#but i gotta disassemble these fuckers

[nucleqr]

veeeery slowly making my way through the steel foundry... i don't have my usual keyboard, i only have a trackpad for a mouse, and i'm sick, so it's been a time and a half

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Crash

Part 5 in Getaway Series 

Warnings: noncon sex (oral and intercourse), angst, rude words from a rude dude. This is dark!(nomad)Steve and explicit. 18+ only. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. I mean it, I’m not gonna tell you again.

Summary: Steve continues to haunt the reader.

Note: Steve’s a fucking dick in this series and I need y’all to just know that I know that. This motherfucker is making me suffer and so I must pass it onto you like the tape from the Ring. He’s honestly suck a fucker and I can’t.

Anyways, hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think as always. Love ya <3

...

In the two weeks since you had moved in, your dread had infringed upon every second. You counted the minutes until his next visit. You expected his intrusions and yet they were always unpredictable. As erratic as the man himself. As inconsistent as your life had become. 

You could not control Steve, could not prepare for him. You could only bide his presence until it was over. Until he left you to stew in your shame. To sink into your self-pity. To hate every inch of the body he had taken over. That which was no longer yours.

This was not your apartment, it was his. You could paint the walls, buy a new rug, hang your pictures, but it didn’t change the fact. Didn’t change his lingering shadow. The darkness that gathered in the corners at night reminded you of him. He could be everywhere and anywhere.

As he was that night. It was odd. Three nights in a row. You came home and he was there, waiting. The first, he had appeared just as you stepped off the bus. He walked with you as if you were together. As if there was anything normal about your association.

The second, he had been on your couch. A box of crackers emptied and the block of cheese half gone. He waved with two fingers but carried on his semi-slumber on your sofa. You tiptoed around your apartment and tried not to draw his attention, but every night ended the same. You expected that at least. 

He left when he was done with you. You didn’t sleep, merely counted the minutes until his return.

The third day, he called you. A Friday. A weekend ahead of you. Time off was no longer a luxury. You didn’t have time to yourself. 

“I’m waiting.” Was all he said. He didn’t await your response before he hung up. It didn’t matter that you had an hour left or that you were in the middle of another call. In his mind, you were already late.

You barely locked the door behind you before he was on you. There was no pretense that night. The top of your blouse undone, your pants pulled down just enough, and you were trapped between him and the wall. 

Your cheek was against the drywall as your back was arched painfully. He slammed into you, his grunts kept time with his hips. His jeans chafed against your ass, his sweat filled your nostrils. He had your wrists pinned over your head as you bit your lips. He was angry about something, but he never told you much. Only spoke if it meant humiliating you.

“You were late,” He hissed as he trapped your wrists in one hand. His other came up to the back of your neck.

“I was working,” You snarled. His nails dug into your skin.

“I don’t care,” He growled and bottomed out. He paused and sighed before he resumed. “I’ve waited for you too many times.” You closed your eyes and said nothing. Your jaw tensed and your body jolted with his sharp thrusts. “You need money?”

You bared your teeth and kept quiet. He scoffed and sped up. Your fingers curled and his grip tightened. His grunts stretched to long groans. He swore as he rode out his orgasm and his cum seeped out around his cock.

A knock came at the door and your eyes snapped open. He released you and pulled out quickly. His cum dripped down your thighs as you pulled your pants up into place and buttoned them. You did up your blouse and neared the door. You peered out through the peep hole as the door rattled with another knock.

“Shit,” You looked over as Steve lazily tucked his cock in his pants. 

“I didn’t think we were that loud,” He smirked.

“Fucking hurry up,” You hissed. He straightened the hem of his tee and his smirked faded.

“What did you just say?” He scowled.

“Sorry, it’s...Gia,” She knocked again and you grabbed the handle. “Please, just...hide?”

“Nah, it’s cool,” He shrugged and neared. He leaned in as he lowered his voice. “Besides, last I checked, I make the rules.”

You looked at him. Your desperation crinkled between your brows. “Please...Captain.”

He nodded and backed away. He wasn’t convinced or impressed. He turned and walked into the kitchen. He glared at you as he opened the cupboard door beneath the sink. 

“You owe me, girl,” He warned as he sank down to his knees and turned onto his back. He fell onto his ass and reclined under the pipes. “I’ll just finish up with the plumbing, eh?”

“Thank you,” You whispered weakly.

“Thank me later,” His voice was dangerous, “Answer the goddamn door.”

You turned and unlocked the door before Gia could bang again. You tried not to pay attention to the wetness gathering in your panties. Your thighs were sticky in your wool pants and you felt entirely disgusting. You opened the door and smiled.

“Hey,” You greeted a frowning Gia.

“Hey? Jesus Christ, could you take any longer?” She shook her head, “I’ve been texting you.”

“Sorry, my phone’s still in my purse, I was just--” 

“Who’s that?” She pushed past you into the apartment.

“I think it’s just a clog,” Steve called from under the sink. “No leak.”

“Is that--?” She mouthed as she looked back to you. Her voice rose to a murmur, “Glad to see you making friends.”

“Landlord is out of office and...he offered,” You hated how easily you lied these days.

“And you accepted,” She poked your side and stepped into the kitchen. 

Steve sat up and turned to pull himself up with the counter. He closed the cupboard and smiled at Gia. “Hey.”

“Nick,” She greeted warmly, “How’s it going?”

“Freelancing now, I guess,” He shrugged. He grabbed the cloth from the oven handle and wiped his hands. “A little plumbing issue but nothing serious. And you? Haven’t seen you around since the move.”

“Work,” She leaned against the counter and looked back at you. “Don’t tell me you forgot?”

“What?” You asked.

“You can’t be serious,” She crossed her arms, “It’s Friday.”

“Shit,” You cursed, “I’m sorry Gia, I’ve been working and--”

“I work too but I don’t forget when we plan something,” She snapped, “You’re not busy…” She glanced back at Steve as he pretended to fiddle with the sink. “Are you?”

“No, I think he’s almost done,” You intoned, “Thank again...Nick.”

“Not at all,” He stepped away from the sink, “Should be good to go now.”

“Wait,” Gia blocked him from squeezing past her, “You...you wanna join us for a drink? We’re just heading to the bar down the road.”

His cheek twitched. He was going to smirk. His blue eyes flicked over to you and you shook your head. He smiled. “Sure, if I’m not intruding, of course.”

“Intruding? No.” She replied and sent you a wink over her shoulder. “It’s a nice place. Just on the corner with the patio.”

“Think I know the one,” He said.

“Besides, my sister owes you for the plumbing,” She sang, “You’ll just have to tolerate our girlish prattle.”

-

Steve was on his second beer and Gia was awaiting her next cocktail. You had barely touched your glass of ginger and rye. You were too antsy for that. Even if it would have calmed your nerves, you feared you might slip. Admit something which might give away your true predicament. The real reason your life had disassembled so quickly.

She was just snickering at her own joke when you finally found your voice. “What about that guy you met? Ben, was it?” You asked.

“Ben...that’s actually what I was hoping to talk to you about tonight but I won’t bore our company with that,” You could tell by her tone that it was going well. It made you wonder then why she had asked Steve to come along tonight. You squinted at her.

“Later, then,” You took a sip of your drink.

“I don’t mind,” Steve leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms. He hung one over the back of yours casually. Gia’s lips twitched as she noticed. “My life’s pretty boring at the moment. Who’s this Ben?”

“A client at my boutique,” Her cheeks rounded prettily as she grinned, “He asked me out to dinner and...well, it was so nice. Doesn’t hurt that he bought me this.” She pulled her hair away from her neck and showed off the single square diamond on its silver chain. “We’re going out again tomorrow.”

“Wow, Gia,” You drew a line through the condensation on your glass, “He sounds...married.”

“That was one time,” She sneered, “And divorced, actually.”

Steve laughed. “Dating. Fun, isn’t it?”

“Don’t miss it,” You grumbled. You thought of Ethan; of how you never thought you’d even have to think of dating ever again. You frowned and gulped down the rest of your rye. “Awful.”

���You just need a rebound,” Gia trilled, “To get you over the hump...in more ways than one.”

“Jesus, Gi,” You grumbled and signaled to the waiter. Drinking sounded even more appealing as the night wore on. Steve’s hand clung to your chair. “It’s barely been a month.”

“You think Ethan’s waiting? I heard he went out with some girl, Sarah, last week.” She said. Your heart dropped and you tipped your empty glass at the server to signal a refill. 

“What?” You felt the air rush from you. Sarah was a co-worker. That was fast.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

“No, it’s...we’re over,” You stood and Steve kept the chair from wobbling before rescinding his arm. “I gotta...use the restroom.”

You squeezed past Steve and wove between the other tables on the patio. You ducked inside and followed the signs that led downstairs to the bathrooms. The stalls were tight and didn’t lock properly. It didn’t matter. You kept the seat down and sat. You held your head and breathed. How much longer could you pretend?

You heard the door open and stood. You flushed as if you had used the toilet and exited to wash your hands. You stared in the mirror as you lathered the soap and rinsed. You dried your hands and shivered. Another drink and you’d call it a night.

When you returned to the table, Gia and Steve seemed entirely at ease, though your sister was distracted with her phone screen. Steve turned to watch as you approached the table and sat. Your second drink had arrived and you picked it up without pause.

“Oh, I was just texting mom,” Gia looked up and set her phone aside. “I was just letting her know that Nick’s coming to the barbecue on Sunday.”

“He what?” You slammed your drink down and choked.

“I invited him,” She said, “Jeez, he’s right here. You think you’d be a little nicer considering--”

“No, no, I just...I forgot about the barbecue,” You wiped your mouth with a napkin and cleared your throat.

“Keep a fucking calendar,” She rolled her eyes, “You know mom will be pissed if you don’t show up.”

“Yeah, I know, I’ll...go, okay?” You avoided Steve’s gaze as he stayed quiet.

“Either way, you’re still invited, Nick,” Gia chimed. “It’s a neighbourhood thing. Everyone goes.”

-

You couldn’t tell if Steve was that talented a pretender of if Gia was that gullible. She had eaten up everything he said and he had loved every moment of it. You could feel his arrogance; his self-satisfaction at his deceit. His hand on your thigh when Gia wasn’t looking. He was reminding you; he owned you and he could just as easily own everyone around you.

Gia had ducked into a cab outside the bar, giggling as she declared her intent to see Ben. She grinned between the two of you as Steve assured her he’d get you home safely and you held back a scowl. When the yellow door closed and the headlights disappeared at the next corner, your heart sank. 

You walked in silence back to your apartment. Steve’s mask had slaked away. You wondered if it was a shadow of the man he had once been. Of the Captain America who had saved the world several times over. Had he been tainted by some unknown misfortune or had he always hidden this depravity?

He stopped outside your building and turned to you. He leaned on the door and held out his hand. You stared at his palm in the shadows of the flickering overhead light.

“Keys,” He snapped his fingers. “Jesus.”

You dug around in your pocket and fished out the jingling key ring. He snatched it and crossed his arms. “You owe me, remember?” You frowned and peered back at the sidewalk. He reached over and played with the tail of your shirt. “I expect an answer.”

“Yes, sir,” You grumbled and avoided his gaze.

“Oh, come on,” He grabbed your chin and made you look at him. He looked sinister in the dark. His hair shrouded his face, his blue eyes sunken in bottomless pits, and the lines of his face seemed even deeper. “I don’t have to lie for you, girl. I really don’t.”

“Yes, sir,” You croaked as his grip on your jaw tightened, “Thank you, sir.”

“I could’ve told her what a slut you are, hmmm? The real reason Ethan tucked tail and ran,” He smirked and ran his thumb along your cheek. “I’m sure I’ll run into her again at this little family picnic.”

“I said thank you,” You clung to his wrist as he squeezed harder, “Please, Captain, thank you.”

“I don’t want you to say thank you,” He released your chin and wriggled free of your grasp. He pushed himself away from the metal frame and turned to the door. “I want you to show me,” He unlocked it and pulled it open, “And you better make me believe it.”

He held the door open and waved you through. You gulped and stepped ahead of him. He was close behind as you led the way. As you climbed the stairs, he tickled the back of your thighs and pinched your ass. Your head buzzed with alcohol, but it could as easily be the anxiety. 

When you reached your apartment, his arm snaked around your waist and drew you against him. He unlocked the door with one hand and ushered you inside, his bulge obvious through the denim of his jeans. The door snapped shut and you felt blindly through the dark as Steve clung to you.

“Bedroom,” He ordered, his hot breath embraced you. “It’s all you, girl.”

You continued to the small room. You flipped the light on his hands explored your hips. He was holding back, waiting for you to guide him. ‘Make me believe it’. He parted and watched you. You rubbed your hands together as you turned to him and he tilted his head. He stared at you; expectant. You didn’t dare tweak his impatience.

You neared him and pushed back the collar of his shirt. You slipped the sleeves down his arms and smelled the sweat woven into his tee. He let you. His passivity was peculiar; alarming. You dropped the button-up and tugged up the hem of his t-shirt. Your fingers glided over his muscled sides and reminded you of his strength.

He lifted his arms and bent to let you remove the shirt. That you let fall with the other and he stepped closer. He leaned over you and his nose brushed the top of your head. He breathed you in before he stood straight. 

“Go on,” He urged and looked down at his bare torso. 

You bit your lip and followed his gaze. Your fingertips were tentative along the top of his jeans. You unhooked the metal button and pushed down his zipper. His cock twitched against his briefs as you carefully shoved the denim lower. You could feel him watching you; judging you. It was as if he was measuring your every move. 

You bent as you forced his jeans down. You awkwardly unlooped the laces of his boots and he stepped out of them as you loosed them. You untangled his feet from jeans and socks alike and stood. His cock was visible through the snug fabric of his briefs. You grabbed the elastic roughly and fought to keep your nerve. 

You inched it past his erection and he sighed. You let his underwear fall free and you stared at his body. He stretched his fingers and flexed his arms as he cracked his neck. Almost as if restraining himself. You looked up at his fiery blue eyes and he grinned.

“Well?” His gaze drifted down, “Seems we’re only halfway there.”

You pressed your lips together and stepped back. You undressed swiftly. Sneakers kicked off, sweater and shirt twisted together as you tossed them away, jeans rolled down your legs, and your bra clumsily unclasped. You stood and tucked your thumbs beneath your panties as you braced for the final layer.

“Ah…” He held his hand up. “I like em,” He admired the polka dot panties, “Keep em on for now.” He pushed his shoulder back and gripped his hips. “Well, where do you want me?”

You withheld a sigh and glanced around. The bed would be easiest. You were tired. You shrugged and pointed to the thin mattress atop the folding frame. “There,” You declared and he chuckled, “Sit.” Your voice was higher than usual. A betrayal of your reluctance.

“So safe,” He passed you and snapped the elastic of your panties, “You’re funny, girl.”

“Funny?” You watched him sit. He leaned back on his hands as his cock stood against his stomach.

“You...You’re so stubborn.” He snickered, “You cling to this naivety but we both know you’re not so clueless.” His eyes roved your body as poked his tongue through his teeth and thought. “I think you liked the little window game a lot more than me.”

You bit your cheek and said nothing. 

"You know that's why Ethan had to leave. He could see you needed more than him," Steve taunted. "Because it's easy enough to tell by the quiver in your thighs that you fucking liked it and even if you won't admit it, you want it."

"Stop," You hissed. "Please."

"Come on, you can't get enough when I've got you bent over--"

"I said stop. What do you want from me? Ethan's gone. My whole life has turned to shit." You snarled, "What do you want?"

"I want you to be honest," He said as he sat forward. "It would make all of this so much easier."

You shook your head and looked away. You walked over to him blindly. Your chest knotted and you turned to him. You placed your hands on your shoulders and stared him down. You gritted your teeth as you mustered the last of your resolve.

"It will never be easier," You said, "Not with you."

His smirk fell. His eyes turned dark and he leaned back so that your hands fell. He spread his legs wider and nodded to his cock. "Well, go on. Make me keep my mouth shut."

You gave a long blink. You hung your head and slowly got to your knees. He had already taken Ethan from you, he wouldn't take anything else. You ran your hands up his thighs and shifted closer. You dragged your fingers along his length; up and down, up and down. You gripped him and kept your motion easy. You circled his head and he groaned.

You could feel his unyielding gaze. You bent your head and opened your lips over the head of his cock. You kept your hand around him and brought him deeper and deeper. You repressed a gag as he poked the back of your throat and you pulled back. You worked your hand in tandem with your mouth. 

He rocked his hips up each time you took him. His cock was slick with your slobber and he pushed further into your throat. Your hand slipped and you struggled to breath around him. You held the base of his cock and worked him in and out as you fought not retch. He spread a hand across the back of your head and forced himself to his limit.

"Look at you," He purred, "Sucking my cock so dutifully…" He held you down. You slapped at his thigh and stomach, unable to draw breath around him. "Tell me you don't fucking like it."

Your eyes rolled back and your head throbbed. He let you go just as you were sure you would pass out. You pulled away and reeled onto your ass as you sputtered. He laughed and you touched your ragged throat. He slid back across the bed and reclined with his hands behind his head.

"I mean, you don't think you're done, do you?" He chided, "You haven't even made me cum."

You pushed yourself up to your feet shakily and neared the bed. You climbed up and the frame creaked dangerously. It barely held your weight, let alone his. He stared at your panties and you stood to slip them down your legs. He reached out and you handed them over as the shame nipped at your neck.

You stood on your knees as you straddled him and reached down to guide his cock. He was still wet with your spit. You slid him inside of you with a gasp and he moaned until he was at his limit. You winced as your walls strained against him. He was still too much. Every time hurt just as bad as the last.

"Well..." He kept one arm bent behind his head as his other squeezed your panties.

You slowly began to move your hips. He bared his teeth as you rocked and you tried to resist the knot as it tangled inside of you. You pressed your palms to his firm stomach as you kept your motion steady. Your legs ached from your effort, event at that pace.

He groaned impatiently and his blue eyes sparked. You sped up just a little and the knot tightened. You couldn't fight it. His cock filled you over and over as your clit rubbed against his pelvis. You shuddered and dug your nails into his skin and your breath hitched.

"Come on, you can do it," He said airily, "That's it, girl. I can see it." You closed your eyes and ground harder against him. You couldn't help but chase the release; a single second to forget your endless torment. Even with him. "You're gonna cum all over me, aren't you? I didn't say you could do that."

You tried to mute your delight and sneered. You couldn't help animalistic growl that rose as your peak grew closer. You bounced atop him madly; desperately. The metal frame whined. It wasn't him beneath you, you weren't in this shitty apartment, you weren't on top of this decrepit bed. You were somewhere else and you felt fucking wonderful.

"Look at you," He preened and your mouth formed an o. You came suddenly and your hips bucked against him. "Oooh, you're cumming, you dirty fucking slut."

You grabbed onto his sides as you rode out your climax. Your head fell forward and your pelvis slowed until you were almost still. The tendrils swirled along your thighs and back. The afterglow embraced you and you fell forward, exhausted.

"Fuck," Steve swore and sat up.

He stayed inside of you as he flipped you onto your back. On his knees, he pushed as deep as he could go. You whimpered and the bed echoed your cry. It trembled beneath you dangerously. Steve stretched your panties out across your neck and held you down with them.

The thin cotton choked you as he pinned them beneath his thick hands. He pulled back and slammed back into you. You threw your arms up but he easily ignored you. You grabbed onto his thick biceps as he wove the panties beneath your neck and clasped them tight with one hand. He twisted the seams around two fingers as his other hand gripped your hip.

"Fuck," He growled as he began to thrust. The bed wobbled and you clawed at the blankets. "You fucking bitch, you think you can leave me hanging?"

He sped up and the bed shook. The metal groaned and your eyes rounded up at him. "St--" Your voice died as he twisted the panties tighter. "Th---" You could barely speak, "B--"

A snap and a crash and you were pinned entirely beneath Steve's body. He didn't miss a beat as the end of the bed fell apart. The mattress slid slightly down the slant of the frame. Steve fucked you as if he didn't even notice and your weight rested at the base of your neck. The panties strained around your throat as he rutted against you, your arms pinned beneath his thick torso.

"Look what you've fucking done, you slut," He snarled in your ear. "You like make a fucking mess." He hooked his fingers around your shoulder and delved even deeper. "You were just waiting for me up in that cabin, huh?" You turned your head away as it pounded. You could barely breathe past the cotton noose. "Back in that little hole you shared with him, huh? He fucked you but he couldn't get you off, could he? Not after me."

You squeaked at the sudden pluck inside. Your walls pulsed around him as his flesh slapped against yours loudly. The metal grinded into the floor beneath. You squeezed him between your legs as you came again and he nuzzled along your shoulder. 

"Again?" He bit down and sucked. You sputtered in pain.

He pulled away suddenly and held himself up with one arm as he lifted his pelvis and hammered back into you. His thrusts were decisive. Agonizing. He plunged into you completely and grunted. His cum soothed your aching walls. He wiggled his hips and slowly untangled his fingers from the panties.

He pulled out of you and the other side of the bed collapsed with a bang. He sat back with a booming laugh as he lifted the corner of the mattress. He looked at the bent frame and sighed. You tore the panties away from your neck and tossed them aside. 

He pushed himself to the edge of the bed and stood. He grabbed your elbow and led you up from the sagging mattress. He turned you to face him and his hands grazed along your arms and crept around to the back of your thighs. He lifted you at once and stood with you in the air. You exclaimed and clung to his shoulders. 

"Shit," He reached down to line his cock up with your entrance, "Looks like you won't be sleeping much."

[dngrdyke]

Kid Valentine Part 3

Dyke woke to the world warming up around her and the sound of buzzing filling the air. Uncurling from underneath some wooden palettes someone had propped against one of the run-down buildings in the settlement, she stretched and cracked her neck. She was still wearing Poison's jacket from the night before. Sweet of him not to have taken it back in the middle of the night because he was cold. But sweetness couldn't make her forgive him completely. In Dyke's books, Poison still owed her one.

The buzzing sound continued, but now Dyke could hear little yelps of pain in between. Oh no.

She took off running towards the source of the noise. When she burst through the door, she found Ghoul bending over Faggot's arm with a tattoo gun in his hand and Kobra watching gleefully.

"And what the fuck is going on here?" she asked, storming into the room.

"I'm gettin' tattooed, Dee!" Faggot said excitedly before wincing. "Ah! Can't you be any gentler?"

Ghoul giggled. "Sorry, kid. One setting for everyone."

Faggot attempted to steel himself against the pain, but he winced every time the needle went into his skin.

Dyke sighed and sat down on a nearby chair. "And why the hell are you doing that?"

"Kobra told me about this symbol of resistance people used to share. Look!"

She stood again and went over to inspect the tattoo. She stifled a laugh.

Way back when Blind was just a humble technology corporation, they had the world eating out of the palm of their hand. It was called the internet, and the people of the world thrived. Any question you had was answered within seconds. People you would only have met if you could travel became friends closer to you than those you knew in person. Dyke preferred to remember the positive aspects, like jokes the whole world was in on.

"Ain't it cool, Dyke?" Kobra grinned. She hit him on the arm.

"You motherfuckers," she said, staring at the tattoo. "This is the worst thing I've ever fucking seen."

Back in the earlier days of the internet, someone had made a video of a little blue creature on a motorbike singing a nonsense song. The name given to this creation was Crazy Frog, and it haunted Dyke even to this day. Now it would haunt her for the rest of her life because there it was, sitting pretty on the outside of Faggot's upper arm. By the looks of things, Ghoul had been working for a while. He was putting the final touches on the words above and below the frog itself. "Crazy Fag," Dyke sighed and dragged the chair over to the table so she could sit on Faggot's other side. She stuck her hand out for him to take and he squeezed it so hard that his nails left marks in her skin.

"You're almost done, kid," she said, watching Ghoul finish the lettering with surgical precision. He wiped away some blood with a towel that'd certainly seen better days, but seemed clean enough.

"It's all over, Faggot. Check it out," Ghoul said, holding up a cracked mirror.

Faggot let go of Dyke's hand and admired the tattoo in awe. "Holy shit, Ghoul! This fucks. Dee, isn't this so fucking cool?"

"The coolest," she said dryly, massaging her hand.

"Hey, Dyke, isn't that Poison's jacket?" Ghoul asked, looking up from where he was disassembling the tattoo gun.

"Yeah," she said, quickly taking it off. "Faggot had mine last night and it was cold so Poison gave me his."

He exchanged a look with Kobra.

"So, Party Poison gave you his jacket, did he?" Kobra said, grinning.

"Because you were cold?" Ghoul added, raising his eyebrows.

"Am I missing something here?"

"No, of course not, Dee. You're not missing the fact that Party Poison- the Party Poison- gave you his jacket because you were cold."

"What's my name?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"What's my name, Kobra?"

"Dyke," he said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Yeah, that's it. Dyke. That's my name. The name I took for myself when I decided to fight back. Someone else branded me with this name, you know that, Kobra? Ghoul?"

The two said nothing.

"Names give us power. Blind wanna go around assigning people names and numbers, but us? We're free. I don't wanna remember the name I had before the Wars, because she means nothing now. Who she was pretending to be means absolutely nothing. Who I am now is what matters."

"And who are you now, Dyke?" a voice said from behind her. She turned around to see Poison leaning against the doorframe with her denim jacket in his crossed arms and a lopsided smile on his face.

"I'm the goddamn Dyke on a Bike, you bitch."

Poison grinned at her. "That's the spirit, Dee." He threw her the jacket, which she put on and popped the collar. She threw his jacket back to him and he slipped it on as well.

"Anyways, back to my empowering speech," Dyke said, turning back around. "I'm a dyke. Women only."

Jet appeared behind Poison and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Now I just know Kobra and Ghoul weren't dumb enough to think Poison was into Dyke here," he said.

"'Course not," Kobra said, running a hand through his hair nervously.

"No way," Ghoul added.

Poison grinned at them and hit his hand against the doorframe. "Right, then. Faggot, get off the table. Ghoul and Kobra, go find some chairs. Dyke, you gotta any food?"

"Three twinkies and a can for dogs. Oh, plus some Fanta."

He scrunched up his nose as he walked in the door. "You and your goddamn orange soda. Haven't you fuckers ever heard of cherry? Grape?"

"They taste bad, Poison," Dyke said as she dragged her chair around to make room for Ghoul and Kobra who came back with some busted lawn chairs. "Do you want some or not?"

"Go get 'em. We're gonna have to go see Chow Mein later, so we might as well pool our resources."

She nodded and left the hut to get the supplies from her bike.

Only there was a kid on her bike. An actual kid- a motorbaby, as the older ones called them- born in the desert, who never knew the city or the Wars. The kids who didn't fully understand why they had to hide when the Dracs came. The ones who didn't get why they had to bring the masks of the fallen to the Desert Witch before the Scarecrow got their bodies. Why their parents kept their boots tight and their guns close. Why they all had to have masks.

"Who're you? You look like Party Poison," the kid said, brandishing a lollipop at her. "But you ain't him."

"Dyke. That's my bike."

"Hey, you're funny! Those sound the same."

"Who even are you, kid?"

"My name's Valentine. My mom calls me double V. On accounta my initials are V and V."

"Yeah, that's real cute. Can you move? They're waiting for me."

Valentine hopped down off the bike and stuck the lollipop back in her mouth.

"Who's 'they'? You mean the Killjoys? That's their car right there. You know 'em?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," she said, gathering the soda. Shit. Not enough hands. "Hey, Val, you think you could help me?"

"Sure!"

Dyke handed her two cans of the soda and picked up the rest of the food herself. "We're in that one there," she said, pointing at one of the buildings. "You think you can handle this super-special mission for the Killjoys?"

"Fuck yeah I can!" She ran off towards the building and Dyke followed her, shaking her head slightly. Kids.

"Who the fuck is the kid, Dyke?" Poison demanded when she arrived. "And why the fuck won't she leave me alone?"

"That's Val V, Poison. Be fucking nice to her."

Valentine scrunched her nose. "You're not like the stories my mom told me, Party Poison. She told me you were a Drac-fightin' people-saver. But you're just mean."

"Kid, I swear to fuck if you don't fuck off right now-"

Before anyone knew what was happening, Dyke had Poison pinned against the wall.

"Don't you fuckin' talk to the kid like that, Poison. Not in front of me and not fuckin' ever, you understand me?" She let him go roughly and began to walk back to where she'd dropped the food, but decided at the last second to whirl around and hit him in the face.

"Ow! Fuck!"

She shook out her hand. "Now we're even, pretty boy."

Poison scowled at her but said nothing. He deserved it for what he did, and he knew that.

"Thanks, Val V," Dyke said, picking up the cans and the Twinkies. "Maybe I'll catch you around sometime."

"See ya, Dyke on a Bike!" She waved and ran off out the door.

Dyke sat down in one of the lawn chairs and laid the provisions on the table.

"Everyone dig in. Plenty to go around," she smiled and cracked open a can of Fanta.

The whole table stared at her, except for Poison, who was deliberately avoiding looking at her.

"Oh, don't gimme that look, you two-bit whores. She's a kid! You can't talk to kids like that."

Jet shook his head. "I'll never understand you."

"That's the idea, Jet. Now, to business: we got Blind on our asses."

It was decided in that meeting that Dyke and Faggot would join the Killjoys. An agreement, of sorts. Better than the one where Dyke asked Doctor D to ask the Killjoys to bring her cigarettes, who then gave them to Cherri Cola, who gave them to Doctor D who gave them to Dyke herself. Dyke and Faggot would do what they wanted, like usual, but they'd ultimately be a part of the Greater Killjoy Posse. In return, the two would spend more time at Doctor D's with Cherri and the Girl while the Killjoys went on raids.

It would be a long time before any of them saw Valentine again.

[disabled-queen-hc-blog]

This might not be your cup of tea but how would you feel about a fic of self harm survivor John? Who maybe dealt with his depression and anxiety in an unhealthy way but got treatment because the boys were there for him when they found out? And even though he hasn’t self harmed in a long time, he still sometimes feels embarrassed when looking at/other people look at his scars and the boys just remind him how strong he is/how proud they are? I understand if it’s too much or triggering!

Content Warning for Mentions of Past Self Harm

♚

Mirrors were the one place you couldn’t lie to yourself. No matter how you tried to stretch the truth, a mirror was always there to remind you of reality.

John liked to pretend he was your average 20-something of the 70′s. College kid. Played in a band that probably wasn’t going anywhere. Went on dates and drank on weeknights. He put up that facade real well. The people around him were none the wiser, accepting him as another regular young adult.

But as John stood in front of his bathroom mirror, wiping away the fog from the shower he just took, he had to face the fact that he wasn’t.

Water droplets fell down the hills and valleys of his thighs. Pale and slender but marred with patches of bright pink. He touched a keloid on his right thigh, a reminder of the time he went far too deep for his skin to heal into a normal scar. On the other, faint white lines from his first few attempts. 

His fingertips went further up to his stomach, a few scattered scars from when he ran out of room elsewhere. He rubbed a particularly raised scar, knowing the skin was incapable of feeling like it used to. The nerves dulled by his safety razor he disassembled nearly every night. 

John looked through the mirror at his chest, a simple dusty pink line above his peck. He only did it to see how the red would contrast against his torso, a sick form of entertainment for a sick mind. 

When his eyes met his own, he looked away, a sense of shame welling up in him. Even though he was alone, he still felt embarrassed over the state of his body. Remorseful for what he did to himself.

He didn’t want to look at himself anymore, but the mirror coaxed him to face reality. To see his body for what it was. Crackled and marred. To accept that he too was a reflection of that. A broken man walking around as if whole.

He hugged himself, his hands running over his shoulders and upper arms. It seemed he saved the best for last. 

John liked cigarettes. And when he was by himself, he liked to be his own ashtray.

He shuddered, remembering the heat searing into his skin. The fizzle of the cigarette and the igniting of his flesh. He rubbed the white bumps wanting to forget.

He couldn’t explain his past actions other than saying he was empty. Nobody wants to be empty. So you begin to fill yourself with things and in this world, bad things are easier to come by. 

Filling himself with pain was better than having nothing at all. So that’s what he did. For years. And that need to be full left him shattered. 

John looked into the mirror, taking in the whole being that was himself. He felt numb to the image. He hugged himself tighter, unable to stop staring. Unable to stop the feelings of guilt.

He jumped when there was a knock at the door, quickly snagging a towel to wrap around his waist. In this house, privacy seemed to be optional.

Luckily, it didn’t open, instead Roger’s voice calling out. “You alright in there, John? You’ve been in there for an hour,”

John shook his head to clear his thought, his wet hair sticking all over his face. “I-I’m,” he had to cough to steel his nerves, “Fine. I’m fine,”

There was a silence before Roger hummed and walked away.

John sighed, leaning against the wall. He had to get out of here before he did something he hadn’t done in years.

♚

John was sprawled out on his bed, reading a comic book. He wasn’t paying too much attention to any of it, but it was a good enough distraction to keep his thoughts in a somewhat positive place.

He was so distracted by the bright colors and ridiculous catchphrases, he didn’t even notice when Roger slinked into his room until he threw himself on the bed, making John yelp.

“Jesus! Could you knock?” John said, scooting over to give Roger some room. 

Roger gave a toothy smile, replying, “I thought I did,”

John rolled his eyes, continuing with his action hero comic, assuming Roger just wanted to bother him. A seemingly hesitant tap to the shoulder told him otherwise.

He looked at Roger, eyebrow cocked. His stomach did flips seeing Roger’s face had gone gentle. Roger wasn’t gentle unless it was one of those talks.

“In the shower today…you didn’t sound, uh, fine, you know…” Roger slowly said, fingers fiddling with the string of his pants. Nobody really enjoyed these talks.

“Oh, uh yeah. I mean I wasn’t, b-but I wasn’t doing anything bad. Promise,” John said with a fast nod, as if trying really hard to convince Roger.

John’s self harm was an open secret in Queen. John hid it well, but when you lived with your band mates who had no sense of personal space, things got out. It was Brian who walked into the bathroom without so much as a warning and caught John in the act. After a group meeting and a stint with a therapist, John was mostly off the hook. But every once in a while, one of them would check in. Which John understood and appreciated, but it never made the conversation of purposefully mutilating yourself less awkward.

Especially when they didn’t believe him.

Roger’s head lolled to the side, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Really?” he asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

John understood this too. 

With a sigh, he lifted up the sleeves of his shirt to show no new burn marks. He lifted up his shirt to show no new cuts on his stomach. He was getting ready to take off his pants when Roger stopped him.

“Woah there, okay, okay, I believe you, Christ. I just gotta make sure our little bassist is alright. You get that, right?” he said, looking away as John redid his pant button.

“I do,” John said as he picked up book back up, expecting this to be the end of it. What a surprise that it wasn’t. 

“Um…so then, what is wrong? Something bugging you?” Roger went soft again, inching a little bit closer to John. John’s grip on the book tightened, his heart lurching. John really didn’t want to talk about how he felt ugly, but those stupid puppy eye’s of Roger always had a way of making him spill his guts.

He didn’t even notice his lips moving until words were already coming out. “I er was just looking in the mirror. Y’know…looking at all the,” John gestured to his body, hoping Roger would get he meant his scars, “And, uh, yeah there’s a lot of them. And they’re all so in your face. I was thinking that,” he laughed nervously, “God, I’m ugly. A mess,” John was looking down at his book, too sheepish to look at Roger.

Roger was quiet for a minute, chewing on his bottom lip. John thought maybe this was far above his pay grade to deal with. He should’ve just said he had indigestion and left it at that. 

“Someone told me once that scars prove you survived a battle with something. That you not only survived it but came out on top. Maybe it’d help to think about it like that. A battle you faced and won. You didn’t come out unscathed but you came out alive,” Roger said as he rubbed his chin. 

John mulled over those words but couldn’t find them resonating as true for him. Surgery scars could be rephrased as proof of a battle but self harm scars? He did that to himself. He knew what he was doing. He did it with the purpose of losing.

He shook his head, smiling but not from joy. It seemed hollow and so did his voice as he said, “I did this to myself. It’s not brave or heroic. Just cowardly,”

“John, nobody hurts themselves on purpose. In those moments, you are quite literally battling your humanity against depression,” Roger quipped back almost immediately. 

John appreciated the effort but found himself irritated at the comment. “Like you would know?” This was his struggle and he’d figure it out himself. He didn’t need a pep talk from someone who was never there.

Roger blinked, as if offended and got up from the bed. John felt bad for what he had just said, but didn’t mind if Roger left. His mood had soured considerably. 

He was about to return to his comic when Roger dropped his pants with a shrug. 

The word pervert died in his mouth, his jaw dropping instead. There were white scars all over Roger’s legs. White and beige with age, but absolutely there and absolutely real.

“I know what the hell you’re talking about, John. And you’re a beautiful fucking creature who won against something as deadly as depression. I know ‘cuz I did it too,”

He promptly pulled his pants up with a stern look on his face.

John wanted to say something intelligent, but only sputtered out “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Roger rubbed the back of his neck, swaying a little. “I guess I was embarrassed too..but..not anymore! We’re sexy mother fuckers, yeah? No need for shame when we look this good!”

John snorted, covering his face with his hands. Maybe this pep talk was working.

“Speak for yourself, Rog,”

“No! Say it with me, John! I’m sexy and I know it!! C’mon!! I’m sexy a-” Roger was jumping around, hitting a giggling John with a pillow, trying to get him to repeat after him. It would’ve worked if Brian hadn’t walked in.

“What the bloody hell is happening here?” he asked, baffled as to why Roger wanted John to say he was sexy. 

“Motivational speech. You’re not invited. Get out,” Roger deadpanned, easily pushy the lanky Brian out the room and shut the door. 

Immediately John and Roger broke out into cackles, Roger tossing himself back into bed with John.

“If I say I’m sexy, will you promise to never take your pants off in front of me again?” John said, shoving at Roger’s side.

“No promises,” Roger said, shrieking when John hit him in the face with a pillow.

Of course, it’d take much more than an impromptu “motivational speech” to make John feel at home in his body, but it was a good start. Seeing how Roger carried himself with confidence, an aura of “I know I’m worthwhile” surrounding him gave John someone to look up to. Their pasts were hard and they over came them through willpower alone. And despite the scars that were interwoven with their skin, they deserved to love themselves. They deserved to feel beautiful and handsome. John knew he’d get there. He’d be friends with the mirror one day.