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otakusheep15 · 11 months

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Obey Me Flufftober Day 31

Prompt: Haunted House

Pairing: all (separate) x reader (gender neutral) (platonic Luke)

Word count: 3,321

A/n: You guys voted, and surprise 3 won, meaning I get to write about everyone in a haunted house! I still don't know how I managed to make it through yet another October, but I'm very proud of the work I've done this month. As a reminder, my inbox is almost always open if anyone wants to send in a request. My fandom list is on my pinned post, so if you have any suggestions, feel free to ask!

Lucifer

He is not scared in the slightest, and it's actually very funny to watch. Like, the scare actors try so hard to get him to jump, and it does not work at all.

Lucifer is definitely the type to critique the design of the house. He'll talk about how a decoration is inaccurate or a prop is out of place. Truly a menace indeed.

I feel like he would be so into grilling the details of the house that it would be easy to scare him in this moment. None of the scare actors get him, but if you or one of his brothers sneaks up on him, he will jump. Then he'll deny it ever happened of course.

His main priority is watching over you. If you're scared of haunted houses or if you're just jumpy in general, he'll hide you behind him and threaten any actors who try to scare you. If you're not scared, he still keeps a close eye on you as you run around with the others, though he's a little less protective since you can handle yourself.

None of the scare actors particularly like him because of how he is in the house, but at least he's not as chaotic as his brothers, so he gets a minute pass.

Mammon

Scared, horrified, running away from literally everything.

Poor Mammon would not last two second in a haunted house. He'd be so cocky beforehand, bragging about how brave and cool he is, and then immediately gets scared by a creaky door or something.

Scare actors love him because of how easily frightened he is. Mammon practically jumps ten feet in the air anytime someone jumpscares him.

However, Mammon does have quick reflexes, so he might accidentally punch an actor in the face and get banned for life, so make sure he avoids that.

Regardless of how brave you are in this situation, Mammon is clinging to you for dear life. If you're also a scardy-cat like him, then the two of you cower behind Lucifer the whole time to avoid the jumpscares. If you're braver than him, he'll pretend to be your knight in shining armor to impress you, immediately gets scared, and hides behind you for the rest of the night.

Once getting out, he'll deny ever being scared, but Levi got everything on tape, so no amount of denying will erase it.

Leviathan

You'd think he'd be scared, you you'd be so wrong. This kind of thing is like a paradise to Levi.

He loves all things horror, so haunted houses are definitely his jam. Yeah, he does get jumpscared easily, but that's all part of the fun to him. He loves it when the scare actors manage to get him, and he'll compliment them on how well they're doing before moving on.

If he's allowed to record, you best believe he is vlogging every last detail. Levi def has a Deviltube channel, and he will post the entire thing, including everyone else getting scared.

Levi will absolutely cling to your side the entire time. If you're scared by haunted houses, he might make fun of you a bit for being a normie, but he doesn't mean anything by it. This might actually be one of the few times you'll ever see confident Levi. He'll walk in front of you and tell you when he thinks a scare might come up, as he's pretty good at predicting those sorts of things. If you're also a lover of haunted houses, the two of you are having so much fun. You're so hyped up, running around and trying to find all of the hidden details and scare actors.

Levi's probably one of the best to go to a haunted house with, as he's one of the few who actually understands proper haunted house etiquette, plus he's one of the few who actually enjoys this kind of thing.

Satan

Do not, and I repeat, do not take him to a haunted house ever. It will end in disaster for everyone.

Satan hates being jumpscared. As much as he hates to admit it, he is surprisingly jumpy, so him and haunted houses do not mix. When he gets scared, he gets mad, and Satan mad is never good. He will go on an absolute tear and destroy the whole haunted house.

But, let's assume he wouldn't do such a thing. As long as he doesn't get scared, Satan is pretty good company for a haunted house. He likes exploring all of the different rooms and looking for any hidden details.

If you really wanna have fun, you should take him to a haunted escape room instead. That way, he can focus more on the puzzles and the problem solving and less on the scares.

Satan is also good company if you're afraid of haunted houses. He'll protect you from anything scary, and if he senses a scare is about to happen, he'll hide you so you don't have to see it. However, if you enjoy haunted houses, Satan is content to let you do your own thing while he stays a bit behind. If you're with a group, he prefers to stay in the back and hang out there, but if it's just the two of you, he'll walk behind you while you lead the charge.

Asmodeus

He has a love-hate relationship with haunted houses. On the one hand, Asmo hates being scared. He does not like scary movies, books, games, or any other work of horror. On the other hand, he can appreciate the time and effort put into haunted houses, especially when it comes to wardrobe and makeup. While it may not be his personal style, he loves all of the little details inthe scare actors' costumes and makeup, and will compliment them.

He's another one to vlog his haunted house experience if he's allowed to. Honestly, even if he weren't allowed, he probably would anyway, resulting in him getting kicked out. Playing the influencer card would not help him here.

Asmo does jump easily, but he is also good at recovering quickly in order to save face, so even if he is scared, you barely notice before he's back to his usual self.

If you're jumpy like him, the two of you will hide together. this is especially true when you're in a group because you will be hiding in the middle like a protective shield. If you like haunted houses, Asmo will ramp up the drama and make you into his knight and shining armor. He'll pretend to faint so that you'll catch him, he'll cling to your arm, etc. etc. It's actually quite cute as long as it's something you enjoy as well.

Beelzebub

He's actually a lot of fun in a haunted house. I imagine that a lot of the scare actors would actually be afraid of him considering how intimidated he looks and how he keeps commenting about how edible some of the scenery looks.

Beel is kinda bored since he's hard to scare, but he still enjoys walking around. As long as he has something to snack on, he's good with being in a haunted house for a bit.

If you're going with a group, Beel will kinda become the leader by default since he's big enough to be a shield for some of the jumpers like Mammon and Asmo. If it's just the two of you, he'll stick by you and will hold your hand if you'd like him to.

If you're someone who is easily frightened, he'll protect you. You can stand behind him and cling to his shirt while he guides you through the house. Beel will most likely glare at actors who scare you, but he knows that it's their job, so he doesn't do much more than that.

Conversely, if you're someone who likes haunted houses, he's more than happy to let you lead the way. Watching you get all excited whenever a jumpscare happens makes him smile, and he loves seeing you so happy.

Belphegor

This demon thrives in haunted houses. They are actually his natural habitat, but you didn't hear that from me.

Belphie is also an absolute menace. Scare actors hate him because he makes it his mission to scare them first. He's been kicked out of several haunted houses because of this, but he just keeps going back anyways.

When he's with a group, he'll usually stick towards the back, or he'll have someone carry him so that he can sleep. When he's just with you, he'll either drag along behind you if he's tired, or lead you if he's more awake and interested.

If you're not fond of haunted houses or if you're more jumpy, he'll stay in front of you, but not much more than that. He still laughs when you get scared, but he'll hold your hand for the rest of the way and comfort you when you get outside. He'd apologize for laughing, but he'd do it again the next time anyways. Not out of malice though; that's just how he is.

If you're a fan of haunted houses, you and Belphie have a blast. Just makes sure you keep him from getting kicked out again. You two run around and explore and have the best time. Like Satan, he'd also enjoy a haunted house themed escape room. The three of you hanging out and doing an escape room is the idea hangout.

Diavolo

Absolutely obsessed with haunted houses. Like, this man is having the most fun you've ever seen. He's like a child experiencing his first haunted house, and it's adorable. It's also most likely accurate, as he doesn't get out much and probably hasn't actually experienced one before.

Dia is a major extravert, so he's very good when in a group. He's not very jumpy, and actually laughs when the actors try to scare him, so he's good for leading the charge and protecting everyone else. If it's just the two of you, Diavolo will make sure you're having the most fun you possibly can.

If you dislike haunted houses, Diavolo will make sure you're safe at all times. He'll hide you behind him and keep you away from all possible jumpscares. It's nice to see him so protective, but it's also intimidating to the scare actors, as the last thing they want is to accidentally upset this man or his partner.

If you like haunted houses, then he'll be so excited. He's dragging you around to any and all haunted houses he can find and he's having the time of his life with you. Watching you have fun is also fun for him.

Barbatos

Chaos. Absolute chaos. One scare actor tries to jumpscare him and suddenly they can no longer be found. he denies everything of course, but you know.

Barbatos hates being scared. Can he sense a scare coming from a mile away? Yes. Does he still somehow get scared anyway? Also yes. He actually hates haunted houses, but he'll never let anyone know. He's super good at hiding it, and by hiding it, I mean hiding the bodies of the scare actors he accidentally kills when they scare him just a bit too much.

If you don't like haunted houses, then that's perfect for him. Instead, he'll gladly stand outside with you while your group goes inside. He's definitely the themepark mom who stands outside of all the attractions and holds the bags for everyone, and that's especially true here. please stand outside with him and keep him company. He's actually very embarrassed about it, even if he won't show it.

If you want to go into the haunted house, he'll begrudgingly agree as well. He stays quiet, and you'll never know how scared he is. Like I said, he's great at keeping his fear hidden, and he's also good at predicting jumpscares, but it's one thing to predict a scare and another to be prepared for it.

Please show him some mercy and just let him stay outside. He needs a break, plus it would keep the poor scare actors alive as well, so it's a win-win for everyone.

Simeon

The confused but happy-to-be-there grandpa. He's having a good time, but he doesn't really understand the point of a haunted house. When he gets scared, he jumps then laughs it off and talks about how good the actor got him, and it's actually very cute.

Haunted houses aren't much his scene, but he doesn't mind them. Simeon isn't very jumpy, but he does get scared on occasion if it's a particularly good one. He's also the type to pretend to be scared because he'd feel bad. It's the actor's job after all, so he wants them to succeed. It's actually very adorable.

If you dislike haunted houses, he understands and would gladly stand outside with you if you need. However, if you go in anyways, he'd let you hide behind him. Simeon is a bit chaotic, so he might try to scare you himself, but not too bad. Plus, he'd protect you from the actual scares, so it's not too bad.

If you enjoy haunted houses, Simeon is more than happy to stay behind you while you lead the way. He's not scared, but he'd much rather you take the brunt of the jumpscares so that he can simply enjoy his time with you.

Luke

He tries so hard to be brave, and it does not work at all. Luke would refuse to go in without Simeon with him, and he'd cling to him the entire time. He would also stay with you because he trusts you to keep him safe.

Please keep him away from the brothers. They will make it their mission to scare poor Luke, so keep an eye on them just in case. Also make sure Luke stays somewhere in the middle of the group so that he can avoid as many jumpscares as possible.

Like I said, Luke would try so hard to put on a brave face. He'd march in all tough-looking and would immediately get scared by the opening scare.

Ideally, he would just hang out outside with Barbatos and Simeon, but he'd go in for you. He wants to look tough for you if no one else because he looks up to you so much. This is especially true if you're scared as well, as he wants you to feel like he can protect you as your guardian angel.

However, if you're not scared, he will hide behind you. He tries to convince you he's not scared and that he's just protecting your back, but you both know the truth. Just take pity on him and hype him up so that he gains some confidence.

Solomon

Another menace. He's casting small spells here and there to create extra scares that never existed. He's out here scaring the scare actors because no one knows how that prop got there, meanwhile he's just goofing off. His main targets are Asmo and Barbs since they're his pactmates, but he's an equal opportunist menace, and he will go after anyone.

You're not safe either. You thought that because he loves you that you would be safe, but you're so wrong. He actively targets you more because he loves you. Nothing too major of course, but he is a prankster by nature, and this is no exception. He's out here scaring you more than the actors.

If you're genuinely scared, he won't add onto that too much. Maybe on little prank here and there, but just to make you laugh rather than to scare you.

However, if you enjoy being scared, he is not holding back. Solomon will go all out, and at this point, he's going to put the scare actors out of a job. It's silly, but please tell him to tone it down before he gets banned. Not that he'll care, but still.

Thirteen

Yet another menace. However, she's a nice menace. Thirteen is the type to force someone else to be at the front so that they get the brunt of the scares. She will also fight with Solomon the entire time, but that's how she usually is anyways.

Thirteen isn't jumpy at all, so none of the scares get her. However, she'll sometimes pretend to be scared because she thinks it's fun for her. She also likes to scare the actors back, so she's also one who'll get kicked out of haunted houses for messing with them.

She will bully Mammon for being scared and actively make sure he's even more scared with her own tricks. It's a little mean, but it is also very funny, and the video Levi gets is golden.

If you're easily scared, she will tone it down a bit for your sake. Unlike Solomon, she won't try to scare you at all, instead focusing more on making sure you're okay. If needed, she will stay outside with you, even if she really wants to go inside. She'd do anything to make you comfortable, even at the sacrifice of her own enjoyment.

However, if you're like her, you two will probably get arrested. She will drag you into so many pranks, and it's so much fun. Just make sure you stay away from Lucifer and Barbatos lest they punish you. Also, like I said, you might get arrested or kicked out, but she doesn't care.

Mephistopheles

Surprisingly not scared that much. He might jump a bit, but it's barely a reaction at all. He's actually so bland it's sad. Like, he doesn't get into chaos, but he also isn't jumpy. Mephisto kinda just exists within the group. The most he'll do is make fun of the ones who do get scared, which might end up in a fight, but that's it.

He wouldn't mind hanging out outside with Barbatos, but he'd prefer being inside to stay with Diavolo (simp).

If you were scared, he'd stay by you and let you hold his arm. He hides you when he senses a scare coming on, and if anyone bullies you, he will fight them. It's a sweet gesture, but the extra yelling doesn't help.

If you enjoy being in the house, he's fine letting you go off on your own. He'll look after you from afar, but he won't bother you too much so that you can have your own fun. He'd join you if you want him to, but if not, he'd rather hang back and just enjoy walking through the house.

Raphael

Stoic. Calm. Not scared at all. It's actually the scariest part of this adventure. Like, he shows zero emotion when in the haunted house. No one knows how, but they fear him greatly.

He'd probably prefer to be one of the ones to stay out of the house and hang out at the entrance, but if you want him to go, he will.

He tries his best to keep the group in line, but he fails miserably. It's just him, Lucifer, and Barbatos suffering in silence while the group causes chaos around them.

If you're afraid, he'd gladly stay outside with you. He'd hang out and wait for the group with you and that would make him so happy. However, if you did go in, Raphael is your best protector. He keeps you away from any and all jumpscares and will not let you out of his sight until it's over.

If you're not scared, he'd still go in with you, but he'd be less protective. He would be fine letting you go off and have fun, but he'd still keep an eye on you just to make sure you're staying out of trouble. If he senses you causing chaos, he will step in and tell you to calm down, but he still wants you to have fun, so he tries his best to be lenient.

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teddypickerry · 1 year

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( @jessmarianoswife order! )

I SHIP YOU WITH ... jason dilaurentis

𓆩♡𓆪

A/N!

well, looks like you have an excellent

type. i too consider myself somewhat

of a jess mariano lover (i post 30

million fanfics about him). i decided

that you and jason would be cute together

(he is my other loverboy). hope you

enjoy <3 @jessmarianoswife

TROPE!

friends to lovers, best friends

brother

HOW YOU MET!

you've always known jason through

your best friend alison (or rather one

of your best friends). it wasn't that

uncommon for the two of you to butt

heads. considering she tended to

make every situation about herself

and try and tell you how it is. after

a fight with her in her bedroom about

how she didn't like your top, you

went outside.

your typical route home began through

her backyard since your house was just

down the street. that was until you saw

her older brother, jason, sitting on the

porch. there was an unopened beer

bottle by his thigh and his head hung

low, in sadness. you were going to dart

but before you could, you stepped on a

creaky floorboard. catching the blonde's

attention. "who- oh, hi y/n." you glanced

at the beer bottle, a weird look coming

on your face as you stepped infront of

him, to catch a good glimpse.

you knew about his problem. he'd been

in rehab a year back, and ali had been

very persistent to bitch about all his

drinking buddies. "jason, you probably

shouldn't." you muttered which made

him scoff with a glare. "doesn't concern

you, does it?" it didn't take long for you

to turn on your heel and head for the steps.

he jumped up and reached for your arm,

"look... i'm sorry. i didn't mean it.

can we start over?"

WHAT KIND OF BF IS HE!

+ very sweet. he's kind of awkward at

first but it doesn't take long for him to

be a little tougher...

+ your friends took some convincing

when they saw you emerge from his

car in the morning. he was always ali's

older brother to them. nothing more,

nothing less. but to you he was so much

more.

+ very jealous guy, but not possessive

+ he doesn't really know how to be

with your family, not like he's had much

practice

+ jason is the best comforting guy EVER.

he won't hesitate to throw you in his arms

and tell you it's okay. which seems annoying

because, it's not always going to be okay.

BUTTTT he's there, and that's what matters.

+ he'll do anything to get your family

to like him. mow your yard? done. go

help your mom with grocery bags?

he's there! take your brother to a

hockey game? he has tickets ready to go.

+ he's just the best.

#teddypickerry #i ship you with #jason dilaurentis x reader #jason dilaurentis #pretty little liars fic #hanna marin x reader #aria montgomery x reader #spencer hastings x reader #emily fields x reader

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emmedoesntdomath · 1 year

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RACETRACK MOTHERFCKING HIGGINS YOU GOSH DARN HISTORY NERD

RACERACERACERACERACERACE

also, i feel so seen rn *wipes away emotional tear*

so, ed ‘racetrack’ higgins was a newsie who helped lead the 1899/1900 newsboys’ strike against william randolph hearst and joseph pulitzer with louis ballat (who was known as kid blink), dave simons (who we don’t know the newsie name of), and (reportedly, because there aren’t that many sources with him) spot conlon (and, honestly? they could have been the same kid. not likely, but possibly). he was a brooklyn newsboy (from brighton beach specifically), and was between the ages of 16-21. he spent a considerable amount of time between the two racetracks he was near (hence the nickname). he had talked about william c. whitney, who owned a private racetrack, trained horses, and spent a lot of time at sheepshead (he said he had run horses for him, but that could be false). in just about every article he was interviewed for, it was noted that he talked A LOT about the races, even when they weren’t mentioned. like, at all (I love that for him, actually). he was charismatic, bold, and a natural-born leader. unfortunately, after the strike, he essentially disappears. there were a lot of ed higgins in the new york/jersey area, and it’s hard to track an idividual person, especially after the war started.

for more historical racetrack stuff, go check out @musicalcuriosity ‘s blog, they’ve got some great stuff over there.

now, because this isn’t actually my historical area of expertise, AND because I have actual hcs, we’re going to move on to the fun stuff.

ANTONIO ‘racetrack’ higgins is a manhattan newsie. he’s the second in command to jack kelly and more or less the ambassador to brooklyn. he’s snarky, loves gambling and spot conlon, and is probably the reason adderall was invented. he’s brilliant with numbers, but couldn’t tell you how to spell algebra to save his life. he’s petty, smokes more than anyone should, and will risk life and limb for those that he loves. he doesn’t plan to make it to 25, but will lie to anyone who asks and says he wants to be doctor for kids.

he becomes a newsie at nine, right after his mom dies, and he looks (maybe) seven, so he’s immediately taken under the wing of an older newsie. he’s dragged to the races after they finish selling, and it’s like something just clicks inside of him. he notices the trends, gets good at counting the cards, finding the tells of a good bet.

when asked, he would just shrug, a jaunty grin on his face. “it’s jus’ numbers,” he would say.

he meets a young francis sullivan (newly jack kelly) and charlie (now crutchie) when he stumbles upon their hiding spot in an alley. he recognized jack, and laughed instead of cowering when he threatened to soak him. he cheerfully informs them of a better place to hide on top of the lodging house, and from then on, they’re brothers friends.

he travels to brooklyn by himself the first time on a dare from albert (who has since become his best friend), and gets caught by hotshot within thirty minutes. he gets told to never come back with a hearty punch to the ribs for good measure.

he returns the next day.

he’s not allowed coffee (per jack), because he’s apparently “too damn jittery” as it is.

he can speak a little bit of italian, and converses with itey when they’re both at the lodging house. if he’s in public, he pretends he doesn’t know any.

when finch and albert start dating, part of him is sad, no matter how happy the rest of him is. it’s not fair, and he doesn’t know why, but it feels like a door’s shutting. he laughs, and holds spot a little tighter afterwards.

skittery taught him how to throw his first real punch, and then immediately started a fight with him “to make sure he understood the lesson”.

he’s scared of loud thunderstorms.

he hates the sound of a creaky wheel on a carriage.

he doesn’t mind girls, but he would prefer short brunettes with a temper (he’s very much got a type, and he’s not ashamed of it).

he would love harry potter, but despise JKR.

he believes in god, but doesn’t go to church.

if he had a kid, he would name them either maria or sebastian, after his mother and uncle respectively.

#i love this man #newsies #92sies #uksies #livesies #racetrack higgins #sprace #race x spot #antonio higgins #racetrack newsies #spot conlon #jack kelly #crutchie morris #crutchie newsies #francis sullivan #emme’s bad ideas

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seeds-of-life-daily · 10 months

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Day 19

SEELE!Rei AU notes I wrote on the bus

If you've seen this account's post, you're probably aware of the SEELE!Rei AU that's been circulating in my brain. To those who are curious and like the concept, here are some tidbits and notes I've made about it under the read more !!! BRIEF EXPLANATION: This is an AU idea of what if Rei was raised by SEELE alongside Kaworu instead of by Gendo/NERV?

Having Rei and Kaworu as siblings would be pretty good for the both of them. Rei would have someone to relate to and be comfortable around. Kaworu would experience similar stuff too, and wouldn't be exclusively Shinji-centric, making them have a possibly healthier dynamic/relationship. Rei could also be a tad more self-expressive, since being raised by SEELE would rid her of all the conditioning* and restrictions* (by Gendo, at least) she went through in nge canon. That doesn't rid them of all their problems, though. As we know SEELE has a dummy system as well, meaning Rei would still view herself as expendable and question her identity and self (possibly even more, with now having much more information to go off of to analyze.) Poor Rei'll have to deal with another organization's instrumentality planning deal again :( Kaworu would still have to choose between Lilin and the Angels. He is still a (unnatural) progeny of Adam, after all. I don't think he would suffer any less dread and anxiety from that in this AU. Having Rei around would probably lean him more towards his decision of saving the Lilin, though. What fun to constantly have to battle your nature of returning to your angelmom/soul's body, amiright? Yeah. Having Rei in the custody of SEELE makes me think that it would be best that she wasn't a Yui clone. No more weird ulterior Yui motives!! That would pose the question of how did they come to exist then? Since the Katsuragi crew were the ones to be near Adam in Antarctica, what if another division was with Lilith a year or so later? This time they made another contact experiment with a vessel they manufactured specifically for this one. Just so happens that the one to be in charge of the design and name was our old pal Gendo... Bro can't let go of his dead wife obsession even in this AU :/ Yui's still totally dead btw. Right after Rei's "birth" too! She was still batshit insane and put her soul in Eva unit-01, but at least now Rei wasn't anywhere near NERV/GEHIRN. Rei gets unrestricted internet access. They share a room with their "twin" and have a cheap, creaky, bunk bed until they're 8, when both of them decide to split the room in half and bicker when Kaworu finds Rei's trash on his side of the room. This doesn't last too long, though, since when they turn 12, Rei gets sent for training at NERV, while Kaworu's goes two years later. ^^^^ I think about this moment a lot in the AU. Gendo basically just takes Rei to go pilot the Eva just because they look similar to Yui and had to leave her twin brother alone to deal with SEELE bullshit without anyone else to really talk to about it for 2 years.

Rei's design differs when not in school, having a light blue long skirt and a simple dress shirt with her school uniform's red ribbon. They also sport some bandaids, even before piloting! Mainly from clumsiness and accidents back when she was a small kid.

Kaworu's design is virtually the same, save for his orange belt, his black shoes with orange bottoms, and bandages on his arms. Having already been with SEELE in nge canon, I didn't want his design to differ too much.

So far that's all I've written down for now, but if I ever get close to done with this AU and have made it even slightly comprehensive then I'll probably post a huge lore-post about it. Thank you for reading !! :D

#neon genesis evangelion #rei ayanami #kaworu nagisa #Seele Rei AU

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literallyjustanerd · 4 months

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At Sunset In Summer - IV

Omega is ready to join The Rebellion. Hunter is not.

Previous First

Chapter Four - Summer

The heat of the sun is a balm to Hunter’s stubborn joints. He’s moving better these days, on knees less stiff and creaky. Still, nothing can stop the ache in his lower back after spending the previous day hunched over the garden. While he's used to the pain, it doesn’t make the climb to the top of the island any easier. He hoists himself up another step, and a sharp twinge lances up his spine. Though he stifles the groan that comes with it, it’s already too late – Omega appears at his side, her arm bracing his, relieving his weight. She fixes him with a stern look, and the message is clear: No arguing. Not today.

The town square is quiet when they arrive. Eerily so, for a scene lit so bright under the midday sun. Stark shadows move solemn and mute as they press on to the base of the weeping maya. A small crowd has already gathered under its winding branches. Smaller than it should be, and smaller than it would have been months ago, years ago. Without the hum of conversation, only the lazy, wandering birdsong and lapping waves below dare to break the silence. Even the winds have stilled, and in their absence, the maya itself appears almost to be holding its breath. The pit in Hunter’s stomach stretches deeper.

Echo is dead.

The transmission from Rex had come through two days ago. Pre-recorded and less than a minute in length. Their operation was still under critical threat, he had said; he couldn’t risk a longer message. He had not included a when, nor a how. Still, the thin, sandpaper rasp of his tone, and the quaking of his breath like bulwarks set to splinter, it told them all they needed to know. Their brother is gone.

There is scarcely little they could find of Echo’s that would make a fitting memorial. He had never spent more than a week on Pabu at a time, and had never collected much in the way of personal effects. All that he had was given over to the team, or traded or sold for something more “practical.” All as a matter of course, without a moment of hesitation.

So, instead, Wrecker stands a lone granite slab upright at the tree’s base. Below Echo’s name, carved out by dozens of hands with varying skill (or lack thereof), there is a list of the names and designations of each clone rescued from Tantiss. All the clones who owed their lives and their freedom to Echo. The epitaph is simple. Two short words that Hunter is still staring at when he realises that people expect him to speak.

“Echo was the speech guy. He’d never admit to that,” he says, with a halfhearted laugh that falls dangerously close to tears. He tries to continue, but the words jam up, wedged together at odd angles that wrench and tear at his throat. His misty eyes won’t move from the carving on the stone.

Our brother.

It’s been years since he has felt this particular kind of grief. He’s out of practice. It presses down like a vice and wrings the breath from his lungs, steals the sun’s warmth and leaves the tips of his fingers numb and shaking from the cold. It’s faintly familiar, in the worst way. Like waking from a nightmare he hasn’t had in years.

He’s about to give up altogether and step down from the crowd when a hand comes to rest on the back of his arm. He turns to Omega, and she gives him a smile, a weak, puffy-eyed thing that conjures bittersweet memories. Memories of target practice, of Omega glowing under stern-faced, hard-earned praise. Memories of endless drills and rote-learned battle plans, of bitter disagreements and incessant games of dejarik. They both know that Echo’s coaching is the reason Omega always beats him now.

“He always knew exactly what he wanted,” Hunter says, as much to himself as to the gathering around him. “We argued about it, back then. When the rest of us were ready to run, Echo wanted to keep fighting. Kept saying we should be doing more for our brothers. Drove me insane… mostly because I knew he was right.” The hand on his arm tightens just slightly, and Hunter lets go of a shaky breath, trying and failing to keep his focus.

Today is Omega’s last day on Pabu. He has known it since the moment they had received Rex’s transmission. And from the growing tension in the house, the way his brothers’ heartbeats skittered and skipped at seemingly random moments, stirred by some private thought or fear, it was clear they both knew it, too. He supposes he has no right to feel blindsided by it. He had felt Omega growing restless long before they had heard about Echo, the longer they worked on The Liberator and the more dire the news they heard from the front. As the days grew hotter, it almost hurt to stand too near to her, as though he could feel the simmering under her skin, rolling off her in waves like heat off a durasteel roof. She’s ready. She’s been ready a long time. And with Echo’s death, the one Hunter has to blame (to thank?) for Omega’s strong sense of duty, Hunter knows with a grim, proud certainty that she can no longer hold it off.

“Echo would give his life for you in a heartbeat,” he continues. “And because you knew that, you’d do the same for him.” Reaching back, he wraps his arm around Omega’s shoulders, holding her against his side, keeping her close to him while he still can. She lays her head on his shoulder. Tall as she’s grown, she still fits perfectly in the groove of his neck.

“It's up to the rest of us to keep that spirit alive for him. Keep fighting for what we know is right. Make that smug bastard proud.” Omega laughs, but the collar of Hunter’s shirt is still damp when she pulls away.

They’re the last ones there, sitting together under the tree long after everyone else has left. Wrecker is passing around short-necked bottles of ale, trying hard to lift their spirits with worn-out stories they’ve heard a thousand times before.

“When you mentioned you and Echo fighting,” he says, easing down onto one of the Maya’s larger roots, “I’m surprised you didn’t mention his Life Day present for Omega. You know the one.”

The memory makes Hunter groan, his head falling back against the tree with a hollow thud.

“Please, not this again,” he mumbles, but it’s too late - Omega’s righteous anger has been reignited.

“I’m still mad you kept that from me,” she says indignantly. Hunter scoffs.

“Forgive me for not letting a child walk around Pabu with a DC-15 blaster carbine over her shoulder.”

Wrecker grins widely, his shoulders a little more lax. In the few days since they’d heard the news, Hunter had scarcely seen Wrecker take a full breath, watching constantly over Omega and his brothers to keep them all together. He had been the one to organise the memorial, while the rest of them were still paralysed by grief.

“I agree with Hunter,” Crosshair says. He's reclined back against the trunk of the tree, eyes closed and arms folded across his chest. Hunter is about to thank him when he continues, “the DC-15a rifle would have been a far better choice.”

Hunter heaves a sigh, shaking his head.

“Better that blaster stay locked away than we pay thousands of credits in property damage,” he declares.

“Geez, Hunter, just say you don’t trust me,” Omega shoots back, a wry grin on her face that betrays her serious tone. Hunter gives her a playful shove, sending her scrambling to keep her balance on the tree’s lowest branch. Crosshair is very nearly drenched when she fumbles her bottle. She laughs, and the sound is beautiful over the waves and the faint birdsong. A single blossom has fallen from the vines above to land on her shoulder. There’s light, bright and molten gold, pouring through gaps in the leaves, setting her hair aflame. Every part of the island folds so perfectly into her, embraces her, loves her, as though it’s trying to whisper to her the same words Hunter has been bottling up all day: You don’t have to go. You’re home. Stay with us. And as though she can hear its pleas, Omega’s gaze drifts, and wanders out to the distant horizon, her smile turning cool and vague. Hunter’s heart aches, and he’s trying to be alright with that.

The heat lasts late into the evening, until the air turns dense and syrupy and the shadows stretch long and sluggish in the purple twilight. Time has slowed to a crawl, the sun weighing heavy on the waves but refusing to sink. Reluctantly, each of them drifts from the weeping maya and from each other, drawn off to their own busywork, to fill the last few hours before the sky gives way to darkness and the world as they know it ends.

Batcher used to bound along the shore so fast she'd kick up huge fans of sand in her wake, carving a deep, jagged trail along the beach in search of sea birds to chase or something to dig up. Now, though, she plods slowly along the shoreline, only stopping here and there to sniff at a piece of driftwood, or just to look back over her shoulder and make sure Hunter is still following.

“You getting old on us, too, girl?” he says, patting her head softly. She gives an answering snuffle, shaking sand from her back in what could almost pass for a protest. “Sorry. Happens to the best of us.”

He knows exactly where he’s going, but he walks slowly enough that he can still deny it to himself and pretend this is just a leisurely walk. Still, as inevitable as the sun finally dipping beneath the water, he reaches his destination. The sand turns rocky beneath his feet, the cliffs looming tall over his head. Gingerly, he picks his way through the damp, black boulders and into the cave, and as the lilac sky slips out of view, he can see the faint outline of The Liberator in the darkness. Omega had moved the ship days ago, and said nothing of it. It had confused Hunter: they all knew she was leaving, so why be so secretive about the preparation? It had only struck him that afternoon that Omega planned to go without telling them.

Batcher settles at his feet when he picks a spot to sit and ready himself for what is to come. He doesn’t have to wait long before she arrives, her brow set and her hand gripping tight to the bag at her hip. And while there’s no anger in his words, Hunter can’t help but tease just a little:

“Thought you could just sneak off?”

It’s easier than he had expected, to piece the words together. Time has worn the jagged shards smooth, and they don’t hurt so much now when he reaches for them. Omega, too, has softened, and her expression is almost apologetic when she speaks.

“I made my choice, Hunter. I want to do more.”

“And we want to keep you safe.”

His tone is resigned, the words impotent, though no less sincere. It’s not an argument, but a catharsis: a correction of the past, everything he should have said on that first day in the kitchen and every day since. Everything she already knows, but needs to hear nonetheless. And in return, Omega tells him what he has known for months, for years now, and what he’s finally beginning to accept.

“I’m ready.”

He cries when he watches her leave. Their little girl, their Rebel. No longer does he have the strength of a soldier to hold back his tears, but as he watches her weave her ship deftly into the tapestry of stars, he is buoyed by a new kind of strength. One forged from hot summer nights, from music echoing through a sweltering kitchen. From dinners on the table and dishes in the sink. From oil-stained fingers and new patches in an old jacket. From feeling the joy of another as your own, as they shout the words to a favourite song you have always found annoying. From learning to live his own life for the sake of another.

Hunter takes a breath. He holds it carefully, gently, lets it fill his chest and warm his ribs. Then, before he’s ready (he’ll never be ready), but when he knows he will survive it:

Hunter lets go.

#tbb fic

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harfanfare · 3 years

Text

How to win a heart of Floyd Leech?

a/n: Someone requested this; ask got deleted by accident! Hope you will like it, Anon!

Warning!

Once you start walking through the specific points of the guide, your life will be exposed to the presence of Floyd Leech. Interrupting the action at one of the stages may cause many problems; F. Leech categorizes stopping as "boring", which puts the user of this guide in great danger.

The only way out is to get to the very end. Or not to start at all.

You act at your own risk.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

‏‏‎

1. Be an easy new target.

To one’s surprise, it is much harder not to catch his attention.

You can easily become another entertaining target of Floyd, mostly by doing silly things or him just considering them as ones.

And to automatically get labelled as “silly”, you just need to fall into one of his traps—he prepares them for someone else, maybe for goldfish, maybe for another person given a sea-inspired nickname, expecting to enjoy watching how familiar face twitches with terror as he jumps into the scene and tightly embraces passing student.

But no. You were the one who showed up in the wrong place and time as Floyd jumped out from his hideout, scaring you half to death. With a strangled yelp, you sharply backed away. After gaining a slight flush on your cheeks, you recognised who you just bumped into and quietly gasped.

However, he was much more bewildered than you were.

He had never encountered somebody who wouldn’t just freeze under his touch. Jumping away, gasping, muttering half-hearted apologies and flushing? That’s new.

That’s also entertaining.

Even after your quickly disappearance from the scene, his gaze somehow inexplicably started returning to you.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

2. Visit Mostro Lounge often.

“We’re looking for someone who would like to work part-time for Azul~” Floyd said, sliding poster across the table. He popped up in front of you unannounced, having your thoughts return to dark reality.

“Oh,” you replied quietly, packing your things faster. “Good luck with it.”

You got up from your seat, but the thought of letting you go just like that didn’t even cross Floyd’s mind.

“Ehh? Shrimpy, aren’t you going to try?” he asked, frowning. You winced a little at the nickname he called you, not sure how to feel about it. “You know, you won’t work there for free.”

Azul will grant your wish.

You fidgeted a little, questioning your response. You heard—who didn’t?—rumours that Octavinelle leader could fulfil any request for a certain price. Ones were working for it, others were paying, and lasts were trading their request with Azul’s one.

The thought of having anything just by working in some café made you consider the offer again—this time quickier.

“I will go,” you decided.

“Hooray!” Floyd smiled cheerfully, just as if he won some grand prize in the lottery. “But what could Shrimpy possibly wish for, to change your response so drastically~?” he wondered but didn’t get any answer in return.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

3. Be honest.

“Shrimpy...”

You passed Floyd, without sparing him a look. Anyone who has known you for a while would notice that your movements were a bit stiff and creaky.

Once you heard Floyd’s voice, a wave of tiredness struck you as if you didn’t get any sleep last night after working your shift in Mostro Lounge.

There were so many people to serve, so many things to do... and yet, you couldn’t help with anything, still not knowing how everything works, messing up with orders and breaking some plates in process.

Floyd buzzing around you, asking you some random questions (“Shrimpy, have you done it before?”). You answered them quickly, but each of them bumped you out of rhythm, making you forget what you were doing. It also didn’t help that Floyd certainly liked you being disoriented, replying with a shrug and grin on his face at your thundering glances.

So now, after gaining a little trauma from working in Octavinelle’s café, all you could do is ignore Floyd’s presence, silently accusing him of your infamous fiasco.

“Hey, Shrimpy!” he called you again, catching you up. “Are you mad?”

“I am not mad,” you snapped and took an unstable breath. “Look, I just started working, and on my first day I made already so many mistakes—”

“Yeah,” he replied indifferently. “And what with that?”

“...I couldn’t even correctly serve drinks—”

“Oh, stop!” Floyd muffled your mouth with his hand, an annoying look on his face. “I know where it is going. And no, you can’t quit a job, after all my efforts to get you there. It will get boring again!”

“But—”

“Stop, stop, stop,” he corrected his hand on your mouth, now not letting even a sound get through his fingers. “Azul knows that you tried your best. And for these plates you broke, he already added them to your paycheck. You need to practice! Not to give up, Shrimpy!”

You looked up at him, quite stunned by these words. Perhaps he quoted someone from the book or heard someone talking like that...

But it was encouraging. In some way, considering that you couldn’t protest, having your mouth covered. But still, it was encouraging.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

4. Take classes together.

You can have the power of controlling Floyd’s behaviour, making other students’ life easier. Or you two can be a walking disaster.

Turning alchemy lesson into putting random ingredients into a boiler and praying that the mysterious mixture won’t explode.

History classes started being a regular pinching ritual to keep yourself from falling asleep (you are being pinched more, even when you don’t feel sleepy).

In contrast, flying lessons are peaceful. Nor Jade, nor Floyd, nor Azul are fond of these classes. Floyd is much eager to stand both feet on the ground, watching you practice or having you sulking next to him about heights.

However, if you are a calm, shy, or tranquil person, exchanging little notes or drawings will be a little habit of yours. Handing them discreetly under the eye of sir Crewel is quite a challenge, but it also gives satisfaction once the note was given.

Floyd throws away most of your paper conversations, but the ones he really likes, he cherishes them by keeping them with him, stuffed in his pockets. He will be irritated if anyone would like to see what you two were writing about, even if the talk was about new strawberries delivery for the new recipe.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

5. Being ticklish or not.

There are two possible scenarios, whether his new, lovely target is ticklish or not.

If is: prepare for being touched a lot. Observing how you quiver with surprise, when he lightly—he especially makes his touch less fierce, knowing very well that tickling isn’t violent—wraps his hands around your waist, making you hold your breath.

He would tickle you a lot, very often making you cry out of laugh and pain that follows sharp writhing and fidgeting, but never that much, to seriously upset you. That’s some luck in such unlucky situation.

If not: he will try to find other weak point. Or will try to make you ticklish—his hands are particularly cold and pressing them to your warm skin, might make you give him a reaction he would enjoy.

Albeit, if you also won’t return any expression even then, he will seriously search for some other weakness. Slightly biting an ear lobe, whispering next to your ear or anything that could make his smile appear, once he made you put him somewhere between “I despise you with each and every cell” and abstract mumbling with the heat on your checks.

Oh, he loves your reactions so much.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

6. Learn all nicknames he gave other people (you will unlock an option to slightly dish other people).

“Oh Lord...” you muttered to yourself, as your gaze followed scribbled list of names that Jade just passed to you. He willingly connected all student’s names with pseudonyms Floyd gave other people and handed the roaster over to you once you helped him with some kitchen cleaning.

“There are so many, right?” Jade replied with a polite smile on his face. “I’m sure you already memorised some of them, being around Floyd that much.”

You nodded mindlessly as you tried to get names into your head. You mouthed them soundlessly one by one, motivated to learn them by the end of the week.

The chuckle that escaped Jade’s lips startled you, and you realised that he still was in the room. Or that you didn’t leave the Lounge even after your shift has already ended.

“My brother surely didn’t exaggerate anything about you,” he said, his tone a bit more buoyant than ever, although you couldn’t be sure as the thick air of mystery still echoed in his voice. “I wonder how it will finally end?”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

7. Always share your takoyaki with him.

“What are you hiding, Shrimpy?”

You shuddered at a voice that you did not want to hear at this moment, not for all the world. Unless that the world included a chest filled with takoyaki, which you could give to certain somebody.

You felt that instead of a shashlik of tasty balls, you were holding a knife in your hands, a veritable proof of a crime you had committed. It weighed heavily in your grip, and Floyd's approaching footsteps did not make your situation any better.

It was a time to hide the evidence.

You pushed as much as you could into your mouth and swallowed a few balls without even gnawing them much. You almost choked on them.

“Me? I?” you asked innocently. You sincerely hoped that no sauce or a stray piece of cake was left on your face. “What could I possibly hide?”

"Hmm, hmm~," he drew closer, and you needed all your will gathered, to make yourself stay where you were. Even without looking in the mirror, you knew you were all pale on the face. “With my little eye, I spy something...”

His gaze went down, just to your hands, which you tried to hide behind your back.

Not giving him a clear look at your palms or wooden stick, you turned around on the heel and run with all your might. Your muscles felt somehow stiff as if they also didn’t see a chance to win this race.

Now Floyd was sure you are hiding something, and there is no chance he’ll let it go.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

8. Watch him at his basketball practice.

81:30 for the blue team!

“Floyd once again started playing wild,” Ace breathed with clear regret in his voice. He glanced your way, frowning at you. “It’s your fault. Please come at practices when Floyd is in my team, not otherwise.”

You laughed awkwardly as he walked away.

A moment later, Floyd reached for a bottle with water and a towel you bravely guarded through the whole practice. He smiled wholeheartedly, happy with the win, water, and your presence.

“How did you like the game?” he asked once he changed from PE clothes and you two started heading towards Octavinelle.

“It was really fun!” you admitted, a speck of amusement appeared in Floyd’s eyes. “The red team didn’t have much time to capture a ball before you got hold of it again.”

“Hehe~ I’m glad you liked it,” he said. “I really like to play basketball, even more than ever, when I know that you are watching! That’s why,” he added, sincerity well-heard in his voice, “you need to come even more often!”

You nodded happily.

You just couldn’t mind it, all that accompanying him.

It was... fun.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

9. Dance, dance, dance!

Heels tapped on the floor and the sound of these steps would probably have spread through the room, if not for the jazz music pounding through Mostro Lounge’s speakers.

Floyd pulled you closer, letting a playful smile on his lips stretch even more. You couldn’t help but smile back, before gasping as he spun you around your axis. You lost balance and would fall if not steady grip around your waist, as Floyd leaned on closer to you, making you bend on one leg more and entirely rely on his touch.

Last notes of melody faded, and you still were in that pose, facing each other. With each second, Floyd’s face was changing from some form of amazement to amusement, finally letting you properly stand.

“Ha... When did you learn to dance so smoothly?” you asked smiling in wonder.

“Hehe~ With legs you can dance a lot more than in the sea,” he answered. “On land, it’s super fun~”

You nodded at his words.

Floyd was a wonderful dancer.

But you can’t be sure if being a good dancing partner is the only thing that made you feel all warm and fuzzy because butterflies still didn’t leave your stomach.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

10. “Let’s do something fun!”

“Here is your paycheck,” Azul handed you a white envelope, sealed with a stamp with the Octavinelle logo. “And you, [Name], was also working for some request, right?”

You nodded as you stared at the envelope.

Somehow, knowing how stupid the lingering thought in your mind was, you couldn’t bear to look up. If you would, your gaze would probably ignore all the elegant furniture of the room, even the owner of the room, Azul, just to settle on Floyd.

If you saw anything more than his shoes, that stupid thought would make their way outside, turning plans into action.

And Floyd unknowingly did everything to make them come true.

“Shrimpy,” he cupped your face with his hands, judging by his voice he seemed quite... worried? When he made you look in his olive and gold eyes, you started holding your breath. “Are you okay?”

With that question, your strong will to wish for something expensive or practical was broken.

You started fidgeting more, not knowing how to express your thoughts in words. “I think I have a request... a question for Floyd, rather than for you, Azul...”

Azul nodded at first uncertain and the room has fallen into silence once again until you spoke.

“Well, Floyd,” you turned to him, trying your best not to wander your gaze away from him, “Please, take your time with answering, but I want your response to be, uh, honest.”

You were tripping onto your own words, embarrassment soaring in your body as you started to think that you should’ve kept quiet. But Floyd was patient with your answer, as well as Jade and Azul who observed the situation as if they predicted it before.

“I mean- Okay, just answer the question.” You took an erratic breath. “Would you like to—”

“Sure!” Floyd interrupted you before even hearing the whole question. “I would like to do everything with you.”

You stood there, all confused. But, by Floyd’s expression you knew that he guessed what you wanted to say. Face heating up, you forgot about Azul and Jade, who hid a chuckle by turning his head to the side.

“How fun,” he said as Floyd wrapped his arms around you, as if shielding you from other people in the room.

“I won’t share Shrimpy with you, Jade. Not a chance.”

#floyd leech #floyd leech x reader #floyd x reader #floyd #twisted wonderland floyd #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst floyd #twst floyd x reader #anonymous

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delimeful · 3 years

Text

you can’t go back (4)

warnings: mentioned child neglect/bad parenting, mentioned awkward saucy teen flirting, arguing, emotional upset, the dubious ethics of over-excited teenagers

Roman had been acting strange, lately.

It was perhaps a harsh thing to think about his friend, especially considering he was bound to behave differently when the recent disappearance of his twin was taken into account, but it was also true.

Logan had known Roman for years, long enough that it was an effort to search back through his memories for a point that they hadn’t been together, if perhaps not always in the most amicable of circumstances. They’d gone through the entire gamut of enemies-frenemies-rivals-friends, and Logan liked to think that he had a fair grasp on Roman’s tells by this point.

All of Roman’s tells were currently telling him that the other student was trying to hide something, something big.

It wasn’t just the way that he had stopped sulking whenever something happened that reminded him of his missing brother, or that he was suddenly scrawling what almost seemed like notes in a glitter-covered notebook when he hadn’t had the inspiration to work on anything creative in weeks, or that he had all but given up on the pretense of paying attention in their shared classes.

No, the real sign that something was wrong was the way that Roman had begun to outright neglect his two closest friends.

Logan was hardly affected, of course. He was above the base emotions that so many of his peers were constantly fraught with, and less time with Roman gushing in his ear about whatever had caught his interest or complaining dramatically about those who had wronged him meant more time for Logan to focus on what was important, like his AP classes and many, many extracurriculars.

Of course, that didn’t explain why he was currently trailing after Roman on his walk home, when he really should be at violin practice. No matter how much of a soft spot the teacher had for him, he’d gained his skill through hard work, not skipping practice. Certainly not skipping practice to hound off after his erstwhile classmate.

However, he wasn’t the only one being abandoned in this scenario.

Logan Croft had been forced to sit at a lunch table with an increasingly secretive and distant Roman, and a mournful, kicked-puppy version of Patton Hertz, the most cheerful guy in their grade, if not the entire school.

Roman, stuck in his own thoughts as he clearly was, seemed to not notice the effect his lacking presence had had on Patton, and Logan was just about fed up of watching the slow decay of the half life of their little group.

The secrecy was ridiculous. They’d been there when Roman had been so worked up about the ‘police coverup’ that he’d actually considered trying to break into a government building, they could certainly be here for whatever it was that had him so bizarrely clammed up now!

Logan paused from a distance and watched as Roman hurried in through the front door of his house, counting backwards in his head. It would be a fair challenge to try and break into Roman’s room, particularly with Roman in the house, but if his deductions about the seeds constantly caught on his friend’s pant legs and the odd-colored mud left on the soles of his favorite tennis shoes were correct… There!

Sure enough, only a few moments later, Roman was pushing out through the back door, taking an unusually careful moment to close the screen door behind him before turning and walking determinedly down the path into the rural wilderness that made up half of the grounds his family’s farm sat on.

Logan waited until there was little chance that Roman would double back for something he’d forgotten, and then strode confidently up to the front door, rapping on it twice. Going by the fact that there was a car in the driveway and the door had been unlocked when Roman had gotten home from school, someone else was home to answer.

Mrs. Torres opened the door, looking surprised at the sight of him for a moment, before breaking out into a warm smile. “Logan! It’s so good to see you, are you here for Roman?”

“I’ve been meaning to meet up with him for a project, but he left school before me, so I came here,” Logan said, not above lying through omission to uncover the truth. “Is he home?”

“Oh, he just got back, but I don’t think he’s inside-- ROMAN!” she turned towards the stairs and called up them, frowning when there was no response. “He must be out in the yard again. Come in, come in!”

Logan stepped inside smugly, glancing around. The interior was much the same as the last time he’d been here. If it hadn’t been for the pile of faded missing posters under a mug on the counter and his own prior knowledge of the situation, Logan would have been hard-pressed to guess that this was the home of a recently-vanished child.

“Honestly, I’m just glad he’s not staying cooped up in his room anymore,” Mrs. Torres was saying. The woman speaking casually in front of him only added to the eerie composure of the home, and Logan made his way through the general pleasantries and politely refused any refreshments with an unpleasant feeling in his gut.

“They didn’t even bother printing out new missing posters this time,” he remembered Roman telling them with a quiet, bitter sort of anger. “He dyed his hair, and they won’t even pay to put a recent picture of him up when it could be the difference between someone recognizing him or not!”

On a logical level, Logan can understand something concerning happening over and over, repetition dulling it’s effects until it feels mundane or everyday. Roman has mentioned before how his parents believed that Remus was simply acting out for attention, mostly while thanking Roman for being above that, as though the metaphorical ‘good twin’ wasn’t currently building a career on literally acting for an audience's attention.

What Logan can’t understand is that Remus’s parents are apparently completely uninterested in finding out why Remus is so desperate for attention that he would resort to a maneuver he knows will only get him negative consequences.

Logan himself would certainly like to understand. All queries on the matter had garnered only uncomfortable evasion from Roman, as though his friend might have had an idea but wouldn’t say, likely due to irritating personal feelings that Logan couldn’t parse.

So, he’d reached out to Remus directly, on one of the few days that he’d actually attended classes.

The delinquent had been visibly confused by his approach-- the twins allegedly hadn’t had a mutual friend since the beginning of grade school-- and resistant to Logan’s questioning, which Patton had later informed him was likely far too blunt for the situation. They’d gone in circles for a bit, Remus making outlandish or confusing metaphors while Logan refused to rise to the bait, and then he’d made a simple observation about the hypocrisy of the twins’ parents, and Remus had stared at him with an odd tilt to his head for a moment.

Shortly after, he had made a very confusing comment about something that was anatomically impossible, and when Logan had enquired further, Remus had then hared off with pink cheeks and ditched school for a week. He’d asked Roman about the situation, but his friend had only covered his ears with an agonized look on his face, utterly refusing to explain.

Logan shook the errant thought away, and the odd pang of something like regret that Remus had vanished before he could follow up on the interesting interaction.

He turned his gaze away from the unharried setting. The odd dynamic between the Torres family was not what he was here to investigate, not even remotely.

There was only one Torres he was investigating right now, and he had a strong suspicion that his odd behavior had less to do with family than one might expect.

“Go on ahead, I’m sure he’ll hear you once you get out back,” Mrs. Torres encouraged, picking up a particularly irritated-looking calico cat. “Just have to make sure Lady Macbeth doesn’t escape and disturb your little session. Roman’s been worried about coyotes, so we’ve been keeping her inside.”

Logan nodded, though privately he was a little surprised. Coyotes? He hadn’t thought they would be so bold as to lurk at a farm this close to urban areas. Perhaps there had been sightings near here?

He pushed past the creaky screen door with a striking sense of familiarity, despite the fact that it had been quite a while since the three of them had gone wandering together in the foliage and dirt of the Torres farm. Patton’s allergies could be quite fierce, after all.

As expected, walking into the backyard revealed no signs of Roman, even when Logan cleared his throat and called out. He knew his friend well enough to know that he would have reacted audibly to his unexpected presence, so the only logical conclusion was that he wasn’t nearby.

Clearly, it was time to check the perimeter.

He walked in a careful, orderly line next to the old wooden fence, eyeing the peeling paint and refraining from setting his hand on it. He had more to worry about than potential splinters, such as keeping an eye out for any potential strangeness that could explain Roman’s behavior.

There was little to be found in the brush except a regrettable amount of sandburs catching along the hem of his pants, so when he spotted the barn, he felt a surge of excitement.

And if he indulged in a little bit of sneaking, hoping to catch his quarry unaware, that was his business. Roman was loud enough that he could hear him ranting a good few meters from the barn, anyhow.

He managed to make it all the way to the edge of the barn wall before the rant abruptly cut off, and he stalked forwards hurriedly, pushing the door open before Roman could hide anything incriminating.

He needn’t have worried: the evidence was standing there in the middle of the barn, strapped to a support rafter.

It also wasn’t human.

“What are you doing here?” Roman shrilled, taking a quick step to be in front of the creature. It was an ineffective method of hiding it, seeing as what appeared to be long, spider-like limbs were extending in the air a good few meters in either direction behind him.

Logan had known about Roman’s theory, the one that had been laughed right out of the police station. He’d walked with Roman and scoured the fields for any sign of what Remus had mentioned, though they hadn’t found anything. He knew his friend still believed that his twin’s disappearance had been unnatural, extraterrestrial.

Knowing was quite different from seeing an entire alien right in front of oneself.

Roman was still talking, in that nervous chattering tone that he always took on when he was working himself into a truly incomprehensible explanation, but Logan could hardly be asked to divide his attention at the moment.

Extra anterior eyes, odd shiny patches along the sides of the neck, exterior hinges along the jaw, organic plating that had visibly darkened since his first glance-- there was so much that he needed to understand the purpose of, so many questions he had about their origins. How close by was other life? Which star had they hailed from? How had they gotten here?

He was moving forwards without a second thought, enthralled by the way the legs rose up-- like a bird mantling their wings, and they appeared smooth, not hairy as an actual spider’s would be.

“Incredible,” he breathed, and then there was a hand fisted in the back of his polo and he was being yanked away. Where he’d just stood, all four of the strange limbs stabbed into the ground, their reach longer and their ends sharper than he’d anticipated.

There must have been an extra joint closer to their back, the flexible kind that would allow for such an extension. He itched to circle around and look for himself, to confirm his hypothesis before the limbs retracted, but Roman was still clinging to him like a shrieking barnacle.

“What did I just say?!” he demanded, gearing up for a scolding. “It’s not friendly! Do you want to get stabbed into next week?”

“How long have you been keeping an actual alien life form from the world at large? From scientists at large? From me?” Logan shot back, shaking Roman’s grip loose. “Have you had them strapped upright this entire time? Can they talk? How did this even happen?”

Even as he demanded an explanation, his gaze was drawn back over to the alien, taking in their every twitch with endless curiosity. He wanted to know how to read each motion, from the downturn of their chin to the scrunching of their smaller eyes to the way the flat plates where a mouth should be had seemed to twitch. He wanted to know everything.

“It’s been like a week, I didn’t strap them up they came like that, either they don’t speak English or they’re a really good actor, and they showed up in my barn after Remus was abducted, you do the math!” Roman rushed out, edging closer as though he thought Logan was about to try and get closer to the alien again. “And I didn’t tell you because I knew you would do this!”

“This is hardly the first time I’ve almost been stabbed in the pursuit of science,” Logan retorted, annoyed at the presumption that he wouldn’t risk his life for his goals.

“It’s only a little bit about the near-stabbing!” Roman’s voice cracked, and Logan finally pulled the other half of his attention away from the alien to stare. “This is my only lead on my brother, and you’re going to want to-- to-- to put it in a laboratory or National Geographic Magazine or something!”

“I’d be far more likely to write a thesis paper on the matter,” Logan corrected helpfully. Roman’s hands twitched, the body language possibly indicating that he was barely restraining himself from trying to throttle Logan.

“Whatever! The point is, this isn’t a science experiment to me!” His rival’s face was crumpling slightly at the edges. “You can’t just-- just use the alien I found as a ticket to get into some esteemed college while Remus is left to rot in the far reaches of outer space!”

To Logan’s horror, Roman’s eyes had become suspiciously shiny. He floundered for a moment, wishing Patton was there to smooth things over as he so often did, before firming his shoulders and lifting his chin. He could at least try to explain, and hope it didn’t turn out too badly.

“I’m not going to ‘leave Remus to rot,’” Logan started, remembering the recycled missing posters stacked up on the counter. “If you believe that this alien is key to finding out what happened to him, then that should be-- well, our first priority should always be furthering the advancement of human understanding, especially with a discovery as big as this, but I am an accomplished multitasker, so we can do that while we attempt to locate and recover Remus.”

Roman’s shoulders slowly loosened from their frustrated hunch. “You’re going to help me? Seriously?”

“Do you really think I’d joke?” Logan replied, gesturing to his tie. “The more information we compile on this specimen, the better we’ll understand them, and the closer we’ll be to understanding the motives behind Remus’s abduction.”

“And you aren’t going to tell anyone?” Roman asked, looking more hopeful by the moment.

“Why would I? I work more effectively on projects on my own,” Logan answered, the same sentence that had sparked a loud argument between him and Roman in the middle of Biology two years ago. This time, however, Roman looked excited rather than offended at the response. “We really should figure out something to tell Patton, though.”

“That’s… a good idea,” Roman admitted sheepishly. “There’s no way we can let him around an unknown alien fiend, especially not one so… spider-y. You almost got stabbed, imagine what it might do to poor Patton!”

“You handle our story,” Logan decided, turning to look back at the alien fully. “I’ll see what we can do about those extra limbs. We won’t be able to do any sort of up-close analysis with a constant threat hovering over us.”

He straightened his tie, studying the way the extra limbs in question were vibrating just slightly in the air, drawn in significantly closer to the alien's body than they had been before. Despite the movement of the legs, the alien themself was still as stone, all of their attention locked on Logan.

Through observation and experimentation, he was sure that each little motion of theirs would soon become as readable to him as everyday human body language, and from there, real communication would be in reach.

Communication with an extraterrestrial... This would truly be a project like no other.

Fueled by a thrill of excitement, Logan couldn't help but smile.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #ts logan #alien au #ts roman #ts virgil #ycgb #you cant go back #humans are deathworlders #space au #writitng #my writing #ts remus #hes only mentioned #real mad scientist hours <3

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qyllenhaal · 3 years

Text

Good Wives Club [2]

Lee Bodecker x Reader. 3rd POV. Word Count: 4.2k.

Spin-off to American Pie

Chapter One || Chapter Three

Summary: It's been more than a year since she's escaped the ghost of her past but life is never fair to a girl like her. Lee doesn't care that she has a husband, a nice house, and sugary fake friends, he wants what's rightfully his.

Warnings (series): Cheating, smut, violence, housewife kink, period-typical misogyny, age gap (about a ten year difference), manipulation, dark themes all around.

A/N: If anyone wants to be added to future tag list just let me know!

Y/n woke up at 5am with a dry mouth and her head spinning. Her night has been plagued with restlessness and she couldn't stay still. When she did fall asleep, it was for small periods of time. Each time she woke up she was not aware of where she was for the first five seconds, panic almost setting in before she registered the sound of her husband snoring.

The end of her irregular sleep cycle ended because she saw the hallway light was on. She sighed when realized it must be time for her husband to get ready for work. She virtually got no sleep and she'll probably be tired for the rest of the day.

She gets up from their creaky bed and starts walking down the hallway. It takes a while for her eyes to adjust to the brightness as she slowly plods down the hallway. She follows the light to the bathroom where she can hear her husband getting ready for work. On the days he goes in this early Y/n is relieved that she doesn't have to get up and cook breakfast for him.

The door is cracked but she opens it to find him inside. She situates herself in the doorway, watching him shave his face through the mirror.

"Good morning," he spoke with a scratchy voice. Even though Y/n didn't marry Llewellyn for love, she's still attracted to him and likes his company most of the time. She feels an ache inside of her that wants him to take her, but after running into Lee last night she's afraid she won't be able to get Lee's face out of her mind while beneath her husband.

"Good morning. Going in early?"

"Yep. Dad wants to do inventory today since he put it off last week."

"Oh okay," she accepts quietly, ready to leave her husband alone so he can get ready in peace.

However he asks her a surprising question, "hey, did you enjoy last night?"

"Uh, it was fine I guess. Did you?" Her hope is that he at least enjoyed himself somewhat.

"You know I don't like that super fancy stuff like that, but I have to eat crow; it wasn't all that bad and Bodecker's not as bad as I thought. He's kind of a funny guy. I still think he's not as hard on crime like everyone claims he is, but personally, he's not that bad. Florence was nice too. She invited us to dinner on Wednesday night, apparently that's the only night Lee has off. I told her we'd be able to join them."

The turn of events was shocking. Y/n couldn't believe her ears and she thought maybe she indeed was still asleep. Lou was not fond of many people and his only "friends" were his two brothers so him warming up to Lee and Florence left her speechless. So speechless that she didn't register the fact that he accepted a dinner invite for them.

"What?"

"What do you mean ‘what’? You dragged me to that dinner last night and wanted me to be nice, and now you're confused when I do just that?"

"I-I'm not confused...just shocked," she admits truthfully, "I can't believe you want to go to someone’s house who isn't your mother house for dinner —are you sure you want to go?"

"We're going Y/n."

His tone of voice indicates that the conversation is done and over with and the decision has been made. Y/n didn't even get to contest his decision but Lou can tell when Y/n is in a defiant mood. Her folding her arms and walking away was confirmation for him. She stalks her way back to the bedroom where she takes to hiding under the covers.

Lee and Lou under the same roof — it makes her stomach churn just to think about it. They're wildly different from each other but the thing she hates about them is what they have in common.

All she can hope is that this nightmare ends and she wakes back up to a life without Lee's ghost lingering around.

She decided to go with a floral dress again. She really wanted to take out the checkerboard dress that made her legs look good and showed off her arms, but Lou would have made her change before she had the chance to step out of the house. The floral print is dizzying, but it's the kind of dress that Lou likes to see her wear.

It's just a small dinner at the Bodecker's house but Y/n opts for kitten heels instead of sensible flats. She feels obligated to look her best despite there being less people to dress for. She's never been alone with Florence save for that day at the grocery store. Florence is always dressed to the 10's and Y/n needs to look just as good, if not better. She claims to hate Lee, but it would be so satisfying if she caught Lee ogling her breasts.

"Are you ready?"

Y/n thought Lou was too dressed up for a home dinner of four. He wore a pinstriped suit and those nice leather shoes he bought himself around the holidays.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she sighs in an attempt to let off some steam.

It was a shorter drive than Y/n expected. Florence hadn't disclosed where she lived before, but Brewer Heights wasn't that for them to live at a distance. The sun was nearly dipped over the horizon and the remaining light that hits their house makes it look like a model home. Everything little aspect and detail Y/n was going to compare herself too. She lives in a nice house, but Florence lives in a nicer house. It tears her up knowing she has the ultimate upper hand over Florence in the form of her own husband and she can't even act upon it. She would royally fuck up her life and their lives too if she decide to let her jealousy get the best of her.

As she walks up their stairs as another man's wife, she accepts that she is jealous. She's always been jealous of Florence even when she didn't know her name. What made her so worthy of all of these things? Lee used to act like he hates the woman so she must be a bitch behind closed doors. It wouldn't be surprising if she is because most people in this town will smile in your face and then gossip about you a minute later.

Lou knocks on the door and only a second later Florence is opening the door with a big smile on her face and Lee right next to her. He wore his police uniform without the jacket while Florence looked like a Lilly Pulitzer catalog girl.

It only took one millisecond of their eyes locking together for Y/n to feel the electricity between her and Lee. She drags her eyes away from his, but she can bet that he has a smirk on her face. He always liked to see her squirm; in a good and bad way.

"Y/n, Llewellyn! I'm so glad you could make it! Why don't you come on in," Florence steps to the side, nudging Lee over with her, to make way for Y/n and her husband.

Her eyes scan over every inch of their house. It's warm, cozy, and oddly comforting. Everything little thing was in its place; perfectly dusted and polished. Y/n is sure that Lee had no hand in decorating this place, it screams Florence through and through.

"Dinner is almost ready. I started the scalloped potatoes a little too late, but it should be done soon! Y/n, do you want to help me set the table?"

Y/n didn't want to leave her husband alone with Lee, but she also didn't want to be in the room with just them. She nods at Florence and follows behind her to their kitchen.

The house smells like Lou's parent's house on holidays. Y/n's stomach rumbles and she doesn't realize how hungry she was. She despises herself for wanting Florence's cooking, but she barely ate today because of how nervous she was.

"I already laid out the place mates, you can place the plates and silverware."

Y/n picks up the expensive dining ware that Florence points towards. She wonders if Florence cooks like this all the time, even when Lee works well into the night.

The walls of their dining room have an awful floral pattern. Y/n is beginning to become sick at the sight of anything that pertains to flowers. The cedar table is perfect for accommodating guests and Y/n wonders how many dinner parties they had in this room. Florence seems to put a lot of stock into being a good hostess. Y/n herself has yet to throw a dinner party at her home, but setting the plates on someone else's dining room table feels like practice. She silently imagines her house filled with Lou's family as she cooks dinner for them.

Florence enters the room and starts placing the dishes in the middle of the table. Her presence takes Y/n out of her fantasy, and when she sees how Florence made a 3-course-meal she feels worse.

"Does the food look good? I tried some new recipes from Julia Child's cookbook to try to impress you and Llewellyn," she admits, "I wasn't sure what you two would like, but Lee loves when I make those recipes from Julia Child and I bet Llewellyn would love it too! I could lend you the book some time!"

"Of course. I love her work!" Y/n lies straight through her teeth. She has no clue who the hell Julia Child is.

Florence grabs one last thing before calling the husbands into the dining room. She places one beer on the coasters designated for Lee and Lou. Lou has never been much of a drinker, but she knows that Lee can knock down a few beers in one sitting. He might be on his best behavior tonight in front of his wife and company.

"Dinner's ready!" Florence called out.

Y/n took her seat on the right side of the table and Florence sat opposite of her. Their husbands come walking in laughing as if they were young boys sneaking back into the house during a family get together. Y/n doesn't like it; she doesn't like it at all. They look too cheery with each other and she knows that Lee is doing it on purpose — she can see it in his eyes when he quickly glances at her. He takes pride in making her uncomfortable. Y/n wishes she had that same affect on him to scare him off a bit, but no matter how chummy she gets with Florence, Lee looks unbothered.

Florence stands up from her seat as if she's presenting the food on the table to an audience. Everything is placed perfectly with the main dish being the middle of the smaller plates.

"This looks great honey, you made a whole feast," Lee walked up to Florence's side and kissed on the cheek. Y/n's eyes are trained on his hand snaking around her waist and giving her a light squeeze before letting go. When she pulls her eyes away from his hands, she sees that Florence almost looks shocked at her husband's affection; Lee is definitely putting on a show for Y/n and it's a damn good one.

Lee sits opposite of Lou and the first thing he does is open his beer. The food isn't even on plates anymore and he's drinking.

"I hope you like Schmidt's, Llewellyn. Lee loves it so it's all we have in the house."

"I'm not one to drink beer often, but I'll try it. And call me Lou, Florence."

Lou was acting out of his normal character. Him only interacting with his family and Y/n left him a bit awkward in the presence of others, but around Florence and Lee he seems to be much...warmer. If Lee was someone else then Y/n would be over the moon, but because it's him she can't even force herself to even look happy about it.

Y/n takes note of how Florence places portions of food on Lee's plate. They were small portions too. She was always strict about what he ate and how much he drank. She's surprised Florence is letting him drink tonight, but she must be trying to look nicer in front of guests.

Y/n was not as controlling as Florence. She always let Lou fix his plate to his liking. She thought it made her a good wife for letting her husband make his own decisions. But Y/n felt a tap on her shoulder after she finished making her own plate. He looked down at his empty plate before looking back at her and nodded towards the food.

"Y/n," he tries to whisper but his tone is rather harsh.

"What?" She whispers back in true confusion.

"My plate."

He looked at her as if she was crazy, as if it was a common occurrence for her to fix his plate. She starts to scramble to save herself from further embarrassment, the sound of silverware against plates so loud. She can feel the stares coming from the other side of the table but she doesn't dare look up.

Her skin began to grow hot. Her husband had embarrassed her in front of Lee and Florence. The worst part was when Florence tried to change the subject to something lighthearted to pull the attention off of Y/n. She felt small and useless. Lou never expected her to fix his plate, but he looked at her as if she was crazy for not doing so. She didn't want to spend dinner almost in tears. This changed behavior in her husband is giving her whiplash and making her dizzy.

"So, Y/n, did you enjoy the other night?"

"It was really nice Florence," she replies sheepishly.

"Susie and I put so much work into planning it. You should join us next time! We're going to start working on the fundraising events for Lee's next campaign-"

"Let's not talk about that tonight Florence," Lee interrupts. It was a moment that would've left Y/n embarrassed if she was in Florence's shoes but Florence was much better at masking her emotions. Only for a split second can Y/n see Florence flinch at his interjection before she just smiles.

"Sorry Lee, you know how excited I get about those things," she masks her apology in a cheery voice.

Dinner basically became a probe of Y/n and Lou's relationship. Florence wanted to know how they met, when they got married, how long they had been together, and what their future plans together were. Y/n let Lou answer the last question by herself because she genuinely didn't know what their future plans were. Lou usually wakes up and decides what major life change they're going to undertake, that's what happened when he decided to move to Brewer Heights.

When the topic of work came up, Y/n thought the coast was clear. Lou talked extensively about the work he does with his father and what his plan is for the next five years regarding the business.

"Once my father retires I'll have to hire someone to do his job. I didn’t go study in school after high school so I can't take over his position, even though it would make things easier."

"I'm sure you can find someone. I know it's rare for someone to leave the city and come to this little town, but Brewer Heights is always a nice incentive!"

"It is nice here," Lou agrees, "and it's quiet. We were in Meade before which is okay-"

"But, it's nothing like Brewer Heights," Florence interjects. "So, Y/n, what did you do before meeting Lou?"

Lee had not looked her way since the plate-fixing incident but his eyes were sure on her now. If his mouth wasn't stuffed with food he'd be grinning from ear to ear waiting for her answer. He knows she's not a good liar, but she's going to have to come up with something.

"I helped my mom with her business. She used to sell fruit preserves out of the house before she passed."

It wasn't a complete lie. She did help her mother label her jars, but that became less frequent when her hours picked up at Tecumseh. Her parents didn't know about her job either; she told them she was a waitress and it was a safe lie seeing as they didn't go out to diners.

"I'm sorry for your loss, I'm sure she was a lovely woman if she raised such a lovely daughter! Have you ever thought of continuing her business?"

"Not really. It was pretty small. I still make the preserves sometimes for Lou and I."

"If you wouldn't mind, would you be interested in making some for us one day? You don't have to if you don't want to, but it's just so hard to find any good fruit preserves around town." Florence's social habits were very transparent once you were around her for long; she tends to make it impossible for people to say no to her by making them feel bad about even possibly saying no.

"I'd love to Florence. I have fresh peaches at home and I can make peach preserves."

"Oh I'd love that so much," she fawns, "a jar for me and a jar for Lee! He loves his sweets."

"I'm not too big on peaches, Flo. You know I like cherries more."

"You always have," she leans into him and pats him on the chest before straightening up again.

The audacity of Lee is astounding, however not only is he a cop, he's the sheriff. It's such a cowardly move to pick at Y/n when she can't react, but what someone would call cowardly, he'd call fun. She looks like she wants to disappear from her spot and it scratches an itch for him. He missed seeing her get flustered and if he'd known that it would be much more enjoyable to taunt her while his wife was around, he would have found a reason a long time ago to bring her around.

And as if the night couldn't be more humiliating for her, Lou finished his plate before anyone else. He devoured the food on his plate, like a starved man. Y/n felt embarrassed when her husband went for seconds. He never eats this much at home, even when she makes his favorite meals. It makes her want to reach across the dinner table and smack Florence in the face. She hates her; she hates that she has to smile in her face and be friends with her. It's her own fault for continuing this "friendship" with Florence, but her rage makes her blind to her own faults.

She could ruin Florence's life with one sentence: "I've been fucking your husband for years." She'd cause a scene but it would be so gratifying.

Instead she just shuts her mouth and lets dinner continue without anymore incidents.

Y/n thought it would show she was grateful for dinner if she helped Florence with the dishes. She was glad to accept Y/n's help and the two spent their time in the kitchen while Lee and Lou sat on the back porch. With Lee's influence, Lou took another drink out back with him. Y/n wondered what they had to talk about, but she would truly not like to know.

"Your wife cooks like that every night, sheriff?"

"Enough with the title. And she cooks every night, but she went a little overboard since she was happy with having guests," he tells him. If it was anybody else, Lee would just answer the questions and not have any for himself. However, he really wants to know what Y/n has been up to since she's adopted this new image. "How about Y/n? Does she cook for you like that?"

"Not at all. She tries, but she's not the good of a cook," he brings the alcohol up to his lips before pulling away and sighing, "she tries but it's just not her best."

"Her mother didn't teach her how to cook?"

"I don't know much about her family. Her mother was dead when I met her and her father doesn't seem to be doing so well. They're from the same area as my folks but moved when they had Y/n. Maybe she was just too spoiled considering she's an only child."

Y/n's past was a mystery to Lee too, but he's surprised to learn she hasn't opened up to her husband. All he knows is that whether it was her home life or not, something had messed her up and it was almost made worse by her time at Tecumseh. He isn't sure how she made it out, but so much of her old life still bleeds through.

"You know I thought I was getting a good girl. One that would clean and have dinner ready when I get home," Lou continued.

Lee wanted to laugh in his face. Lou is proof that you can come from a smart family and still be dumb as rocks. How could he not know what type of girl Y/n was when he first laid eyes on her? She'd dress just like his sister Sandy; shorts that suffered from mistreatment over the years and a sleeveless blouse that was always stained. He's sure her hair was mussed up that day too. Many people would mistake her for a whore (which many people did see her as one even though she didn't outright sell her body to anyone).

"It can't be that bad," Lee tried to vouch for his former lover. Even he can name some good qualities about her; they just don't include any wifely qualities.

"It's not, but things could be better. Anytime I tell her to shape-up she gets this timid look on her face and flinches a little bit. I try to be nice and gentle but I'm losing my patience with her. I’m not looking to leave her, but what’s the point of marrying a woman who can’t do anything? She won’t even talk to me about having kids — was Florence ever like this?”

“No. Her family is from here so she’s been primed to be a housewife. But I will say it’s not all that fun havin’ a doting wife…she’s overbearing at times and I can never unwind with her around. She’s always on my ass about somethin’.”

Lee felt the need to vouch for Y/n. Anytime he would go to Tecumseh, she would accompany out back or get into his cruiser whenever he told her to. All the gritty things he dealt with at work, everything he kept inside, he dumped it on her. Florence would never sit there to listen to his grievances. Lee would never admit it, but he was vulnerable around Y/n, he knew that she would always be there to listen and he attached himself to that. In the beginning she wasn’t willingly listening to his problems but by the end she was. She took care of him when he was too drunk to go home, or she would let him take his stress and frustration out on her body. However, it doesn’t seem as if Lou is budging; his mind is made up.

“I work long hours. My father is putting more responsibilities on me. I put Y/n in that nice home, the least she could do is not serve me burnt food. Hangin’ around Florence and that Susie woman should have at least influenced her or something,” he continued to complain.

Florence was the last person that would be able to influence a girl like Y/n. Lee didn't know why his wife was seemingly grooming that girl. If anything it was just another person for her to control since Lee started telling her to knock it off. The only time she can get away with controlling her husband is if they're in the company of others where Lee has to be on his best behavior.

Y/n is not the type to be influenced by another woman. The only woman she held in high regard was her mother. Y/n listens to male authority. She listens to a man that will rough her up a little bit but then be sweet on her afterwards. She’s a little fucked up and jaded from her former “profession.” Lee knows this, but not Lou. He seems to know nothing of her past and Lee isn’t going to snitch on her.

“I can talk to Florence and see if she can do something. I know she likes taking people under her wing and shit. She seems to really like Y/n too.”

“I’d greatly appreciate that Lee. I know I sound like I’m hard on her, but I do love her. It’s hard for me to show when she just doesn’t put any effort in.”

"Don't worry. I'll talk to Florence — I'll make everything right."

#lee bodecker #lee bodecker x oc #lee bodecker fic #lee bodecker x y/n #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x ofc #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker smut #the devil all the time #dark fic #fic #sebastian stan

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taeyongers · 3 years

Text

Exile (M)

pairing: hyunjae x reader

genre: smut, rival mob bosses au, childhood friends to lovers

summary: basically two orphans grow up and end up in rival gangs without knowing, until you meet in the middle of a gunfight

warning: drugs mention, bullying, sexual harassment, old style orphanages, gangs, gunfights, slight mentions of blood and wounds, sexual content (be warned) but it’s mostly soft and fluffy, light sub! hyunjae for a time

word count: 8.5k

a/n: loooool @letteredwings hi friend this for u, pls don’t headbutt hyunjae anymore

The earth is cold under your bare feet. Your toes are spread wide. Wet pebbled mud meshes through the spaces in between.

It’s raining. The pitter patter of raindrops against the concrete pavement makes you want to step a little farther out from the awning you stand under, to just feel it against your skin. Your hair has already gotten wet. You just need more, a feeling to break you free from the unchanging hell you face each day.

“Y/n!” A sharp voice, familiar, cuts you out of your thoughts. “What are you doing!? You’ll catch a cold!”

It’s Hyunjae, of course. You let him tug you back from under the awning, through the doors, up the wooden steps and into the dreary warmth.

He is your height at this age. His eyes are young and shining, brows furrowed in concern and anger.

“The headmistress will be angry,” he mumbles. His hands rub your sides to get some warmth in you.

“The headmistress doesn't care,” you mutter.

He scoffs at your words, takes your little hand in his and trudges up the stairs into his dormitory. He sits you down on his bed, rummages through his dresser, which is not even a foot away from the bed. It’s a pathetically small room.

“You'll need dry clothes,” he says to himself and pulls out a towel. He places it on your wet hair, brows still furrowed. “You need to take those off. You’ll get sick.”

Finally, your cheeks burn. “All the other children already tease that we’ll get married someday and you want me to take my clothes off in your room!?”

You shove away the towel from your head. His cheeks tint pink and he sits down beside you with a huff.

“I didn't mean you need to change right now. You can do it in your room. Just dry off first.” He picks up the towel and holds it out to you.

You give him a glare and snatch the towel before placing it on your hair. He looks at you, eyeing the water dripping down the strands.

“Why were you even outside in the rain?”

“I was bored.”

He doesn't believe you. “They were making fun of you, weren’t they?” You glare at him again. He smirks like he knows something. “And you ran outside? You could have come to find me.”

“Why? You’re not my brother.”

He falls silent.

You shift on his creaky bed. “Why do you help me so much? You protect me from the kids who throw food at my hair. You fight my bullies. You talk back to the headmistress when she is angry with me. You share your cookies with me. You hug me when I cry, take care of me when I’m sick, now you’re drying me off when I’m wet. Why?”

He looks at you and shrugs. “Because you can't defend yourself. You’re small.”

Anger rips through you. “Yes I can! I don't need you!” You shove at him, nearly toppling him from the bed.

He grapples your hands. “Fine! Fine, it’s not because of that!” He says, calming you down. “It’s because… I know that sad kids end up in those bad groups around town. The headmistress says those who don't behave will never find parents and will stay here until they turn sixteen. Once they leave, they are taken in by those bad people. And I know she says that for kids who don't behave but I think those kids are just sad.” You stare at him as he stutters. “So, I don’t want you to be sad. I don't want you to end up with those people.”

“So you’re saying I’m sad?” You ask. He touches a stray piece of your hair.

“I mean...I see how the other kids treat you. How the teachers and mistresses treat you. I would be sad.”

You look at him until your gaze falls. “Then... we should both make a promise to not be sad and end up with those people.” He nods and holds out his pinky. You interlace yours with his. “We’ll find parents, or we’ll grow up and become good people.”

He nods resolutely. “Yeah.”

Your hands fall away from each other.

“Do you.. wanna change into dry clothes and come back here? I hid some extra cookies for you.”

Your lips break out into a grin. “Okay!”

He grins back. You rush off, something light fluttering in your chest.

This is how childhood goes. You do everything together. He’s your rock and your shield, your only friend. He protects you from the other children, your teachers and from the world. When they manage to slip past him, your iron defense, and get to you, you hide away and cry. He always finds you, hugs you through your tears, shushes and comforts you.

Childhood years fall away into adolescence and teenage years. By sixteen, you will be thrown out into the world, forced to brave it on your own. Hyunjae and you try to make the most out of whatever miserable years you have left at the orphanage, and whatever little protection it offers you both during this time.

As you grow, he surpasses your height. His jaw becomes defined, his body lanky and tall until he's a head above you. He's handsome… so handsome and it makes your heart flip and cheeks burn. You still share food and he still comforts you when things are hard. You find a special place together, the rooftop of the orphanage, where you lie flat and feel as if the universe is swallowing you into itself.

“We can’t turn out bad,” He reminds himself and you. “We can't fall into those gangs that plague this city. We need to make a life for ourselves once we get out of here, no matter how hard it will be.”

“It won't be hard for you,” you say. “You’re a good person. You’ll be a doctor or something. I know it.”

He scoffs, staring up at the night sky. “You don’t know that.”

“I do!” Your brows furrow. “You’re the best person here. This place doesn’t deserve you.”

He looks at you with stars in his eyes. He moves as if going to touch your cheek, but changes his mind.

“Okay,” he whispers, “but it doesn't deserve you either.”

You stare at him. You wonder constantly if he feels something for you. You find him looking at you when you don’t notice, something akin to stars in his eyes, though to be fair, they have been there since childhood. But you’re not convinced that he feels anything for you other than that of a sister, a friend.

He holds out his pinky finger, a reassurance of that promise. You cross your finger with his.

Life’s problems change as time goes on. Bullying from the other orphans becomes more personal, more cruel. At just 15, the children have been introduced to drugs, sex, and using violence for intimidation. They wonder loudly about your relationship with Hyunjae. They wonder what you’re giving him for someone like him to care about such a loser like you.

Like that one time when a boy and his friends corner you after dinner, sneers and hatred spouting in their mouths.

“Are you his whore or something?” He asks, eyes burning holes into you. “Do you have to use that mouth in convincing ways to keep him protecting you? Maybe we need convincing as well,” he laughs with his friends.

You slip past them and run to your room. You cry until you can't breathe. Hyunjae finds you, he always finds you, soft voice filled with concern asking what, what is it, please tell me.

You tell him in between sobs. His eyes grow hard and cold. He hugs you tightly, shushes and strokes your hair until you calm down and fall asleep in his arms. His grip is gentle, but something in him is colder than usual.

The next day, he disappeared. You hear shouting in the headmistress’ office. He returns in the night, bruises sprouting across his face. His hand is clenched tight, swollen and bruised and messy. His eyes are still hard and cold.

You sit him down in your room. On this rare occasion, you’re the one taking care of him. You drag a wet rag gently across his swollen knuckles and his bruised cheekbones.

“What happened? Where were you?”

He doesn’t respond. He’s glaring at something far off and refuses to tell you.

The next day, you find that he’s been sentenced to weeks of latrine duty. You find out from another boy, Chanhee, about what happened. Hyunjae had attacked the boy who harassed you the day before.

“So then Hyunjae shows up and beats the crap out of him behind the building. If you think hyunjae looked bad, you should have seen the other guy.”

You get angry. Not at him, but at yourself. Why, why were you so weak? Why does Hyunjae put himself at risk for you? Why did Hyunjae grow up putting himself at risk for you, just because you couldn't protect yourself?

The other kids already think you’re doing some kind of sexual favors for him to protect you from abuse. You feel ashamed, disgusted. Why does he associate himself with someone as weak and useless as you?

You begin to distance yourself from him. You don’t go over to his room or let him stay in yours. You don’t hang out with him when you’re permitted to go outside. You begin to talk less, eat less together and, stop your rooftop meetings all together, feigning a headache or something else each time he asks. You feel it’s for the best. He should live his life for himself, not for you.

It doesn’t work. He ends up cornering you one day, hurt flooding his eyes, something you never want to see again. “Why are you ignoring me?”

You sigh.

“Did someone say something? Did they threaten-”

“What am I to you?” You ask.

His resolve burns away, and he’s left confused, mouth bobbing open and closed like a fish. “You’re my friend-”

“Do you love me?”

His brows furrow. “Of course I love you.”

“Are you in love with me?”

He goes still. Silent.

You look away. Of course not. He’s just protecting you because he feels that you’re too weak to do it yourself.

“I feel like a burden You keep making up for my weaknesses.”

“Hey,” he tilts your chin up. “It’s not your fault. People are shit. I’m just helping you.“

“And you keep getting hurt. Our lives are already miserable here, and I’m just making yours worse.”

“Stop,” he says, eyes conflicted, unable to get the words out. He never was good with them.

“I’m turning sixteen soon. I’m going away.”

His brows furrow. “Where?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere. I’ll get a job, and live my life.”

“But I don’t want you to go!” He erupts, rattling you. He sees your expression and softens. “We can… we can go together. Live together.”

“I’m already a burden on you. And besides, why would you? You’re not in love with me.”

He’s silent. His eyes are burning with something he wants to say. But he doesn't. He never does. And neither do you.

...

You turn sixteen, no longer legally allowed to stay at the orphanage. You move away and become a waitress. You don’t hear from Hyunjae again. You get used to your new life, find an apartment, and appreciate the small, new found freedom of living by yourself. Of course, the struggle for money is always there as well as a deep ache in your heart that refuses to go away, but it’s more than you’ve ever had.

Eight years go by and you break your promise. You ended up getting involved with the wrong people in the allure of deals for quick ways to get money. You meet a charming woman who convinces you to join her friends, that they could use your skills and knowledge. Now, you’re in a gang, one of the many in this god forsaken city.

You fight, you shoot, you kill, and you get money. You live in more comfort as a criminal than you’ve had in your whole life. You’ve broken your promise and don’t regret it. It’s as if it's always meant to be. You finally feel like you’re in charge of your life.

Hyunjae fades from your mind. You’re not sure if you ever fade from his.

Gang wars are all too familiar to you, and the strategy involved in conducting them is as well, now that you have become the leader. You like the new found power, your members depending on you, your success in proving yourself over and over again as the boss.

One gang in particular has been tormenting you for the past few years. They have been picking off your members, stealing your business, moving into your territory. You’d decided enough was enough and engaged them. It takes place as gunfights through back alleys in the middle of the night.

You decided to join in this time on the dirty work of fighting. The new enemy seems capable and more threatening than the others. Besides, as leader, you’ve been tucked away in the safety of your headquarters, sending orders from there. You haven't had a good gun fight in a while.

Right now, you’re hidden behind a building, shooting at shapeless figures in the dark. You know you have more numbers, superior guns and skills, when you begin pushing them back, cornering them, suffocating them. Victory is close and soon you will be queen of these lands once again.

Then, you hear a voice, your subordinate shouting something at the same time a shapeless figure melts from the shadows and darts across the street.

“That’s their leader!”

Oh, you are not one to miss out on this opportunity, of taking out this leader, of ruling both groups, both territories. So, you tear yourself from out of the shadows and sprint after the figure.

Your members call out after you but you ignore them. Your group is winning. Their leader is making a last ditch effort to escape. There is nothing to worry about.

You chase the figure into a darkened alley that stops abruptly at a dead end with one dim streetlight. You corner him, gun raised, and watch the male turn around.

“What kind of coward leader runs from a fight?”

He freezes, as if something has seized and taken hold of his entire body. Then, he steps into the light. A shock runs through you. Your eyes widen, and the gun almost slips from your grip.

“Y/n?”

His voice floats to your ears. Yes, it’s familiar, one you’ve memorized, but it’s deeper now. You can hardly overcome your shock as men appear behind you with guns pointed at your head. It was a trap.

“Stop!” Hyunjae orders, shock and concern taking over his features, ones you’ve known since childhood. “We’re taking her with us.”

...

Your feet hurt from pacing the room, but you don’t stop. You hear an exasperated sigh from off to the side.

“Are you going to sit down and talk?” Hyunjae asks. He is seated at a table, a spare chair beside him. Your eyes run over him briefly.

He’s older, much older. He’s grown half a foot since you saw him last. His body is bigger, toned from fighting. He has the same eyes, though - young looking and twinkling- and the same smell, something that makes your stomach wrench.

You continue to pace, glancing at the window, the air vent, the door- anything that can let you escape.

“Y/n.”

Your eyes snap to him. “No. I’m not going to sit down and have a talk. Especially not with you,” you spit out.

He blinks. “What do you mean, especially not with me?”

You don't respond. He stands up abruptly, and without thinking, you grab the knife from where they never found it when they searched you.

He freezes at the sight. His hand curls around the gun in his holster. “Don’t be stupid, Y/n. There are men right outside those doors. One word from me and they’ll barge in and kill you.”

“Then why don’t they?” You yell.

“Why are u so angry!?” He snarls, finally showing his anger. “This is the first time I’ve seen you in years! What did I-“

“What did you do? I thought I left you in that orphanage years ago and now I find out that you’re the head of the gang that keeps invading our rightful territory? That it was on your orders that my members were killed for years? That I was almost killed!?”

Something flits across his eyes.

“Yeah I know,” you sneer, “how ironic is it that you were my knight in shining armor back then and now you’ve been trying to kill me for years.”

He exhales, holding his hand up in a placating gesture. “Y/n, I didn't know.”

“And what about those dreams you had, huh? About being a doctor? Something good? You promised you’d not fall into this scene and yet you ended up here anyway!”

His face is hard. “We both made that promise.”

You falter, glaring at him. “I was always the less promising one out of us two.”

He steps forward. “That’s not true.”

You purse your lips. “Are you going to kill me now?”

He stops, looking hurt. “Of course not.”

“Why not? I’m the enemy leader.”

He looks exasperated. “Y/n-“ he reaches for you but you step away. His hand falls from the air.

The silence is deafening and you grip your knife. “I should kill you. I will be better for it.”

Hyunjae sighs, running his hand through his hair . “Don’t be stupid. The guards outside-“

“I can take them.” You say with full confidence. He seems surprised. He looks at the anger, the hurt in your eyes, then down at the knife, in your experienced grip. “I’m going to kill you,” you say again, almost as an effort to convince yourself.

Some light kindles in his eyes, a look of interest, curiosity. Maybe he’s caught onto your bluff.

He raises a brow. “Really?”

You blink and nod. He steps closer, so close you’re just inches away, until you can see the deep brown of his twinkling eyes, the scent of him that takes you back years. He grips your hand holding the knife and presses it against his chest, right over his heart. His gaze is intense.

“Then do it.”

You stutter. “I- I will do it…”

His eyes aren’t wavering from yours. He imperceptibly presses the knife harder against his chest. Your hands are shaking, and you make no move to pierce him. He realizes this. Without taking his eyes off of yours, he gently pulls your wrist away from his chest. With a simple twist, the knife clatters to the floor. Now, you’re both looking at each other, silence flooding the room.

His eyes never break their lock on yours except for one flicker down to your lips and back. Then, he moves so slowly, head tilting, lips nearly brushing yours to kiss you. You can barely get a hold of yourself to jerk away.

“What- what are you doing!?” You breathe hard, stepping back.

He grasps your elbow and pulls you back. His eyes soften, hand coming up to run across your face. “Please, I … just missed you...so much” His voice is shaky, a rare break in character from the short amount of time you’ve seen him recently, eyes vulnerable instead of cold steel.

“I have to kill you.” Your voice cracks. “After all those years of fighting-“

“But you can’t,” he speaks, eyes drinking you in. “Because you feel something for me like I do for you, even after all this time. And in the middle of this war and senseless violence, can’t we just have this?”

You freeze. “You feel what for me?”

He catches on. Something soft floods his eyes, his thumb stroking your cheek. You would have torn away if not for the ridiculous amount of comfort it brings you.

“Is that why you are so angry?” He chuckles, letting his hand slip from your cheek before releasing a defeated sigh. “I should have told you I was in love with you before you left.”

You still. He rubs the nape of his neck.

“When you left, I … I lost it.” Hyunjae’s voice cracked. “I was angry for the longest time. I resented you for leaving. I resented myself for not trying harder to make you stay, for not telling you the truth when you asked me how I felt.” He paced. “You.. called me a good person. Then I lost you and I threw away everything about myself that was good. I got into drugs… crime. Now I’m here.” He glanced at you. “I never thought you’d be here too.”

You silently digest his words, feeling the knot in your stomach loosen.

He steps closer and takes your hand. “I couldn’t sleep at night for years. I constantly wondered if you were in danger.”

“I don’t need you to protect me anymore,” you whisper.

“No,” he gazes at you, talking almost to himself. “No, you don’t.” He drops your hand and sighs. “I can see I’ve hurt you too much, back then and even now, to earn your forgiveness.”

Silence hangs heavy. The entrenched hurt in your heart lightens. Of course he’d been hurting all this time too. But your throat is too heavy to form any words in response.

“So, what do we do now?” You ask hoarsely.

He’s silent, eyes going from you to the door. “I can’t take you back to my members. They’ll have you tortured and killed immediately, and there’s no way in hell I would let that happen.”

You make a show of rolling your eyes. Of course, he protects you, even now.

Hyunjae paces across the floor, stroking his chin. He stops by the table and looks up at the air vent in the ceiling. He turns around, eyes determined.

“Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do. We have to fake a struggle. Give me a few bruises. I’ll lock the door so the guards can’t get in immediately. Then, you climb up through the vent and make you way out of the building. Hopefully they won’t catch up.”

You can’t help giving a small smile. “Hopefully?”

He nods, eyes softening for a brief moment. Suddenly, he presses forward and kisses you deeply. A shock of butterflies bursts through your stomach, fluttering up and up to your chest. You barely process his soft lips, his calloused hands on your cheeks, the fringes of his hair tickling your forehead. Your mind turns to mush before he pulls away. He looks at you softly as he releases you. Then, he punches you in the shoulder, hard.

“Ow!” You reel back.

He smirks. “Where do you think you’re going?” He calls out loudly, much louder than is needed.

You catch on. “I’m leaving!” You yell just as loud and shove him hard towards the door. He grins approvingly at your play and spins around to lock the door. Someone pounds on the wood from the other side.

“Sir!? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he calls. “I just have a difficult prisoner, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Something playful flares in his eyes as he nearly tackles you. You stumble violently for a moment, his large arms wrapped around yours to pin you in place. You try to wrestle out of his grip but he manages to hold your arms tight around you so you can’t move, giving you the odd sensation of being in a straitjacket.

“No, let me go! I’ll--” you pause, glaring at him. “I’ll headbutt you, I swear.”

He smirks. “Then headbutt me.”

You pause for a second and then you swing your head into his cranium. His head jolts backwards and his arms release you to grip his throbbing head.

“What the hell- you actually did it!?”

You snicker at him before the sound of pounding resounds throughout the room.

“Sir, the door isn’t opening! We’re going to break in!”

Hyunjae whirls around to face you, gesturing you to go up the vent. “Alright, hurry up!” He yells to guards.

You step onto the table and reach up onto your tiptoes to remove the covering. With one last look at Hyunjae, who’s face seems to be a mess of regret, affection, longing, and panic, you muster out a “see you later,” before disappearing through the hole.

...

Hyunjae knows he is seen as a cold leader. Like he said, once he lost you, he lost everything about himself that was good.

He killed. He punished. He executed.

He would beat a man for looking at him the wrong way. Give brutal tests of loyalty to his subordinates. Make it so that they quake when he walks into the room.

It was to maintain order, dignity, balance.

No one can defeat him at a mental game. No one can make him falter, doubt, outsmart him, move him. No one. That’s how he climbed the ranks and became the boss.

That is, until now. Fifteen minutes in that room with you and his mind has turned to mush. You’ve grown up, more beautiful than you were before, and it utterly stopped his heart. Your smiles, enough to make his knees buckle. Oh, how he wanted to take you in his arms, like he’s imagined for years, to hold you, hug you, kiss you, never let you go.

Of course he couldn't do that. The universe is not that kind. He got in one kiss - just because he desperately needed to know how you felt - and you melting into him was all the answer he needed. But then he had to say goodbye to you far too fast.

Now, the guards have burst into the room, searching feverishly for you who’s long disappeared. He mentions that you used the air vent to escape and leaves through the door. He knows they can never catch up to you in time - you’re far too good.

That sad, insecure girl he knew from his past seems to have changed. You’re a leader of a gang now, the one he’s been fighting and struggling to outsmart for years. If he had known it was you all along, how quickly he would have stolen you away from the fighting and left to live somewhere far away, somewhere peaceful. He would abandon his members, everything he built after all these years in a heartbeat for you. It was never even a question.

But he barely knows if you want the same thing. All that he knows now is that he has to see you again.

He thinks about these things, mind rumbling and turning, as he walks briskly to his meeting. His head still pounds from your headbutt and he catches himself smiling at the thought of it. It’s one ache he doesn’t mind.

He enters the room filled with high ranking members. They wait patiently for him to take his seat at the head of the table.

“So? Any updates?” He asks.

One guard steps forward, the same one that had been searching for you. “Sir, we couldn’t find her. I believe she escaped.”

Internally relieved and unsurprised, he outwardly slams his fist on the table, making everyone jump.

“Damn! Do you know how valuable she would have been alive? The information we could have gotten out of her?” He glares. “And how much of a mess they would have been without their leader?”

The guard ducks his head. “Yes sir. Sorry.”

Another man leans forward in his chair, Juyeon, his close, right hand man. “But we found intel on their next plans. They are raiding the HQ of a much smaller group, If we meet them there, we can catch them by surprise, and take their leader out.”

Hyunjae doesn’t know how to feel. On one hand, he’ll see you again. On the other, you’ll be in danger.

A grunt leaning by a wall says, “I hope we take her out. That bitch deserves that and worse. If I-”

Before he can finish, Hyunjae has him shoved roughly against the wall. His shirt is clutched in Hyunjae’s fist and a knife pressed to his neck. Hyunjae barely registers his rage, the look of fear and shock from everyone around the room, from the man in his grip. His eyes are eyes wide, looking at Hyunjae for an explanation.

Hyunjae rolls with his show. “Less talking. More doing. Talk after you bring her to me. She’s already escaped once from us.”

“Y-Yes, sir,” he sputters out.

Hyunjae releases him from and glares at the room. “We’re done here.”

...

I should have told you I was in love with you before you left.

Those words echo through your mind nonstop, refusing to give you any mercy. And even worse is the memory of the kiss - of his lips pressed against yours, his hands on your skin, his smell - you secretly wish that moment had lasted forever. You wonder if you’ll ever see him again, and your heart aches in response.

Then, you rip yourself from your thoughts.

“Ugh!” You yell, slamming your gun onto the table. You’ve tried to assemble it for what seemed like the 50th time in the past ten minutes but your thoughts keep distracting you.

“Y/n?” Your subordinate, Younghoon’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “We’re ready to leave.”

You finally manage to click the gun in place. With one last order to your mind to let go of useless thinking, you stand and slip your gun into the holster. “Let’s go.”

The place you’ve decided to raid has many resources like valuable drugs and money, all hoarded by a smaller group that you can beat out easily. You surprise them, your members jumping out of cars and invading in from all openings of the derelict headquarters.

There’s shouting, scrambling, and finally gunfire. You know this mission will be easy enough - the other group does not have enough people to defend their resources. This will be over before you know it.

At least, that’s what you thought until you spot strange black vans pulling up to the curve outside, men jumping out in large numbers to join the fight. They immediately engage your members with gunfire. You panic, unable to understand what is happening before you catch sight of Hyunjae exiting a van and tucking himself behind the building entrance for shelter against the bullets. He catches your gaze and a number of different emotions pass by his face. He settles on a hesitant smile.

Confusion, then anger rips through you. So much for all those sweet words he spoke yesterday. He’s still fighting you, still trying to kill your members, still prolonging this war. If he wants it that way, then that’s what you’ll give him.

You step out and begin shooting. Chaos seems to erupt with two sizable forces fighting each other inside one building. You can tell that you will not win without a large loss of life.

“Just find whatever you can and go!” You bark at your subordinates. They scramble to obey your orders, grabbing suitcases and locked chests in between the shooting.

Before long, you’re calling them all back from the scene, ordering their retreat. They scramble into the cars you came in. You glance back to see Hyunjae’s men lowering their guns, glancing at him for their next orders - whether to pursue or retreat. However, his gaze is only fixed on you.

Then, he makes a break for it. He runs directly after you without a second glance, without a word to the rest of his group, leaving them stunned in confusion. You would’ve had half a mind to guess that he means to kill you, if it isn’t for the slightly sad expression on his face.

One of your girls steps forward to aim her gun at him. A shock of fear runs through you. “Wait! Stop! Don’t kill him!”

With wide eyes, she obeys and resorts to landing a good punch on Hyunjae’s cheek that sends him tumbling to the ground. Shouts ring out in the air and you see that his members are now running after you.

“Get him into the car! Hurry!”

They do as you order. Soon enough, the party of cars is driving off with Hyunjae’s men trailing behind on foot. They eventually stop and run back into their vans. A car chase ensues through the streets but your smaller cars outrun their bigger vans within minutes. You’re left speeding through the night with a slightly unconscious, groaning Hyunjae in your lap in the backseat.

...

“Does it hurt?”

Hyunjae peers up at you under the dim lighting of your room. You inspect the nasty cut on his cheek, one caused by the punch that took him out.

“I’ve dealt with a lot worse,” he replies, expression unreadable. “Funny how we’re back in the same situation, except...the other way around.”

You know what he means. Last time, you were captured and held in his room as a prisoner. Now, he’s yours, except he came willingly.

You sigh, pouring a bit of rubbing alcohol onto a clean rag. You press it to his cheek and he winces slightly.

“Why did you run after me?” You ask, patting down his skin.

He sighs, eyes running over your face. “Because I wanted to see you.”

You ignore how your stomach flips. “But you left all your men behind, people who depended on you.”

He shrugs.

You scoff, shaking your head as you step back. “You planned that entire raid just to see me? Don’t you care about them? Right now, they’re thinking you’ve gotten captured but really, you ran away.”

“Y/n, I became involved in this filthy life because I had nothing left after I lost you. But now, I found you and…” he trails off, large brown eyes falling on yours. “There’s something more now.”

Your heart thrums but you maintain a frown. “So that’s it? You’d just leave?”

He blinks slowly and smiles. “Yeah. That’s it.”

You carefully place a square piece of gauze on his wound and tape it down. You almost miss his smile, his eyes filled with softness and stars as they gaze at you.

“What is it now?”

He smiles. “Isn’t this familiar?”

You have flashes of memories - cleaning his wounds in the orphanage after he got himself in a fight over your honor.

“Don’t get used to it,” you mutter, tossing a few wrappers in the trash. You move to step away but he’s suddenly standing up, hand shooting out to grip your arm.

“Y/n-“

“Should I remind you that you’re the prisoner in here?” You glare.

His brows are knitted, face forlorn. “You act like you hate me but you don’t really.”

“Oh, I don’t?”

“No, you don’t.” He levels his gaze with you. “You told your gunman not to kill me. You cleaned and dressed my wounds. You kissed me like you’re in love with me-“

“That’s enough,” you growl, tugging harshly away from his grip but he holds onto you tightly.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you I loved you back then,” he says again, and again it flips and cleaves and destroys your heart. His eyes are full of regret. “Maybe you would have stayed.”

He searches your face for something that you’re hesitant and unwilling to give him. Something seems to fade from his eyes as he slowly releases you.

“Or maybe you wouldn’t have.” The smile falls from his lips. “Maybe it was meant to be this way.” He sits back down on your bed. “And maybe I truly was an idiot for getting myself captured by people who want me dead.”

You study his features, twisted in defeat. He’s always been so dependent on your moods, your signs, the words you say to him. He can be emboldened by your subtle signals and just as easily defeated by your rejections. Your heart flips again and you curse it. He really did love you, then and now.

“Maybe, maybe not,” you sigh, earning his attention. “I hated being a burden on you, regardless of... if you loved me or not.”

He gazes at you in such pure confusion that you look away. “Y/n, you were never a burden.”

You feel the sting of tears, a lump forming in your throat. He stands up slowly, steps close to you.

“You were my family-“ he begins.

“You were my family too but you kept getting hurt, kept suffering because of someone so useless as me,” your voice cracks.

His heart seems to break, you can see so in his eyes. He reaches for you tentatively, and you don’t pull away this time. He places a gentle hand on your cheek, gazing deep into your eyes, taking hold of your heart.

“You were never a burden. Never. All those things I did because I loved you,” he says softly. “You could never be a burden.”

Something shatters in your chest and you surge forward to kiss him, tears rolling down your face. He embraces you, eagerly welcomes the kiss, grasps your cheeks as if you are the most precious thing ever.

The kiss is desperate - a release of more than a decade’s worth of repressed love. You’re hypersensitive to the feeling of his lips, his tongue brushing against yours, the deep groans resounding from his chest as you melt in his arms.

“Y/n,” he groans, holding your waist in a tight grip as you pull away, panting for air. His lips attach to your throat, leaving open mouth kisses down the column. Your breaths stutter, fingers curling into his hair. A nip of your skin by his teeth has a light moan slipping past your lips.

He pulls back to gaze at you with an expression you’ve never seen before. His irises swirl with affection mixed with want.

“I- Do you want-“ he manages out, drinking in your gaze, but unable to finish his question.

You swallow thickly, mind racing. Your body is burning with need and longing for him, after so many years. You can only manage out a nod. He presses his forehead against yours.

“I need you to say it.”

You let out a shaky exhale. “I want you.”

He seems to revel in those words before swooping in to kiss you, somehow even more desperate this time. He pulls you gently towards the bed, littering kisses on your lips with breathless words in between.

“Tell me any time if you want to stop, alright?”

You nod. “Okay.”

His eyes twinkle before he kisses you again. You fall back against the sheets. His fingers flit down across your shirt and your pants, stopping to unbutton them. You kick them away impatiently and tug your shirt over your head.

He stares at your semi nude form in awe. He slowly places his hands on the skin of your waist, feeling your skin underneath his fingers.

“Have you had sex before, Hyunjae?” You chuckle.

“You have no idea how long I imagined this,” he whispers, eyes finding yours. “But you’re more beautiful than anything my brain could conjure up.”

Your cheeks burn at the cheesiness but your heart thrums all the same. Then, your mouth goes dry as he reaches and pulls his shirt over his head.

Inch by inch, the deep black ink of tattoos curling across his skin are revealed. His muscles ripple with movement and settle again once he’s cast his shirt away. He gazes at you in anticipation.

You find your voice. “You got tattoos.”

He smiles. “You like them?”

He takes your hand and places it on his stomach. You swallow hard, finger tracing one line of onyx ink. “W-Why would you care if I like them?”

He chuckles. “I care what you like.” He grips your hand softly, entangling his fingers with yours.

You glance at him. “Are you sure you’re a gang leader?”

He smiles and tugs you forward, humming as he kisses you. “You know, you look really hot when you hold a gun.”

You chuckle as his arms wrap around you. “Really?”

“Yeah,” kisses down your throat, hot and open mouthed. “I lost my mind the first time I saw you standing tall, directing orders, shooting.”

You gasp as he grips your ass harshly and sinks his teeth into the skin of your neck at the same time. “I wanted you then and there.”

You can’t respond, your mind slowly descending into the depths of incoherency. He presses you flat against the bed, and leans over you, hips rolling deep against yours. Gasps and moans fall from your lips as he watches, mesmerized.

“I always wanted to hear your moans,” he says breathily, grinding against you. “God, how many nights I’d spend just thinking of you.”

“Hyunjae,” you gasp, grabbing his hips. “You can tone down the love sick puppy-ness.”

He chuckles, a deep low sound that sends tingles straight to your core. “But I can’t help it.” He places a kiss below your heart, trailing down your stomach and your navel, settling between your thighs. “I love you. I have always loved you.”

Warmth floods your chest as you gaze down at him, at his eyes that are filled with affection and the stars of the universe. Then he presses a kiss to your clothed mound and all your thoughts are shattering.

He hooks his fingers under your underwear and drags them down. You shift to sit up on your elbows. “Y-You don’t have to-“

He cuts you off with a disbelieving laugh. “I have waited and imagined every detail of this for years. I can’t not.” He peers up at you. “Unless, of course, you don’t want to.”

You swallow thickly. “N-No. I want to.”

His lips curl into a smile. “Good.”

He removes your underwear, and spreads your thighs around his shoulders. His hot breath meets your core and you release a shaky breath. He gives you one last, heated look, before he’s dragging his tongue across your center, stopping at your clit.

You throw your head back and moan. The sound spurs him on. His hands grip your thighs harder, tongue dipping into your entrance and stealing your sanity. Your ragged breaths turn into gasps and moans, and you involuntarily buck your hips against his face.

He holds you down firmly against the mattress, the muscles in his forearm flexing around your thighs. His eyes burn into yours as another stroke of his tongue sends you reeling.

“H-Hyun,” you gasp out. His eyelids flutter at the sound of his name. He groans into you, shaking you to the core, continuing his ministrations.

You lose your mind slowly. Every movement of his tongue sends you to another dimension. When he pushes a finger inside, you shake and clench and cry out, gasping harshly as he pumps his fingers. He releases a shaky breath against your core when you arch at another finger. A cry and moan crawl up your throat and spill into the air. Your fingers curl into his hair and tug harshly, earning another deep moan from him.

Your mind is descending. He’s kept a slow place so far but is speeding up. Your moans pitch high and the knot in your stomach grows tighter. Just when you’re about to crash, whirl, die and be reborn, everything stops.

His fingers are gone, mouth is gone, his warmth and it's all cold. Your eyelids slip open to find him, kneeling before you, eyes dark, hands tense, slightly shaking. You want to ask why, why he stopped, why he looks as if he’s been wound so tight that he’ll snap.

He wipes his mouth absently, makes the pit of your stomach whirr. He fixes his dark eyes on you.

“I need…” his voice is hoarse. “I need you on top of me, I need to feel you around me.”

You swallow dryly and sit up. A push of his shoulder to the side and he’s rolling onto the bed, head settling upon the pillow. You straddle him easily, as if you belong there. He’s splayed out underneath you, every inch of his skin in reach, every ribbon of muscle, and every inky curl and dip of tattoos across his body, all for you.

You place a hand on his chest, feel him release a sigh and watch your hand dip with his skin with the movement. He is hard underneath you, and you can feel him getting harder.

“So this is how you’ve always imagined it?” You ask, trailing your hand down his skin, under his navel, to stop at his pants button, watching him shudder.

“Yes,” he breathes, eyes closed. You unbutton him, peel his pants off and provide him with some degree of relief. You straddle him again and lean forward to kiss him deeply. He sinks into the kiss, sighs when you move to kiss down his throat, and then trace his tattoos with your lips.

He reaches up to grip your waist. You stop.

“You can't touch.”

He gazes at you, wide eyed. He seems to want to protest but he swallows it and keeps his hands down.

You smile in victory. You hips rock and grind against him, watch him arch in pleasure. His fingers flex and clench the bedsheets beside him. His eyes are heady, burning into yours, his jaw clenching.

“You’re not used to this, are you?” You ask softly, removing his boxers to feel his hardness in your hands. He makes a muffled sound, refusing to part his lips. “Having someone tell you what to do?” You ask, stroking him slowly, watching a storm of emotions pass his face. “And you can't say anything back?”

You lift your hips up and sink down on him in one movement. There is a pleasurable burn, but you are more focused on the way he tips his head back and groans, his eyelids clenching shut. His fingers twitch against the sheets, his veined arms straining to not touch you.

“And you’re listening so well,” you praise, feeling him stretch you. You release a shaky breath, swallowing a moan.

“Y/n,” he pants. You gasp as you start moving, slowly, almost too slowly at first. After all these years, you want to revel in the feel of him inside you. He releases a broken moan and thrusts up into you in desperation.

You still immediately. “No doing that, either.”

He groans and rolls his head to the side, gazing at you in need, in exasperation. But his hips stay still when you begin riding him again.

Your heart flutters at him listening to you, the head of a mob, who hasn't taken orders from anyone in a long, long time, turning to putty under your hips. You speed up , breaths turning harsh as you roll and bounce your hips against him.

He pants beneath you, a layer of sweat settling on his tattooed skin, his jaw clenching and sheets crumpled into his fists in an effort to hold back. You admire him, beautiful and unholy beneath you. As you palm your own breasts, you take in the sight of his lust filled, darkened eyes watching every movement you make, burning with need to touch you.

Suddenly, his hands are on your waist, gripping the skin as he thrusts up into you. Pleasure explodes from behind your eyelids as you cry out. Somehow, with all your willpower, you remove yourself completely from him. You straddle him further down his thighs, out of reach of his aching cock.

“Y/n,” he straight up whines. His arms reach for you, brows knitted, eyes pleading. “Please.”

Your resolve almost shatters, but you enjoy seeing him like this too much. You merely shake your head and he huffs, resigning himself.

“Will you behave?”

He seems to glare at the ceiling before nodding without a word. Something thrums in your heart. You settle over him and begin the process anew. You like this, seeing him under you, controlling the pace, making love to him. He groans again, and you lean forward to leave open mouthed kisses down his neck, biting the skin so it makes him shudder. Your hips speed up slightly, moaning into the air as his pants. His fingers strain and clench, his eyelids fluttered closed in concentration. You marvel at his self control.

You think of that too late when he thrusts into you once again. When you slow down, he grasps your sides and gives another thrust. You gasp and remove yourself from him but before your warmth can leave his dick completely, he’s rolling you over, flat on your back against the sheets. He harshly rolls his hips against yours.

“Hyun-“ you moan as he gives another thrust, his head tipping back. He picks up pace, hands roaming your body, his self restraint snapping. “I’ve waited for years,” he moans, leaning forward to litter kisses on your neck. “Please don’t make me wait anymore.”

With a bite of your skin, he’s speeding up his thrusts, sending you clawing at his back. He presses his forehead into yours, working his hips in wonders, has you seeing stars, relentlessly, until you cry out his name, clenching hard around him.

“Oh my god,” he groans at your walls milking him. He swallows your moans with his kisses, thrusts into you a few more times until he’s coming with you.

He collapses against you, one lazy arm propped upon the bed so as to not crush you. Your head is swimming, heart thrumming, feeling the tickle of his hair against your cheek as you catch your breath. Pleasure tingles throughout your entire body. He gives a breathless laugh, plants a kiss to your forehead and rolls away to lie on the sheets beside you.

It’s quiet for a heartbeat before he speaks. “Lets run away together.”

You chuckle, “we’re criminals, Hyunjae.”

“So?” he asks, facing you. His eyes are twinkling once again.

You find your words. “So, we can’t just go anywhere. We will always be wanted by the law. Besides, we should have thought of that before getting involved in this stuff.”

He releases a deep exhale. “You were always my dream, my guiding light, whatever I wanted in life. I just became involved in it because I lost you and I ended up here.”

You look at him, silently. “You never say it’s ‘because I left’, only ‘because you lost me,’.”

He blinks at you. “Because I did.” His hand entangles with your own. “I was too afraid to tell you I love you, and so I lost you.”

You squeeze his fingers. “I was… also too afraid to tell you, so I passed off the responsibility to you by asking that question.”

A smile slowly spreads across his lips. “So you’ve always loved me?”

You smile. “Yes, Hyunjae. I’ve always loved you.”

He scoops you into his arms and pulls you close. He litters kisses over every inch of your face, pulling giggles from your lips.

“So since we can’t run away, how about we call a truce between our… groups?”

“Deal.”

He holds out his pinky. You laugh at the old but familiar gesture. You interlace your pinky with his. “Okay, now, deal.”

He giggles, pressing a final kiss to your lips. “I guess you’ll have to let me go so I can convince them.” His brows furrow. “Hopefully they don’t find this place and charge in.”

“Don’t worry. You haven’t found this place in years, what is one more day?”

He smiles. “You always were smarter than me.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Do you think they can wait one more day, though?”

Hyunjae thinks on it. “I’ve waited for 8 years. I think they should’ve learned a thing or two from me.”

#the boyz smut #tbz smut #hyunjae smut #tbz fic #the boyz hyunjae #the boyz scenarios #the boyz imagines #tbz fics #the boyz fics #hyunjae x reader #idk how to tag

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aenaxes · 3 years

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OMG ok for the 200 follower celebration (based on your smoking post) PLZZZ write sharing a spice blunt with cross or any batcher of your choosing I would simply die 😩💅🏻❤️

vapor trails

[crosshair & hunter x f!reader] you don't really run with the fett twins' crowd, but you find yourself at one of their parties anyway (in reference to this post lol)

warnings: college!au, recreational drug use, suggestive themes, but consent is sexy & mandatory & sober babes

w/c: 3.8k

a/n: anon, you ask for one batcher, but why not two? thank you for enabling me nonnie & @mallr4ts lol (im so sorry to all the previous requests for the event, this one has just been needling in my brain all day and i had to get it out hsdfs)

event details here! requests are open until july 4th!

You don’t know much about the Fett twins.

They’re something like campus legends even though they’re only a year your senior and at the tail end of their fourth years. But as much as you’ve heard their names slung around in weekend plans and excited chatter, you’ve never once met them, much less seen them yourself. Between idling class whispers and dining hall conversations, all you can piece together from the rumors is that: one, they’re from a big family (you’ve heard anywhere from two to twelve other brothers, yikes); and two, as much as they work hard (because the venture capital and pre-professorial tracks seem rigorous enough), they play even harder.

It helps that they apparently own one of the biggest apartments off campus, one in which you find yourself hopelessly and miserably lost. And overdressed.

Great.

It hadn’t occurred to you that your roommate, who is nowhere to be seen, had been dressing up for her girlfriend, and that most people who had half a mind would wear something comfortable that could withstand a few spilled drinks and ash. So seeing the rest of the room in rumpled tees and sweats has you and your little black dress seeking out the nearest wall as you fiddle with your questionably sweet cup of margarita mixer.

You feel like a first year, and it sucks.

But for once, with everyone too busy mingling amongst themselves over the heavy thrum of some mumble rap beat, you manage to slip by unnoticed.

Every now and then, you dart your eyes around the ever shifting landscape of faces in the dim room, looking for even the vaguest familiarity that might let you feign being tipsy and join a group for the night. But every time you try, there’s no luck.

Fuck, you haven’t even seen anyone here before.

But there might be a god watching out for you yet when the crowd shifts just enough that you catch sight of the couch, and on it, someone you suspect to be one of the twins as he greets a few girls with a disinterested nod.

Emboldened, but mostly nervous that in the crowd of bodies and red solo cups you’re still helplessly alone, you push off the wall and squeeze past huddled cliques of conversation to make for the dark couch.

By the platinum bleached hair and big-name consulting group quarter zip, Crosshair—at least you think it’s him—lounges over the couch. He isn’t the only body on the suede seats, but he keeps to himself, his head dipped low as he works one hand over a small metal canister in his other palm.

If you weren’t having luck with the other nameless faces around you, maybe the Fett twin would keep you company—at least until your roommate came back to find you (if she did). And worst case, you’d just slink back to your dorm and mope until your roommate apologized to you with your favorite overpriced smoothie bowl the day after.

Mustering every ounce of courage you have, you plant your feet by the couch and finally speak.

"Is your name actually Crosshair?" you ask.

The man on the couch pauses, his motions stilling over the small metal cylinder in his palms, and he lifts his chin just enough to flick his eyes up towards the sound of your voice.

You always thought the girls in your droning 9AM gen-ed were wildly exaggerating his hype for their own devices, squealing over his (apparently) brooding charm and sharp looks to nip at his stash for free. But for all the vague haze surrounding your perception of the twins, you never thought that they were telling the truth.

If you had been in broad daylight under the incandescent glow of your creaky lecture hall lights, you might have called him cocky, almost haughty, how he meets you with an unreadable look for having interrupted him. But in the purple LEDs and heavy haze of vape juice and shitty tequila, he’s captivating, all dark eyes and perfectly lit skin, marked only by the needle-thin design tattooed over the right side of his face and a worn wooden toothpick bitten between his teeth.

You swallow down the dry lump in your throat when you catch him flick his eyes from your face, down the short length of your dress, and back up again.

"Smoke with me; maybe you'll find out," he drawls, toothpick bobbing as he speaks. He twists the cylinder once and offers you a wry smirk. And when you stay, speechless but there all the same, Crosshair scoots to the side and pats the narrow space between him and the couch arm, inviting you close.

"I've never smoked before," you admit a bit shyly as you drop down beside him. Your dress hikes up your thigh, and you shiver when your skin presses up against the soft denim of his jeans.

"Not even cigs?"

You shake your head. And you tell yourself that when he leans close and brushes his shoulder up against your arm, that he’s only doing it because someone’s boosted the bass, and you can’t hear him over the reverb.

"Well, good thing I'm here, yeah?"

He gives the metal canister a final twist and sets it down on the coffee table before you. Swapping the canister for a small brown sleeve, you watch in a daze as he pulls a semi-transparent leaflet from the folder and tears a strip of cardstock straight from its flap. He has pianist fingers, you think wistfully, neatly kept nails and slender grace, and you wonder if he’ll entertain you if you ask to compare your hand to his.

“What’s your name?”

You scrabble back to the present at the sound of his voice. “Uh, y/n,” you offer.

“Well, y/n,” he says with a soft laugh, having caught on to your daydreaming. “Step one, you fold your filter.”

You nod along absently as Crosshair artfully crimps the thick paper into a neat roll. As if there isn’t thirty-some odd people crammed into his apartment, he quietly takes you step by step, offering you the filter, the paper, then the contents of the canister (a grinder, he explains) like it’s a game of show and tell. But with every piece he places into your hands, you gravitate closer, closer, until you’re flush against his arm and practically hanging over his side to watch as he gently taps a line of bud over the paper.

“Here, let me give you a better look,” Crosshair says.

You expect him to bring the neat line of bud to you, but when nothing comes, you look up and find him waiting for you, one arm open in invitation as the other pats once on the dark denim of his thigh.

“Uh—”

“Sit,” he says as if you haven’t just met him fifteen minutes ago. “Front row seats if you want ‘em.”

On one hand, you barely know Crosshair outside of the rumors you hear on campus. On the other hand, he’s a genuinely pleasant person, careful to accommodate for your boundaries and offering a snide playfulness that’s banished your nerves from earlier in the night.

He’s also really fucking hot.

“Okay,” you murmur, and you let him wrap his arm around your waist and tug you onto his lap. And he’s right. Perched over his thighs, you see with perfect clarity (and without the strain in your neck) as he gently folds the paper over the mound of bud and carefully twists. It’s the prettiest joint you’ve ever seen—though it might be because it’s the only one you’ve seen.

"Final touch," Crosshair's voice rumbles over your back, shooting straight into your core as he lifts the paper's vellum edge to your lips. “Lick it for me.”

Since you sat down with him, you’ve only been the passenger, nodding along as Crosshair’s long, nimble fingers creased over filter paper and patiently pointed out things like the stray pistils in his baggie and the keef gathered at the bottom of his grinder for if you really want to get fucked up. And even though you aren’t doing much (because licking paper doesn’t really seem too crazy), it’s a step forward from the comfortable rhythm that had settled between you, and you twist around in his lap to shoot him an uncertain glance.

“Just,” Crosshair flicks his tongue over his lower lip, flashing a brief glimpse of a ball piercing towards your wide eyes. And if you weren’t so flustered, you might have recognized the coy playfulness in his gaze. “Give it a lick, right over the edge.”

“I—uh, what if I—” you stammer.

“You’re not gonna mess this up, darling,” Crosshair chuckles. If his hand squeezing brief over your waist wasn’t enough to bring heat searing over the tops of your ears, his next words, crooned low and breathy into your ear, certainly do. “You’re a smart girl. You can do it.”

"My brother giving you trouble?"

Another voice cuts through the din of the party, sparing you your stammering nerves as you whip your head up in its general direction. You’re greeted with the sight of his brother, peering down on you as he takes a sip from his cup.

“You’re such a killjoy,” Crosshair mutters, drawing his arm tighter around your waist as he jabs the half-rolled joint to where Hunter sprawls down onto the couch beside him. “No, I’m not being a creep. I’m teaching our pretty underclassman here how to roll.”

Oh.

Heat rushes over your cheeks, and you can’t decide whether you want to shrink into yourself or bask in it and beg for more.

He called you pretty.

“With her in your lap,” Hunter snorts into his cup.

“It was your idea to invite your entire fucking rugby team. Where else would we do it?”

“I’m so sorry he’s like this,” Hunter laughs, tilting his head and looking up at you through his (unfairly) long lashes. Where you thought Crosshair’s tattoo was bold, Hunter’s practically blows him out of the water, a well-worn swath of ink on the left half of his face, curving into neatly stylized teeth right at the edge of his lips. “I’m Hunter.”

Huh, maybe you do have a thing for tattoos.

“Y/n,” you squeak. “It’s, um—it’s nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart,” he says as he offers you an easy smile. “Has my baby brother been treating you right?”

“God, two fucking minutes,” Crosshair snaps. You hear the embarrassment seeping from the vitriol, and it strikes you like a shot to the head that he’s trying to play cool in front of you. “I come out two minutes after you and—”

“We’re fraternal, and I got all the oxygen in the womb. Explains why he has awful people skills,” Hunter fake-whispers loud enough for Crosshair to hear, and you giggle as the other man groans from behind you.

“No, he’s been really nice,” you say softly once you realize that you’ve been laughing a little too loud. “He’s teaching me about weed.” It sounds juvenile when you say it, awkward and clumsy on your tongue. It’s a dead giveaway that has Hunter’s smile mellowing into something soft.

“Your first time?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, Cross here’s high as shit at least four hours every day. Says it helps him do the math. I hate to say it, but you’re in good hands.”

“You try running a nonlinear regression sober,” Crosshair snorts. “Anyways, we were just finishing up this joint before you decided to kill the vibe.”

Crosshair lifts the half-rolled joint back up to your chin, and this time, he leans forward and presses his chest close against your back as the playful snark leaves his tone, in its wake, something patient and calm as his voice rumbles by your ear.

“You gonna help me finish the job, sweet girl?”

You surprise yourself when the initial trepidation vanishes as you tip your chin down and stick out your tongue. Maybe you’re showboating now that you have an audience, feeling Hunter’s dark eyes on your lips when you touch the tip of your tongue out over the edge.

Whether it’s your lip gloss or the fine crumbs of bud stuck to the roll paper that fills your mouth with something earthy and sweet, you can’t say. All you know is they’re both following you with that intense intent, the bass and blend of voices faded out around you; just you in Crosshair’s lap and Hunter pretending to care about the drink in his hand as you lift your tongue off the far corner of the paper and close your lips.

“Good job,” Hunter muses, and you’re pretty certain he’s not talking about the joint when you feel his gaze boring into you alone.

The smell of smoke pulls you out of Hunter’s gravity, and you look back in front of you to see Crosshair snap a scuffed metal lighter shut and toss it onto the coffee table. He brings the joint back down in front of you, blowing a neat stream of whitish gray smoke past your ear.

“You know how to pull?” Crosshair asks, and his chin brushes over your bare shoulder as he speaks. He’s so close. You can smell the burn, acrid and sour, but it doesn’t matter that it doesn’t smell like some bubblegum vape when you feel his breaths curling over your skin. You just want more.

Mutely, you shake your head.

“Mm, you know how to shotgun?” Hunter offers, and you hear Crosshair huff laugher from behind you. “Might be easier for your first try.”

You shake your head again.

“It’s,” Hunter pauses, and his brows knit close as he thinks for a moment. “It’s kind of like a kiss. But not really. I take a hit and you catch my smoke. That sound okay?”

You don’t think it matters that someone’s hit shuffle on the playlist, filling the room with a hard electronic beat that might have otherwise drowned out all sound. All you hear is your heart pounding in your ears as you nod and watch Hunter lift the filter to his lips and inhale deep, then pass the joint back to Crosshair.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, white trails of smoke curling over his upper lip as he lifts one hand to cup over the base of your neck.

“Open,” Crosshair whispers.

Wordlessly, you obey. Your lips part just as Hunter pulls close, so close you feel the heat of his skin spreading warm over your cheeks, and blows a soft stream of bitter smoke into your mouth. It can’t be more than a few seconds, but all the while, you can’t seem to tear your eyes from his.

“Breathe in, deep,” you hear Crosshair instruct as he begins to rub one thumb over the curve of your hip.

The smoke is thick, sluicing down your throat and filling your lungs like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It’s not bad, just new, and pressed between the twins over the couch, you think it just might have been worth being ditched by your roommate earlier in the night. But your lungs ache, and you slowly exhale, watching as your vision fogs with a loose cloud of smoke until your chest feels clear again.

“And you didn’t even cough,” Hunter smiles. His calloused fingertips follow the slope of your neck, lingering one moment more before he pulls away. And you aren’t sure if the low buzzing in your fingertips is the weed or their combined warmth as Hunter rubs over your knee and Crosshair leans his head against your neck. “Good girl.”

“Wanna do it again,” you whisper as the buzz begins to crawl up your neck, fizzling around your temples as you lean your cheek over where Crosshair nuzzles into your shoulder.

“With him or me?” Crosshair murmurs, his lips brushing over your skin.

“You,” you say dreamily, and Hunter laughs, a sound that suddenly seems so far away as you tip your head and press close against Crosshair’s silver hair.

Crosshair leans into your touch, pressing his cheek up against your neck one last time before he’s lifting his head and bringing the joint to his lips. You hear the hiss of his inhale, smoke curling up through the narrow body of the joint as the charred end glows warm beside you.

And instead of Hunter’s approach, level with you, Crosshair looms above you, meeting your wide eyes with something of a fond smile. Dragging his hand up your chest, he follows the line of your neck and holds snug over your chin. He squeezes softly, and your jaw falls slack, lips parted in a soft ‘o’ as he dips low. He's closer than Hunter as you feel his mouth just brush over yours and breathe smoke over your tongue.

This time, it’s easier.

You swallow down the smoke and hold, just a beat longer than before. But both Crosshair and Hunter notice as your lips stay parted, and they share a soft laugh that has you exhaling smoke and pride all at once when you finally relax your diaphragm and breathe out.

“Fast learner,” Crosshair muses, nosing up under your jaw as you sink back against his chest.

You mumble incoherently, chasing his touch as the high creeps heavy and warm from your chest to your collar and settles at the back of your throat. It anchors you, molding you up against Crosshair who feels nothing short of perfect as he circles his arms loose over your waist.

You turn your head to thank Hunter when you distantly register him pressing a cool cup into your hand (water, you think you hear him say), but the words slip back down into your throat, your eyelids suddenly unbearably heavy and coarse over your blurry vision.

“You wanna lay down?” Hunter offers, and his voice comes to you like you’re underwater, warped and bubbling past the din of the party around you.

You're pretty sure you nod.

For a few moments, you catch traces of an unintelligible exchange between the twins, only aware of the rumble of Crosshair’s voice at your back, and then you’re being lifted up off the couch, the music and raucous laughter fading behind you.

A door opens, squeaking half-shut, and you wince as a light clicks on beside you. Whoever was carrying you sets you down on something soft and cool, and you sway as the light dims and you settle into your seat.

You’re on a bed, you think.

Crosshair’s, judging by the shock of light hair that you can make out through your lashes. He helps you into a worn tee that reaches past the short hem of your dress, and you wiggle into it with a soft whine, holding it tight.

But where you expect a familiar weight to dip down next to you and pull you close, your eyes fly open when you see his figure turn away from you and towards the neon lights of the party outside.

“You aren’t staying?” It's the most coherent you've been through your first high.

“Not tonight,” Crosshair says softly. He turns back towards you and reaches up to fix the strap of your dress as you sit on his bed. “Baby’s first tokes got you all dopey. Right now, what you need is this,” and he presses a plastic bottle of vitamin water he’s seemingly produced out of nowhere into your palm. “This,” he adds, pressing your phone into your other hand. “And a good night’s sleep.”

“And what if I say I need you, too?” you pout.

Some part of you—the conscious part locked away in the back of your skull—bangs up against the hazy high at the crown of your head because when you’re good and sober and when Crosshair inevitably turns you down, you won’t be able to look at yourself in the mirror for the next semester.

But he breaks into a smile that crinkles at the corners of his eyes before he leans down to press his lips to your forehead. It’s just a split-second of warm, chapstick-soft lips on your skin, but it floods you with an indescribable good from the top of your head all the way down to your toes.

And as high as you are right now, you have a hell of a hunch that the flutter in your chest is going to stay, even when the room stops wobbling around you.

“When you’re all sobered up in the morning, we’ll make you breakfast, and we’ll figure it out from there,” Crosshair says after he’s pulled back, reaching up to smooth his palm over your hair. “Sound like a plan?”

You nod, probably with a little too much enthusiasm, but you’re rewarded with another low chuckle that’s practically music to your ears. His hand gentle and firm over your shoulder, Crosshair guides you down onto the bed and pulls the covers up to your chin.

“Now text your roomie so she doesn’t call the cops on us, get some sleep, and drink all of that, okay?”

“Okay,” you respond.

“Good girl.”

And when the lights click out, you curl into Crosshair’s pillow, breathing in cold, fresh notes of his cologne, and then you’re asleep.

You climb out of bed the next morning, your minidress rumpled under a long shirt. It's not like a hangover, no, you just find yourself a bit lightheaded and throat parched, and the disorientation makes your head spin as you’re greeted with the smell of fresh coffee and something savory—

Your roommate doesn’t wake up earlier than you, and she can’t cook for shit. And why were your sheets grey? Whose shirt were you—

Oh.

Fuck.

You practically burst out of Crosshair’s bedroom, and you’re not sure what you expected, but somehow you hadn’t expected to see Hunter sipping mildly on a mug of coffee while Crosshair pushes something around in a pan over their kitchen range.

“Mornin,’” Hunter offers you a small wave, and reaches for a third mug on the countertop. “Wasn’t sure how you liked your coffee so we just made it black.”

“What happened last night?” you gasp. If you weren’t so panicked, you’re certain the sight of them sporting nothing but grey sweats would have been your only concern, but you’ve just woken up with foggy memories and the slimy dread of anxiety that follows a blackout night.

“Easy, easy,” Crosshair assures you as he steps away from the stovetop. “Nothing happened after we smoked. You took, like, two hits, and you were so hazy you couldn’t remember your dorm number, so we put you to bed, and I slept out in the living room. Fetts are wild but we’re not scumbags, promise.”

And judging from the throw blanket sliding off the edge of the couch cushions, you’re fairly certain you can believe him. Relief floods your chest.

“Oh thank God,” you sigh, and your shoulders sag as the weight of panic sloughs off your back.

They both laugh softly, the sudden tension lifting from the bright morning light, and you can’t help but join in. And when that rosy relief gives way to silence again, it’s Crosshair who speaks next.

“So, you staying for breakfast?”

“Can I borrow some actual clothes first?”

“Done deal.”

#fun fact: my signature party trick is flirting with a guy and then stealing his blunt ✌️😗#thinking about how schlorbe n i agreed crosshair listens to souncloud mumble rap :/#its ok i kiss him anyways #hc that crosshair’s an econ/finance bro and hunter’s a history major hehe #sequel series: crosshair goes venture capital (gross)#tech's probably at like the space equivalent of mit or something #and i will Die on the hill that wrecker's super smart with kinesiology #crosshair x reader #hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x reader #the bad batch x reader #anon #yaej.writes

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aftgficrec · 3 years

Note

AHHH your open!!! could u please recommend some angsty one shots, I'm such a sucker for those. MUCH LOVE

You didn’t specify a pairing, so we tried to provide a little variety, though as usual most is Andreil. There’s some absolutely delicious angst in the previous recs, so make sure to check those out as well for a good cathartic cry! -F

most of the fics in this apocalypse ask here

short angsty Andrew fics here

Neil cheats fics here

‘Won’t you help me?...’, ‘Voicemails to the Dead’, and ‘Break to build yourself back’ here

‘the gods took them back…’ here

‘one more or one less, nobody’s worried’ here

‘The Eulogy’ here

‘Mommy Dearest’ here

‘Cut at the knees (I’ll bash your head in)’ here

‘Witness’ and ‘there’s a niche in his chest…’ here

‘You were seven’ here

‘inevitably, like a car crash’ and ‘the deal’s done’ here

‘I put the record on…’, ‘Truths for the Rooftop’ (series of 3 one-shots), ‘deadweight has-been’ (series of 2 one-shots) here

‘blood is rare and sweet’ and ‘The roots of your suffering’ here (Renison)

Andreil:

you're in a car with a beautiful boy (he loves you) by blafard [Rated T, 2829 words, Complete 2022]

Neil stirs beside him, long dark eyelashes fanning over his high cheekbones and casting shadows and Andrew longs to see him open his eyes, look at him with those incredibly blue eyes, feel the way they strip him bare with just a single look and without Andrew having to explain himself.

He never has to when it comes to Neil, not like he has to with anyone else.

(tw: blood, tw: guns, tw: implied/referenced violence)

Bad Days by maqicien [Not Rated (we say T), 1129 words, Complete 2022]

He lays on that couch in his dorm room and lets the feeling of utter devastation eat him whole.

(tw: suicidal thoughts)

I love you (and If I could've, I would have stayed forever) by Artificiosus [Rated G, 2102 words, Complete 2022]

"Stay," He says, assertively. One word he says, and Neil wants so badly to listen. He would do anything for him, for Andrew.

Anything, he supposes, anything but this.

---

In which Neil gets too attached to what was meant to be another meaningless pitstop in his life on the run.

you were my almost by fatalescorpio [Rated T, 1226 words, Complete 2022]

Neil never made it out.

Stuart didn’t get there on time. Mere seconds, two heartbeats, one gunshot too late.

:*:*:

The one where Neil dies

(tw: major character death, tw: suicidal ideation)

Four Roses, Neat by fuzzballsheltiepants [Rated M, 2378 words, Complete 2019, AFTG Exchange, locked]

Andrew's a reporter who just hit on the story of his life. Neil is his coworker who might not be what he seems.

I don't want to forget by Greenteacandle [Rated T, 4029 Words, Complete, 2020]

Andrew is a successful exy star now, but he still remembers his first love.

(tw: major character death, tw: implied/referenced suicide)

Neil:

How to outrun the mafia, an essay by Neil Josten by anonymua [Rated G (we say T), 1668 words, Complete 2022]

Nathaniel grows up in the nest but not being able to stand the torture any longer he runs away, leaving his brothers behind.

Years later he reunites with one of them.

(tw: implied/referenced major character death, tw: blood)

The Inescapable Past by Artificiosus [Rated T, 4340 words, Complete 2022]

There were no windows in the room, if you could call it that, the cell, no clocks mounted on the wall, or watches strewn about. There was nothing but him, the chains on his wrists, the creaky old stairs and the door that seemed miles away without being very far at all. No way for him to tell the time, whether it was night or day, how long he had even been there, because by now it could have easily been hours or weeks or years, time moved up and down and left to right, in circles and triangles, it moved anywhere but in a linear way, time moved like it would in hell.

......

A dashboard lighter on his face. Lola on his back. A racket with no one to stop it from coming down on his skull. Knives and a gun and a thousand harsh words, all pointed towards him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Neil's nightmare.

(tw: nightmares, tw: violence, tw: torture, tw: abuse, tw: canonical character death, tw: implied/reference rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced drug overdose, tw: choking, tw: suicidal ideation)

Aaron:

church dog by skullcaid [Rated T, 6773 words, Complete 2022]

Aaron Minyard is extraordinarily ordinary. He's unremarkable, in fact, and a few bad days that lead up to his relapse make him lose sleep, patience, and maybe even his mind in the end.

(tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: drug use, tw: violence, tw: gore)

Least Favorite Only Child by JayJFox [Rated M, 5676 words, Complete 2021]

He should’ve known all along that this was never going to work. When has Aaron ever wanted something and had it? When has he gotten to keep anything at all?

-- Andrew and Aaron fall out during therapy, Kevin messes up Aaron's head and everything feels like a giant landslide. Maybe Aaron just needs to do some healing on his own.

(tw: internalized homophobia, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: alcohol)

Phoenix From the Ashes by veolie [Rated T, 2177 words, Complete 2022]

The fire, that Aaron Minyard had carried, was finally gone. Trying to stay alive, it had burned down everything that had ever meant something to him until there was nothing left.

Aaron Minyard had been destroyed beyond repair.

He knew, because no one had yet been able to heal his illness.

Aaron Minyard had burned out.

(tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: suicidal ideation)

Kandrew:

even if it takes __ years by nanatsuyu [Rated T, 10677 words, Complete 2022, AFTG Mixtape Exchange]

“So… you weren’t talking?” Nicky shifts to lean back against the counter, brows knitting in confusion. “That’s kind of hard to believe.”

“You make it sound like we didn’t graduate over four years ago,” he remarks pointedly. People move on from relationships of all kinds after a while. Andrew’s not exempt from that, much as he wishes. “We weren’t high school sweethearts.”

Not everyone ends up with the first boy they kiss in college after a drink too many and a bloodied nose. Kevin should have asked first, but it didn't stop Andrew from kissing him again.

(tw: implied/referenced alcoholism, tw: alcohol, tw: implied/referenced drug addiction)

Kevin/Jean:

it's a quarter past midnight (and the sirens are mending some hearts) by maisy_daisy [Rated M, 6345 words, Complete 2021]

A story with four beginnings, and the one inevitable conclusion for a Raven no longer welcome home. But when it comes down to fight or flight, sometimes all it takes is the first gentle touch in the night to remind you why you have to decide at all.

And Kevin Day’s greatest regret will always be who he decided to leave behind.

(tw: abuse, tw: violence)

The Foxes & Wymack:

where you are by @triquetrine [Tumblr Fic, 2020]

in which the foxes, now much older than we first met them, reunite at the funeral of the man who brought them together in the first place.

(tw: major character death)

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amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines · 3 years

Text

Cheryl//maple syrup

Request: Can you do the secret and sins when Veronica comments on the Cheryl’s twincest and the reader defends Cheryl even though the reader kinda diss likes Cheryl.

hey! how is everyone? i hope you’re all well and good! i may have slightly cheated a bit and copy and pasted a previously written out bit from another request where they’re playing secrets and sins. but that’s only because i didn’t see the point in writing the same dialogue again. anywayyyy enjoy!

It seems that whenever Cheryl Blossom arrives at a party, the party atmosphere disappears. Maybe it’s her grating personality or overbearing need to be liked, whatever it is, within ten minutes of her and Chuck gate crashing Jughead’s unwanted birthday party, there’s already tension.

Which is not made any better by the suggestion of secrets & sins. Your friends are gathered in a circle in the living room, while you sit off to the side. You want to eavesdrop, but you don’t want to reveal your deepest, darkest secrets, not to your best friends and definitely not to Cheryl.

It’s clear everyone that’s been roped into this stupid game doesn’t want to be there. Betty shifts in her seat uncomfortably and stares at you with pleading eyes. You shoot her an unsure smile back before taking a sip of your drink and she drops your gaze, glancing at Archie before staring down at the floor.

Cheryl is the only one that looks like she’s enjoying herself, but you’re not surprised. Chaos and the chance to get dirt on everyone so she can control them even more than she already does is what Cheryl lives for.

You glare at the red-head, who’s smiling brightly as she looks around at her victims and when her eyes land on you, her eyes narrow and the smile is replaced by a smirk.

“What’s wrong Y/n? Did nobody pick you to be on their team?” She asks, her bright red lips forming a perfect pout and you can’t help but stare at them for a few seconds longer than you should. You feel your face heat up and look away, blaming the alcohol for the affects you’re feeling and refusing to believe that you’ve just thought of Cheryl Blossom as attractive.

A shiver runs up your spine at the thought and you lips pull into a pout as you stare down at the now empty cup in your hands. You scratch at the plastic and listen to the mumbles and whispers of the teenagers stood and sat around you.

Whoever isn’t partaking in Secrets and Sins, have gathered around to watch and judge, and you can’t help but lean in a little closer, they may be some of your closest friends, but you can’t help wanting to know what they’ve been hiding from one another...you’re only human and at least you’re not as bad as Cheryl.

Cheryl lives of rumours. Like Gretchen Wieners with smaller and redder hair.

“What the hell is Secrets and Sins?” Jughead asks, all eyes on Cheryl as she moves around in a circle, eyeing everyone suspiciously as she starts to explain the rules.

“Its a variation on Truth or Dare…in which we own our truths by telling it like it is. I’ll start the game with…Veronica Lodge.” She smirks and you roll your eyes at her.

“Naturally.” Veronica sighs and you pat her shoulder.

“Let’s begin with the day you and your mob wife of a mother came to town for a so-called fresh start.” She says, her eyes filled with accusations and anger before she’s even gotten to her question.

You really don’t know why so many people like her, well you do, it’s because she’s rich and she bullies people into being her friend because she’s unable to make them any other way.

She’s snobby, spoilt and just plain mean, but that doesn’t stop you from sometimes staring at her for longer than you want to and definitely should.

“Tell us Veronica, what’s so fresh about defiling Archie Andrews in a closet?”

“That was your doing.” She replies confused, her arms crossed defensively against her chest.

“Moving on to dear Daddy Lodge…” She interrupts, getting more and more angry by the second. “Isn’t it true that your father, from prison, illegally purchased the drive-in land? Which makes me wonder, what else is he doing behind bars?” She continues and you glance to your side at Joaquin, who shares a very suspicious look with FP

“Well, I can’t speak for my father…but I can think of someone with a very dirty secret. Specifically, Cheryl killing her very own brother.” The tension in the room shifts and your eyes widen.

As much as you dislike Cheryl, you know how close her and Jason were and you knew how much it hurt and how she’s still hurting now because of his death. You’ve seen her crying underneath the bleachers after school, you see how her eyes are a little more dull than they used to be. They don’t sparkle as much when she talks and when she’s not spreading hate, she’s just not saying anything at all.

She smiles less when with her friends, and sometimes you think the only reason she’s horrible to people is so she can feel something. But that doesn’t excuse it and so you shake your head and earn a few confused looks as you try to stop yourself from defending Cheryl Majorie Blossom.

“Everyone knows how much I loved my brother.” Cheryl defends herself.

“Exactly.” Veronica replies. “But did you love him, maybe in ways that a sister shouldn’t love a brother?” She continues and you watch as Cheryl becomes more and more upset. “And as you got older, Jason started to think it was strange, unnatural. So he chose Polly over you. So you shot him between the eyes with one of your father’s many hunting rifles.”

Her shoulders slump a little and her bottom lip quivers as she looks around the room helplessly. The confident look she usually has, has slipped off like a mask, revealing a very sad girl underneath and suddenly you find yourself standing up.

“That’s enough Veronica.” You say, surprising everyone, including Cheryl. “Just leave her alone, it’s not worth it.” You add quietly and slowly sit back down again.

Veronica hold her hands up in defence and you force a smile before going back to picking at the plastic of your cup.

“I don’t need you to defend me.” Cheryl seethes, her eyes full of hatred as she looks at you, and for some reason it stings. You’re used to her not liking you, but her hating you, hurts you for some unknown reason and you have to take a few deep breaths in order to stop the ache in your chest.

“This game is sick.” Dilton adds and Cheryl uses the distraction to wipe away the tears on her cheek. “I wanna go next.” He adds making everyone look at him.

“Thats the spirit, Doiley. What secrets do you have to reveal to us?” Chuck grins.

“I saw Ms. Grundy’s car by Sweetwater River the day Jason went missing.” He says and everyone gasps. People mumble and whisper around you and Cheryl stares straight at Dilton, her eyes narrow. “I told Betty and Jughead, and then Ms. Grundy quit her job and left Riverdale, like, two days later. And let’s not forget that Archie was also at Sweetwater River that morning.”

“Oh, my God.” Cheryl whips her head round to look at Archie. “Colour me shocked. Archie Andrews, is that why you became a mediocre musician overnight? Because you and Ms. Four-Eyes were pulling a Mary Kay Letourneau?”

“Don’t say anything. Don’t get in the gutter with them.” Veronica mutters while glaring at Cheryl.

“Wait, what? Andrews was banging a teacher?” Chuck asks, his tone a mix of surprise and impressed and you roll your eyes at him. “I wish I would’ve known. I would have added you and Ms. Grundy to the book of conquests.”

“Classy, Chuck, as always.”

“Wait a second.” Cheryl interrupts. “That also explains why Archie can’t seem to keep a girlfriend to save his life. He’s got serious mommy issues. Anything to say for yourself Arch? Were you a victim or a perpetrator?”

“Dilton Doiley plays with guns.” Betty tries to change the subject but she’s immediately shut down.

“Big whoop, Betty. So Doiley’s a psychopath. Everyone knows that.”

“Well, I guess it’s my turn now. Boy, do I have a twisted secret to reveal, starring Betty Cooper.”

“Leave her the hell alone, Chuck.” Archie threatens.

“Shut up, Andrews.” He replies. “Look, you may get a free peep show every night, but you do not know her. Hell, Betty doesn’t even know herself. Everybody knows why I got suspended, but what you don’t know...she dressed up like a hooker, in a God-awful black wig, drugged me, handcuffed me in the Jacuzzi, and well, I almost drowned until she got me to say what she wanted to hear. And then she really lost it. She actually thought she was Polly. But, hey, you knew all about this right, Jughead?” He asks. For a second, the question hangs in the air, everyone trying to figure out what to say next and how to process what they’ve just been told.

But then Jughead leaps forward at punches Chuck in face causing all hell to break loose. Everyone stands and FP shoves races forward to grab Chuck and throw him outside.

While everyone else follows them outside, eagerly awaiting a fight, you stay back and watch as Cheryl disappears upstairs, quietly sniffling as she goes. You look at the front door and then at the stairs and sigh, knowing that this is not gonna end well. She’s gonna insult you and tell you to leave her alone, but at least you can say you tried to help and then you won’t feel bad.

So you glance at the door one more time and pray that at least one person is filming whatever is happening out there, before wandering up the stairs in search for Cheryl.

The slight scent of maple syrup and the sound of faint cries coming from the bathroom lets you know where she’s hiding and you quietly creep along the slightly creaky floorboards, trying to remember which ones to avoid after years of practice when sneaking into Archie’s room in order to break him out.

You stop outside of the bathroom, light coming out of the cracks of the door and your hand hovers over the handle.

“Whoever is out there, go away.” She sniffles and you roll your eyes.

Turning on your heel, you start to walk away, but then you hear her sob and it makes you freeze.

You let out a quiet groan and curse the side of you that can’t leave people that are crying alone, before making your way back to the bathroom and slowly opening the door.

The first thing you see as you duck your hear around the door is Cheryl sat on the side of the bath. Her hands gripping the edges so hard that her knuckles have turned white. He hair has fallen in front of her face and you watch as she her shoulder shake and tears drip onto the bath mat.

“Cheryl?” You whisper and she looks up, her eyes wide as she quickly scrambles to wipe away the tears that have ruined her makeup. “Are you okay?” You ask and walk into the room. You close the door behind you and lean against it and her expression hardens.

“I’m having the best time.” She deadpans and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. God is she stubborn.

“Look, I know we’re not exactly best friends. Most of the time, I don’t really like to be around you-”

“Is this supposed to be making me feel better?” She asks and you shrug.

“But you know that if you need someone to talk to that won’t judge you or really know anything about you, you can. I’ll just sit and listen and you can cry or rant or I dunno. Just, know you’re not alone. You may not get along with everyone in this town, but we will all be here for you if you need us, all you have to do is ask.” You say honestly but anxiously while playing with your fingers.

She looks at you surprised, her lips part as if she’s going to say something and you’re sure she’s going to tell you to shut up and leave her alone, but instead she says thank you and you feel yourself relax a little.

“It’s okay.” You nod. “And for the record, what Veronica said was out of line. Everyone knows how much Jason meant to you and for her to say that is just wrong. We all know you loved your brother...a normal amount.” You add the last bit quietly and she stares at you for a few seconds before a smile twitches at her lips. “Would you like me to leave you alone now?” You ask and she shakes her head. You look around the small bathroom, trying to figure out the best place to sit and she moves along a little so you can sit beside her. “Would you like me to sit with you until you feel better?” You ask and she nods slowly, her lip wobbling again.

You sit beside her, place a gentle hand over hers and the two of you fall into a slightly awkward but not as bad as you thought it would be, silence.

After ten minutes, Cheryl stands and makes her way over to the mirror. She swipes her fingers under her eyes to try and get rid of her ruined mascara before messing with her hair to try and get it back to looking like normal.

“Do I look okay?” She turns to you and stands with her arms by her side. Your breath hitches when you look at her and you wonder how she looks so pretty even in the most unflattering light that is Archie Andrews’ bathroom.

You stand in front of her and slowly tuck a piece of hair behind her ear and you watch as she takes a shaky breath.

“Can I?” You ask, your fingers centimetres away from her cheek and she nods slowly, her eyes locked with yours and you feel yourself growing warm from the intensity. “There.” You smile once you’ve wiped a bit of mascara away from her cheek.

She grabs her bag and pulls her lipstick from it, but when she goes to apply it, her hands shake and you take it from her gently.

Your lips darts out between your tongue as you concentrate on keeping the lipstick in the lines, and you can feel her warm breath on your cheek.

“There!” You smile proudly once your finished, but she grabs your arm before you can pull away properly as her lips connect with yours in an almost frantic kiss.

You gasp a little and then relax and kiss back just as frantically, but she pulls away after a few seconds and the two of you stare at each other wide-eyed and breathless.

“Your lipstick’s ruined.” You whisper and her lips curl into a smile.

“Worth it.” She replies before pulling you close to her and kissing you again.

support my writing! if you want!

#cheryl blossom #cheryl blossom imagine #cheryl blossom x you #cheryl blossom x y/n #cheryl #cheryl imagine #cheryl x reader #cheryl x you #cheryl x y/n #riverdale #riverdale imagine

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dreadwulf · 3 years

Text

2: The Black Mountains

Post-Apocalyptic Modern AU. Chapter 1 is here.

The last thing his right eye ever saw was Brienne.

In that eye she is shouting. Of course he couldn’t hear her at the time over the jeers of the Bloody Mummers tying him to the table. Their laughter had been right up against his ears and the sound of it drowned out everything else in that abandoned mall. The image is soundless: her mouth is just open, her throat pushing out a word that looks like No. Her blue eyes are also open wide, both frightened and angry, a righteous fury that came to him as a surprise, at the time.

She is a still image that resides in the abandoned nerves to that empty eye socket. If he cares to, he can still see her there, superimposed over everything.

She hovers over The Spider’s right shoulder just now. Still saying No.

He tries to focus on the Spider’s face instead. Varys raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow on his immaculate bald head.

“You can’t shoot anymore. Not like before, not with one eye. You know this.”

“I don’t mean to shoot.” Jaime shows his palms. “I have two hands still. I need a weapon I won’t have to aim.”

Varys measures this statement. He is a man who deals in knowledge more than goods, but he has an armed guard, and a collection of interesting weapons. Both for his own protection, and for use in acquiring the most valuable intel.

“In that case,” the Spider presses a button on the trailer wall. To one of the bikers, a large man with a burnt face who looks in the door in response to his call, he instructs, “bring me the Widow’s Wail.”

The same scarred man reappears with a comically oversized weapon in his hands. Turns out Widow’s Wail is an axe. It is a huge, two-handed, double-bladed axe and when the burnt biker hands it to Jaime his hands dip with the weight.

Axes, Brienne used to tell him, are the best weapon for killing Others. You don’t need to reload an axe. It can’t jam, doesn’t recoil. Simple and effective.

Messy though, he had said back. He had always preferred his rifle -- clean and fast, one shot and done, and hopefully at a distance. The Others would fall down like carnival targets, one after another, and his favorite jacket would remain spotless. But after they took his eye, he had needed a new weapon, and his jacket was long-ruined by then.

This is messy work, she had replied.

Now, he lifts the weapon, turns it one way and another. Both edges gleam in the fluorescent light. This axe has been sharpened recently. It is spotless. This weapon has never seen battle.

“It’s new,” Varys fills in immediately, “but it was designed to kill Others. Old valyrian steel, made the old way. We haven’t yet had opportunity to test it, but it will strike true.”

Jaime doesn’t ask how Varys would be able to make a valyrian steel weapon. Knowing how is what he does.

The Spider watches him curiously. “Are we square then, Slayer?”

“Almost.” He sits again, crosses the long weapon over his lap with both fists grasping it tightly. “Where did it happen?”

“In the North. What exactly happened is unclear even to me, but we know for certain she had traveled north with a small gang. There are reports of her at Winterfell, and then she went with Snow and a small band of Starks beyond the Black Mountains. They returned without her.”

Jaime nods shortly. “Winterfell, then the wilds.”

The Spider frowns. He is perhaps a little perplexed by this conversation, or by Jaime himself. He likes to think he knows people, knows how they will react. But recent years have made a different man of Jaime Lannister. The fall of King’s Landing, his father’s death, the business with Cersei -- after all that, the arrogant and impetuous adventurer of his younger days is long gone. He is a ghost of himself, and the Spider doesn’t know what this ghost will do. He doesn’t like that.

He sits up a little bit straighter on his couch. “Then it isn’t our local outbreak you intend to fight? I expected you would be nearby. Kill some Others, burn off some steam, and incidentally clear out some of the infestation in the Riverlands, which would be convenient for me. But you aren’t doing that, are you? You mean to follow her? To what purpose?”

Jaime’s eye flickers briefly right. “Hunting.”

“It will be pointless to mount a rescue mission, I assure you.”

“That isn’t the point.”

Their eyes meet for a moment. Jaime isn’t about to elaborate on his intentions, and Varys is visibly frustrated. His silky tones shorten, revealing something sharp beneath.

“I ought to stop you. You have brought order to the Westerlands, and you’re starting to bring it here too. Alliances, patrols for the roads. Your brother, clever as he is, did not do that. If you abandon these lands, it may all fall apart.”

Jaime feels a flicker of guilt for that, but it is quickly doused by everything else happening inside him. No, this is important. Maybe the most important thing he has ever done.

He shrugs stiffly. “If it falls apart without me, it was too fragile to last.”

“You’ll need more than an axe and your motorbike to make that journey. You have favors to trade, certainly,” Varys cuts him off before he can argue, “but not that many. The scouting party went beyond the Black Mountains, across them, into the far North. There are few enough waystations on the way to Winterfell, and everything North of Winterfell belongs to the Others. There will be no shelters for you along the way, no refuges, no refueling.”

Jaime is unconcerned. “If she made it there, then I can too.”

“The Blue Angel had a party of supporters, specialists. She would have been outfitted with the best supplies and equipment. She was welcomed everywhere she went, and at the peak of her powers. No offense, Slayer, but you are past your prime, and your powers lately end at the borders of Lannister territory.”

He smiles thinly as he stands. “I didn’t know you cared, Spider. Thanks for the weapon. We’re square.”

Jaime takes the axe outside, and stands staring up at the moon, while the bikers retrieve his motorbike.

Anytime he looks at the moon, anytime there is a moon, he thinks of her. Remembers how they had looked on it together, during those long nights on the road, even though they had parted years ago now. Her on to glory, him back to the arms of his family. They delivered the girls to Winterfell, and he left her to the Kingsroad. It was her territory after that, what once had been his. She had earned it in sweat and tears and blood. She tended it well without him. He had gloried in tales of her exploits.

Whenever he looks at the moon, he has always wondered if she is looking too. Wherever she is.

He thinks he will not be able to look at the moon anymore.

When he turns his head, Varys stands on the steps of his trailer, his bald head gleaming against the fluorescent light. Jaime has never seen him outside his trailer. It’s confusing, a little like seeing a penguin in the jungle.

“The Others of the Black Mountains are different,” The Spider warns him. “Worse.”

When his bike comes rolling back with two of the Spider’s bikers, it comes with a few more gifts. Two metal spheres, one the size of a softball and the other the size of a chestnut.

Grenades, obviously Old World. Gods know where Varys got them from, certainly they aren’t made this way anymore. What they’re calling grenades now will mostly just make noise. But these two could probably blow a hole in a tank. He packs them onto his bike carefully.

Any old-world weapon would be priceless now, Jaime knows. Varys would not overpay a debt.

He squints up at the Spider, who makes a silky shadow in the doorway against his light. “And the cost?”

The Spider smiles -- he can’t see it, on a shadow, but he can hear it in his voice. “If you come back, tell me what you saw. I hear very little of the Black Mountains and none of it first-hand.”

Jaime can promise that easily enough. He knows he won’t be coming back.

He walks his bike in silence about a mile up the road before waking the engines and roaring away.

He rides the motorbike until the last of his carefully hoarded gasoline is run out, rides right through the next day and into the night. Gets more miles out of it than he would have gotten with his creaky armored car, and certainly faster.

Along the way he sees no other travelers. Five years ago there would have been at least a few others, some other vehicles, perhaps spaced out and alone, perhaps all in a big caravan for safety. But there is not much fuel left anymore. And North is not a direction people go in now.

It was how he had met her, actually. On a road much like this one. He had been on a different motorbike and she had been driving a sedan. Obviously following him, less obvious why. He made it a chase - weaving between the stopped traffic, blasting around the walkers and cyclists and parades of cars going nowhere. She had somehow kept up with him, pushing her poor little car to its limits. Eventually he decided whoever it was had earned his attention for at least a few minutes, and he pulled over on the road to watch the tallest, ugliest woman he had ever seen unfold herself out of her car.

She kept his attention considerably longer than a few minutes. .

Of course, he could enjoy a chase back then - you could still count on petrol, could siphon it out of most any vehicle you encountered along the way. The cars along the road here are bone dry by now, haven’t moved in years, and the electronics, trunk supplies, and even promising upholstery have been stripped out of them long ago. The cars pass by now in muted streaks of blue and red, dulled by layers of paint-stripping weather damage and snow.

When his bike sputters to a stop, he leaves it right out on the highway. Packs his equipment onto his back. Then he begins to walk.

Without the headlights of his bike, it’s quite dark. No streetlights, of course. He has a torch in his bag, but he’s saving that battery as long as he can. Anyway, the moon is out, and once his eyes are adjusted he sees well enough. The trees encroaching on the interstate have not quite overtaken the shoulder, and the glow of moon and stars light up the cracked concrete in front of him, and glitter in the frost.

His boots echo his footfalls up and down the highway. First the gritty sound of gravel, and then the crunch of ice, and then the quieter scrunch of snow.

There are no other sounds to hear out here -- no bird cries, no insects. They aren’t sure if the animals are dead, hiding, or run away, but no one sees them anymore. Means he doesn’t have to worry about being eaten by bears, at least.

The last bear he has seen was that time with Brienne, actually. It might have been the last bear, period. He hasn’t heard of any other ones since. That would be a shame, if that had been the last bear, and they’d killed it. He hadn’t wanted to. He can’t take it personally, the bear trying to eat them. He was only hungry, and they were all very hungry that winter.

He didn’t know he would be fleeing the last bear in Westeros with her, when he met Brienne on the road. He only knew she was capable, and she was following him, and anyone out in the wilds could be dangerous. Out here other people were either foolishly overconfident, robbers, or competition.

Brienne proved to be the last type, possibly also the first. She was after the Stark bounty, same as him. She had a personal stake. He could keep the money, she said. He had a lot more experience and knew where he was going, but she could be an ally. She could help.

He had laughed in her face, more or less. Said she was free to make the bounty herself, but he traveled alone. Newbies tended to die almost immediately, and he hadn’t stayed alive this long by babysitting foolish college students. He would locate the missing Stark girls and deliver them home. But if she wanted to return them herself she’d have to beat him there.

A few weeks later they had wound up with one Stark girl apiece -- him with Sansa and her best girlfriend Jayne, her with Arya and her mate Gendry -- and again she had proposed an alliance for the trip up to Winterfell. No one had made it to Winterfell since the disaster, but their chances were better together, she said.

His better idea was that he could take the two valuable girls to Winterfell and she could take the two spares and go back to King’s Landing where it was safe, or jump in a lake for all he cared. But that conversation had been interrupted by the Bloody Mummers, and after that… things were very different after that.

Jaime slows to a stop with this remembrance, digs in his bag for his water bottle and takes a long pull. He’s tiring faster than he expected. He has tried to keep himself in fighting shape the last few years, but he hasn’t made a journey like this in a long time.

You’ve grown soft, he thinks, but inside his head it sounds like Brienne’s gentle ribbing. The tone she had taken after she stopped insulting him for real.

I’m refined, he answers back, slinging his pack over his shoulder and walking again. Answers between breaths, like he’s actually speaking. I’m a diplomat these days, remember?

Will you try to negotiate with the Others then? She laughs in his ear. What will you trade them, wine? Broken electronics? The only economy they know is violence, and we trade them blows.

He smiles to himself, despite everything. Young lady, it’s a good thing you didn’t come back to King’s Landing with me. You would have knocked out the Small Council within a day, and we’d both have been out on our asses.

And King’s Landing would have better off with us in the street than you in that office. We might have saved it. Old man, whatever have you done without me?

Jaime stops a moment, breathing hard, looking up at the moon.

I don’t know. I don’t know what I’ve been doing, where the time went. It all blurred together without you.

He has been having these conversations for years now. It isn’t exactly imagination. More prediction. He knows exactly what she would say in every instance. What she would think of the people he meets, the places he goes. He hears her critiques of his private practice sessions, when he tries to stay in shape for the inevitable invasion. Her quiet, private commentary. Her icy rejoinders to his jokes. They come to him like a reply. Like she has heard him gods-know-how-many miles away, and answered him back.

It’s painful now, hearing her voice. He doesn’t know why it would be different - alive or dead, he is only talking to himself after all. Perhaps it is only more obviously futile this way, knowing she is gone.

He was never going to see her again, he knows that. The things she does, they were always eventually going to get her killed. Hells, he told her that himself more than once.

Even now it still isn’t entirely real to him. It doesn’t seem possible. But the Spider knows things, and if he knows them they aren’t just rumors. It’s true. It’s sinking in. Brienne is gone.

She doesn’t walk the same world as him anymore. He will hear no more tales of her adventures, and smile privately at the things nobody else knows of her. He will not wonder if it snows where she is, or if the sun shines. Whether she ever thinks of him, the way he does of her. They traveled together only a year, but she carved a place for herself in him, in the slow and brutal way water carves a cliffside. He has kept her there all this time. Now in that space there is emptiness, a brutal, sucking vacuum that might just pull him apart if he stops moving long enough.

So he starts walking again. Keeps walking, on and on, without rest, for as long as he can stand it.

Here and there one of the Others comes onto the road ahead of him. They wander on and off aimlessly, looking lost. At a distance they look nearly alive, so long as they aren’t missing any limbs, and only the directionless of their movements give them away. As you get closer you can see their clothing is wrong -- it’s not enough clothes for the weather, or their clothes are torn, bits are missing. Maybe the clothes are rotting right off their bodies, if they’re been out long enough. Closer still and you can see the blueish tinge to the skin that the Others are famous for, the thin layer of frost that covers them head to toe. At ten feet or so you can make out the ice blue eyes that glow like cat’s eyes in the light. But by then they’ve seen you, and they move much faster than you think they can. Best not to get that close. Best to stay well away, and let them turn and wander in another direction out of sight.

As always, one wonders what they’re looking for. Where they’re going.

Some of them will wander away before he catches up, and he pays them no mind. If he is quiet, and they didn’t take notice of him, it is easier to let them pass by. Fighting can be loud, and that sort of noise could bring more of them running.

But eventually one is too slow. They can be damaged, and those stumbling steps can be frustratingly deliberate at times. This one is fairly tall, and drags its foot in the snow. On the highway, it reminds him of an elderly driver occupying the fast lane at a crawl. Even as he slows his pace, he gets closer and closer, and the dead thing shows no signs of changing direction.

Eventually he can wait no longer. He will have to overtake the creature. At least he hasn’t seen any other Others nearby. This Other shows no sign of noticing him. Jaime slowly draws the axe off his back, and makes six rapid, long strides in the thing’s direction, winding up for a massive crossways swing.

Varys didn’t lie; the axe cuts true. One good blow across the back is enough to bring it down, and he remembers where to strike. Sever the spinal cord, destroy the brain, or burn them, that destroys them. The axe is so sharp it cuts the thing nearly in half. There is a quick, sharp sound of impact and the thud of a body hitting the ground, and then silence.

They don’t scream, the others. They don’t make noises of any kind. Maybe because they don’t breathe anymore; who knows. He pulls the axe out of the thing’s bulk and wipes it in the snow.

The first Other to fall to him in five years that he didn’t hit with his car. It feels good. It doesn’t relieve the great sucking void he has inside him but it does feel good.

He shoulders the axe and keeps walking. After that, he strikes down one of them every few hours, until the sun comes up, and then he huddles on the embankment, dozing, for most of the morning. It’s not so cold he’ll freeze - not yet, anyway - and there aren’t so many Others around that he can’t risk it.

He’s lucky, for the most part. There aren’t any big clusters of Others out here. Those tend to form up around settlements and cities, or lingering around empty houses. Not out here in the open space, where there aren’t travelers anymore.

He passes the next night in a car, after crawling in a broken window. It’s not especially safer, but it is more comfortable than the ground. He sprawls across the backseat and thinks about the red wood-paneled station wagon he had found buried in a parking lot and managed to start. He and Brienne drove that car all the way to Harrenhall, the now five children sleeping in the back. The seat was so wide even Brienne could lay down in it, and she was inches taller than him.

This car is blue, and he has to bend his knees and curl up to fit on the seat.

Keep watch for me, Angel, he tells her, before he drifts off.

Days of steady walking pass this way, with fitful bursts of sleep.

The Black Mountains are looming in the far distance when he nears Winterfell. So tall he can see them all these miles away, staining the low edge of the horizon like a shadow.

Jaime keeps his eyes on the ground mostly. He’s only been here once, and it wasn’t an enjoyable visit. It was a destination, and it meant the end of a long journey. He’s never much liked those. Endings. He tries to get those over with. If he can help it, he’d rather turn around and begin again right away, try to get back to the middle.

Wintertown is relatively intact, patrolled by fur-clad soldiers with shotguns. The town has grown since he was here last. The streets have people on them now, much more than in Lannisport or anywhere in the Riverlands. No cars, but regular people, old folks and even children, strolling about. He has to stop and stare at that for awhile. Pedestrians. It’s been a long time.

Perhaps things are better in the North? Maybe they are safer than they were. But Wintertown is small, and easily guarded, and in the shadow of the old Winterfell fortress these people know they can flee within its walls and be safe, should the Others attack again. That’s more reassurance than most places have.

For a little while he walks up and down those streets, just another window-shopper. The buildings are mostly refitted as residences, but on the sidewalks people sell goods out of carts, or spread out on the sidewalk. Wanderers come through and trade the trinkets they’ve found. There aren’t prices. Most likely they will take food, and medicine, and more practical items, in trade. He didn’t bring anything like that, unfortunately. But there isn’t anything he needs here.

At the end of a long boulevard Jaime finds himself before the gates of Winterfell, and he pauses.

This was where he had parted from her. Right here.

He grimaces past that memory. He was an ass about it, of course. Tried to sneak away. She caught him. There was a confrontation. Things were said.

Things? Brienne-in-his-mind prods him indignantly. Have you forgotten already?

I remember every word. He sighs. Unfortunately.

The gates to Winterfell stand open for now. Probably so that Wintertown can run inside, if someone rings the alarm. Jaime passes through and takes the gravel path to the old castle. It’s a sturdy thing, for being several hundred years old. Solid and undecayed. Sure, they have to replace the wood every few decades, but the stone is thick and unbroken. There are walls behind walls, like any medieval keep, and courtyards and gates separating them. Guards stand atop the fortifications with guns, and they watch him approaching. Wary, but welcoming. Anyone not undead is allowed to pass through, at least to the midden.

The kids are here at Winterfell, probably. Somewhere. Many of them stayed, he has heard. The Starks for sure, and maybe some of the other strays he and Brienne had picked up along the way. Any of the running kids in Wintertown could have been Apple, that baby that Willow and Sansa had fawned over. He would be five, six years old now. That is, if he were alive.

He doesn’t want to see any of them if he can help it. Best not to go inside the Great Keep then. He goes to the Great Hall instead. The velvet ropes are all taken down. It was a tourist trap for a lot of years, before its fortifications became unexpectedly useful again. Used to be you could get a feast inside, with cosplayers and a jester and a bard, and then you could get back in your car and drive away home.

Bit different now. The fires are still roaring, but put to more practical use. Broken furniture surrounds the great fireplaces where they have been stripping the upholstery and feeding the fire. Laundry is strung up before them, and boils in great kettles. Nearer to mealtime the laundry will be replaced with soup and stew. The fireplaces in the living quarters had been stripped out long ago, replaced with appliances that no longer work. They have to do nearly everything in the great hall now, and gather in smaller rooms.

The head washerwoman takes his message back to the living quarters and Jaime sits down to wait. There is an armchair that is strikingly comfortable for as old as it looks, upholstered in a velvety material. It might be some kind of antique, something with a PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH sign on it back when this was a museum. There isn’t much use for antiques anymore. He sits in the chair.

He sits back and stares at nothing for a time. He might have fallen asleep, because the girls appear as if by magic, just as he remembers them but taller and leaner, their chubby faces hollowed by early adulthood.

Sansa is quite tall, for a Stark anyway. She looks like her mother otherwise; red-haired, high-cheekboned, very pretty. Her sister looks like their father, sturdy and strong-jawed, Northern. They stare at him owlishly, and he wonders what he looks like to them. He is not nearly so changed -- grew a beard, added some lines around his eyes -- but they were children when they saw him last, and they are not children now. He has to look up to see them.

“You came for Brienne,” Arya says abruptly -- as usual she realizes the obvious first and doesn’t hesitate to speak it aloud.

Jaime nods. There isn’t much more to say than that.

“We had a memorial,” Sansa hovers over him awkwardly, looking unsure. “All of Winterfell came, much of Wintertown as well. We would have waited if we had known you would come.”

“You thought I wouldn’t?” He says it more sharply than he intends.

Arya snaps back. “You’ve been gone a long time, and not a single letter. What else could we think?”

Sansa stops her with a hand to her shoulder. She was always an empathetic child. “You’re welcome here now. Can I get you anything?”

“Your brother. If he’s here.” His eyes drift to Widow’s Wail, where it sits on the floor beside him. “I’ve heard he was there when it happened. I need to hear it from him.”

Sansa leans forward and touches his hands, briefly. “We can take you to him.”

He can only nod.

He follows the girls through the old fortress into a more modern living area. Home, most like. The Starks have all congregated here, the ones left.

Jon Snow he has never met before. The girls’ half-brother. Lord Snow of Winterfell, now. He stands straight and stiff, trying to look older than he is. He has a warm parka on over his polar fleece, something puffy and filled with down. It’s hard to be serious in a puffy coat without coming off at least faintly ridiculous, but the young man manages it somehow.

“She was a great help to my family,” Jon says, and shakes his hand vigorously. “A great fighter, the bravest of all of us, and the kindest too. Every one of us here at Winterfell thought very highly of her.”

“And your mission?” Jaime shuts down the reminiscence quickly. He does not want to remember Brienne here. Certainly not with the Starks.

Jon hangs his head. “It wasn’t a complete waste. But it wasn’t quite what we wanted, either.”

He gestures to a sofa. Jaime sits on the edge of it, unwilling to relax. This is rather too much civilization for him right now. Jon sits down expansively on an easy chair, and runs a hand through wild black hair.

“We were hoping to find something that would explain where the Others come from. We thought the Black Mountains might have the answer, the mountains and the land beyond. It’s hard to find much on the Mountains though -- only one road is passable, everywhere else is ice and deep snow. Beyond the Mountains there is a place they’re calling Craster’s Keep. We knew something was very wrong there. We should have stayed away.” Jon shakes his head, so serious.

Jaime waits.

“We suspected they were colluding with the Others somehow. The ones on the Mountain. The old man… it was terrible. What he was doing. We had to put a stop to it. Brienne followed one of the men to their meeting place, where the Others come down the Mountain. She never came back.”

That is rather less definitive than Jaime wants to hear.

“That’s all? Did you search?” he asks sharply.

Jon looks defensive at first, but softens quickly. “I assure you, if there was anything to find, we would have found it. We were very fond of her. There were signs of a battle, and several Others fallen there. But of her there was no sign. There was no body.” Jon looks reluctant to continue. “We did find this.”

Hesitantly, he holds out the wrapped bundle to Jaime. He knows it immediately. Takes it like he took the grenades, carefully and reluctantly.

His hands unwrap the thing before he can think twice, to show himself what he already knows. It’s Brienne’s titanium bat. Bloodstained, dirty, with a single chip in it near the tip.

They had nicknamed it Oathkeeper, way back then. It was more like a mythical sword than a bat. Titanium bats weren’t even allowed in baseball, in any league. They hit the ball so hard it was dangerous to the other players. They probably shouldn’t have been made in the first place, and they stopped making them decades before the Others came and their true usefulness became apparent.

Jaime holds the bat. Brienne had carried this thing for so long. He puts his fingers where she would have put hers, the way a player held it to hit a ball. He can see the mark of her fingers there, slowly rubbed into the metal across the years.

Jon is still talking. “These Others are different. Our Others will kill and turn. But these... We suspect that they consume the bodies instead of raising them. I think there was nothing remaining to find.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Jaime stands.

“If you will insist…” Jon rises as well, solemn. “My friend Sam stayed behind there. If you reach Craster’s Keep, ask for Sam. He’ll tell you what you need to know.”

*****************

He passes a night there, lying awake in a bed.

They gave him her room. A quiet, out-of-the-way guest bedroom with little in the way of modern amenities. It has a homey feeling, just the same. It feels like her.

She left some things there; little knick-knacks. She liked to pick up small things, put them in her pockets. Her coat had loads of pockets hidden everywhere. By the end of the day she would have lots of little treasures. You could turn her upside down and shake her and all sorts of shiny treats would come rolling out. Figurines, stones, tiny toys. They’re arranged all around the room, on the windowsill, on the dresser. Probably if he went through her clothes he would find more things still hidden away in her pockets. The coat, though, that wouldn’t be there in the closet, he knows without looking. She would have it with her, wherever she has gone.

Jaime leaves her things alone. It’s enough to know they’re there, waiting for her.

Brienne slept in this bed. This is the only home she had, so far as he knows. She stayed here after he left, here at Winterfell. She would have rested here -- she was still a little sick. It had been a few weeks, at least, before she went back to the Kingsroad. After that she came back here between adventures, making the long, dangerous journey there and back again. In the dead of winter she would rest here at least a month, from what he could tell, every year.

He should have stayed with her.

She never asked him. Not out loud. But he knows, deep down, he would have been welcome. He knew it then, too. But he had left her at Winterfell and gone back. Back to the arms of his family who needed him more than she ever would. Back to his father and his expectations, to his siblings who needed his protection. The job was over, and he went back to where he belonged.

Not a day has gone by that he doesn’t regret it.

************************

In the morning he is lacing his new boots in the great hall, a gift from Jon. They are a little large, but warm, and useful for maneuvering on ice. He suspects they had once belonged to Ned Stark; certainly none of the Stark boys have feet this big.

Jon has also given him a down parka like his own. Such a thing would fetch a lot in trade these days, but he insists Jaime take it. “This is the least I can do, for bringing my brother and sisters home.”

Jaime promises to return it, though he can see that Jon does not expect to see him at Winterfell again. Neither of them do.

His pack has been refilled with food, bandages, antiseptic, and an icepick. Arya had thrust the bag at him wordlessly and turned on her heel and left and he does not see her again. How much and how little people change from when they are small; he can still see the dark-eyed child in the woman she is becoming. It makes him feel positively ancient.

Sansa accompanies him to the gates of Winterfell, gliding elegantly over the snow in her warm winter coat. She chatters as much as she always did, though it was never to him before. She used to keep her distance from him, as she had from most men. She misses Brienne, he realizes, looking at her. She must have been like an older sister, or an aunt, or...

He never did lay eyes on Rickon, did he? He is probably running wild somewhere, running with the wolves. He doesn’t ask, though he suspects Sansa would like him to. Nor does he ask about Willow, or Gendry, or any of the others. He has too much to carry already.

“You’re different,” Sansa tells him, nearing the gates.

“You’re older,” he says. “You see me better.”

“Maybe.” The auburn beauty frowns. “Do you think she’s still alive out there?”

He doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t want to see the concern on her face, not if it’s for him.

“Do you think Brienne would want you to do this? Go after her like this?”

No. “That won’t stop me.”

“She would want you to go on with your life.”

“I don’t care.” He can’t quite look at Sansa. He couldn’t look at Arya either. They remind him of too much.

“Why did you never come back? She waited for you. She was still waiting.”

He shuts his eyes against her. “Don’t tell me that. Don’t. Not now.”

Sansa sniffles, and her voice trembles. “I’m so sorry. You were both so good to us. I’m so sorry,” she repeats, and tries to put her arms around him, but he’s already walking away.

He’s going through the gates of Winterfell, straight down the boulevard of Wintertown.

He doesn’t stop. He turns to the Black Mountains, and keeps walking.

#dreadwulf fic #And You Will Know Them By The Trail of Dead #braime #jaime x brienne #modern AU #Zombie AU #though ASOIAF is already a zombie AU this is just... a different one

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samstree · 3 years

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50 for the cliché prompts?? 💞💞

50. "I’m scared but won’t admit it so you take my hand"

A grand revelation happens on an ordinary movie night when Geralt gets scared of a horror film. (Look, Geralt the monster hunter is scared of horror movies and you can’t change my mind.)

fluff, 1k, established geraskier, domesticity, cuddling and kisses

read on AO3

The boy walks into the dusty bedroom, blindfolded, waiting for his sister's claps. Their hide-and-seek game continues.

A pair of hands reach out of the old closet, the skin white as a sheet, and clap twice.

The slap of skin against skin reverberates in the silence.

The boy turns to the source of the sound.

“Cold?” Geralt asks Jaskier, pulling him closer and wrapping the blanket tighter around the two of them, the singer almost sitting on his lap at this point. A chill runs down Geralt’s back, making him shiver a little.

The air con must have been set too low.

"I'm fine, darling."

Jaskier sends him a tiny smile in the low blue light of the screen, but Geralt decides to wrap an arm around his boyfriend anyway, his palm resting over Jaskier's stomach and rubbing small circles.

The boy walks to the closet, a bit wobbly because of the blindfold. A smug smile appears on his face.

"Ha! I know where you are!"

He stands in front of the closet and feels for the handles, and misses on the first try.

Geralt puts his jaw on Jaskier's shoulder and nuzzles into the soft hair behind Jaskier's ear. His boyfriend leans forward on the couch, completely enthralled by the suspense.

The boy opens the closet doors in one swift motion and—

The camera pans away.

To his sister standing far away, by the bedroom door.

Geralt gasps, hugging Jaskier to his chest.

"I win! I was hiding in the basement this whole time and you were nowhere near me!" the girl announces chirpily.

"But I--" the brother snatches off the scarf over his eyes and looks into the closet.

It's empty.

Geralt can feel his hand balling into a fist and abusing Jaskier's pajama shirt. He lets out the pent-up breath in his lungs and looks away from the movie.

They were alone in the house. Their parents went out. The sister was hiding in the basement. She wasn't the one who clapped. They warned them that the house was haunted. Why did the parents have to move in!

Geralt's heart races. He breathes in the familiar scent of Jaskier's freshly showed skin but even that doesn't stop the spiraling. An irritated grunt escapes his throat.

It shouldn't affect him like this. He hunts monsters for a living, for god's sake! A seasoned witcher such as he has seen real horrors, unlike the man-made ones in these stories. It’s merely a horror movie.

Yes, it’s just a movie. Full of clichés, no less.

But all the monsters he faces are all tangible, living things, unlike the eerie, inexplicable haunted house that is apparently also home to something else—

"Hey," Jaskier interrupts his train of thoughts. "Are you okay?"

Geralt realizes that he’s curled up around Jaskier and his limbs are freezing, a shiver running through him again, which draws another concerned hum out of Jaskier.

“Uh, I—” Geralt clears his throat. At his periphery, he notices that the next scene has broken the tension. “It’s fine. Keep watching.”

Warm skin brushes against Geralt’s wrist, and Jaskier’s palm is covering the back of his hand. The singer threads their fingers together and squeezes gently.

“We don’t have to. If you are upset.”

“What—No. ‘Course not!”

The denial would have sounded more genuine if Geralt didn’t let out a dry chuckle.

Jaskier pauses the movie and turns on the couch, the movement quite uncomfortable because of Geralt’s insistence on keeping his boyfriends in place, so they settle with Jaskier’s forehead pressed against his temple, the singer’s strong legs a pleasant weight on Geralt’s lap.

“What are you doing?” Geralt asks, confused.

“We can just do something else if you don’t like the movie. The last time you looked this rattled, my dear, a wyvern had snatched me right in front of your eyes.”

Jaskier’s hand moves to rub some heat back into Geralt’s skin all the way up to his forearm.

“That was real danger. This is just a movie.” Geralt isn’t sure who he’s trying to convince. “I shouldn’t be scared of it.”

“Well, it can’t be helped if you are. After all, they make them spooky on purpose.”

“Hmm.” Geralt considers his boyfriend’s worry. The way Jaskier fusses for his nerves is too sweet. “But Ciri says the franchise is good.”

“Ciri has a morbid taste in everything and you know it.”

“She was so excited to talk about it, and I promised her I’d watch.”

“Aww…”

Jaskier pulls away, the look on his face almost pitiful.

“Geralt, honey,” he says patiently. “I know you want to be the cool parent, but let’s face it. No one can be cool in their teenage daughter’s eyes, no matter how much you torture yourself by consuming this nonsense. Seriously, who moves into an old, creaky in the middle of nowhere? They should have seen the ghosts coming like, from a mile away! It’s so cliché!”

Jaskier gestures to the screen in exasperation, and when he meets Geralt’s gaze again, those blue eyes are full of fondness. Geralt returns the soothing motion and squeezes Jaskier’s hand back, his fingers no longer numb from the cold air.

“And you are not making fun of me why?” Geralt raises an eyebrow. Jaskier passing up on an opportunity to tease him feels too good to be true.

“My love.” A kiss falls on the tip of Geralt’s nose. “It’s never fun if you are truly upset.”

There is something about Jaskier, Geralt muses, that still manages to make his heart skip a beat after all these years. As he captures Jaskier’s lips and draws a contented moan out of him, Geralt realizes that he could spend every evening like this, for as long as Jaskier will have him.

“We can do something else, you said?” Geralt’s voice grows hoarse from the way Jaskier is pressed up against him and squirming, his beautiful blues eyes darkening in response.

“Do you even need to ask?”

With a playful smile, Jaskier shifts so that he’s reclined against the back of the couch, and pulls Geralt on top of them, who eagerly starts peppering more kisses on his boyfriend’s neck. The blanket falls to the floor but neither of them pays any mind.

Maybe he needn’t ask this question.

Maybe, it’s another much more important one that he should be asking Jaskier and it means Geralt has some shopping to do tomorrow—he can even ask Ciri for help. God knows his grumpy daughter needs some livening up these days.

But right now, Geralt revels in the sensation of having Jaskier arching towards every touch and whimpering with pleasure. Of hearing his own name breathed out with reverence.

He finds Jaskier’s ring finger instinctively and caresses the empty base.

Is it also cliché? To have this grand revelation on such an ordinary movie night?

Geralt smiles against Jaskier’s skin and cannot care less.

---

Did I take that one scene from The Conjuring? Yes. Is is also where I got too scared and stopped watching entirely? Absolutely yes.

Thank you so much for the prompt, my dear. 💖💖 Although it took forever for me to fill.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #prompt fill #soft geraskier #moder au with goth girl ciri #established relationship #geralt is a sap #jaskier is sweet with him #emotional hurt/comfort #just a little bit #cw: horror movie??#geralt x jaskier #geralt is going to propose #and did i mention he's a sap

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kaywinchester · 4 years

Text

Souless Sam

anon asked: girlieeeee i got sumn gooood shit for u aight, can you do a sisfic during when sam lost his soul BUT like for some reason he still cared about you some how and still protective over you like he was before he lost soul? if this makes sense!!

Word Count: 1,998

summary: sister!winchester gets captured on a hunt and Sam shows that he still worries about his little sis, even without a soul.

Y/N’s POV

So, Sam lost his soul. At first it was really strange, and it still is. Sam has always been my empathetic, awkward, goofy older brother. His personality without a soul was so much different than the real Sam, and I didn’t like it. Souless Sam was cocky and careless, and for a while, I thought he could care less about me and Dean. Until one hunt gave me a little bit of hope.

Dean was excited for this hunt because he was getting a little annoyed with Sam lately. He acted like he wanted nothing to do with hunts and just went off doing who knows what. Dean could also see that souless Sam was starting to affect me. I missed my big brother so much, Dean hadn't found new leads or thought of any plans that could get it back anytime soon. So for now, I knew we were stuck with how he was.

“Are we going or what?” Sam sassed.

“Can you at least try to act the least bit invested.” Dean snarked.

I walked in with the last couple of things that Dean asked for. “Thanks sweetheart.”

We packed the car and drove to the location where the last crime was reported. Searching the property, none of us found anything. It was quiet, which meant that something or someone was hiding, watching us. I followed closely behind Sam and Dean, when I heard a noise.

“Did you guys hear that?” I whispered, looking behind me.

“Nope.” Dean brushed if off, thinking I was just hearing things.

I stopped when I heard the noise again. It sounded like a creak of a door towards the back of the house. Looking back, I saw that Sam and Dean hadn’t noticed I fell behind and kept walking. As I started walking to catch up with them, something grabbed me from behind and put a hand over my mouth. I tried to scream to alert my brothers but whoever grabbed me, dragged me in the other direction. I tried fighting back the entire time I was being dragged, until the person shoved me into a chair and bonded my wrists and ankles with rope.

“DEAN!” I shouted as loud as I could before I was gagged.

“What did I just do.... All because I was distracted, I got caught. Dean is gonna be pissed that I wasn’t paying attention and got myself into this mess.” Was all I could think in that moment, besides the fact that I was face to face with the bad guy.

The guy that took me stood in front of the chair I sat in. Looking at me, he took his phone out of his pocket and dialed someone.

“Hey. Tell him we got one of them.”

...................

Dean’s POV

Sam and I were walking around some more until I turned around and didn’t see any sign of Y/N.

“Where’s Y/N?” I said as I turned to Sam.

“Who knows....” He shrugged. I had just about enough of Sam’s attitude, soul or not. I sighed and walked back in the other direction to look for her. For all I knew, she could’ve been taken by something nearby. Sam followed me and acted like he was looking for Y/N.

We walked into the house, which ended up being dark and empty. “They have to have some hideout somewhere...” I said, looking around to see if there was any doorhandles or whatever.

“I think I heard someone talking.” Sam said as he pointed in another direction.

“How do you have that good of hearing?” I was skeptical, thinking Sam was just saying stuff.

“No, I’m serious. That’s the way that we last saw Y/N anyway.....” Sam said.

“Well, I guess we can take a chance and go look.” I said as I gathered myself.

...................

Y/N’s POV

After the one guy made the phone call, three other men showed up. I could tell one of them was getting too excited, since I saw teeth..... confirming that they were vamps. One of the other guys wheeled over a table with a bunch of tools on it.

“This one looks nice.” One of them said in a really creepy way.

“I can tell she’s gonna taste real good.” Another one added. Normally I wasn’t too intimidated by monsters, since I’ve seen my fair share. But some of them were just hands down creepy. The first guy that dragged me came over and kneeled down.

“Anything you wanna say?” He laughed, taking the gag out of my mouth.

“Nice dentures, dipshit.” I said. His face turned red and he raised his fist and collided it with my cheek.

“Alright, let’s just get this over with.” He said as he went over to the table next to me. He hung a blood bag on a pole above my head and rolled up my sleeve. Now I knew what their plan was, I was gonna have my blood drained.... great.

He put a rubber band around my arm and tied it tight. I cringed as he stuck a needle in my arm and watched my blood go out through a tube. “Now we’re talking.” The guy smiled.

The four of them joked and laughed about a few things and talked about what they were going to do with you, then left the room. I tried to get my one arm out of ropes so I could stop my blood from leaving my body. After trying countless amounts of times, I just sat there and hoped Dean had noticed I was gone.

After the first blood bag filled up, the one guy came back in and switched it out for a fresh one. I was starting to feel light headed which was not a good sign. My instinct to fight was still there, but the dizziness started to take over and I ended up passing out. That’s the last thing I remember.

...................

Dean’s POV

We had found a cellar that was a tucked away in the house towards the back. That’s when I started to hear more noise, and some voices. This had to be where they took Y/N.

Sam was behind me, I broke the heavy lock that was on the door and opened it as quiet as I could. We snuck down the creaky stairs that led to a hallway. There was a group of voices that were circling one area which led to a room.

“I’m gonna peek in here and see how many of them there are. Go find Y/N. If there are too many, I’ll call you.” I told Sam as I kicked the door in. There were four guys that stood there in shock. Sam saw that there wasn’t that many and went off to get Y/N.

...................

Y/N’s POV

I was in and out of consciousness at this point, from losing all of that blood. I heard some commotion coming from the other room. There was a lot of pounding and banging on the walls. I heard creaking of a door and opened my eyes slightly to see a tall figure. I thought it was one of the vamps until they came close enough to my face for me to recognize them. It was Sam.....

He kneeled down in front of me and cut the ropes off my wrists. He took the needle of my arm and tossed it aside. “Y/N?” He tried to get my attention. I hadn’t heard Sam sound this worried in a while, he almost sounded like himself, like he cared.

“Sammy...” I said weakly.

“How much blood did they take from you?” He asked.

“I dunno, like th-three pints.” I said, not really remembering how much they took.

One of the guys Dean was fighting managed to get away. He made the mistake of running into the other room where you and Sam were. Dean ran up behind him. “Sam! Heads up!.” Dean alerted. Sam turned around and clocked the guy in the head. He grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him off the ground.

“If you, or your other pathetic slugs ever try and touch my sister again. That’s the last thing you’ll ever do.” Sam spat.

He threw him back on the floor, Dean went and dragged him out of the room to take care of him, just so I didn’t have to see it. Sam looked back at me and lifted me up. “We’re gonna get you home, kid.” Sam said gently.

He carried you out of the cellar and to the car. Dean followed behind after he made sure the place was clear. “Hey, she okay?” Dean asked, rushing over.

“Yeah, she’s a little out of it. Tried to drain her blood, they almost did.” Sam explained.

“Let’s get her home, I think she’ll be okay, she needs rest.” Dean said as Sam placed you in the car.

As soon as I felt the leather seats in the back of the impala, I laid my head down and immediately fell asleep.

...................

When I woke up, I was in my bed. I felt so much pressure in my head, like it was about to explode. As I tried to sit up, it felt worse. I almost fell over as I tried to reach into my nightstand drawer for some ibuprofen. I stood up and held onto the wall as I walked to my bathroom for some water. That’s when Dean walked in and saw me standing.

“What are you doing?” He asked surprised.

“Getting some water.” My voice croaked. Dean helped me walk back into bed.

“How long was I asleep?” I asked.

“Almost two days. You started breathing weird at some point, it was freaking me out.” Dean said.

“Sorry, next time I’ll try to just lay there and not move.” I joked.

“You really worried me.” Dean spoke.

“I’m really sorry. I just got sidetracked because I thought I heard something and I just wanted to see if I saw anything, but obviously that didn’t end well.” I trailed off, not sure what kind of mood Dean was in.

“Look, I should've listen to you, we could've gone and checked it out together. Just don’t worry about it, can’t change what happened. Glad you're okay, kid.”

I was really surprised with how Dean was acting towards the situation. Even if I ever was injured, he would always have something to say about how I needed to be more careful. I took the opportunity to tell him what I thought about Sam.

“How’s Sam?” I asked.

“Fine, he’s in the library. Why?” Dean asked, wondering why you had a sudden interest in what Sam was doing.

“Have you found anything else out about his soul? He seemed different, on the hunt... He seemed like he actually cared about me. I haven’t seen him like that in a while, and I know he still doesn’t have a soul and that I should be careful. But when he found me and talked to me, it seemed like the real Sam.” I explained.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I mean he is still Sam in there somewhere, but we can’t know for sure.” Dean said.

Sam walked up and stood outside the door when he heard me. He listened for a while until we moved on to a different subject, then he knocked.

“Hey, good to see you’re awake.” Sam said a little awkwardly as he just popped in to see you. I nodded and smiled.

“Sam, thanks.” I told him before he left the room. He nodded as he left.

I didn’t know what happened back there with Sam acting like himself. I didn’t even know if there was a possibility of getting his soul back. But he was still my brother and I wanted to have hope that I could get him back. So I hung on to that little moment, that little piece that would make us want to get Sam back.

Requests Are Closed

Taglist:

@jackjackljaqui @hunting-the-grievers @susan-is-in-the-house@flirtyonsie @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @justsomedreaming

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