Watchmen (Super Sentai) Five Kink Meme
Rules of the meme:
1. Anonymously(or not, because we seem to have stopped following this rule) post a pairing and prompt you would like to see written. Since this is a kink meme, there is supposted to be a kink involved, but normal well-written prompts should work just as well.
2. Anonymous will respond to your post and write it for you! Art and such ( Read more... )
She cuts her hair and shaves his after he agrees to shower. With a little dye, they almost fit who they are now, faceless man and woman who have seen disaster that all other New Yorkers have seen. There is nothing unique about them.
*
Three weeks and they buy a beat-up piece of shit care for three hundred dollars. Laurie keeps her face tight as she drives. Walter drums his fingers on the armrest and glares at her when she smokes and cranks Pale Horse as loud as she can. When they talk, it's to argue. He makes a shitty blond.
At every cheap diner, he scowls at the waitresses and steals creamer and sugar and packets of pepper. She kicks him under the table and grinds her heel against his knee. His knuckles go white on the table.
He lets her touch the back of his neck. It's enough.
*
She kisses him in Colorado.
She doesn't know why. She doesn't like him. He hasn't showered in the past week; they only know what Dan told them about the other. He doesn't let her kiss him fully on the mouth, turning his head away. She touches the back of his neck, where his hair is at its shortest. “Sorry.” She backs down. The ring on her finger glints, and it's almost funny how everything has broken, almost.
By the next day he sits next to her willingly, under the unspoken pretense that she won't try it again.
*
“...and I was just like, what the hell are you thinking? Y'know? Did he really think he could get away with stealing a fucking car radio right under my nose?” She's talking loud and fast, flat face affected from Walter - she's learned some things - and her foot on the gas pedal keeps putting on too much pressure, the white needle of the speedometer ticking between 75 and 90 miles per hour. Walter stares at the horizon and listens, but offers no stories of his own. His stubble's coming in red; he really needs to shave. Laurie'll heckle him about it tonight - Take a shower, don't forge to shave, don't forget to eat and sleep and brush your teeth, do you want a bedtime story?
It doesn't matter if he's actually listening. She wears out her voice and cusses soundlessly, and he writes her notes on crinkled, greasy napkins instead of talking to her until it comes back.
*
“Who's this?” her mother asks as Laurie smiles so much it hurts.
“Good afternoon,” Walter says.
Charmed, Laurie thinks, and checks the urge to kick his ankle when his gaze travels up and down the mannequin by the TV.
*
They rent out a one-bedroom apartment in the ghetto of Los Angelos, take a free couch with ugly pink flowers on it off the street. Laurie listens to the sirens at night, itching to stalk down an alleyway after men with knives and guns and the unerring desire to hurt her. She sleeps on a cot in the bedroom to keep her nerves bright as supernovas; Walter sleeps on the couch and earns pinpoint bruises on his side. His roots are coming in, vivid, and it makes the bleached blond look ugly.
Laurie doesn't ask him to dye it again.
*
They become partners on the street, sort of, though Rorschach never calls them that. She breaks a kid's ribs when he tries to stab Rorschach, and he puts his hand on her shoulder when she spills out, breaking and breaking.
She backhands him.
He's gone.
*
Laurie runs out of bullets quickly, and when the shop owner raises his eyebrows she buys a glossy magazine instead and orders from them instead.
It takes two weeks for Walter to come home this time.
She stands at the front door and looks at him, unmasked and wilted and clearly exhausted. He literally smells like he's shit himself or something. Laurie points him to the bathroom, and he goes without complaining. Half an hour later, he joins her on the couch and picks up the TV dinner she made him, making soft hungry noises as he wolfs it down. Laurie watches with her arms across her chest. He could use haircut; the blond really looks stupid now, outnumbered by the ginger curls that have grown over the past few months.
“Can we talk?” she asks when he sits back, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He eyes her suspiciously, but doesn't say no. “I'm sorry I hit you,” she says, and like that he's clamped shut, dead face and careful shoulders, hands, legs. “It's just, sometimes it's like I can't...”
“Thank you for the apology,” he says stiffly.
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