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delicatebarness · 3 days

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i think he knows | chapter seven

Summary: How much exactly did Bucky get from the bet?

Warnings: I'm not crying, I'm sweating from my eyes.

Word Count: 1358

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A/N: This might be my favorite chapter so far. However, enjoy, I'll be back writing on Saturday <3

The room felt too small, you felt like you were suffocating with him standing this close to you. You could sense that you hurt him, his eyes lost the small glint of hope the second you said it. His head dropped, no longer looking down at you but more at his sock-covered feet.

“I wanted to talk to you,” His voice trembled, causing your heart to sink to the pit of your stomach. You didn’t know how to feel. “About everything.”

The memories of the weekend flooded back, causing your eyes to tear up. Here he was, standing in your room, willing to talk. You had the opportunity to get your answers, but, you couldn’t bring yourself to want to hear it.

“I, I don’t,” you stuttered as you began to flush, trying to find the right words without hurting him more. “I don’t know if I’m ready to talk,” you admitted softly, barely audible.

When he lifted his head back up to look at you, you watched a tear begin to fall down his cheek. His eyes were searching for something in yours, you weren’t sure what.

“Come for a ride with me,” he gestured toward your window, you assumed the open window was how he entered into the room earlier. “Let me take you for a ride, I promise it will only be a ride. We don’t need to talk, just,” he raised his hand to your cheek, barely touching it, he quickly pulled away stopping himself from going too far. “Please, come with me.”

Looking between Bucky and the window, you fought a silent battle in your mind not knowing what to do. Your mind, that was telling you that it was a bad idea. If you go with him, you’ll be giving him more power in the situation. Your heart was telling you the opposite. It told you what you felt that night at The Overlook was real enough.

Your mom’s voice began to overpower all the warning signs in your head, “If you truly want to know the truth, go with your heart. Your head will make up reasons to not do something that is meant for you” The advice she gave you on Friday night after giving you your space.

With a sigh, you nodded agreeing to go on the ride with him. His face lit up with glee as he rushed over to put his shoes and jacket back on. You set your textbooks and backpack down in their usual spot before heading to the window. Bucky climbed down first, waiting for you at the bottom. Looking up he watched as you sat in the same spot on the ledge as he did only a few nights back. Guilt once again rushed through his veins, it disappeared as quickly as it came when he noticed your heavy breathing while you looked down at the ground.

“I’m here,” he called up to you, bringing your attention to him rather than the hard ground below. He stood watching you, his arms pulled up toward you. “I’ve got you, I promise.”

A promise he kept, with his reassurance you began to climb down and once you were within reach, he helped you the rest of the way. As you landed, you crashed into his chest. Both of your breaths hitched, and looking up at him you caught the remorse in his eyes. For the first time since that moment with him at The Overlook, your mind went quiet.

The engine hummed below you, your mind eased while you pressed against his back again. The street lights began to turn on as you rode past them, the sun disappearing below the horizon. You could have sworn he rode down every street in the town, it felt like you had been riding for hours before he stopped the bike by the lake. The silence was deafening the second he stopped the engine.

You walked side by side down to the lake, taking his jacket off he laid it over the grass, gesturing for you to take a seat on top of it. You accepted the offer with a small smile. You sat with your knee up, chin resting on top. You could feel his gaze on you as he sat beside you on the grass.

The silence lasted the entire time you watched the sun set completely. It wasn’t until it had disappeared that you found the confidence to speak.

“Who won?” Your voice broke, and your throat felt scratchy as if you hadn’t used your vocal cords in months. Turning to look at him, you noted a confused expression on his face. “The bet, who won?”

“I promise you, this,” He gestured between the two of you, suggesting you and him were the ‘this’. “This had nothing to do with a bet.” He spoke with confidence, never breaking eye contact with you.

You narrowed your eyes at him, he was giving you the truth-telling signs but you weren’t fully convinced. “Sure, getting close to the quarterback’s sister, making her let down every wall, distracting her from everything she’s worked for, taking her first kiss,” the tears began to well in your eyes again, you wondered how, how were you still able to cry. “Doesn’t sound like one of your games, at all.”

Bucky’s expression faltered as he watched the tears stream down your flushed cheeks, he reached out, his hand hovering as he debated whether to touch you or not. “I messed up, I know, I’ve got a reputation.” He pulled his hand back, running it through his hair as he let out a breath. “But this, this is different. You’re different.” His eye pleaded to you as his voice softened. He needed you to believe him.

“How can I believe you? How do I know that you’re not just,” You couldn’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. You didn’t want it to be the truth, you desperately wanted to believe him.

“I wish I could make you understand that you mean more to me than you’ll ever know,” he sighed, his jaw tensed in frustration. “I knew you didn’t see me, for all these years, but I saw you.�� He looked away from you, his gaze now focused on the water ahead of you. “I’m sorry, I did manipulate this, just not in the way you or Steve or anyone else would think.”

He stopped for a moment, he rubbed his face in his hand before back through his hair. He continued, cut you off as you began to speak. “I knew if Steve caught me looking at you, he’d tell you to stay away. I knew if he did that, you’d notice me and it was less of a risk to have you come to me than me come to you.”

“James, I -” He looked back at you as you tried to find the right words. They didn’t come. Instead, you reached your hand out to his cheek and pulled his face close to yours. For a few seconds, you locked your eyes with his, giving them a chance to show you a reason to not do what your heart was telling you.

He looked back at you with remorse and guilt, the kind that showed you his heart had pure intentions. They showed you just how much thinking he had hurt you, hurt him.

You allowed yourself to take a moment to get lost in them. Until his lips parted slightly as if he was about to say something. Pressing your lips against his, you silenced him.

The kiss was soft, bare. All the doubts and insecurities melted away with every passing second. You explored every inch of each other's mouths, not wasting a single opportunity. Your hand pulled his cheek, his fingers were tangled in your hair, and you both tried to pull each other closer.

When you finally pulled away, a spark of hope appeared over his smile, a genuine smile. Smirk is nowhere to be seen. You both caught your breath as your hearts pounded together.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. “Can I call you, Sunshine?”

---

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plutoswritingplanet · 2 hours

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Hand That Feeds (Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female!Reader)

a/n: as promised, here's the full chapter. as a person who's only played skyrim and oblivion, writing for fallout is like throwing a hot dog into an empty corridor (i will not elaborate)

Warnings: Suggestive Themes, Attempted Kidnapping, Medical Malpractice, Cooper is a mean old man with a boner. Takes place before the events of the TV series.

Summary: The Ghoul takes up a bounty that has been gathering dust for quite some time. You, bored out of your mind, decide getting kidnapped might be the perfect way to entertain yourself. Both of you bite off more than you can chew. Cross-Posted on AO3

Copper knows this job will be different, before he even decides to take it up.

Scribbled with flaky charcoal, your face looks at him from the notice board every time he delivers a bounty. For months now, a humble title of "The Healer" hangs without change, between criminals, raiders, and people who were in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Cooper hasn't considered going for you, it was never his first choice. The bounty on your head was moderately low, in comparison to your notice board neighbors. He had other priorities, bigger than a smeared over pretty face, for half his usual reward.

Until one day, as he stomped his way through the dusty floor, his eyes caught onto your wanted poster yet again.

Well, to be frank, his eyes strayed towards your portrait almost every time he crossed the threshold, but he would never admit it to anyone, let alone himself. Like a constant companion, overlooking all his accomplishments since he decided to stick around the place, your empty gaze followed every transaction, every head delivered onto the table. Some semblance of a routine, he supposed, looking over the board.

There, under the regular information, freshly painted numbers stared back at him. A new bounty, significantly bigger than any reward on the board. The red paint was still dripping down the yellowed paper, the addition must've been made quite recently.

A hefty price. One, that would supply him with enough chems to last for half a year at least. Tempting. Especially now, that he's down to only a couple of vials, his coughing fits becoming longer and closer between. So tempting, in fact, that he tears your wanted poster from the board, finally getting a closer look, a deliberate one.

Booker gives him a raised eyebrow, all the commentary needed, encapsulated in this simple gesture, and Cooper shoots him a nasty look. There aren't many requirements regarding the job, except one, annoying detail.

You have to be alive and in good condition.

Now, alive Cooper could do. Alive is easy. Good condition, however, opened a whole shitbag of problems, which he would be a fool to overlook. Still, the prospect of such money couldn't be ignored. And, he'd be damned to admit it, but he was curious. Who were you? Why haven't you been caught for such a long time? What caused this sudden raise in bounty?

- Did you piss someone off that bad, little lady? - he asks the yellowed paper, and gets no answer, as expected.

***

The bar is filled with patrons, all tripping over themselves to loose as many caps on cheap alcohol and chems from under the table. It's not as rowdy, as one would expect. This settlement must be one of the few more civilized ones, for the Wasteland's standards at least. Farmers, mechanics, shopkeepers, they all clam together, smelling of smoke, sweat, and alcohol.

You're here too, hunched over your drink with a sour expression. Your shoulders are slumped, covered by a piece of cloth, that used to be a shawl, but currently looks more like a rag used to wipe down countertops. Despite that, Cooper sees in the way your body is poised, taunt and graceful, that you're neither a naive Vault Dweller, nor a scruffy raider. A skinny scarf is tied around your neck in a fashion, that reminds Cooper of the old westerns he used to star in.

The sudden influx of memories is neither wanted, nor useful, and he clicks his teeth in annoyance at his own betraying mind.

The Healer, he thinks to himself, making his way through the crowds, until he reaches the side of the bar, one seat from you. Not a glance is spared in his direction. The townsfolk must be used to seeing Ghouls run around the place. Still, when he orders a glass of moonshine, out of the corner of his eye, he can see you peaking at him with curiosity. There's a intelligent glint in your eye, and Cooper feels a shiver of curiosity climbing up his back. He scolds himself for being too old imediately after.

By all that's holy, you look tired. And not the kind of tired, that sticks to a person living in the Wastelands, no. It's the exhaustion of a shitty day, dragging your eyelids down to flutter against creeping up sleep. The alcohol can't be helping your state, however, it will most definitely help Cooper. He almost feels sorry for you, but if your dumb enough to leave yourself in the open like that, while being hunted, there's nothing more he can do but take advantage.

Cooper turns his face ever so slightly towards you, looking over your expression for any signs of recognition. He sees none, more than that, there is no emotion at all, not even a blink at his fucked up face. Raising his hand, he touches the rim of his hat in a wordless greeting.

That finally wrenches some resemblance of a reaction out of you, and with a blink, you tip your glass towards him, before downing its contents. Your cheeks are flushed, lips wet with remnants of moonshine and there's a lock of hair falling out of place, and damn it, Cooper suddenly feels so old.

Ordering drinks while in your current state wasn't the most intelligent thing you could've done. The harsh taste of alcohol burned your throat in a way that was less than pleasant, and for a moment you consider turning to some good old chems for help with... Well everything really.

It started with Old Lady Sal.

You've replaced her hip a while back with some scrap metal and a fuckload of reused body parts. Now, every other day she demands you check it out, make sure it's in working order. Which it always is. This isn't your first replaced hip, you know what you're doing.

Then, you had to sit through the insanely uncomfortable marriage offer from Old Lady Sal's grandson, who is not only dumb as a bag of rocks, but also fourteen.

And to top it all off, suddenly everyone needs you to solve their particular pains of the day. There must be an epidemic of aching heads sweeping through the town, because as soon, as you flee from Old Lady Sal's home, you're being hounded by everyone and their mother, looking to you for help. You were in town for two hours, and your herbs reserve went down to one fucking leaf.

The Ghoul keeps looking at you from under his hat, and at this point it's gotten from uncomfortable, to straight up creepy. You were not about to pretend this stranger's interest in your particular person didn't unnerve you. Although, thanks to your mother's efforts, and later your own, the town practically worshipped the ground you walked on, the same could not be said about the rest of the Wasteland.

You had enemies. You had people, who would love to get their hands on you. You were also deeply aware of the bounty placed on your person. Last you checked, it was quite small, but Ghouls don't have it easy out there, and if there's anyone looking like a bounty hunter in this fine establishment, it's the shady guy giving you a shameless once-over.

So, you place a couple of caps on the counter, and gather yourself best you can.

Perhaps drinking on an empty stomach was not the best idea, because as soon as you slide off the barstool, your head does a flip. Your balance completely off, you trip over your own feet, already accepting the floor, as your soon-to-be companion.

That's when something strangely warm wraps itself around your waist, hoisting you up against the counter. The Ghoul smells just about as pleasant as one would expect, but moonshine is a powerful sedative, and instinctually, you lean into the warm embrace. Eyelids flutter, as you look up into the sunken eyes of your savior, and you can see his throat move, as he swallows thickly.

- Careful now, sweetheart - the voice is low and reminds you of wind whistling through leaves - Gotta keep you in good condition.

Now, if you were completely sober, or at least less drunk, those words would fire an orchestra of alarm bells in your head. Instead, you smile, teeth on full display, as you reach up, to undo a tattered scarf from around your neck.

- Mmm - you sigh, throwing the piece of cloth across the Ghoul's shoulders - My hero.

Then, you grab onto his arm, still holding a tight grip around your waist, and lift it up by the sleeve of his coat. Despite your drunken disposition, you duck under the limb gracefully, and shoot the Ghoul a nasty, fully aware smirk. Realization flickers across his face, but before he can move to catch you, a series of body-wrecking coughs shakes his entire frame.

You hesitate just for a second. The instinct to help is ingrained into your very being, passed down like a mantle from your angel of a mother. But then, self-preservation kicks in, and as the strager reaches into the pocket of his coat, to find his inhaler, you're already out the door, throwing yourself into a mad dash towards your cabin.

You were drunk, not stupid.

***

The sun has barely had time to rise, when you're rudely awoken by the sound of a fist, pounding desperately on your front door. Hard enough to make the hinges squeak and shake.

It tears you from your already light sleep, and you scramble to your feet, hastily pulling a shirt over your head, as you make your way towards the entrance. Hand on your pistol, you look out through the small space between two planks, which make up your door.

It's not hard to understand what is happening. You remember one of the men standing outside your door from the nearby town. Benny or something like that, you were never good at remembering names. Hanging on his arm was another, barely breathing man, who was currently bleeding out right onto your porch. Pete. This one you recognize as a farmer and a hunter. You've treated multiple bites and scratches on him. So did your mother.

Cursing under your breath, you undid all the makeshift locks with record speed, throwing the door open.

- I'm sorry to bother your so early in the morning Healer - you wince at the title, already making a beeline for the table in your kitchen - Pete and I were just...

Both men follow you closely behind, Pete's boots making a disgusting, sloshing noise.

- Put him here, face up - you command, throwing a couple of papers to the floor.

- ...Coming back from a night hunt, and this fucking Ghoul was asking around town about you...

- Cut his shirt - another command, thrown over your shoulder, as you begin to rummage through a cabinet filled with chemicals and various herbs, barely registering the words.

- ...And when we started asking questions back at him, he just shot Peter, right then and there...

You pluck a couple of twisted, dried herbs into your trusty, stone mortar, spitting into it, to gather some moisture. Throwing a semi-clean rag at the man, your voice cuts through his rambling.

- Put pressure on it.

There is no exit wound, and you almost sigh with annoyance at the prospect of fishing out a bullet. It had to be done, however, putting your sleep depriation and a building headache aside, you scoop out some of the herbal paste with your fingers, before pushing past the man.

- Hold his legs down - you mutter, taking a blink-and-you-miss-it moment to check Pete's temperature.

- ...Thankfully, he didn't kill Pete on the spot, so I brought him here straight away.

Pete flinches on the table, as you apply the paste to the wound. That's about as big of a reaction he's capable of, given the amount of blood he just spilled onto your porch. Another thing to clean up, after you take care of the table. What a way to start a fucking day. You can see his eyes follow your movements, barely conscious, but still alive. Sweat beads and gathers at his brow, and you reach out with a clean rag, to dab it off his skin.

Then, as if coming out of a stupor, your eyebrows scrunch together. The story of this faithful encounter finally registering in your brain.

- A man was asking about me? - you ask, despite already knowing the answer.

- Well, kinda. A Ghoul.

You knew which Ghoul, it was not difficult to piece together.

- And he didn't kill Pete, just injured him - you can feel another headache brewing just behind your eyes, as the sheer stupidity of the man in front of you finally comes to the surface.

They led him to you.

Three, steady knocks to your door, smug and confident, interrupt the conversation, and deep down you can see the future of every person present in this cabin. As if you've developed some magical powers.

Stilling your suddenly trembing hands, you settle the mortar back on the table. Thenyou instruct the man to keep pressure once more. Covering yourself with a robe you got as payment for stitching up a sliced finger, you make your way to the door. Fabric flows around your feet, shuffling like the wings of a moth.

Your eyes flicker to the side, where, placed against a wall, stands a small end table. Under it, you've hidden a rather large kitchen knife, and for a second you debate, whether going for it now would be the best course of action. Call it dumb optimism, but deep down, you pray this is some big misunderstanding, and you'll be allowed to go back to your patient, preferably sooner than later.

There's no need to bother with a gun, no time too. Pete is bleeding out faster than a stuck pig, and you were not one to leave your customers unsatisfied. Or, in this particular line of work, dead.

The door opens with a slam. There's a small indent in the wooden wall, where the door handle has hit the surface. The cabin is slowly entering the state of ruin, although, some places are more taken care of than others. Still, it has a roof, a semi intact entrance and even a window with actual glass in it. Quite the luxury in the Wastelands.

Cooper didn't know what to expect, not really. Seeing you for the first time gave him a mixture of varying feelings, as well as a rather uncomfortable throbbing in the nether regions. Who could blame him, really? Your wanted poster gave you no favors, and although he was able to recognize you almost immediately, he still felt slightly short of breath.

He scolds himself for getting distracted by his thoughts, and as your eyes lock down on him, he lifts the barrel of his gun, touching the rim of his hat. Your eyes shift like little sparkling gems onto the weapon, before your jaw locks.

- Salutations Ma'am - his voice is rough from lack of use, the southern twang even more prominent, than usual. - I believe our introduction was cut short.

Yellowed teeth flash in a mirthless smirk, and then his expression tightens.

Cooper is used to people reacting, let's say, negatively towards him. Fear is the most common, and he can't blame the masses, he really can't. Disgust, as well, happens quite often. But as he looks over your feverish gaze, he can't really see either one of the emotions.

No, what you give him is an annoyed roll of your eyes, and he's surprised to say, it bothers him more than he'd be comfortable admitting. He's a goddamned bounty hunter, a ruthless one at that, and a fucking Ghoul. Fuck you mean, you're annoyed by his presence?

- Look - you're already turning away from him, shooting a look towards your kitchen, where he can see a leg twitch in a spasm on top of your table - I ain't got time for whatever this is - your hands wave around in Cooper's general direction. - You'll have to wait your turn.

- Ah, well, I'm not the patient kind.

A squeak of surprise leaves you, as the Ghoul pushes past your body, entering your house gun first, murder clear in his deep set eyes. His steps take him through your living room, dangerously close to your kitchen. You know exactly, what's going to happen, and your arms shoot out on instinct. His body is unnaturally warm, even through layers of clothing, as you wrap yourself around his waist, tugging him back with all your might.

He looks down on you, more bothered by the sudden contact, than the fact you're trying to stop him. It gives you a small leverage, and you push him back a couple of steps, settling yourself between the entrance to the kitchen, and the bounty hunter, raising your hands and getting ready to fight.

- I don't have time for this kinda bullshit. Git. - Cooper snarls at you, his gun-free hand coming up to grab at your hair.

Before you have time to react, five fingers twist hard into your roots, and you stifle a scream, as the Ghoul pushes you off of him. On instinct, your hands come up to tug against his wrist, nails digging into the leathery skin. He lets you go with a hiss, and you use that second, to throw yourself towards the end-table.

Your fingers find the handle with a practiced ease. Then, your body twists like a radioactive viper, and all Cooper sees is a flash of metal. The blade is rusty and chipped, but it could still do some damage. Especially now, that it's pressed against Cooper's jugular, the dull, cold presence halting all his movements. Your eyebrows raise in small recognition at the thin fabric tied around his neck. The scarf. Your mouth goes dry.

- Everything okay back there? - Benny asks from the kitchen, you can hear his approaching footsteps.

- All's well, kee pressure on the wound - your voice is tight with nerves, but the man obeys.

Cooper watches your face carefully, his gun tucked neatly into the meat of your stomach, ready to fire, should the situation escalate. You can feel it, pressed right into the hollow space under your spleen, a good place to be shot, if you could even say that. You're dealing with a professional, apparently.

- We seem to have a bit of a conundrum on our hands, little lady - Cooper drawls, voice bordering on a whisper, his eyes follow the way your tongue darts out to lick your chapped lips.

- I have a patient, he needs help - you explain in an even tone, breathing shallow - After that, I'll deal with you.

Despite being at a loosing position, you refuse to back down, your eyes glued to the Ghoul in front of you. You're bracing yourself for the imminent pain, should he decide shooting you would be easier, but it never comes. Instead, the barrel of the gun presses further into your flesh, before lightly retracting. The cold metal is dragged up, across the expanse of your stomach. You bite the inside of your cheek, and surpress a shiver, when it travels between the swell of your breast, and settles into the dip of your collarbones.

You swallow thickly, Cooper's eyes catching the movements of your trachea like a hungry vulture. The tip of the gun touches the underside of your chin, pushing your head to one side, then the other, as if the bounty hunter is taking inventory in a butcher's shop. Once he's had his fill, he lifts the gun completely, raising his hands as a peace offering.

- Git - you whisper back at him, and a flash of something rushes through his mangled expression.

You take a step back, chest rising in falling rapidly, blade still in front of you, just in case. Then another step, and the bounty hunter dusts off his coat, before sitting down on a stool in your cluttered living room. You don't like the way he looks at you, eyes shining from under his hat, as he occupies your space like it belongs to him. Long legs apread in front of him, and you try very hard not to sneak a peak between them. Finally, you cross the entrance to the kitchen, and the knife is tucked under the leather belt of your pants.

A sigh, a roll of shoulders, and you're off.

Cooper watches with curiosity, as you immediately start to work on the poor bastard stuck on your table. Your back is taunt, hands bloodied but steady, as you lean down to take the metal bullet out of the wound. The herbal paste you've provided earlier has dried up, and is currently working wonders for the bleeding, while you reach inside with not-so-sterile pliers.

- Hold him down - he hears you say, as the legs on the table start to twitch again.

Finally, a metallic sound of the bullet hitting a dish is heard, and you stand up, making your way towards the cabinet filled with chems. There is a grace to your movements Cooper wasn't expecting. Reminds him of dancers, ballet ones.

Back in the day, his ex-wife would drag him to all those ballet shows, ones that made him feel stupid and uncultured. He swallows around the memory, willing it to die down, as you shoot him a cautious look over your shoulders.

He wiggles his gun at you lightly, a reminder, that all this is happening because of his good humor. You scoff.

Pete starts screaming as soon, as you begin to dress the wound properly. Chemical smell fills the air, and although Cooper lacks the nose to feel it, his eyes water all the same. You seem to be unbothered, years of doing this exact job must've hardened your senses. Finally, it's done. There's nothing more you can do for the man, and you wipe your hand on your forehead, leaving a large smear of red.

- He'll be fine - you mutter towards the other man in the kitchen - He needs rest, and a loads of it too.

A couple of small bottles and dried herbs land onto a checkered cloth, and you tie it closed, like a small care package.

- Dress his wounds twice a day - you press the package into the other man's hands while he helps his partner off the table - Good luck.

Cooper glares at the men, as they stagger out the front door. They don't seem to pay him any mind. Well, the shot one definitely doesn't, he can barely walk on his own. His friend is too preoccupied with keeping him on his arm, to even acknowledge that this whole situation was orchestrated by Cooper himself. Or perhaps, he's to stupid to connect the dots. It's hard to tell these days.

The door closes with a click, and Cooper stands up from his stool, sauntering over to the kitchen.

You're currently trying to wash blood off of your hands, which are stained crimson almost up to your elbows. It goes about as well as expected, and as you dry your arms with a rag, there's still a pinkish stain to your skin.

The table is a mess, blood and herbs seeping into the wooden planks which make up the surface. Cooper leans against the doorframe, as he watches you splash some chemicals onto the wood. It bubbles up in a disgusting mixture of red, green and yellow. You let it sizzle for a moment, before taking that same bowl of water you've been using to clean up, and dumping it all onto the table. The mixture flows down to the floor, the residing surface looking much cleaner.

- Now, as much as I'd love to sit around and play house with you, honey - Cooper starts, and has to clear his throat, when you look up at him wordlessly, blood on your face and fire in your eyes - I have a bounty to collect.

Sighing, you push your hair back from your forehead, exhaustion, which is synonymous with living in the Wastelands seeping off of you like a tidal wave.

- Do you have a name? - you ask, reaching for a leather bag sitting on one of the chairs.

- I do - he says, and you roll your eyes at the deliberate lack of information his answer has given you.

You mutter something that sounds scarily close to "asshole", and begin to chuck a couple of vials into the bag, then some herbs, then a water canteen. It's like you're ready to move out at any time, and a sneaking suspicion arises in Cooper's mind. This isn't the first time you're in this situation, if your calm demeanor is anything to go by. Suspicious, highly so, and as you turn around to face him, Cooper raises his hand ever so slightly.

Your eyes fall onto the bundle of rope in his grip, eyebrow raising in annoyance.

- You serious?

- As a funeral, sweetheart - he sways the bundle lighty, his other hand pointing the gun at your abdoment - Now, are you going to be good, and come over here? Or should I come over there and make it unpleasant for us both?

- You're already making it unpleasant - you mutter, but cross the kitchen towards him, raising your hands, palms up.

- Wait.

Confusion hits you, when the Ghoul reaches into his pocket, producing a small piece of torn cloth. Your entire body goes still, as he grabs onto your chin, cold metal of his gun digging into your cheek, the barrel settling into the juncture between your neck and your shoulder. Then, despite your best efforts at freeing yourself from his grip, he brings the cloth to his lips, wetting the fabric with his tongue.

The bloody smear on your forehead is wiped down rather roughly, and you twist in place like an impatient toddler, when Cooper leans his head back, to look at his handywork. You shiver with disgust, at the feeling of his drying saliva on your skin, and as soon, as he lets you go, you begin to rub at your forehead with the sleeve of your robe.

- Good condition - he rasps, and if looks could kill, he'd be six feet under.

He gives you a nasty smirk, settling his gun down for just a moment, and grabbing your wrists together, so he can tie them up. Which is all the time you need to make a decision, and kick out your knee, nailing him right in the crotch. He doubles over, cursing loudly, hands shooting out to grab you, but all he catches is your tattered robe, which you slide out of easily.

Fater than he would've anticipated, you grab at your bag, and bolt to the back of the kitchen, where he watches you jump over the table and all but slide out of the house through an open window. It's like a choreographed dance, the way you move out of his grasp. When he reaches the window himself, there's no sight of you, other than the rustling of tree branches somewhere in the woods behind your cabin.

- Fucking women. - Cooper whistles.

He can't deny the shiver of excitement running down his back, as he secures the hat over his eyes. If that's how you want to play, he would oblidge. It's been far too long since he could actually enjoy a more challenging bounty. Cooper slowly walks out of your cabin, looking over all the little trinkets you've gathered inside. Then, almost lazily, he lifts the robe you've left him to his nose. He feels nothing, of course, but he has quite a vivid imagination. Vivid enough to supply him with a memory of a scent from his past life. Lavender, he'd bet you smell like lavender.

Your tracks are deep and visible across the ground, and so, the hunt begins.

#my writing #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x you #fallout smut #fallout x reader #fallout tv series #cooper howard smut #the ghoul smut #i walt on his goggins till we fallout

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elisysd · 7 hours

Text

11. I don't wanna think of anything else now that I thought of you

Masterlist - Previously - Next

Chapter soundtrack: Daylight - Taylor Swift

You loved him. You said it first and he didn’t expect it. Never in a million years. He wasn’t expecting to hear it this soon and even less, he wasn’t expecting to hear it from you. He had always thought he would be the first to say it but wanted to wait for the perfect moment.

“Can you say it again?” he asked, wanting to make sure he hadn’t misheard you.

“I love you.” you smiled.

“Again?”

“I. Love. You.”

“One last time?” he insisted, putting his forehead against yours.

“I love you, Charles Leclerc.”

He laughed lightly before twirling you around and kissing you like his life depended on it.

“I fell for you fast the minute I decided to give you a chance. It’s scary. But I’m not scared to love you. That, I’m not. I just don’t know how people would eventually react or say…”

“I don’t give a fuck about what people say. I know what we are, I know what you feel for me and you know what I feel for you. This is what matters the most.”

“And what are you feeling for me?” you teased him.

“Love. Unconditional love.”

“You’re cute but we can’t ignore that this is making my job more and more difficult. It will come back to bite me in the ass at some point.”

“It will be alright.” he reassured you.

“Easy for you to say. Your job is not on the line… me, on the other hand? If I lose it because of that, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I’m not rich like you, I have a rent to pay and try to rent in Paris, you’ll see how awful it is. I’m losing my job, I'm losing my apartment. It is as simple as that.”

It had the effect to act as a wake up call for Charles. He might have an easy life but it wasn’t the case for everyone. He gulped and took your face between his hands.

“If it ever comes to that, which I doubt, we will find a way. I’m not giving up on you. I love you too much to do that.”

You met your colleagues at the airport after having to rush out of Charles’ room and embrace. He had tried, and almost achieved, to persuade you to come back home with him but you still had work to do and a flat to take care of. It was not as fun as what Charles was promising to give you, but adulthood wasn’t always fun. In the plane, next to Marion, you let your thoughts wander. The weekend was hard to process. You had not planned on confessing your feelings for him this soon. But it felt right, natural. You were already in a messy situation, you didn’t want to throw miscommunication into the mix. But still, you were standing about what you told him earlier, you were scared. Once you would tell your boss that you and Charles were in a relationship, you knew it would only be a hit or miss. Or you were going to keep your job, or you were going to lose it. There was an option you liked better than the other. If you were fired, you seriously didn’t know how you were going to make ends meet.

“Are you okay? You frown a lot, today.” Marion noticed.

You forced a smile before replying that you were doing alright. She put a hand on your shoulder and gave you an empathetic smile.

“You know you can tell me everything, I won’t judge.”

It made you gulp. You were thankful to be in such a wonderful team, always ready to help you if needed and that thought only made you break down. Your sobs turned into a panic attack to the point Marion made you follow her at the back of the plane and made you sit on the floor, helping you calm down.

“I’m lost and confused, Marion.” you managed to say between two out of breath sounds.

“I’m here for you, always.”

She took your hands in hers and looked into your eyes. You knew you could trust her, she wouldn’t say a word, and you needed to talk about this story to someone, you couldn’t keep it to yourself any longer. So you told her everyone, from your very first encounter with Charles, to the promise you made to your late brother and finally how you fell in love with the boy in the red suit. When you were done, you felt relieved and that was only then that you understood how much keeping it secret was weighing you down.

“I’m surprised, but not totally. I noticed how you were smiling more lately and how you seemed to be more at peace with yourself. I didn’t want to pry. I won’t say a word. This is your private life and as long as it doesn’t impact your work, I don't see why it should become a problem. That being said, it’s best if you come clean to our boss. If he learns it doesn’t come from you, it will make everything harder. I’ll be there to back you up if things turn sour. But in any case, enjoy being in love. Don’t overthink it, I know Charles, he is a good guy. He will take good care of you , you can trust him.”

“Thank you, Marion. It was exactly what I needed to hear.” you whispered, a lump in your throat. “I’ll tell him. I’m just waiting for the summer break, it will be a less busy time for us, it gives me some time to prepare what I’m going to say.”

You arrived at your flat early in the evening. Dishes were still in the sink, waiting to be cleaned-up, some clothes were laying on the couch as you had forgotten to put them back in your closet and the few plants you had were clearly in desperate need of water. Your rent was also due and you groaned in front of all the chores you had to do. You started to unpack and put your suitcase away before coming back to your living room to tidy the place. It was almost nine when you finished everything you had to do. You plopped on your couch and took your phone to see Charles’ name on your screen.

Hey, I was thinking about something. Don’t you want to come to Monaco before going to your parents? We could spend a few days together?

You wanted to scream yes but your fears got the better hold of you and you hated yourself for it.

Your hometown? Risky, no?

There will always be a risk no matter where we are. But if it makes you feel better we don’t have to leave my place. I’m perfectly fine having you all to myself for days. My bed is quite comfy, you’ll see. And we can watch movies and cook together. I have plenty of activities in mind which don’t require us to go to public places.

How do you know what I need to hear to feel better?

I don’t know. I just… know? Somehow?

Well, you could take back your suitcase, you had an unexpected packing session to go through.

You arrived two days later to the address he had given you. He had argued about coming to pick you up from the train station but the last thing you wanted was to attract people’s attention. So you had walked to his place, thankfully, it wasn’t that far. As soon as you rang the doorbell, he opened it for you, pulling you inside, his lips already on yours.

“I missed you. Way too much. That’s not normal. What did you do to me?”

“If you have the answer, please tell me because I think you did the exact same thing to me.” you giggled.

He showed you around and naturally let your suitcases rest next to his, in his room.

“I changed the sheets. I spent yesterday cleaning the whole flat. I went grocery shopping too and I bought a bit of everything, I didn’t know what you liked so… I kinda went overboard. I bought chocolates and wine for your parents too. If you need anything else, I can go to the supermarket down the road, it won’t be long. I also emptied a drawer in my bathroom’s cupboard and in my closet too.”

“Charles,” you interrupted him. “It’s perfect. Everything is perfect. Don’t worry.”

“You would tell me if something was wrong, right?”

You shushed him out with a kiss, making sure he understood very well how happy you were to be with him. You felt his hand on your neck, getting you closer while, with his other hand, he easily got rid of your cardigan.

“You said your bed was comfy, right?” you whispered against his lips.

“Absolutely. Best bed ever.”

The next three days went by a blur. It was almost like heaven, or at least if heaven was real, then being with Charles felt like it. It was easy. You fit in his environment. He loved watching you sleeping in his sheets, he loved the way you were leaving your toothpaste left open on the bathroom’s sink, he loved seeing how grumpy you were before your first coffee in the morning, he loved the way he wasn't feeling alone anymore when you were by his side. He loved how you were correcting his way of chopping vegetables, telling him it was a miracle he still had ten fingers left. He loved how much of a sucker you were when it came to thrillers. He just loved you.

“I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. I know it is early but… I just know. If my brothers or friends would see me acting like this, they would think I’ve gone crazy.” he smiled as your head was resting on his chest.

“These last days with you made me realize how right I was to give us a chance. I know it won’t be easy, I know that shit will hit the fan at some point. But I also know that as long as I’m with you, it will be okay. It’s you and me against whatever obstacles will come our way.”

You had barely slept during the night. Today was the day when you would celebrate your dad’s birthday. You hadn’t been home for the past two years and had even less contact with your parents for a few months. And now you were bringing Charles along. Throwing him into a mess he didn’t deserve to be in. You had been quiet the whole way to Avignon, watching landscapes you loved growing up in until you finally arrived at the address you had given to Charles before leaving. Your legs had bounced the whole way there and the skin around your fingers was bleeding after you had spent hours scratching it. And now that you were in front of your childhood house, you felt like throwing up, breathing shallow. Charles stopped the engine and forced you to look at him.

“Hey, look at me. It will be alright. I’m with you, every step of the way. I’m not letting go of you. If you need me to hold your hand I will, I’m not going anywhere. One look from you that you want to leave, we do. No questions asked. I’m here for you. We can do it. You can.”

“I don’t want them to poison us with judgmental looks and make me feel like a kid who doesn't know what she is doing with her life.”

“Nothing they can say will make me love you less, rest assured. I won’t let you believe whatever negative shit they might say to you. You are a smart, ambitious, stubborn, resourceful, hard working, passionate and gorgeous woman. Don’t believe otherwise. I won’t let you, anyway.”

You smiled with difficulty, tears prickling behind your eyelids. You nodded as he kissed your forehead. He got out of the car before opening your door and taking your hand in his. You both walked to the front door of the house you loved growing up in but became a representation of a well kept cage as years went by. You knocked and a few moments later the door revealed your mom. She looked at you, up and down, not even acknowledging Charles.

“You’re late.” she finally said, making you gulp and shiver.

Author's note: In laws meeting incoming... how do you think it will turn out? .

Don't hesitate to leave a comment or an ask, as well as reblogging and leaving a like. Besides the fact that I absolutely love to read you, it helps a lot for the story to find its audience. I also have a taglist for this story, so if you want to be added so you never miss a chapter, let me know.

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Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @thirstylion @cmleitora @charizznorizz @sltwins @boherahpsody @herondalism @roseamongthorns13 @aundercover @snowflakesfluff @fictional-l0v3r @queensassybitchsworld @jehun @reengard

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levi-venn · 9 months

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Cross and Tech and Egg

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 (Final) Available also on AO3

All Crosshair could do was roll his eyes and offer a snippy reply. Anything more real than that and he feared he’d crumble under the weight of false relief.

This wasn’t a rescue. He was still a prisoner, a lab rat, property of the Empire. Tech being here didn’t change that.

But something had changed. Egg was the first tilt in Crosshair’s resolve, pressing upon him with that shrill, incessant cawing that he wasn’t alone.

And now Tech was here, in the flesh, giving him that mildly smug smile and clear-eyed honesty that Crosshair desperately needed…

…and painfully missed.

He pressed his forehead against the bars, watching Tech climb the vines rooted in the wall. “You’re going to get caught,” Crosshair growled. His chest tightened as if to keep the following words in, but his stubbornness blurted. “Get out of here.”

“I have no intention of getting caught,” Tech said, hoisting himself onto the ledge in front of the window. He sat, cross-legged, eye-level to Crosshair. “And unless you decide to turn me in, I believe I am safe. I will leave before they give you your next meal.”

“Or when they take me away for the next round of experiments.”

“When will that be?”

“Day after tomorrow. It’s every three days.”

Tech lowered his gaze, almost as if there was a datapad in his hands. Reflexively, Crosshair looked too, but found his brother’s hands clenched into fists briefly, then relaxed. “I’m sorry, Crosshair.”

Crosshair frowned. “For what, exactly?”

“We…I knew your inhibitor chip kept you tethered to the Empire, yet after it’s removal, you still stayed with them. I can only conclude that you saw something in the Empire that we, your squad…your brothers…lacked. If I had any part in your decision…” Tech’s voice broke and he quickly cleared his throat and soldiered on. “…then I am sorry.”

Crosshair wanted to sink onto his bed, curl up, and hide from the fact the rift between him and his brothers was his own making. But leaving this window sill meant not being able to see Tech. And he needed this, more than he needed to hide from the pain in his brother’s face.

“It wasn’t you, Tech. It was never you.”

If Hunter was here, he would have demanded an answer. “Then why? Why would you choose the Empire over your own family?” Hunter had a way of making Crosshair feel small despite the fact he had towered over him for most of their lives.

But Tech wasn’t like that. “Whatever your reasons, it doesn’t matter. You may join us if you wish, and only if you wish.”

“You aren’t going to try to convince me to come back?” Crosshair asked, skeptical.

“You made your decision to leave us. If not for the Empire, perhaps there would have been another reason. I don’t want you to join us if it will make you unhappy..”

Crosshair looked away, but in doing so he faced Egg’s complete lack of personal space. The crow had pressed his head between the bars and now clicked his beak at Crosshair which he swore sounded more like a “tsk tsk tsk”.

“Egg agrees with me,” Tech said, with a small trace of a smile.

“Kraytspit,” Crosshair hissed. “You don’t know Egg like I do.”

“Regardless of what you choose, Crosshair,” Tech said, reaching up to adjust his non-existent goggles. “It’s good to see you. Not joining us doesn’t mean it has to be goodbye forever.”

Crosshair sighed. “You’re talking like I actually have a life outside of this cell.”

“Our siblings are coming.”

“They aren’t,” Crosshair snarled.

“As much as I’d love to get into a thrilling debate of ‘yes, they are’ versus ‘no, they aren’t’, it would be useless. In truth, both of us are operating on assumptions and only time will tell.”

“So, what are you going to do in the meantime?” Crosshair asked, and his stomach dropped. “You should leave.”

“No. I am not leaving you. Not again.” He raised his finger and added. “Also I crashed the ship I stole from Eriadu. I am essentially blind when attempting to ship readouts without my goggles. A trip off this planet would be disastrous.”

“So you aren’t leaving.”

“Absolutely not,” Tech said. “I will stay with you until our siblings arrive.”

“What, every day?”

“Every day.”

“You don’t have to.”

“You’re right,” Tech said, narrowing his eyes. “I want to. I’m confused why you won’t accept this.”

“Because it’s me,” Crosshair argued. “I tried to kill you all, more than once. I turned away from you on Kamino. I’m an Imperial Soldier.”

“Correction: You were an Imperial Soldier. Now, you’re an Imperial Prisoner. Whatever happened prior to this moment, as far as I’m concerned, doesn’t erase the countless memories I have with you as a brother and as a friend.”

Crosshair gritted his teeth, pressing his forehead hard against the bars. “Tech-”

His words were interrupted by a bright yellow biscuit waved in his face.

Egg perked up, cawing in sudden keen interest.

“What?” Crosshair perked up as well. “Is that a travel biscuit?”

“From the shuttle. I have a case of them.”

Crosshair took the biscuit and nibbled on it, breaking off a piece for Egg. Egg set the biscuit on the sill, broke it into four pieces, and ate each piece individually. It looked like he was savoring it as Crosshair was.

“Fuck the Empire, but I love these biscuits,” Crosshair sighed.

“I’ll bring some every day.”

“You don’t ha-”

Egg let out a shrill craah, drowning out the rest of Crosshair’s words.

Tech’s smug smile spread across his face. “I’ve decided I like Egg very much.”

Egg accepted the second helping of travel biscuit from Tech and the three of them ate together in comfortable silence.

***

Tech kept his word and returned the next day just after breakfast, using Egg as a signifier that it was safe to approach.

“I brought you something else today,” Tech said, procuring the gift from one of his many pockets.

Crosshair snatched the toothpick from Tech's hand and popped it into his mouth. He took in a deep breath, then relaxed. "Where did you find toothpicks out here?"

"I didn't. I always carry extras with me in case you run low."

"I didn't know that."

"That's because you never seem to run out."

"There's a first time for everything," Crosshair said. "Thanks…"

Tech tilted his head. "Did you just thank me? I look forward to telling Hunter you’re capable of gratitude."

"He won't believe you.”

“Probably not, no.”

“How…” The question lodged in Crosshair’s throat.

“How what?” Tech asked.

He didn’t have a right to ask. It was useless to know.

“How…is he?”

“The last time I saw him was moments before I flew out of a monorail car. So, I assume he’s grieving over my apparent death.”

Crosshair grimaced. “They don’t know you’re alive?”

“I have no way of telling them.”

“I just meant…how is Hunter in general?”

Tech thought for a moment. “He is preoccupied. He has appointed himself as Omega’s guardian despite the fact Wrecker and I both look after her with equal care. He puts her well-being on his shoulders and his alone. If she is in even a modicum of danger, he throws himself at the problem rather than approach it with preferable logic. His worry is unwarranted. She is self-sufficient, resourceful, and has become an equal part of our squad. His worry over her distracts him and it’s concerning.”

“He used to do that with Wrecker,” Crosshair pointed out. “Like the time Wrecker had that ear infection and couldn’t walk without stumbling. Hunter hovered around him like a buzz droid to keep him from tripping over himself.”

“And when Wrecker slipped off of the AT-TE cannon,” Tech added. “Hunter broke his arm attempting to break his fall.”

“I forgot about that,” Crosshair snorted. “Even back then, Wrecker was larger than all of us. He wouldn’t have hurt himself all that bad, but there was Hunter, lunging towards him like he was a hutt ball.”

“And…” Tech hesitated for a moment as if caught in the memory himself. “When the accident happened…”

Accidents happened a lot with the rowdy experimental clone cadets, but “The Accident” was a single event that shook them all to the core. It was the first time Crosshair had felt an acute fear that he may lose one of his brothers.

It was their first day of grenade building, but Wrecker had been sneaking parts out of the munitions locker for weeks building his own explosives. He got cocky and careless and paid the price losing an eye and hearing in his left ear.

Crosshair flicked the toothpick against his tongue in irritation. “That wasn’t Hunter’s fault,” he growled. “Wrecker had been sneaking parts out of the munitions locker for weeks to build his own grenades. We all turned a blind eye to it. We were kids and he said he knew what he was doing. We believed him.”

“Hunter still says he should have reported Wrecker the moment he found the grenades," Tech said. "We hadn’t been formally trained. It was against the rules.”

“Hunter likes to follow the rules when it suits him,” Crosshair hissed. "He can’t just pick and choose and then decide he’ll be a martyr when an accident happens.”

“It’s who Hunter is,” Tech said. “He looks out for all of us, even to his own detriment.”

Crosshair’s nerves crackled with anger. “Wrecker was unconscious for days and Hunter was sobbing, and he wouldn’t let us help him. He wouldn’t let me help. But that’s his problem, he-”

Crosshair flinched. His words echoing back to that night on Kamino…it felt like a lifetime ago.

“That’s your problem, Hunter. You take things too personally.”

“Don’t fool yourself,” Hunter had said. “All you’ll ever be to them is a number.”

Crosshair leaned his head against the bars of his prison cell. “Forget it.”

“He didn’t want to leave you on Kamino," Tech said, his voice going quiet. "He truly believed you would change your mind and come with us. When you didn’t…” Tech looked pointedly at Crosshair. “He did take it personally.”

“Yeah? Well, you leaving me behind was personal,” Crosshair snapped.

Tech sat up straighter and his hand reached for his goggles again before remembering their absence. “Crosshair…”

“Don’t.”

“If we-“

“I said don’t, Tech.”

Tech pursed his lips, then sighed. “To answer your question then, Hunter is not doing well, and until he finds a way to exist without burdening himself with the galaxy’s problems, the sooner he will live a happier life.”

“Good to know,” Crosshair said.

“You don’t want to know how Wrecker and Omega are doing?”

“Wrecker is fine. He is always fine. After he lost his eye he was ridiculously excited at having a ‘cool scar like Commander Wolffe’. And Omega…” Crosshair frowned. “I’m sure she’s fine. A big ball of kriffin’ sunshine and optimism, how can she not be?”

“So, you don’t want to know then?”

Crosshair was quiet for a long moment. Tech remained silent as well.

“How is she?” He asked, finally.

Tech smiled. “She’s growing up quickly even without age acceleration. I’m teaching her how to fly the Marauder and she is on her way to becoming an exceptional pilot.”

Crosshair sneered. “And how many times did you mention Skywalker?”

Tech bristled, as Crosshair hoped he would. “Only when it was necessary.” His finger went up as if to emphasize his next point. “I was his best student after all.”

“You had one flight simulation with him.”

“It was all I needed,” Tech retorted. "He said to me and I quote: ‘Great job, Tech! You know your stuff!’” Tech mimicking an Outer Rim accent was the funniest thing Crosshair had ever heard, and the first time he heard it, he thought he would hiss himself to death with laughter.

Today, he just wore a serpentine smile. “And you took that as a graduation, huh?”

“Just as you did that one instance Dengar was our guest instructor for sniper training.”

Crosshair took his toothpick out to point it at Tech. “He said I was a natural. I am a natural.”

Tech’s smile was less smug than Crosshair expected. “That you are.”

Egg suddenly ruffled his feathers, looking past Crosshair as they all heard the telltale footsteps of a service droid coming to deliver the prisoner's evening meal.

Tech took the cue and started to leave.

“Tech,” Crosshair called out, his stomach twisting in a knot. “Don’t come back tomorrow.”

Tech looked back, quizzically. “Why not?”

“Just don’t.” Crosshair snapped and disappeared out of view.

Outside, Crosshair could hear Egg fly away, but not Tech making his decent down the wall. Crosshair closed his eyes and drew his knees to his chest. He could still see the puzzled look on Tech's face. It's as close to "hurt" as he's seen him.

Just before the droid arrived, bringing with him some sort of meat stew, he heard Tech slowly climb down the wall.

It was for the better.

Tomorrow Crosshair would be in the labs all day.

Tomorrow would be a nightmare as it always was every third day.

I don’t need Tech seeing me like that. Crosshair thought, drawing his knees up to his chest. I don’t need him...

…or anyone.

#Bad Batch #Crosshair #Bad Batch Crosshair #Star Wars #After Season 2 Finale #bad batch tech #clone trooper tech #Egg the Crow #please dont egg any crows #Egg is his name #He likes eggs #This is longer than I anticipated #bb tech #bb crosshair #bb egg?#bb egg #this story has a happy ending I promise #next chapter will be the last chapter

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drowninginthoughts27 · 3 months

Text

Seven Sentence Snippet

thank you sm for tagging me @buttfaceingtons

“Listen Reg, if you're not in grave danger I’m gonna hang up now. If you need someone to talk to I’m sure Sirius or Pandora or someone would be a better option. I heard you’re in France right now so I’m fairly certain Barty would be more than happy to help you out as well.” The way he says Barty’s name along with the acknowledgment that he’s in France sends a shiver down Regulus’ spine. An uncomfortable weight sinking deep into his stomach. He stays silent though and lets James continue, “But I’m really not in the position to be that person for you any more. I’m sorry, really.”

this isn't edited so I'm sorry for any mistakes lol

np taggs to @regscupid @spacexcowgirl @rweoutofthewoods @theicarusconstellation and @kwiwrites (sorry if you've already been tagged)

#fic: the things we never said #this is like the center of chapter 3 so...#I've been so excited to post this chapter but I'm *still* not finished with it #its been longer than I'd like to admit since last updated it #but I promise I'll upload eventually lol #tag game

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holdingonforheaven · 2 months

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plotting the rest of this fox fic

(first two chapters here, if you're curious)

#it's getting dark yall #i mean it already was #but we gettin SPECIFIC #there will be FEELS #it'll all be okay i promise #it's def gonna be longer than the 3-4 chapters i'd initially expected #star wars fanfiction #star wars: the clone wars #sw taw #clone commander fox #clone commander wolffe #fanfiction

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butshedidnotknow · 3 months

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Ready To Fall

For @febuwhump 2024 Day 1: Helpless

Summary: Neil Josten returned to the Foxes in a body bag, and all of the proof Andrew has of foul play is a mysterious countdown on Neil's phone, ending the day he died. Andrew takes it badly.

---------------

One man stood alone on the edge of the rooftop, a silhouette against an already-dark sky. It was beginning to rain, gently now, but soon it would turn to a storm powerful enough to crush all of them and wash the entirety of South Carolina away with it. Despite that, the lone glow of a cigarette hung from the man’s lips, still ever so lonely. Nearly invisible against the night was the bottle of vodka that dangled from his fingers.

“Ninety nine percent,” he muttered, staring at the parking lot down below. And then he laughed, sharp and harsh and as cutting as any of the blades that he kept pressed against his skin. “You hear that, bastard?” he shouted against the wind to no avail; it was beginning to pick up, and carried his words away with it. “Ninety fucking nine percent and I didn’t even get to kill you for it!”

Abram was dead, and they didn’t even know how. Oh, they had been given a body, and everything about it—about the familiar face, muddled and broken and bruised—had pointed to “Neil” being hit by a car in the parking lot, probably trying to escape the riots that had broken out after their game. But Andrew would never buy that, and no matter how much the other Foxes gave lip to the story, he knew that they refused to, either. It was more than a coincidence, more than an accident. The scars, the endless antagonizing of Riko and his Ravens, all of the secrets that Neil had never traded with him in their game—

Andrew dropped his cigarette off the roof and stared at it, watching its dim glow flicker out. From his pocket, he drew out a phone—old, a flip phone, far outdated, but still functional, and now without any owner for it. He gripped it tightly, almost trying to break it, and drew back his arm to throw it right next to that cigarette, now stifled by the rain.

At the last moment Andrew stopped and dropped the phone at his feet instead. There wasn’t much left of Neil: his exy gear, unused brown contact lenses, pages and pages of math work that Andrew couldn’t stand to look at, and his phone.

He raised the bottle to his lips, took a very long drink, long enough that he was beginning to question what he was doing on the roof like this, with limbs so heavy and a pulse that threatened to leave his veins in shreds. His own scars throbbed, both old and still fresh from the riot.

Abram is dead.

Is your spine the spine of the righteous?

If he knew who had done this, if he had any way of reaching out, Andrew would have torn them to pieces and not hesitated another second to get back at them for what they’d done to Neil. But there was nothing more to it than this: whoever it had been, they were the Ravens, or something to do with them, and with Neil gone, Andrew’s attention was wholly dedicated to Kevin.

Andrew stared at the phone at his feet, and raised a foot to crush it beneath his boot.

Before he could, it rang once.

Andrew stopped. He stared at it. Put his foot back on the ground. There was no one who would text Neil, not now that he was dead. The only numbers that the man had saved had belonged to the Foxes, and to whoever had sent that countdown.

The countdown is over now, Abram, and you’re not here to see how mad I am. Do you know how much I want to kill you for that? You let them get to you first. You made me break a promise.

Not one, but two. Two promises: he’d hurt Kevin, and he’d failed to protect Neil. One of those he may be able to properly apologize for, in due time. The other—his breath was ragged and something stabbed through the side of his ribs as he thought it for the hundredth time—the other he was helpless to do anything about, no matter how hard he was to try.

Neil—Abram—Josten was dead.

And now someone was texting him.

Andrew bent down, picked up the phone on the ground, flicked it open. They still needed to cancel the phone plan. It had gotten lost in the string of things in the past week—there was so much to do that a cell phone was ranked at the bottom of the list.

Except.

Except there was a text from a blocked number—a different one than the countdown—and when Andrew opened it, all it contained was a single word:

Wait.

And dread filled his stomach in the same way it had when Neil’s hand was yanked from him in the riot.

He sent a reply, rash though he knew it was:

Who is this?

But there was no reply, and when he attempted to phone the mystery number back, he reached a message informing him that the number was out of service and he should hang up and try again.

Andrew buried a sob beneath a mouthful of vodka and a cigarette inhaled so quickly he felt nauseous. Who could he begin to ask for answers? A burner phone like this would be no use in trying to track down any further information, regardless of who had sent that text.

Another drink. Standing and taking tottering steps towards the door, more shakily than he would ever let himself be in front of anyone else again.

He could not be helpless again. Not after all that he had lost.

#febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday1 #prompt: helpless #aftg #all for the game #cw for canon-typical bad coping mechanisms #my writing #aftg fic #andrew minyard #neil josten #this is in fact part 1 of a longer fic and some of the following febuwhump prompts will be other chapters in it #so do what you will with the mystery text in the meantime #canon divergence fic #frankly it's closer to angst than whump but i promise we'll get there and i could not think of anything else to do for day 1 #and it's a day late to boot on the first day im so sorry

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