•The Curtis's having a ranch with cow/horse mutilations and an odd sense of being watched/hunted that gets worse and worse until it stops being animals that are targeted.
•Ponyboy saw X just that morning, they were totally normal. So why do they now ellicit such a strong sense of wrong? Despite acting and sounding perfectly normal?
•Everyone's hackles bristled when they were around Dallas, breaths getting short and panicked when he'd get angry. Fight, Flight, or Freeze instincts kicking in when he'd look at them. Everybody seemed inn agreement that something wasn't right with him. But Ponyboy couldn't see it. If anything, Dally seemed more interesting than everyone else. He'd rather hang out with Dally any day of the week, so what if it meant nobody else wanted to be around?
•The face of a friend, a most trusted one, calling out in his own voice from the treeline, just barely visible through the trees, beckoning for Ponyboy to come closer, just a little, don't you trust me? But it feels wrong, a sense of unease in Ponyboy's gut making his limbs heavy with protest, why is it so hard to look away? What about this situation is making his heart pound in his ears, rapidly increasing pace until his knees are weak and hid hands shake and his mind is screaming for him to get away.
I have a few more ideas but I wanna flesh them out first.
Warnings: second-hand embarrassment. heh. Cameo by another character but a bit later in the chapter. A little nakey nakey.
Word Count: It’s not a thing here. It's never been a thing here.
A/N: It’s late. Really late. Too early. I didn’t edit it properly but I hope it was decent enough.
MASTERLIST
The warmth you feel around you takes you by surprise for a moment making you feel your body shift in sleep.
Your fingers register something soft and balmy covering you. It takes a few seconds for your eyes to open, the reluctance of the tired lids fully recognisable to your conscience. A royal blue blanket covers your entirety while your head rests on a soft pillow.
Your head- tipped up to take this in, sure of the fact that you had passed out in cold surroundings inside a glass cylinder- feels a swerve and a piercing ache, forcing it to fall back into the pillow.
One long inhale.
You breathe in a strange essence from the pillow.
Another long inhale.
You feel the memories resurface, driving away the fog of fatigue like a cold, chilly wind and forcing your eyes to open fully; partly because of the rush and partly to make sure you were not in that Quinjet anymore.
The surface you lay on is same as the floor, warm too when your feet- which were still marked with dried blood-touch it. The moment you get up, the makeshift bed goes down and becomes one with the surface underneath you, leaving the blanket and pillow as the only evidence of uncalled gratitude post your existential crisis in the worst sense.
The glass walls are white on your side and black on the opposite arc, split by another glass layer; the black side pretty much a shower temple.
Grade-a luxurious prison cell with privacy. I'm flattered.
You look around for any buttons or switches, anything that can be used to talk to someone outside this cylinder but find none. With one stretched sigh, you push the glass partition and step inside.
The moment your hands go to the hem of the sweatshirt, Steve's image comes to your mind filling you with worry, sadness and dread, in that order.
Stripping down his clothes, rostering his lingering scent in your mind, you twist the shower knob and let the water wash away as much of the turmoil as it can, the burning pressure scathing your skin.
The torture by the heated water over your layers somehow feels redeeming and you let it linger for half an hour more.
Everything does seem to be washing away- the blood, the sweat, the remnants of your tears- everything but the mark on your shoulder.
By the time you close the water and wring out the excess from your hair, your skin is pulsating with red all over.
A robe lies in the corner, fuzzy to the touch- blue on the outside while the inside is lined in green. You slide it over your body, feeling it capture the heat radiating out of you. And just as you do, stepping out of the shower temple, the glass division, shower, and the black tiled floor, everything disappears down in the surface, replacing it with the exact replica of the side you stand on.
The black dissolves and you feel the lights over you dim to the same concentration as the ones coming from outside.
The lab.
There are screens showing your name, biodata and vitals in red. One of them displays ‘Categorised as ally/enemy: Unknown’, drawing an aching breath inside your lungs.
There is no soul in sight in the part of the dim lit lab you face till you shift your gaze towards the wall that overlooks the hanger where the Quinjet stands and a screen is playing the recording of the events that happened on the way back.
A familiar figure stands by the window, looking out at the carrier, his arms crossed, his Dorito figure still as a frozen tree.
Watching yourself in a possessed state over the screen while the man- who was basically the reason you were alive- seems to be evaluating your existence makes you turn back into your shell, building up the walls that had lasted longer than any relationship you ever had.
“How are Wilson and Barton?” You hear yourself say.
You feel a shift in his neck before his shoulders move as he inhales but speaks nothing for a moment.
“Recovering,” comes a hoarse reply.
You can clearly see his black shirt tighten around him as his hand curls up into a fist at the side.
“I'm sorry,” your voice falters as your own arms wrap around your torso.
“How are you feeling?” His tone is measured, making you retrieve more into the dark corner of your shell.
“How am I supposed to feel?” The snap in your voice dying as soon as the words leave you.
He makes you vulnerable, doesn't he?
You step towards the glass, waiting for him to turn but not wanting to see his face for the fear of seeing despondency and rejection, your own head playing games with the emotional turmoil inside you.
“Scared,” you finally croak. “I feel scared.”
He finally turns towards you.
And you feel yourself falling for him all over again.
His blue eyes are dark, dilated in the poorly lit room. His brows turned in a hint of worry and thoughtfulness. His beard hiding the cut that goes down his right cheek, right where the bruise is visible; right where you punched him. His arms hidden under the black sleeves, hiding more bruises from the fractures that you so vividly remember giving him.
He slowly steps towards you, bending down to his side to click something that turns off the recording and shuts the window, making your breathing flutter, the air caught in your lungs.
“How...how are you-how is your-”
He is closer to the glass now, his eyes fixated on you, making you forget where exactly your mind was going with this.
“How is your wound?” He eventually asks, making you mentally touch your shoulder while you hear yourself say, “I don’t have any.”
“The bite mark on your shoulder.”
There is a sudden rush of a cold tidal wave inside you which you cannot seem to place the origin of. Your hands feel heavy as they rise, sliding the robe away just a bit to reveal the torn skin coloured dark; dots looking like miniature passageways to some hollow abyss.
His lose hands at the sight in front of him come together, one thumb pressing over the palm of the other in some calculating thought.
The dots are hidden under the soft fabric as you step closer to the glass, placing your palm over it.
“Are you still…”
There is a gush of emotions inside you as mentally complete the sentence with the most dreaded version.
“Am I still what?” you feel the pitch grow. “Infected? Housing a...a demon inside me?”
“It’s a parasite.”
“That does not make it better.” you nearly hiss at him before finding your composure. You were still sitting in your cocoon, your entire being riding on autopilot right now, not caring what was going on around you except for the eyes of the man in front of you.
This entire time his ocean was not the similar one you had seen before. This one was shallow to the eyes but for some reason felt dreadfully deeper; clearer than the sky but hiding something beneath those clean waters. A part of you was scared. The other one, the one talking did not seem to observe it whatsoever.
I am finally going insane.
“Do you feel it? Her?”
“No. Not right now, I don’t.”
He doesn’t speak anymore. Neither does he make an effort to come closer and reduce the distance to just the glass between the two of you.
“It’s not my fault, Steve. I had no idea this thing was inside me,” you lament, your eyes welling up with tears.
“Please, you have to understand, Steve, I never meant to hurt anyone.”
The tears fall. “I never meant to hurt you.”
His eyes do not leave you when the movement in his fidgeting hands stop before driving his dense hair back. A deciding breath later he turns towards the screens and clicks a few buttons. The screens that were showing the lab’s live feed, go dark.
“Others don’t feel the same way as me, believe me,” he mentions, coming back to you, his shoulders visibly loose now.
Steve, what are you doing?
“What do you feel?” your question is straightforward. “Do you believe what I just said?”
“I believe,” he declares, his stoic figure standing right in front of you as he looks down at your glistened Y/E/Cs, “that Y/N had nothing to do with it.”
You feel your cowering figure pause and straighten in the shell, paying rapt attention to what more he has to say.
“What-”
“You,” his eyes burn at you, sending a fiery spark throughout your body, “on the other hand enjoyed breaking my ribs. Fault is practically your identity right now, darling.”
All breath escapes your lungs as your bewildered eyes look back at him, another tear escaping the trough.
“Steve, what the hell are you talking ab-”
“Save it,” he growls, his voice never rising beyond a limit, “if it was actually Y/N speaking right now, she would have cursed me twice to have not killed her or thrown her down in the Pacific somewhere.”
You- the real you sitting in that shell- breaks in a laugh at the scenario unfolding in front of you, watching the parasite embarrass itself.
That’s right, bitch. I’d rather die than let you out.
Your devastated expressions go blank before Steve; your defeated shoulders squaring up, as you took in a fresh breath, swelling up your chest with some unreasonable pride.
“You really are smarter than your crushing looks, captain,” you moan, you lips bearing a smirk.
“I somewhat get why she likes you?”
His gaze flinches a bit, stretching your smirk further.
“Y/N, she really likes you,” you see yourself claim, feeling like throwing a punch at yourself. “The things she has thought about you, captain. Oh!”
The shell heats up at the humiliation coursing through you while Steve just stands there never faltering his gaze, increasing the flush of shame tenfold.
“It’s quite vivid, her imagination. I can even smell your scent when you are worked up and looking down at her like you would devour her. The way she wants to run her fingers in your hair or chase your lips with hers,” her voice is almost a whispering moan as she steps closer to the glass, “the way she wants to dig her fingers into the skin on your back as you make her scream with pleasure in a hot spring in the middle of a forest.”
Stop! Is all you can muster from where you sit inside yourself, feeling yourself grin shamelessly.
“So,” you coo, as your hands suggestively stretch the belt around your robe, “what do you say, captain?”
The belt comes undone and your fingers open up the robe wide for the man to see your naked form in full glory forcing the real you to shut your shell, close your eyes and groan.
“Shall we give her something more to think about?”
There is a deafening silence around you for a moment; nothing but the sound of your scared heartbeat, which the parasite has no worries about. A good moment later you hear the hiss of the door opening, making you open your eyes, wishing to take control over your vision as you see Steve’s figure enter the space.
The shell opens a bit as you find his familiar scent enveloping your safe space when he comes and stops right in front of you with negligible space between your bodies.
His eyes don’t leave yours for even a second.
They never linger away to your bare form; completely devouring your gaze with this burning blue surrounding the dilated darkness.
But his hand.
His hands rise up. The fingers graze your right shoulder, causing both parts of you to flinch, burning your skin as the hairs rise up in silent prayer when they travel down your back. The other hand touches the marks left by the parasite’s fangs, tracing every bite as his fingers curl as they reach the nape of your neck- perfect flints over your flammable skin- before travelling back and up into your hair. His pink lips peeking through his beard, inhaling you in completely.
And just like that, you feel him tighten his grip in your hair while the other one is teasing the small of your back, sending the most incoherent vibrations down to your core.
You feel your body rise a little on your toes as it tries to get your cold lips closer to his.
“What are you waiting for, captain?” you hear an erratic whisper.
The fingers leave your back and a smile runs over Steve’s lips.
“Waiting for you to be distracted, you filth.”
A pocket dimension opens right behind you, near his hands, making him grab a black dagger- a blade split into three, twisted and pointed at the ends, almost like a miniature trident- and shove it in your back.
A gasp escapes you while an inhuman wail leaves the other. You feel a rush inside your body as the parasite retrieves through your nerves, turning away from away sensation, leaving all the controls and curling up into a ball somewhere in a dim lit corner inside you, finally allowing you perceive everything first hand- which disorients you for a moment, making you collapse in Steve’s arms.
“Careful now, love,” an unfamiliar voice comes out of him one moment and a dazzling ray of gold shifts over him to reveal someone completely different.
“Who are you?” you ask, finally able to feel yourself speak, the relief quite evident to the God that held you right now, who smirked at you before letting go of your arms to move his behind you to bring up your robe.
“Loki!” Steve shouts from somewhere behind you, his voice seeming distant.
He stands outside the lab’s door, his entire body tensed up in the time it took for him to cover the distance between the common room and the lab when Loki disrupted the feed.
“I am an ally made during the war,” he smiles gently at you, “I heard you needed an expert in parasite removal.”
With one sway of his hand, Loki opens the door and brings back the live feed, coming back to covering your shivering shoulders.
“She won’t disturb you for now,” the green-eyed God declares to you as he carefully works with the belt around your waist to hold your robe.
“And I suggest you should have a chat with her as to why she is keeping you alive,” he whispers in your ear, done with the knot before he hands you over to Steve.
You give him a knowing look and a slight nod before you feel familiar shoulder taking your defeated figure in a tight embrace.
Before Steve can even breathe out the question from his worked up lungs, Loki manages to read his eyes.
“She’s fine. A little shaken by the first-hand embarrassment she had to go through but she will pull through,” the trickster assures him.
“Why did you shut off the cameras?” you feel his voice vibrate near your ear through his chest, your eyes darting towards Loki in mild horror. He reads them. All too well.
Loki narrows his eyes before rolling them at the captain before getting out of the Vault. “Like I just said- the first-hand embarrassment. Nevermind. Here,” he brings forward the dagger from his pocket dimension and hands it to Steve, “in case the parasite tries to be naughty again.”
“Thank you, Loki,” your hoarse voice states, making Steve bring you closer to him.
He says nothing as he looks at you with an evaluating glare.
“Thank you,” Steve too says assuringly, his relieved features on full display for the God to see.
He nods at both of you. “Say it before it’s too late,” he asserts before walking out of the lab, leaving you to ponder upon his statement.
You try to push yourself away from him, your feeble strength clearly nothing in comparison to his.
“Steve, I-” Before you can utter anything more, your brain starts tilting the room.
“Easy,” he whispers as he wraps his arm around you to keep you from falling back, “easy. Here, let me help.”
You feel yourself step away from the floor and rise, realising a bit too late he was carrying you- all of you- in his arms.
“I just woke up. How can I-” your words stop coming out as everything keeps spinning.
“Loki said the parasite keeps on a stable rush when it is active inside you. The moment it is sent into a dormant state you feel like coming down from a high. So, you just need a good night’s sleep and then some food to get back to normal.”
You hear the elevator ding, no longer able to keep your eyes open.
“Steve,” you whisper.
“I’m here, Y/N. I’m right here.”
The elevator dings again and you hear Friday greet you and Steve as she tells him the rest of the Avengers are back from Bruce’s lab and are waiting for them in the common room.
“Friday open the door for me, will you?” is all he responds with.
A click is heard and you feel him slow down his steps before you are gently put over a semi-hard mattress. You hear a familiar whine and feel Stacie’s nails hitting the bedside to watch you.
“I’m fine Stace,” you mumble, making the corgi stop and curl up at the bedside.
You feel the warmth of a blanket with your favourite essence in multi folds all over it before a hand raises your head a bit to plant a cool pillow below it.
A comfortable silence settles around you, making you wonder if you had been left alone again.
“Steve?”
You try to hear his movement while finding a few long breaths in your aching lungs but hear none.
And then you feel the bed dip behind you.
“I’m here,” he finally speaks as you turn towards him, planting one lingering kiss on your forehead, dissolving all your worries for now.
“I’m here. I’m not leaving you.”
(I thought two could play the game so I brought HIM over *wink* *wink*)
"Does the pretty lady need rescuing from your new Shepard-shaped restraints?" Kathy's voice is full of humor, she's a lot like that Two-Bit Mathews, if he was nicer.
Evie shakes her head, a smile forcing its way onto her lips and Angela's grip on her waist tightens playfully; "Nah, I bet she's real happy right where she is, cariño"
Kathy makes a little 'oh' face at the purred words, that has Evie nodding her head slightly in agreement when Kathy's eyes flash back over to her for a second.
Evie feels like she's floating, having two pretty ladies so close and having such an easy time, nothing could bring her mood down; until she spots Steve.
Her, boyfriend, Steve Randle, with a sour look screwing up his face and a scowl. Two-Bit Mathews had only just split off from Steve when she'd been spotted, and he barely catches her eyes before he's crossing his arms and storming right back out the door- slamming it behind him so hard it rattles in her chest.
"I'm sorry- I have to go-" Evie stumbles, slipping out of Angela's grasp and shoving her drink into Kathy's hands, feeling bad for interrupting the two in her rush to get to the front door.
I Don't Wanna say Who's to Blame.
@hintonchallenge Stevie ship, "It's not you, it's me."
Greasers/Hoods would have pokemon more typical of evil teams/early route/ranch pokemon, while Socs would have pokemon for specific purposes (contest pokemon ex Ninetales, Milotic, Rapidash) as well as Battling/starter pokemon.
Dallas and the Shepards are easier for me.
Sodapop would have really wanted a Ponyta but it got sold long before they could afford to buy it.
Curtis' have less pokemon because the food/care can be expensive.
