoongi?” Jimin turned on his lamp. “Yoongi are you crying?”

“It’s nothing Jimin.” You told “Can you just give us a few minutes.”

“…Yeah… I- I have to go to the bathroom anyway…” Jimin said as he slowly got off the bed. His confused eyes were glued on suga as he left the room. “Are you sure everything gis ok?”

“Yeah we are only talking

JK POV

Blood. Fire. Guns. The nightmares wouldn’t stop. How could he sleep with dead eyes staring back at him.

Jungkook stood up from his bed in a cold sweat. He looked at his phone, 2:17am. There was only five hours left before he was supposed to wake up.

He took off his shirt, just a way to try and cool down. His fingers ran through his damp hair in an attempt to calm himself down and remind himself that everything was a dream. (of course it didn’t help since he knew that although, yes it was a nightmare, it was still a reality that he was causing)

“Water. I need water...”

His sore legs moved moved him out of the room and down the hall. In the dark hallway, the light coming from under the bathroom was enough to light the way to the kitchen. He didn’t care who was up, his mission was to go quench his thrist

In the kitchen he dug himself into the fridge in search of a bottle of water. Once he did, he chugged it sown in a good 10 seconds

It was when he hunched over to catch his breath, the idea came to him to go to y/n’s room. A week had been long enough to give her some space. Things were probably better now.

He was a bit more awake as he waddled down the hall. He reached for the door knob when suddenly it moved. In a panic, he jumped back and shuffled in the direction of the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” Jungkook heard a voice ask him just as he was a few feet from the kitchen

He stopped, it was time to be cool. He “yawned” as he turned around to the source of the question. “What?” he grumbled, scratching a fake itch on his chest.

“What are you doing?” suga asked more harshly

“I thought I lived in south korea, when was it illegal for me to get some water.”

Suga scoffed at him

“But I think I should be the one asking you that. Why are you coming out of y/n’s room?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I said it before, if it involves y/n, it is my business.”

Suga walked up to him, stucking his jaw out all smug like. “So just becuase you are her fake boyfriend you think you can starting interrogating me as if are her real one? I think you are forgetting who it the hyung here, let alone your actually relationship to y/n.”

Jungkook looked right into Suga’s bloodshot eyes. “Just because you are older doesn’t make you any better than me or any better for y/n. Leave her alone and let her sleep instead of bothering her with your drunk ranting.”

“I’m not bothering her if she wants me in there. Not like you would know, she doesn’t even look in your direction.” Suga said as he walked off to his room

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shadowofthelamp · 6 years

Text

Talking with the Grunkles

I... just realized I never put up the next part of this, whoops. Dipper talks to Ford and Stan one on one. Mabel’s is done and I’m working on Dipper’s.

Dib had never realized that while he’d always talked at people, he’d been sorely missing having someone actually take him seriously enough to talk back.

“And then there was that whole disaster on Halloween, with the dimensional scope...” Dib shivered, fingers curling around the mug of tea. He was nearly midnight, and the family had just gotten home from investigating intelligent fireflies that moved in packs and could create morse code. Everyone else had trekked up to their rooms, (except for Soos who had fallen asleep at the kitchen table) so Dib and Ford were sitting on the couch in the tv room together.

“Dimensional scope?”

“It was one of Dad’s older inventions. It viewed alternate realities, but only around the location of the scope, and it was wired into the ceiling. He stopped using it after he realized he’d eventually invent everything in alternate versions of his lab, though, I guess he was kinda sad that such a cool idea didn’t really go very far. I was messing around with it, and…” Phantom static buzzed through his arms, and he unconsciously curled forward, images of the twisted nightmares flashing through his head.

“Are you alright?” A heavy hand settled on his shoulder, and Dib tensed.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s stupid, it happened over a year ago anyways.” At that, Ford turned Dib towards him.

“If something bad happened, it’s not bad to talk about it. I had to learn that the hard way.” His gaze drifted upwards, towards the ceiling. “I’m still learning it. I know you don’t know me very well, but I assure you, I only want to help.”

Dib blinked up at him, before taking another sip of tea and setting it down on the table.

“Like I said, I was messing with the scope, and then I tripled the output. It overloaded the machine or something, and even after I left, I kept getting flashes of a twisted version of reality that was all gross and spidery and fleshy and man, it was just awful! From what they said, it was made out of my imagination somehow, which kind of freaked me out since it was such a nightmarish mess. Everyone and everything was horrible monsters, and I kept getting yanked between there and reality. I guess nobody noticed me disappearing because I just got sent to the crazy house, and when I went to Zim for help, he got dragged in too.”

Ford’s eyes were wide. “This all happened to you last year?”

Dib nodded. “They ended up strapping me down to some kind of weird flesh-table sacrifice thing in order to escape through my head. Zim got me out but forced his way through my head to escape. That jerk… anyway, one of almost made it, but she saw everybody in their costumes and saw that our world was worse than hers.” He reached up to touch the small mark on his forehead where that nightmare version of Miss Bitters had clawed her way out. “It hurt.”

“Did the flashes keep coming?”

“No, that was it.” Dib reached for the cup of tea again. He didn’t realize his hands were shaking until he sloshed lukewarm tea unto his fingers.

When Ford spoke again, it was with sympathy. “Nightmares?”

“A few.” Dib mumbled. “Kinda hard to get trapped in a nightmare realm without having some side effects.”

He hadn’t realized Ford had tensed up until he turned to him. “...Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, just…” Ford was rubbing his fingers against the bottom of his sweater. “Your choice of words was a bit more apt than I was expecting.” He took a deep breath, then let it out, forcing up a smile. “Let’s just say that I’ve been in that position before, and I know that it doesn’t really leave you as quickly as you’d like. You’re incredibly strong, Dib.” He didn’t offer any more explanation, and Dib knew better than to ask. He leaned back on the couch, and closed his eyes, just taking in the pine scent mixed with the low creaking of the wood in the house.

When he opened them, he was tucked in with a blanket and light was streaming through the window.

__________

Dib grew to like Stan. At first he just seemed gruff, but it’s clear that Dipper and Mabel both brought out his soft side, and after a while Dib got pulled in too.

“Hey, kid, get me a soda too, will ya?” Stan calls out from the front porch while Dib is grabbing a water bottle full of something orange and full of sparkles for Mabel out of the fridge. “Get yourself one too, you’re a sweaty mess. Dipper’s rubbing off on you.”

When Dib walks back out, Mabel holds her arms out. “Throw it!”

“Are you-”

“Are you doubting me?” She puts one hand on her hip and makes a pouty face, and Dib shrugs, chucking it at her, the bottle arching through the air. She scrambled back, and nearly dropped it but managed to get a good grip. “Thanks!”

“Yeesh, you’re a disaster.” Stan grumbled from behind him. “Sit down before you get a heatstroke.”

Dib plopped down on the ragged old couch, handing Stan the soda he’d asked for. The old man cracked it open and took a long slurp. “Aaah, that’s better.”

“So… have you lived here long?” Dib kicked his legs, and Stan turned to him.

“Whaddya mean? I lived here for thirty years, if that counts as long. But if you’re gonna ask me about all the paranormal junk, you’re better off going to Ford.”

“Well, yeah, I knew that, but anyone living here that long has to have some stories.”

Stan chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve got a few. They ever mention the time I raised a baby dino?”

“They didn’t.”

Stan immediately launched into the story, hands waving and voice lilting as he told Dib about Compy, the dino that ended up a pickpocket like her proud pappa Stan.

“And anyways, we visited her last week. She’s growing up nicely, although Sprott really ain’t happy she keeps pecking at his safe,” Stan finished. He flashed an award-winning smirk down at Dib, and gently punched his shoulder. “That cool enough for you?”

Dib grinned. “It is.”

“Y’know, you both remind me of Ford as a kid.” Stan mused. “You and Dipper. You two stick together, hear me? Mabel showed me how’ta use email when we were sailing, that’s good. Having somebody’ll help you a lot in the long run. You got any siblings?”

“A sister.”

“Get along?”

“Sometimes.”

“Talk stuff out. It’s a hecka’va lot easier to do that when you’re kids then when you’re cranky and old and fat.” Stan poked Dib in the chest, right in between the eyes of the face on his shirt. “Got it?”

“Yeah. I’ve got it.” Dib watched Mabel chasing around a couple of fairies for a moment while Dipper was trying to get them to talk. “Thanks.”

“Anytime. I’m full of great advice.” Stan paused. “Hey, that thing on your head.”

Dib automatically reached up and touched the long lock of hair. “Yeah?”

“I ain’t gonna touch it, but… how’d’ya keep it up like that?”

“I dunno how it works, it’s just like that naturally.” Dib shrugged.

“You ever try stabbing someone with it?”

Dib stared at him for a long moment. “What? It’s hair. Yeah, sure, it’s shaped kind of weird but I don’t think it’s- how would I even do that? Headbutt somebody from the back?”

“Don’t underestimate the headbutt when somebody is holding you. Saved me more than once.” Stan replied, taking another sip of the soda.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

#dib membrane #ford pines #grunkle stan #gravity falls #invader zim #shadow writes stuff

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