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ap-kinda-lit · 3 years

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Not With My Daughter!

Rating: T Pairing: Kawasara mainly, with a dash of Sasusaku too Summary: Sasuke sees something that doesn't please him one bit and he faces a realization that is much less palatable for him

Was requested to do a fic where Sasuke or Sakura catches Kawaki and Sarada a while back, but I finally did it! Here y’all go!

For the hundredth time that evening, Sasuke glanced at the clock. It was twelve past eight now. He grimaced. They should've been home by now... The Shadow Hokage anxiously drummed his fingers on his chair's arm. Sarada had left hours ago to train with her new teammate, the boy that Naruto had taken in. Kawaki, he thinks his name was? It didn't really matter right now. All that mattered to the Uchiha patriarch was that it was past Sarada's curfew and she wasn't home. Sasuke kicked himself. He never should've let her go off with that boy. He didn't trust him. This 'Kawaki' was new to the village, little was known about him, he had several incidents of trying to escape, causing chaos, and lashing out violently...and he was getting too close to Sasuke's peanut. Sasuke huffed and stood up from his seat. He couldn't take it anymore. He was not going to wait around while his baby girl was who-knows-where doing who-knows-what with a boy he barely knew. He was grabbing his cloak and house key when Sakura walked in. "Anata, where are you going? Is something wrong?" she asked. "No, everything is...fine." he was slow to finish his sentence. Sakura gave her husband a look and sighed. "Anata, you're not going to hunt down Sarada and Kawaki, are you?" she spoke with exasperation. "...perhaps..." Sasuke mumbled. "Sasuke-kun, I know they're late, but it's not late enough for you to go and terrorize the village looking for them." Sasuke grumbled something in disagreement. He draped his cloak around his shoulders and buttoned it, then turned towards the doorway. "Anata, at least leave your katana!" Sakura shouted after him, but Sasuke did not heed. He marched to the door, opened it and- Sasuke froze on the spot. He had seen a lot of terrible things in his line of work, but none compared to what he was seeing at that very moment: right there before him was Sarada (his sweet, innocent little girl) with her arms wrapped around the shoulders of none other than Kawaki as the two were locked in a simple but somewhat passionate liplock. Sasuke was first in shock which evolved into horror then, ultimately, an overwhelming and powerful rage. Sarada and Kawaki finally realized his presence and pulled apart from each other. "Papa!" Sarada squeaked in surprise. Sasuke's eye twitched. "Y-you..." he could barely speak through his all-consuming outrage. Kawaki said nothing and only stared back, looking alarmed. Sarada saw her father's Sharingan form and she quickly noticed his hand reaching for his katana. "Papa..." Sarada pleaded. But her pleas fell on deaf ears. Sasuke's one-track focus was honed in on one thing and one thing only: the mohawked little bastard who had the audacity to put his nasty lips on his daughter. "You...prepare to die..." Sasuke growled out. "Anata!" "Papa!" Sakura and Sarada shrieks were lost in the ensuing clamor of Sasuke unsheathing his katana in a flash of electric light and Kawaki's arm morphing into a large shield to protect himself from the incoming blade which easily cut through. Kawaki leaped from the doorstep and hit the ground running from his attacker. Sarada and her mother could only stay back and watch as the family man pursued the poor young boy, attacking him blindly with rage. Sakura gave her daughter a nervous smile. "I'm sure Papa won't harm Kawaki...badly." she assured her. Sarada sighed.

+++++

Sasuke eventually returned home, disheveled but fine and not quite as furious as he was earlier. Sarada and her mother talked prior to his return and Sarada was forbidden from going out for the rest of the week as punishment for not being home on time. Sarada went to bed afterwards and Sakura was waiting for her husband when he came into their room upon his arrival home. Sakura was giving Sasuke a concerned but amused look as he changed clothes. "I'm not apologizing for tonight." he promptly said. "I didn't say anything." Sakura responded. "You were thinking it." "Not really." Sasuke finished getting dressed and climbed into bed next to his wife. Sakura shifted to cuddle her husband and he responded by leaning into her embrace. "You did overreact, don't you think?" Sakura murmured into his chest. "I don't think I did." his reply was flat and matter-of-fact. "Anata..." "He had no right. He kept her past her curfew and he...did that...in front of us, her parents." Sasuke's irritation was apparent in how he spat out his last sentence as if it was a morsel of the most disgusting food he had ever eaten. Sakura propped her head up on her hand to look at her husband's face. "Sarada and I talked and she told me that she kissed him." she pointed out. "Sakura, don't tell me that." Sasuke cringed in disgust. Sakura giggled. "Oh, anata, I know that this may be hard for you to hear but Sarada is a young woman now. She's very capable of doing things by her own accord, especially things that we might not like." Sakura explained. Sasuke said nothing. He felt his wife's hand rest over where his heart was and she gave him a meaningful look. She sighed and continued, "I don't like it any more than you do, but it's a simple fact of life. Our baby...isn't a baby anymore." Still, Sasuke said nothing. As just about always, Sakura was right. He admired how she was usually right, but at times like this he wished she could be wrong more often. He really wanted her to be wrong in this case, but no. She was spot on. Her and Sasuke's little girl wasn't so little anymore, whether he liked it or not. To him, it felt like it was just yesterday that he was carrying her on his shoulders as he took her around the woods and sitting on the ground of their home with her, playing with stuffed animals and her numerous toys and listening to her adorable baby babble. But now she was a lot bigger and walked on her own two feet, played with kunai and shuriken, and preferred the company of a mohawked punk over her father's. Melancholy and nostalgia built up in Sasuke and a lump formed in his throat. Sakura could tell right away what was going on in his mind. She nuzzled her head against his neck lovingly. "But it's not the end of the world. No matter how old she gets or who she's with, she's always gonna want her papa in her life." she said. Sasuke's silence clearly meant he took what his wife just said into consideration. "...okay." he said. Sakura smiled. She gave her husband one last kiss and they said their 'good nights'. With that, they fell asleep.

+++++++

A week later, when her punishment was lifted and she was free to go out, Sarada came bouncing down the stairs. "Mama, Kawaki and I are going to the training fields to practice with shuriken. Is that okay?" she asked Sakura. Sakura glanced at Sasuke, who was sitting in his armchair reading a newspaper. "It's alright with me. What about you, anata?" Sakura said. Both Sarada and Sakura looked to Sasuke, waiting for his answer. Sarada looked anxious about what he would say. Internally, Sasuke warred with himself. The overprotective part of him railed against its cage, decrying his daughter going anywhere with a young man who was that close with her, but to no avail. The Uchiha patriarch swallowed and said, "Fine by me." Sarada smiled. "Thank you, Papa." "Just be sure to be back by eight, okay?" Sasuke quickly reminded her. Sarada gave her father a peck on his temple. "I promise." she answered. After that, she gave her mother a 'good bye' and skipped away to see Kawaki. Sakura smiled at her husband. "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" "Yes, it kind of was." Sasuke said. He sighed and added, "But I'll live." Sakura nodded at him. All was silent for a moment until Sasuke spoke again. "But if he tries anything with her when I'm around, I can't promise that I will be merciful with him." Sakura burst out laughing.

End

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a-libra-writes · 3 years

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Hello Libra, how are you? I wanted to know if you have any HCs for a modern Sandor and how a relationship with him would be in this scenario. I think that, despite the change in time period, there would still be some difficulty there, considering Gregor and the traumas Sandor carries because of him.

I love everything you write, your blog is definitely one of my favorites, you have a great understanding of the characters personalities and motivations.

Thank you! ❤❤❤

hi there! thanks for leaving such a nice message~~ im glad youre enjoying this silly place ive put together lol

Hmmm so, I can see the Clegane family being working class and have difficulty getting by. They started lowborn in ASOIAF, after all. Sandor's father was instructed with keeping the grounds of a country club or something, and like in the canon, he saved Tytos Lannister's life. In return, Tytos got him a much better paying job elsewhere, perhaps at his own estate.

Sandor still could've been abused and burned by Gregor, and CPS would've been brought in. His father waved it off as an accident, even though he knew better - which just ruined Sandor's faith in him. From a young age Gregor would be violent and get himself kicked out of any "nice" school their father tried to pay for. Then he got kicked out of the public schools. It's honestly amazing he graduated at all, and a lot of that was because of their father and the Lannisters paying the right people. Right away he began working as a bodyguard for them.

Sandor would've had an awful time growing up from the trauma of Gregor's abuse, his dad looking the other way, his mother leaving, his sister dying in an "accident" (or just leaving with their mom), the Lannisters being awful, and so on. I think he ran away a lot, but came back, unsure of where he'd go. If anyone even wanted him. I can see him spending a while on the streets as a teenager, getting into fights. Drinking at a very early age.

Once he's an adult, he also ends up bodyguarding for the Lannisters, even if he hates it. But he doesn't know where else to go or what to do, and has little self-worth.

I think that, even though it's modern times and medicine and facial reconstruction is better, Sandor resisted a lot of it. He's terrified of doctors now and hates hospitals. As an adult, he knows he can get surgery to make his life easier. I think he just wouldn't think he was worth it, even if his severe phobias weren't a problem...

He definitely lives on his own in a fairly crappy apartment. Technically the Lannisters pay well but he barely touches the money. He probably has an old shelter dog or two that he looks after. A motorcycle he likes working on. A few people on the street he recognizes and gives water and money. He'd be a lot more aware of his drinking problem but would still indulge in it when he's especially depressed, though the dogs help him a bit.

(tho if the Lannisters weren't involved, i can see the Cleganes being quite poor and both brothers going into military service... With sandor just hating it and leaving after 5 or so years. Then not knowing what to do with himself, and doing various odd jobs and getting into fucking trouble all the time. You get me.)

Sandor in ASOIAF is quite aggressive and violent, before eventually becoming depressed and defeated. I think for modern!AU, because he doesn't have the repeated trauma of having to kill people for the Lannisters and fight in battles, he just goes straight to the depression and self-loathing. There's still moments of anger (like when he's beating the shit out of a punk that tried to harass a dancer at his work) but it's not as nasty or sustained. Also this being a modern setting, he knows there are resources for getting mental health help, but ... like hell he's gonna do it.

So, relationship. Yeah. He's a mess, you can see it as soon as you meet him. It's a cliche, but someone whose genuinely compassionate and patient would help a lot. They could live in his apartment building, work at the shelter he drops donations off to (he totally makes excuses that he bought the toys/blanket/food for his dogs but they didnt like it... yeah ok...), a bartender or dancer who works at the same club he's a bouncer at, etc etc. Basically someone who can talk to him every other day and slowly get him to come out of his grumpy-ass, tired, depressed shell.

Friends with benefits is easy for him, because whatever, it's sex. It's the emotional connection that he struggles with. So befriending him, then slowly leading into a romantic relationship, will probably get him spooked and come with challenges. But once you're both on the same page and you're able to convince him that it's okay, he deserves happiness and you arent afraid of him, then some progress can be made. He benefits a lot from a stable person creating a simple, peaceful home with two dogs.

#theres so much to unpack here lol #a man you have to drag to the doctor AND the dentist AND a counselor #libra headcanons #sandor clegane x reader

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morgana-ren · 3 years

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SUBMISSION: How about a nasty sweaty incel shiggy waiting everyday for his dad to go to work so that he could have his relief with stepmom?

Excellent submission! Love that. Love that a lot! I find it only fair to warn you, however, that I won’t be doing mommy kink for it. Mommy kink is one of my squicks, and one of the very, very few I have. I’ll do the closest thing to it though: Daddy kink. Also I find the irony of him making his little stepmom call him daddy to be absolutely hilarious.

Also this one is a great concept and I love it but it’s going to have to be a multi-parter cause it got a little bit long. Lemme know if you like the concept and I’ll continue it. Also this posted under anonymous for some reason so cheers to tumblr and its endless fucking glitches that it never fixes or seems to make any better.

Warnings: Noncon, dubcon, sexism, really gross incel behavior, nsfl things, masturbation, violent sexual fantasies, nefarious planning, horrible suggestions from even more horrible friends, absolute LOATHING of family, and entitled bastard.

There is only one thing on this planet that Tomura hates more than his father.

Only one thing can even compare to the level of abject disgust he has for his dad. Everything about the man is abhorrent and degenerate, only tolerated because Tomura is, admittedly, a NEET, and had no where else to go after graduation. But if anything- anything- could hold a candle, it would be his taste in women.

All women are trashy on some level, but his dad really manages to find ones that pretend so hard that they aren’t. Vipers behind the veneer of smiling faces clad in red lipstick and smart skirts. Always “kind”, always “thoughtful”, and always fleeting. Fickle, stupid bimbos charmed by his dads surface level charisma to quickly realize just how shallow the pool became.

Even his own mom was like that: She fucked off once she realized staying with him meant staying with his dad, and that was a sacrifice she wasn’t willing to make. So she left him to rot in this cesspit with his worthless father and no other way out.

He figures he can’t hold it against her, not as much as he’d like. A few weeks with his shriveled up paternal figure and most women quickly figure out they can do so much better. It’s in their nature to seek out the best, and that certainly isn’t Kotaro; A bumbling idiot with nothing to offer on the best of days. They don’t know any better, so they never last long after being brought home to meet his son, and those are the ones that even make it that far.

So when he starts yammering on about meeting yet another skank and how ‘in love’ he already is, Tomura’s eyes roll so far back in his head that he swears his retinas will detach. He makes a point to be around as little as possible, but somehow still manages to catch an earful about his latest fling and how excited he is for Tomura to meet her.

Great.

True to his word, Kotaro brings you home one evening, eager to impress his son with his latest catch.

His father had a lot of nerve dragging him from his room to meet you- his latest glorified slut. Adding insult to injury, you had the unmitigated gall to talk down to him like you were an adult and he wasn’t. Even though you had to crane your neck to look up and greet him, you still talked at him like he was some child. So different from you even though you were so much smaller than he was- barely even a few years older than he is, if even that.

So polite, introducing yourself and gently shaking his reluctant hand, making a point to smile at him and telling him how happy were to finally meet him and that you’d heard so much about him. Your hands were so soft, so little in comparison to his own. He dwarfs his pathetic father, practically towers over you, yet you still talk to him like you’re the adult in the equation.

So young, so pretty, though. Far better than anything his father had a right to pull. They weren’t exactly swimming in cash, the house was nothing in particular to gloat about, and he’d done enough eavesdropping around late at night to know his father suffered a particular… ailment, so it certainly wasn’t sexual satisfaction keeping you around. What was it then?

Probably nothing. You’d probably run off in a few weeks like they all do.

Kotaro is a worthless sack of drooping skin and aging bones; A ghost of a man not worthy of the phantoms he’s seen pass in his years. No longer the dominant male even in his own home: not with a stronger, more virile son coming into his prime under the roof as well. A beta male at best, withering away while his own son eclipses him in strength and intellect and physique. Tomura is in his mid twenties and blooming- His father… who even knows. He doesn’t care- he doesn’t bother to keep track.

So, maybe you really are just a dumb little whore. It would make sense. Father dearest always had been a dirty old man; A raging pervert with wandering hands and lingering eyes. Always sets his predatory sights on some cute thing too good for him.

Then again, the poisoned apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, now does it?

You’re cute enough you could have gotten some alpha at your beck and call, yet you’ve attached yourself to his worthless father who, in turn, parades you around like his most beloved trophy. Taking you to dinners he can’t afford despite your ‘insistence’ that you be allowed to pay, buying you things you claim you don’t need. Oh, how the moron dotes on his whores as if it’s enough to keep them anchored to him.

Strangely though, you don’t run off.

If anything, you sink your claws in even further, getting more and more comfortable and showing up more and more. Every time Tomura leaves his fucking room- which isn’t often- you’re there around the corner, smiling dumb and pretty and greeting him politely.

Fuck, he hates you. Hates your stupid voice, your shitty dresses, hates hearing his father happy for once.

It’s no surprise- but unwelcome no less- that he’d move you in sooner rather than later. Terrified to let you out of his sight for even a second lest you come to what little senses you have in your tiny brain and dump him. Of course, he’s quick to take on all of your burdens as his own, even if it means working overtime to support you. He’s always wanted another little housewife, and now he’s so close.

Tomura listens in on the whole conversation feeling sick to his gut.

You beg him not to- offering to pay your own way just like a good girl, but of course his dumbass dad will hear none of it. He’s more than happy to spend a couple of extra hours at work. His dad is so idiotic, so fucking blind. He’s playing right into it. He’s willing to be your workhorse if it means keeping you all to himself.

He’ll hear none of it. None of the fussing or the questions. You’re welcome in his home, he wants you there. It’s no imposition at all, he knows the house will be better with you around.

Except he forgets one crucial detail-

The son he leaves home alone with you every single day when he leaves.

You’re nothing but a nuisance, something infringing on his private space. The time he used to get home alone to spend to his own devices is now split with you flittering around the house doing whatever it is bimbos like you do. Cleaning, cooking, pretending to read, whatever. He doesn’t have to see you if he doesn’t want, sure, but he still knows you’re there and that’s more than enough to annoy him.

It’s almost like you catch on to his animosity after a while. The way he won’t greet you back, the way he utterly ignores your existence. It bugs you, and as far as he’s concerned, good.

You try to slip him up, try to get close to him and make him like you. You always set a place for him at the table even after Kotaro repeatedly insists- truthfully- that he’ll never join for dinner. Even then, you always bring the plate to his door. He never bothers to answer- not after the first few times when he only opened it a sliver to see your stupid smiling face. After that, he didn’t bother answering. He’ll eat it of course- won’t pass up free food he doesn’t have to leave his room for- and then leave the dirty dish back outside where you left it. You brought it, after all. You can clean it up.

All your efforts only get you mocked, and boy do you try so hard to get his affection. He even overhears you whining to his dad once or twice, not understanding why he doesn’t like you.

It makes him smile.

His friends- online of course, but still friends or comrades or kindred spirits or whatever- have more opportunistic ideas about it. His first post to the forum complaining about the new living situation was met with envy and awe- not necessarily the response he was expecting, though looking back on it, he supposes they were right.

lmpwrst: Why u bitchin’? Ur living with a girl ur not related to and that’s closer than any of us have gotten u ungrateful ass

KingKockRool: Go jerk off on her pillow.

Stacystabber91: take a video hold her down and fuck her then idiot

KingKockRool: No wait till she’s sleeping and jerk it on her face

st8lker: Bet she’s ugly tho if she’s dating your dad lol

Oddly enough, he doesn’t agree. That’s one thing he understands about you, loathe as he is to admit it. His new ‘stepmom’, for all her annoyances, is pretty easy on the eyes. The kinda girl that would have caught his eye in an unrelated situation and earned a permanent spot in his spank bank. Thinking about it, the whole ‘dating his dad’ situation maybe threw off his judgement more than he realized.

He’ll let the jury decide: He finds a photo on your social media, crops everyone else out of it, and hits enter. Easy peasy. He saves it to his hard drive for later too. Might as well.

‘Here, you decide then.’

Thus the shitstorm begins.

st8lker: Oh fuckkk fuck me mommy lmao

lmpwrst: Opportunity is wasted on u

Stacystabber91: you pussy punk bitch, i stand by what I said earlier. dont be a bitch and fuck the little cunt already

VolceliSwear: Whos the bitch

lmpwrst: Scratchy’s new stepmommy lol

VolceliSwear: Nice. Hit it yet?

Stacystabber91: he hasn’t cause he’s a gigantic fuckin pussy like i told you all

VolceliSwear: Come on dude you actually have that gash sleeping in your house and you haven’t made a move?

Stacystabber91: it’s not like she could say no cause you’re a big lanky bastard aren’t you? that’s one thing we got over the shortcels and you’re bigger and stronger than her so take what’s yours idiot or I will

lmpwrst: I agree with SS lol U complain all the time about not having a hole to fuck and now u do

VolceliSwear: ^^ Isn’t your dad a limp-dicked prick who can’t get it up? Someone’s gotta do it so it might as well be you. Hit the bitch so hard and fast she doesn’t know what way is up

Stacystabber91: and send pics moron I want to see tits or I’m coming over there to do it myself

It’s an… intriguing thought. To be honest, he’s never actually considered fucking you before. Had the passive thought like he does with most girls he sees, but never stopped to think on actually doing it. For some reason, there was a mental wall between him and his father’s girlfriends. But why should there be?

Depraved little bastard that he is, he’s not above cornering a girl and forcing himself on her but he’s not keen on going to jail, so he’s never escalated past creepy photos and following the occasional broad a little too closely. Maybe a couple gropes in passing… okay, maybe a lot. But he’s never gotten caught- maybe the girls don’t report it or just couldn’t find him afterward. Either way, it’s all worked out so far because he doesn’t cross certain boundaries.

Most girls are repulsed by him and his repugnant behavior, so they stay far, far away. It’s like he’s a giant blaring warning sign that they tend to heed instinctively.

But you don’t.

This is different. You live here, so close to him, so within reach. Just how close you are. How easy it would be for him to force you down and make you take it. Just how much time alone he really has with you since his father leaves and returns like clockwork. He’s got the entire day once his father leaves for work. And all night once he takes his sleeping medication. An easy, pretty little catch already wiggling in his web.

‘Maybe I will.’

That’s how it starts.

Snowball into snowstorm.

With an idea and a lot of goading from his online buddies, a monster is born and weaned on his own depravity and escalates into something very real, and very dangerous.

Tomura is achingly familiar with the scene- he’s seen enough porn to give him ample ideas. But he’s got all the time in the world. It’s hard not to rush things considering how eager he is, but it’s safer to test the waters first. Get you nice and scared so you’ll keep your pretty mouth shut unless he tells you to open it for him. See how far he can get, how much he can toy with you before you finally catch on.

Who knows? Maybe you’ll fuck him willingly. You are a stupid little slut, after all. Most of you females are deep down beneath that holier-than-thou, stuck up bitchiness you hide behind.

So he starts with a time honored tradition. He steals your panties.

The bathroom is cluttered with your shit. Your fruity shampoos and conditioners, your makeup, your perfumes. Tomura has a toothbrush and a comb he doesn’t use, a bottle of 3-1 for when he forces himself into a shower, and a singular gray towel, but the rest is between you and his father. Your body washes, your scrubs, your clothes in the hamper.

It’s easy enough to fish out a fresh pair- only a couple of hours old. Some lacy contraption you must’ve been wearing beneath your clothes and carelessly left in the bin when you showered. It’s easy to pocket them before you hear him rummaging around, and maybe you’ll miss them, but that’s not his problem. Washer eats things all the time, doesn’t it?

He’s hidden back in his room, safely dodging you before he allows himself to indulge- Bringing them to his nose and inhaling the doubled fabric of the crotch so hard that it catches on the edge of his nostrils.

Fuck, your cunt smell good- tangy and sweet but the tiniest hint of bitter. A couple of whiffs is enough to get his cock twitching, inflating into a painful hardness as he hears you walking around outside in the hallway. Shit, you’re so fuckin’ airheaded, walking around so oblivious as he tongues at the cloth that was nestled right up against your pussy until a few hours ago. He can taste you, sucking your left over essence through his teeth and he swears he’s going to cream all over the inside of his jeans if he doesn’t jerk off right now.

He’s quick to drop his sweats and sprawl on his bed, thumbing the tip of his prick and licking gratuitous stripes up the slim of your discarded panties with his tongue. You’d look so good sucking his cock; On your bruised knees, face a slathered mess of cum and saliva and running makeup. Bulge in your throat from taking him so deep and trying so hard to please him like you always do- or maybe avoid a painful punishment because he isn’t above using his hands on you and you learned that the hard way.

The thought of your ruddy, soppy face makes him throb- fucking your wet little throat until you’re suffocating, pulling out to let you breathe only to cum on your face. Yanking you up to bend you over the stove and force you to make his worthless father’s dinner with his spend tacking across your face and his cock lodged deep in your cunt. Worthless fucking sack of shit that his father is, he’d spit in it too and make you serve it to him with a smile while your actual daddy watches you do it and rewards you later with his dick fucking you between your tits.

Fuck yes, that’s what he’ll make you do. He’ll make you call him daddy when he creampies you- the opportunity is too perfect to pass. He’ll fuck his father’s pretty whore as she screams and moans for daddy’s cock while his father is away at work to pay all her frivolous bills like the beta-cuck he is. None of the work and all of the reward- as it should be.

It’s not like Kotaro can fuck you, and his friends are right. Someone should. So why not him? Why not spread your legs for your boyfriend’s younger, more powerful son? Oh, sorry, did he give you the illusion that you had a choice? He’ll take what is rightfully his and there’s not a fucking thing you or his pathetic fucking father can ever do about it.

He plucks your panties from his face, moving them instead to work over his cock. It would feel so much better if you were wearing them- grinding your sweet little cunt against his dick, begging him not to fuck you but getting so wet all the same. The silky fabric feels so good against his hypersensitive skin, coupled with the clenched pumping of his fist as he daydreams about railing you into his filthy mattress until you’re too weak to even move on your own, his cum dripping from every one of your used holes. Limp, useless little whore too fucked out to even fight him as he fucks her in the ass again-

Fantasies swirl in his head, flashes of scenarios that tease him and work him into a frenzy. He’s going to cum hard to the thought filling you, your agonized face as the tip of him knocks against the opening of your womb, buried so deep in your cute pussy that he can feel the wall that keeps him firmly locked out of your guts. So close, so tight, so warm. He’s going to pump you full to the brim like the skank you are, fill you nice and thick full of his seed and then use you again and again and again-

He feels it in his spine, waves of pleasure furling at the base and congealing together impossibly tight, so ready to burst. His thighs flex, muscles in his stomach tightening and breath staggering. Searing white behind dry, clenched eyes and his cock twitches in his palm, knot bursting deep between his legs as his hand stills momentarily. His hands twitch, cock throbbing as thick ropes of cum spill over the slats of his fingers, splattering his stomach and the waist of his sweatpants and all over your adorable little panties.

“Shit-”

Shallow, shaky breaths, still seeing stars popping behind his eyelids. Fuck, he hasn’t cum that hard in- well, a very long time. Is it the thought of having something tangible soon? His very own cunt to abuse? Grinning, he looks down at the absolutely drenched pair in his hand, sticky with fresh seed.

He thinks so.

Instinctively, he wipes the excess off his fingers and onto his dirty, rumpled black sheets, swiping across his shirt and his skin. Just another ‘mystery spot’ among the rest, soon to become a crusty, flaked white stain on the fabric among all the preexisting ones.

With some effort on his part, he sits up, still trying to catch his breath. He thought post orgasm clarity might deter him from this path, but if anything, he’s even more determined now. Why should he sit and touch himself in a dark room when there’s a perfectly good set of holes to fuck wandering around freely outside?

Oh yeah, this should work out just fine.

There’s a knock on the door while he’s still wading through his gross thoughts, softly at first but then slightly more insistent. It jolts him alert, irritating him that he’s being bothered when he’s scheming. He’s already finished the dirty dead, all ready to put himself away for now but it’s still jarring none the less when someone comes around so closely to him wanking. A quick dash at the clock tells him it’s not dinner time yet, so what gives? Why are you bothering him now? Nothing is ready yet.

He tucks himself away and quickly buries your soiled underwear in the pocket of his sweats. Quickly wiping any remnants on the knees of his pants before swinging his door open, agitation palpable as he greets your stupid, sunny face.

Speak of the she-devil.

“Hi, Tomura! Just wondering if you have any laundry or anything you want me to take!” “N-” He’s about to slam the door. About to. But you know what? You want his laundry? Sure. He’s got some for you. “Yeah- yeah, sure.”

He steps back from behind the door, letting it creak open a little as he rips off his freshly re-soiled sheets.

“Oh, good! Yeah, I’m throwing in my own so I’ll take your load too-“

Yeah you will.

Balling it up, he chucks it at you as you curiously peek your head in. You’ve never seen the inside of his room, but soon you’ll see plenty. He doesn’t know if you can feel the fresh cum on the sheets, but he’s willing to bet you can probably smell it. To your credit, you barely falter, even with the sheet cradled in your bare arms.

You’re probably having a moment of “understanding.” ‘He’s a young man with no girlfriend and no other outlet. Of course he’s going to wack off’ and all that. It’s cute, the way you pretend not to notice. That’s okay, he’ll give you something you can’t ignore.

He steps up to the door again, yanking his black shirt over his head and dropping it in your arms with a shit eating grin.

“Oh- okay, yeah-“

Your sentence halts completely as he starts to strip off his pants and you’re left staring in slight horror as your stepson strips down to his boxers in front of you before placing his sweats on the top of the pile you’re carrying- right by your face.

“I’ve got some more dirty boxers if you think you can handle anymore.” He’s grinning like a fiend, reveling in your poorly concealed discomfort as he leans against the doorframe, swinging out towards you. You’re backing away from him, desperately trying to keep your eyes up and away from his very exposed body, and especially the half hard cock tenting the front of his boxers. Your face is turning a viciously dark shade, stifling your breathing because he just knows what you’re refusing to see, you can almost certainly smell.

“Um- nope! This should be a full one! I’ll get them back to you soon!”

“Oh, take your time. No rush.”

You scurry off down the hall much quicker than your usual casual walk, probably to scrub your arms clean with iron wool. Poor little thing, just trying to be nice and this is what it gets you.

He cackles something fierce as he shuts his door again, going to look for your ruined panties to post a pic but remembering they’re still in the pocket of his sweatpants, covered in his cum and saliva. A fun little surprise for you to find when you go through pockets to ensure nothing gets stuck in the washer.

And he notices, in the coming days, you stop leaving your clothes in the hamper- or even being able to meet his eyes.

Oh, this should be fun.

#nsft #shigaraki smut #see warnings #no mommy kink i am sorry #lots of gross shit for you tho #which I assume you want cause you came to me of all people #see the warning list up top for full disclosure

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athenasbloodyspear · 3 years

Text

Don’t Make Me Beg Now Baby

CHAPTER ONE: EDGE OF DARKNESS

Hello fellow Greta Van Freaks. This is my very first Greta fic! I hope you enjoy.

MASTERLIST

Note: This fic contains mature themes, discussions of past non-con (no members of GVF involved) and drug use. Minors DNI. 18+ only and please take care of yourselves. (See Ao3 for full tag list)

You can also read this fic on Ao3 if you prefer!

Jake Kiszka x Original Female Character

Picture this: The boys are in Northern Michigan to write the new album and they meet a wild young woman who works at a local record store who has a rough history with rock bands.

She doesn’t want to fall into the same traps she fell into before. He doesn’t want to hurt her.

The rest of them just want them to figure their shit out.

Note: While this fic is based on the members of Greta Van Fleet, I obviously do not know them personally (lol) and nearly 99% of this is a fever dream I decided to write down. Some tid bits are based on things said in interviews/photos/songs but please do not come for my neck if you dislike my portrayals as this is a STORY that I have entirely made up.

This will be a slow burn, overly dramatic, cliché fest of me missing my Mitten State and wishing more than anything I could move back home. Their music makes me homesick and for that I’ll never forgive them. ;)

Chapter Under the Cut

CHAPTER ONE: EDGE OF DARKNESS

The tiny bell on the door to “The Edge” clanked as Jake pushed his way in, followed by Josh, Sam and Danny. The afternoon sun streamed through the slats in the windows at a harsh angle, illuminating the swirling dust. The boys all immediately took a deep breath. They all loved the smell of this place. A mix of dusty old vinyl's, incense and weed.

The Edge was the shop owned by an old friend, Levi, who had been a longtime family friend of the Kiszka’s. The boys had made the near three hour drive to the shop whenever they had a spare weekend in their younger years. They bought Levi out of his guitar strings and drumsticks and always looked through the boxes of vinyl's hoping to find treasures. Levi sold an eclectic mix of music equipment, records, books, home goods and comically horrific coffee.

The Edge is where they had each bought their very first instruments, had their first beers and even smoked their first joint. It was a special place for them.

The old wood floors creaked with every step, the wood walls were covered with old articles from Rolling Stone, photos Levi had taken and autographs from the artists who had cycled through the place over the years. There were stacks upon stacks of vinyl's. Shelves of old autobiographies and music theory books. There were speakers stacked from floor to ceiling, and the whole right side of the store was jam packed with basses and guitars. The back corner had a few keyboards and a drum set, but plenty of catalogues to pick even more instruments from. There were cases of drumsticks and guitar picks and strings. The middle of the store had tables full of incense, candles and interesting home goods. There were tables where local artists sold jewelry, art pieces and furniture. It was full to the brim, most shelves rising way up to the ceiling. Most needed a ladder to reach the top. The basement had a sound studio with even more equipment set up to be used to record, or to test out.

Levi had inherited the place from his father, who had built up quite a legendary roster of friends over his years. The shop was just off Front Street on the main drag of Traverse City. Levi’s father had made a name for himself as a great host to bands looking to escape to northern Michigan to hole up in cabins and write albums. Levi continued the tradition and took it a step further by buying the space next door and turning it into a club with live music on the weekends.

If you were lucky, you could catch some super huge bands playing for only about 100 people in the dark side room of The Edge.

“You bastards finally made it!” Levi called out as he came sauntering out of the back room. Levi looked the exact same as the last time the boys had seen him. Tanned skin from his days paddle boarding and hiking along the Lake Michigan shore, sandy blonde hair that was brighter in the summer, perpetual 5-o-clock shadow because he just couldn’t be bothered to shave, shell necklace around his neck, light wash jeans low on his hips with the same old cowboy boots he’d been wearing since the boys were 12.

“Is that grey hair I see Levi?” Josh leaned forward with an exaggerated squint. Levi laughed, snagging Josh’s head to give him a noogie.

“I may be older than you punks by a few years, but I’m not greying yet.” Levi released Josh from his headlock and gave him a shove.

“I’d say 37 is more than a few years older than us, grandpa.” Sam snarked.

“You’re makin me regret extending my hospitality, kid.”

Jake felt himself relax fully for the first time in a really long time. It was just like old times. Exactly what the boys needed.

“Welcome back dudes. I’m surprised I’m still cool enough for you Rockstar types.” Levi crossed his legs and leaned back against the front counter.

“We’ll never be too cool for The Edge. This place will always be way cooler than we could ever be.” Danny piped up, walking forward to wrap Levi in a hug.

“It’s been too long man.” Levi commented as he smacked Danny on the back.

“We know.” Sam said “Way too fuckin long.” He hugged Levi next. Josh and Jake followed up with hugs next. The room was heavy with a tinge of melancholy. Old friends who had missed each other finally reunited.

“Well, have you guys been to the house yet?” Levi stepped around the counter and started pouring four cups of the famous nasty coffee.

“Yeah we dropped our bags off before we headed into town.” Danny spoke up.

“Isn’t it sweet?” Levi asked enthusiastically.

“It’s wicked man. Thanks so much for getting that set up for us.” Josh grinned as he snagged a cup off the counter.

The house was a mid century modern cabin right on the east bay shore. It came equipped with a huge garage studio, front deck and a dock out into the bay. Levi had bought the house in foreclosure and along with help from a bunch of locals (in exchange for beer of course) they turned the house into a perfect getaway for any artists looking to come take a break up north. The place had five bedrooms and three bathrooms with a giant living room with overstuffed couches and velvet chairs. The walls were covered in art and the shelves were full to bursting with plants. It was a kaleidoscope of colors and textures, with mix matched rugs and lamps. It was Levi’s pride and joy.

“I’m so glad you guys like it.” Levi smiled even bigger as he passed coffees to the rest of the boys. “Once you’re a little more settled, feel free to send me a list of equipment you want me to set up downstairs and you can start coming in whenever to work. But also, I think you should probably take a week or two off first. You all look about two seconds away from collapsing.”

“Yeah we’re pretty fuckin beat dude. But we’ll send you a list ASAP.” Jake said, taking a burning sip of the coffee. It singed his nerve endings and he couldn’t have been happier about it.

Levi opened his mouth to speak again, when a voice filtered through the window to the loft above the store.

“Yo Levi!” the person shouted “Can you please get off your fuckin ass and pick music to play? I know Wednesdays are your day to pick but if you take forever I’m just gonna put on whatever I want and you can suck it.”

All four boys' heads snapped up to the window to the loft, but whoever was up there couldn’t be seen. All they could see was that the loft had clearly gotten a makeover. What used to be an upper level where Levi stored surplus supplies now looked like it had a plush velvet couch, lava lamps and plants in it.

“Alright alright! I’ll get on it.” Levi called back up, shaking his head and chuckling to himself as he walked toward the central sound system behind the counter to scroll through Spotify playlists.

“Who the fuck is that and what have you done to the loft?” Josh asked, hopping up to sit on the counter.

“That would be the very best thing that’s ever fallen into my lap. A.k.a my new store and venue manager Maven. She moved back to the area after living in Hollywood for a few years managing bands and she completely changed my life. We finally have consistent stock, a longstanding line up at the club and I have had the time to start photography again. Truly a godsend, if not occasionally a pain in my ass. She turned the loft into a breakroom of sorts. There’s a couch and table up there now. She practically lives up there sometimes.”

“Damn she must be some woman if she finally got you to get your shit together with that club.” Sammy piped up.

“She’s hellfire, I’ll tell yah that.” Levi chuckled, finally hitting play on a playlist. The first bars of Surfin USA by the Beach Boys came on the surround system and matching groans came out of Jake downstairs and Maven upstairs.

“Not this shit again!” Maven yells. Jake chuckled to himself. Hellfire indeed.

“It’s my day to pick so suck it!” Levi called back before faux stage whispering to the boys “I mostly just play this to piss her off.”

Levi clapped his hands together once “Well boys, It’s close enough to five o'clock and I owe you a beer. Let’s head over to Little Fleet for some grub and beers and we can catch up.”

Josh grimaced as he sucked down the last bit of his coffee before lobbing the empty cup into the trash at the end of the counter. “You still make shit coffee Levi.”

“It’s the one thing I wouldn’t let Maven fix.” Levi said with a grin as all five men exited out the back door.

~0~

The boys took a week to relax, as per Levi’s request. They spent the days hiking the shore, kayaking and drinking beer around the fire. It had been way too long since they’d done this. The release of The Battle at Garden’s Gate had been exhilarating and the fans' response had been everything they’d hoped for. People seemed to love the album and they were all so proud. But with press interviews and touring, they hadn’t gotten more than a day or two to relax at a time. And they certainly hadn’t gotten a chance to get back to their favorite old haunts in years.

They stopped by the store almost every morning for a cup of coffee strong enough to jumpstart their hearts. Sometimes Levi joined them on their escapades, and sometimes he stayed behind to help out at the store. The boys spent a few afternoons sifting through albums and strumming on some of Levi’s vintage guitars.

Mostly they caught up on each other's lives. The boys recounted their more personal lives that happened outside the coverage of the album and Levi talked about the past few years of his life in Traverse City. Levi told them all about Maven and how she was practically his little sister. They laughed. They drank. They had a blast.

The boys noticed Levi was a little on edge occasionally, typically when they heard someone shuffling upstairs or equipment moving around in the backroom of the shop. They assumed it was Maven but weren’t sure, since they had yet to see her in the flesh. A week from their arrival they were all sitting in lawn chairs in the alley behind the store, smoking cigs and drinking their coffee when Sam finally asked.

“So, why haven’t we met your precious Maven yet? Hiding her from us or something?”

Levi shifted a bit in his chair. “Um..” he coughed out a laugh. “I am actually. Yes. But it’s the other way around, I’m hiding you from her.”

“Afraid she’ll fan-girl or something?” Josh commented as he ashed his cigarette.

“In… a sense.” Levi coughed. “But in quite the opposite way you’re imagining.”

“She’s a fan then?” Sammy piped up.

“She loves your music. A lot.” Levi sniffed and coughed again. “It’s a real safe haven for her. When she’s having a bad day I catch her upstairs laying on the floor smoking a J with sound cancelling headphones blasting your albums as loud as she can.”

“Exactly how it’s meant to be enjoyed. With a joint in hand.” Jake chimes in.

“Yeah..” Levi toes the asphalt a bit with his boots, but doesn’t continue.

“Soooo” Sammy drawls “Why can’t we meet her? We’re no stranger to super fans. I’m sure she’s cool.”

“Um, well. It’s a bit complicated.” Levi heaves a sigh before flicking his cigarette butt into the coffee canister at the center of their little circle. “I suppose I can trust you guys. You’re friends. Do you remember the huge lawsuit that the band Undercover Heart went through last year? The one about the um” He coughs again, “Rape of one of their staff members by the lead singer Ryan?”

“Yes. That shit was horrific man.” Danny spoke up. “I read all the details I could. They kept the poor girl's identity private but goddamn I felt so bad for her. She was a badass for filing that suit though.”

“Yeah. She was.” Levi breathed. “So, this is strictly off record and if you repeat this to anyone I will skin you all alive, famous rock stars be damned.”

“Jesus Levi.” Jake said.

“It was her.” Levi choked out. “Maven. That’s why she ran back from Hollywood and ended up here. That dude messed her up and she just… she struggles with meeting famous bands now. You know how many people cycle through this joint writing stuff. She just… has a really fuckin hard time with it sometimes. Particularly bands she likes. I think it’s because once you meet someone, and in her case, discover how much of a monster they can be, their music isn’t… safe anymore.”

“Fuck.” Jake said, flicking his cigarette into the canister.

“Well I feel terrible for joking about her being a fangirl.” Josh mutters.

“She just genuinely loves you guys a lot. I never really told her I was an old friend because I didn’t want her to be worried about y’all stopping by. I just know that if she knows you’re here she’ll take off and avoid coming by the shop as much as she can and not only do I need her here, but I think she needs the safety of the shop too. I didn’t want to wreck it.” Levi sighs again. “I know she’ll find out you’re here eventually, it’s inevitable. I just was a coward and didn’t want to break the news to her.”

“She was a pretty well known band manager wasn’t she?” Danny asks. “She like… completely made Undercover Heart what it was. Before they hired her they were slated to be a one hit wonder but she hauled them into relevancy basically by her will alone.”

“Yeah. She basically built that man's career for him. She gave him everything, and he took everything from her. If I ever see the man I’m liable to get my ass thrown in prison.” Levi mutters.

“I’ll help.” Danny says immediately.

All five sit in silence for a few minutes, smoking the last of their cigarettes. When they’d all finished, they stood and stretched to head back inside the shop.

“So yeah. Anyway, If you see her that’s fine, just… well now you have context for… her.” Levi says as he yanks open the door.

A few steps into the back hallway, Levi suddenly halts, causing all four boys to nearly bash into each other. The front door to the shop had crashed open and there were footsteps stomping across the store toward the front desk.

“Listen Levi,” Maven’s tense voice carried down the back hall. “I know Wednesdays are usually your day for music but I’m having an absolute shit fucking day so I’m playing Greta all day and there’s absolutely nothing you can fucking do about it, kapeesh?”

The very opening chords of Edge of Darkness scratch through the speakers after she finishes her sentence and the boys all exchange a slightly amused look, grins spread on all of their faces.

“Kapeesh.” Levi calls out to her. He spins and silently nods to the boys to head toward the back door. The boys attempt to be as quiet as they can as they creep toward the door.

“Also, Levi?” Maven calls again. Everyone halts in their tracks. “You said there was a band coming in soon. Are they here yet? Do you need me to set up the backroom?”

“Uh, yeah they’re here.” Levi squeaks. All five men share nervous looks. “They’re uh… up at the house.” He cringes at his lie. “I’m getting an equipment list from them today and then you can get started.

“Cool cool.” Maven calls back. “Do you think I’ll like their stuff?”

“Uh. Yeah.” Levi grins then. “I think you will.”

“Wicked.” Maven calls back.

All five men repress giggles as they skedaddle out the back door and into the alley.

~0~

The next morning the boys wake up to a group text from Levi.

COME BY THE SHOP ASAP. COME IN BACK DOOR. HEAD DOWN THE STAIRS TO THE BOOTH. BE AS QUIET AS YOU CAN.

A weird request, but they did as they were told. They all piled into the SUV they had rented and headed to the shop. Danny peeled open the back door as quietly as he could, and Sammy opened the door to the stairs. They tiptoed down and through the door at the end of the stairs that opened into the booth of a sound studio. Levi sat in front of all the mixing boards with a cup of coffee to his lips. He glanced over at them and softly said “coffees on the table.”

“Why the weird text?” Jake asked.

“Because of that.” Levi responded softly, pointing through the dark glass into the soundstage.

The sound stage was littered with mismatched rugs, and a few milk crates that doubled as tables. There was a gorgeous seafoam green drum set toward the back wall and stands full of various guitars and basses. Along the left wall was a piano and a Mellotron set up exactly to the specifications Sam sent over. However, with all these beautiful instruments to look at that would normally catch their eye, it was the woman sitting on stool in the center, cradling a dark purple Fender guitar that made Jake stop in his tracks.

Maven, Jake had to guess that’s who it was, was wearing checkered distressed pants, with a ripped up old band t-shirt cropped at her ribs, revealing a sliver of the rounded part of her stomach. Over top she was wearing an orange leopard print cardigan that ran down to her thighs. Around her neck was a series of long necklaces, and her wrists were adorned with interlacing leather bands.

She was plucking out a melody with her eyes closed, rocking back and forth on the stool. Jake had seen countless numbers of people playing the guitar before. On the road, in the studio, studying old masters on YouTube. There was nothing overly special about the way she was sitting or playing, but he felt a little bit like he couldn’t breathe.

“She never fuckin plays anymore man.” Levi whispered. “It felt like magic hearing music coming out of the basement this morning. I just felt like you should see it.”

The melody she was playing was sad. Haunting is a better way to put it, and Jake couldn’t look away. Not even when Sammy placed a cup of burning hot coffee into his hands. She was moving her head along with her playing, the strands of her dark messy hair shaking back and forth. The group watched in silence as she played out the riff a few times, Levi cranked the volume of the mics in the space and they could hear her humming softly.

“She has a strong presence.” Josh murmured.

Maven suddenly stopped. Everyone froze as she heaved a sigh and stood from the stool to put the guitar back on it’s rack.

“You in there Levi?” Maven said then. The boys still didn’t move a muscle. Jake’s head was spinning, having finally seen the face that went with the voice he’d heard in the loft for a week. She was beautiful. He couldn’t even really put his finger on why, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Even seeing her through the thick dark glass of the studio.

Levi hit the button to the mic in the booth and responded “Yah.” He paused before adding. “Sounded good.”

Maven snorted in a self-deprecating way and said “Thanks.”

Levi hit the mic button again and said “You should play more.”

“Don’t push it Levi.” Maven snapped back. Levi released the button to his mic and let out a heavy sigh. “Can you check some levels on the lines for me? I think I have everything pretty good but I want to make sure before they get here today.”

“Sure.” Levi replied.

Maven pulled the amp cord out of the Fender she had been playing on and plugged it into another guitar, one more similar to the guitars that Jake regularly used while they wrote.

“Are we looking for a punk or a rock-y sound?” Maven asked.

“Um.” Levi hesitated. “Rock. Their sound is like…” He tossed a small smile over his shoulder at the boys. “Like Greta’s actually.”

“Dope. I hope they’re not just copying the boys. They’ve got a mellotron in here and everything.” The boys smiled. She pounded out a few chords on the guitar. “Good?”

Levi looked over at Jake for confirmation. Jake, who still had not taken his eyes off Maven, nodded.

“Yeah, that should be good for raw sound. They can play with stuff too. They’re a pretty well educated bunch.” Levi called back.

“Thank god.” Maven snorted. “Not like that indie punk bunch you booked last month who needed me to do fucking all their sound mixing for them.”

“Maven, I don’t think they kept asking you down here because they need help with their sound.”

Maven just rolled her eyes at that.

They repeated the process with each instrument, Levi silently asking for confirmation from the respective Greta member until they were sure the sound lines were all functioning properly.

“Great work kid.” Levi called into the studio.

“Ew don’t call me kid. I’m a 27 year old woman.” Maven called back.

Levi chuckled. “You’re a kid to me.”

“Whatever.” Maven muttered. “I’m gonna go take a walk along the beach. Smoke a little. Text me if they need me.”

“Will do.” Levi called back. The boys all tensed, looking for places to hide, or to run up the stairs and back into the alley. Luckily, Maven took the back door out of the studio and up another hallway instead.

“Well boys, it’s all you.” Levi said. “Text if you need anything.”

Sam piped up and said “Yeah actually, can you pick my brother’s jaw up off the floor?”

“Jake see pretty lady play guitar and Jake brain break.” Josh teased.

“You guys suck.” Jake grumbled.

Levi cackled. “I thought you’d like her.”

~0~

Maven walked along the coast of the bay and absentmindedly smoked a joint. It was an overcast and drizzly day which meant there was no one around, which she preferred anyway. She was feeling on edge. The drizzle was very slowly building a small sheen of water on her arms and hair, but she didn’t mind. The cool water and gentle breeze combination was perfect.

Maven sat her butt down in the sand and stared out at the waves. She normally wore headphones on her walks, her world was a near constant stream of music, but she had opted for silence today.

Levi was being weird. He was edgy around her all week, sending her out every morning for tasks and disappearing without saying where he was going around 4:30 every day. She had come to the conclusion that whatever band was in town this week was a pretty big name. Or big enough that he was nervous about her being around them. She sighed. She hated when he tiptoed around her. Maven didn’t blame him. When she first started working at the shop she had had a couple pretty bad PTSD episodes that had scared the shit out of him. She owed him everything for staying with her, talking her down and making sure she was fed and had water when she got into one of her states.

Levi was her best friend, to put it mildly. He cared for her, kept her safe and in return she busted her ass at his store making sure they had the best products, the best shows and that their artist getaway was something that people would go back and tell their friends about. She loved Levi like an older brother, and he cared for her like his little sister. She would forever be grateful to whatever power in the universe made her stumble into The Edge two years ago.

She had been high out of her mind, as she had been most days after she came running back to Michigan with her tail between her legs, and Levi had been struggling with an amp in the shop. She had walked in, spotted his struggle and didn’t even say a word to him, just walked over and fixed the wiring so that it was functional again. Levi had looked up from where he sat on the floor and said “You don’t happen to need a job do you?”

The rest was essentially history. It only took two months of seeing him every single day, and him not letting her sour moods go by unnoticed, for her to spill her guts over some bourbon one night. About Ryan and Undercover Heart and how badly the whole situation fucked her up. How after she’d recorded her testimony she’d boarded the next flight to Grand Rapids and hightailed it up north. She came crash landing into Traverse City because she’d always loved it as a kid, and figured it would be a great place to start over. The small town she’d grown up in had too many people who knew her.

He was extra careful with bands for a while. Never letting her be alone in a room with too many male band members, and carefully vetting everyone who came through. Eventually she told him off about treating her like a porcelain doll and he backed down a bit, giving her free reign over lots of the equipment set ups and giving her plenty of hours in the shop by herself. She was happy to do so, so Levi could focus on fixing up the artist house and starting his photography again.

But he was still very gentle with her sometimes, and she’d always love him for it even when it pissed her the fuck off.

Once she’d smoked the joint down to the roach, she tucked the end into her pocket. It was sacrilegious to litter near the lake. It was too precious to be fucked with. She meandered back toward the shop. Her plan was to grab her bag and head back to let her Pitbull, Stacy, out for a walk and pee. The girl had been cooped up all morning and Maven felt bad.

She threw her whole body against the front door, as the latch often stuck, and the loud sound of the chimes clanged in the empty space. She rolled her eyes. Of course Levi left the shop unattended and unlocked. It was Traverse City, no one was gonna rob them, but what if someone wanted to buy something?

She was humming softly to herself as she made her way around the edge of the counter and plopped down on the stool by the register. She whipped out her phone to ask Levi where he was. She had the message halfway typed when the door behind her, the one that led to the staff restroom, popped open.

“You know, crime is especially low in this town but that doesn’t mean someone wouldn’t come in here and try to steal your precious coffee maker.” She tossed over her shoulder.

“Oh.” Was all that came back. It was decidedly not Levi’s voice. Maven spun back quickly.

“Sorry I…” But that’s as far as she got. She was suddenly face to face with Jake Kizska and all thoughts quickly left her brain.

They both stared at each other for a long moment. Maven couldn’t quite figure out why he looked just as shocked to see her as she was to see him. He also almost looked afraid for some reason that Maven couldn’t figure out.

He was dressed in an outfit she’d seen him wear plenty of times. A black button up, half unbuttoned, loose fitting light wash jeans and a pair of well worn boots. His wrists were full of bracelets and his hair was longer than the last time she’d seen footage of their concerts, well past his collarbones at this point.

“Hi.” Jake finally broke the silence. “I’m Jake.” He reached out his hand for a handshake.

“I know.” Maven replied, and then coughed. Why did you say that you freak?

Suddenly the front door bell chimed again, and Maven whipped her head to see Levi coming in the front door. She stood abruptly from her stool, skirted around Jake’s outstretched hand, and out from behind the counter. She scooped up her leather satchel on her way.

She headed straight at Levi. He glanced over his shoulder and saw an apologetic Jake looking forlorn and lowering his hand back to his side.

“Oh hey Maven-”

“Hey dumbass, don’t leave the store unattended again. I’m going home to check on Stacy. Probably won’t be back for the rest of the day.” Maven spit as she stormed past him toward the front door.

“Maven wait-”

But she was already outside, the hinges bringing the heavy wood crashing back into the frame. The chime of the bells rang through the space.

“Sorry.” Jake muttered.

“Not your fault. I knew she’d find out eventually. Right now she’s probably just pissed I didn’t tell her. Which she has every right to be.” Levi sighed.

After a few more beats of silence Jake spoke again. “Who’s Stacy?”

Levi huffed a laugh. “That would be her Pitbull.”

“Oh.” Jake said again. He felt crazy because his brain couldn’t come up with anything else to say. She was prettier up close. She smelled like the Lake and weed and sandalwood. He really wished she’d taken his hand. He shook his head trying to find his brain in it somewhere.

The other three boys came clambering up the stairs and into the store. They all looked between Levi, who was still standing in the middle of the shop, and Jake behind the counter.

“Are you two playing freeze tag or something?” Sam quipped.

“Jake met Maven.” Levi responded. The boys' heads whipped toward Jake.

“And… I’m guessing it… went well?” Danny questioned.

Levi finally walked back toward the counter. “She left for the day. This is on me. I should have told her y’all were here.” He snagged his keys from below the counter and walked toward the front door to lock up. “I’m closing early, boys. Let’s go get a beer.”

“Kowabunga baby.” Josh said with a grin.

~0~

Maven sat curled up on her velvet couch, Stacy was her little spoon. There was incense burning, a bottle of wine open on the side table and a lit joint in the ashtray. She had changed into a giant t-shirt and boxer shorts. The soft sounds of John Denver playing off her record player.

However, none of these things were easing her mind.

She was pissed, mostly. At herself. At Levi. She was pissed he didn’t tell her they were coming. She was pissed that he felt he couldn’t tell her. She was pissed that she had acted like a freak in front of Jake.

The anxiety was an endless pit in her stomach. She couldn’t go back there tomorrow. She couldn’t see any of those people. Not when she felt like this.

She whipped out her phone and quickly shot a message to Levi, before chugging her whole glass of red wine and snagging the joint out of the ashtray.

~0~

Levi’s phone dinged on the table where all of the guys sat drinking beers and chatting. Levi glanced at it and quickly picked it up when he saw her name.

“It’s Maven.” He said.

“What did she say?” Jake asked, sitting up a bit in his chair.

“Fuck.” Levi said, tossing his phone on the table, still unlocked.

All four boys leaned in to read the screen.

CASHING IN ALL MY VACATION DAYS. I’LL BE OUT FOR TWO WEEKS.

“Fuck indeed.” Josh said, pounding back the rest of his beer.

#jake gvf #jake kiszka #greta van fleet #greta fic #jake fic #gvf #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta fan fleet fic #peaceful army

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petewentzisblack1312 · 3 years

Note

since you are a punk, what are your punk music recs!

thanks for asking! im gonna start with newer bands i like a lot!

bob vylan - my favourite hardcore band rn. i love their name, i love their music, i love their whole vibe, and if youre black i doubly recommend them

jer - this is a tiktok mutual who runs a ska project called skatune network! they dont have a full album out (yet!!) but im obsessed with r/edgelord

catbite - this is a band patrick was recommended on the in defense of ska podcast, but i actually heard about them through jer.

we are the union - jers in this band! recently gave them a listen (finally) and i love what ive heard! these are my only ska recs i think

destroy boys - i found them on bandcamp and i think they bop hard

the regrettes - a little less hardcore, but still a fave! a living human girl is a really great song

nova twins - love their stuff so far, need to give their album a listen from cover to cover but i LOVE play fair

otoboke beaver - a japanese punk all girl band, i love their shit, though i havent listened recently

amyl and the sniffers - what a NAME. they really feel like a classic punk band but theyre from this past decade.

some punk (and alternative) acts i like but havent looked more into yet (youll find most of these on the black and bitchin playlist)

blacker face

sabatta

the black tones

big joanie

poolblood

lillith ai

special interest

the 1865

rico nasty - if you say shes not punk or alt i will smack a bitch

jhariah (not on the playlist because i need to pick a song of his but i CANT theyre all so good and so different)

stem champ - another beloved tiktok mutual! i love to the front, need to listen to their stuff. very folk punk.

baby storme - what ive heard i LOVE but i need to listen to more

angelboy + the halos isnt really punk tho id say they fall under the broader alt/indie umbrella but theyre so good i hope they pop off in a big way some day

danny denial - gay af

lesane - deeply sorry to everyone i introduced to dont do drugs he immediately went inactive and now we are all in withdrawal

soul glo - cant understand their lyrics yet rip

television screams - they got one single out last i checked. but its a very good one!

teenage halloween

pinkshift

and finally, oldie goldies!

bad brains (banned in dc) - now a lot of the band have said some homophobic stuff but for complicated caribbean diaspora maslows hierarchy politics reasons while i do encourage a load of discretion i do still (VERY TENTATIVELY) recommend them. i like some of their reggae stuff too but im more into modern reggae when i listen, like chronixx (my beloved)

x ray spex - oh bondage, up yours!

fall out boy - theyre still easycore i will die on this hill

racetraitor - one of andys bands, i really love what ive heard so far but tbf ive only heard their stuff from the 90s

arma angelus - petes screaming my beloved

green day - not interested in a philosophical discussion, i like their stuff although i still havent listened to father of all and probably wont

gym class heroes! obviously.

the white stripes - i love elephant. i have my gripes with jack white.

against me! - punk mom <3

my chemical romance - not a HUGE fan but still a fan

idkhbtfm - not old but yes they are

paramore

im gonna put florence + the machine here just because i dont know what they are exactly

i could do a little lightning round of classic bands i like: the ramones, misfits, nirvana, the clash, blondie, gorillaz (they count imo), the runaways, joy division, the sex pistols sound good but are shit,

im likely missing some stuff and im probably about to be called a poser but heres a sampler of my taste in music!

#dils declares #forbidden dils lore

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the-cookie-of-doom · 3 years

Note

So... A little follow up on the (what if Claudia took Mitch with her in estranged), what would've Mitch done if he saw stiles being bullied (by Jackson, or some punk that plays lacrosse with Mitch and was very jealous bc he wasn't the Captain and wanted to get back at Mitch using stiles) I think he would let his very badass side show and that would leave everyone in shock...

Or anything where Mitch was a total badass

I am so glad to follow up on this, bc I've been thinking about it nonstop since your first ask 😊

For the first scenario, with Jackson bullying Stiles:

Jackson gets jealous when he sees Mitch, back from college for the summer, practicing with Scott and Stiles. He tries to show off for Mitch in that typical douchebag way where he's lifting himself up by stepping on Scott and Stiles. Which is to say: it doesn't work. Mitch tells him to knock it off, and Jackson is a little hurt that his hero just brushed him off like that, but the message never sinks in. It just doesn't compute that Mitch wouldn't like him. And he's determined to show Mitch exactly where he's wrong, and that Mitch should be mentoring him. (Mitch is kind of put off by it, tbh. Like yeah he's a lacrosse star, one of the best college players to live, etc. Whatever, he's also a 20-something kid and doesn't want a fanboy, he just wants to hang out with his little brother.)

When Jackson's Win-Him-Over-With-Charm plan doesn't work, he gets nasty. Under the guise of trying to understand/"help" him, he brings up Mitch's past, asks why he'd have given up his future/inheritance. Jackson may not know his bio parents, but at least his adoptive ones are rich. He can't imagine giving all that up just to live some podunk life in a small town. But if they team up, they could go pro together; Jackson could back Mitch's career, and in return Mitch could train him, help him make connection, etc.

Meanwhile Mitch is ??? Because a literal teenager is trying to buy him. Between Jackson's treatment of Stiles, and his personal digs on Mitch (acting as if he knows the first thing about him), it's the closest Mitch has ever come to actually throwing hands with a teenager. He holds back though; psychological warfare and blackmail are so much more fun. And effective! Especially with someone like Jackson. And the last thing you want to do is piss off a telepath.

In Estranged, Mitch is entirely untrained. But here, with Claudia, he would be fully trained, which means he could do some damage, which Jackson would get to see first hand.

Second scenario, someone on his team decides to fuck with Stiles:

If it was someone Mitch's age picking on Stiles, it would be no holds barred. Mitch would go ballistic. I don't think he would have the same anger issues as he does in Estranged, bc he doesn't have the same trauma, but he's protective over his family. Threatening the people he loves, in any way, will always be a trigger for him. Especially give the age gap here. Stiles is his baby brother; if Mitch was 17, Stiles would be like 12-13. So it's extra levels of "wtf is wrong with you?" No one that close to graduating should be bullying a middle schooler. Mitch would absolutely get bloody over that. (And not necessarily his own.)

I could also see some "My big brother is gonna kick your big brother's ass!" From a scrappy 12 year old Stiles. He probably gets Mitch into all kinds of trouble lol. Tbh I imagine them having an early Steve/Bucky relationship, where Mitch is always having to drag him out of trouble when Stiles gets into fights with people much bigger and meaner than him. (He was probably a scrawny kid, and then between middle school and Highschool, sprouted like a weed. It's why Stiles is so gangly and awkward; he grew like 6 inches in one summer, and doesn't know where everything is yet.)

And finally, one more addition of my own for Badass Mitch~

I think he'd go ballistic on hunters, too. I already mentioned it on the first post where he gets kidnapped and tortured by Kate. That's not by accident; he totally confronts her (giving Laura time to warn her family), and they probably have a pretty brutal fight before she takes him down. He's got the training, but she has experience, and she fights dirty. But then after Laura and the others free him and have the Hale v. Hunter standoff, even while tortured, Mitch can still hold his own. Him and Laura are totally a badass battle couple, watching each other's backs and tearing through the hunters. Literally, in Laura's case!

And just one more idea because I think it's cute - once they go from Teenage Dating to Werewolf Courting, Laura takes down a deer as a courting gift for Mitch. Just. Fuckin. Goes out and kills the biggest stag she can finds and presents it to him all proud, and he's like O_O What the fuck am I going to do with this, babe??

But he cooks it up once he figures out how to actually butcher the thing (maybe with Papa Hale's help, it could be a father-soninlaw bonding experience) and Laura is heart eyes at him, bc not only did he accept her gift (thus her proving that she can provide for him), but he's also feeding her. And like I said, the girl likes to Eat xD (And thus Mitch shows he can provide for her, too.)

It probably becomes a Thing at the restaurant later, where they'll sometimes have venison on the menu whenever Laura is feeling frisky and Extra Alpha. Maybe she always begins (ends?) the Full Moon with a hunt, and it's a full moon special kind of deal.

#cookie speaks #cookie writes #thank youuuu #i want to write this AU so bad now *sob*#actually it's making me want to work on ALL of my Mitch/Laura AUs #I have one where Mitch is her emissary #and another that's a human/werewolf war AU that's super angsty and Good #both are sidepairings for Sterek

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scaryscarecrows · 3 years

Note

Hi! The past few weeks have been very stressful for me and your work always makes me smile, so I was wondering if we could have a few times that Frank had to act as a father figure for the squad members and maybe a time they all teamed up to help him? Thank you, you're an angel <3

Frank sighs. Crosses his arms. Looms, a little. Antoine has flashbacks to being eight years old and in the absolute deepest shit for...well, it doesn’t matter what for. It’s over now.

“You,” Frank intones, jabbing a finger at the boss, who’s sulking and still picking bits of plant out of his armor, “you clearly had absent parents. But you--” Aww, shit. “You know damn well not to go running off into a swamp in the middle of the night, what were you thinking--”

“I--”

“And you! Absent parents be damned, surely you have enough common sense to keep your punk ass inside--”

“There was a--”

“None of that.”

_____________________________________________________________

Jimmy knows he said he was going to bed, like, two hours ago. But then he’d hit upon the Ultimate Groove, and things had just started happening, and, uh, that hadn’t happened.

At least he thinks that was two hours ago. He sort of went night-night but not really at...some point.

“--c’mon, kid, let’s getcha to bed.”

“Five mo’ minutes...”

“No more minutes. Let’s go.”

“But--”

Frank’s hand is suddenly under his arm and he’s on his feet, if not...a little clumsily. And his glasses are gone, so he’s seeing blurs. So many blurs.

“I gotcher glasses, now come on. Bed, genius.”

Bed. Bed good.

______________________________________________________________

“Hey.” Mark twists and promptly winces when it jars his arm. Frank grimaces. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just a couple’a stitches, s’okay.”

“Looks nasty.”

“‘Least I’m not dying in some sketchy motel.”

“Mark--”

“Fuckin’ idiot,” Mark continues, voice rising, “who told him to try that shit--”

“Mark--”

“--tackle? Tackle? What the actual fuck, he deserves whatever happens--”

“Mark.” Frank gives him a good nudge. “Breathe, man. Okay? You did good.”

“I--”

“He’s not dead yet, is he?”

Mark sighs. Gives the unconscious Antoine a tired look.

“No,” he mumbles. “Not yet.”

“Come on.” Frank leans over to throw his arm carefully over Mark’s shoulders. “Get some rest, I’ll watch him.”

______________________________________________________________

“--up the kitchen, Riley,” Frank says in horror. Several feet away, the boss is just staring at the rubble. “How?”

Riley shrugs and gazes up at him with that oh-so-innocent expression that always means, I’m an asshole and I love it.

“How does this happen, man?” Another shrug. Frank remembers Sam slinking in with a less-than-great grade. “What did you even do?”

My best.

Elsewhere, the boss says something about walking bombs. Riley grins and starts to stroll away, only to freeze when Frank grabs the back of his shirt.

“Oh, no. You’re cleaning this mess up.”

At the minimum.

______________________________________________________________

"Helmet on?”

“Yep.”

“Seat belt buckled?”

“Yep.”

“You remember the drill if shit goes south?”

“Yep.”

“Okay.”

Frank doesn’t love this bit, the testing bit. They gotta, gotta make sure these machines can withstand what they need to, but it’s dangerous and he worries. Worries a little tiny bit less about Trent, because the man’s an absolute beast who can lift small cars out of the snow, but still.

“You’re sure--”

“Frank.” Trent’s voice is somewhere between exasperated and fond. “I’ll be fine, man. You’re here.”

Yeah. He guesses so.

______________________________________________________________

Oh, man. That blast rang his damn bell, that’ll leave a mark...

“Frank-!”

“Shit--”

“Get back, get back!” Owwwww. “Frank. Frank, can you hear me, man?”

“Yeah...” he breathes. “Ow.”

“Talk to me, Jones,” the boss demands from somewhere behind him. “What’s going on.”

Frank coughs, tasting smoke and rust; bitten tongue or chipped tooth, he’s not sure yet.

“Think.” He swallows. “Think m’gonna. Gonna lose m’leg.”

Silence. Then a cacophony of rage.

“Leave him here--”

“Fuckin’ asshole--”

“Get him up, Trent. We gotta move.”

Trent picks him up in mid-cackle. He passes out before they get to the car.

#asks #the squad #Frank Clyde #Frank appreciation post #Frank the Dad

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crash-cinematic-universe · 4 years

Text

a sickly satisfaction (ch.3)

pairing: jason dean/reader

summary: who knew doing homework in a dusty old supply closet could be so much fun.?

warnings: discussing childhood trauma, abuse mention (very VERY brief, it’s more implied than anything) , murder (not detailed)

notes: this chapter is kiiiiind of a little bit shorter than usual but goddamn it has some Stuff In It. good chapter i think

taglist: @stuckysdaughter

I had barely crossed the threshold of the Snappy Snack Shack when tommy began hounding me.

“I heard there was a fight in the Cafe at Westerburg between two jocks and punk-ass-- are you alright? What the hell happened? Do I need to follow you around to make sure you don’t get your ass kicked?” He frantically asks. “God, I don’t have the time nor energy to be your personal bodyguard,” He groans.

“Relax, Geller, I’m fine,” I jump over the counter. “Kurt and Ram pushed me over and I hit my head, but that’s about it.”

“What? Someone told me Kurt and Ram got their asses handed to them,” His eyebrows furrowed.

“They did,” I assure. For some wild reason, I’m almost embarrassed to admit that JD came to my defense. Tommy looks at me expectantly. “Uh, Jason stepped in when he saw things were getting out of hand.”

“Oooh,” Tommy grinned. “So Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome decided to defend his girl, huh?”

“I’m not his girl, Tommy, don’t be weird,” I bite my nails. The thought of being “Jason’s girl” made my cheeks heat up a bit. That doesn’t sound too bad.

“Whatever,” There’s a lull in conversation, the constant soft hum of the slushie machine making the store feel comfortable.

“Is it alright if I do some homework? If I miss another due date Professor Landman might kill me,” I inquire. Tommy nods.

“I think I left my book in the back,” My backpack hangs loosely on my shoulders as I walk to the backroom. My copy of To Kill a Mockingbird sits on top of a shelf on the wall, and I quickly snatch it and flip it open. I made a habit of leaving items in the back room; I’m here more than I am at my house. I tend to keep myself detached from wherever I live-- I move too often to actually plant roots.

On my eleventh birthday, my dad died. He got into a fight with my mom, and it got heated. I remember sitting on the living room couch with my new Disney coloring book and trying my best to make a pretty drawing so mom and dad would be happy again. I remember when things got quiet. Too quiet. I remember walking into the kitchen with my pretty drawing and seeing my mom standing in the middle of the room. I can see my father’s corpse when I close my eyes-- I remember the blood and the knife and exactly where each stab wound was. Then the cops showed up and they took my mom and my dad away.

Now it’s just me and my Aunt Maria. She’s my only living relative, and apparently that’s the only qualification for taking in a suddenly orphaned child. Problem is, she sucks. She tries her best, she really does, but dear old Aunt Maria moves us across the country every few months. I usually have to remind her to eat and drink and pay bills. It usually falls on me to clean the house and get work done and provide for us. Her endless slew of shitty boyfriends don’t help, but they seem to make her happy for brief blasts. The Snappy Snack Shack always seems to be there for me; a shitty chain of convenience stores is my only sense of permanence in my chaotic life.

I don’t realize how tightly I’m gripping my book until it rips at the spine. The split pages flutter to the floor and my head hangs. I have a nasty habit of destroying things in the midst of strong emotion. Apparently that’s “unstable behavior”, according to my 7th grade counselor. Whatever. My counselor didn’t know shit about me. I press my foot into the cover of the novel at my feet. No one knows shit about me. I grind my foot into the ground. I am an island. My jaw clenches.

“Am I interrupting something?” Tommy’s voice draws my out of my head. I collect the pages from off the floor.

“Uh, no. I was just… thinking.” The tall man in the doorway knows not to ask more, so he doesn’t.

“Well, you have a visitor,” he smirks, wiggling his eyebrows. “I’m gonna send him back here, s’that alright?”

“Yeah, sure,” Tommy turned to leave but froze. He turned back to me and lowered his voice.

“These walls are not soundproof. Just wanted to alert you now.” Tommy laughed mischievously before darting out the door. I rolled my eyes.

Jason walks in, and instantly I’m aware that something is wrong. There’s a dark bruise forming under his left eye, as well as a small cut on his eyebrow. These aren’t from his run-in with Kurt and Ram, though, these are different. Immediately, I’m on my feet and examining his injuries. He winces a bit, backing away from my touch ever-so-slightly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jason looks at me for a moment. He shrugs.

“It’s no big deal, darlin’, it’s just Kurt and Ram and their damaged pride,” A wave of anger washes over me, but I quickly push it away.

“One of these days, they're gonna get what’s coming to them,” I say softly. JD nods, a ghost of intrigue flashing behind his pupils. “It’s good to see you, though. I never got to thank you for, uh, helping me.”

Jason takes a step closer. “I’d do it anytime, darlin’. What kind of person would I be if I let someone like you get hurt?”

“‘Someone like me’?” I cocked my eyebrow.

“Mhm. Someone so intriguing and interesting. Someone so original and tough. Someone so… extraordinary.” My face is on fire, Jason’s unrelenting eyes staring into mine without mercy. Tommy would probably scream that this is the perfect time for me to grab his face and kiss him. He would be right if he did.

“Awe, c’mon. I’m not all that,” I attempt to deflect the compliments. To be honest, I never learned how to accept kindness from others.

“You’re all that and more, trust me,” He insists, taking another step towards me. I feel my heart rate picking up slightly.

“Well, thanks, Jason. You’re pretty great, too. There aren’t many people on Earth that would treat me like you do,” My lips curl upward into a small smile. My back hits the small table behind me, and Jason takes another step forward. He’s so close I can feel his breath on my skin, his arms resting on the table and encasing me in with him. His face is tinted bright pink.

“Th-there’s gold in your eyes,” My voice is a low whisper. I’m not exactly sure why I mentioned that, but hey, can’t take it back now.

“What?”

“There’s a ring of gold around your pupils. It’s, uh, really nice,” I hear the Earth sigh beneath my feet. Jason smirks. “I’ve never seen eyes like yours before. You’ve got cool eyes, ya know that? Really, really cool ey--”

Jason jerks forward, gently pressing his lips against mine. His arms remain on either side of me, keeping me in place. Our lips move in sync, each second that passes allowing the kiss to grow more and more intense. Slowly, my hand reaches up to gently cup his jaw, my thumb languidly running over his smooth skin. My heart is racing, an onslaught of emotion coursing through my veins as JD moves closer to me. The world around us fades away; all the pain and the suffering and the anger and the sadness melting into an obsolete puddle. All that matters is this. As fucked up as the world may be, this is what’s right about it.

Jason pulls away after a minute, presumably stopping to breathe. He grins a big, dumb grin. I can’t help but allow a similarly big, similarly dumb grin grow on my face. He rests his forehead on mine.

“You really are extraordinary, you know,” His voice is raspy. It sends a shiver down my spine.

“And you’re a really good kisser,” I quip. Sure, the outside world is a shitty dumpster fire full of insecurity and anxiety and hate, but as far as I’m concerned, none of that matters. The most important place in the entire world is the back room of a Snappy Snack Shack in Sherwood, Ohio, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

#jason dean x reader #jason dean #heathers #heather duke #Heather Chandler #heather mcnamara #a sickly satisfaction series #irl dont look #irl don't look #Veronica Sawyer

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softbiker · 4 years

Text

Steve Rogers Oneshot

Warnings: language, attempted sexual assault and harassment, mentions of past sexual assault and harassment - do not read if these situations are triggering for you.

Word count: 6.1k - am I capable of writing anything short anymore???

A/N: HI I’M FINALLY BACK AND POSTING SOMETHING FOR THE FIRST TIME IN ALMOST 3 MONTHS WOW. This story continues the Agent 14 series (so definitely check that out in my masterlist if you’re not familiar!) and...it’s something I’ve had on my mind for a while. I just needed to get it out. I hope that you like it and please share what you think! Feedback is appreciated!

When her phone starts buzzing, she’s mid-swing at the faded sandbag hanging from the ceiling.

She’s glad to have the place to herself - the dusty air and stale silence more of a comfort. A bead of sweat slides down her temple, itching past her ear, and her finger scratches at the spot absently, coming away salty wet. There’s sweat slicking her scalp, too; she feels it under the tight twist of her braids, heat trapped beneath the strands. Her dirty little basement gym - faded posters lining the walls, advertising fights long finished, flickering bulbs hanging from the ceiling, stained linoleum - is quiet in the mornings. A kind of quiet that is all too rare in the city, in her life.

Sure, it was nice of Sam to continue inviting her on their morning runs - she has every intention of taking him up on his offer, when she finally gets off the opening shift at work. She sees his 4 a.m. offers a couple times a week, shooting back a quick response that she’s already up, heading in to open the cafe. He finds it all so funny; calls her “Agent Barista”, and endearingly teases her about her rigorous coffee training at the SHIELD Academy.

Okay but real talk, 14 - what’s your top secret mission down at Starbucks? Pinged her phone as she brushed her teeth and concealed undereye circles with strategic swipes of makeup.

Key word in your question is “top secret”, Wilson. As in, tell you but I’d have to kill you. You know the drill.

Another ping. Yeah, yeah. Y’all agents talk a good game, but I know for a fact 41 can be bought with a box of See’s candies. Just gotta figure out your weakness.

Good luck.

No luck needed. I’ll bring a couple sweaty super soldiers your way around 8:30, you’re welcome.

With a wrapped hand, she flicks one swinging braid back over her shoulder, turning to her duffel bag for her phone. It’s buried under a spare pair of socks and a sports bra she forgot to wash, still buzzing as she grasps it and flips the screen upwards in her hand.

Unknown caller.

She’d bet every cent to her name that she could guess who was on the other end of the line. Tongue pressed against her teeth, she dismisses the call and drops her phone back in her bag. Fury can wait.

Turning back to the sandbag, she sucks a quick breath through her nose, curling power in her lean shoulders, and then unleashes a furious combination of jabs and kicks on the beaten plastic. Grunts and harsh pants slip past her lips, fists slinging blow after punishing blow, her weight held bouncing on the balls of her feet. The sandbag is a stoic opponent, taking her fists and feet without so much as a groan of protest, swinging back only a few inches on the chain even as she whips around high for a roundhouse kick. Growling, she rocks her weight back on her heels, before leaping forward off one leg to drive her knee into the bag with bruising force. More to herself than the bag, she thinks, glancing down at the tender skin on her bare knee, stinging from the impact. She leans an elbow against the bag and drops her head, swiping at the baby hairs along her forehead.

The phone buzzes again, insistent and muffled, and she lets her head drop back with a heavy sigh, eyes closed.

“Shut up,” she mutters, eyes narrowing in a nasty glare at the offending noise.

“I didn’t say anything.”

She whirls at the sound, fists raised - she hadn’t even heard him enter.

Steve has the good grace to look sheepish as he approaches from a shadowed staircase in the corner of the room, his hands raised in surrender. Not many people have had the sheer dumb luck - and misfortune - of sneaking up on her, and the part of her brain not whiplashed by adrenaline grudgingly admires him for it.

“Morning, Captain,” 14 sighs, her hands falling to her hips, rolling her neck against the tension in her shoulders.

“Morning,” he smiles. He’s trimmed back the beard, she notices, closer to the sharp line of his jaw. Dust motes swirl around his golden head like fairy dust as he passes through the puddles of light cast from the weak overhead bulbs. It strikes her then, the unassuming slope of his shoulders, a little shuffle in his gait, not quite lifting his feet from the ground. Not a strut, no stalking or preening like the SHIELD boys she came up at the Academy with, eager to throw their weight around. Somehow, despite his height, he manages to duck his head, to look up at her under a fringe of enviable dark lashes. Disarming and soft, a wayward blond strand falling over his forehead, he tucks his hands into his pockets, standing just a few feet away from her. He nods at the hanging sandbag behind her.

“Gave that thing quite a beating,” he says, tilting a dark eyebrow. She shrugs one shoulder.

“Looked at me funny,” she quips back, still catching her breath from the last bout. Her tongue swipes at a drop of sweat on her upper lip. Sniffing, she turns her gaze down to the wrapping on her hands. “I don’t recall inviting you, Rogers - I thought this was a private session.”

“Sorry for intruding,” he says, scrunching his nose and swiping at the errant lock of hair hanging before his eyes. With a jerk of his chin, he gestures towards her gym bag, where her phone has gone blessedly silent. “Fury had a feeling you would, um, how does Sam say it…’shady button’ him?”

She snorts in spite of herself, just managing to slap a hand over her mouth before her laugh becomes obnoxious. Even in the dim light of the fluorescents, she can see the high flush creeping up those scruffy cheeks. Steve rubs the back of his neck, a familiar embarrassment curling in his belly; it’s a joke the team plays sometimes, and he gets it, he really does. Gotta laugh at your CO sometimes - it brings the team together; so he drops little phrases here and there, incongruous slang with his pleated slacks and old-fashioned manners. Even things that Sam says - the word “fam”, or adding “ass” as a suffix to virtually any word - from Steve’s mouth, they’re suddenly enough to have the team rolling with laughter, Tony red-faced, Wanda close to tears. The tips of his ears burn, and he always acts put out, lowers his stern father brows, but if there’s one thing he learned as a Brooklyn-born punk, it’s how to take his punches.

“Oh, I’m sorry - I’m sorry,” 14 says, hand still half-covering the silly grin tugging at her mouth. “It just sounded so funny coming from you. It was like-”

“Kinda like if your dad were saying it?” Steve purses his lips, tilts his head to the side.

“Oh god…yes, that’s exactly it.” It ignites a fresh burst of giggles, though she scrunches her nose and shakes her head at the image. “Uh, just do us both a favor and don’t say that again.”

“I don’t think you can restrict Captain America’s freedom of speech.” He lifts his eyebrows, playful, considering. The slope of his nose casts a long shadow across his cheek, skin like Irish cream. She rolls her eyes, turning away to her duffel bag, using her teeth to tug at the wrappings on her hands.

“So. You’re Nick’s new personal assistant or something?” Dropping to the bench, she rummages through her gym bag and takes a long gulp from her water bottle. She swipes at her phone screen - 3 missed calls now.

Steve shrugs.

“I volunteered,” he says simply, large knuckles still visible where they stay curled in his pockets. “Thought…hoped I might have better luck.”

She licks her lower lip, chasing a coveted drop of water. It’s not as though she’s tired of the job - it varies so much, from one day to the next, that it makes boredom impossible. No, it’s not the job, she’s just…tired. Of what, or why, she can’t really say. Steve is patient. He doesn’t say anymore, just waits, standing a few feet away and shifting his weight from one leg to the other, his soft eyes watchful. Her fingers go to her shoulders, massaging the oncoming ache in her muscles.

“What’s the mission?”

**********

“You need some help there, punk?” Bucky leans a hip against the doorframe, arms crossed over his beloved NASA hoodie, an amused twitch tugging at the corner of his mouth. Across the room, Steve frowns at him in the mirror.

“Never really got the hang of these damned things,” Steve huffs, fingers losing the knot on his bowtie and sighing again as the cloth falls loose from the crisp collar of his shirt. Hands falling to his narrow hips, he turns to Bucky, wearing a look of defeat rarely seen on Steve Rogers.

Wordlessly, Bucky shuffles across the carpet and begins to knot the offending fabric, fingers of metal and flesh looping one strand over the other and back again. Chin lifted, brows furrowed, a marble bust of martyrdom, Steve is ever stoic while he works.

“Thought you were gonna shave for this,” Bucky comments, his voice quiet, not lifting his eyes from the tie. Steve makes a dissenting noise from his throat.

“Yeah, well, the beard makes it easier to keep a low profile,” he says, a hand reaching up to rub his whiskers absentmindedly. “And besides, I’m sort of attached to it now.”

Bucky chuckles, a smile dimpling his own scruffy cheeks.

“Know what you mean - God, but nobody looked like this when we were kids, ya know?” He steps back, finished with the tie, and gives Steve an appraising nod, pursing his lips. “Not too bad, Rogers, not too bad.”

Raising a dubious brow, Steve turns back to the mirror, tugging at the sleeves and adjusting his shoulders in the tux. Strictly white tie - totally out of his element, but sometimes duty comes with a dress code. He wedges a thick finger between the starched white collar and his own tender skin.

“In this get up?” Steve shakes his head. “Never did get used to wearing a monkey suit.”

Tongue in his cheek, Bucky grins.

“Have you seen yourself in your uniform?”

Steve flings a fist back behind him, grinning triumphantly when his hit lands in Bucky’s gut; a metal fist swings in retaliation, but Steve manages to sidestep, his hands raised in quick surrender.

“Hey, not too rough,” he says, tamping down a mischievous smile. “Tony will have my head if I ruin another one of these.”

“Tony could buy you one for every day of the week,” Bucky scoffs, rolling his eyes.

A knock on the doorframe makes them both turn.

It’s been years now, since he met Natasha - wind whipping up familiar curls on the deck of the helicarrier, a watchful smile, wolves’ teeth hidden under a lamb-soft face. Even later, when he learned to trust her, he always found himself surprised at her startling contrasts, the ease with which she managed to be two things at once; ally and spy, friend then enemy then family. In truth, she was testing him. They both knew. Years of probing, disguised as teasing and sarcasm and near-insubordination - assessing his strength, his weakness, the man behind the shield. And after all this time, it was his steadiness at each of her own turns that pacified her, let her learn to lean on him in return.

She smiles in the doorway now, her bright hair swept sleek behind her ears, revealing diamond teardrop earrings, probably on loan from Tony’s collection. The tips of her hair just brush her pale, bare shoulders, revealed by the strapless neckline of her jumpsuit. Black was always her signature color - never dull, though, because with Nat black is a spectrum, a rainbow refracted through her prism: intimidating, alluring, powerful, subtle.

“You clean up good, Rogers,” she smirks, her hands tucked into her pockets as she gives him a look of approval. “Keeping the beard, though?”

Steve’s hand idly brushes against his trimmed whiskers.

“It’s grown on me,” he admits. “And besides, I’ve got too much of a baby face without it.”

“Some girls like that.”

“Some guys like that,” Bucky adds, waggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah, well,” Steve rubs the back of his neck, willing down the flush that crept up at his friends’ praise. “I’m not supposed to be the bait tonight.”

“No, I guess that’s my job.” Another voice appears behind Nat, her head peaking around Nat’s shoulder as she steps forward to share the space in the doorway.

Unbidden, Steve feels his mouth fall open. He always thought she was beautiful, from the first time he saw her, no makeup and the sleeves of her sweater splashed with coffee and mocha sauce; this morning, in the dusty half-light of the basement gym, sweat gleaming on her forehead and arms. But he wasn’t prepared to see her like this, glowing in his doorway, draped in a pink silk slip that exposed one of her thighs. She’d let her hair loose from it’s tight braids, her makeup bringing a dewy sheen to her cheeks - she looked…fresh, blooming like a rose. A clean swipe of red across her lips, almost an afterthought, as if she couldn’t be bothered to make more effort than that. Steve swipes his suddenly sweaty palms against his thighs and clears his throat.

“Um, wow,” he says, wincing at his own voice, which nearly gave an embarrassingly pubescent crack. “I mean, you…uh, you look great.”

“Better than great,” Bucky pipes up, the amused tilt to his mouth the only hint that he enjoys Steve’s embarrassment. “She looks beautiful.”

Nat nods in agreement.

“The dress is perfect for you - is it one of Stark’s?” she asks. 14 shakes her head, modestly gesturing to the gown with her hand.

“I’ve had it for a little while actually, I just couldn’t pass it up,” she sighs. “Just haven’t had the chance to wear it.”

“Well, we’re finally gonna put some miles on it,” Natasha smiles, her eyes cutting to Steve, who has clamped his jaw shut to prevent himself from saying more. “We all ready? Happy’s pulling the car around.”

14 nods, a shy smile tilting her mouth as she spares a glance at Steve before moving to follow Nat down the hall. She turns, and he sees that the cut of her dress falls low against the small of her back - almost low enough to glimpse the sweet dimples at the base of her spine. When they’re out of the doorway, he feels Bucky’s eyes on him - he’s perched on the edge of the bed, chewing his lip, one eyebrow lifted in an all-knowing look. He opens his mouth to speak but Steve lifts a hand.

“Don’t,” Steve cuts him off. “I know what you’re gonna say Buck, but just- don’t.”

Bucky lifts his hands in surrender, standing from the bed and walking over to where Steve still stands in the middle of his room.

“Fine, I won’t say a damn word,” Bucky sighs, shuffling across the thick carpet. He slaps his friend on the shoulder, gripping Steve with a firm hand. “Except you better move your ass instead of standing there like a dud - didn’t I tell you not to keep a lady waiting, Rogers?”

**********

Sam had whistled playfully as she glided out of the elevator on Steve’s arm, his eyebrows lifting halfway up his forehead.

“Damn, girl - almost didn’t recognize you without your apron,” he winked, his gap-toothed grin charming as ever.

“Didn’t match my shoes,” she winked back, flicking her hair over her shoulder. It sent a wave of her perfume drifting upwards; something bright and sweet, neroli, he thought, or orange blossom - maybe a hint of coconut. He had licked his lips without thinking; he’d like to smell it again, just to be sure.

Here, in this stuffy ballroom across town, with eager officials and bourgeois brats trying to rub elbows with Captain America, he finds the smell much less appealing. Sweat and ambition, excess and greed, all covered in layers of atelier cologne (eau de aristocratie) and - well, Bucky heard enough of his socialist soapbox speeches back in the day, and his views certainly haven’t changed much.

Still, he makes polite small talk with his admirers, rubs elbows, accepts drinks, all the while keeping one eye on the far corner of the room. It’s quiet, secluded, an overstuffed chaise with a soft cover tucked away from the buzz of the main dance floor. She’s perched there, ankles coquettishly crossed, the side slit of her dress revealing one leg and her glittering open-toed shoes; she leans on one arm, tilting her head towards the target, charming smile drawing up her lips as she hangs on his every word. Or pretends to, anyway. The target seems not to know the difference: Robbie Sinclair, a middle-aged man with the tanned smile of a Kennedy, salt and pepper hair slicked back from his face with a boyish cowlick escaping near the front, grins confidently as he talks to her. Steve watches him preen and puff his chest, spreading his legs to take up far more space than he needs. He stretches one arm along the back of the couch, leaning closer than appropriate, but she doesn’t move away.

He doesn’t like this, any of it. To be fair, he’d never been a big fan of the espionage facet of his job; much to Nat’s chagrin, subtlety and subterfuge were not Steve’s strong suits. If he had his way, they’d come in swinging and arrest this creep (and his insider-trading Wall Street buddies, too). But shooting from the hip wouldn’t work here, not when they still needed hard evidence on this guy, something more substantial than rumors - heavy as those rumors might be, words like “human trafficking” and “slavery” coming up in his SHIELD files. He understood the necessity, and so did 14.

Still, bringing her here and dangling her like a worm on a hook, hoping this asshole would take the bait…his stomach churned, whiskey bubbling unpleasantly at the thought. Steve angles his body around a chatty senator, trying to maintain his view on the corner. Sinclair looks about ready to take a bite, his head bent close to 14’s, sly smirk plastered on his face as he whispers something in her ear. Did her fist tighten around her glass? He can’t quite tell from this distance; he knows his own fingers are white-knuckled on his third whiskey. Or was it the fourth?

In a blink, a stumble, a minute trapped in choked small talk with Miss New York (during which he wondered if her real teeth were filed down like a shark’s underneath that crown-winning smile like Sam told him), he’s lost her.

A snowy static of panic whites out his brain, and his heart picks up against his ribcage as he all but shoves the beauty queen out of his way, his vision tunneling on the now-empty chaise in the corner. Where did she go? Where would she go? Barely managing subtlety know, he ducks his head, speaking to the comm device in his ear.

“Natasha. Do you have eyes on them?”

“…no, I was doing a sweep of the terrace outside,” she answers a moment later. “Did you lose them?”

Steve turns a circle where he stands, sharp eyes scanning each face and failing to find the one he wants to see.

“They’re gone, I’ve lost visual.” He tries to keep his voice down, his tone tight and clipped. Through a break in the crowd, he thinks he catches a glimpse of her dress, but when he looks again it’s the wrong color, the wrong dress, the wrong woman-

“Alright, I’m heading back inside - I’ll go up the stairs to the next floor, see if they went up that way.”

“Okay, I’ll take this floor,” Steve says, already making a beeline for the open doors of the ballroom, his tight-laced dress shoes clicking a solitary echo in the cavernous hallway just outside. Past the doors, and the gazes of nosy party-goers, he doubles his pace - the stiff starched tux protesting against the movement.

They’re not tucked into the alcoves along this hallway, and he deliberates a moment where the hall forks in opposite directions, before darting to the left and continuing his clipped jog. In a small part of his brain, he knows he shouldn’t be this concerned about her. 14 was an agent - a highly trained, highly skilled agent; he’d worked with her enough by now to know firsthand how well she could handle herself. But the other part of him couldn’t shake the way Sinclair had looked at her - the way every man in the room had looked at her when she walked in, circling and waiting for their chance to close in. Not to mention the less-than-sterling reputation of Robbie Sinclair, who, aside from the trafficking conspiracy that put SHIELD on his scent, had a handful of secretaries threaten him with harassment suits, before they were quietly paid to keep their mouths shut.

He comes to a dead end, a dancing nymph statue (far too baroque for his taste) mocking him with her tambourine against her hip. Doubling back, he curses under his breath and runs through the building schematics in his head, wondering where they could have slipped away to so quickly.

“Natasha? Any luck?”

“Negative. You?”

“No.” Steve clenches his fists and tries to force his heart back down from where it’s climbed up into his throat. His teeth grind together, jaw locked tight, holding in a frustrated growl. Unprompted, a wave of worst-case scenarios floods his mind - 14 dragged away by thugs, knocked unconscious, bleeding and gagged, unable to call for help. She’s a good agent. A good soldier. She can handle this. Try as he might to force them away, the tide of panic swells over and over inside him, the voice of his intuition telling him something must have gone wrong-

Behind him, an elevator dings.

Steve turns to see the ancient metalwork door rattle open, Agent 14 stumbling out half a moment later.

He blinks. She’s lost her shoes - no, she’s carrying them, the straps dangling from one hand. The side slit of her dress looks higher, and he notices the frayed edges along the top where the fabric has ripped. Her lipstick is smudged, her hair mussed, and she takes labored, panting breaths as she leans against the wall.

It takes him a while to understand what he’s looking at. As his panic starts to ebb, something different, something wounded and green threatens to perch in its place, at the sight of her so disheveled, with swollen lips and rumpled clothes. He says nothing; he has nothing to say, shocked as he is by the bitter taste of his own thoughts, wondering if a rendezvous with Sinclair was worth the information she might have gained.

It’s not until she starts sniffling that he notices the tears running down her cheeks.

The realization stops him cold, strangles the dark seed of doubt just starting to sprout in his heart, and fills him with shame and guilt. He takes a step forward. She’s not looking at him.

“…14? Are you okay?” he asks, his voice hushed. “Are you hurt?” There were no visible wounds that he could see, though she had limped a little when coming out of the elevator.

She nods, sniffing again.

“I’m-I’m fine,” she says, her voice scraping in her throat, barely holding back a sob. Squeezing her eyes shut, she presses a hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking with silent tears.

In two steps he’s at her side, though unsure of what to do, what would be appropriate, what she wants or needs. Were they…friends? Acquaintances? Colleagues? Do work friends hug, comfort each other?

“Can you tell me what happened?” he ventures softly, still not touching her, not crowding. He holds back a few inches, waiting, his hands feeling empty and heavy at his sides. “Do you want to?”

She nods, but it takes a few moments before she has regained her composure enough to lower her hand from her mouth and take a few rattling breaths, preparing to speak.

“He…h-he,” she stutters over a sob, like a child who’s cried too hard for too long. “He grabbed me and-and was kissing me, and then he tried,” she’s interrupted by a hiccup and a shaky sigh. “He tried to…to…”

She raises her eyes to his, tears welling up again, and shakes her head. She can’t say it, won’t say it - it is too much. It will make it real.

For his part, Steve barely restrains himself from blacking out with rage. His jaw is so tight he can feel his teeth nearly crack from the strain, fists curled but unsatisfied with not being wrapped around Sinclair’s neck. How dare he? How dare anyone? When he gets his hands on this goddamned son of a bitch, he’ll-

His vengeful train of thought is interrupted when she collapses against his chest with a sob, gripping the lapels of his jacket for support. On instinct he wraps his arms around her, caging her in, his chin resting on top of her head.

“I’m sorry - I’m so sorry,” he whispers as he hushes her and holds her, wishing there was more he could do, more he could say. He holds himself back from other platitudes, from it’s okay, and everything’s alright - he knows it’s not true.

She shakes and cries and rides out the storm in his arms, full of anger and fear and shame and helplessness; all the while, he stands silent and solid, murmuring soothing words his mother might have said - in another life, when someone held him, protected him.

Neither of them knows how much time has passed when her sobs become less violent, when her breathing calms, but she doesn’t step away. Her head doesn’t move from its place on his chest, and he makes no sign of wanting it to. Gently, slowly, he rocks her in his embrace, one hand smoothing over her back.

After a while, she speaks.

“I’m so tired,” she whispers. From this angle, he can see her blink slowly, tear tracks drying on her cheeks. He nods.

“You’re coming down from the adrenaline - that’s normal,” he murmurs, letting her weight sag against him, wondering if he’ll need to carry her.

“No,” she shakes her head. “Not like that…that’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

She doesn’t answer, not right away; her breathing has settled into an easier rhythm, less frenzied and panting. Her fingers slide from their place at his chest to rest around his waist.

“When I was in high school, there was this guy.” Her voice startles him when she finally speaks again, she’s been silent for so long. He makes a noise to let her know he’s listening before she goes on. “He was…I don’t know. Popular, I guess. Cute. Football player. Advanced classes. All the girls liked him.” She takes a shuddering breath before forging ahead. “And-and I guess he liked me because he couldn’t leave alone for a single fucking minute.

“God, it was constant. He’d grab my ass, or say dirty things about me to other guys…sometimes it wasn’t even sexual, it was like…he’d squeeze my waist or pinch the fat on the back of my arms and comment about my weight.” She sniffs, and Steve tightens his arms around her, not speaking. “One time, between classes, he grabbed me by the hips and bent me backwards over a desk - he wouldn’t let go, and he was just laughing…and no one said anything, none of the guys or my friends or anybody.”

Steve frowns, feeling impotent and frustrated. “I’m so sorry.” She shakes her head again.

“The worst thing is I just put up with it. I didn’t say anything…I didn’t think, I didn’t know-” she huffs a bitter laugh. “I guess I just thought it was flirting. Like I should’ve been flattered by it.”

“You shouldn’t - you don’t have to take that,” Steve says, fighting to control his tone. “Not from anyone.”

“I know that now,” she says. “But I was just a kid…nobody told me. Nobody helped me.”

He opens his mouth, tries to think of something to say, but she goes on.

“And nobody told me that it never gets better, it never changes.” He can feel how tightly her fists are clenched at his sides. “No one told me that this would be the rest of my fucking life. First it was him, and old men at the gas station where I got snacks after school, and truck loads of frat boys following me home. Jesus even the damn milk guy at the café calls me ’sexy’ and won’t leave me alone.” She sniffles again, voice tightening with anguish. “I’m tired, I’m so tired - I’m so fucking sick of all of it…of-of just being a thing, I’m tired of being looked at, and-” She tries to swallow back her sob, but it crests and stutters in her lungs, taking over her voice once again as she presses her face impossibly closer.

It breaks his heart and stokes his rage, the helpless, hopeless weight of her bitter words. Here he is, over a century old, and still watching people fight the same battles; battles to be heard, to be seen, to be treated like humans. He’d seen it all his life, women like his mother, like Peggy, spines of steel and hearts made of diamonds, resisting a world that would grind them down and make them small. He wishes his shield were wider, stronger. He wishes he could protect them from this.

“I can’t tell you it’s okay,” he murmurs. “Because it’s not. It’s not okay, I’m so sorry.” She squeezes his waist gratefully and nods her head a little. “But you…you don’t ever have to feel alone in this, okay?” He leans back a little, prompting her to lift her head, to meet her tear-bright eyes. “You’re not alone. I promise.”

It’s not enough. It’s not over. But today, for now, it feels like something.

**********

Natasha pages Happy, who pulls the car around to the front of the building. She says nothing as 14 limps down the front steps, shoes in hand, one arm linked with Steve’s and wearing his jacket, the too-long sleeves covering her hands. Nat’s eyes slide up to his - their silent exchange lasts moments, microseconds; her lips pinch tightly and her elegant white fists curl tight.

Happy holds the door, offering a hand as 14 drops inside, folding her legs and wrapping her torn skirt as tight as she can around the exposed length of her legs. Nat glances at the open door of the car and steps away, angling her back to the patient Happy. She juts her chin at Steve.

“You need a hand, Rogers?” He knows the look in her eyes is mirrored in his own - the look of a boxer stepping in the ring, of a lion sighting prey, a shark scenting blood.

Steve shakes his head, a hand reaching up to loosen his tie.

“No, it’s alright. You go on with 14.”

Happy peaks his head around.

“You don’t want me to wait for you, Cap?” he frowns. “I can keep the car running.”

Steve glances over Nat’s shoulder at the town car, where 14 has curled up in the backseat, and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows.

“Nah. I need to have a word with Mr. Sinclair.”

**********

The arrest doesn’t make the front page. Or any page of the papers, in fact. Robbie Sinclair wakes in a hospital bed, in SHIELD custody, and ready to make deals with anyone who will bargain - provided his security detail keeps him well away from the Avengers and their Captain.

When the file crosses his desk, courtesy of Natasha, he notices the long list of names Sinclair has provided them with - powerful men, Wall Street and Capitol Hill’s finest, who found their positions one dirty handshake at a time. It would take some time to build a case against them all, find sufficient evidence for arrests, but SHIELD was up for the task. There’s a note in the back of the file, a small article someone has attached with a paperclip.

‘Executive’s Secretaries Speak Out’ reads the headline, with the subtext ‘Sinclair accused of sexual harassment, assault’. It appears a few women who had crossed his path were tired of being silenced; they had banded together, sharing pain and courage, to finally see him brought to justice. And combined with the charges SHIELD was bringing against him, it was unlikely he’d step foot outside of a prison for the next couple of decades.

It’s a start.

A few days later, Steve rises before the sun, a creature of habit. He takes his run alone, listening to a podcast that Sam had recommended. By 5:30, he’s stretching at the bench in front of the tower, before making his way down the street to the coffee shop.

She does a double take when she sees him, surprise and (he hopes) excitement creeping up in her smile. There’s only a couple of baristas in the store at this time - they haven’t hit their peak yet - and she’s wiping down the bar in front of the espresso machines by herself.

“Morning, Cap,” she smiles. There are tired little circles under her eyes. She looks beautiful. “You want your usual?”

“Hmmm,” he pretends to think, narrowing his eyes at the menu. “Actually…how about you surprise me.”

She raises her brows, a little impressed. “You sure? Anything goes?”

“Anything - I promise I’ll try it.”

“Alright,” she smirks, mischievous and much too eager, and she turns away from the espresso machines to the blenders behind her.

Milk, syrup, ice - other ingredients he can’t see or identify, all thrown into the pitcher and blended. She leans against the counter as the machine whirs loudly, a cheeky smile dimpling her cheeks. Just as the machine stops, the bell above the door chimes, both of them turning to look.

A small, wiry, white-haired man backs his way into the store, pulling a dolly stacked high with milk crates. He looks around, making sure he’s not backing into anyone, and catches sight of her behind the counter. Steve doesn’t like the look of his smile, or the way 14 ducks back down to her blender, her shoulders inching upwards.

“Morning, sweetheart,” the man says, a bit too loud, rattling the crates on his dolly as he wheels around tables, towards the back of house.

“Morning,” 14 replies coolly, not looking up from where she’s carefully lining Steve’s cup with mocha sauce. She doesn’t say anything more, keeping her head down as she pours out the drink and reaches for a canister of whipped cream. Steve’s eyes cut between them, his hands in the pockets of his shorts.

The milk man hustles back through the store with an empty dolly, on his way to collect the next load of crates, and 14 sighs a little when the bell chimes on his way out. She’s just turning around to hand Steve his drink, when she notices that the café is empty - he must have slipped out as well.

“Hey, pal,” Steve claps a hand on the man’s shoulder, consciously withholding his full force. “I was wondering - you usually deliver the milk here?”

“Yeah,” the man huffs, a little confused, and in a hurry to unload his crates. He squints, the rising sun in his eyes. “Why?”

“Oh, I just wanted to talk to you for a second, that’s all,” Steve smiles. His hand doesn’t move from it’s place on the man’s shoulder.

When he comes back inside, his towering, chocolate-swirled beverage is waiting at the end of the bar. 14 is waiting, too, arms crossed, one hip propped up against the counter. She tilts her head to one side.

“Do I wanna know?” she asks. Steve shrugs.

“Nothing to know,” he says, shuffling up to the bar to claim his drink and stare at it, incredulous and amused. “Now what on earth is this thing, a milkshake?”

She rolls her eyes.

“It’s called a frappucino, old man,” she grins. “Drink up - you promised.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x agent 14 #steve rogers fic #steve rogers oneshot #steve rogers imagine

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hello-nichya-here · 3 years

Text

Rough Draft of Fire Warrior (Fake Kemurikage) Headcanons

Note: Hi Nichya! I am currently writing a long fic dealing with how post-Imbalance Avatar would go for the Fire Nation Royal Family and their close friends and I was wondering if you could please look at my headcanons and critic them? Cause I don’t want to engage in the usage of stereotypes, or bad writing in general, especially since I am writing about characters with mental illness. Also, I have been trying to send you an ask about lighting bending for the past couple days, and it keeps on not getting through to you. Considering my asks only had trouble getting to you around the same time you very recently IP banned that one dumbass who tried roasting you for liking Azula, could it be you accidently banned me as well (I am using a coffee shop to upload this)? If so can you please unban me for your answers to my asks have enriched my understanding of Avatar greatly. Thanks!

Here is the ask: How would you write Azula and/or The Fire Warriors teaching Zuko lighting and smoke bending (as part of their reconciliation/rehabilitation) while Zuko teaches them the true meaning of fire, the dragon dance, and the philosophy behind lighting redirection? Cause I thought part of Azula’s and Zuko’s reconciliation would have been teaching each other the bending/skills the other one was lacking, uplifting each other instead of trying to compete with each other or hurt each other. But canon is what it is.

Anyway, my headcanons are down below

Starting from left to right I am going to list the names, backstory, and mental illness(es) of the non-Azula Fire Warriors:

Beam (DID plus avoidant personality disorder)

Born in 84 A.G., as the second child of three, and the only daughter of an upstart noble and a stay at home mother, Beam was expected to marry into nobility considering how well her father had done selling steel to the Fire Nation Navy and the fact that she had inherited her mothers’ good looks.

But Beam, for a lack of better words, was often detached from reality and quickly became a source of shame for her family. For Beam would often drift out of reality into her own little world whenever confronted with large amounts of stress.

And what causes stress in Beam? Being around strangers, especially large numbers of them like parents’ hosted one of their frequent parties in an attempt to move up in Fire Nation High Society.

In fact, Beam started wearing her distinctive hairstyle plus dye in an attempt to avoid having people come to her much to her brothers and parents displeasure. And when that didn’t work, she started to wear masks such as those based on the dark water spirit or the dragon emperor.

On a side note, the only thing that really helped Beam was firebending, where she had a natural gift. However, due to her performance issues, whenever her brothers and/or parents came to watch, she always messed up her routines, leading them to cancel Beam’s lessons when she was 16 in order to focus on making Beam marriageable.

This caused Beam to despair and undergo a nasty episode in which she wholeheartedly believed she was the dark water spirit and almost killed her older brother, who was “obviously” the Dragon Emperor. Said brother also happened to be the one who suggested her parents cancel the firebending lessons and make Beam a proper woman since he was going to get married soon and didn’t want his fiance’s family to revoke the marriage contract once they better got to know his “weirdo” of a sister.

The above incident was the last straw for her parents, who had her involuntarily committed after coming to the “conclusion” that nothing would fix their “madwomen” of a daughter.

Aiko (Clinical Depression)

Born in 87 A.G. as the unexpected last daughter of a merchant and a very low level noblewomen, life has always been a struggle for Aiko. Her mother had her in her early 40s after unexpectedly getting pregnant and giving birth to Aiko prematurely. Aiko and her mother barely survived but her mother ended up suffering from postpartum depression, hurting their mother-daughter bond.

Aiko grew up seemingly loved, but in reality she was always sad. And no amount of gifts, such as some of the best firebending tutors in the land, could ever make Aiko happy for it appeared from Aiko’s pov that her mother never wanted to do anything with her while she happily gave her love and time to her oldest two kids, who were both boys and going to join the war effort.

That and she was relentlessly bullied in school for her demure size; one day she tried standing up for herself by getting into an impromptu fight with her main bully, but she accidently badly burned her due to being actually quite skilled in firebending. While Aiko managed to avoid jail or getting into trouble, the trauma of almost killing some made Aiko withdraw further into herself much to her parent’s grief.

Her brothers were the main positive thing in her life, for they were understanding of her and didn’t really push her that hard…except in firebending where they were the only people she felt safe enough after her incident.

However, things took a turn for the worse when her brothers finally joined the army and died in the very same maneuver that Zuko talked out against as a 13 year old. And in her grief, Aiko tried hanging herself though the noose broke just before it went taunt and she ended up knocking herself out.

And when she woke up, she found herself in the asylum….

Chyou (Bi-polar disorder)

Born in 84 A.G. as the adopted child of two low tier Hu Xin Provinces (colonial) nobles who were unable to have kids of their own. Her parents tried their best with Chyou, but she was a very difficult child to raise, for, in their perspective, one moment Chyou was a hyper energetic girl who was all too willing to do anything to achieve her long-term goals and whims. Goals that included being the best firebender in her school and being a proper noblewoman. And whims including a desire to shave half her head though that particular fulfilled whim didn’t really harm Chyou for she liked the hairstyle and kept it much to her parent’s dismay.

But in other moments, Chyrou was a heavily depressed girl, who couldn’t even be bothered to get out of her bed no matter how hard her parents tried to encourage/bribe/threaten her.

However, these “cycles” were just subtle enough that with her parents covering for her, Chyou could pass as a normal kid…that is until one night, she overheard a conversation between her parents talking about how much Chyou looked like her mother’s sister. Confused since she thought she had no blood relations with either of her parents (they told her she was adopted from a young age since Chyou doesn’t share that much in common with either with her parents), she confronted them and the told Chyou her true origin.

Chyou was in fact the love baby of an Earth Kingdom soldier and a Fire Nation noblewomen who was Chyou’s “mother’s” sister. While the Fire Nation is progressive in terms of gender roles, it is against the law for Fire Nation noblewomen to copulate with the males of the other nations.

For Sozin’s reasoning was that the strong men of the Fire Nation could civilize the demure women of the other nations while the barbarians’ uncivilized blood could easily overwhelm the wombs of their wombs. Wombs that were needed to make sure their great nation would never lack loyal citizens. In reality, due to the patriarchal nature of inheritance and property ownership, Sozin feared the colonized enemy would marry into Fire Nation nobility and basically overthrow him once their numbers reached critical mass.

But getting back on track, it wasn’t discovered that Chyou’s real mother was having the baby of an Earth Kingdom soldier, let alone she was going to elope with him. So the Fire Nation tried to capture the soldier and kill him, but he ran off. However, after allowing Chyou’s true mother to give birth, the Fire Nation had her killed off. But, Chyou’s Aunt and Uncle took pity on Chyou and successfully begged the authorities to let them raise Chyou as their own kid.

Chyou’s Aunt and Uncle begged for Chyou’s forgiveness and she gave it to them…though she later had a manic episode that caused her to sneak out of her Aunt’s and Uncle’s house to search for her father, hoping she would get to meet him.

It took several weeks and all of the tracking and survival skills she learned in school, but she found the last place her father inhabited. But when she knocked on the door, her bio grandma opened the door and, once Chyou explained who she was, told the “lying ashmaker to get away from me and never come back unless you want to die” in addition to telling Chyou that her father died during General Iroh’s march to Ba Sing Se.

For Chyou’s bio grandma never knew about her son’s relationship with Chyou’s mother, let alone that he was going to have a child with her and thus thought the young firebender was punking her…not that it would have made a difference for after she couldn’t even bury her son due to him being completely burned to ashes, she developed an intractable hatred towards the Fire Nation and especially firebenders. And that hatred wouldn’t dissipate even if her own granddaughter was one of those “ashmakers.”

Heartbroken at the rejection, Chyou then fell into a serious depressive state and was going to kill herself until she was apprehended by June and returned to her family, who had been paid by Chyou’s parents to find her before the colonial authorities did. For if the “mixed breed” had been found going “back” to her Earth Kingdom family, Chyou would have been killed for her “genetic disloyalty” caused by her parentage.

And when Chyou kept uncontrollably talking about her failed trip, Chyrou’s parents made a hard decision and had her temporarily involuntarily committed since they would rather have her suffer at the asylum (as well as get help for her myriad of issues) than have her rambling expose her “genetic disloyalty” and have her brutally executed, making all their pleadings to allow them to raise her pointless.

However, bigoted political hardliner healers in the asylum saw her history and decided unilaterally that she was a threat to society and so manipulated her record to make so she had died, leaving Chyou’s Aunt and Uncle (who were pretty old) heartbroken to the point they died within a couple of months of each other and turning Chyou’s temporary stay into a permanent stay.

Chyou, depending on whether she is having a manic episode or depressive episode, oscillates between believing her Aunt and Uncle haven’t given up on her and believing that they have finally given up on account of being a disgrace due to her mental issues and bloodline.

Zirin (Oppositional Defiant Disorder with mild Conduct Disorder)

Born in 85 A.G. as the only daughter of some minor nobles who live in Caldera City. She has ODD, which manifests in her explosive temper, which her parents tried solving by doing everything, including getting her training in firebending, which Zirin has a natural aptitude in considering she became a master by 16.

But despite her parent’s best efforts, her anger still didn’t really subside, leading up to an incident where she burned a highly sought out suitor for rubbing her the wrong way, leading her reputation to sink and make her unmarriageable, making Zirin worthless in her traditionalist parents’ eyes.

Zirin offered to join the Fire Nation military so she could be useful, but her traditionalist parents said no since the military is not the proper place for a young noblewoman. So they had her involuntarily admitted to the asylum…

Ting (Schizophrenia)

Born in 82 A.G. as the daughter of a minor Fire Nation noble and an Earth Kingdom commoner (that her father took a liking to) who lived in Yu Dao, Ting on the surface supposedly lived a charmed life. But her life was anything but charmed, for she didn’t not inherit her mother’s slim face and body, but had the stout body and face of a typical Earth Kingdomer. Meaning that it would be next to impossible to marry her off to another noble family for even in the colonies, there was a preference for Fire Nation traits among the nobility.

Not helping was just after Ting was 6, she would suffer periodically from hallucinations of her father whenever she messed up in school or in court, often having her speech deteriorate into “incoherent” babbling (ex. Ting asking “him: to stop hitting her) and often fighting back against a person who wasn’t there.

Obviously, this was just another thing that made Ting a massive disappointment in her father’s eyes.

So upset as his “mistake” Ting’s father often beat up his wife and daughter and seeing how Avatar takes place in fantasy land 19th century Asia, there was no one who they could turn to. In fact the only reason why Ting was “tolerated” was because she was an elite firebender, who naturally excelled at Sozin Style firebending due to her rage and self-loathing caused by her “madness.”

Thus, even if Ting was unmarriageable, she was likely going to have a good career in the Fire Nation Army. That is until one night when Ting was 16 witnessed a really bad argument between her drunk parents that ended up with her father breaking her mother’s arm.

Enraged and having enough, she fought her father and ended up badly burning him in public as he tried to escape her.

The authorities then restrained her and tried to put her on trial, but horrified at what she had done, she had a severe episode that made the authorities doubt her sanity.

So sensing an opportunity to save face and not have his dirty laundry aired, Ting’s father authorized the colonial authorities to ship Ting to a homeland mental asylum for “treatment” damn well knowing they would most likely never let Ting out. And he had authorized Ting’s involuntary committal at the dead of night so Ting’s mother could not disapprove.

Gamon (Higher Functioning autism)

Born in 83 A.G. to two high functioning autistic former soldiers living in Hama’s village, Gamon would have been raised in a loving family. That is until her parents one night disappeared during a full moon and never came back (they were captured by Hama and tortured to death but the little shred of humanity left in Hama caused Hama to leave the baby alone despite wanting to spite Gamon’s pleading parents). So Gamon was given to her next of kin, who were mid tier nobles.

It turned out that Gamon’s mother was once a noble, but renounced it so she could join the Fire Nation Army due to her special interest being the military alongside firebending. This had caused Gamon’s maternal grandparents and Gamon’s Uncle great shame and had also caused them to disown Gamon’s mother. And the sad thing was that despite Gamon’s mother wanting to reconcile, her parents died just after she got pregnant.

So when Gamon’s Uncle and Aunt got a hold of her, they promised that they would raise her into the proper noblewomen Gamon’s mother should have been.

And they were very harsh in doing so, making sure Gamon took to heart what her tutors told her what was necessary to do to be the perfect noblewomen. However, lightning struck twice, and Gamon developed a special interest in both firebending and military history, which she hid from her Uncle and Aunt by practicing firebending in the morning before either of them woke up and reading military history at night after they had gone to bed.

Gamon managed to hide it until she was 15 years old, where, after being suspicious of Gamon knowing an obscure military battle that took place during the start of Azulon’s reign while also giving pointers to a boy she was courting, they had one of the maids spy on her and report to them.

This, combined with Gamon’s symptoms such as her stimming (she likes to rub her knuckles because she likes how they feel) plus her social awkwardness (no matter how hard they drilled her, Gamon always floundered in noble get togethers), made her guardians give up her.

And not wanting a repeat of what happened to Gamon’s mother and the resulting loss of face, they had her involuntarily committed to the asylum and washed their hands of her.

***

1 - I absolutely loooooooooooove the idea of Zuko and Azula teaching each other, and it could start with Zuko playcating Azula by letting her bend again (which he knows she desperately wants) by making it clear she’s going to have to do it his way - seeing fire as a source of life, not just death. They’re likely to end up fighting a few times because of course, but it would mostly work out as intended, and Azula would then teach him what she knows.

2 - Zuko sharing what he learned from the dragons (while still keeping the secret) with the people who needed to learn it the most is what he should have done from the begining, especially with his sister, and it fits with his new goal of guiding his nation towards peace and showing them that this idea that war and destruction is “the Fire Nation way/culture” is absolute bullshit.

3 - It’s hard to say how “accurate” your portrail of mental illness is since I’m seeing just “your notes” so to speak, but it looks like you’re in the right path. Just be sure to remember that, while mental illness and disabilities do play a huge part in someone’s personalities that is not ALL of their personalities and you’ll be good to go.

4 - I recommend you either retcon some of the most ableist bullshit the comics pulled (like Zuko straight up abandoning Azula and not thinking about her until he needed something from her, not noticing the clear signs of abuse she was showing, all the times he and his friends physically assaulted her when she wasn’t doing anything, and him taking her on a mission knowing nothing about her condition) or make the characters realize just fucked up that was and then genuinely trying to be better.

#submission #atla #ableism

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darkstar6782 · 4 years

Text

Fade to Black - 1.17: Hell House

1991

They’re on their way back from school when Dean finds a five dollar bill in a gutter less than a block down from the local candy store. Without a second thought, he grabs Sam’s hand and drags him inside. “Get whatever you want, Sam.” But two weeks ago, Sam had listened to a dentist that had come into their classroom to talk to them about taking care of their teeth, and he had been very clear about how bad candy was for them, so while Dean is filling a bag with a scoop from every bin along the wall, Sam goes to look at the toys instead.

“Dean, what’s a whoopee cushion?”

“Oh, man, Sammy, those are great! How have you never heard of one before? You want that instead of candy?” Sam nods. Dean pays and gives Sam the fifteen cents in change since his new toy didn’t cost as much as Dean’s candy, and on the way home, he promises to show Sam exactly how it works. “You’re gonna love it, Sam. It’s gonna be hilarious.”

That night, when Dad comes home, dinner is already on the table, and both boys are sitting and waiting for him. As soon as he sits down, a loud “phtbbt” noise emanates from his chair. Sam’s eyes go wide, Dean bursts out laughing, and with a grin, Dad pulls the now-deflated red rubber bag out from underneath him.

For a month after that, no seat is safe from the wrath of the whoopee cushion. They make a rule that the prank’s latest victim takes possession of the toy, but after a while, Sam begins to suspect that Dean is sneaking it out of Dad’s luggage whenever Dad confiscates it, because he manages to prank everyone else a lot more often than he himself gets pranked. When it shows up one day with a knife slash through it, ensuring that it can never inflate again, it’s no big loss, though. Dad apologizes, saying that he accidentally stuck it in the weapons bag, but Sam notices that he doesn’t promise to replace it.

1997

It starts with a toothbrush.

Sam gets a new one from some health fair at school that Dean ditched. He could have picked up two—no one would have cared—but he didn’t even think about his brother, which annoys Dean to no end. So, every chance he gets, he uses Sam’s new toothbrush instead of his own.

It takes a week for Sam to catch on, but one morning, when Dean goes into the bathroom, Sam’s toothbrush is nowhere to be seen, and Dean’s toothbrush has been shoved bristles-first into a bar of soap. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or get pissed as he tosses the old toothbrush and the soap into the trash and uses a finger to spread toothpaste over his teeth. The little squirt has more guts than Dean had given him credit for. But Dean can’t let this challenge go unanswered.

Two days later, Sam discovers that someone put an open bottle of hand lotion from the bathroom in the bottom of his duffel, soaking all of his clean underwear in flowery-smelling goop. The next morning, Dean wakes up to find all of his clothes sitting in the bathtub, soaking wet. Sam’s toothpaste gets replaced with shaving cream; Dean’s razor turns dull overnight and all the extra blades go missing. Finally, Dean hits on the ultimate prank: he mixes Nair into Sam’s shampoo. When his brother comes out of the shower the next day screaming with rage and looking like he has a bad case of mange, Dean laughs his ass off, and gets a black eye for his trouble. Despite being a skinny little twerp, the kid can really pack a punch when he catches Dean off-guard.

The next day, Dean is bracing himself for a truly heinous act of revenge as he follows a silent and now completely bald Sam to school. The poor kid doesn’t look angry anymore, though; he just looks miserable, bundled up in a hoodie despite the near-summer heat. At lunchtime, Dean catches a couple kids harassing Sam, making fun of his bald head, and he realizes that he’s gone too far this time. It’s one thing to cause each other discomfort, but when one of their pranks makes the other a target for outsiders… Dean’s more angry at himself than the punks harassing his brother, but he takes it out on them and gets both himself and Sam suspended for a week.

“I’m so sorry, kiddo,” Dean says that night as they’re lounging in front of the TV, eating all of Sam’s favorite foods and trying to figure out how to explain Sam’s bald head and the suspension to Dad when he comes home in a few days. “Things got a little out of hand this time, I guess. Truce?”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “You kinda made up for it by fixing it so I don’t have to go back to school for a week. Hopefully we can pass it off to Dad as a really bad haircut; you know he’s been bugging me to get one for months, anyway.” Then, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a brand new toothbrush. He tosses it to Dean, Dean grins, and in the wrestling match over the last of the gummy worms five minutes later, all is forgiven.

2000

“C’mon, Sam, lighten up! It was just a joke.”

“It’s not very funny, Dean.” Sam is sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala, picking flakes of superglue off of the palm of his hand. Three days ago, Dean had caught Sam talking on the phone to Linda Hamilton, a girl he’d gone on a few dates with in the last town they’d been in, and ever since, Dean had been insufferable. It started with the offers for tips on how to give good phone sex, then boxes of tissues and bottles of lotion left out in strategic locations, and had culminated in him waking up this morning to discover that Dean had covered the palm of his right hand in hair and superglue.

“I’m telling you, Sammy, you got off lucky. I hear doing that sorta thing too often can also make you go blind.”

Sam glares at him and returns to his task. Fortunately, it’s summertime, so he doesn’t have to worry about explaining the mess on his palm to anyone at school, but he continues to give Dean the silent treatment until his brother drops him off at the library to finish researching the ghost that they’re hunting this week. Sam walks through the library’s front doors, waits until the rumble of the Impala’s engine has died away, then turns around and heads back outside. He’d discovered all he needed to know about the ghost yesterday, but hasn’t told Dean yet, partly out of anger at his brother’s harassment, but mostly because Dean hasn’t asked. As long as Dean thinks Sam is busy, Sam knows where he’ll be, and after this morning’s humiliation, he deserves everything that he has coming to him.

Sam takes his time walking across town and gets to the bar that Dean has been frequenting every day over the last week just in time to see him heading out the front door with a girl on his arm. Sam crouches behind a dumpster and watches as they get into the Impala and drive a few blocks down to the girl’s house. Once they’re inside and, presumably, preoccupied, Sam sneaks up to the car and gets to work. He disconnects the battery and moves the front seat up just far enough to keep Dean from being able to easily get into the car, then he pulls out his cellphone and places a call to the office where the girl’s father works, telling him that he needs to come home right away.

Sam is hiding in the bushes and trying not to let his laughter give him away as he watches the father storm home and chase Dean out of the house with his pants around his ankles. He’s fighting back tears of mirth as he watches Dean struggle to get behind the wheel and start to panic when the car doesn’t start, but his glee turns immediately to terror when he sees the girl’s father come out of the house with a baseball bat. He smashes both of the car’s driver-side windows, and Dean catches a nasty blow to his left shoulder as he gets out of the car to protect it before Sam manages to break cover and come running up, shouting, “Don’t hurt my brother! Please, don’t hurt my brother!”

Between Sam and the girl, they manage to drag Dean and the father apart, and placate him long enough to allow Dean and Sam to push the car out of his driveway and back down the street to the bar. Sam is shaking and barely holding back tears by the time they arrive, and he doesn’t even give Dean a chance to notice that something’s wrong before breaking down.

“Oh, god, Dean, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He can barely stand to look at his brother, not knowing what he will see on Dean’s face.

“What are you talking about, Sammy? You saved my ass back there.”

“I… I was the one who messed with the car and called her dad. I was so mad at you for making fun of me the last few days… But I swear I didn’t know he’d get that angry. I’ll do anything to make it up to you, I swear.”

“You…” Sam can hear the fury in his brother’s voice, but then Dean takes a deep breath, and when he speaks again, he sounds a little calmer. “What did you do to the car, Sam?”

“Just disconnected the battery,” Sam whispers, swallowing back another sob. He hears Dean pop the hood, reconnect the battery, and slam it shut again, but he doesn’t look up until he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on,” Dean says as Sam looks up at him. He looks more apologetic himself than angry, and he reaches out a hand to help Sam to his feet, which Sam takes. “One of the guys at the garage owes me a favor, so it won’t be any trouble to get the windows replaced. You wanna help me?” Sam nods.

They’re both quiet as they get in the car, but after they’ve been on the road for a few minutes, Dean breaks the silence. “I’m sorry about teasing you like I did, Sam. I can’t promise it won’t happen again, but can we make a deal?”

“What’s that?”

“No more pranks that mess with the car, okay?”

“Deal.”

2006

In retrospect, the pranks they’d subjected one another to this time around were relatively tame. The last time Dean had used the itching powder trick, Sam had been in middle school, and turning up the volume on the stereo in the Impala was positively bush league compared to what he used to do before messing with the car had been declared off-limits. Supergluing Dean’s beer bottle to his hand had been a long-overdue payback, but other than that… It was the pranks that they’d pulled on the two “ghost hunters”—pretending to be a movie producer in order to send them off to California, and putting a dead fish in the back seat of their car—that had been truly inspired. And the fact that they’d come up with the ideas independently was a welcome reminder of something that he’d always known: that they were at their best when they were working together, whether the goal was stopping an invincible monster or just shaking a couple of idiots off their trail.

Sam wants to tell Dean as much, but it will probably have to wait. He doubts Dean will be particularly receptive to the message when he comes out of the bathroom and discovers that Sam has short-sheeted his bed. Of course, it’s less than he deserves for pulling the whole “shaving cream in the hand and a feather up the nose” trick on Sam last night while he was sleeping. Their truce hadn’t even managed to last the hundred miles that Dean had promised, but that’s okay. As long as they’re going with the juvenile classics, Sam can keep this up forever. He wonders if this town has a joke shop; it’s been a long time since he’s seen a whoopee cushion…

#supernatural #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #1.17 hell house #fade to black #the hair and superglue on the hand was inspired by a real-life prank #my college boyfriend's roommate did that to him once #the night before he was going to drive up to visit me (we were long-distance)#the roommate thought i'd be grossed out by the implication #but i actually found it hilarious

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