warnings - 18+, reference to past trauma, mental health, mentions of physical violence, smut, fluff, hurt/comfort
a/n - wow this is my first little curtis fic that isn’t just porn. this takes place at the end of snowpiercer, after the train crashed. now, I am a huge slut for the grumpy guy & sunshine girl trope, so this sort of embodies that. also, this is a standalone fic, but I’m thinking about expanding these two into their own little universe with other little drabbles. I hope you enjoy hehe :)
also, a huge huge huge shout out to @jtargaryen18 Out of Darkness and @sweater-daddiesdumbdork Life is Short so Make it Sweet & Life After Snowpiercer & Wilford’s Demands, who are responsible for my obsession with this man LOL (everyone go check out their masterlist RIGHT. NOW.)
::edit:: I started this like a year ago LMAO
Italics reference the past
Please leave comment/reblog to let me know what you think!
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Curtis was like this sometimes, cold and abashed. Disconnected. Like a stray animal newly taken away from it’s home. You knew not to pry, pushing him to open up will only cause him to shelter into himself to avoid engulfing you into his gloomy aura.
It was hard for Curtis to pull himself out of the dark memories that routinely plagued his brain. Reasonably so, the memories of the tail-end and crash of the train bonding his despair deep into his bones. It was all his fault, wasn’t it?
He was the reason Edgar was dead.
He was the reason the engine stopped.
He was the reason his people are trying to survive in the remains of the train.
“No”, you told him gently as you slowly cradled his face. Even after years together he still tried to hide his feelings from you. He was the reason the tail-end was now free. He was the reason Wilford was dead. And he was the reason they had a chance at life again.
While only a few years older than you, you and Curtis met after you boarded the train. The initial chaos of the first few months on the train had left all many passengers in a state of frenzy and distrust.
But you were something different weren’t you? Lending a helping hand where you could, and spending your days trying to keep the children occupied. In the beginning, you were truly just a child yourself, so how wise could one be at age of 15 anyway, you remarked. No, maybe you weren’t wise, Curtis thought. You are compassionate and determined, and you were his light.
Curtis watched you as you tried the gather the children together to get into line. Sending each of them a gentle smile as you managed to bring them together. Your heart went out for them. Curtis saw it in your eyes. The love you had for these children, and your underlying fear for their future
Yes, Curtis saw you. He had seen you before, helping out with the children as much as you could. Now he was really taking a look at you. Dark hair, the caramel-beige colour of your skin, and the radiant smile you would occasionally send his way when you caught him starring. The layers of your thick clothes hide your curves underneath. The same curves Curtis would eventually find himself caressing every night as you soundly slept against him in his tiny cot.
He could hear Gilliam’s voice at the back of his mind. “Curtis, my boy. She would be good for you. We all deserve our little pieces of wonder even after all of this. Why don’t you just try?”.
“You know why I can’t.” Curtis stoically whispers back.
Yes. It is better to hold a woman with both hands
He knew he didn’t deserve you, not after what he did. So he kept his distance. Separating himself for the four corners of the cold locomotive was easy enough. Their routine was never set in stone. Try to sleep, as the everlasting rumble of the train tracks keep their conscious wide awake through the night.
You were such a light in their ever-evolving darkness, how would he ever make you happy?
But love isn’t earned. Worthy is not something you have to be to deserve devotion from another. Curtis was learning this the hard way.
What wasn’t hard? Loving you. It was so easy for him, it was so unlike their constant and familiar struggle it even made Curtis a little uncomfortable. You were well aware of his past, hell you were there living it with him. Yet, you always had the same gleam of hope and curiosity in your eyes when your gaze fell on him.
While you were all surrounded by the trauma that came with living in the tail-end, it seemed so archaic for Curtis to have his dark days slow him down. After all, you had all suffered. He had to lead his people now. A few days after the crash, most of the residents of the tail end dispersed themselves through various rooms that were previously occupied by the front-end passengers. Luckily, one of the remaining passengers of the front-end had enough mechanical experience to fix the damaged back up generators that ran underneath the foundation of the train. Each section was equipped with enough energy to keep the water melting/recycling system and electricity running for the next year. After the explosion, a portion of the healthy men sought after whatever hints of life they would find outside the four walls of the train. To their surprise, the people were able to fall within a routine fairly quick.
Even then, there is still work to be done, he would tell himself.
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Your kisses. Your kisses gave him energy, he tells you.
You found him sitting on the thick cushion of the chair sitting in the corner of your dimly lit bedroom. Closing his eyes as you gently climb into his lap, he felt your fingers run up and down his arms before stopping to rest on his chest. You knew what he needed, Curtis retreated into himself enough times for you to help him pull himself out.
He frowned as you climbed into his lap. Distancing himself from you to avoid pulling you into his darkness. Your fingers remained on his skin. Feeling the way his energy wants to be fed, wanting to find a friend.
His body felt tense under the first press of your lips against his, posture rigid as an attempt to keep up his guard. His reluctant spirit slowly wafted away as you submerge yourself deeper into his greed.
You made it hard for him to know anything else but you in moments like his. Your sounds, gasps, and hues. Just you.
The press of his sweat-soaked skin against yours, gently rutting up into you as his heavy grunts fell out of his mouth into yours.
“Open your eyes” You mumble against his lips. He cries out and does as you said. Pushing deeper, your hips snap against his.
He’s disoriented. Savouring the feelings of his warmth blossoming into your core, you stayed for a moment, chest-to-chest, breathing in each others air as you calmed down from your high. Slowly, he brought his unfocused vision up to you. His breath hitching when he finds a mirrored devotion in the decadent brown swirls of your eyes. I’m here with you, they seemed to say.
Thank you for the tag @hannahcbrown This looks like fun!
The words I was tagged to find were moon, home, hearth, and tears.
Moon: I’m surprised this one hasn’t featured more in my writing. I’ll have to fix that! For now, have this excerpt from Chapter 4 of Wildflower:
Growing up in a city with permanent light pollution, Claire had been amazed that first night out on her own at just how dark it got in the country. Petrified of stumbling around half blind and falling off a cliff, she’d wrapped herself in the only blanket she’d had, used her lumpy rucksack as a pillow, and vainly tried to catch some sleep on the cold, damp ground.
Tonight, however, there was no cloud covering the full moon, so the mountainside was bathed in a surprisingly bright silvery glow. Claire found that it wasn’t too difficult to follow the packed earth trail in this light, but she still kept to the middle of path, just to be safe. Falling down the mountain at night would spell almost certain death.
Home: I felt like this excerpt from Grandfather was fitting for this tag:
No longer needing to shelter them from the wind, Joanna drew back the fabric with her free hand to reveal a little girl clutched to her chest. The child’s eyes were closed in an exhausted slumber, but even so Barley could see the strong similarities between her and his daughter. He opened his mouth, questions bubbling up in his throat.
“…Not now, Dad,” Joanna murmured in a voice heavy and defeated, and Barley automatically shut his mouth again. His mind was still spinning, desperately trying to catch up, but he recognised that now was not the time to be asking anything. Suddenly, he felt 20 years older than his body actually was.
“…I still have your old bed…” he finally muttered, already heading for the stairs, “…I’ll just get you some fresh sheets…”
His daughter didn’t reply, didn’t thank him or apologise for the sudden intrusion. She just silently followed, a few paces behind, as her old dad led the way upstairs in a house she had once called home.
Hearth: I’m ashamed to say I’ve never used this one in my writing, but I do have this piece from Miraculous that I feel fits the theme, if not the exact word:
Heart pounding, you pulled open the door of your home and were hit with a welcoming blast of warm air. You were so glad you stopped to light the fire before you set off round the farm, even if the sudden warmth did make your face tingle. Trying not to jostle the kitten in your coat too much, you shut the door firmly and banished the freezing storm.
The tiny animal felt the immediate warmth, and began to wriggle in your arms. You quickly grabbed a small wooden crate that you used to ship crops and a thick hoodie that was draped over the end of your bed. Ignoring the way your boots left clods of snow across the floor, you marched towards the kitchenette.
You set up the crate and hoodie as a cosy bed for the kitten close, but not too close, to the crackling fireplace, and gently deposited the little creature into the bundle of fabric. The kitten instantly started kneading the comfy cloth, pulling up threads with its tiny claws. You didn’t mind.
Tears: This one featured in so many of my writings! I decided to go for ‘happy tears’ and pulled this excerpt from my favourite piece so far: Photograph:
Ocean-blue eyes met each other, and the young lady’s hand flew to her mouth, her bag dropping forgotten to the panelled floor. The motion made a gold, heart-shaped locket around her neck glint in the light, and Cliff didn’t have to see inside it to know exactly what photograph it held. His breath caught in his throat, and his knees suddenly felt as weak as an old man’s. Tears started to creep into the corners of his eyes as he watched them spill from the young woman’s.
“…C-Cliff…?” she breathed hesitantly, as though she was afraid to hear the answer.
“…H-Heather…” he croaked at last, and all at once it was like someone flicked on the light switch in a pitch-black room. One of them gave a stuttering cry, it was impossible to tell which one, and just like that they were in each other’s arms, hands wrapped around shoulders like they were afraid to let go.
No pressure tags: @sneakyfox55 @friendofbats @durotoswrites @lizzie-tempest and anyone else reading this that would like to have a go :)
Your words are: sunrise, warmth, puppy, and treasure.
Romance wasn’t at the forefront of Edward’s mind, but when they walked in the door, something akin to it painted a smile on his face. They hadn’t been looking for anything in particular, a night spent with a bottle mostly, but Edward gave them far more than they’d ever asked for.
The way they felt against his skin, the sounds, the keens of ecstacy, it drove him mad. The same could be said for them, his growling voice, the sting of his nails on their back. Stress relief, that’s all it’d been.
Until he made them breakfast.
That’s where it got ugly, where he gained a weakness. They had him wrapped around their finger, hopeless. Suddenly he wasn’t as angry, not as violent. They simply owned a flower shop in Gotham centre, they were sweet and kind, they knew about what he did, what he was. They didn’t care.
He’d come home from long days beside Oswald, only to be beside them on the couch, hands intertwined and lips speaking hushed murmurs. They’d make him dinner, he’d savor each taste. Then he’d sit down for the food.
Long nights by his piano, singing and laughing, they loved it when he played piano for them. They sang so well together. If pianos could speak, Edward’s would sing a tale of love, passionate and sweet.
Late mornings spent in bed, tangled up under the sheets, cuddling and whispering, sweet kisses and playful tickles. He took them dancing, he loved to dance, he loved watching them dance.
