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lackingspace · 4 years

Text

Incensed (Bo Sinclair x Reader)

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 2.5K

Summary: Bo is having a shit morning and you’re not making it any better. When some tourist wander in his irritation spikes exponentially. Why the fuck would you think flirting with one of them would be ok?

Warnings: Bo being an irate ass, Possible offensive language, Punishment, Degradation, Spanking, Dirty talk

A/N: Ok, not my typical content, but its House of Wax day and I’m thirst af I love those boys, so I wanted to celebrate. Angry Bo just came out, so that’s what y’all get (╯°□°）╯ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

AO3 Link: Incensed

You were goddamn doing it again. Bo was so fucking fed up. It’d been a shitty morning of waking up to a blaring hangover. Breakfast had Lester and you chattering like incessant little birds while Vincent's mute ass self was somehow still being too damn loud.

He’d snapped when you laughed in the high twinkling pitch that usually hit him somewhere uncomfortable in his chest but now split his brain in two. “Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up!” Everyone stopped to stare over at him, even Vincent mid-bite, turned to stare him down.

You had a disgusted and offended look on your face that almost made him want to feel bad, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t when his head was splitting and only getting worse. You spat at him in annoyance, “What the hell, Bo?”

He grabbed his coffee cup and grunted, “Can a man drink his fucking coffee in peace? Y’all are being so fucking loud with your bullshit.” You crossed your arms and leaned forward against the table, “No, not when a ‘man’ is gonna be a dick before 9 am.” You’d said, ‘man’, so venomously he felt a tiny spark of pride because that surely was something you’d picked up from him. Regardless, he ignored it because his temper took precedence. White-knuckling his cup he took a sip before hissing at you, “The fuck did you say?”

Vincent and Lester were both looking at you now. Vinny's gaze concerned, worried, while Lester put a hand on your shoulder saying your name. You looked away from the ass at the counter and back to your friend, “Just don’t, s’not worth it.” You looked at Vincent and he shook his head, so after pursing your lips you sighed out, “Nothing.”

Bo took another sip as his anger simmered down, “S’what I fuckin thought.” He saw your jaw clench. And that felt fucking good. So when you’d followed him out to his truck after breakfast he was surprised. You walked to his passenger side and let yourself in before he could say anything. Getting in himself he turned to you, “Can I fuckin help you, princess?”

The look you gave him was like a mocking taunt, “Nah, but I could probably help you.” Bo wasn’t in the mood to play games, so he just cranked the engine and shifted gears with an eye roll, “Suit your fuckin self.”

You’d been so fucking annoying too. Following him around, commenting just enough to get under his skin, but not enough to make him want to glue your mouth shut. But God, was he contemplating it...be a waste of your pretty lips though. You’d started questioning him on mechanic things and fuck was it annoying, but they seemed like genuine questions and damn if it didn’t feel nice to have someone admire his skill for once.

But when some jock ass pricks rolled up asking for some car help, well, the side-eye you’d given him, screamed trouble. The little asshats had thought you were the receptionist, that made Bo laugh as he thought to himself, ‘receptionist my ass’. But you’d been nice and accommodating to the boys. Leaning on the counter showing them some ample cleavage that made Bo ready to say fuck his brother's art and gouge out their eyes himself for looking.

But you kept it up and he was about ready to strangle someone when you decided it was a good idea to start flirting with one of the fucks. He fucking hated when you got in a mood- you were stubborn as all get out and it never worked out in Bo’s favor when you got like this. He knew he’d been an ass earlier, but any small amount of guilt he’d had quickly evaporated. Not when he could tell you actually fucking thought one of em was cute. It wasn’t just a fake blush you were giving the twink.

Bo groaned in disgust when you laughed at something stupid that’d been said. He caught your gaze and gave you a glowering look that said ‘fuckin cut it out he wasn't in the mood.’ but the smug little smirk you returned said something different.

His mood darkened quickly when the asshole actually put a hand on you. Fucking touching you wasn’t gonna fly. Not with the morning he’d had. The little prick was on the top of Bo's shit list in an instant with your name right under it. If the little twit moved his hand any lower on your back Bo would have reached over and broke it. Instead, he didn’t and just left it so you’d realize how absolutely fucked you were.

Wiggling out from under the tourist's arm you giggled an excuse and walked back over to where Bo was. Inside you were sweating because he hadn’t stepped in like you’d thought and that spoke to how pissed he was. How fucked you were. It wasn't like you didn’t know he was mad. And, sure, you’d known what you were doing. Stopping way earlier was probably smarter, but you never claimed to be a genius, so when flirting presented itself, well, it had seemed perfect.

You’d been annoyed at him this morning, and maybe had wanted some payback. Wanted to annoy him because he’d been such an ass not only this morning but all damn week. It wasn’t fair for Lester and Vinny to constantly have to walk on eggshells when Bo was just fucking ornery.

And ok, you'd admit that you’d pushed a little too far here though. Especially with how possessive Bo was. He’d even get pissed when you tried to drink some of his coffee. So some random guy, not his brother, putting their arm around you was like a death wish. And God, was he standing beside you deathly silent-- it had you fucking sweating for real. It wasn’t the guy you were worried about, he was dead either way, but you'd maybe just fucked yourself royally. Bo's punishments were unpredictable- very good or very bad. You’d consider yourself lucky if he just ignored you or bitched for a few weeks until you were finally privileged enough for a spanking. God, there was something sick in you though because you still wanted it even if he edged you for a month before forgiving you.

He gave some excuse to the group through clenched teeth that he'd be able to work on their vehicle, but needed to take care of something downstairs first, and that they should go out and find something to do. They'd accepted his answer and left the shop none the wiser.

You'd never felt his hand grip the back of your neck faster in your life. In a deep growl, “You little bitch.” He tightened his grip, “ You’re fucking coming with me and don't even think about making a fucking peep. If you wanna be a slut I'll show you what sluts get." he kept to a slow walk until the both of you were out of view, then he all but pushed you down the stairs leading to his playroom.

He didn't even bother opening the door, just pushed you against the wall next to it-- your cheek smashed against it he invaded your space, "Think you're real slick trying to play with that little bitch in front of me?" you whined out an "I'm sorr-" but he cut you off, "What’d I fucking say?”

You cut your whine instantly, “And see, you're not sorry. You'da stopped when I fucking told you to if you were." He leaned in closer and you could hear the growl- the anger in his voice directly in your ear, "You were too busy bein a filthy fucking attention whore. Good thing you didn’t let him grab that ass otherwise I don't give a fuck how sweet that pussy is, you'd be out too. Vincent can have a hissy fit later."

Shit, you knew he was pissed, but damn this was pissed. You tried to actually apologize, "Bo, I'm s-" But his hand came up to lift your face off the wall to grip your cheeks tightly, "Nuh-uh, Don't you fucking Bo me. You're gonna shut the fuck up while I give you something to be sorry for." He pushed against your ass as he leaned over to open the door and God, he was half hard already.

Dragging your through, he made it to the edge of the bed “You're gonna sit that little ass over my lap and I'm gonna make it so Vinny’s gonna have to fucking ice it for a week." You groaned because fuck, you knew this was supposed to be a punishment and it was definitely going to hurt, but damned if you didn't need it. Him being actually pissed was hot as hell and even if you couldn’t sit for a week you really couldn’t find it in you to be mad about that. The man didn't know the power he had over you when he was pushing you around like this.

He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled you roughly over his lap. His hand on the back of your neck slid up to grip a tight fist of your hair pushing your face into the mattress. His other ripped off your skirt and panties all in one go, "You’re gonna fuckin count them you cunt and thank me for each one." You tried to nod but the fist didn't allow any movement so you let out a muffled, "Ok, yes sir." His fist tightened in preparation as your breath hitched and delivered the first rough smack to your bare ass. Your muscles tightened at the sting, "One, Thank you, sir!" he grunted and gave another just as rough-- you winced and jolted up, "Two! Thank you, sir!"

On it went until you were sobbing in his lap from the pain and how much your clit ached. “Twenty! Thank you, sir!” He hadn't gone easy, wasn’t about that. Not even a little. Taking all his aggression out on your ass and you really couldn't say you were mad about it. Sure it hurt and would probably leave some bruising, but damn it really was a good hurt.

Even when he soothingly ran a hand over the area your ass stung, "Don't give me that crying, I can tell from your sloppy pussy how much you liked this." he slid a finger through your drenched folds, "It's like Niagara falls down here. You're a little slut for this, aren't ya?" You shook your head in denial, not wanting to give him that if he was gonna be an ass about it. He slid a finger back through your folds and your hips lifted off he lap in want, "Look at that. Can't even fucking help yourself."

A swift smack shocked your system back into pain, "Don't fuckin try to take what I'm not giving, whore." You rubbed your face into the mattress trying to get yourself under control as you squeezed your thighs together. With a deep breath, “I'm sorry, sir” He laughed, "You’re really fuckin not. But I'll let it slide because I'm feelin generous.” He slid a finger into your pussy and you instantly clenched around it, but tried to stay as still as possible, “This just want you wanted, huh? My fingers in this whore cunt of yours? Think I deserve a fuckin apology after all your shit today.”

You could tell he was calmer now, but that meant dangerous. Too bad dangerous also meant sexy. And you’d give this asshole whatever he wanted as long as he’d keep sliding his fingers in and out of you, “I'm waiting, Princess.” and he slipped a second finger in scissoring them, you groaned, "I'm sorry! Ok, Bo?! I'm so fucking sorry! I shouldn't have! I knew what I was doing and that you weren't in a good mood, but I did it anyways. God, I'm sorry Daddy, please don't be mad!" you were shaking in his lap and fuck, wait...oh fuck you'd never let that slip before. Shit, you felt yourself tense up just as his cock twitched under you. Fist still in your hair pulled your face up, "What was that?!" You stayed silent and he gave a hard jerk, winching in pain, "I'm sorry....Daddy" he groaned, "Too fucking right, baby girl."

He’d started his fingers back up, roughly pushing them in and out of you, “Bein a bad girl pushing Daddy’s buttons like that. But you did so good taking that spanking.” with a twist of his hand you felt him brush up against that spongy area inside that had your hips jerk up into his hand and sobbing out a moan, “Daddy’s gonna be real sweet to you and fuck this cunt open.” you moaned again at the idea. He was so hard against you and damn did you want it inside you more than anything. You didn’t have to wait long because after another twist of his wrist he pulled his fingers out, swiped them through your folds, and gave a circle to your clit before pulling away completely. You whined, but felt him move the two of you, “Keep that fucking face in the mattress and ass up.”

Pulling your legs underneath to prop yourself up in the position he wanted, “That's right, baby. Now spread yourself open for me. Show me that pussy.” Your face burned, god he could be so nasty, but you loved it and did as he asked. Reaching both hands back to spread yourself open for him.

You heard him shuffling before you felt a hand settle on your lower back. “Look at that red ass and wet little hole.” He smoothed a hand down a cheek before he gave it a much lighter smack. You groaned and felt yourself pulse around nothing, “Look at that slutty pussy clench.” He ran a finger from the start of your ass down through your folds, coming to a stop at your clit and gave a few circles to it.

“Don't worry, sunshine, Daddy’s got somethin to fill it up with.” His hand moved away and then you felt the length of him slide up through your folds. You couldn’t stop the moan that fell from your lips as he smacked it against your pussy a few times, “Feel that? I’m gonna stretch you open real good, darlin’.” Sliding his cock back down to press the tip against your clit he brushed it back up to rest at your opening, “You gonna be a good girl and take it like a whore for me?”

Drool had steadily been falling from your lips but you couldn’t find it in you to care. Your hair was a mess and face felt on fire, but the only thing your existence came down to at that moment was the way his cock was just breaching into you- just teasingly stretching you. Slowly his words filtered through your brain to which you rapidly nodded and whined out a “Please!”

He slid in slowly before the last syllable left your mouth.

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impala-dreamer · 4 years

Text

Watch Your F!cking Mouth!

SPN FanFic

~Dean gets whammied with an especially frustrating curse and Y/N tries to keep him calm, much to her amusement and annoyance.~

Dean x Reader

1,984 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Foul Language. Oral Sex. Intercourse. Comedy.

A/N: I'll be honest, this took me all day to write because I kept stopping to laugh. I just... Idek. It's ridiculous. Enjoy :)

My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon

“Son of a broadcaster!”

Y/N looked up as Dean stumbled backwards, reaching down to rub his shin after whacking it against the bedpost.

“Still?” she asked; hint of a laugh on her breath.

“Yeah, yeah, shuttie.” He rolled his eyes and stood up, limping his way towards the couch. "You know, this is some real hogswallop! I mean what the fig!"

Y/N's laugh broke free and Dean growled as he fell down onto the sofa.

"This isn't funny! It's balderdash!"

Trying to calm down, Y/N put her book down and frowned at him. "I'm sorry, baby. This is really fucked up. Super funny...but fucked up."

"It's not ducking funny!" he shouted, sulking into the cushions. "What the fork kinda nasty basted witch curses someone like this? It's like my tongue has flagging autocorrect!"

"I only got like half of that, to be honest."

“Please shut the freight up and leave me be.” Dean sighed, letting his head fall against the seat back. “I just wanna be able to open my gold digging mouth and have the right frosted words come out!”

Quickly, Y/N left her seat and went to him, hating to see him so frustrated, even if it made her laugh harder than she had in a long time. For the last six hours, Dean had been cursed with the inability to curse as if he were stuck on some network television show. The worst he’d been able to muster was a ‘freakin’’ when Sam had knocked over his beer, but after a while, he just gave up and stopped talking. It was quiet without him, but Y/N couldn’t imagine how tough it was to think one thing and have your tongue twist it into another.

“Hey,” she said softly, perching on the coffee table in front of him. “Sam said it should only last a few more hours. Then you’ll be back to cursing like the sailor I know and love.”

“It’s not just that,” he said with a whimper, shaking his head at the ceiling. “I can not curse, it’s not like I have to constantly-”

“I know, baby,” she soothed, placing her hand on his knee.

“It’s just that I should be able to say what I wanna say when I flamingo say it!”

Y/N coughed to hide her laugh and Dean’s head popped up, his eyes narrowed on her smirk. “Don’t laugh at me, please. For frying sake, it actually hurts. Like there’s a sharp pain in the front of my head every time I try to say ‘fling’.” Dean pointed to the spot, right above his left eyebrow and cringed as he tried to curse. “Salad dressing! Gah!”

“Well, stop, ya moron!” Y/N teased, scooting a big closer. “Just stop talking!”

Dean glared. “Do you have any idea how hard that is for me? Come on.”

“You wanna talk about your feelings about where our relationship is going? That shuts you up quick.”

Her smirk was on point.

His eye roll was superb.

Y/N sighed but kept a sweet smile. “Dean, just...relax, OK? It’ll be over soon, I promise.” Her fingers curled around his knee.

He let out a breath and his shoulders dropped a bit. “Fine. Yeah.”

“There’s my good boy,” she teased, pushing her hand slowly up his thick thigh, nails dragging on the rough denim as she came back down. “Just relax.”

Dean shivered as her thumb brushed over his dick. “This is… quite relaxing… farm…”

Y/N bit her lip to keep from laughing, wanting to focus on distracting them both from his new speech impediment. “Shh…” Her palm rubbed against him and Y/N felt his cock push back, growing hard beneath the tightness of his jeans.

“Feels so nice, baby,” he whispered, wiggling his ass against the seat to try and ease the strain. “Love when you play with my coins.”

She let out a deep, slow breath to calm her giggles and set her other hand on his leg, sliding off of the table onto her knees. “I like it too, Dean,” she cooed, massaging his inner thighs with both hands. “But you know what I love?”

His eyes glazed over as he looked to her in lustful anticipation.

She bit her lip and reached for his belt, easily loosening the leather strap. “I love…” The brass button came free with a pop. “Sucking…” She eased the zipper down slowly, carefully. “Your big…” Reaching in, she pushed aside the thin cotton of his boxers. “Beautiful…” She pulled him free and Dean moaned in desperation as she bent her lips to the swelling head. “Cock.”

“Oh, Jiminy Christmas!”

Y/N kissed the tip and Dean whimpered pitifully.

“Please…”

“Love it when you beg, Dean,” she growled, flicking the tip of her tongue against the base of his cock, watching as he twitched. “Such a good boy.”

Dean lifted his hips as she licked a stripe from base to tip and grabbed a fistful of her hair, forcing her to hold still while he groaned. “Stop forging teasing me and get to work.”

Her smile was abandoned as Dean jerked his hips, shoving his cock between her lips. She hummed in excitement and sucked hard, sealing her lips around him as his hand pushed her down.

“Yes...fang...you take my cab so good, baby.”

His cock hit the back of her throat and Y/N gagged loudly, drool spilling from the corners of her mouth as he released his hold on her head.

“Flame, baby, love that sound. Makes my drum so hard.”

Y/N did her best not to laugh, trying to ignore his insane dirty talk and keep her mind on her task. As long as he didn’t talk, she was fine, working his cock like a pro, teasing and taking him deeper and deeper with each pass.

When his breath quickened and his moans became dark, Y/N pulled back, looking up at him with innocent, wide eyes, her lips bobbing gently over his leaking head.

Dean reached for her, big hands closing around the soft flesh of her upper arms. “Get up here,” he breathed. “Golly, I wanna factor that sweet little poinsetta so faking bad.”

She laughed, she couldn’t help it. Y/N closed her eyes and sealed her lips tight as the chuckle shook her entire body. “I can’t. I’m so sorry, Dean. I can’t.”

His grip tightened on her arms. “Please.” His face was red, muscles in his throat tense and exposed; a thin sheet of sweat sparkled on his brow and upper lip. “Please, baby. I gotta falafel you. Now.”

Dean grit his teeth in a growl but Y/N couldn’t take much more.

“Baby,” she laughed, sitting back on her heels, “I...I can’t…”

Green eyes went wide with pained disappointment. “What? No…” He reached for her, leaning forward to grab her face between his warm hands. “Please, Y/N. Don’t leave me like this,” he begged, the pathetic yet passionate tone in his voice making her pussy throb. “I need you so bad.”

While Y/N pondered the situation, wondering if she could stash her giggles while he took her for a ride, Dean sucked his bottom lip fully between his teeth and then slowly let it slide back out, wet and red and swollen. Y/N’s cunt clenched and her heart raced; her fate was sealed.

“Please.”

Y/N sucked in a deep breath and jumped up, opening her jeans as she stood. “OK,” she told him firmly, “but you keep your mouth shut. I can’t take anymore, I really can’t.”

Dean’s gleeful smile was perfection, dimples and lines and bright teeth on display. “Yes, totally. No more talking.” He zipped his lips with two fingers and nodded enthusiastically as she peeled her panties away. “Not another word.”

“You promise?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.”

Dean held his breath as Y/N climbed into his lap, kissing him hard while she gripped his cock and rubbed it through her slick. His eyes rolled back when she rolled her hips, grinding her clit against his hardness; grabbed her thighs as she slowly sank down.

“Oh…f-”

Y/N bit down hard on his lip to stop his cursed cursing and his words turned into a yelp instead.

“R-ride me,” he gasped, blunt nails digging into her tender flesh.

Setting her hands on his shoulders, Y/N began to ride, slowly bouncing in his lap and watching as he fell apart.

“Y/N…” Dean buried his face in her shirt, panting as he struggled to hold his tongue.

“Shhh…” Y/N fucked down hard, hoping to distract his brain, pull his mouth away from words and push it towards empty whimpers and lustful moans.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, breath heavy against her neck as he kissed any place he could reach. “Feel so good on my camp, fringe!”

Y/N slapped a hand to the back of his head and tugged at his short hair. “Dean!”

“Sorry, sassafras! Flange, it just- you feel so amazing. Please, don’t stop!”

Her nails scraped across his scalp. “Then shut up!”

“Yes. Shut up. Yes!”

She licked into his mouth and bounced faster, feeling the moment blossom.

“Holy feathers, I-I’m gonna capitalize! Fire! Freckles!”

“Do it,” she moaned, tugging on his hair until his chin lifted to hers. “Give it to me, Dean.”

It did not take long. Dean held her close, arms tight around her back, hands pawing at her shoulders and ass as he came, a strangled cry filling the room.

“Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!”

Y/N laughed so hard she nearly fell off of his lap, giving up entirely on cumming or trying to stay calm. “Did you just? Really? Oh my god, Dean.”

He kissed her cheek and pulled his lips across, capturing her shaking lips with a sloppy kiss. “Shh…”

“Don’t shush me, Winchester,” she laughed, kissing him back quickly before peeling herself away. “This is too much.”

He caught her hand before she went too far, yanking her back so hard that she fell into his arms. “I’m not done with you,” he said firmly, another kiss stopping her laugh and melting every muscle. Dean pushed her down onto her back, shifting to sit between her legs. “You need to confetti.”

She whimpered around a laugh as Dean leaned down, laying kiss after kiss on her belly. “Please stop talking…”

He lifted his eyes to hers with a smirk as his hands wrapped around her thighs. “I’m done talking,” he said, licking his lips. “I’m gonna eat this prism until you crank all over my face.”

“Jesus christ, shut up!”

Her frustration turned to pleasure as Dean kept his word, sucking hard on her clit as his fingers caressed her pulsing cunt, massaging deep inside as her body writhed above.

“Fuck! Dean!”

He never let up, drawing her orgasm out until her legs began to shake. When her thighs clamped around his head, he slowed to a kitten lick, enjoying the glow of her smile and the sexy whimpers as she came down.

“Come here,” she whispered, releasing his head and reaching for him, needing him close.

Dean smiled sweetly and wiped his mouth before sliding up her body and collapsing on top of her. “Damn, baby,” he sighed. “That was fan-fucking-tastic.”

Y/N gasped, eyes wide and smiling. “Oh my god, Dean! You said fuck!”

“I did?”

“...yeah!”

“I didn’t even notice. Fuck. Oh! I said it again!” He grinned like a school boy and laughed. “Yes! Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fucking fucker!” Excited, he jumped off of the couch and pumped a fist in the air. “Fuck that fucking bitch-ass witch in her ratty old cunt! Fuck yes! This is fucking awesome!”

Y/N sat up, shaking her head as she reached for her pants. “Oh, Dean,” she sighed. “Such a fucking potty mouth…”

2020 Forever Tags: @67-chevy-baby @akhuna01 @amanda-teaches @autumnmoon @because-imma-lady-assface @blushingjared @broiderie @burningcoffeetimetravel @classic-rock-angel @coopercharlie16 @cosicas-cuquis @covered-byroses @crashdevlin @deansgirl215 @deans-baby-momma @deangirl7695 @deanwinchesterswitch @dolphincliffs @dontshootmespence @edge-oftonight @emoryhemsworth @eternal-elir @fandom-princess-forevermore @fangirlxwritesx67 @feelmyroarrrr @flamencodiva @focusonspn @herbologystudent252 @heycasbutt @hornyandsmol @ilovefanfic86 @i-love-superhero @ilsawasanacrobat @imjustadrummer @ivvitm1109 @joseyrw @justagirlinafandomworld @justcallmeasmodeus @katymacsupernatural @laxe-from-outer-space @leatherandfrackles @lessons-of-red @letsby @letsdisneythings @lonewolf471 @maddiepants @mariekoukie6661 @meganwinchester1999 @mellbelle45 @missjenniferb @mrswhozeewhatsis @onethirstyunicorn @our-jensen-ackles-love @screechingartisancashbailiff @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @starboycas @stephaniecanfield96us @stoneyggirl @squirrelnotsam @thebookisbtr @the-chocolate-moose @thehardcoveraddict @thevelvetseries @veevm @winchestersister55 @wendibird @winecatsandpizza @winterpoohbear

and bc I think you could use a laugh: @kittenofdoomage

#spn fanfic #dean x reader #one shot #crack #dean winchester

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suitov · 3 years

Text

Two jerks being jerks

It's not like I can expect scintillating dinner conversation at the best of times. We normally eat on the couch in front of the TV. Often not even synchronised.

He eats in the kitchen tonight.

It's like whatever. The table's too small to seat two comfortably. And comfortably is pushing it, even for one. I should get a new table if he's going to be around so oft---

A blunt-scalpel thought leaps out of its well-worn groove.

Guess I put that off long enough that I don't need to do it. Procrastination: saves you time and money.

I pincer yesterday's takeout more angrily into my mouth. Fuck it anyway. Fucking dick. Thinks his ass is made of gold. Thinks the sun shines out of it, more like, thinks he's making a point by leaving the cushion next to me empty and cold. Thinks I'll cave first.

"Y---"

I don't quite scream. More like a manly yelp. I crane my neck rustily around. "What?" Just like him to be standing behind me, put me through the inconvenience.

"Don't you think we should talk about this morning?"

"Nope." I snarf some more noodles and reach for the remote to crank up the volume of... I forgot what. Oh, right, some game show I hate.

He snatches the remote. I hiss, but he doesn't drop it. Musta used that tactic too many times, worn down the aversive edge.

"I think we should talk," he says.

I groan. "Okay, lightning round. I'm a dick, you're leaving, if you forget any stuff here I'll drop it by the dorms at the Res---"

"I don't want to leave."

That makes me blink like he'd just said we'll purple the swim yesterday. "What."

"I don't... do you want me to leave?"

What a bizarre, stupid question. "It's not like I'd force you to stay."

"Uh..." That's right; simple sentences can be too difficult for this jackass. "That didn't answer what you want?"

"I'm fine." I realise that was the wrong stock answer. "I mean, I was fine. With whatever. With how we were before." I tip the remaining contents down my throat and put the container on the couch arm. It falls off. Ehh, I'll get it later. "That is, I guess I didn't mind it too much. It's not like I'd cry myself to sleep if you called it quits, or whatever."

"Y... You're such a dick, you know that."

"Thought you liked dicks," I fire back.

"Sometimes. Not in the mood for one right now."

I wallow clumsily around until I'm kneeling up, facing him over the trench wall formed by the back of the couch. He's standing there with his arms folded like a gormless conker.

"Would you seriously rather fall apart than talk about an argument?"

"Maybe," I say.

"But---it was just a dumb argument. I argue with a couple of my classmates all the time."

"Well, there's your problem. Learn to avoid classmates. I've barely met mine. I don't know most of their names." I don’t like to boast, but hell, I’ve worked hard at that.

"I don't want to---and it's not like it is for you! I don't get to cut class and hide in a lab!"

"Lack of ambition if you ask me."

"It's nothing to do w---wait! I'm cutting through your change of subject! This is about this morning!"

I rest my folded arms on the couchback and my head on top of them. This is what happens when they stick around. They get wise to your shit. Or you get comfortable, let your guard down. Sloppy. Never change the world before I'm thirty if I go around getting sloppy.

"I don't even know what pissed you off," he says, flinging his hands wide. "Was it that I said you'd need to dress up?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Do you not like the restaurant? The movie choice?"

"It doesn't matter, H---"

"Because I'm going frickin' nuts here trying to figure out what I said wrong!"

I'm not going to tell him. I'm not getting into this.

"Like, you didn't even tell me to fuck off like you normally do when you don't want to go out---you blew up at me!"

"If I say I'm sorry, will you drop this?"

"I... no! That's not what I want."

"If you don't want to leave and you don't want an apology, then what?"

"I just want to know what I did that hurt my boyfriend's feelings!"

Through great self-control I manage not to, what did he call it, blow up, though one hand forms a tight fist in the couch cushion.

"Is that so hard to understand?"

"I'm. I'm not."

"You really are, you know! I've been trying to for a whole month!"

"No, I... I'm not what you said."

"Huh?" His eyes look very big. Those had better not be tears. I don't do well with crying.

"This morning. You called it an anniversary," I say, and I can't believe I'm getting into this, "and you called me your boyfriend."

He rubs the heel of one hand under an eye. "Yeah."

I return to my usual glower.

"Yeah? Wait, is that what pissed you off?"

I huff and look pointedly off to the side, which happens to be a blank and slightly scuffed wall, so is way more attractive than this conversation.

"What's wrong with calling you my---oh. Is it, is it girlfriend instead?"

"Why'd I care which one you call me? Either one fuckin'... sounds like we're in some kind of fuckin', relationship."

"Uh... what else did you think this was?"

"I dunno? Jeez, who said everything has to be labelled? You some kind of label monitor? Is that what they teach you guys over there? They changed the law so a few fucks make you married now?"

"...a few f... sex, a spare key and an open invitation to 'come over whenever'."

"What? It's not like I have much to steal."

He hesitates. I'm not looking or anything. Just enough to see how crestfallen he looks. Well... grow up already.

"I guess," he says, "I thought it meant more than that. To you. Because it did to me."

"Oh, sure, you come over all the time because you just love the company?"

Silence.

"I know you aren't saying you enjoy my company."

More silence from him.

"...are you saying that y---"

"Actually," he blurts. "Actually. Can we just go to bed? I'm sorry, I know I insisted on getting into this, but I'm too tired."

"Whatever," I say, more relieved than when I found that half-empty Pringles can I was sure I'd lost.

We undress in silence. I shove my way into his arms and steal most of the blankets as usual. I'm not a polite bed partner. You either get used to it or fuck off.

I'm used to him. There's a warm presence next to me and I want it to stay.

Doesn't mean anything. It's not like this was going anywhere. I don't do labels. That's why I go for the ones with rocks for brains. They don't normally start thinking about this stuff.

Thinking... like I am now.

Anniversary. Who the fuck would celebrate being around me for any length of time? I know what I'm like. I know my work comes before everything. I know I'm not someone you look forward to seeing; I mean, you don't enjoy seeing a doctor, do you?

If you let people in they play you for an idiot. Sucker you into running around trying to fix their stupid problems, when they were the ones who fucked their own shit up in the first place. Play you just so they can watch you cry. Not like I actually cry. I'm talking generalities, junk like that.

After a long while of feeling like my brain's trying to enlarge its burrow by clawing through my skull, I realise he's still awake too.

"You're such a dick," he whispers to me, and I smirk inwardly. "Every time I want to get closer, you act like I'm trying to murder you."

My innards screw up like last week's shirt on the floor as I realise he thinks I'm asleep.

"If you keep pushing me away, I'll go away. But I feel like... I feel like that's not what either of us want."

And there's no more. I guess he fell asleep.

Fuck.

It's not like he should expect scintillating conversation from me. IQ doesn't translate into not putting your foot in your mouth.

But I feel like I've fucked up more spectacularly than usual.

#matsuhina #yasuke matsuda #hajime hinata #not on ao3 #ultimate talent development plan

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rizlowwritessortof · 4 years

Text

Black Velvet - Chapter 6

Pairing: Demon!Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1485

Warnings: (for the series as a whole) Demon!Dean (he deserves his own warning, dub-con, rough sex, smut, angst

You shower and change, wondering if you’d wake up soon and realize it’s all been a dream. Everything, the whole situation, seems so surreal. As you zip up your jeans, you remember. Dean is still sitting there exposed. Shit. If Sam sees…

You swear under your breath, rushing to the dungeon, praying that he didn’t get back home while you were in the shower. The door is still locked, and you feel relief flood through you, although you dread walking back into that room. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to prepare yourself, and flip the switch.

Dean is smirking as you walk in, and you studiously avoid looking into his eyes. “Well… decided to come back for sloppy seconds?”

“Shut up,” you respond, bending to yank his clothing back into place with very little help from him, desperately trying not to touch him in the process.

“I was kinda looking forward to hearing you explain that to Sammy. Sure know how to take the fun out of things.” You refuse to answer as you finish, then step back, and your heart stops as you hear Sam’s voice behind you.

“Explain what to me?” He does not sound pleased, and Dean’s lips curl in an evil grin as you glare at him in warning.

You take a breath and turn to face the music. “What I’m doing in here,” you bluff, praying that he’s too exhausted and distracted to detect your discomfort.

“Well? What are you doing in here, Smalls? I told you, he’s dangerous. And yet, here you are, inside the damn devil’s trap.”

“Sam, I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have come in here. But I was worried those ropes might be too tight. I was just checking…”

“He’s a demon.” Sam’s pissed, his words clipped, his mouth tight, and he turns to set a small cooler on the desk as you step towards him, reaching your hand to touch his arm.

“He’s still Dean, Sam. It’s still Dean’s body. I just wanted…” You can’t even finish, Sam’s anger is not something you can bear right now, and tears sting your eyes. “I’m sorry, Sam. Please don’t be mad at me.”

He still refuses to look at you, trying to get himself under control. “You don’t understand how fucking lethal he is, Smalls. You don’t know what he’s capable of, what he could do to you.”

“Oh, I think she knows,” Dean throws in sarcastically, and you whirl to glower at him as you respond.

“Shut the fuck up.” He lifts a sardonic eyebrow at you, then quirks another amused smile as he looks away, and you turn back to Sam. He looks down at you, taking a breath and looking remorseful as you blink away the tears.

He speaks softly, one huge paw reaching to cradle the side of your face. “I’m sorry. I just… I don’t want you getting hurt.” You nod, and he kisses the top of your head gently as Dean huffs out a soft, derisive little snort. You both ignore him, and you gesture towards the cooler.

“Did you get it?” He nods, taking a deep breath, and pulling a small box containing syringes from his jacket pocket. You look up at him, gnawing nervously at your lip. “Are you sure, Sam?”

He swallows hard, his jaw working, and gives a short nod. “We have no choice, Smalls.” You watch uneasily as he readies the syringe, filling it with blood. “You don’t have to watch,” he says softly, and you look at him resolutely.

“I’m staying.” He doesn’t argue, just nods and turns towards Dean, who is staring back with a homicidal gleam in his eyes.

You stumble into your room, dropping to the floor at the foot of the bed and hugging your knees to your chest. Your breathing is harsh and ragged, your chest hurts, and little incoherent sounds are trapped in your tightened throat.

You had stayed as long as you could, squeezed your eyes shut at Dean’s agonized screams, tried to ignore the cruel things he was saying to Sam, terrified that he would turn his malicious contempt your direction. He hadn’t. But he had looked straight at you as his body went through painful spasms, the sanctified blood burning through his veins like acid, and you could see through his hate-filled glare to the desperate pleading beneath. It was tearing you apart.

You had found Dean unconscious when you had followed Sam into the dungeon to give him the next injection. You had watched, terrified, as Sam slapped him, shook him, finally getting a reaction. Sam was exhausted, and Dean had been vicious, attacking Sam where it hurt the most – family. You had run from the room as Sam had jabbed the needle into Dean’s neck, unable to watch the two men you loved the most in this world tear each other apart. Dean’s screams had followed you, echoing in your ears as you ran away.

You rock back and forth on the floor, too wrecked to even shed a tear. This treatment, torture, whatever it was you were doing to him – was it even working? He didn’t seem any better. Sicker, yes. But more human? You struggle within yourself, unwilling to give him up, even as he is now – and what if this kills him? What if you lose him, this time for good? Sam is scared of the same thing, you know that, even though he hasn’t spoken to you.

“Are you okay?” Sam’s voice startles you, and you look up into his face, his expression haggard and beaten.

“I don’t know. Sam… it’s not working. What if we’re just slowly killing him? We don’t know…”

“I know. Believe me, I know.” Sam’s eyes sparkle with tears, his mouth working wordlessly for a moment before he can continue. “We have no choice. Dean – the real Dean – wouldn’t want to live like this. I know that. And you know it, too, Smalls. I know you don’t want to lose him. Fuck, do I know. I don’t want to lose him, either, and I don’t want him to suffer like he is now. But we don’t have a choice.” He turns and walks away, and you rest your forehead on your knees, your insides churning.

You sit there for a while, unaware of the passage of time, until a scuffling sound makes you raise your head. Sam is skidding to a halt in your doorway, his face tight with panic. “Smalls, get out of the bunker. Now. He’s loose. I don’t know how, but he’s loose.”

Your heart is hammering in your chest as you jump to your feet, and Sam takes off down the hall. You don’t even have shoes on, but you don’t care – you just know you have to get out. Even with what you’ve gone through, with what you’ve done with Dean already, you’ve terrified beyond the capacity to think straight. You run down the hall, through the kitchen, and you’ve almost made it to the doorway when he grabs your arm, throwing you violently against the wall, his arm across your throat. “You make a sound, and you’re dead. And then I’ll kill Sammy. Understand?” His voice is soft and dark, black velvet like the color of his eyes as he looks down at you. You nod, almost numb with fright, but he leans in and kisses you hard, forcing his tongue into your mouth even though you’re too scared to respond. “You’re coming with me. You fight me, and I’ll stay here and flay Sammy an inch at a time while you watch. You come peacefully, and he lives another day.”

You nod, your face working as you desperately fight the urge to cry, and he kisses you again, one large hand squeezing your breast as he crushes you against the wall. Then he’s grabbing you by the wrist, yanking hard as he pulls you behind him, and you scramble to keep up with his long strides.

He drags you through room after room, a huge hammer in his free hand as his eyes sweep back and forth, searching. You are through the door and down the stairs in the garage when the lights go out, alarms sounding and red emergency lights flaring to life, washing everything in a bloody glow. “Nice try, Sammy,” he mutters, shoving you into the passenger seat of the Impala. He climbs into the driver’s side, starting the engine, and backs up with a squeal of the tires before slamming it into drive and putting his foot to the floor. The black beast of a car crashes through the garage door, and then you’re flying down the road, cowering against the door as Dean cranks the radio.

“Where are we going?” you manage to ask, you voice shaking. He looks over at you and grins.

“Wherever the hell I want.”

Chapter 7

#black velvet reblog #chapter 6 #demon!dean fic #demon!dean x reader #dean x reader

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is-it-art-tho · 3 years

Link

Summary: Dick Grayson is having a hard time and Bruce is there to help.

Dick dragged himself into his apartment, shedding his coat, keys, and shoes on his stiff beeline to the bathroom. In the shower, he dangled his head under the stream, the heat cranked until it nearly burned, and willed the muscles in his back and shoulders to relax, his heart and breathing to slow.

When he got out, his phone was about to vibrate off the edge of the sink, the screen packed with a flurry of unread messages that were still coming in. A quick glance at the names was enough for him to know what they all said, or have a pretty good guess, at least. Barbara, Tim, Damian. He ignored them all, shutting it off and leaving it behind as he wandered into his bedroom, leaving small puddles on the hardwood in his wake.

He pulled on a faded cross-country hoodie and joggers in the dark, and the clothes clung to his wet skin as he tossed a hesitant glance toward his bed.

The type of exhaustion he felt now was the type that clings to bones, that no amount of sleep can touch. Which was just as well, since sleep had not been kind to him these past few days.

At times it was elusive, leaving Dick watching for hours as his curtains faded from navy blue to pale gray with the sunrise. Other times it was a violent, painful thing that forced him upright in bed, gasping and disoriented, his room smelling eerily of burnt furniture and ash, and his ears echoing with screams and sirens.

He had no way of knowing what type of night this would be, but he was in no rush to find out.

Pushing damp hair out of his eyes, he headed for the kitchen instead. He wasn’t hungry or even really thirsty, but his hands went for his standard late-night fair all the same. He filled the coffeemaker with water and flipped it on, letting the machine’s quiet whirr fill the silence as he grabbed a bowl from the counter and filled it with cereal.

Typically, he would go through this process on autopilot, his mind on a million other things, but tonight his movements were careful and intentional in a way that took all of his concentration to maintain. He had the overwhelming urge to run or break something, to do anything other than sit quietly in a room and stare at food he had no intention to touch, and he knew himself well enough to know that if he wasn’t careful right now, he would find himself back in his bedroom exchanging his pajamas for the black and blue suit tucked in the back of his closet and hitting the streets. But after the events earlier tonight, he knew that was probably the last place he should be right now.

The coffee machine beeped, and Dick moved the full mug out of the way as he muttered to the open air, “Want one?”

The presence he’d felt across the room stirred, and he glanced over his shoulder in time to see the silhouette by the window step further into the living room.

“You won’t be able to sleep.”

“It’s decaf.” Dick’s voice was flat. Without waiting for either acceptance or rejection of the offer, he added more water to the machine, packed in new grounds, and prepared another cup. He watched the dark liquid fill the mug as footsteps behind him crossed from the carpeted living room to the kitchen tile, followed by the gentle scrape of a chair.

When he turned back around, Bruce was sitting, waiting for him. He wasn’t in the cape and cowl, instead still dressed as he had been back at the manor a few hours earlier – a dark mock turtleneck and gray slacks. Dick wondered idly if Bruce had come through the window dressed this way or if he’d simply picked the lock at the door. Either option felt incredibly incongruous with the clean ensemble. If he hadn’t felt so off, he might’ve laughed.

Dick took the seat across from him, and Bruce’s eyes tracked his movements carefully. The younger man was suddenly hyperaware of the bruises and scabs forming along the knuckles of his right hand, left purposely unattended, and the way his fingers were twitching restlessly.

“How is he?” Dick asked after a few long minutes of silence.

“His lip stopped bleeding after a while,” Bruce explained calmly. “He stopped cursing a while after that.”

The dull pain in Dick’s knuckles flared with the memory of Jason’s jaw, hard and sharp like he had punched a brick wall. He was fairly certain he’d fractured a bone or two in his hand – the punch had been sloppy, overly emotional – but he’d decided to let the ache sit there, heavy and throbbing without the temper of a painkiller.

“It was my fault,” Dick conceded. “I didn’t… I overreacted. I must’ve had a little too much to drink or something.” He hadn’t actually had anything to drink at all, but it felt like the easiest excuse in the moment. “I’ll apologize the next time I see him.”

Again, there was silence as Bruce, apparently unsatisfied with this response, simply waited. It was the same tactic Dick had watched him use during interrogations, but in those situations usually someone was dangling a few stories off the ground and the silence was ominous. Here, there was none of that foreboding air. Just an empty sort of waiting.

“It won’t happen again,” Dick added drily. He wasn’t entirely sure this was true. Even now he wished he could be hitting something, something hard enough to tear the skin on his knuckles and send painful reverberations up his arms and into his shoulders. He wanted to hurt. He wanted a pain sharp enough to pull his attention away from the gaping chasm in the center of his chest.

Almost reflexively, he clenched his injured hand into a tight fist and relished the quick agony.

“What I’m trying to understand is why it happened at all,” Bruce said.

“I told you I was just buzzed. It’s not a big deal.”

“You weren’t.” Bruce’s tone was matter of fact rather than accusatory. It felt like an accusation anyway.

Dick studied him with growing annoyance. “What were you keeping tabs on me or something?”

“I’ve seen you buzzed enough times to know what it looks like. You weren’t drunk, Dick. You were wired. On edge. You have been for a few days now.” Bruce rested his forearms on the table, leaning forward as if to get a better look at him.

Dick noted his leg bouncing under the table and stilled it. The sudden stillness made his entire body feel uncomfortable and he shifted awkwardly in his chair.

“I’m fine,” he said, a little too brusquely. “Just need to get some sleep.”

“Have you been having trouble with that lately?”

Dick’s teeth clanked together in his mouth. He rose to pour his untouched cereal into the garbage disposal and let the blades run longer than necessary to grind up the soggy flakes. When he turned it off, the sudden silence pressed against his ears like a physical weight.

“How are the Donovans?” Bruce asked.

The question was soft, so soft that Dick almost didn’t catch it. But he did, and the jittery, violent energy that had been crackling just beneath his skin vanished like air being sucked out of a balloon. He suddenly felt impossibly hollow, like the slightest breeze could topple him, and he welcomed the sharp pain that had exploded in his right hand as he gripped the edge of the sink. It served as another means of grounding him, anchoring him here.

“How?” Dick murmured.

“Barbara.”

Babs. Of course.

She was the only one Dick had told anything to, and even she had only gotten the barest threads of information. She knew only that there had been a housefire, that a child had died.

“You’ve been checking up on them at their new apartment.”

Dick didn’t even bother asking how Bruce could have possibly known this.

“I couldn’t find him,” he explained, staring, without seeing, at a small puddle of milk in the sink left over from the drained cereal. At the same time, he was trying to stop smelling smoke, to stop feeling the weight of a limp child in his arms and hearing a mother’s screams.

Behind him, Bruce did not move from his spot at the table; he did not speak. Dick was oddly grateful for this. For time.

“I looked everywhere, but I just couldn’t find him,” Dick continued, and his voice was flat again, empty like it was echoing out from a tomb. “When I did, it was too late. He was in a crawlspace behind his bed. He was eight. Kyle. Kyle Donovan.”

There was a long silence as Dick stood and trembled with tension, then finally Bruce said, “I’m sorry.”

Dick glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to find an even, almost disinterested stare and instead he found Bruce’s face a mask of empathy. Like most of Bruce’s expressions, this one wasn’t dramatic. His mouth wasn’t twisted into a frown and his cheeks weren’t glistening with tears, but it was there in his eyes.

And Dick knew that the empathy there was misguided, based on a false assumption that he was struggling to grapple with the loss, that he was mourning. How could he explain how wrong this was?

I’m not mourning. I’m nothing.

After Dick had emerged from the burning building with Kyle in his arms, he’d carefully, wordlessly set the limp boy on a gurney and watched EMTs dive into CPR that he knew wouldn’t work. Mrs. Donovan had been screaming, her shrieks battling with the wail of incoming fire engines, and he’d locked eyes with Mr. Donovan. The man’s soot-covered face had glowed in the light of the flames, and Dick had heard himself offer a too-stiff apology that the man was clearly too shaken to process. And he’d left then, disappearing easily into the shadows amidst the chaos, and arrived back in his apartment still reeking with the uniquely sharp scent of burnt carpeting and furniture and insulation.

And he’d stood in his living room in the dark and waited for something, anything to come. Some semblance of normal emotion, of feeling. He’d grasped for it desperately like a child trying to catch dandelion seeds on a windy day, but he’d come away with nothing. So, he’d showered and gone to bed still smelling of housefire and watched his curtains until morning. And with each passing day since then he’d grown more and more agitated with himself, with his lack of feeling, and eventually that frustration had transformed him into the short-fused terror he’d been all day, culminating in an unwarranted haymaker and a likely-broken hand.

This wasn’t the first time Dick had suspected that something was wrong with him. After his parents had been killed, adults had tiptoed around him for weeks, treated him like a volcano on the verge of eruption, like a glass teetering on the edge of a table. He’d realized afterwards that they had been waiting for him to breakdown, to dissolve into a weeping heap. It would have been an understandable reaction, especially for a kid, but the moment had never come.

Even at the funeral he hadn’t shed a single tear. Back then he’d been called “brave” and “strong.” He’d been congratulated for his composure and he’d taken some solace in that. Perhaps his reaction or lack thereof wasn’t a symptom of a deeper issue. Maybe it was a sign of his fortitude. He’d tucked those fears away then, content never to explore them again.

Then Kyle Donovan happened, and Dick once again felt utterly dead inside.

Empty. The internal silence that made him think of vast, barren spaces; of sand blowing across endless dunes and the cracked, frozen wasteland of the Arctic.

And this confirmed what he had quietly feared all along. That somehow, somewhere along the way something deep and vital inside of him had broken. As if a whole part of his brain – the one responsible for grief – had simply stopped working. Or perhaps it had shriveled slowly over time, unnoticed and choked by neglect like a plant left to wilt in a corner.

There was a time when Dick had thought himself lucky. After the things he’d lived through, he ought to be more damaged, but he’d managed to grow into a fairly well-adjusted member of society. He’d taken pride in that fact, relished it. Gotham had done its worst and he’d escaped unscathed.

To realize now that he’d been wrong, that Gotham had in fact crushed something precious inside of him, was a blow he wasn’t sure he could come back from.

So now as he stood in his kitchen thinking about a child he had failed to save, and struggling even to shed a tear, he found Bruce’s expression, his open but misguided display of empathy, to be like the twisting of a knife.

Suddenly Dick realized Bruce was speaking, a steady rumble in the quiet.

Dick blinked. “What?”

“I said you should sit down.”

Dick sat and stared at the old yellow table between them. It had a sort of retro, 70s aesthetic. The floral pattern in the decorative plastic covering was faded, the petals resembling abstract squiggles more than anything else.

“What’s wrong with me?” he asked quietly. “These things happen and I just… I don’t feel them anymore. I don’t know if I ever did.” His voice hitched then, perhaps betraying his words, and suddenly his vision blurred with tears. “What’s wrong with me?” he asked again.

“We all process grief differently,” Bruce said. “It’s not a matter of right or wrong.”

“But what if I’m not processing it? Babs thinks I’m upset about the kid, I bet you did, too. But that’s the problem. I’m not upset – at least, not like I know I should be. I feel like a goddamn sociopath.” Dick balled his fists in his hair, his elbows braced on the table.

“It’s like I go through life most of the time and I feel normal. I get happy, I get annoyed, I get sad. But when major things happen, like someone dying, I just… I don’t know. It’s like I shut down. I’m just empty. Like I’m physically incapable of feeling beyond a certain point.”

Dick was really crying now, tears streaming down his face and dripping off the tip of his nose, but he didn’t know why because deep inside, his dominant feeling was still an absence of feeling. A painful, gaping abyss.

“Sometimes,” Dick whispered, “sometimes I think – I think I shouldn’t even be here. I should be in Arkham with the rest of the–”

Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder. Bruce had switched seats so that they were sitting almost side by side. Dick hadn’t even noticed.

“You’re not,” Bruce said, cutting him off. His voice was not hard, but stern, and he held Dick’s gaze as he spoke, his words crisp and intentional as if willing Dick to hear each syllable clearly. “You do not belong in Arkham. You are not broken.”

And suddenly the outburst that hadn’t come when Dick was orphaned or after the housefire, the one that he had begun to accept as being beyond the scope of his emotional capacity, crashed into him like a tidal wave. And decades of grief and pain rushed in to fill the void that had lived in the center of his being for far too long.

It filled him like a physical thing, pushing against the inside of his ribs and chest and threatening to burst through.

Dick dropped his face into his hands as a sob wrenched itself from his throat, as his body convulsed with the force of them. And in the darkness of his closed eyes, he saw it all in sharp relief – every moment he’d absorbed as a child and into adulthood, every crippling tragedy that he’d unconsciously chosen to repress, to crush into a manageable size and pitch into some far-flung corner of himself. Those moments – those pebbles of memory – towered over him now, forming an immense mountain of suffering that he now had to scale.

And he understood now, perhaps for the first time, why he had never done this before; why his subconscious – and maybe it wasn’t so subconscious, after all – had chosen to avoid this part of himself. It was because this was too much, far too much for any one person to climb and come out on the other side whole.

This, Dick was certain, truly would break him. What he had experienced in his life, the things he had seen, were the sort of uniquely awful things that demand to be left in dark corners and tucked into locked drawers, lest they take everything from you.

He was only vaguely aware of the strong, yet gentle arms wrapping around him, pulling him in and holding him as he tipped towards hyperventilation.

“I want you to breathe with me,” Bruce instructed. The older man took a few long slow breaths, waiting for Dick to match his rhythm. Dick’s head rose and fell against Bruce’s chest, and after a while it started to work. Dick felt himself calming, if only slightly.

“You are not broken,” Bruce said again, his chest rumbling against Dick’s ear. “And you’re not alone.”

And when Dick pulled back, he saw it in Bruce’s eyes. A profound and gut-wrenching understanding, their mutual experiences with tragedy and loss resonating on a frequency most are fortunate enough not to understand.

And he realized that Bruce had his own impossible mountain to scale and that he had been scaling it for most of his life. A slow, clumsy process that involved just as much time slipping backwards as it did inching back up. And as if for the first time, Dick noticed the deep grooves in Bruce’s face, the lines and old scars that he now suspected had just as much to do with Bruce’s inner battles as his external ones.

“I’m here,” Bruce promised. “I’m right here with you. I won’t let you go.”

And Dick knew what he meant. I won’t let you become like so many of the monsters we stop every night. I won’t let you disappear into the darkness.

“How do you keep going?” Dick asked, his eyes on the table. After a lengthy pause, he looked up.

Bruce’s gaze was distant as if he were genuinely searching for an adequate response and struggling to find one. Finally, he said, “You decide that the alternative is unacceptable.”

Dick considered this. It wasn’t a warm and fuzzy answer; things rarely were where Bruce was concerned. But even so, it fit somehow. It made sense to him.

He nodded then sighed, and the sigh turned into a yawn. Without thinking, he rubbed his eye with his bad hand and cursed quietly.

Bruce rose, retrieved an ice pack from the freezer, and returned to the table where he laid it gently over Dick’s knuckles. “I know I taught you to punch better than that,” he said.

Dick’s mouth twitched into a rueful grin. “I decked Jason in the middle of your dinner party and it’s my form you’re upset about?”

“It was sloppy. He should’ve been able to dodge it.” Bruce’s expression was even, but there was a joking lilt in his tone that Dick imagined most people would miss. Then, more seriously, “I want you to come back with me. Stay at the manor for a while.”

A few years ago, this might have sounded like an order, but now Dick could have sworn it sounded almost like a plea. Bruce’s gaze was fixed on the ice pack, his brows scrunched ever so slightly.

“Bruce,” Dick gasped, “are you inviting me to a sleepover?”

He was already feeling more like himself. Not necessarily better – to be honest, Dick was fairly certain he wouldn’t feel better for quite a while – but he could see a way out now that he hadn’t been able to see before, and it left him with a spark of hope.

Dick was satisfied by the long-suffering sigh he got in response.

“Isn’t Jason staying with you for a few days?” he continued. “He might not want me around much right now.”

“He’ll live.” Bruce rose and Dick followed suit, keeping the pack pressed into his hand.

“I’m more worried about myself,” Dick muttered. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask – how did you get in here? You didn’t climb in through the window dressed like that did you?”

Bruce tossed a devious grin over his shoulder but said nothing as he headed for the door.

“Wait, did you?” Dick asked, suddenly desperate. “Did you?”

#dick grayson whump #whump #batman fic #batman fanfic #batman fanfiction #bruce wayne #dick grayson #hurt/comfort #No Comfort in the Shade

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guidedbygunpla · 3 years

Text

Gundam REDUX Side Story chapter 1

“dad, I’m so sorry, Honeydew tripped while we were out riding, she can’t get up. Dad what do we do” the young child called up to his father, an older man, twice the age of his wife, and ten times the age of his young son. “son, Honeydews leg is broken” his father said, cold and expressionless, looking at the horse laying in the mud mewing in pain. His son barely tall enough to ride it. Apparently too young for the responsibility.

“but the animal doctor can help her right? The man who came to give her her shots? He can fix it right” his son said, tears in his eyes pulling at the robe his father wore. Regal and clean, white and gold

“son he could set her leg yes, he could mend it and it could heal. But it will hurt her forever. She’ll never walk correctly again. She’ll never live a moment of her life not in pain again. The right thing to do is to put her down. “ he said crouching down and running his hands through his sons blonde hair.

“Cassie, go grab the rifle from the car…..it’s the right thing to do” His father said, his tone low and calm

“dad no! we can’t! I love Honeydew you can’t kill her!” he said tears pouring down his face

“I won’t kill her son….you have to do that, she’s your responsibility. She needs to know that you made her pain end”

His father went and grabbed the bolt action rifle from the back of the black limosene that sat at the front of the stable. The boy laid there holding the horses neck, trying to comfort them. His father came back, rifle in hand and put a hand on his shoulder

“Casval, it’s time.”

________________________________________________________

Char lay slumped against the control panel, his zaku buried slightly in the remains of the woods that the forest fire had left behind. Kentucky was still burning, and he was still far too close to the federations mobile suits to be safe. He couldn’t breathe, its like his throat had closed up on him, he was crying, but there was no gasp for air, just tears, tears and tense muscles.

“I killed him” he spoke, his voice a growl

“I killed Garma……why in the world did I kill him”

Images flew through his head, his father gasping for air on stage, as Degwin, Garmas father began to smile, standing at his side. The zabi soldiers pounding on his families mansion, his mother crying as he and his sister were taken away from her. Her face in the newspaper when he was on earth, Wife of famed cult leader Zeon Zum Deikun found murdered.

Garma the first day he met him, a fresh faced 19 year old. Didn’t even know how to tie a tie.

Soft skin, soft hair

That little way he twirled his hair when he was nervous

His sister crying for days after they landed on earth

Being trained on his place as the head of the family by a family friend Jimba Ral

Sneaking away from that life, taking the place of another family friend Charles Aznable, and flying away to a Zeon military academy

Why did fate have to do this to him

Why did I have to do this

Why did I have to kill him

He was shaking in his seat now, panic gripping him

They would find the camera data In his suit, or Garma or Grams suit, they would see his suit was pristine, and draw a conclusion, he had to do something

Chars hand shook nonstop as he pressed the button to open his hatch

“I need air”

He could hear his voice, but he didn’t feel like he was speaking

He pressed the button on the side of his seat to pop up the emergency maintenance system, turning his center monitor into a small keyboard.

“First things first, I need to wipe the video data……no but if I do that, they will be able to pull that from the black box” char slumped against his chair

What the fuck had he just done

Was this worth it?

An idea crept into his mind

He typed away at the keyboard pulling up maintenance logs, a picture of a beam saber wound left on another zaku.

“it just might work” Char said as he pressed away on his control stick, engaging the heat hawk and cranking its temp beyond its limiter, he raised the zakus arm twisted the heat hawk around and slid it into the body of the zaku slightly below his cockpit, melting the hard drives for camera, and audio recording. Now was the matter of the black box, it sat right below the pilot seat. Char grabbed the pilots helmet that sat locked in above him, slid off his captains helmet and then pulled the helmet down over him. He pressed the buttons to close the cockpit hatch. A few maneuvers of the control stick and infront of him his monitors began to melt, and crack as the heat hawk slipped through the wall that protected him from the outside world, he raised his feet up onto his seat, moved the hand and heat hawk away from the hatch, and opened the hatch again, he then took the leading edge of his heat hawk and slid it into the front of the cockpit, the heat was over whelming, but he watched his seat catch fire below him, and watched the side of the black box’s orange covering melt and bubble and then watched the boards inside of it become exposed, pop and bubble and catch fire as well

He pushed the control stick back fast, and stomped out the fire on his seat. The smell of the burning plastic and metal made him woozy.

“there, all the data is gone, now to sell this damage before the heat hawk burns up”

He began throwing the hawk into his suit wildly, and sheered off the left arm of his zaku. Char started laughing, as tears rolled down his face. He stumbled out of the Zaku and reached up and grabbed ahold of the climbing wire that hung inside the cockpit, and rode it down to the ground. It was cold out, despite the forest fire around them. Chars hands were still shaking, he reached around his dress uniform and found the pocket where he stored his cigarette case “keep saying I’m going to quit you” he said with a small laugh as he slid one between his teeth and used the lighter he kept in the case to light it. The smoke slowed his shaking, and his mind.

“he didn’t deserve that…” Char said, exhaling slowly “he was a good man, sure his dads a murderer, and he only got where he is because his dad murdered mine…..but” he stopped, taking a long drag “he didn’t deserve that……fuck…..Cassie what is wrong with you……ugh” he grunted as he threw the cigarette to the dirt, and rubbed it out with his foot. He heard a gun cock behind him

“Char, you have 10 fucking seconds to explain to me what just happened.” He heard, the voice was familiar it was Garmas wingman, Gram. “Gram now there is a perfectly reasonable answer……let’s be adults about this, no need to point a gun at me” Char said as he turned around and saw the man, he seemed to have broken his arm and his clothes looked to be badly burned

“fuck that Char, you shot down Prince Garma, and then I find you here in the woods carving up your own Zaku? The fuck could explain this?” “it’s easy, this will explain everything” Char said as he reached into his pocket and grabbed his officers tablet, and started to walk towards Gram, he saw gram lower the gun slightly, and then quickly with his other hand he pulled his side arm and shot gram!

The shot was sloppy, clipping Gram in the lung, Gram fired a shot off too, that caught Char in the bicep of his left arm

Gram lay on the forest floor gasping for air

Char clutched his arm, and approached Gram

“Gram you could’ve just walked away, you didn’t have to get involved….”

He saw Gram reaching for his side arm, Char kicked it away and stared down at the man gasping for air

“figure I could just leave you here, you’ll die before someone comes to get you, or I could end this fast for you….before I decide that though.... I want to tell you something Gram, see how you react” Char said staring down at the man who was trying to yell at him, but couldn’t find the air

“I killed Garma Zabi because when I was a very small child, his father, Degwin poisoned my father with Aconitum, I know that because while Kycelia Zabis Royal guard didn’t detect anything was amiss, Jimba ral found a large stash of it, and books on processing it in a fire place in my fathers former palace. I killed Garma so that Degwin would have to feel the pain I have lived my whole life feeling…..how does that make you feel Gram, am I justified in my actions or am I a monster?” Char said aiming the gun at Grams face

“you…..dumb…..fucking……liar” Gram got out between gasps, blood coming out the side of his mouth

“Seig Zeon” Char said as he fired 3 shots through Grams head

Char reached into his boot grabbing the knife he kept there.

“the things I do for love” he spoke slowly as he poked the blade into the hole in his arm and popped the bullet out, luckily it was a low caliber and it didnt dig in too deep. he thought about laying his arm against the heat hawk, make it look like a burn instead of a gun shot wound, but he figured he’d be under enough suspicion as it was, selling a gun shot that strayed into his slashed open cockpit wouldnt be the hardest thing. at least now there wouldnt be a zeon round in the wound

The door came up with a creek when Char climbed back into the Zaku, and he had to pilot using the emergency screen stored in the attic above his seat, luckily the hole in the cockpit hatch made it easy enough to breath as the smoke was able to leak out of the room.

Char piloted the suit north, knowing reinforcements would be heading for Kentucky soon enough.

A great Green Gow broke over the horizon, and a garbled transmission called out over the emergency receiver

“CHAR IS THAT YOU? WHERE IS MY BROTHER? WHERE IS GARMA” he heard through the static. It was Dozle. Char didn’t respond, he simply kneeled the zaku down, and climbed back out. The gow landed and dozle came out to meet him

“Char where is the rest of the team that went to hunt the feddie suits?”

“it’s just me, they were so fast…..they just overtook us so fast” “Char…..Char don’t lie to me” Dozle said, tears welling up in the great mans eyes

“I watched him get shot down Dozle, that sniper, his rifle, the beam left a hold like a rocket blast in Garmas suit, there was nothing I could do, and the white knight nearly took me out, it would’ve succeeded if Gram hadn’t shot them and given me room to get away

“Char no……he was your……he was my…..” Dozel hugged char in a great hug and cried hysterically

Char felt tears run down his face too

"I wish I had your luster Garma, I wish I could hold you for the rest of your life, I wish I didn't have to say goodbye to you" "you'll be the death of me Char, you're too much"

#charma #gundam #side story

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glenncoco4 · 4 years

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The Moon

A/N: Second to last chapter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mount Ruapehu, New Zealand

She slowly wakens, stretching out her limbs as a soft smile spreads to her face. They were so tired when they got to their cabin last night what with being on a plane for over 14 hours having caught the red eye from LA to New Zealand. As their wedding reception was winding down, yesterday? Was it technically yesterday if there’s a 15 hour time difference. Anyway, she and Marty hadn’t planned on doing anything extravagant for their honeymoon but her parents and Callen and Sam had surprised them with an all expenses paid trip to a snow covered cabin in one of the only places in the world that snowed in September.

Slowly opening her eyes, she turns and is immediately met with two beautiful cerulean eyes, those that belong to her husband matter of fact. Her husband.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

“Good morning, hubby.”

A grin spreads to his lips as he closes the tiny gap that separates he and his wife. His wife. He burrows his head into her neck, inhaling the wonderful scent that is so uniquely her. They may have been jet lagged when they arrived last night but not enough to stop them from immediately making good use of the walk-in shower with out of this world water pressure and a perfect view of the snow falling outside. “So I saw this little bakery when we came in last night, I thought about going and getting some breakfast.”

“Aw, but I’m comfy.”

“How about you stay right here and I’ll go?”

“But it’s our honeymoon, shouldn’t we be doing stuff together.”

“Oh, we will be but if we’re gonna keep up our energy we’ll need sustenance.”

“Good point.”

He quickly maneuvers himself, now hovering above her. A look of awe crossing his features as he looks into her mismatched chocolate orbs. God how he loves this woman. “I love you so much.”

“I may love you, too.” She tries to play it off like his words are indifferent to her and not turning her insides into a raging inferno of passion.

“May?” Once he sees that playful spark in her eye, he attacks. His lips find their way to her neck and then her cheeks and then cover her face in sloppy wet kisses.

She can’t help but giggle as he continues to assault her with little gifts of love all over her skin. “Okay! Okay! You win. I absolutely love you, Martin Deeks.”

“Thought so.” He beams placing one last kiss to her lips before rolling off her and out of the bed.

Her eyes follow him as he gets out of bed giving her a full view of his glorious golden tone ass. “Dammmn, boy.”

“Oh, you like that do ya?”

“Once you get back with my donuts I’ll show you just how much.”

At those a fire is lit under him as he quickly dresses and runs out the door but not before giving his wife one more kiss before he goes.

XXXX

It’s been over an hour and he still hasn’t came back yet. She called him after hour one and discovered that he got so lost in the scenery that he hadn’t realized how truly far the bakery was from where they were staying. He had just finally arrived at the shop and she’s betting that there was quite a long line for breakfast which would explain why he’s not back yet.

At the sound of her phone chiming she smile when his face lights up on the screen. “Hey, where are you?”

“There was a ridiculously long line. But good news, just as I got to the counter they brought out a fresh batch of cronuts.”

“Okay, now my mouth is watering.”

“My mouth waters every time I see you.”

“Well every time I see you my lips get wet and not the ones on my face.”

“Fuuuck. Baby, you can’t be saying stuff like that when I’m in public.”

“Think of it as motivation for you to get back faster.”

“I’ll be there in 30 minutes!”

“I’ll be waiting.”

He can feel the tightness in his pants grow at the sultry tone of her voice.“Oh, dear God.”

She can hear him beginning to pick up his pace before he hangs up, making her laugh. Just as Kensi sits her phone on the table there’s a knock at the door. She knows he’s a fast walker but he’s not that fast.

The brunette comes face to face with the pixie redhead who checked them in last night. They found out that she and her boyfriend Eric run the set of cabins for her parents who decide to move back to the states but didn’t want to get rid of the business. “Hi, I just brought some more towels and wanted to check and make sure everything is good.”

“Yes, it’s amazing, Nell. Thank you.” Kensi offers her a friendly smile, accepting the fluffy towels.

“Oh and I didn’t get to tell you congratulations.”

“Yes you did, last night.”

“I wasn’t talking about your marriage.”

“Then what-“ She freezes when she realizes what the other woman is implying.

Nell cringes when she sees the brunette’s reaction. There you go again, Nell, opening your big mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry, you just have this glow and I noticed the way you place your hand on your abdomen like you’re…I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“I take it you didn’t know.”

“Things have been so crazy the past few weeks, I actually hadn’t thought about it.”

“Well if you need anything just let me know.”

“Thank you.” Kensi gives her a barely there smile before closing the door and walking back over to the bed. Her brow furrows as she continues to try and deny what may be going on inside her body. “I can’t be pregnant…or…OH MY GOD!”

30 minutes later

Her attention turns from the snow falling outside the windows at the sound of the door creeping open. As soon as he steps in her eyes go wide, he’s shivering and covered in snow. “Oh, my god, Marty.” She gets up off the couch and all but runs over to her husband shedding him of his jacket and taking the bag of food out of his hand.

He can’t stop his teeth from chattering as his body tries to adjust to the warm room. “Told you it’d only be 30 minutes.”

“Baby, what happened?” Kensi cranks up the heat and walks over to the kitchen taking the boiling kettle of water and a mug, adding a few packets of hot chocolate mix.

She grabs the mug and then his arm quickly pulling him over to the couch and makes him sit before running over to their bed to grab the heavy blanket and comforter to warm her freezing husband up.

His body burrows into her warmth as he kicks his shoes off and cuddles into her. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” She places a kiss to the top of his head, pulling them back to lay on the couch.

It’s a few minutes before she can finally work up the courage to tell him pretty shocking, but with the beautiful snow falling heavily outside, the fireplace crackling and their bodies clinging on to one another this is a pretty spectacular way to break some news. “So I have to tell you something.”

His head rests against her chest, his eyes watching the millions of tiny white flakes fall from the sky. “Don’t tell me you have another husband.”

“No, you dork. You’re my only husband.” Her brow furrows as she thinks for a minute. “Actually there were some pretty wild college nights so-”

He playfully pinches her side, wanting to move on from this conversation before the green monster rears it ugly head.

“Anyway. About 30 minutes before you got here there was a knock at the door and it was Nell, she brought us some towels and then congratulated me and said that I was glowing.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Not just that type of glowing, babe.”

“What do you mean?”

“She said I had a newlywed glow, yes, but there was something else.”

“What?”

“Lets just say I had to run across the street to the drug store for a certain item and when I used it it was positive.”

He sits up just enough so that he can look into her eyes. “You mean-“

A weary smile crosses her face unsure how he’ll take the news. They hadn’t really talked about kids before. “I’m pregnant.”

“Really?”

“I know it’s fast but-“

She’s surprised when his eyes begin to water and he bites his lips trying to control his emotions. But the strain in his voice gives him away. “Are you kidding?!”

“No.”

His lips crash into hers as he limbs wrap around her body, clinging to her. Places a quick peck to her lips before getting up and running over to the sliding glass door which confuses her until he steps out onto the balcony and yells at the top of his lungs. “WE’RE HAVING A BABY!”

She bites her lip as she watches the love of her life run back and forth across the wooden floor shouting for all of New Zealand to hear. But its only a few minutes before he’s running back inside to find warmth and take his place right next to his wife whose spread out on the couch. Yeah, life’s just full of surprises.

#Densi #Densi Fanfic #Kensi Deeks #Marty Deeks #AU #Meant to Be #NCIS: LA

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langdxn · 4 years

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likewise | richard x fem!reader

WARNINGS: Mentions of self-harm and mental illness (duh), implied smut, trauma and angst errywhere, fluff to the extreme... oh and the ending.

WORD COUNT: 2k

A/N: I’ve never written for Richard before so all the credit goes to the lovely cherry anon for the wonderfully thoughtful request!

Richard was a man of few words.

Maybe that’s why you were attracted to him the moment you first saw him from across the clinic lounge.

“Sleep well?” Jonah sneered as he towered over Richard, already brimming with accusations and critiques. The new guy’s unnerved, steely silence only poured petrol on the fire.

“You know, that mattress can be a little lumpy, sometimes I just lie there tossing and turning.”

Richard froze, speechless.

“Didn’t bother you, I guess?” He goaded, chewing his nails as he eagerly buzzed with passive-aggressive material for the first time in weeks. “No nocturnal emissions?”

He clutched at Richard’s arm and leaned in to whisper something. From your seat in the far corner, you couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying, but the way Richard wriggled uncomfortably in his new self-assigned armchair suggested he was pouring his usual poison in the new guy’s ear.

“Has anybody ever told you you’re a total fucking dickwad, Jonah?” You barked, pacing over to stand by Richard’s side and placed a gentle, reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Once or twice,” Jonah shrugged. “But you love it, Y/N, don’t try and deny it.”

“Think what you want, slasher, you always do. Now fuck off and find someone else to piss off,” you scolded. There was no genuine malice between you, you just knew how to push his buttons in the same way he pushed everybody else’s.

“Sure, I’ll leave you and your boyfriend alone... I’ll be out on the court if she bores you, kid.” Jonah slapped his knees contentedly and practically skipped out of the lounge.

“Wanker,” you muttered jokingly, waiting until Jonah had left the area to perch on the arm of Richard’s chair.

“Please don’t take him personally, he’s like that to everyone,” you reassured, a comforting smile hanging in the corner of your lips. “I’m fairly certain he’s compensating for his microscopic dick.”

Richard restrained a chuckle under his breath, breaking his stare into the middle distance to meet your friendly gaze.

“I’m Y/N, and you are...?”

Richard looked down into his lap, not yet confident to speak up. You settled for the silence, changing the subject as much as you knew how in the confines of a clinic where everybody’s common denominator was being fucked in the head.

“I have bad dreams too,” you confessed. “I don’t see faces in them though, that’s why I’m so fucked up. I see Slenderman everywhere I go. I’m pretty sure I’ll see Slenderman with your voice tonight too.”

He sighed deeply, clearly reminding him of his own traumatic experiences.

“Look, Jonah’s the least of our problems in here. He’s alright once you let him know his bullshit doesn’t work on you.”

As he raised his hand to sweep his long hair from his forehead, you noticed dark pencil smudges on the back of his hand. Deep lead imprints, the charcoal ghosts of an artist.

“You draw? Fancy showing me?” You smiled warmly, a subtle grin emerging on his lips as he nodded eagerly. You hopped from the arm of his chair and outstretched a hand to help him up. He accepted -- reluctantly. As you turned to leave together, a voice piped up beside you.

“Richard, my name’s Richard.”

———

You’d been in Jonah’s room a few times before, mostly to borrow books and exchange insults, but ever since Richard arrived, the bedroom became darker. The shadows in the corners deepened, the air thicker, the atmosphere colder.

While Richard rummaged through his drawers to find his sketchbook, you leaned over Jonah’s bed to crank the radiator up a few notches. Teenage boys wouldn’t have the first idea about living sensibly, in fact the radiator wasn’t even turned on.

A hard smack on the floor behind you suggested Richard had found what he was looking for. You dropped to your knees beside the red sketchbook, Richard sat cross-legged and peeled open the pages to unveil his work inside.

Page after page of sinister, dark characters unfurled before you. Cowering, gargoyle-like figures, emotionless faces, morbid imaginations even the worst horror movie couldn’t conjure.

You sat in total silence for what felt like hours, flicking through the pages with a nervous trepidation, almost terrified which nightmare would grace you on the next spread.

“These are the guys you see in your dreams?” You broke the tension between you.

Richard nodded silently.

“I can’t decide which is worse - Slenderman dressed as Richard or Hunchback of Notre Dame over here.”

Richard burst into a full laugh, swinging his head back and slapping his thighs.

“You’re alright, Y/N,” his hand landed on your knee, innocent but comforting. Richard was warming to you and this was his sign.

“Likewise, Richard.”

———

By some chance, your room was right across the hall from Jonah and Richard’s. For the first few weeks, their room was silent all night, every night.

One night, Jonah hadn’t come to bed. Presumably his basketball game with himself overran, that was nothing new. What was new, however, were the scratching noises coming from their room.

Had Richard woken in a frantic mood? Was he determinedly searching his drawers for something? You tried to ignore the offending cacophony of scuffles against the paper-thin walls, until they became louder, faster, unbearable.

With a huff, you crossed the hallway in your sleep shirt and shorts, tapping on the door for permission to enter. No reply. You gulped hard, your clammy hands gripping the handle to quietly creep in.

Your gaze fell upon Richard, fast asleep in the dark bedroom, laid flat on his back with his shirt wide open, his hand twitching in his sleep. So where were the noises coming from? Was he really fidgeting that much in his sleep?

Something foolish in your head told you to nudge him just to check he was okay, perhaps waking him would help him out of his restlessness. You stood beside his bed, your fingertips gently grazing his shoulder.

Suddenly, he leapt out of his bed and backed you against the wall, clutching tightly at your throat. His eyes had barely opened before he saw you wriggling against his restraint, clawing at his hand.

“Ri—Rich—Richard it’s okay, it’s me, it’s Y/N,” you strained, “I’m not going to hur—hurt you, please.”

His head shook furiously, as if he wasn’t in control of his own body. A strained tear coursed its way down his cheek as his eyes pierced through yours in the dim light of his bedside lamp, his grip on your airways unwavering, unrelenting, unstoppable.

“Richard, plea—please,” you spluttered between struggling gasps, pleading for your life. Feeling yourself losing consciousness with every shallow breath, white spots scattered over your vision and your grasp on his hand weakened.

With a blink, Richard’s glare softened and his clawed hand loosened around your throat. You searched his eyes for a moment, watching his shy gaze return to his pupils. They glinted as they stared back at you, registering your kind, caring eyes looking back at him.

They suddenly darted down to your lips.

You crashed your lips against his in an open-mouthed, hurried kiss as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Richard’s hands wandered passionately through your hair, combing your flowing tresses. His leg hooked skilfully behind yours and you both tumbled back onto his bed without a flinch, his knees deftly separating yours to fall between your open thighs. Exploring each other’s mouths with frantic tongues and teeth clashing recklessly, your hands snaked down his back to grip his shirt.

Richard took your direction and broke your sloppy kiss to yank his shirt over his head, leading you to return the favour with yours.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” you panted as his hands scooped behind your back to tussle with your bra.

“Likewise,” he hummed, leaning down to pepper kisses up your neck. His hands met the waistband of your pyjama shorts, stopping his progress to sit up and look back into your eyes. “Is this okay?”

“Of course, Richard,” you reassured, cupping his face in both hands. “I’m yours.”

———

Richard waited for you the next night. He sat propped up against his headboard, sketchbook tucked neatly away in his drawer, tugging at his best shirt.

You never arrived.

That night, he had his worst dream so far. He was terrified for his life.

The next morning, the clinic was alight with gossip. Apparently the staff had walked in on Richard and Jonah in the same bed.

Following a strict dress-down from the governor, Richard slumped in his weary armchair, avoiding eye contact with everybody in the lounge as whispers and giggles filled the awkward silence.

You arrived to find him scowling to himself, glaring at the television as if he were holding it responsible. You dropped into your usual chair beside him, not daring to utter a word.

“Where were you last night?” he snapped.

“I--” you started.

“I needed you,” he whined as if you swallowed hard, preparing for his next bark once you explained your reasons for being missing in action.

“The governor called me in,” you hung your head, lowering your voice to a shameful mumble. “They told me I can go home.”

“But you’re still here?” He broke his middle-distance glare to turn to you.

“I... I told them I was having bad dreams again,” you stuttered, clasping your hands together and twirling your fingers around each other nervously. Richard, however, clasped his hands around the arms of his grey chair, his shoulders tensing as realisation hit him.

“Bu--but you’re not? W--why would you do that?”

“Because I want to stay here with you,” you met his gaze with a kind smile, a reassuring reminder that he was not alone in the clinic. Not anymore.

“Even after last night?”

“Especially after last night.”

———

Jonah hadn’t wanted to leave.

He begged, pleaded, he even told the governor how much Richard needed him. It was futile, their minds had been made up and it was in his best interests to leave the clinic before his mental state declined again.

Freedom from the clinic should have been more satisfying, more liberating. Instead, he could’ve retched with fear. Richard had become more than a friend — a friend that needed him, relied on him.

Standing in the doorway to the lounge, bag in hand and ready to face the big wide world outside the clinic, he saw Richard being handed his meds by an orderly.

“Richard,” he pleaded as he watched his friend reluctantly down his dose. The orderly left his side and Jonah looked on, devastated.

That is, until he saw your hand rest atop Richard’s, your palm laying open as Richard spat out the tablets. You tucked them discreetly up your sleeve and Richard’s hand returned to link with yours, his gentle fingers slotting perfectly between yours.

You leaned forward to wave Jonah goodbye, a wave that soon flipped into a middle finger that Jonah gleefully returned.

Making his way to the front door for the first time in months, Jonah breathed a sigh of relief. Richard was in safe hands.

Slumping back into your seat, Richard’s fingers gently squeezed yours.

“We’ll see him again,” he muttered, his eyes fixed on the blinking TV set before you.

“Let’s run away,” you blurted out, even surprising yourself with your bluntness. Somehow, Richard didn’t even flinch at the idea, simply nodding in agreement. “You’ve got a rich cousin in the US, right?”

“Somewhere by the beach,” he explained, a smile dancing on his lips.

“Let’s run away to the beach, then. Change our names, dye our hair, pretend we’re brand new people. We could learn to surf, rule the waves together, you and me.”

A vibrant commercial burst onto the lounge television, a saccharine advertisement for a sunny seaside idyll. Through the crashing azure waves soaked in gorgeous sunlight, the location’s name burst onto the screen.

“Palos Verdes?” You repeated, meeting Richard’s blue eyes matching the ocean on the screen.

“Palos Verdes.”

#the last time i saw richard #richard x reader #cody fern

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rixxy8173571m3w1p3 · 4 years

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Whatever Keeps You Up At Night

Boy, this fic has been one I've been picking at for months. And while it's not perfect, I think I'm going to go ahead and post it cause I feel pretty good about it. There's a few song, movie, and poem references. I'll be surprised if someone gets them all.

In this fic the reader thinks about sleep

______________________

Clouds drifted across inky skies. Your central heat was cranked up just enough to leave you defrosted, but not any higher in fear it could fail. You thought of getting something to drink, but you didn't want to leave the warmth and comfort of your bed. Winter wasn't your favorite season, but it reminded you of him.

Oh, if you would've been in his home, there certainly would've been more sound. It wouldn't have necessarily come from the house itself, but from him; his breathing, footsteps, or the light whistle of his teeth which covered up his snoring; its sound feeding the springtime in your heart. If you had gone over when he was ready to go to bed, he would've stayed up and entertained you. Yet, none of that could've taken place if he wasn't home. So, you weren't in his home, you were in yours.

In the sharp corners where shadows laid, you dared not step until it was noon. In the daytime, though mostly in the evening was the draft which never went away and gave you a chill; causing you to wrap your duvet closer. It smelled like Ricks detergent, and you were surrounded by the night. You weren't a stranger to its lonesome ways, nor were you acquainted with it, but you existed in it; willing yourself to be anything other than awake. Try as you may, tonight's sleep might not come so readily, because you already begun to think about him and dearly wished he was home; on earth; in this dimension; anywhere close if he could help it; except for right now where it could not be helped that he was on assignment and that you had to be without him much longer then you wished, but you would wait as well as go on because you did have a life; albeit a little bland without him.

At night, while part of the world was quieting down, other parts were waking up and heading off to work; you could do either; so could he. Sometimes you would work through the night, especially when you had an idea itching to be written, but most often you would sleep; or at least try to sleep with hopes of having sweet dreams; at times your dissociated thoughts having found their way back to you. You had never been much of a dreamer, and you rarely liked to dream; you never felt rested enough in the morning after, but at times it was nice; more so if Rick was in them. Thoughts of how he was doing kept you up at times - as it was doing now - and you could only wonder where in the universe he currently was, but you'd almost forget about it if anxious thoughts took over, and problems you hadn't solved reappeared. Sometimes thoughts of the past intermingled with your dreams; as pleasant or heartbreaking as they could be.

Tossing and turning were options you could accept, but if he was available, you'd call Zeta-7 to hear him, and allow his cheerfulness to ease you into a gentle submission; to relax beyond compare, and leave you in a decent enough mood to doze. Why, you could listen to him explain anything from quantum mechanics to the variety of animal mutations which existed in a galaxy far, far away; to be lulled and softened by his cadence, was a treat you wouldn't have traded for anything in the world. If it happened on the rare chance that you were overcome by exhaustion, you'd just fall asleep as soon as your head hit your pillow; not understanding how or when you'd close your eyes, though you were always grateful when you did. However, if it so happened that you woke up randomly without a cause, but from a feeling, then you knew; you had just missed him; his existence being like a midnight soliloquy; like a ghost, he was sometimes there, but then wasn't; it wasn't that difficult to see why, but it still surprised you nonetheless.

It seemed that once you had given Rick the permission to visit whenever he liked, he did; being woken by the familiarity of his presence on more than one occasion. It was neither ambiguous or obscure, but there, like the air you breathed, being a living, positive force of goodness; vital to your existence. Just when you thought there were no other comparisons to be made, he continued to become and shape himself into the extraterrestrial being that he caused himself to be. Oh, some days you would miss him something fierce, but whenever you'd find yourself so alone, you'd remember that he'd come; whenever it was that he could.

Now, he wasn't sloppy, nor did he hide that he had come by, but he was careful. Quietly, he would check about the house, then would step into your bedroom with caution as though sleeping beauty might wake. At times you only caught the blur which barely stepped out of the doorway, or was soothed by the hand which smoothed out your hair, and other times it was just his scent which lingered; an echo of his existence. Once he sang you a Mexican love song, which made your heart burn, and it seemed interwoven into your half-woken state; having been so drowsy you thought you had dreamt it. And because he worked at random hours, and sometimes for days and weeks at a time, he'd come and lightly kiss you hello and goodbye before going back to work, though your recollections were few. It was precious, and you enjoyed it; at least when you were conscious of it. Most of the time, however, you were only aware of the warmth which touched your cheek and of the blanket which had been placed over you when you were cold; these being the other ways in which he showed you he loved you.

Yet, it happened one night, just as you were about to go to sleep after having spent a better part of the day typing, you saw the familiar green glow in the hallway, and then saw him come through your doorway. He looked at you as though you were a ghost, and you stared into the dark, your nowhere man being there; somewhere out of your reach. As you were about to turn on the light, his gentle touch stopped you. Unsure of what he was about, you didn't struggle as he pulled you into an embrace, but having him squeeze you with all his might, trembling despite himself left you unsettled. “Ricky," you wondered; a flutter of anxiety starting to build in your chest. "what's the matter?”

“I-I-I wish I could just stay here with you,” he began in a low voice; the scent of smoke and disinfectant coming off of him as you rubbed his back. “where n-nothing bad happens.”

He had smelled like this before; as though he had been busy with janitorial duties instead of sorting through papers or lab samples. “Bad day?”

“Y-yeah."

Bad wouldn't be the beginning as to describe it; of that you were sure. You assumed it was another case where he was responsible for the lowly, more humble work which his workmates didn't care to do; or was assigned as to demean him; bullied into doing; likely all of the above. “I'm sorry,” you softened. “I hope it wasn't that bad.”

“It's - I'll b-be fine. I just - I-I had to see you.”

A chill ran through your back. Under any other circumstances, you could've interpreted that as one of his romanticisms, but his quiet desperation brought about a fresh wave of worry instead. "But can you see me in the dark?"

"I wouldn't have been able to if it wasn't for my bionic eye. Did I-I tell you about that yet? I'm sorry if th-that sounds gross."

"I don't know if you told me yet. I guess now is a good time as ever, but maybe you can explain it in detail another day."

"I'm s-sorry, I know you were about t-t-to go to bed, but I - all I could think about was you."

Warmth flooded your cheeks, and you wished you had worn something cuter instead of an old pair of pajamas, but you knew he didn't care. Zeta-7 was lovely that way. You tried to think of something flirty to say in return, but a yawn escaped you instead."Boy, I really have bad timing, d-don't I?" he commented.

"Dear, don't get me wrong, I love having you here," Which was true in all respects, though you wondered if you could put him at ease. "but maybe… perhaps it would be better if we went to the living room. I can get you something warm to drink if you'd like.”

“Y-you don't have to do that." he said in a hurry. "Besides," he continued. "don't - don't I look better this way?”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you cooed.

“No, you don't. Why would you say that? I already know you as you are and I can say for certain that you are the light of my life. To me, you've always been handsome. In fact," you smiled up at him; unsure if he could see your sincerity. "you're the man of my dreams. I dream of you, of that darling smile, of your winning personality which lights up my days, and of your sweetness. Your unconditional sweetness. If you don't believe me, you can always check my dreams.”

“Gosh, if life….si la vida pudiera ser u-un sueño," he sighed, "then I'm sure it'd be you. If I-I had the time it'd be nice if we could - if I could dwell there; in that dreamland of yours. I bet it'd be swell, and normally I'd think all of that - all of which you suggested would be swell, but today hasn't been--it hasn't been that kind t-t-to me."

"I know, but isn't there anything I can do for you Rick?"

He didn't answer. You moved a hand to caress his face in hopes of soothing him but instead found a bump on his right cheek which caused him to wince. “What was that?"

"It's - it's nothing."

"Don't you lie to me Ricardo," you reprimanded. "this is something."

Gingerly, you followed where his skin was warmer than usual and was raised. Your heart sank at the thought of what could've happened. "Oh no, did they…. did they hurt you? What happened?"

A noise escaped him, but he neither confirmed nor denied. This, in turn, made you reluctant to want to return him to the monsters, but you knew he would go; whether or not you wanted him to. The villainy which existed in his kind and Zeta-7's rarity made him such an easy target. You had talked to him about it before, about how he should speak up, but the harsh reality of his situation prevented him from doing so, and you wondered how much more would they try to take from him. True, he wasn't a broken man, but even bravery needed its encouragement and you were going to love him all the more for it because that's all you could do at the moment. "My sweet, sweet man, do you know what I love about you?"

Passing a hand through his hair, you were careful not to brush his cheek, to which a sigh escaped him; the likes of it as though he only just now began to calm. You continued. "I love that no matter what, you'll persevere and continue to be determined. You're so strong, that I couldn't be prouder, but please, don't let them take you away from me."

The arms which had almost been lenient in their affection held you a fraction tighter; immovable in the way in which you were grounded. It was as though being in want of comfort, he in turn desired to return in kind; his impalpable emotions giving way to simpler, softer ones. "I missed you. I-I missed this. Warm hugs and a-affirmation."

"If it's hugs you want," you replied softly. "you can have as many as I can give you. Affirmation? I'll give you enough to reach the moon. I'm no scientist, but somehow, I know you could make it come true."

Warm lips kissed your forehead, and a relieved chuckle brushed your cheek. "The math w-would be nearly impossible."

"So there's a chance." you giggled.

Leaning in close enough, he pressed his forehead to yours. "Yes, th-there is if you believe it enough."

"I do believe, but more so I believe in you. How...how can it be that someone as incredible as you would be harmed by people who look the same? To hurt my man of all people? I ought to get some training and become your bodyguard or something. It just isn't right for anyone else to touch even a hair on your head."

“It um - it was an accident. I sh-should've been paying attention to where I was going. I know it seems bad, but it isn't." which you knew wasn't completely true. "However, I'll get it treated. I-I promise.”

"Why don't you let me take a look at it? I have a first aid kit in the hallway. And while I never finished my medical training, I know enough to treat this. Please, why not let me play nurse and help you feel a little better?"

“M-mi corazón, I would rather y-you don't see it. It looks worse th-then it actually is, but it's fine. Really, I-I swear it is. You've already done more than enough.”

Pulling away a bit, you wondered. "Have I? It seems all I've done is talk you into oblivion, but what about you?"

"Wh-what about me?" he wondered.

"It isn't like you to swear. I haven't heard you swear yet." you teased, pressing a soft kiss on his injury. "I doubt I ever will."

"It's not th-that kind of swear," he began to explain, but then he stopped, thought for a bit, then chuckled. "but I-I-I see what you're - I understand the joke."

You noticed that Zeta-7 avoided standing in the moonlight, and while you couldn't really see him, you didn't relent in your expressions. “Man, if I would've known you were coming over, I would've dressed up a little and made sure there was extra food for you to eat. I'm sorry.”

“It's alright, I-I already ate. I finally used my coupon for Rick's Diner near main street."

Playing with the collar of his sweater you wondered. "Was it any good?"

"It um - it was alright, but I think next time I'll pack some food to warm up. You um - you smell nice by the way. I'm sorry if I-I smell.”

By now, you had gotten used to the variety of smells which could've wafted off him. He had smelled better and worse before, but that only added to his curious ways and charms. "Well, if you're so worried about it, then why don't you stop being so shy and come a little closer. That way you could smell like me."

The silence which proceeded was almost frightening. Hmm, you might've gone too far again, but you couldn't help yourself; half the time he opened the way for light teasing. And yet, you had told yourself before that it wasn't so kind to play with an old man's heart; despite the best of intentions, it might not have been perceived that way, but in the quiet of the room, you could feel his mature heart quicken at your words, and the light rustle of clothes as he fidgeted despite himself. He was so adorable, it was almost criminal, but before he could stumble upon himself in embarrassment, you added. "I was just kidding. Goodness, I guess I have bad timing too. At least where jokes are concerned. Still, to have you here…it's better than a dream."

Again, there was a silence that proceeded and you felt the tug of doubt, but he broke the silence with his sincerity. "I-I never thought you - that I'd be so lucky to enjoy moments like th-this. Let alone with a-a woman."

"In the dark?"

"Whenever. I'm s-sorry I still get embarrassed, but you make me nervous at times. Y-you can be a little unpredictable."

"Good," you brightened. "keeps things exciting. Though, everytime you say something like that, it makes me wonder if it'd be the last time I'd hear you say it. It better not be."

"In my line of work," he admitted solemnly, "there's always a-a chance of that happening, but it's not - I don't like to think about it. However, it does make me appreciate that I'm able to have someone when I - when I'm lonely. I know how pitiful that sounds and how much I repeat it, but you don't know how it's been a great comfort. If you weren't here I'd…"

Though the words died in his throat. You had a feeling as to what he might've meant to say, and frankly, you were glad to not have heard them. Rubbing his back, you cooed. "It's okay. It's all going to be fine. I don't mind how many times you tell me, because I know how much you mean it. I'm right here if you need me. As I am now, and always will be. If you'd like anything...if you need to or want some fresh clothes to change into, I'm sure I can find something around here that might fit. If you want to stay here with me, that's ok too. Whatever you need, I'll be happy to help."

"Allowing me t-t-to come here is more than enough."

Resting a hand on his chest you wondered. "Are you sure? You could stay. Couldn't you stay?"

"I-I wish I could princess. You don't know how much I'd rather be here, but I-I don't want them coming here t-t-to retrieve me, so it's better if I go soon."

"Why?"

"If the guard Rick's have to retrieve me one too many times, they might limit my portal gun use and I'd rather avoid that."

"I swear, I think there's a curse keeping us apart."

Caressing your cheek with the pad of his thumb, he chuckled. “By now, I ugh - I suppose I've become a bit of a broken record, but I promise I'll make it up to you. Curses and swearing aside that is."

"I know."

You didn't want him to go. Not back to those people who couldn't appreciate him. How he put up with it you didn't know. “Maybe one of these days, you could skip out on work and we'll go somewhere. Maybe we could go to Blips and Chitz, and I'll try that one dance game designed for spider people. Wouldn't that be nice? Then we could go see the Jerry's and I can get asked embarrassing questions all about you. How does that sound?”

Bending down to kiss you, he winced but kissed you nonetheless. “That would be swell, but w-we can't go tonight. I-I should get going. I had wanted to make sure you were safe, but it's nice t-t-to see you up. I hope you didn't mind me barging in this way.”

“I don't mind, but I only wish that I could be awake more often when you're here.”

“I-I know, but it's okay. I usually can't stay for long anyway.”

What a shame it really was. You hid your face in his chest, relishing in the warmth and softness of his sweater while you still could; foolishly hoping that he would change his mind. Who would've known he could be so stubborn. Then again, you couldn't find fault in that. “Maybe if I ask the sandman hard enough to bring me a dream," you admitted in a girlish voice. "then I'll see you again real soon."

"I will see you. Y-you only have to look for me."

"In my dreams?"

"If y-you believe."

You pulled him in for a kiss then, pressing peck after peck knowing that he would disappear. You knew he didn't get enough affection already, and he'd have to make due with what you could give him, but was it really enough? You'd never know. With one arm around you, his other was digging around in his pockets for his portal gun. And just as his fingers lightly brushed it, you stopped him and handed him your favorite stuffed animal. “Huh? F-for me?”

“Mhm. That's Bimbo, he'll be sure to keep you safe. He um…my dad had always told me that this stuffy would keep me safe and I consider him one of the dearest friends in the world, but right now I know I'm not the only one who could use a friend. I'm sure he'd be happy to keep you company for a while."

"But h-he's important to you."

"True, but you're the most important to me. Now, something to remember is that he likes to give plenty of hugs and enjoys tea parties, though he would never readily admit it."

"I-I like those things too."

"See? You two are going to be good friends. There's no doubt that you two will get along."

The arm which had been holding you about your waist held you a fraction tighter, and if you hadn't given him a light push, he might've not been encouraged to go. “You gotta let me go now. I don't want you to get in trouble. Please, just make sure to return to me in one piece. Understand?.”

“Yes, I-I-I do. I will.” he answered, before opening a portal and stepping through.

The warmth he had brought was already growing cold. And checking the time, you were sure that you weren't going to get a wink. So dragging the duvet cover with you, you plopped yourself on the couch and flipped through Interdimensional cable, until you found a movie you've might've watched a dozen times before; snuggling into the pillow that still smelled like him; hoping that he will be fine.

Fin

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hispeculiartreasure · 5 years

Text

All We’ve Got is Time - Chapter Ten | B. B.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

AU: If They’d Survived/Post-War/Window Washer!Bucky Barnes

Rating: All Ages

Word count: 2,975

Chapter 10/24

Warnings: Just a bad word.

AN: This chapter is. . . not my favorite. Mostly because I’m a stubborn bitch and finished this up in the middle of a migraine; I apologize in advance for my less-than thorough proofreading. It’s very heavy on information, but it’s necessary to set up future chapters and I feel like it shows growth. Don’t worry, I threw in lots of fluff and cute moments for ya. Forever appreciative for those of you reading!

Also, my 1k Followers Celebration is still going on! I’ll start posting the drabbles tomorrow, requests will remain open until Sunday. Y’all are the greatest followers ever! 💕

Chapter Nine

‘All We’ve Got is Time’ Masterlist

Bucky crams two fingers into the collar of his dress shirt, tugging at it for an attempt at relief in the sweltering New York heat. Pushing open the door to the skyscraper housing the VA’s Regional Benefit Office in Manhattan, he steels himself for this meeting. There were few things he hated more than dressing up in a monkey suit.

As soon as this is over I’m burning this tie.

The office is overflowing with men dressed almost exactly the same as him. Every seat in the waiting room is taken, presumed veterans stand elbow to elbow in what available standing room is leftover. There had to be at least 20 of them crammed into the small space. Fighting every instinct to turn tail and run from the room radiating nervous energy, Bucky politely checks in with the secretary before finding the last unoccupied spot by the window. This was a good thing. A step in the right direction. . . right?

He can’t help but inspect the window’s cleanliness, noting that the brushing technique was sloppy, leaving streaks behind. Gazing beyond the glass he imagines you working in your office today completely focused on your work. Wishing he really was watching you while he washed windows he remembers the huge smile on your face when he’d shared the news that he’d finally gotten this job counseling appointment. The thrill that lit up your eyes, the pride when you squeezed his arm. . . that was reason enough to stay put and wait.

After reading a spare newspaper entirely and watching what felt like every other person on earth walk in and out of the office, his name is finally called. He nods and steps forward to indicate that he indeed was James Barnes before following the weary man with the clipboard.

“Carl Baines, nice to meet ya. Alright Sergeant Barnes, how can the Department of Veterans Affairs help you today?”

“I, uh, was told I could get job counseling.” Following the man’s lead, Bucky sits opposite of the man, his desk piled with paperwork between them.

“That is correct. We have a questionnaire you can fill out that will give us a sense of direction on what you have an aptitude for,” the employee was already rifling through files, opening and closing drawers before placing a stack in front of Bucky.

“Sorry - I already have an idea of a job, I just don’t know where to start. Can you help with that?”

“Oh,” he blinks. “Yeah, you’re the first person I’ve talked to in days that’s said that. Uhh. . . what’re you thinking?”

“Working with cars?” “Okay, I can steer you in the right direction. Hold on.” Swiveling his chair to the filing cabinet behind him he mutters to himself as he cards through various files. “Automotive service, here we go.” The file lands on his desk with a plop before he’s flipping through it.

“Alright, looks like there’s lots of options. Best place to start is by picking up service manuals from manufacturers - they crank them out every year for mechanics to stay up-to-date, your local shop may have a few around. Manufacturers also usually have training courses if you agree to work for them. There’s also a lot of training conferences held if you get a job at a garage first. The library might even have a couple film rolls on auto mechanics. Looks like there are a few evening classes the public school system is offering. Another option is a private trade school where you’d stay until your training was complete. Or you could take a correspondence course, work in a shop at the same time, theory and practice together is always a good idea. Thoughts?”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to blink. “Uhh. . .”

The man smiles apologetically and leans back in his chair. “Sorry. I understand that was a lot. We’ve been so busy, I forget to slow down sometimes. But the VA is offering to cover tuition for college or trade school up to $500 per year. Book, supplies, all of that is covered too. Plus you’ll get a cost-of-living stipend so you can focus on getting through school or training.”

Bucky nods, the idea of a future right in front of him somehow both thrilling and paralyzing. “Wow. Okay. Where’s the nearest trade school?”

“Let me check,” his finger trails down a list. “New Castle School of Trades, Pennsylvania.”

“How long would I be there?”

“Most schools are condensing their programs because of the influx of students. Maybe six months?”

Bucky is already shaking his head. “I don’t think I can be away that long.” He knows he can’t be away from you that long.

“It says here that they have a correspondence course. You’d receive assignments from instructors through the mail. You could finish in the same amount of time and only have to be there for a month of training halfway through the program. And they recommend finding a job a garage in the meantime. I have a friend who’s a mechanic and from what he says it pays to learn as much as you can as fast as you can. It takes constant studying, but you’ll be ahead of the curve if you work at the same time.”

“Okay,” Bucky stares at his hands folded in his lap, trying to think quickly. He didn’t want to be away from you, Steve, or his family for any length of time, but one month was better than six. And the sooner he could start something of his own, the better. “I think that’s the way I wanna go.”

“Let’s make it happen. Here’s an application for their school, get it in the mail as soon as possible so you can get started. Here’s a letter to attach stating that the government is covering all charges. While you’re here, I can get the paperwork started for your cost-of-living stipend.” More paperwork is pushed around the mess of a workspace as Carl pulls out a checklist. “You never enrolled for unemployment benefits, correct?”

“No, I was able to find a job pretty quick.”

He checks a box, “Okay. No dependents?”

“No.”

Another box is checked. “That combined with your service record will be about. . .” Carl slides a finger across a graph before tapping the paper twice, “$75 a month while you’re training plus an additional two months after you’re gainfully employed. Sound okay?” Bucky opens his mouth to answer but Carl didn’t give him the chance to respond. “Also if you’re looking for funds for a business or home, you’re eligible for a guaranteed loan whenever you apply, zero down with low interest. Lots of people are leaving the city and building houses on the outskirts of the city. It’s probably just a phase though. Any questions?”

“Not right now.”

“Well if you do have any, you’re welcome back anytime. We’re here to help.” Carl stands before shoving a pile of paper into his hands, simultaneously herding him toward the door. Next thing he knew Bucky was back in the waiting room that didn’t feel any less crowded. Thinking only of escape, Bucky doesn’t stop moving until he was outside the building.

Looking at the mess of paperwork he held, he sighs.

“One step at a time,” he whispers to himself, hearing your voice in his mind.

----

“How could the class sizes have grown so much since we graduated?” Bucky mumbles in Becca’s ear, pressed together in the masses of families seeking seating for the high school graduation ceremony. Baffled by the sheer number of people, he was quickly realizing the goal of everyone sitting together was futile.

The Barnes family shuffles through the crowd, searching in the chaos of the Brooklyn Stadium. Even being head-and-shoulders above most of the crowd Bucky couldn’t shake nerves ticking away in his chest. When they do find a clear bench in the stands they quickly discover the five of them don’t have a chance to fit together.

Rose gasps in dismay, “Oh, and I promised to save Robert a seat. If it was just us I’d say we could squeeze together but between when John gets here, my belly, and Robert. . .” she lays a self-conscious hand to her ever-growing midsection.

Becca gently grabs her sister’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, y’all take these seats. Bucky and I can find a spot together somewhere else. We’ll meet you afterwards.” George and Winnifred having long ago taken their seats, Rose joins them - sitting strategically to save seats for Evelyn’s beau and her own husband.

The idea of crawling over people to cram into a seat with little-to-no way to exit swiftly made Bucky’s anxiety heighten. Before Becca can move up the bleachers she catches her brother’s eye, catching the subtle tilt of his head toward the bottom of the stairs. Their remaining family being thoroughly distracted by the hubbub of the event, they weren’t noticed as they move down and away from the dull roar of the crowd several yards away from the bleachers.

“You alright?” Becca probes. Not taking his tight nod for a good enough answer she asks quietly, “Too many people?”

“Yeah. Still don’t like loud, crowded places.”

“Makes sense,” she says, more to herself than to Bucky. They stand together and people-watch, making comments about peers they recognize from their old high school days or teachers they couldn’t believe were still working 10 years later.

Before long their brother-in-law joins the family in the stands, sending a wave their way before kissing his wife on the cheek. But then a young, rail-thin young man approaches the Barneses, sheepishly accepting their warm welcome.

“That him Rose is fawning all over?” Bucky nods toward the situation. Becca cranes her neck before nodding affirmatively. “God, he looks 12 years old.”

“Bucky.”

“And he’s older than her?”

Becca narrows her eyes in his direction, “Only by two years. He’s just about finished his teaching training, should be able to start working in the fall.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t sound so unimpressed, you were the one bent out of shape about him having a good job. Teachers are in demand, you know that.”

Bucky rocks back and forth on his heels “How have I not met the kid when they’ve been dating for almost a year?”

“You only got back around the holidays.”

“But Evelyn only brings him around the house when she knows I’m not going to be there. Why?”

“Could be a coincidence.”

“You’ve turned into a shit liar the last few years, Becs.”

After a good-natured elbow to his ribs, Bucky’s shoulders relax ever-so-slightly.

“Evelyn’s gotten under your skin, huh?”

“I just don’t like it.” A hand makes contact with the back of his head and he jerks to face his sister, her face glowing with stern righteousness. “What was that for!”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m lost.” Bucky hold his hands up in surrender, not even sure what he’s surrendering to.

“As much as Evelyn doesn’t act like it, your opinion matters to her. Plus she doesn’t want you scaring him off.”

“If he scares easily he’s not good enough for her.” Bucky shifts his feet, eyes zeroing in on the gangly boy sharing a laugh with his mother.

Becca scoffs at him. “Have you seen yourself when you’re trying to be scary? Let alone when you aren’t trying? He’s a solid guy, Bucky. Give him a chance.”

A sigh escapes Bucky before he makes an admission. “The whole family has gotten to know him. I know y’all like the kid and don’t have a problem with them getting married, but-.”

“You’re hurt that you haven’t been given that chance.” Bucky tries to protest but is quickly shushed by his sister. “I get it. You and Evelyn are too similar for your own good. Show her a little respect in her choice, give her the chance to make a good choice.”

Bucky can’t formulate a reply before the ceremony commences, the long line of graduates marching out onto the football field. The event is efficient for a such a large class - a record-breaking class at that-, even after the family cheers and whistles as Evelyn Barnes receives her diploma early on. The moment the ceremony comes to a conclusion hoards rush to their graduates on the field, whereas the Barneses hold back, waiting for Evelyn to find them.

George, Winnifred, Rose, John, and Robert gravitate to the spot where Bucky and Becca had watched with pride.

“Well, our girl did it,” George gives a rare smile as Evelyn finally pushes through the crowd so the family converges together at the same moment.

“Congratulations, sweetheart!” Winnifred wraps her youngest in a delighted hug.

“Thanks, Mom. Hi, Rob,” Evelyn blushes deeply and accepts a kiss to the top of her capped head from her beau.

“Proud of you, Evie.” Bucky sidles up to give her a hug from the side before facing Robert, Evelyn’s panicked face causing a twinge in his heart. Becca was right. He has been too harsh on her.

“Bucky, right? I’ve heard wonderful things about you,” Robert extends a hand, delivering a surprisingly confident handshake despite the sweat developing on his brow.

“Likewise.” Bucky says with forced optimism. This is why I was a soldier and not a spy, he thinks ruefully.

----

“So you actually approve of Robert?” Even over the phone Bucky can practically see the surprise on your face.

“Can’t believe I’m saying it, but yeah. Becca gave me a whole speech before I met him, made me back off of the protective brother bit slightly.”

“Oh, only slightly?” you tease.

“Yeah. Turns out Becca was right.”

“I have a feeling I’m going to get along with her.”

His heart flutters at the idea of you anticipating, even looking forward to, meeting his family. “Anyway,” he sighs dramatically, adjusting his grip on the phone before observing New York City bustling outside the phone booth. “How was your day, Sassafras?”

The sound of your groan crackling through the receiver triggers Bucky’s grin. “Don’t you even start with me. Between you and Anderson-”

A strange voice laced with an Irish accent abruptly enters the conversation. “Is anybody on the line?”

Bucky holds the mouthpiece away to avoid deafening you with a bark of laughter.

“Yes, Mrs. O’Shaughnessy,” you breathe with exasperation. “We just started talking.”

“Oh. I see. Well I need to call my sister, dear - with the weather getting so warm I’m worried about her and-”

“Okay, okay, we won’t be too long, I promise.” Even in your frustration you remain kind, a quality Bucky was beginning to deeply admire.

He hears a tell-tale click before you sigh. “The joys of party line service. What was I saying?”

“Something about your boss.”

“Oh yeah. He’s been in rare form this week. I’m starting to wonder why he’s the executive and I’m the typist when I’m drafting the original letters myself.”

“You have been pulling a lot of long days this week.”

“Apparently his time is better spent in the file room with the new secretary which sticks me with all the work,” you spit out bitterly. “And he gets to take credit for my flawless products, the pig. He makes my skin crawl.”

“Because he’s a corporate-climbing jerk or for another reason?”

“Well. . .” your hesitant voice hints at something else. “He’s forward and brash while being underhanded at the same time. It’s. . . unsettling.”

As Bucky opens his mouth to question further another click sounds off and the now-familiar lilt echoes back through the handset. “Is the line open now?”

“Still here, Mrs. O’Shaughnessy. I’ll be off in a few minutes.”

“You can’t tie up the phone line all day, young lady.”

“We all pay for the service. Check again soon.” Bucky bites his lip to contain his amusement at your firmness. A car horn goes off for several seconds, drawing the attention of several passers-by.

In confusion you ask, “Where are you calling from?”

“Payphone outside of Steve’s.”

“You’re paying that much for this call, Bucky? Jeeze I would’ve stopped talking ages ago, I’m sorry.”

“S’alright. Worth hearing your voice. I know I sound like a lovesick teenager, but not seeing you for a few days has been hard.”

“I know. But I’ll see you tomorrow. Any news today?”

“Yeah, I got my first assignment and textbooks for my training course.”

Your squeal makes his heart grow two sizes. “How exciting! Have you looked through it?”

“Not yet. Wanted to give it a good look when I had time. Also got my stipend in the mail.”

“That’s gotta feel good. When’re you going to give your window washing team notice?”

“I dunno. Don’t wanna leave them high and dry.”

“That was a horrible pun, Barnes. But I’m sure the boys can handle it.”

“We both know that’s debatable,” he revels in your giggle. “I better go chat with Steve.”

“You still haven’t talked to him?”

Even though he knows you can’t see him, he waves a flippant hand. “Nah, but it’s Steve. It’ll be fine.”

“And you’re sure about all this?”

“Very sure.”

“Okay. Hope it goes well. Tell me all about it tomorrow?”

“See ya tomorrow, sweetheart.” Before Bucky can hang up he hears Mrs. O’Shaughnessy once again, “Well he sounds handsome.”

Your unbridled laugh sends warmth through his chest as he replaces the handset and exits the booth. A block later, Bucky knocks on Steve’s door, army rucksack over his shoulder.

“Hey Buck,” Steve greets, eyes quickly flitting from the bag, to Bucky’s hands, before meeting his gaze.

Bucky gives a smug grin, holding up the envelope with his stipend nestled inside. “Spare room still open?”

“Nope.” Panic grips Bucky, that being the last thing he expected to hear. “Never was a spare room. Been yours from the start.”

Breathing out the fear, the brunet groans. “You’re a real jerk.”

“I know. Come on in.”

Chapter Eleven

Tags:

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes reader insert #1940s Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #beka writes #marvel fanfiction #All We've Got is Time #Chapter Ten

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zen3to5 · 4 years

Text

I’ve mentioned a few times that Season 6 is the last season I’ve seen all the way through. Back when I was first watching the show, I stopped at 6 mostly due to getting distracted with other things. But I also felt at the time that Season 6 just wasn’t as good as the first five. That’s about as much as I thought about it at the time; there were a handful of episodes I really liked from that season, so I’d watch those now and again, but for the most part, I avoided Season 6 and didn’t think much about it until this rewatch.

...Oh, God.

Season 6 is bad. “If Season 8′s the breaking point for most hardcore fans of this show, how much worse does it have to be?” bad.

I don’t even know where to start with this. How about with some holdovers from Season 5 that have lost all context - Kitty and Red’s personalities and dynamic. Kitty was more emotional in Season 5 and started hitting the bottle? It was motivated there - she started menopause, lost her father, felt empty-nest syndrome full force, and struggled to cope. Now, that erratic behavior’s divorced from nearly any motive (menopause gets mentioned once) and cranked up to eleven, and she becomes an alcoholic with wild mood swings. Red was crankier in Season 5? Motivated - he struggled to help his wife through a difficult time in her life and felt treating Eric harshly was for his own good, something he came around on by the end of the season. Now, though his heart attack could (and does, at times) motivate some of his behavior, he’s just generally more unpleasant and detached from everyone, and much less supportive of his family. Their marriage was complicated in Season 5? Motivated here by their respective issues and the stress of Eric’s engagement. Now, Kitty’s always high-strung and on Red’s case, and he’s always resigned to a strained marriage that he barely puts any work into.

But they don’t come off so bad - so bad - compared to Eric and Donna. I know some fans of the show don’t love that the engagement happened when it did in Season 5, or at all, but I like it. I’ll admit I may have a soft spot for the idea, having two best friends who got engaged in high school, married early in college, and are still going strong a decade later. But I also think, excepting one or two episodes that retread earlier conflicts (something almost impossible to avoid in this kind of sitcom), Eric and Donna come across in Season 5 as a couple ready to step into the future, live their lives, and prepare for married life together, and they put up a united front defending their decisions to their parents.

That resolve and maturity is still there at the very beginning of Season 6, but it slips away quickly, and by the end, their whole dynamic is just awful. The established relationship is swapped out for a lazy comedy cliche - the woman is a stiff nag who withholds sex and is always pushing over menial domestic crap but is always right because...well, because, and the man is a henpecked, horny moron who’s always doing stupid wacky crap and making a mess of everything but gets forgiven all the time because...well, because. And then to have a couple who are well-established - and even say so, in the show, as talking about everything - end up at a place where one buys a mobile home without asking the other, one walks out on their wedding without telling the other why until it’s too late, and the catalyst for breaking off their marriage - Donna suddenly wanting to stay in Point Place, which is justified by her claiming that seeing the world was her plan “when she was single” when she and Eric were still planning just this season to move, and Eric making a decision to “save” Donna from “ruining” her life - makes absolutely no sense.

As an individual character, Eric is completely derailed this season. Season 5 may have started emphasizing his nerdiness compared to earlier seasons, but only so much; Season 4 had started down that path, after all, and Eric’s still Eric in Season 5, with a good range of stories all tied in to his relationships with Donna and his family. But after his decision to stay at home and care for his family - something very much in line with his established character - he starts sliding more than any other individual character. The exaggerated nerdiness, the exaggerated horniness, the exaggerated idiocy and cowardice - all that would be bad enough, but this season also decides in the back half to push the idea that Eric is the loser of his friends group. Never mind all the established history, all the established character dynamics and comedy set-ups, never mind that his house is where they all gather - he’s such a pathetic dork at this point that Donna can’t name a reason she’s excited for their marriage, and Hyde openly remarks how hard it’s getting to be friends with his de facto stepbrother. Donna is comparatively better off, but only because her personality is more ignored than replaced; she just becomes “the woman,” a lazy sitcom cliche. (To be fair, her individual goals and quirks were largely ignored in Season 5 too, but in a much better season, that becomes more of a mild disappointment than another on a list of grievances.)

Fez’s voyeurism and “needs” were both longstanding aspects of his character by this point, but he just becomes gross in this season. If he’s not a skeevy perv who seems to genuinely believe that his friends are in open relationships that would someday see him doing it with Donna and Jackie, he’s a high-maintenance brat with no self-awareness of how much he’s pissing people off. He isn’t like this all the time, mind you, but it comes up often enough - usually in episodes that feature him in a storyline - to really damage his character. If I’m even tempted to side with Red and the INS, something’s wrong with the writing. His and Laurie’s wedding being forgotten about is annoying, but the show has such a bad track record with resolving Laurie’s material that I don’t care anymore. The new actress for Laurie does well enough, and I don’t mind that there was no romance between her and Fez, but it’s just a dud of a subplot.

Kelso comes off fairly well, all things considered. His idiocy and antics are toned down a little, and his impending fatherhood does bring out some maturity in his relationship with Brooke. I can’t say I’m sorry that Brooke didn’t get more to do, as I don’t find her terribly interesting, but as a straight woman to Kelso, she’s fine. Kelso’s relationship with Fez going full bromance is the more entertaining development for me. That’s a cliche too, but one that actually uses the characters’ personalities in this case, and the performers have great chemistry. Kelso and Fez had been paired in a few different contexts throughout the series, but this is one of the funniest. (The episodes devoted to that also have Suzy Simpson, the only recurring guest role I actually like this season.)

Then there’s Jackie and Hyde. Their reconciliation at the beginning of the season is sloppy and hard to square with what broke them up in the first place, but once they are back together, they’re the solid, stable couple of the show’s romances, and they get a few nice B-plots as a couple. They don’t really get anything as individuals (not even Jackie - more on that in a second.) So, no harm, but no growth.

This season has a few recurring guest stars, and as I already said, I only like one of them. Casey Kelso returning, and being accepted as a source of worldly wisdom by Donna of all people, makes no sense. Mitch made for a decent antagonist duo with his dad for Eric and Red in one episode in Season 5, and his brief return as a foil for Fez was all right. Here, he’s just a chore to watch. He’s a total creep, that Donna can’t see he’s a creep is ridiculous, and the episodes with him somehow seem more interested in making Eric out to be a loser than in Mitch’s rotten behavior.

And then...there’s Pam.

Pam Burkhart is barely a character. She’s most of Jackie’s more superficial traits as remembered by someone whose roommate watched T7S in college. And that means I really don’t have much to say about her, good or bad, on her own. The fact that she’s so thinly drawn isn’t an automatic flaw - as a short-lived supporting cast member, all she needs is enough of a dynamic with the main cast to give them interesting and fun material and development.

But she doesn’t do that. In the very first episode where she appears, what looks to be an ongoing story about Jackie confronting her mother derails into Bob dating Pam and the girls not liking it. A few lackluster attempts to break them up fail in the next episode, and then the relationship is just kind of...there. The girls don’t like it (not always for consistent reasons), but they’re ineffectual at doing anything about it. We don’t learn anything new about Jackie or get any new development for her. We don’t learn anything new or get any development for Bob, who’s in the relationship. All we get is one “joke,” used over and over again, that every man in the cast finds Pam hot. Something I’ve never understood about this show, even when they used the same bit with Midge, but at least it was much less prominent then. Here, it’s in every episode where Pam shows up, eats up so much damn screentime, and turns up in characters like Red and Hyde, who it doesn’t make any sense for.

Pam’s entrance is where the season goes completely off the rails, though not just because of her - other things start to go very wrong about that time. Top it off with a stupid way to end the marriage storyline, a ridiculous next-season-bait reveal about Hyde (more on that once I see what became of it in Season 7), and Midge turning up without the business about Bob and Pam getting any kind of finish, and it’s a miracle that Eric and Donna’s reconciling has any impact at all.

I don’t want to make it sound as if I took nothing from this season. It has great scenes, good episodes, and decent concepts, most of them in the front half. But it is just a train wreck at the end. I’m still planning to press ahead and finally go through Season 7, but...wow.

#that 70s show #critique #commentary

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okaybutlikeimagine · 5 years

Text

Get Your Feet to the Floor

(A fic that takes place the day before Season 2 starts, where Billy gets picked up by Hop for the first time and Hop sees Billy is clearly hurt and decides he can’t leave this boy on the street or in the drunk tank... so he takes him home.)

(catch it on AO3 here)

Word Count: 8,975

The first time Billy got pulled over in Hawkins, he’d only been there for a day.

He was red and angry and near sweating, mentally kicking himself and wishing he could leave his body to physically punch himself in the face for even thinking that things would be different here. That moving house would change the mind of the monster he has to legally say he’s related to by blood.

He hated everything about Hawkins, Indiana, and it had barely been over 24 hours for him to come to that conclusion. Then again, it had barely been over 24 hours for Neil to call him a “disgrace” and a “worthless bastard” who “wouldn’t know the meaning of respect if it hit him in the face”.

And Billy has to think that might be true. Billy has been hit in the face with a lot in the past 5 years. Rage, depression, irritation- all poorly mislabeled as “discipline” until it seemed to not matter exactly what it was for as long as it landed and shut him up. He definitely wouldn’t say any of those things were respect, and if they were, he thinks it would feel a hell of a lot like the back of Neil’s hand; so much so that he might definitely mistake it as such.

So when he got shoved into the wall for saying he was too tired to check something for Neil after a long day of moving, he got into his Camaro and tore through the streets. He set out to find some nice, quiet, straightaway roads that would be good for speeding down while blasting Zeppelin. He took a second to wonder how many cops the shithole of a town had and how often they patrolled.

He found out pretty quickly.

About 10 minutes into his drive, he got pulled over. Seemed like he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He briefly thought about running him out, then thought better of it. Didn’t wanna make that much of a fuss on his first day here.

The cop was young. Curly hair. Had glasses that made him look like a nerd and a moustache that made him look almost like a perv that belonged in a porno, but overall…. Handsome.

Billy mentally kicked himself in the throat for the thought. Knew he had to be real careful about shit like that in the small town of Bumfuck, Indiana. Brief thoughts flashed through his mind that they might still tar and feather homos out here. Might send him out of town on a rail or some shit.

That didn’t keep him from batting his eyelashes up at the officer, though. Not when he saw the man stumbling over himself to ask the boy if he knew he was speeding.

No shit, Sherlock.

“Sorry Officer.” Billy made a show of leaning his elbow on the rolled down window. He kept his voice sweet and sickly. “See, I’m new in town and I’m not used to the speed limits yet.”

“Can’t read the sign?”

“Didn’t see one.”

“Well, yeah, guess when you’re going 85 you’re not gonna be able to read a traffic sign.”

Billy chuckled. Makes it sound amused and coy. Laid it on thick. Didn’t feel that sick about it, really, because the cop really was handsome. Didn’t seem to be the brightest in the bunch, but he was nice to look at. Billy only did just enough to hopefully confuse the cop into letting him go with a warning.

It worked.

But now it’s Sunday night, the night before Billy and Max’s first day at Hellhole’s fine schools, and Billy is getting pulled over again. The second he sees the lights on behind him, he gets foolishly excited. Thinks maybe the young Porno-stache cop is here again for Billy to pout at.

He’s drunk. Real drunk. Not hammered, but definitely drunk enough to swerve around as he drives too fast while listening to Judas Priest.

He had stolen some booze from Neil after the asshole had been a dick to him at the dinner table. He downed more than half of the bottle of whiskey before Neil caught him.

And being drunk makes him loose. Makes him flirty. Makes him forget where the fuck he is. So he thinks maybe he’ll get another crack at flirting up at the cop with the pretty face. It’s a small town, it’s not idiotic to think that it’s the same cop on the same road around the same time of night. There can’t be that many officers patrolling the tiny, silent roads of Hawkins. And Billy is definitely drunk enough to be foolish enough to want to bat his eyelashes at a man with a nice jaw and a bumbling personality.

The idea of outrunning him crosses his mind again. He already took his warning and if it’s the same cop, he doesn’t know if his flirting will be able to get him out of a night in the drunk tank, or worse, out of getting his car impounded. Then again, Neil had been pretty damn red when he threw Billy out the door, muttering darkly that he was still expected to come pick Max up for their first day of school tomorrow. Maybe a night in the drunk tank isn’t the worst bet to take.

He pulls over with a little more difficulty than he was expecting. The roads here in the backstreets of this stupid town aren’t paved like they are back in San Diego.

And when Billy turns off the blasting screams of the music pumping through his Camaro, he’s pitched dangerously into a deafening silence. Even with the bugs screeching in the night, the sudden quiet is overwhelming. He glances in his rearview mirror, stupidly wondering if he’s “presentable” enough to flirt with the cop when he takes note of the bruise blooming on his face. It looks like his skin was split on his cheekbone, if the red rawness of it is anything to go by. He looks away in a wave of shame that makes him ill and takes note of the bruises in the shapes of fingerprints on his arms. He curses Neil under his breath- not for the first time.

Damn, Neil. Fuck Neil.

He had been sloppy. He left signs that were visible. And Billy wasn’t kidding himself, the monster left some non-visible signs as well, but these were just stupid. Idiotic. He had school tomorrow and he was going to go in looking like he had already been in a damn fight. Neil usually never slipped up like this.

But maybe that was the point of it tonight. Once Neil noticed his whiskey missing, he marched himself into Billy’s room to find him looking in the mirror. In the mix of the grabbing and the shoving and the backhand to the face, he had called him queer. A self-centered little shit who liked his face too much. An asshole of a pansy who made out with his mirror every day instead of doing things that were actually useful, actually important, actually worthwhile. He shoved him out of the house and spit in his direction and, after his threat about how he “better be back in the morning for Max”, he stalked back into the house muttering about him being an egotistical homo.

It’s then that a loud sound comes from above him, and Billy jumps up and jerks left to see the source is the large hand of a cop who is definitely not young Porn-stache guy. This cop has a tan outfit and he’s built like a tank and his face is anything but bumbling. He means business. Billy feels stupid for feeling scared. But after the night he’s had, he almost wants to cut himself slack for shrinking a bit in the dominating presence.

He cranks his window down.

“G’evening, Officer.” Billy slurs. He feels stupid.

“Chief.” The man growls back.

Billy briefly wonders what he even did to deserve this man being so red-faced and huffy in his direction. He’s just a little tipsy going too fast down a deserted road. This is the smallest town Billy has ever been in and it’s located in the middle of fucking nowhere, he’s sure this isn’t the first time the damn “Chief” has caught a dumb teenager doing exactly what he was doing. Then again, Billy wonders why he even expects anything good from a cop.

“Do you know how fast you were going?” His voice is gruff. Irritated. Maybe even angered.

Billy feels rebellion boil inside of him.

“I feel like you’re gonna give me the answer to that.”

“Too fast.” Mr. Chief grinds out.

“I’m not surprised, considering I don’t think I’d have the honor of your company if it was anything less than too fast.”

It’s a level of sass that would get him slapped faster than lightning at home. A sick and twisted and fleeting part of him expects to get slapped right now. A tinier part almost hopes for it. It’s the only damn consistent thing in his life right now: bitch and then get hit. The consistency feels secure in his frightened, too fast world. Reminds him he’s a physical entity in a very real space instead of an intangible thought in a sea of memories now flavored like nightmares.

When Billy is able to focus again, he sees Mr. Chief isn’t happy. Billy would flirt if he wasn’t near shaking.

“Get out of the car.” It’s low and angry.

“Thanks for the offer but don’t think I wanna do that right now. .”

He doesn’t wanna get into the light and let this man see the state he’s in. He knows he already looks like a jackass hoodlum who drives too fast and “disrupts the peace” or whatever bullshit cops hurl on teens they catch being dumb, and he doesn’t want to add to the part he’s already playing. He knows this town is too small to have a police department that doesn’t talk about each and every case they encounter. There probably aren’t a hell of a lot of blue Z28 Camaros in Hellhole Hawkins, either, so Officer Porn-stache more than definitely made Mr. Chief aware of Billy’s presence.

Maybe that’s where some of this man’s anger stems. It’s been less than a week and it’s the second time he’s being pulled over. But Billy kind of feels like he should be thanked. He’s sure not a lot happens around here; he’s just making their jobs actually fit the description of one. Make them worth whatever money they’re being paid.

A large hand slams against the windowsill of Billy’s car now, and it makes him jump. He leans back instantly, turned towards the hand like it’s gonna reach for him any second. The threshold breaks. He can’t hold it in anymore. He’s shaking like the leaves on the early fall trees all around them. He feels fear pool in his eyes and he can’t make it go away. He’s breathing fast.

The cop’s face changes.

Billy is briefly aware that his current position has put him in the pool of light that the streetlamp above him is giving off. He’s sure the man sees his growing injuries on his scared shitless face.

“Just-” The Chief’s anger has shifted into something confused. Billy might be dumb enough to call it worried. His tone mirrors his face. “I just need you out of the car, kid. Need to know how drunk you are.”

“Who says I’m drunk?” Billy is stupid. Billy is supremely dumb. He shoves his heel into his foot for his words.

Mr. Chief looks disbelievingly at him.

“Just make it easier on both of us and get out of the car. I’m not here to hurt you.” He finally takes his hands off of Billy’s car, even puts them up in some kind of surrendering motion. “Just wanna get you off the street.”

Damn this man.

Billy is suddenly aware enough to take annoyance with the tone being used on him. He’s acting like some damn martyr for “saving” Billy or whatever the fuck he thinks he’s trying to do. Thinks he’s “doing his job” by getting “riff-raff” off the streets.

“Who says I’m drunk.” Billy grinds out this time. Billy’s irritated as hell this time. Billy’s the gruff and angry and threatening one this time.

“I do.” Mr. Chief is back to gruff again, too. Two can play at this game is what the response says to Billy. “I can smell the alcohol on your breath from here. Just get out of the damn car and maybe I’ll be nice.”

Billy hates it. He wonders why he even expects anything different than this from any authority figure in this goddamn country. In this goddamn world. Show him a grown man who doesn’t threaten young boys like it’s a dying art and he’ll look up towards the sky to find the flying pig.

“Get out of the car.”

“No.”

“I know this isn’t your first warning, but I’m trying to be fucking nice here and I need to get home to my daughter so-” Mr. Chief’s voice cuts off. His eyes widen, like he fucked something up. Like he broke a vase in a house that’s not his. “Just- just get out of the damn car and I won’t impound it. Might not even stick you in the drunk tank.”

And what if I was hoping for the drunk tank? Billy’s thoughts are bitter.

He sizes the man up and comes to the conclusion that he could probably drag Billy out of his car through the open window if he really wanted.

He opens the door and steps out. It’s more difficult than he thought it would be. There’s more than a ghost of pain in his ribs and abdomen as he bends over and straightens up.

“Alright.” The Chief sounds exhausted. “Billy Hargrove, right?”

Billy’s whole body tenses like a cat on edge.

“Why do you know that?”

Mr. Chief gives Billy a look like he’s a naive little boy. Billy can’t find a single thing to not hate about it.

“This is a small town, kid. You’ll figure out that means there’s not a lot to do around here but talk.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“It means a coworker of mine met your mom-”

“She’s not my fucking mother.” Billy spits. Mr. Chief jumps on it to makes amends.

“Step-mother. A few days ago in the grocery store. They got to talking about how you guys just moved in.”

“Right. And they had a little pow-wow about me?”

“She mentioned your whole family. Plus my other coworker nearly had to impound your car a few days back. Didn’t recognize you or your vehicle, neither do I, so two and two together, you’re the Hargrove kid.”

Billy is fuming. He wants to get out of here. Wants to find some place to crash for the night. He’s tired and the damn bite of the late October air is making the cut on his cheek burn and he just wants out. Wants this cop to do whatever it is he thinks he needs to do to him and just let him fucking leave.

“Whatever.” Billy is sick and tired and done. He leans against the door of his Camaro with too much visible difficulty. He feels naked with his bruises and cuts open to the air and, consequently, to Mr. Chief right in front of him.

Fuck Neil. He thought he was just hurting his ego but now he’s hurting his damn chance of lying low at all in this shithole town. He thinks he probably looks like a fucking thug.

Billy gauges the look on the Chief’s face. He’s still got that stupid concern drawn all over it. Billy’s head is spinning from the alcohol and the thought of someone worrying. He filters all of his emotions into irritation.

“Need me to strut for you or what?” Billy asks. Slurs. He’s still shaking. He’s pretty damn sure he won’t be able to walk in a straight line at this point, but for a number of reasons other than alcohol. But he’s able to take a step away from his car and holds his arms out like he’s ready for it. Ready for something.

Mr. Chief is still looking concerned. It makes Billy want to hurl. Maybe that’s the alcohol swishing inside his bruised stomach. He wants his music back to drown out his stupid thoughts that feel warm over the idea of someone caring.

Suddenly the man in front of him is eyeing him up and down. Surveying him. After a second Billy wonders if this cop is queer, too; if he’s about to make some kind of salacious proposition like those horny moms back in San Diego used to make at him when they’d catch him having a smoke outside the gym after basketball games. He figures it’d be nice to know if the cop is gay and might be willing to take a few… favors to get Billy out of a jam. It makes Billy a little sick. He doesn’t wanna do it, probably never would. Talking and thinking and acting up a big game is different than actually doing the things he thinks, but it’d still be nice to know if the cop was a perv.

But the more the cop looks, the more worry paints his face. That almost sickens Billy more than the thought of anything else.

“I-” Mr. Chief starts and stops himself. Billy spits on the ground and can’t help but wince at the pain that makes a wave through his abdomen. “Okay kid, listen to me. Give me the name and number of someone who I can call to take care of your for the night and I’ll forget about this. Understand?”

No. Billy doesn’t understand. He eyes the cop under his furrowed eyebrows and Mr. Chief sighs like he’s tired of this. Billy knows the fucking feeling.

“Just trying to get you off the street and under a roof, but I’m gonna need a name and a number.” The Chief takes a second to think about his words before he speaks again. “And I’m talking about someone who has your best interest in mind, alright kid?”

That last admission is what sends Billy spinning again. His mind is swirling away, swishing around like the liquor in his stomach as the faces of the people he knows around here come to mind, and there’s only three and they all live in the same damn house. His damn house. One of them being the damn man who kicked him the fuck out earlier tonight.

His head lurches in what feels like sickness. He’s quickly reminded of how alone he is here. He has no one. No friends around here, no fucking family to run to who will support him. He’s spiraling down into his thoughts, falling fast like he’s been flipped upside down and the earth isn’t under him anymore but instead reaching up to swallow him whole and-

“Damnit kid.”

The Chief sounds exasperated. He sighs like he’s tired and Billy is boiling.

“Excuse me, Chief. Hate to break it to you that I don’t fucking know anyone yet.” The cop grimaces when he cusses and Billy doesn’t give a single shit. “Look, just take me to the drunk tank.”

“It’s a school night.” He says it like that’s all he needs to say.

“I think I can manage.” Billy scoffs.

“I’m not putting you in the drunk tank on a school night. You need rest.”

“Yeah, and in there there’ll be a roof over my head like you so sweetly said you wanted for me, so let’s just go.” Billy gives himself a second to think. “And don’t impound my car.”

“C’mon kid, there’s no one who’ll take you in?”

“Goddamnit, you just acted like you know every fuckin’ thing about me, no. There’s no one to call. Just take me in. I’m complying aren’t I? Isn’t this like a wet dream for you pigs?”

Mr. Chief seems to be burning in irritation. Billy would get a kick out of it if he wasn’t so cold and tired. Mostly just tired, especially of this stupid conversation.

“Not home, huh?”

Billy is scowling. Hard.

Don’t know everything, do ya, Chief?

For a second, Billy thinks about telling him to drop him off at home just to be fucking done with this. He can get dropped off and then go park somewhere for the night. But that’s the issue with that: he won’t have his fucking car. There’s no way the Chief can get it to him. He’d have to walk Billy up to his house, and not only was he kicked out, but coming in with a cop? Christ… that’d make it ten times worse.

He thinks about saying a random address, but the same issue stands: he’d be sans car. And he needs to pick Max up in the morning for school or Neil will most definitely flip his shit.

So he’s silent. Stands helplessly there in front of the fucking Chief of Police of Hawkins and letting the chill of the October night scratch at him like he’s defenseless. Because he is defenseless. He has no one and nothing and he’s here, hypervisible to this fucking cop and it’s not even the cute one with the pornstache.

Mr. Chief has his hands on his hips. His foot is tapping a cadence on the ground before he shakes his head and jerks a thumb to his cruiser.

“You’re coming with me, c’mon.”

“What?”

“I said you’re coming with me.” He rubs a hand down his face like all of the bad decisions in the world have just ran through his head and he’s decided to act on all of them. “I’m taking you home.”

Billy’s blood runs cold. The October air has nothing on the chill that runs through his body immediately, like he’s been wiped out at the beach.

“No.” Billy is adamant. He reaches for the handle of his car, thinks about making a break for it and just getting in and ripping away. The Chief seems too tired to follow him out into the night.

But in the whirling of his head, he forgot that he isn’t leaning on his car anymore, but rather a few steps away from it. He stumbles back a bit, still reaching but not finding purchase. He briefly worries in his still semi-drunken state that someone swiped it from under them while they were arguing about Billy being alone.

“C’mon kid, you have to come with me.”

“No. I don’t have to fucking do anything.” Terror takes root in Billy’s bruised up chest as he makes another idiotic reach for his car. “I’d rather sleep in my car than go back home with a cop.”

Something like realization washes over the Chief’s face when Billy says that. He shakes his head, eyes looking concerned again and Billy is going to scream from all the pressure in his chest.

“Look kid-”

“No.”

“Look! Billy! I need you to know that I’m not doing this to punish you or get you into trouble or... whatever else.”

This gives Billy pause. He stops palming the air for his car, just lets his hand fall to his side. He has to think about the words and he feels stupid all over again but he really has to wonder how this man can promise not to get him into trouble when he’s the very definition of it for Billy.

Mr. Chief sighs.

“Because I know-”

Billy doesn’t let him finish his thought. Of fucking course this stupid cop thinks he knows something about Billy and his situation. Probably got hit once by his own old man when he was a teen and wanted to try badmouthing an authority figure. Probably thinks he understands crystal fucking clear. Bruises and cuts and pain and he gets it but it’ll be okay because he’s your dad and he loves you.

“No.” Billy seethes out, harsh and angry and bitter and red like Hell. Like the Devil. He feels it in his face. “You don’t know!”

He’s yelling now, swinging his hand out and wanting it to come off as a punch but it’s too slow and too clumsy in his fogged up mind and the Chief just grabs it with ease. Billy struggles immediately, his heart racing in trained fear. Very, very real fear.

“You don’t fucking know anything get the fuck off of me!” Billy screams at the Chief and into the night and the grip on his arm won’t let go. Part of his fingers are grabbing where Billy was grabbed previously. It hurts like fucking hell. The blunt pain aches through his arm.

“Billy!” The Chief yells back, like he’s a little kid acting up and maybe he looks the part- he probably looks the part- but he’s not letting this shit happen. Maybe he is still that little kid that learned to run when his father raised his hand to him. He shouldn’t be fucking faulted if he is.

The Chief is reaching his other hand to grab onto Billy’s other arm and Billy is about to start fucking kicking just to get away. Mr. Chief isn’t having it.

“I don’t know how blind and stupid you think I am, but I can promise you, you’re dead wrong!” The Chief is shouting, still reaching and grabbing and holding. “I can tell something’s not right!”

“Fuck off!”

“Goddamnit kid!”

It’s then that Billy feels the grip on his arm get tighter. Fingertips dig into hour-fresh bruises and it makes pain shoot through his arm. All of the squirming has reignited every injury to Billy’s torso. The cold of the night air has flooded Billy’s lungs and left his throat raw and scratchy and used. New bruises feel like they’re blooming under the grip of the cop.

Billy submits.

He knows where he is and what he’s facing and that he can’t run and he just… submits. He stops jerking around and stands still, letting his captured arm go limp and seethes at the pain blossoming like a fucking garden.

“Please.” He whispers, feeling weak, because he is. He’s weak and defenseless and so damn tired.

And the man on the other end of the hand on Billy’s arm seems to freeze. Billy’s looking at his boots on the ground and feels shame at being so damn weak. He’s trying to play dead like an animal in the face of a predator. This is what he has to do now.

But the Chief does the unthinkable… he loosens his grip.

He releases the pressure of his fingers and Billy shifts his eyes up to look at him through curly strands of hair.

The Chief’s face is full of shame. He’s not even trying to hide it, he looks surprised and shocked and slightly sickened by what he just did. Billy doesn’t understand it.

But he feels shame inside himself as well. It’s in his chest and projecting up onto his face, he knows it. He feels like he betrayed himself somehow, letting himself get so weak. He eyes the cop and sees the look of shame never leave.

In a split second, without any thought involved behind his action, Billy shoots his chin up and spits in the Chief’s face. The action stems from the anger and resentment boiling inside of him; through him. He’s mad and he spits because of it.

The Chief flinches. Takes the hand once gripping Billy’s arm and wipes his face.

Billy just watches, frozen in place because he can’t believe what he’s done. He should be dead, decimated on the spot for pulling a stunt like that, but the man on the receiving end of it is calm; calmer than he’s been all night. He takes a breath and gets even more collected before he looks Billy in the eye and says in a controlled and authoritative voice: “Get in the car. I’m taking you home.”

Billy doesn’t think. Feels like maybe he should start thinking right now but he can’t. He doesn’t move anything except his feet as they take him to the passenger side of the Chief’s cruiser. He climbs in without a word. The pain in his body is dulled as his mind races. The confrontation has made him so dull and nervous that he’s just numb. It takes about a minute before the Chief is in the car with him. He puts his key in the ignition and the car starts up.

They drive.

~~~

Billy should have known when Mr. Chief didn’t ask for his address that he wasn’t taking him back to Billy’s house, but in his stupor, he can’t really see or understand much of anything. It isn’t until they’re about 2/3rds of the way to their destination that Billy is even aware that he doesn’t know what that destination is.

“Where are we go-” His voice still sounds raw and used. Mr. Chief cuts him off.

“Home. My home.”

A wave of discomfort flows over Billy.

“What kind of a pervert are you?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Mr. Chief is exhausted-it’s evident in his sigh. Billy cuts him some slack for being exhausted at this point, because he is too. “You need sleep. I need sleep. You have school tomorrow. I’m just taking you home.”

Billy doesn’t understand. What kind of cop finds a kid out in the middle of nowhere, being dumb and reckless and breaking laws, pulls him over, gets spit in the face, then decides to take him home to let him rest? Even if it’s because he put 2 and 2 together about his bruises and his desperation to not go home, what kind of cop picks up misfits like this? This isn’t his job and surely he uses that line a lot. Billy’s pretty sure every cop does. He was pretty sure every cop does.

Billy is letting himself swirl away again in his thoughts. He wonders how he’s going to get back to his car, what the cop is going to do to him in the morning, if he really is queer and if Billy really should be worried.

He’s gone in his thoughts when the Chief is speaking again. He tunes back in to: “I have a daughter.”

Billy knew that. He mentioned her before. It comes out like some kind of admission of a secret, though, and that confuses Billy, like just about everything about this night.

And Billy really, truly thought he was too tired and scared to be any more of a dick, but his mind flips the switch on Dick Mode and he goes after the man. He’s irritated and freaked the fuck out and he just wants to be in his bed with no bruises and no scars and no pain and no fears. He just wants to have a fucking simple life. He doesn’t want to have to deal with any more bullshit but now he’s being taken home by a cop who’s telling him about his daughter like Billy’s trying to date the girl or some shit and Mr. Chief needs Billy to know that he has to respect her. It’s idiotic. It feels unreal. Billy is so fucking exhausted and he can’t help it when he spits out his next words.

“Good for you, Chief. If you think I’m going to take her precious virginity just know-”

“She’s thirteen!” The Chief is yelling as Billy continues with:

“I don’t even swing that way.”

The air in the car is suddenly stale. Paused. Breathless.

Billy looks over to the Chief who just has an eyebrow quirked. The words of the last 10 seconds are still tangible in the air and it makes Billy’s entire body freeze over. He just jumped into an ice bath.

In a second he’s sitting rod straight, freaked out to high hell. Probably looks like a fucking tweaker from how on edge he is. Four days into living in Hawkins and he’s fucking outed himself to the Chief of Police.

Shit.

“Don’t know why I said that…” Billy begins bumbling like an absolute moron. He used to think himself smooth but this night has been a nightmare and his head hasn’t stopped spinning since it started. “Holy fuck god fucking… fuck…. Holy shit.”

“Kid.” Billy is pretty sure he hears the Chief’s voice but Billy is reeling.

“Fuck...”

“Billy!” Mr. Chief yells, his voice sharp and unforgiving. Billy freezes as the Chief sighs again. “I don’t care what your preferences are or who you like or whatever. I just wanted you to be nice to my kid, alright? That’s all.”

Billy is still frozen. He has to process the words for a few seconds more to understand them.

He’s in shock. He gauges in a few seconds that Mr. Chief is serious about this. That he’s exasperated and actually, truly, could not give a fuck about who Billy likes. Billy’s jaw is dropped.

“And don’t cuss like that in front of her, either.” Mr. Chief adds for what seems like good measure.

Billy sits and lets the words sink in. Within a few minutes, they’re pulling up to a small cabin in the middle of the woods. When Mr. Chief parks the truck, he’s looking down at his steering wheel like it’ll give him the secrets of life.

“And…” He begins, questions in his eyes. “... don’t worry about it. It’s not mine to tell.” He looks over to Billy. “I know I just said this town talks, but it doesn’t have to. You don’t want anyone to know? I won’t say anything.”

Billy doesn’t know what to do but nod.

And after he shakes off his shock, it takes a grand total of 2 seconds before red flags are coming up left and right. It’s like he’s just realized his position: in an unknown forest with a cop he just met, in a town he’s just moved to, no home to return to for the night, no one to call but people who don’t give 2 shits about him from what he’s seen. He’s not sure where he is and this man has shown concern, sure, but he’s a fucking cop in a tiny town picking a teen up he doesn’t fucking know and taking him to his home and this? This is just weird. And sketchy. And Billy’s heart is pumping blood through his body fast as he tries to gauge how successful an escape attempt might be. He promised Billy he wouldn’t take him in. Billy can go find his Camaro and sleep there until morning.

But… he can’t. He knows he can’t. That’s maybe the scariest part of all of this is he doesn’t know where the fuck he is and he didn’t know where the fuck he was when he got pulled over and now?

Now he’s just… tired. It hits him again like a freight train. His body is going through waves of anxiety and exhaustion, cresting and crashing. He just wants to go to sleep.

But when Billy goes to open the door- not even thinking, just acting -it’s locked. Anxiety starts to swell again as he looks to the cop next to him and sees his eyes are tight. Real tight. Like he’s trying to convince himself to do something-or maybe to not do something? Billy isn’t sure. But he pulls on the handle of the door repeatedly to indicate his panic. He can’t think straight. Everything is still swirling and at this point it’s definitely more to do with the exhaustion than the alcohol.

In a second the cop seems to start up again, quickly. Like a generator. He reaches to unlock the doors and climbs out of the car immediately. Billy follows his lead.

It’s when he’s passed the cruiser and is trudging toward the cabin that he’s stopped again, large hand and hard pressure on his bare wrist.

And he’s waiting for the anxiety to well up in a crest of fear but… it doesn’t this time. It swells slightly but it crashes down just as fast, mushy and soft, like the waves in Santa Barbara would when him and his parents would take a trip up there for spring. He’s the smallest bit fearful but mostly he’s compliant. Loose in a worse way than before. Submissive due to carelessness rather than willingness.

And some part of him, the unthinking and overexerted part, is glad that he’s reached this level of uncaring. There’s no rush of anxiety begging him to flee, there’s just tired eyes connected to a tired brain that wants whatever this next argument is going to be to just be over already so he can crash on the next available surface that isn’t dirt.

“I have a daughter.” Mr. Chief says for the third time tonight.

Billy blinks slowly.

“I know, Chief. I remember.” Billy blinks again. “Do you remember when I just told you I like dick a second ago?”

Mr. Chief glares.

“I need you to understand something here, kid.” He’s threatening him again. Billy can’t find any bone in his body that cares. “This is serious shit. You-”

Mr. Chief takes a big labored breath. His hand gets a little tighter on Billy’s wrist. Billy subconsciously wriggles it in his grasp.

“Fuck…” Mr. Chief says under his breath before he’s trying again. “You can’t say anything about her to anyone, alright? Not a damn word.”

Billy feels something sick in his chest at this conversation, but it’s small and it’s quiet and he just wants to crash.

He doesn’t say anything, though. Doesn’t know what to say. He wriggles his wrist a bit more.

“Do you understand me?” Mr. Chief is asking again, gritting his teeth like an angry dog.

Billy nods.

“You have to say it.”

“Yeah, I get it, don’t say anything. Got it. Fine. Whatever.”

“Not whatever, this is serious shit, alright? You tell a single soul and I fucking find you and make you wish you couldn’t speak to begin with. This is a small town, kid, I’ll find out where you live real fast.”

And like… wow. Okay. This seems way more than a little sketchy and definitely isn’t helping Billy’s anxiety any. His mind feels like it’s swirling through the wind around them. It feels like he’s not here, like he’s in a place outside of this, like he’s in a dream state where everything is altered and intense and everlasting.

But the pressure on his wrist gets stronger and he’s too tired for this shit so his knees buckle a little and-

“Yes, I understand. I won’t say anything.”

Billy just wants his wrist to be let go. His wish gets granted by the man who is red faced and breathing a little unevenly. Billy watches him wipe his hand down his face again like his struggles are drowning him.

“You know…” Billy begins, voice uncaring as he rubs his now sore wrist. “That was pretty fucking sketchy. Don’t know if you’re aware how damning that sounded.”

“Yeah kid.” Mr. Chief’s voice is gruff, but it’s clearly from tiredness this time around. He’s got a large hand over his eyes and a grimace on his lips. “Yeah. I’m aware.”

Mr. Chief starts walking to the cabin, taking a big step over a wire that Billy doesn’t notice until the large man mentions it. Billy still can’t see it, or even process it’s existence, but he hears Mr. Chief sigh and in a few seconds there are two hands holding him and lifting him a bit, making him lighter as he steps over the thing he can still barely see. Billy doesn’t think much of the help in his state.

Mr. Chief knocks on the door in some cryptic way that Billy can’t focus on because he’s too busy paying attention to how many stars there are in the sky. He doesn’t hear the handle turn but when he turns back to the cabin, the door is open. There’s a small voice floating through the air the second they wander in.

“Late-” The voice pauses sharply and Billy sees where it’s coming from: a small, short girl with short curly hair and a large flannel that she’s swimming in. Must be her dad’s.

That’s weird.

“Who is he?” She asks, pointed and glaring at her dad in a way that matches her voice.

It’s when Billy’s places his weight oddly and his body tries to rock forward that he feels it: immense and oppressive pressure. It’s like someone has his face pressed up against a wall so he can’t move. Nothing is giving way and his anxiety starts to pick up again, even if it’s still small in his tired state.

“This is a… a friend.” The Chief is unbelievably unconvincing. “He just needs a place to stay for the night.”

The girls eyes are wide in very obvious confusion before they turn to angry slits, eyebrows knitted down over them. She’s pissed. If looks could kill, she’d probably snap someone’s arm.

“Why does he visit and not Mike?”

The Chief is back to his exhausted sighs. If someone told him this man carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, Billy might actually believe it.

“Ugh…” Chief’s eyes are screwed shut and his fingertips are pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look kid-”

“Why?”

“Because it’s… different-” Mr. Chief is proving he’s shit at explaining things.

“Why is it different?” The girl’s fists are clenched hard, knuckles white and face scowling.

“It just is, alright?” The Chief’s voice booms, vibrating Billy’s chest. The pressure on his body hasn’t ebbed. “I’ll tell you tomorrow, just… have you eaten yet?”

“Table.” The girl says by way of an answer. She points to something behind Billy and it takes all of his energy to turn and look at the small table with two TV dinners atop it.

“Alright.”

The two make no moves to do anything but share a silent staredown. There’s some kind of tension that Billy would be able to cut if he cared to notice.

Billy doesn’t care to notice.

“Is there a place I can take a piss?” Billy’s voice is loud.

The pressure on his body is gone in an instant as the young girl tilts her head in clear confusion. Mr. Chief is sighing again.

“Yeah.” Chief nods before looking to his daughter. “Eat, alright? I’ll be right there.”

The small, curly girl holds her stare on the Chief for a while longer before she trudges past Billy and sits at the table in a loud huff.

Billy watches the Chief as he leads him to the side of the cabin and pulls back a large curtain. Billy eyes it strangely as he steps into the makeshift room.

“Hey, uh… we don’t have lots of food but I can make you up something if you want.” It’s the Chief. Being nice. Concerned. Again.

Billy is too tired to be irritated.

“I already ate.” He replies immediately, turning around to see Mr. Chief has the most unconvinced look on his face. It’s the fact that it’s laced with worry that digs under Billy’s skin.

Billy rolls his eyes.

“Believe it or not, but they do still feed me at home.” He shuts the curtain quickly before he can see the Chief’s expression, just grateful that he finally gets to piss half this alcohol out.

He does his best not to look in the mirror.

When he’s drying his hands, head down at the towel, he hears the hushed whispers of Mr. Chief and his daughter.

“I told you I’ll explain tomorrow. Now please promise you’ll behave. Don’t…. Do anything. Alright? You have to promise me.”

Billy decides then that he’s not going to pretend to understand what’s happening, and he sure as hell isn’t going to go against the Chief’s wishes, even if he’s aggravatingly threatening when he describes them. This is the Chief of Police of Hawkins and even through his pitying concern, the man is hard and a little scary. Billy isn’t going to take this roof over his head tonight for granted, even if it might be getting him mixed into something he probably doesn’t want to be mixed into.

He walks slowly back into the room where the two are having dinner, but the girl is staring at Billy as soon as he’s in sight. She won’t stop staring either, eyebrows a little furrowed in some major distrust. They frame hard eyes that aren’t liable to give in easily. Billy would be lying if he said he wasn’t more than a little intimidated.

“Uh… hey.” Billy starts, uncharacteristically timid, like he’s approaching a wild animal in the woods or a stray dog in the street. “Didn’t introduce myself. Name’s Billy.”

Her stare doesn’t let up. She makes no move to speak. Where he would typically get impatient, his tiredness wins out.

“You got a name?”

The girl glares a bit longer before she finally succumbs.

“El.”

Billy nods.

“That’s a nice name.” He means it. He’s tired. He feels stupid again.

But it’s worth it because her eyebrows unfurrow and those crinkles in her face are gone and her eyes are a little wide. She blinks twice.

Billy shifts his focus.

“I never caught your name either, Chief.” Here he’s playfully rude. His tiredness can’t win out over making this large man sigh at least one more time. Billy would have to die before he stops getting a kick out of being a little bitch. “Kinda rude, now that I think about it.”

He’s smirking down at Mr. Chief, who looks like he hates the world and all of its inhabitants.

“Jim Hopper.” He says, leaning back in his seat and staring down at his now empty tray.

Mr. Chief Jim Hopper.

A few seconds go by, Billy feeling accomplished, before El is angry again.

“You lie.”

“Huh?” Chief Hopper looks like he wants to stop speaking.

“You said you’re friends.” El begins, eyes hard again. “He asks your name. You lie.”

“We just… hadn’t made it to that part of our friendship, yet.” The Chief says without making eye contact as he picks up his tray to throw away.

“What about Mike-”

“Enough about Mike, alright?”

“When?”

“Soon.”

Mr. Chief throws his tray into the trash and Billy is fully unaware of what’s happening. His brain has decided that functioning is optional.

He clears his throat.

“Hey, Chief Jim Hopper.” He has just enough energy to be a brat about how he says it. “When do I have your permission to crash on your couch?”

“Now.” Mr. Chief says gruffly, walking over to El to ask if she’s done with her tray. She gives it over. “Head to sleep, alright?” The Chief’s voice is suddenly soft; gentle and caring as he crouches down a bit to look her in the eye. She eyes him poisonously, before her scrunched up face relaxes and she nods, curls bouncing. She heads into her room and Billy hears the door close.

Billy goes to sit on the couch but the Chief gestures for him to stay standing before he pushes the couch back from its position in the middle of the room so that it’s all the way up against the front wall. Billy lets Chief Hopper give him an extra blanket and pillow. He’s quieter and slower than before, full of those concerned and surveying looks that Billy feels naked under.

“You good, bud?” Mr. Chief asks quietly.

Billy resents it. He is okay. He’s more okay here than he is at home and he hates it. This man fucking knows. He knows, somehow, that this is better than the place that’s supposed to be his to go to for comfort and support and safety. He’s better here with a stranger than with the people he’s supposed to call family and he’s pretty fuking livid about it.

“Whatcha gonna do about my car?”

Chief sighs.

“I gotta get to the station early tomorrow so I’ll drive you out there and get you to your car before you have to go to school.”

Billy doesn’t have anything to say, doesn’t wanna sound ungrateful for this for whatever reason, so he just nods. The Chief fidgets.

“Do you-uh… Do you need me to tell your dad something?”

He means well. Billy hates that he can tell that this man means well. He looks up from where he’s hunched over on the couch and sees the Chief shifting his weight on his feet. His arms are crossed too, his right hand picking at his left sleeve.

“I just need to be back to drive my step-sister to school.”

The Chief doesn’t seem too thrilled about that answer.

“Okay, but-”

“I was told to be back to pick up my step-sister.” Billy tries to make it clear, more than a little irritated that this man thinks he knows what’s happening. “Get it?”

The Chief gives a blank look for a second. He nods.

“Night.” He grunts before leaving for his own makeshift room and sitting heavily on his bed.

~~~

Billy’s attempt at sleep is nothing less than fitful.

He sits on the couch with the blanket the Chief gave him draped around his shoulders. It takes him too long to lie down and then even longer before his eyes close without force. He slips in and out of rest for a few hours. He’s so tired that his body refuses to lay down. His eyes burn.

He looks around the cabin. It’s dusty. Completely made of wood. There’s only one real room and he’s given it to his daughter, which makes sense. The Chief is snoring loudly from his bed which is about thirteen or so feet from Billy’s spot on the couch.

Most of the curtains don’t match and the patterns on them are kind of horrifically tacky. The ones that cover the large window behind him have trees and what looks like little buildings on them. Billy is sure that nothing ever gets cleaned, everything on the exposed shelving near him is haphazardly placed, the rug is fraying something awful, and he’s pretty sure the couch is covering a small exposed piece of furniture holding various records. There’s a record player behind him too. And as he looks, Billy’s heart yearns. Pines. Wants. There’s something about this place that makes him feel out of place but perfectly positioned and it’s maddening. Loses him in thought. Keeps him awake.

It’s as he’s sitting there, staring at the frayed carpet like it’s the answer to all of his grossly domestic dreams, that he sees feet. He didn’t hear the door open, but there’s 2 socked feet in his peripheral vision and he turns his head to see El, standing next to the door of her room and staring at him.

He jumps a bit, making sure to keep silent even though the Chief is snoring so loudly he’s sure nothing could wake him.

Her gaze is open and curious and unjudging. She looks him over like she’s never seen another human before. He wonders if he really looks that bad that he can’t even classify as human. Her brows furrow for a split second before she’s heading to a cupboard and pulling a large blanket out and hugging it to her chest. She pads silently over to the kitchen and grabs a glass from the side of the sink and fills it with water.

Billy watches her, confused and transfixed by the way she moves like a timid deer in the forest, thinks she’s going to head back into her room, before she comes to a stop in front of him. She stares for a second before holding the folded up blanket out to him. He allows himself to stare for a second as well before he takes it slowly.

He nods his thanks. She holds out the glass of water once the folded blanket is in his lap, and he takes that as well. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees, glass of water in both hands in front of him, and takes a sip. El doesn’t make a move to leave.

“Thanks, kid.” He mutters quietly. She gives a small smile and nods before she moves.

She sits right next to him.

It’s… strange. She seemed so angry at his presence before that Billy can’t make sense of her opting to be this close to him.

She’s shorter than him, even as he’s crouched forward a bit, so she cranes her neck just a tad to look up at him. He eyes her as he takes another sip of water.

Maybe a minute goes by, maybe two, when Billy hears it. A soft voice whispering a soft word.

“Pretty.”

He looks down at her.

“What was that?” He asks her, watching her eyes go immediately wide. A deer in headlights.

“Nothing!” She says quickly with a quick shake of her head. Her curls bounce all around her face. She stands quickly, still staring at him with wide eyes. “Sorry! Goodnight!”

And with that, she rushes off to her room, little feet pattering on the ground and door closing silently behind her.

Billy is left staring at the door, and then at the water as he nurses it before finally placing it on the ground next to him. The early light of the sunrise is just barely teasing its way over the horizon, turning the whole sky a soft fluorescent blue, before he’s actually able to fall asleep.

(once again, find it on AO3 here!)

#billy hargrove #chief jim hopper #eleven #jane hopper #el hopper #stranger things #fic #billy gets adopted #hopper is getting closer to being a good dad #for now he's just tryin his best to not be a bad person #honestly????? i think it's working #billy hopper #angst #dad jim hopper #aka hop will one day be a good dad maybe possibly probably yes

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