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FEZCO O'NEILL x F!READER
ASHTRAY x MATERNAL!READER
EUPHORIA
My FEZCO Masterlist
Summary: Rue visits the house when you're leaving, unfortunately, a drug deal is taking place soon. When the phone rings, you're forced to stay and as Fezco feared, Mouse takes a liking to you, even gives you the first taste of a particularly hard drug.
Warning(s): Fear, Drugs, mentions of Rape, Laurie’s crazy ass, etc.
Author’s Note: Rest in Peace, Angus...you brought a beautiful character to life.
If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?
---
The bill counter on the table slows as the bills flipped through come to a stop, Fezco takes the stack and fixes it neatly against the surface.
Wrapping a band around the cash, he looks up as you appear from the hallway, your bag being pulled over your shoulder. You and Ashtray, the boy is mumbling something to you, looking miserable. Or as miserable as he can look with the disgusted, upturned nose he's giving you as you give him a big smooch on the cheek.
"Hey!" Ashtray swatted you away. "That ain't right, man! We got peoples comin'!" He made a face at you, Fezco chuckled a bit to himself, this was the first time Ashtray hadn't gone tomato red after a kiss from Ma. He was getting used to it, Fez realized with a laugh.
Luckily, you weren't wearing any lipstick this time, but that didn't mean he didn't try to wipe any potential mama's boy imprints you always seemed to leave on his face.
"I know, I know," you could only smile in your humor, before audibly chuckling. Running your thumb along the area, just for safe measure for him, before cupping his cheek. "I'll see you later, ok?"
His chin upturned with confirmation. "Mmm," Ashtray stayed there, eyes flickering up to yours as he went quiet for your goodbye. "I'll keep him outta trouble."
"Says the trouble," you snickered, to which his lips shifted with glee at, he's the business partner for a reason after all. "You always do, I know you got him," you pinched his chin lovingly, before straightening, bag in hand. "Just be safe, babe. Ok?"
Ashtray nods, sharply, face finally burning red. "Yeah, yeah, yeah." He then half-heartedly shoves you towards the hall, "Now, get outta here, man. We got work to do."
"Alright, alright," you put your hands up, taking a few skipping steps down the hall towards the living room. "I love you!"
Ashtray grumbles, embarrassingly. "Just get out of here!" he disappears back into the hallway, jumping a bit too boyishly back into his bedroom.
Fezco could laugh, but he held it back, he didn't need the boy more embarrassed then he pretended to be during most of your motherly habits.
You chuckled to yourself as you spun around from the hallway, eyes finally landing on your boyfriend, Fezco. Your smile never dampening, only growing bashful as you slowly glide around the couch, tracing your fingers along the fabric.
Fezco clears his throat, breaking eye contact.
Shit.
He didn't want you to leave.
I mean, well, he did. You had to leave, no question.
Mouse was nothing to play with. And Fezco made it perfectly clear he did not trust any of his dealers when it came to being around you. Least of all Mouse.
Its always been out of the question to get you involved in any of this, if he could help it.
He was literally inviting danger to his doorstep, if he could pride himself on anything it was that he'd distanced you from most of it, you couldn't put name to face, you hardly knew the shit he sold. Not that you didn't recreationally partake from time to time, but that was usually with him.
You grew up with smokers, so sharing a stick together used to be the closest thing you had ever came to a type of high.
Fezco wasn't necessarily proud he introduced you to drugs, it wasn't even related to how you met, or why you stayed. Why you stayed... Something that confused him to this day, god, you could be anywhere, be with anyone, BE anyone.
But, you were here. Lighting up the house with love, painting a picture of a family he had to think was impossible until you came into his life.
God, he was absolutely obsessed with the addiction he'd found in you. Easily a pinnacle high.
And so, there was no debate, you can't stay here tonight.
Fezco swallows, thickly.
He glances in your direction, as he tries to get his thoughts together. You're already looking at him, waltzing up casually, as he stands from his chair as you get closer, don't look at me like that, he wanted to say.
You didn't know how easy he gets lost in your presence, time just slipped away. Or maybe you did, maybe you thought the world would slow for the both of you in moments like this, when leaving his side felt like an impossibility.
Sliding your bag off from your shoulder, you let it settle next to your cardigan at the table leg. "Did he have to come today?" you knew the answer, your voice soft but frustrated.
"Yeah, ma. Ain't nothin' I can control right now," Fezco answers quietly, watching as you slide your hand across the table delicately, tracing the grain. "It'd just be us tonight. If I could."
"Business is business," You slide the ring of your keys into your palm, humming your understanding. You glance back from your keys that you slide behind you, back up to him. "Update me, ok? Don't forget." Safety check-ins after deals like this were always your number one rule, no exceptions.
He assures you, "I know, baby," stepping close to run his hands over your arms, his palms are warm and his thumbs dig in with a gentle pressure.. "I ain't forgettin', I gotchu."
"And eat something," you added. "There's leftovers from earlier. You never eat right on days like this."
Fezco chuckled. "You keepin' notes or somethin'?"
"Or somethin'." you teased back.
BZZZZ...BZZZZ...
His phone goes off , you don't turn recognizing the harsh alarm as the one he'd set to give you enough time to rush out before his exchange went down tonight.
They both release a breath, before he turns back at the replicated sound. Straightening to face you again, "Hey," he breathes at your pout.
Fezco lifts his phone, turning off the alarm. "You text me when you're home, ight?" he leans down to take your bag off the floor, his other hand now rested on you hip, held it right. Pinching the skin, tenderly, "Hear me?"
"Mm hmm." You inch into him, brows that pinch when you're about to lean in.
"Ok?" he repeated, he noticed.
"OK."
You had his face in your hands then, kissing him, hard. Breathlessly.
Pulling back to look at him, "And you'll call me when it's over." A reminder, instead of a question, you made clear of that. Pretty eyes that bore into his, easily stealing what little attention he'd given to anything else but you.
You kissed him again, he's pressing his lips to yours just as your pulling away. "Not a second after, ok?" You instructed, sternly. Though the worried crease in your brows made your intentions clear and left no room for debate.
He nodded, thoughtlessly, that was all he could manage. Mouth open and leaning down for another taste even as you blabber out another word. "I will, I will."
Not when you're pulling him down by the collar like this.
Again, your eyes dart to his lips, and unable to help yourselves, he's diving in for another when his alarm goes off again, the two of you pausing and then staring.
Alright, they've got ten minutes to get you out of here. Fuuuck...
Fezco grabs your keys off the floor, fits your cardigan between the holes of your bag and snatches your sneakers up for you to step into as you both rush towards the hallway to the door.
"Text me as soon as you're in, alright?," Fezco jogs after you, as you pepper kisses while backtracking to the gated door. "Come on, ma," he complains, half-heartedly, as you kiss him full on the cheek longer.
"I'm sorry," you apologize, before kissing him again. "Ok, I love you," he opens the door as you step into your shoes. Ashtray presses the release from the security room and the gate clicks open. It's raining, it hits the metal loudly, your car was just in front so there was no need for an umbrella.
Still, enough to get drenched as soon as you step out.
He's pushing open the doors for you, the two of you just stepping out when Rue rushes over. "The fu--Rue?"
The girl's a bit out of breath, curly hair sticking to her face from the rain.
"(Y/n) Baby cake!" she fired hand guns spouting the dumb nickname, before taking both of your hands to spin around and stumble her way into the house.
Pulling you back inside for a hug, she's completely soaked, easily clinging your shirt. "That was fast, came to see me? Or are you leaving already?" Rue gasped. "No, no, I haven't seen you in forever, come back. Distract Fez while I raid, alright? Cool."
"What, no--"
The curly haired girl excitedly runs off then, makes her way into the hallway, "Hold on! Rue!" Fezco doesn't have time to grab her when she's already strutting onto the carpet and around the corner, looking for the usual.
"How'd you guys know I was outside? Shit, I didn't even ring yet," she laughed, impressed. "Oh, that a hickey?" she snickered, pointing nowhere in particular at you, already trapezing through the house.
"Rue! What're you--" you close the doors, the security click sounding, just as Fezco''s rushing after the girl. "oh my, fuck--"
"Nah, Rue, you can't be here right now," Fezco shouts after her. "I need you out!"
Rue scoffed. "Oh, come on, I've seen porno's crazier than what you two get up to. Just act like I'm not even here."
Bursting into the living room, you follow after Rue as she throws off her sweater, looking to get comfortable. "Jesus, Rue," you pick it up off the couch as you follow behind Fezco.
Ashtray's head peeks out from the security room, brows raised in surprise as Rue trudges through the hall, he speaks aloud. "The fuck is she doin' here?" and then he sees you, yelling after you. "What the fuck are you still doin' here?!"
"I was leaving!" you sighed as you rushed past him. "And don't cuss at me!"
Ashtray rolled his eyes, sitting back into his chair, checking the outer camera feed.
"Look, I just need a couple OCs and some socks," Rue plopped down on a bed in the back rooms, pulling off her soaked socks and started opening drawers.
Fezco cornered her in his room, frustrating eating at him. Glancing at the time on his phone. "Yo, for real Rue, you gotta go! I can't help you right now, come back in a few hours, I gotchu. But right now, you need to get up outta here."
You came up next to him, holding her jacket. Throwing it back at her as she pulled on some new socks, "Hey!"
"He's not joking around, Rue," you reiterated. "People are coming. And it'd be better if neither of us were here. You need to come with me."
Rue glanced between the two of you. "This is the weirdest intervention ever," she kicked off her jacket as she pulled on her socks. "Look, Fez, I'm drenched, and I'm out of drugs so...don't be dicks."
You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Oh god," shaking out your hands, you may just have to drag her out, kicking and screaming.
Fezco cursed, tensing up. "That ain't the fucking problem Rue!" they had less than five minutes, he was sure. " I need you to get up out my house right now before theses motherfuckers come through, for real!"
"Look, look, look, all I need are some OCs and a couple of Xanies, that's all," Rue explained.
You hummed, irritated. "Sure," you stepped forward, grabbing her forearm. "At my house. Let's go."
Rue's face pinched in confusion. "The only pill I've ever seen in your bathroom is a Tylenol."
"Uh huh," cause that's is all you had at home. "Well you're a terrible influence."
"Me?!" Rue laughed, appalled. Before glancing back at Fezco, who gave her glare at her clear insinuation. "Wait, wait, my jacket!"
You pulled her back with you, knowing she caught sight of a pill bottle as they passed by the security room. Shrugging off your cardigan, you tossed it over her head, "Here."
She puts it on, but isn't satisfied. "I know you don't got Xanies..."
"And you not hearing me when I say you ain't stayin', Rue," Fezco reminds.
Rue grinds herself to a halt, thinking hard, before she yanks herself through your grip, running around to the couch, flipping onto the cushion. "Prove you got 'em at home, go!" she points.
"Rue! I'm tryin'na tell ya, I ain't got shit right now," Fezco fought the urge to snatch the girl and throw her out. "I got whatever you need , but later. Get out."
"Rue!" your fists ball up, mostly out of your own anxiety. "Please, please, just get out of the damn house. There's some fucking weed to hold you over in the car!"
But Rue, the addict she was, Rue just glared. Staring directly at Fezco, "I know you got something, Fez." He was hiding it from her, he had to be, so why should she leave?
"Jesus Christ..." you ran a hand down your face. "Just come with me. Stay with me at mine, and then in a few hours, we're back here for you to do whatever," coming up to Rue as she braces herself on the backend of the couch. "I'm dead serious, I don't want you here when they get here, ok?"
Rue's brows furrowed at the softened delivery of your last sentence, now you have her attention. Her mouth opening but only a confused, "uhhh..." follows before she's glancing at Fezco, who's staring at the time on his phone. "You said who's coming again?"
Just as Rue's beginning to pull herself off the couch. Fezco opens his mouth to say something, "Rue--" while you're already pulling her to the doorway, and then the phone rings.
Stopping both women in their tracks.
Fezco stares down at the screen, the caller ID, and then sighs.
Making eye contact with you as your shoulders drop, realizing you were out of time, his lips press together guiltily.
His eyes flicker to Rue. "I could fucking kill you right now," he says, walking to the dinner table. He takes the walkie talkie, "Yo, Ash, they're here."
"Crap," the boy responds before the radio cuts silent.
Fezco gathers the money off the table, puts down the radio, walks over to the couch and fishes out the handle to a gun. That he checks for a loaded magazine before shifting the safety.
Rue swallows hard on the couch.
You breath out, running a hand down your hair. "Rue," you start. "Come."
You're already walking down the hallway. Rue swiftly follows, side stepping an angry Fezco.
"Ma," Fezco calls.
"She's not staying out here."
"If they find her..."
"They won't!" you argued. Giving your bag to Rue, pulling your cardigan hoodie over her hair. "They won't, right?" you stop and ask Rue.
Rue swallows, before nodding fast. "I can be quiet. I mean, when it counts, I can be quiet."
Pulling her into the farthest opposing room, you release her to move a few things around in the darkest corner of the room. Which happens to be with Grandma Marie, still sleeping peacefully as she always has in the hospital bed. "Sorry, OG," you whisper, before guiding Rue over.
"Touch nothing, say nothing, keep fucking still," you instruct Rue, pulling her into the corner, as far away from Grandma Marie as possible but in the busier corner of the room where she'd be much harder to spot if anyone were to glance in.
Rue wordlessly fixed herself into place, taking your bag and holding it tight in the corner as you moved a box in front of her to obscure her at least a bit. "Do. Not. Move."
You stepped away as you heard the front door slam shut and Ashtray whispering harshly behind you, "You gotta get over there!" before rushing out the room.
"(Y/n)..." Rue spoke finally as you began to pull the door closed, palms sweating, face flushed with anxiety.
You turned back to her.
"I..." she tried.
"Just don't move. It's ok," you assured her.
Rue watched as the hallway lighting vanished from the room, chest heavy as she recalled the terrified expression on your face as you pulled the door shut.
---
"So, this your bitch, huh?"
Your eyes flickered upwards from beside Fezco, tenses up at the question. You must've zoned out.
"Huh?" you didn't mean to say anything, but it made the man laugh.
Mouse.
As you make eye contact, his smile curls slow, a flash of gold in his teeth and the lighting makes his faded facial tattoos look more intense.
"Nah man, this ma girl, ma wife," Fezco gritted out, but he tried to keep his animosity to a minimum. "Ain't no bitch here."
Mouse snickered, before shrugging as if he could respect that. He drops to one knee to get eye level with you, staring like he's got nowhere else to be. With his palm extended for you to take, "Mmm,' he starts off, getting a good look at your face. "Well, hello there, wifey."
"Um, hi," your mouth dry.
He chuckled, clearly he found you interesting. "Got caught in the rain, huh?"
"I--" you didn't have to look down to feel your wet shirt sticking to you. Enough for the lace of your bra to show through. Fuck me, Rue. "I did."
"Course you did, mamas," Your eyes flicker anywhere but the eyes that haven't stopped trailing you since he'd walked in, extending your hand to shake. He takes it, instead pulling your knuckles up for a kiss, he keeps eye contact every second. "My name is Mouse," he introduced. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
You couldn't seem to find the words, he wasn't waiting for any, he turned his attention to a tight-lipped Fezco, beside you.
"Hmm," Mouse says, before he's pulling you off the couch with a jerk to the hand.
You follow with a surprised sound, pulled right out of Fezco's range just as he reaches out. "Wait--"
"Hey!" Fezco's already standing, hands shaking. "That ain't cool, man! What you think you doin', Mouse?"
"Relax, man," Mouse spins you around, enjoying the view, and sits you down on the opposing couch, facing Fezco. "I ain't know what ya'll got planned sittin' close like that, just precaution. This," he pinches your chin briefly. "Makes the room more...spread out."
Mouse smirks toward Fezco, who's eyes constantly flicker from you to him. "Sit down already. Let's get down to business," he demands. To which Fezco, not wanting the man to be here any longer than he needed, sits carefully. "Alright. Custer toss me that bag!"
The dealer walks around the couch, away from you, and you finally take a breath. Fisting the cushions beneath, you push yourself back onto the couch, eyes flickering up to Fezco, who leans forward at your attention, hands fidgeting and holding tight. You alright?
Your palm spread out wide over your bare thighs, you couldn't believe you wore a fucking skirt today. I'm fine.
But to Fezco, it looks like you were about to be sick.
Mouse took some plastic out the bag Custer provides him. "Alright, check it," he holds out a few things. "I got 100 OP-OC 80s, 500 Xanny bars, 500 20s of Addy," he listed off as the pill bottle clacked and the pills rattled with every push onto the table. "I'm low on Vikes, so if you wanna cop out some Vikes. You better cop 'em today, cause I got 50 left--" he just kept listing and you glanced off to the side, behind you was Custer. From across the room, Ashtray stood at a doorway, you were glad he was far out of interest to the two men.
Ashtray sees the gun in Custer's pocket, eyes pointedly looking to Fezco, communicating that instantly. He watches his brother's jaw flex at the info, before pressing his hand against the crack of the cushion where his pistol laid.
The boy then looks over to you, the woman's that had become his mom in the years they've known you, he hated that you were still here, god, he could kill Rue.
"Custer, what's the math on that?" Mouse finishes up.
"Uh, 25, 15, 1,100, 35, 77 and 25," he counts off. "7,750."
Fezco takes out the paper bag he's prepared. "Here."
He tosses the bag of money up and at Mouse, who tosses it right to Custer after feeling out the stacks.
Mouse steps around from the table. "Sure you don't want no Fentanyl?"
"Nah man, I'm cool off that shit," Fezco rejects. "Too many ODs and I don't want the heat."
Mouse didn't like that much, but he didn't show it. Not as he came around the couch, staring down at you, already peering up at him, "What about you, wifey, huh? Ever tried Fentanyl?" he comes to sit beside you.
"No," you said, your voice much too small.
"She's good, bruh." Fezco didn't like his shift in attention.
But, Mouse pays Fezco no mind, doesn't even look at him as he leans in closer to you. You look away, he's much too close. "Got hub talkin' for you, huh?" his arm comes around the couch bend and fists his fingers into your hair.
That's a question, he needs an answer. You remind yourself, you try to just look at your boyfriend, though seeing his rage and clearly being just as uncomfortable as you were, if not more, didn't help.
"He just, knows more about this stuff..." you say. Mouse's fingers trail your shoulders, near your neck. "...than I do."
"Not more than me, though," Mouse interjects, before shifting over. "Don't look at him. Look at me. You think he knows more than me?"
You're sure it's not wise to say yes, not as he presses you to make eye contact, he stares you down, hard. You shake your head, reluctantly, throat closing.
"That's right. Ain't nobody knows more than me about the game, wifey," Mouse gloats, rubbing your shoulder. "So, you don't got nothing to worry about, do you?"
You didn't answer, and his hand comes up, taking a lock of your hair between his fingers.
He pulls your hair over your shoulder, behind your ear. "You ever try it?" Fentanyl.
Mouse's calloused thumb drags over your check, his hand briefly cupping around your lips to see your pout. You're sure he's just trying to piss off Fezco, who's digging into the arm chair, trying to keep calm.
"Mm mm," you try to shake your head.
"Yo, for real, bruh," Fezco speaks up, voice lifting in his turmoil. "I don't want her fuckin' with that shit. At all, man. She ain't with that."
Mouse leans close, looking to pique your interest. "You know that feeling when you come so hard you can't feel or hear shit?" he questions. "You like that feeling? I know you like that feeling..."
"Sure," You glanced at him. "Doesn't everybody..."
Oh, shit. Was that the wrong this to say?
Mouse immediately grins, bursting out a short laugh, looking over at Fezco, then Custer.
"Mmm, That's a good answer. I like that," he glances over toward Fezco, smirking in his humour. "I like your girl, man. This a good bitch," He then leans down, snatching up the bookbag, "So, you're gonna love this," Mouse fishes through a few of the plastic wraps.
Mouse flipped open a knife then, startling you, unraveling a bag to take out a white packet. He pokes the metal into the bag, ripping it open, a bit of the liquid catches on the knife at the very tip.
He raises the knife in front of you, the sight of it makes your skin grow cold.
"I'm fine, really." Your press your lips closed. "I've never..."
"What?" Mouse chuckled at your flushed face, the color that had left it. "Never what? Come on, take a lick. What, you don't trust me?"
"Come on, bruh," Fezco seethes to the side. "She said she's good."
"Shut the fuck up, bitch," Mouse cursed him, glaring his way. "Ain't nobody talkin' to you!" He then turns to you, whispering close to you ear, knife so close it could cut you instead. "Tell hubby over there, nobody talkin' to him right now."
Your eyes lock on Fezco's right across from you, you hadn't even realized you were shaking. He looks so guilty, eyes much too expressive to be hidden from Mouse's sight, you wonder if he just doesn't like Fezco or if he just likes playing with his dealers.
Or if he just really likes torturing you.
"Come on," Mouse continues. "Tell him to 'Shut the fuck up'."
You don't, eyes flickering down to the knife he'd raised toward your chin, that had begun to graze your bottom lip.
"Don't be scared, mamas," Mouse suddenly snatches the back of your neck, making you jump. "It ain't gonna bit you."
"Bruh, stop touchin' her like that!" Fezco tries not to get too loud, there's a shakiness to his voice that maybe Mouse doesn't notice, but you do. "She don't mess with that shit."
"Yeah," he can tell. The man palms your thigh, maybe to test Fezco further. "Yeah, she don't. So, why not get the experience? Try it." He raises the knife further, this time between your closed lips. "Open, come on, good girl, open up. Try it."
You wanted to cry from the pounding in your nerves, heart beating fast enough to give anyone a heart attack.
Taking a final look at Fezco, who's put a hand up to his head, he runs it down his face, shaking his head, but he knows you don't really have that chocie.
Fuck, you should've just left.
Your lips close around the drop.
Mouse grins, proudly. "There."
The knife sliding from between your lips, you release a shaky breath, that feels more like the beginning of a sob. God, do you feel pathetic.
You inhale, trying to remember to breathe, as you lock your hands between your legs.
And now, he waits. Staring closely. Fezco can't look as you shrink away from Mouse's knife that he still holds at his lap.
You look so scared, and he can't help the sick feeling in his stomach, his throat tightening as he watched the drug you'd never even thought of take effect. He tried to find the words that you needed, he leaned forward as your eyes began to dilate, "I ain't goin' nowhere," he assures you, steadily. "Right here, whole time. You're just gonna ride it out, a'ight?"
You feel yourself nod, but for a second the ground seems to close and you keep yourself steady. Just ride it out...
They don't have to wait long when your hands ball up into your thighs, you lean forward a bit. Releasing a breath, Mouse chuckles. "Yeah, that shit works quick."
You're not sure if you like it...
But, nevertheless, the high catches you pretty instantly.
Blinking once, twice, before its harder to open your eyes. You lift your hand to your face as you feel heavy all of a sudden, your arm never lifts, instead you're following it down to the couch cushion.
Fezco watches as your head lolls, eyes fluttering, breath turned shallow, your body folding into the couch. Hair obscuring your face, your arm sinks to the carpet off the couch, you let out a gasp of a sound before completely slumping into your high.
This is your fault, Fezco says to himself. Your fault.
God, he's never felt more like shit.
But, with you, there’s become a floating calm, heavy and numbing, the world slipping a step farther away with every second.
There's a hand tracing circles on your skin, sending intense signals through your brain, but you just blink slowly, eyes locked on Fezco. Who hasn't looked away since.
One.
Twooo.
Five.
Eight...
Is that right?
Mouse's fingers run down your thigh, his nails biting into you gentle, possessive, pinching your skin as he leans over, his fingers snapping the lining of your panties back to your hip with a laugh. "You like the way that feels?" he asks, looking at Fezco.
"I dunno..." you drawl.
Mouse pulls your legs over his, shifting closer to you. "What's that mean?" he questions. "Don't you want some patches, girl?"
You hardly had an idea of what he was on about. "I don't..th'k I should.."
Mouse wasn't satisfied. "I think you should take a few patches," he surveyed the curve of your ass on the sofa, your skirt having pulled up. "Don't you agree with me?"
"Ok..." you breathed out.
He gave Fezco a humored look, flipping out three patches. "It's gonna cost you $300," he fits them under the band of your underwear. "Come on, pay up, wifey."
"I'm..." you say. He wants money? "I have half..."
Fezco closed his eyes briefly at Mouse's baiting. He kept his eye on the rise and fall of your chest, panic wasn't even close to the feeling he had stirring in his gut.
Mouse's hand climbs up, crawling up her skirt that hadn't done its job tonight. "How you gon' pay the other half, hm?"
"Mouse, man--" Fezco gritted out, violently. Forced to watch as he tapped the blunt of his knife against your ankle at his tone.
"I don't do a lot of...pills," you mewl, letting out a startled noise before sinking into the couch again. "I shouldn't have..." your words get lost in the mist.
"Yeah, well I got a strict no return policy, so get that outta ya head, wifey," Mouse cackled, slapping a palm onto your heated skin. You make no reaction.
And so, he's had more than enough. "Yo, I'm payin' for it man," Fezco held up the cash.
"Thought you were too good for Fentanyl," Mouse scoffed. "What is it? Everybody's changing their motherfuckin' minds on me?"
Custer laughed. "Yeah." He then glanced over at the boy in the doorway, Ashtray wasn't lookin' at him anymore, his eyes on you, slumped on the couch.
"If she can't afford it, she gon' have to find another way to pay me," Mouse said, nose upturned at the young man that clearly thought he was better than him. "Straight up."
Fezco should've shot Mouse in the face with what he was insinuating on doing to you, on the shit he's pulled tonight. But he knew best than to do that with you right in his grip and a knife still in his opposite hand.
"Just let me pay for it, man. She my wife," Fezco takes his hand from the couch, standing. "I got the money right here."
Handing over $300 to Mouse, eyes locked on you as you're quick to knock out now.
"Dang, that's that real marriage shit, huh," Mouse counted, while you moaned at the mention. "But, price just went up. It's $600 now."
Fezco gritted his teeth, but forked over the extra $300. He didn't trust himself to say anything else as he walks to the opposite side of the couch, closest to your head.
"Pleasure doin' business with you," Mouse smirked finally. Taking a last look at you, hands sliding off your thigh, he stands to fix his jacket. "Later, little wifey."
You exhale, heavily. No words leave you for him.
Not until Fezco comes into view. "Fez..." you mewl.
He goes down to his knee in front of you, your eyes had already begun slipping closed, recognizing him briefly as you moaned. "Oh, ma, hey. I'm right here," Fezco whispered, moving your hair out of your face as you breathe slowly against the cushion. "You're ok, I gotchu."
He lifts your hand from the floor holding it tight and letting it settle on the couch by your face.
"I like my bitches lightweight too," Mouse says to Fezco, while lighting a cig between his fingers, before him and Custer make their way out of the house.
Fezco is quick to action as the door slams to a close, fishing the packets off your underwear as Ashtray comes over. A hammer in hand, and an anger he hadn't acted on yet, Fezco's too lost in the moment to see how it's still violently building in his eyes.
"Get the Narcan, just in case, and get rid of these." He hands his brother the packets and points down the hallway.
Ashtray follows his instructions, putting the hammer down on the way.
Fezco turns and returns to your side, a blanket in hand. He pulls it over you, up to your shoulders, you're already feeling feverish though.
He doesn't shift you too much, there's nothing to heave out, or a needle to pull from your skin, there's nothing he can do besides keeping you as comfortable as possible.
All he can do is wait...and watch.
He swallows down the tight pit in his stomach that builds up in his throat, reddening eyes that burn as he settles your head on his lap as you've begun to slip into your slumber.
"I'm sorry..." you drawl, sleepily. "I took it. I didn't..."
The fuck were you apologizing for, he wanted to cry. He stroked your hair, pulling it back and away from you face, holding his palm to the top of your head. "No, ma, it's on me, it's on me," Fezco leaned down to place his lips on your cheek. "It's ok, you're ok. Just rest, ok?"
You're already out.
And with that, Fezco leans back, pinching the bridge of his nose before rubbing his eyes and smearing any evidence of his heartache.
Soon, Ashtray comes to sit on the opposing couch, when he feels a bit composed, Fezco finally looks to his brother.
But, they say nothing, both just sit here, where they both wait together.
A few moments later, Rue comes out of the opposing room.
He had nearly forgotten.
The girl hesitantly enters the hallway, looking into the opposing room before she catches site of Ashtray already staring her down from the living room. She pauses mid stride for a moment at that. "So, your dudes cleared out then, huh?" she awkwardly stepped into the living room.
Fezco hasn't turned to her yet. So, when she's looking around she spots the bags of pills, the drugs unopened, fresh prescriptions, the real, good stuff. "Holy shit..." she breathes out. "What the hell! That's a crazy haul, your guy is the best, oh my shit--"
"Rue!" Fezco lets out an absolutely seething hiss toward her, he doesn't yell or scream, he sneers. Trying his hardest to keep his volume at a minimum, the effort makes him shiver.
Rue's not sure she's ever seen Fezco actually angry. Pissed, yeah. Irritated, definitely, she just tends to have that effect. But, Fezco just wasn't a person she had known to have a real temper, in the way he was glowering at her, she was wrong.
Her voice likes to run away from her despite knowing she should shut up. "What? I was just saying--" she then noticed someone missing. "Did (Y/n) leave already?"
She came closer. Then, seeing you on Fezco's lap, completely out. Beads of sweat already beginning to collect on your forehead.
"Is...everything alright?"
"Ash."
Ashtray lifted himself off the couch, eyes on Rue. He pulls a small bag from his pocket, 4 or 5 pills, the usual. And it's selfish, but she was hoping for more, she doesn't dare say that though.
"Shit, thanks, but..." she dragged. "Um, is she ok?"
"Get out, Rue."
The girl wanted to argue, she also wanted to get the fuck out of here and drown her guilt in the little tablets that put those feelings right to sleep. "I mean, can't I just wait till she--"
"RUE!"
Fezco fumes, enough for a vein to pop. Then he flinches, looking down to make sure he hadn't disturbed you before sighing harshly.
Her hands go up. "Fine, fine! Fuck!" Rue turns quick, making her way down the hall and out the front door. "Fine."
Ashtray locks up behind her, wordlessly. The slam is enough of a tell to his own irritation with her.
Rue clears her throat, walking off the porch and down the walkway, slowly. Her eyes instantly finding your car, she stares at it for sometime, before opening the bag Ashtray had shoved into her hand a moment ago.
She takes a pill, sticking it on her tongue to swallow.
As she snatches up her bike, she waits for the guilt to pass like it always would with every high.
---
An hour or two later, as Ash is beginning to fall asleep on the couch. Fezco decides to move you to the bed, his arms slipping up your knees and around your shoulders, carrying you to the bedroom.
He keeps you turned on your side, his hand braced on your shoulder blade to anchor you there as he blinks back exhaustion. Ashtray crawls onto the end of the bed, deciding to fall asleep there, Fezco tossing a pillow his way.
Ashtray is fast to fall asleep, it was late after all.
Fezco tiptoes around sleep, but he can't.
He has to feel every breath, every shift, every sound, what ifs are infinite right now and he wasn't taking any chances.
He holds you to his chest as you snore quietly, his focus stays locked on the pulse beneath his thumb, on the slow rhythm of your lungs. Every few minutes, placing his lips on your bare shoulder, he whispers small, steady nonsense in case you were listening to him. "You're ok. Stay here. Stay with me."
"You're ok," he mutters against your skin as he blinks slow, the clock glows at 3:40 a.m. when he begins to close his eyes from exhaustion. "I'm here..."
It's 4:12 a.m. when he wakes up to your body tensing up next to him.
"Hey," he rubs your shoulder as you stir to life.
A small, strained sound catches in your throat, a hand clutching at your stomach. Disoriented, you try to lift yourself off the bed, limbs uncooperative, you just slump back to the bed. Fezco quickly leaves the bed, coming around to help you up.
You seemed surprised to see him, hands balled into his sweater as he lifts you. "Fez..."
"I gotchu, ma," he lifts you off the bed. Guiding you forward, he's already sure you'd prefer your first stop being the bathroom. You stumble your way with his help, your weight sagging into him, the ground just won't stop moving!
You drop to your knees in front of the toilet, hands trembling against the porcelain. The first heave hits you hard and sudden, your whole frame shaking with it, enough to make tears sprout. Fez kneels behind you immediately, one hand holding your hair back, the other spread between your shoulder blades, rubbing slow circles along your skin.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, barely louder than breath. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry. You’re okay. Just let it out.”
You cough up what you can, choke, tears spilling without you meaning to. The sick feeling wracks through you in waves, leaving you gasping between them. Fez stays exactly where he is, his hand warm against your back, holding you tight with every shudder.
As the worst of it passes, Fezco stands for a towel, wiping off your face after wetting it. "M' sorry, I woke you," you apologized as you pressed your head into his chest.
He keeps one arm around your shoulders as you sag into him, exhausted, shaking, breathing uneven but real and steady against his chest.
"Don't apologize for anything," he holds you tight on the bathroom floor. "Please."
You sink into him inch by inch, the last of your tension finally giving up. His chin rests against your hair. When your body jerks again with a small wave of nausea, he tightens his hold as you try to settle your stomach. "I'm ok," you hiccup.
He strokes your cheek, leaning down to embrace you and shield you as he should have tonight.
Soon, you both make your way back to bed, both sitting upright, you've leaned into his chest, trying your best to rest.
Lying there like this now, tangled and still, both wrung out in different ways. Ashtray at your feet, exhausted himself. The day sits heavy between them, what almost happened, what did happen...
Maybe he really was the bad influence...
And as if you could hear his thoughts, you turn in his arms. "Stay w'me tomorrow.." you huff out. "Don't leave me..." and you say so in a way he could never betray.
He was the bad influence that could never go away.
And he wasn't proud of that...
He kissed your temple, tenderly. "Never."
For now, you're safe and warm and breathing, and he’s here, as if he would ever go anywhere else.
Your breathing evens out as you let yourself rest. His finally does too, but he takes in every moment.
Interested in more, like this? My FEZCO Masterlist
SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER
TASK FORCE 141 x PLATONIC!FEM!READER
The END of the BEGINNING
Traitors Among Us Masterlist
Summary: While leaving Task Force 141, you finally encounter Price, you encounter your team, and share a final goodbye.
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---
Was it fair?
That they'd get away with it...
Was it fair?
Every step felt like splinters...
That your body would never be the same...
Was it fair?
They'd only receive an extended period of service, a delayed deployment for their crimes against you...
Was it fair?
Nothing would be done...
You'd receive no real justice...
Was it fair...
That you were losing your fucking mind...
Moments ago, you'd been a tangled mess in your dormitory, alone in this overwhelming storm of emotion.
Clawing your skin raw in the corner of your room, unable to touch another piece of your life in this place, it burned and screamed with their memories, moments you'd be forced to hold onto.
Every bitter thought was loud, gnawing at the tender mass of your brain, sending painful bursts through your skin. Shaking, sweating through your shirt, every sob that rips through your throat is guttural, muscles locked with tension.
Nails biting through to your flesh, you dig in uncontrollably, trying to get rid of the ache with nothing in your life now to brace against or hold onto.
Maybe that's how you found yourself here...
.
.
.
Price had to be seeing things.
At first, he had felt it, the sudden weight of someone's presence looming over him, like a storm about to break apart and take hold of him. His eyes spring open fast, but not faster than his hand that extends to the underbelly of his desk, reaching for the gun that should've been strapped to the bottom.
He finds the holster empty.
As his eyes adjust to the dark, he sees the white of your eyes first, in the darkness of his room. Eyes that pierce into his own, suddenly he can't move, can't look away. Like an animal lurking in the dark, your eyes illuminate as you've found your prey.
How you stand unmoving at the foot of the bed, you give him nothing...not a blink, not a breath, not a move, until he opens his mouth.
But, he can't speak. He's frozen.
Though, he wanted to speak, to apologize, to explain, to confess the sins that have brought such a moment upon them. But, the words catch in his throat, he's lost it, every possible admission of his guilty conscious dies on his tongue.
What could he possibly say to make any of it right?
"I trusted you..." he stiffened, as you spoke in a whisper. Your voice a startling contrast to the previous silence of the room. "More than anyone I'd ever known up till Simon. I trusted...you."
Your foot comes up, bringing yourself up and over the end of the bed and onto his mattress, he can hear the light screech of your metal brace as you stand tall over him. In your hand, the pistol that had been missing from his bedside holster.
"You taught me what family was. What it could be..." you said, speaking plainly. "You taught me how to survive out there, find my place on the team..." you spoke quietly, allowing him the melancholy calm of your storm. "I would've never made it this far without you to push me, really."
Price says nothing, he can't, he's frozen, laying still as you right yourself along his mattress, your boots digging down and into the springs.
"You were the only semblance of a father in my life that I thought really loved me. The one that when everything went wrong...would still be there when I got low. Or when it all became too much," you admitted, slowly. "I told you so much shit. I told you about my life, my family, god, I even told you the things that haunt me still," And finally, he could see your eyes drop and blink, the glint in your eyes disappear for only a second before opening again, this time it's brighter, narrowed and angry. "And you'd act like you understood. Like you wanted to help, that you'd be there....and yet you..."
Your breath is sharp, your eyes filled with so much pain and anger, it’s overwhelming as you surge down and onto him. Finally, unleashing the violent wave of the betrayal you've felt, the rage that has brought you to him. "You!"
You push him down, hand grabbing at his jaw and nails biting into his skin, "I realized that wasn't who you really were..." you suck in a shivering breath, digging into his skin with every word. "I should've never...I should've just kept you far. Kept you at who you were to me. Captain. John. Price..."
His face swings to the side, his cheekbone burns red hot suddenly, he can already taste blood in his mouth as you raise the heel of the pistol you had just brought down on his face.
"You're a liar, you're sad and pathetic and scared of everything under the fucking sun because of course--" you seethed, "I had to be the traitor, right! It had to be me. ME. The one that came to you about everything, risked my life to protect you, dragged you out of the fucking depths!" You sneered. "The one that NEVER would've let anyone convict you without making them regret even thinking about it first!"
"I wanted to believe..." A maddening, howling laugh, tortured as you threw your head back with tears in your eyes left your throat. "I wanted to believe that you were pushed to do it, that you were fighting for me out there while you ripped me apart."
"But, the lie was so simple for you to just take all my trust in you and let it fall away," you brought him in as you cried, fists shaking in your anger, burning so hot you could barely breathe. "you didn't even hesitate to throw me away like it all meant nothing! Stripped me down, took the air from my lungs and left me in the dark for days, for weeks! You wanted to fucking KILL MEEE!"
You balled up his shirt in your fists as you screamed, enraged, eyes shot red and tears that poured down to his face so fast he could taste them. Price's eyes were bulged wide, his horror and the overwhelm of his mistakes and his current situation told by the pour of his own tears that shed like a river.
The two of you were a mirror for only a moment, staring at the other, expressions polar opposites but eyes a blistering hue of red as you both cried for the destruction of your love for one another, the daughter he'd taken under his wing and abandoned under the same.
Who was he to deny you this...
And then you bring the gun down on his head, using it like a pair of gloves as you strike him again and again hoping to god that he could feel every single hit to its fullest. The clink and shift of the pistol in your hand with every shuttering strike, you feel the blood that coats your fingers, flowing out of his nose, out of his mouth.
Still, Price says nothing, allowing his hands to stay glued down to the mattress, holding down the instinct to stop before it goes too far, but they've both passed that point. He's done worse to you, you deserve this much at least, this he can give to you, this he can allow.
He doesn't even know when he can't find the energy to bring his hands up to stop you.
And soon, finally, you stop.
Huffing wildly, face stained red, the underside of your nails filled with the torn skin of his flesh.
Looking up to the ceiling, you stare at the chipping paint for a while as Price coughs with a choke, taking another breath that strains wetly, he shifts uncomfortably and gurgles beneath you. His head going to the side to let the blood that had begun to pool in his mouth dribble out and soak into the sheets of his mattress.
"I was so afraid..." you breathe in. "...to see you. All this time, I was so afraid of you, John..." you sigh, your eyes sting, you realize, but it's different from tears, it feels like blood, as it crusts around your eye lids. "But, I realize now, I was just afraid of what I'd do to you if I saw you again..."
Price couldn't speak, instead he moaned from the pain blossoming across his face, a terrible migraine that had emerged from a broken nose and a shattered cheekbone, a tooth that had lodged into his wind pipe after swallowing it during your onslaught.
He couldn't see. Not just due to the dark but also the swelling in his face that squeezed his eyes shut and let not even a crack of light in for his pleasure.
His breathing having turned heavy and his hands pulled up and onto your forearm, unwittingly going for the only person around to anchor him away from the pain.
"I loved you, John," you confessed, quietly, to the deflated man. "Did you love me?"
He huffs out a heavy breath, opening his red stained mouth as you pull out of his grip. "...Always--th..." he spits out a bloody glob, sucking in a breath. "That hasn't...changed..."
"Captain!"
"John, you alright in there?"
"Price!"
Maybe you had ignored the knocking, the pounding, that had begun in the middle of you beating down on your former captain, the voices you could recognize as your former team.
The noise finally having pulled them all out of their slumber and toward the other side of the dormitory.
Shifting your weight to the side, laying next to your captain for a moment, lifting yourself off of him and to the side. As you listened to him wheeze and your team shift the door handle before starting to force their entire weight into the doorway.
You sit up, facing away from Price, "I--love you, kid..."
"If you do," you sighed as you sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the remaining members of your delegated Task Force to break through the door to get to you both. "If you really do. Then, god, your love is shit."
You laughed just a little, the first in a while.
Staring down at the pistol you held in your grip still, the light from under the doorway illuminates it enough for you to see the drop of blood that falls from the metal before the door swings open.
Light coming in as fiercely as the sun, the light that pulls Price's attention to the doorway, and illuminates both bloody figures settled on the mattress in the corner of the room.
"CAPTAIN!"
As they race in, pushing open the door, determined to stop the noise and put an end to anyone that's made their way here to snuff out their captain. They lock eyes with you, putting them to a stop.
They stand there, eyes wide, frozen in place as they take in the scene you've strung out for them to see.
The chaos.
The anger.
The blood staining the curtains, the trinkets, the face of their disfigured captain.
The broken trust made all too real.
Their feet don’t move. Their bodies, once in motion, are now rigid, locked in place. They’ve seen enough. They don’t need to look any further.
They just stand there, like shadows in the doorway, helpless but not innocent. Their guilt hangs in the air, palpable, and it's goddamn suffocating.
For the first time, you can look at them all, each and every one of them.
Kyle.
Johnny.
Your Simon.
And finally, your fears are gone, maybe it's the blood on your hands, maybe its the predicament they've all found themselves in, maybe it's the journey and the madness that's drove you this far already.
Whatever it was...took it all.
All but one thing.
You wished to feel nothing.
But, the rage still stays.
That...isn't going anywhere.
"Look at us, what a team," you managed a smile, letting loose a breathless laugh. "Together again, huh."
Price's blood even stains your teeth.
---
You leave freely in the morning.
Price presses no charges. He practically says nothing, this time accounting only of your innocence, ironic.
The one time you did do something...
Johnny offers to help with your bags, you hand him only one thing: the knife that should've pierced his heart the day he had confronted you.
Kyle meets you at the entrance of the dormitory, offering you a simple thing, a jacket, it's fresh, new. It's not his this time. "It's cold on the ride out, I just wanted to make sure..." he spoke, quietly. His movements slow, careful, as if not to startle you.
You just stare at him, eyes shifting from the gift back to him, hands kept close at your sides still. "Keep it. I think you'll be seeing colder days than I ever will again..." you declined.
His lips pressing together as you reject it, walking past him and into the vehicle, lifting your bag onto your shoulder before halting.
"And Simon?" You wondered aloud, out of curiosity.
Kyle swallows, briefly. "Somewhere around here," he reveals. "He wasn't sure if..." you wanted to see him.
He was right. You didn't.
You stand still though, waiting, Kyle thinks. But, then you take the passenger handle and pull yourself into the vehicle.
"I'm sorry, (y/n)," Kyle says, quickly. Face burning hot with the turmoil going through him, as he sadly watches as you depart from him, from the family all of you had built together. "I really am. More than anything."
You only adjust your bag across your thighs as the driver starts the engine, it roars to life before slowly pulling off. You give him nothing, not a word.
"(Y/n), please..."
As the car pulls from view, Kyle wipes his face, turning away from the vehicle, shoving his hands into his pockets before walking back into the dormitory. Shoving his way past Simon, "Give it up, Ghost, she's gone," Kyle grits out, bitterly, sniffling shortly at his lieutenant stares silently as his ex-fiancé leaves her life behind, leaves him behind.
Simon takes short, numb steps out into the sun, watching as the car exits the roundabout, pulling away as he can see you face once again. Your eyes meet for a final time, his mask is gone, he's just Simon Riley once more, he continues to walk as the car drives, hoping to catch the final remains of your presence here.
He watches and watches as the car drives into the distance, and he doesn't look away even as vehicle disappears at the horizon, driving down into the sunny day.
And as you breathe evenly for the first time in weeks, in months, a tear falling from your eye but wiped away to look to the sky. The clouds pulling away to reveal the beating sun, the rays giving a warmth you haven't felt for months. Reaching out, you let the gentle breeze run through your fingers and carry you away from this place.
Simon falls to his knees, hands clutching at the ache in his body, at the pain in his chest, at the mistakes he's made, at the ring he'd found at his door this morning. The one you had left behind. The one he had ripped off your finger the moment he'd doubted you.
He bawled, a guttural sound, in the middle of the street.
What a mistake he had made.
He wanted to scream, he wanted to shout, he wanted to take it all back.
But, most of all, he wanted to tell you over and over again:
"I"M SORRY!" he wanted to beg.
"PLEASE!" he wanted to hold you.
"DON'T LEAVE ME, GOD, (Y/N)!"
But, he could only claw at the gravel that stabbed through his uniform, that punished him for mourning so late, for letting her go, for not believing in her sooner, for not doubting the evidence that told such a blatant lie.
He could do nothing now.
It was too late.
Simon kneeled in the street, in the sun, he cried.
If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?
Just reminding everyone, the journey isn't over! We've still got a few endings to go.
SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER
TASK FORCE 141 x PLATONIC!FEM!READER
Rewrite of PART 5 of Traitors Among Us
Traitors Among Us Masterlist
Summary: With your resignation approved, Price discovers you've resigned. You head back to begin to pack your life away from Task Force 141, running into those who've betrayed you.
Author Note: Soooo, I decided to rewrite Clear Skies: part 5 of Traitors Among Us because...I didn't like it as much lol, and it wasn't received as nicely as the other parts. It's pretty much completely different lol. So, here I am rewriting this part! Don't worry, the multiple endings of Traitors Among Us will be releasing very soon...
If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?
---
Silence filled the air in the Chief Officer’s office, thick with tension. Captain John Price stood rigid, arms crossed, eyes locked on Laswell as she calmly sipped from her tea, her lips set in an almost casual line. He’d expected a straightforward debrief, not this.
“You did what?” Price’s voice was low, disbelieving. His brow furrowed, the anger creeping in like a slow burn.
Having arrived at the administrative building, delivering his mission reports and making his way into Laswell's office. Captain John Price wasn't expecting to receive the surprising news so casually that the woman in front of him had signed off on your resignation, without so much as consulting with him, your Captain.
"I gave her what she wanted, John," Laswell rolled her eyes, sitting in her seat. "I let her go. She was never about to meet with you, and I won't let a soldier like that leave, under my supervision, without some type of severance," she speaks, casually, tapping her spoon of tea along the rim of a porcelain mug. "I do apologize, I was actually preparing a better way to tell you this. Time got away from me, I suppose." Although, Laswell says so unapologetically as she takes her first sip with a hum.
Price blinked, caught off guard by the detached nature of her words. He shook his head slowly, still processing.
"Severance?" Price gritted. "She didn't lose her place on the force, Laswell. She's on temporary leave for recovery not discharged--I would've never--"
"Oh, stop it, John," Sweeping away a few locks of hair, Laswell sits back in her chair. "Even if, would it matter? The girl's petrified of you, if she saw you she might actually kill you," she can't help but release a humored hum. "Willing to turn down her pension, her insurance, just to resign in peace.
She would've never come to you, and you were foolish enough to think she'd stay," she laughs this time at the absurdity of it. "She wanted an out," she takes another sip, shrugging. "I gave it to her." She then slides a few papers her way, preparing to continue her paperwork, interrupted for the second time today.
Slamming a hand over the stack of papers, Price can't contain the expression twisting his face, his anger, his grief. "Let her what?! You stripped her of her title, does she know that? There is no lawful resignation without my signature, what've you done?"
"Well, you are in need of a Demolition Operative now, I will say," she hummed, tapping the spoon against the rim of her mug, her voice annoyingly casual. "I already have someone in mind, luckily for you."
"Operative Gray is an integral part of this Task Force, it's not up to you how I handle my team anywhere outside of our missions, Laswell," Price hardly held his tone.
“Funny, John,” Laswell mused, not looking up, her voice dripping with dry amusement. “I seem to remember you handling a certain... situation under my orders.” Her eyes met his now, sharp and calculating. "Just fine."
Price’s jaw tightened, and the old guilt gnawed at him. “The worst mistake I’ve made on the force.” His voice was quiet but raw.
Laswell’s smile didn’t fade a bit. “No, John,” she said softly, her tone almost teasing now. “Your mistake is thinking you have any authority here that I don’t already have.”
Price froze for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. He reached for the papers on the desk, his hand curling into a fist before he let them go. Laswell slid the stack back across the desk with a single, deliberate motion, then stood up.
As she passed him, her shoulder brushed against his, and he stiffened, barely holding himself together.
“Oh, John,” she said, almost too sweetly. “The military is engrained in all of us. In your blood. In hers. Don’t worry,” she hummed, tapping the edge of a file. “She’ll be back. They always come back. In one way or another.”
"Well..." Laswell shrugs, calmly. "Just never to Task Force 141," she turns back to Captain Price, dismissed him with a wave, leaning back in her chair., slipping a file from her desk. "Not like that wasn't the original plan before our informant came clean, hm?"
Wary, grieving eyes drift away from the Station Chief, chest tight. "Well what about Gray?" Price swallows. "I can't allow her to leave without everything she deserves from her service, I won't."
"Christ, John, you take the fun out of everything nowadays." Laswell’s smirk faded into something more calculating, more serious, before rolling her eyes. "We'll hold off on that for now," before Price can interject, she holds up a new folder, stamped a harsh red CLASSIFIED, it glares up at him. "You and your team have other matters to discuss."
Price hesitated, brows furrowed. He took the folder, the tension in his muscles still tight. He opened it quickly, scanning the document with a sharp eye. His face darkened as he read, the information weighing a heavy burden, but nothing he could say was undeserved.
Lips pressing tight together, John Price presses down into the folder hard, creasing the papers and clenching his jaw. Fuck.
---
The sliding doors open automatically, the lobby going quiet at the sight of your sopping wet figure stumbling through the entrance. Dropping your hands from over your head, you pause to stare down those who held eye contact too comfortably, quickly their stares dropped.
Entering the residential building, it's nearly midnight, the mess halls still quite lively, soldiers prepping for their next mission or staying guard in the halls. Your boots squeak with every step unwarrantedly, trailing a puddle as you shuffle your way down the hallway, face flushed cold from the rain.
The hall seems much too long suddenly, the wet squeak along the marble floor, the damp cling of your clothes to your skin, the uncomfortable twist of your brace around your legs, the pruning of your fingers. You were ready to just lock yourself away in your room, pack and never see even the silhouette of this place ever again.
Rushing to the elevator, ignoring the whispers, the burning eyes on the back of your head, you rub your clothed arms to warm yourself up, soaked to the bone. Stealing a jacket from one of the racks before leaving the building, it wasn't as insulated as you'd hoped but it was better than nothing, or Kyle's pity wear.
Pressing the upper arrow, you wait for it to light up.
It doesn't.
So you press it again. This time it does glow, finally.
...But, no opening.
You wait a few seconds, then check the electronic number above.
1.
First Floor.
You press the arrow again. Waiting for the doors to open.
Clearing your throat, you press down on the down arrow this time. Just open up.
Nothing again.
Motherfucker...
A few heads turn while you press the buttons on the elevator one too many times, taking a breath as you continue to tap on the buttons along the panel. You didn't care as long as it would just open. Up. Down. Up. Up. Up. Down. Fucking somewhere, just open the fuck UP!
"Just fuckin open..." you grit out, attempting to keep your nerves down. For all you knew, Simon or Price, or Kyle or Johnny, could've seen you enter the building, they could be walking up to you right now. The very thought had you anxiously holding down on the elevator buttons, contemplating the stairs but walking was already a hassle with your brace. "Open. Open, open, open!"
"Open!" Your fist coming up in frustration to slam into the panel, the metal creaks and bends back but it doesn't make the elevator go any faster. It does hurt your hand though.
Taking your now sore fingers into your grip, pressing into your knuckles, your nostrils flare and you take a breath. You don't dare turn around as you hear the chuckle behind you, you can feel your teeth already grinding to nubs.
"So, you're the reason this thing breaks down every week, huh?" sliding up next to you, a soldier, lieutenant by the single silver bar on the shoulder of his uniform, his kevlar unhooked and new, prepping for departure. "Ya know, you can't make it go any faster that way?" nodding to the dented panel, before flashing a charmed smile your way.
Narrowed eyes link with his. "Excuse me?"
For a moment, all he can do is stare back, words lost on his tongue as he darts between your eyes, mesmerized. His smile doesn't drop even as he clear his throat, "I just mean, you'll hurt your...hand."
"Oh, will I? I didn't know that," you wonder, sarcastically. Before, hitting the panel again, a louder bang sounds in the hallway, causing attention. "Maybe I'm doing it wrong." A screw comes loose with a cling, your jaw twitching at the sound as he only huffs a humored sound.
"Yeah," he chuckles briefly as the metal falls with a klunk. "You're quite the mechanic."
"Can I help you, lieutenant?"
"Just a stranger, looking out for another, that's all," the lieutenant says simply.
"Ok, Stranger," you speak, this time turning your back as the elevator finally beeps as it descends to the ground floor. You direct your chin back to where he came. "You can leave now."
He feigned disappointment. "Ouch," he sported a playful grin. "I thought we were getting along pretty well."
"Well I'm sure you've got a flight to catch, don't let a stranger make you late."
"The only stranger I've met worth being late for," he says, genuinely.
"Oh!" Surprised, you glance away from him. "Subtle," you take a step back, uncomfortable with the space between the both of you now. You lean against the edge of the elevator door, it dings again, your knee brace wasn't helping your leg pain at all.
His charming smile fades, brows lifting as he quickly backs off, reading the lines. "Oh, sorry, I-"
"No," you clear your throat, hearing the ding of the elevator behind you. "No, no I'm just..." your hand goes to your ring finger, you used to fidget with your engagement ring all the time, there used to be a tan line imprinting it along your skin, now that same finger was scarred up to the nail. "I'm just not the flirting type right now." Your hand tensing up, balling into a fist, you'd nearly forgotten...
"Ah," He notices, clearing his throat, embarrassed at himself. "You're with someone."
You wanted to scoff at that, not anymore.
"No," Your knuckles cracked. "Just uninterested." Your hand falls to your side. The years you'd spent loving Simon, adoring him, fighting beside him, all that time...it was painful to know it would all just lead up to this. But, it was easier now to just feel nothing because it ended such a way.
The elevator opens and the both of you looks back towards it.
The lieutenant's eyes flicker back to you. "M' sorry," your brows lift in question. "About your...lover."
"He's not dead," you say.
His lips press together, thoughtfully, before nodding once. "Sounds like quite the guy."
"No idea," you scoff, an understatement indeed.
After a moment of silence, the elevator door, with a squeak, beginning to close. The persistent stranger puts his hand out before you have to, fully stopping the closing door before it can seal, taking a large step to catch it.
You froze as he unintentionally corners you, for the moment take him in, analyzing every detail as you'd always done as a soldier. His hair and clothes damp from the rain, cheeks flushed for a reason you weren't sure of.
He reminded you terrifyingly of Simon. Though the two had to be quite different in all capacities besides ranking and muscle definition.
He's tall, wide broad shoulders, a scar curved through his left brow to his temple, green wide eyes and he smelled...warm, was the only way you could describe it. You're sure his skin would feel as so.
You were quite cold from the rain, though you've been freezing ever since that day and you've never gotten past the phantom cold, eager to be warm again.
Not once in this disturbing, cold and humiliating event had you ever felt a moment of comfort. Of warm, loving comfort. A single embrace would destroy your every resolve. Not a minute, not a second, not a breath of warmth.
Your eyes flicker up, surprised to meet his staring back, seemingly taking you in the same way. His hand leaving the opening elevator door, to rest above the wall above your head. He was close enough for you to feel the leather of his kevlar against the back of your hand, for once your first thought wasn't to push someone away. His gaze lingers on the fresh scar beneath your eye, the tinted pink fading in the white of it.
"You shouldn't do that," you breathe.
There's nothing good here left for you anymore.
You're no longer a soldier.
"Do what?" he asked.
No longer apart of the Task Force, no longer apart of any of this.
And the scars you'd be left with just for being here...
Bringing your hand up to your face, running over the raised, ruined skin, your jaw tightening and your lips pressing together. You shift to the side, your hand finding the handle grip along the sides of the elevator doors.
He notices, straightening, awkwardly. Swallowing thickly, "Sorry, I didn't mean to, uh..." he squeezes his fist, as if berating himself internally. "--that's quite the memorabilia." Again his expression twists at his own question, fist squeezing, that was a dumb thing to ask.
"It is," you grazed the tender flesh of your scars. "Isn't it."
"I'm sure you've got quite the story."
Lips pressing together hard, fingers curling into your palm as if your own scars had burned you.
"Um..." going into detail meant a lot of things you didn't want to confront right now, pressing the button for the elevator again, it opens this time. "I appreciate the conversation, stranger. But, you should go."
"I'm sorry-" he realized he'd touched unsavory ground, voice lowered with regret. "I didn't mean..."
"It's fine," you swallowed thickly, taking a breath. "It was nice to meet you truly."
He follows you to the divide of the open elevator as you step in and though the divide, turning to see his face, desperate for a glimpse of yours.
Your stranger speaks soundly. "Wes."
His name you realized, you press your lips together, thoughtfully as he stares at you, not expecting anything in return, seeming peaceful with you just...knowing. The elevator doors slipping closed. You say nothing else, but you can't help but look at him differently, humming softly. You supposed he was no longer a stranger.
"Ok..." you managed a meaningful smile that struggled to begin. "Wes, then."
You could see the relief in the drop of his shoulders.
As the metal doors ding in preparation to close, you catch a glimpse of someone beyond your persistent stranger, as he turns to leave.
An approaching figure that enters the building, exiting the rain with heavy steps, dragging his feet along the marble, a black mask painted white along the curves of his mouth and nose, a skull. Stalking the halls like the ghost he preferred to be, Simon.
And he haunts you as so.
You hardly notice as the doors begin to close, a sinking feeling in your stomach erupting as you made eye contact with Simon Riley.
His slow, deliberate steps become nonexistent, he's instantly rooted to the floor, you were sure he'd even stopped breathing.
Though you felt your blood run cold, your chest squeezing violently with ache, and a rage in your soul that begged you to claw his fucking eyes out and rip out his heart like he'd done to you weeks ago, you didn't freeze.
No, instead your hand comes out, taking the closing end of the elevator door. It pauses with an electronic strain of its gears beneath your resistance, while you stare unblinkingly at your Ghost. And it opens again with a light ding.
Simon's eyes widen a fraction, he straightens noticeably, hopefully. His hand coming up, pulling at his mask, the skulls creasing down to reveal himself to you, but he'd remain as so...your ghost.
"(Y/n)..." you can hear the whisper of your name from his lips, but you've turned from him now.
Stepping forward and off the divide of the elevator, you take Wes by the arm, pulling him back around to you, his eyes are wide in surprise, innocent enough to have never expected more from your encounter and unable to find the nerve to speak smoothly now that you're making a move.
"Sorry..." you breathe to him, before reaching up and pressing your mouth to his.
It's not a messy kiss.
It's hardly a kiss.
But, it gets the message across.
You had loved Simon, completely and utterly. There was no punch or kick you could ever throw at Simon that could convey the collapse of those feelings.
So this, was the next best thing.
As Wes melts into your lips for the brief moment of surprise intimacy of a stranger, you cup the back of his neck, as you've done many times for Simon. Eyes opening to gaze back to your ghost, and as you do, you're not surprised to see him practically looming over the two of you.
He's a mess of himself. A fraction of the man he was before. A ghost of himself.
But, he'd always been a ghost to be feared.
As Wes's hand climbs up to grip at your hair, you retreat back, tucking your hair back and taking a breath.
Your guiltless eyes blink up to Wes, "You should go."
Hardly given a moment to recuperate, still reorganizing the thoughts you'd taken and filled him with all in the seconds you'd spared him with. He, rightfully confused, breathes. "What?"
"She said, you should go."
As Simon speaks, voice heavy with emotion, anger and resentment but most of all hurt, PAIN. Only then do your lungs fill with air again, untainted by the weight of your fears of him, of broken dreams and memories your defiled love.
"My dead lover's risen again," you speak, sarcastically. Staring down the hollow-eyed man, "A ghost."
The metal doors close with a light thud.
And so, maybe you had no fear of him anymore. Maybe you were tired of being frightened. Whatever it was had more guts than you had the energy to have in the last few weeks.
Because the next thing you know, you're shoving past Wes, blood red in the tint of your vision, your fingers expertly popping the gun out of his holster and you take your aim at Simon.
He doesn't flinch.
Neither do you.
Your finger is steady on the trigger. And you pull.
---
The subtle light of the safe house cast shadows across the room, the usual tension of Task Force 141 momentarily replaced by an air of anticipation. Everyone knew but you. Ghost stood slightly apart from the group, his mask hiding the myriad of emotions that flickered beneath. He’d planned this moment carefully and yet being trapped in a safe house during the night of the dinner he'd planned for you both wasn't apart of it. It was still meant to be tonight.
Your lover stared at you in the reflection of the window, catching your beautiful eyes in the glass, they sparkle and his bones feel liquid and he nearly loses his grip on the velvet box. What better time could there be?
Ghost turned to you, pulling his mask away, revealing Simon Riley, garnering your attention with a surprised stare, "What's...goin' on?"
His deep voice steady yet laced with a rare vulnerability. “Wherever you are, I wanna be,” he took a step. "Wherever you go, whether you like it or not, I'm goin' too."
"Stalker," you quipped, though your voice could barely reach a whisper as you stared at the tiny box in his hand, watching as he came closer.
He cracked a smile, but he continued. "Everywhere you are, anywhere you want to be, if you'll let me, since you're right...I just can't stay away," he teased, watching as you short circuit as he approaches steadfast. "...and if you want me, as you'll have me...I wanna be everywhere you are."
The team fell silent, the weight of the moment sinking in. Price raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk dancing on his lips, while Johnny tried to stifle a grin, Kyle cursed quietly shifting in anticipation. "The best thing I've ever held onto in this life is you. It will always be you."
Simon takes the closing steps to you, watching you closely, the two of you sharing the same overwhelming expression, though yours freer in its willingness to express. He was being serious. This was really happening. "I can't imagine taking on this life of chaos without you."
With a small, almost hesitant movement, Simon revealed the velvet box. The flicker of metal caught the light as he produced a small box, his hands surprisingly unsteady. His eyes momentarily flickering downwards before gathering the nerve to look you in the eye again. “We’ve been through hell, we're in the aftermath of it now, another glimpse not far behind, but there’s no one I'll ever know, that I’d rather have by my side.” He dropped to one knee, the rest of the team exchanging glances, a mix of excitement and surprise evident in their expressions. "No one but you."
As Simon kneels before you, your heart races, disbelief clear on your face, brows furrowing into each other, watering as you look to him, all your feelings flooding your senses. His words echo in your mind, and the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you.
“Marry me...” His voice was firm, yet you could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the way he waited with baited breath, his shoulders halting all movement as he wouldn't take a single breath until your answer. "I'll choose you. I'll choose you every time..." The room held its breath, the only sound the quiet rustle of fabric as the team leaned in slightly, as if to witness a moment that transcended their usual world of warfare. "Marry me..." his voice is a breath against your skin.
You feel your heart race with feelings that seared itself into your soul, a moment that would never leave you, your vision blurred with tears. "Simon..." the world narrowing down to Simon and the hope in his gaze. The silence was palpable, a shared moment of vulnerability among seasoned soldiers. Finally, you nodded, emotions swirling as a smile broke across your face. “Yes,” you laughed with a sob, nodding as you wiped your face. "Of course, Simon. Yes!"
Simon rose, slipping the ring onto your finger as cheers erupted from the team. The laughter and joyful roars of Task Force 141, your family, fade into the background as you focus solely on Simon, the man you love.
Johnny clapped Simon on the back, Price grinned widely, laughing heartily in glee, and Kyle let out a whoop of approval. In that moment, amidst the chaos of their lives, there was a rare glimpse of hope and happiness—a reminder of what they were truly fighting for.
---
The clouds, still held hostage by the night, moved almost imperceptibly through the midnight air, the rain having stopped by now and the stars taking action to be seen beyond.
You breathe evenly, stroking the broken skin of your knuckles, smearing the blood that still leaked through and picking at the dried specks of it along your nails.
Heavy hangs the air as you sit in your silence, nothing but the light scrapes of your nails along your own skin. Then, a heavy padding of footsteps outside the door, your eyes drawing to the movement as a shadow pulls along the flooring of the lighting beneath the doorway, the door clicks open.
A round-faced, army suited man, your attorney, enters the room, behind him two men standing at attention, stomping his dark boots down onto the old wood eager to be noticed, lifting a document to read. "Sergeant (L/N), due to potential endangerment of yourself and your fellow man, you are to be supervised continuously throughout the night until the remainder of your scheduled departure from central Orloz Military Base.
From there, as requested, all contact will be terminated, all personal and packaged requests, terminated. All inquiries, all personal and otherwise familial advises for continued contact, terminated. Due to the nature of your injuries and the unprecedented circumstances brought upon by the events of June 23rd 2023, you've been pardoned from additional..."
What use is there listening to more?
Leaning your head against the cool glass, you let yourself fall blissfully unaware of his voice, drowning in the sea of your own mind.
You stare down at the scars enveloping your hands, your wrists, still raw and sensitive even now. Along your ring finger was the imprint of your engagement ring, it would fade with time, but nothing else would.
You felt so blind, so dumb for thinking this family was ever real, that they were anymore than colleagues, soldiers of war. An idiot for believing in Ghost, believing that he was more than the soldier you'd fought beside for a decade.
Who would've thought things would've turned out this way.
The weight of everything—the heartbreak, the disappointments—were pressing down on your chest like a block of cement.
Letting the absent, warm tears fall down your cheeks, soaking into the dampness of your shirt.
You press your palms into your thighs, trying to ground yourself, but the overwhelming feeling spiraled further, tightening your throat till it hurt.
---
Simon's face is burned red with scratches, blood smeared along his face. His hand holds tight to your wrist, the gun having long fallen from your grip, the entryway still smoking from a missed fire.
Your teeth pull at Simon's exposed skin, biting down on the skin of his wrist until you can feel it snap away from the bone, resistance failing the muscles.
With a pained groan, Simon pushes you back into the metal doors of the elevator, "Stop this, (Y/n)!" he hissed at you, as he locks you into his grip, cornering you as soldiers come forward at the commotion.
"You promised," came your voice, your mouth filled with blood, a chunk of his flesh from your mouth as he shoves your neck into the metal divider, keeping you as still as possible. "You promised you'd choose me..."
Simon's twisted expression unravels as he hears his own vowed words from your tortured lips, seeing glimpses of the woman he's always loved in the livid, scorned woman he'd left behind in that cell.
"(Y/n)..." he began, his grip loosening.
Clicks of rifles and heavy booted steps filled the dormitory, interrupting him. "HANDS UP!"
---
"...if you're in understanding of these terms, we can proceed as stated."
"...Yeah," you whispered. "Understood."
"Thank you for your service, Sergeant (L/N)," he saluted shortly, before picking his beret off the table and walking out of the room. "Your assistance to the dormitories will be available shortly."
So, when he leaves, claiming to be back to escort you back to your quarters, you sit there. You sat there for hours. Or maybe it just felt like it. Either way, it didn't matter.
This time tomorrow you'd be off base, no longer a soldier but a citizen of no one, with no one to turn to and disowned by your family...
What was there to look forward to now?
Your hand comes up, tracing the water lines running down the glass, the ray of light from the street lamps that burn into the room, stinging at your eyes and lighting up the evening.
A streak of red follows your stained fingers.
Dried blood melting off your skin and running down the glass, falling slow.
Nothing to look forward to at all...
Multiple Endings coming soon.
The end of Traitors Among Us...
STAY TUNED
helpful tattoo reminder: they are technically Injuries so u have to eat a lot of calories drink a lot of water and sleep a lot after so your body can Heal The Injury
another helpful tattoo reminder: the 24-48 hours after you get a tattoo your brain can not be trusted in regards to whether or not you should have gotten that tattoo, if you have somehow ruined your life, if it turned out ugly, etc. ignore that
finally, while i am at it: always bring a candy bar and a sugary drink to your appointment for blood-sugar reasons (worst case scenario) or so you can have a treat (unilaterally applicable)
HELLOOO I'VE BEEN A FAN OF YOUR AMOGUS FIC FOR A WHILE AND DIDN'T REALIZE I WASN'T FOLLOWING YOUR BLOG UNTIL NOW!!! 😔😔
Just popping in here to let you know chapter 5 was worth the wait! But I'm having a strange feeling about Laswell after her talk with Price.. could this be tied to one of the multiple endings mayhaps? She lowkey sounded like a disney villain giving a monologue speech /pos lol
Don't forget to hydrate yourself and eat something! 🖤
- Biscuits 🌺
Traitors Among Us - Clear Skies: Chapter 5 was just a preparing chapter for the multiple endings, suddenly introducing Wes, Laswell's ulterior motives and such, all preparing for further endings. Chapter 6 will be an official ending to the series with about 4 or 5 possible endings.
SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER
TASK FORCE 141 x PLATONIC!FEM!READER
PART 5 of Traitors Among Us
Traitors Among Us Masterlist
Summary: With your resignation approved, Price discovers you've resigned. You head back to begin to pack your life away from Task Force 141.
If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?
---
Silence rung in the Chief Officer's main office, the woman's lips set in a line as she glares down at the mortified brit facing her.
"You did what?" Price couldn't believe what he was hearing.
Having arrived at the administrative building, delivering his mission reports and making his way into Laswell's office. Captain John Price wasn't expecting to receive the surprising news so casually that the woman in front of him had signed off on your resignation, without consoling with him, your Captain.
"I gave her what she wanted, John," Laswell rolled her eyes, sitting in her seat. "I let her go. She was never about to meet with you, and I won't let a soldier like that leave, under my supervision, without some type of severance," she speaks, casually, tapping her spoon of tea along the rim of a porcelain mug. "I do apologize, I was actually preparing a better way to tell you this. Time got away from me, I suppose." Although, Laswell says so unapologetically as she takes her first sip with a hum.
Your now former captain blinks, confused. Then, angered. "Severance?" Price gritted. "She didn't lose her place on the force, Laswell. She's on temporary leave for recovery not discharged--I would've never--"
"Oh, stop it, John," Sweeping away a few locks of hair, Laswell sits back in her chair. "Even if, would it matter? The girl's petrified of you, if she saw you she might actually kill you," she can't help but release a humored hum. "Willing to turn down her pension, her insurance, just to resign in peace. She would've never come to you, and you were foolish to think she'd stay," she laughs this time at the absurdity of it. "She wanted an out," she takes another sip, shrugging. "I gave it to her." She then slides a few papers her way, preparing to continue her paperwork, interrupted for the second time today.
Slamming a hand over the stack of papers, Price can't contain the expression twisting his face, his anger, his grief. "Let her what?! You stripped her of her title, does she know that? There is no lawful resignation without my signature, what've you done?"
"Well, you are in need of a Demolition Operative now, I will say," she speaks, unbothered. "A position, it didn't look like she'd miss, Captain."
"Operative Gray is an integral part of this Task Force, it's not up to you how I handle my team anywhere outside of our missions, Laswell," Price hardly held his tone.
"I seem to remember, under my orders, you handled a particular matter that you gave no pause to," she leans back, a sly smirk barely hidden by the edge of her mug. "Just fine."
Jaw clenching, Price grits his teeth. "The worst mistake I've made on the force."
"No," Laswell interjected. "Your mistake is believing you have any type of authority on this force, that I don't already have."
With a single finger, as Price's hand loosens around her packet, Laswell slides her folders back to her. Standing from her chair, she crosses around the table to her desk, passing John Price with a brush of the shoulder. "Oh John," she spoke, humming a humored sound. "The military is engrained in each member of the force, it's in your blood. It's in hers. She'll be back," she slides the folder into her assortment of documents. "They always are, in one way or another."
"Back to you," Price seethes, silently.
"Well..." Laswell shrugs, calmly. "Just never to Task Force 141," she turns back to Captain Price, leaning against her desk, slipping a file from her desk. "Not like that wasn't the original plan before our informant came clean, was it?"
Wary eyes drift away from the Station Chief, "Well what about Gray?" he swallows. "I can't allow her to leave without everything she deserves from her service."
Laswell crosses her legs, humming. "We'll hold off on that for now," before Price can interject, she holds up a new folder, stamped classified. "You and your team have some things to discuss."
Brows furrowed, Price reluctantly takes the folder, opening it. Eyes widening at the new information, quickly running over the entire document before they close with a heavy sigh.
---
Entering the residential building again, it's nearly midnight, the mess halls still quite lively, soldiers prepping for their next mission or staying guard in the halls. You rush through the open hallways quickly, the squeak of your boots from the rain was enough of an announcement to your arrival.
The hall seems much too long suddenly, the wet squeak along marble floor, the damp cling of your clothes, the uncomfortable twist of your brace around your legs. You were ready to just lock yourself away in your room, pack and never see the silhouette of this place again.
Rushing to the elevator, ignoring the whispers, the burning eyes on the back of your head, you rub your clothes arms to warm yourself up, soaked to the bone. Stealing a jacket from one of the racks before leaving the building, it wasn't as insulated as you'd hoped but it was better than nothing.
A few heads turn while you press the buttons on the elevator one too many times, taking a breath as you continue to tap on the buttons along the panel. You didn't care as long as it'd just open. Up. Down. Up. Up. Down. Fucking somewhere, just open!
"Just fuckin open..." you grit out, attempting to keep your nerves down. For all you knew, one of them could've seen you enter the building, they could be walking up to you right now. "Open. Open, open, open!" Your fist coming up in frustration to slam into the panel, the metal creaks and bends back but it doesn't make the elevator go any faster. It does hurt your hand though.
Taking your now sore fingers into your grip, pressing into your knuckles, your nostrils flare and you take a breath. You don't dare turn around as you hear the chuckle behind you, you can feel your teeth already grinding to nubs.
"So, you're the reason this thing breaks down every week, huh?" sliding up next to you, a soldier, lieutenant by the single silver bar on the shoulder of his uniform, his kevlar unhooked and new, prepping for departure. "Ya know, you can't make it go any faster that way?" nodding to the dented panel, before flashing a charmed smile your way.
Narrowed eyes link with his. "Excuse me?"
For a moment, all he can do is stare back, words lost on his tongue as he darts between your eyes, mesmerized. His smile doesn't drop even as he clear his throat, "I just mean, you'll hurt your...hand."
"Oh, will I? I didn't know that," you wonder, sarcastically. Before, hitting the panel again, a louder bang sounds in the hallway, causing attention. "Maybe I'm doing it wrong." A screw comes loose with a cling, your jaw twitching at the sound as he only huffs a humored sound. "Can I help you, lieutenant?"
"Just a stranger, looking out for another, that's all," the lieutenant says simply.
"Ok, Stranger," you speak, this time turning your back as the elevator finally beeps as it descends to the ground floor. You direct your chin back to where he came. "You can leave now."
He feigned disappointment. "Ouch," he sported a playful grin. "I thought we were getting along pretty well."
"Well I'm sure you've got a flight to catch, don't let a stranger make you late."
"The only stranger I've met worth being late for," he says, genuinely.
"Oh!" Surprised, you glance away from him. "Uhm, I-uh," you take a subtle step back, uncomfortable with the space between the both of you now. You lean against the edge of the elevator door, it dings again, your knee brace wasn't helping your leg pain at all.
His charming smile fades, brows lifting as he quickly backs off, reading the lines. "Oh, sorry, I-"
"No," you clear your throat, hearing the ding of the elevator behind you. "No, no it's fine. It's just, I-I'm uh..." your hand goes to your ring finger, you used to fidget with your engagement ring all the time, once cutting your thumb on the diamond. Your hand tensing up, balling into a fist, you'd nearly forgotten... "It's nothing."
He notices. "You're with someone."
"No," You swallow a knot in your throat. "Not anymore." Your hand falls to your side. The years you'd spent loving Simon, adoring him, fighting beside him, all that time...it was painful to know it would all just lead up to this. But, it was easier now to just feel nothing because it ended such a way.
The elevator opens and the both of you looks back towards it.
The lieutenant's eyes flicker back to you. "M' sorry," your brows lift in question. "About your...lover."
"Oh, he's not dead," you say. Before breathing out, "But, he is to me.."
His lips press together, thoughtfully, before nodding once. "Sounds like quite the guy."
"No idea," you scoff, softly.
After a moment of silence, the elevator door, with a squeak, beginning to close. The charming stranger puts his hand out before you have to, fully stopping the closing door before it can seal, taking a large step to catch it.
You froze as he unintentionally corners you, for the moment you can't help but take him in, analyzing every detail as you'd always done as a soldier. His hair and clothes damp from the rain, cheeks flushed for a reason you weren't sure of. He's tall, wide broad shoulders, a scar curved through his left brow to his temple, green eyes and he smelled...warm, was the only way you could describe it. You're sure his skin would feel as so.
You were quite cold from the rain, though you've been freezing ever since that day and you've never gotten past the phantom cold, eager to be warm again.
Your eyes flicker up, surprised to meet his staring back, seemingly taking you in the same way. His hand leaving the opening elevator door, to rest above the wall above your head. He was close enough for you to feel the leather of his kevlar against the back of your hand, for once your first thought wasn't to push someone away. His gaze lingers on the fresh scar beneath your eye, the tinted pink fading in the white of it.
And then you remember.
There's nothing good here left for you anymore.
You're no longer a soldier.
No longer apart of the Task Force, no longer apart of any of this.
And the things you'd be left with just for being here...
Bringing your hand up to your face, running over the raised, ruined skin, your jaw tightening and your lips pressing together. You shift to the side, your hand finding the handle grip along the sides of the elevator doors.
He notices, straightening, awkwardly. Swallowing thickly, "Sorry, I didn't mean to, uh..." he squeezes his fist, as if berating himself internally. "--that's quite the battle scar." Again his expression twists at his own question, fist squeezing, that was a dumb thing to ask.
"It's not."
Confused. "Not what?"
"From a battle," you admitted before pressing the button for the elevator again, it opens this time. "I appreciate the conversation, stranger. But, you should go."
He follows you to the divide of the open elevator, the both of you still facing the other.
Your stranger speaks soundly. "Wes."
His name you realized, you press your lips together, thoughtfully as he stares at you, not expecting anything in return, seeming peaceful with you just...knowing. The elevator doors slipping closed. You say nothing else, but you can't help but look at him differently, humming softly. You supposed he was no longer a stranger.
The metal doors close with a light thud.
---
Entering the room that had been your home for so many years, you pull your mattress onto the bed frame, fixing it to sit. You had broken your desk chair while trying to throw it at Johnny earlier.
Your IV pole had somehow made it here as well but you were sure putting a needle back in your arm wasn't the smartest idea.
You did notice someone had come to tidy the place up, the door having been replaced since and the lock restored. You don't hesitate to lock the door immediately, carefully looking around the room, turning on every light you could.
You wouldn't say you were afraid of the dark now, but you can't say you're fond of it either after everything.
Opening the blinds of the window, you shove them aside, letting the light of the street lamps in as well. Ok, maybe, you were afraid of the dark now. You used to hate sleeping with even the TV on, now you can hardly close your eyes without feeling like you're back in that cell.
Slipping your towel off of the side table, you walk over to your bed, sitting. It's quiet in here. Uncomfortably so. You used to have an old radio, playing soft music. Your TV blaring an old TV show as background noise. Neither of those things seemed to be present in the room, most probably taken during your time in the hole.
Running the towel over your still wet hair, you let it land in your lap, urging yourself to breathe evenly.
This time tomorrow you'd be off base, no longer a soldier but a citizen, with no one to turn to and disowned by your family...
You lean into your hands, breathing shakily, closing your eyes, it was all just so much.
Running your fingers through your hair, you lean back and look up, your upper shelf laid just above your bed. You turn, shifting over to the shelf, luckily it had remained mostly unbothered compared to everything else.
Lifting a music box from the desk, you set it beside you, opening the compartment, a soft hum of music beginning and building to a magical bell tone that continues to build until you remove a velvet box. Closing the lid, the music halting to a abrupt stop.
You stare at the velvet box in your grip, running your thumb along the material. You could never take your ring with you on missions, never wanting to risk losing it, so you always kept it where you could find it, where you'd never lose it.
Flipping the box open, you suck in a short breath as you stare at the engagement ring, sadly tracing the band. You'd be lying if you said a piece of you didn't still love Simon, of course it could never be the love it was. Now it was just a shameful attachment to the first man you'd ever loved.
It was during a mission that he proposed. Or at least the aftermath of one. Though it had been successful the team was forced to lay low for a few days in enemy territory.
The subtle light of the safe house cast shadows across the room, the usual tension of Task Force 141 momentarily replaced by an air of anticipation. Everyone knew but you. Ghost stood slightly apart from the group, his mask hiding the myriad of emotions that flickered beneath. He’d planned this moment carefully and yet being trapped in a safe house during the night of the dinner he'd planned for you both wasn't apart of it. It was still meant to be tonight.
Your lover stared at you in the reflection of the window, catching your beautiful eyes in the glass, they sparkle and his bones feel liquid and he nearly loses his grip on the velvet box. What better time could there be?
Ghost turned to you, pulling his mask away, revealing Simon Riley, garnering your attention with a surprised stare, "Si?"
His deep voice steady yet laced with a rare vulnerability. “You know I’ve fought a lot of battles, but none quite like this one.” The team fell silent, the weight of the moment sinking in. Price raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk dancing on his lips, while Johnny tried to stifle a grin, Kyle cursed quietly shifting in anticipation. "You're the only reason I keep pushing forward, I want a life with you, I wanna share it all with you."
Simon takes the closing steps to you, watching you closely, the two of you sharing the same overwhelming emotion. This was really happening. "I can't imagine taking on this life of chaos with you."
With a small, almost hesitant movement, Simon revealed the velvet box. The flicker of metal caught the light as he produced a small box, his hands surprisingly unsteady. “We’ve been through hell and back, but there’s no one I’d rather have by my side.” He dropped to one knee, the rest of the team exchanging glances, a mix of excitement and surprise evident in their expressions. "No one but you."
As Simon kneels before you, your heart races, disbelief clear on your face, brows furrowing into each other, watering as you look to him, all your feelings flooding your senses. His words echo in your mind, and the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you.
“Marry me...” His voice was firm, yet you could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the way he waited with baited breath, his shoulders halting all movement as he wouldn't take a single breath until your answer. The room held its breath, the only sound the quiet rustle of fabric as the team leaned in slightly, as if to witness a moment that transcended their usual world of warfare.
You felt your heart race, your vision blurred with tears. "Simon..." the world narrowing down to Simon and the hope in his gaze. The silence was palpable, a shared moment of vulnerability among seasoned soldiers. Finally, you nodded, emotions swirling as a smile broke across your face. “Yes,” you laughed with a sob, nodding as you wiped your face. "Of course, Simon. Yes!"
Simon rose, slipping the ring onto your finger as cheers erupted from the team. The laughter and joyful roars of Task Force 141, your family, fade into the background as you focus solely on Simon, the man you love. Johnny clapped Simon on the back, Price grinned widely, laughing heartily in glee, and Kyle let out a whoop of approval. In that moment, amidst the chaos of their lives, there was a rare glimpse of hope and happiness—a reminder of what they were truly fighting for.
You stare down at the scars enveloping your wrists, still raw and sensitive even now. Along your ring finger was the imprint of your engagement ring, it would fade with time, but nothing else would.
Who would've thought things would've ended this way.
Sniffling miserably, you grab at your hair violently, clawing into your skin, "Such a fucking idiot--" you grit out, breathing shakily. "Stupid. Stupid, dumb--" you hit yourself, your palm slapping into your forehead, your nails dig into your scalp. You inhale messily, unable to breathe, "It's your fault," hyperventilating, angrily. "You did this..."
You sob out, your face flushed with a horrible warmth that closes up your throat as you cry. You felt so blind, so dumb for thinking this family was ever real, that they were anymore than colleagues, soldiers of war. An idiot for believing in Ghost, believing that he was more than the soldier you'd fought beside for a decade.
Your fist wrapping around the velvet box, the side of your fist going back to his your head feverously, until it hurts. Until you're satisfied. When you stop, you scream and run your hands down your face, unable to contain your maddening grief, "FUCK!"
Hurling the box to the other side of the room it collides with the plastered wall, cracking the paint and denting the wall. It breaks, the ring spilling out somewhere along the floor, you don't look for it, instead you're shoving over your dresser, pushing everything off the side of your desk, kicking the wooden pieces of your favorite chair. You scream and cry and shout, tossing everything you could possible get your hands on in your room. "You're so fucking stupid!"
Slamming the music box down onto the floor, it crumbles, music spilling out before fading to a broken tone and then fading into silence.
You rip open memory photos you had taken of the team, their smiling faces, your content expression. With no strength to rip the book by hand, you step on the left pages, pulling the next side with a rageful sound. You continue to do so until every. last. picture is completely torn apart.
Shoving it all into the trash, crying all the while, as you shove it all inside the metal bin, your eyes squeeze shut. You drew in shaky breaths, but each inhale felt too shallow, too quick. The weight of everything—the heartbreak, the disappointments—were pressing down on your chest like a block of cement. Tears streamed down your face, blurring your vision as you fought to catch you breath.
You press your palms into your thighs, trying to ground yourself, but the overwhelming feeling spiraled further, tightening your throat and making it harder to breathe.
A strangled sob escaped your lips, and you buried your face in your hands, collapsing back onto the floor.
Glass shattered all around you, wood splintered to pieces, the room is ruined once more and you're breaking all over again.
You sat there for hours, curled into yourself. It was moments later you'd remember you have to pack up your life here now.
Opening the door of your closet, holding your last pieces of sanity together as you pull your suitcases from the storage. Breathing heavily, you stare with blurred vision into the empty cases, this was it, you were done, so abruptly, so painfully...
Everything hurts now.
Your body, your heart, everything. And you weren't sure it would ever get better.
But despite it, you slide your suitcase over to your bolted shelves, beginning to pack. Wiping away the tears that stained your face, every piece of clothing made you feel just a bit lighter.
hey i wanted to check in with you. you haven’t posted in a while and i hope you’re okay. don’t ever feel pressured to post, don’t ever feel pressured to do anything. we don’t truly need anything, i hope you have a lovely day.
Reader....Life's been lifin' 🤣🤣🤣
But actually, I had to move from my apartment, throw out a bunch of stuff, luckily I was able to find a spot to crash for a while to get back on my feet. It's been a hectic, traumatizing few weeks I'll tell ya...
If anyone would like a support a angst whore writer in need, here's my KO-FI.
Besides that, I'm back writing. Part 5 of Traitors Among Us should be out within the week. I won't be posting it to Ko-Fi like planned just because this chapter took so long to reach you guys.
P.S.
To my lovely, lovely, fucking fantastic beautiful supporters that donated to my Ko-Fi while I was away, THANK YOU A MILLION TIMES OVER, you've got no idea what that meant for me, what it did for me, nobody could ever be more thankful than I am to you.
Howdy! I’d just like to comment on the latest installment of “Traitors Among us”
*ahem ahem…*
😭😭😭
😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭!!!!
it was SOOOOOO SO SAD! T_T
Like BRUH! I was feeling sad even after I put my phone down. Sad even after I woke up the next day and felt sad when I remembered it T_T sad now thinking about it! T_T
I thought I could handle it since, in my last fandom, I read a lot of Dark Fics. But it’s not *just* the physical torture here! There’s more too it! (I’m not criticizing you for making it sad. It was well written, good, heart breaking, and compelling)
bruh if I was reader (well…I’m technically supposed to be) I would’ve killed myself at that point. Maybe you can make that one of the endings?! It would make sense. There’s signs. She doesn’t have ANYONE. She’s newly traumatized with no one to help her through it. She has nothing to cling on to. She didn’t plan for the future (rejecting/ not caring about money and insurance that she’ll likely need to recover, almost as if she doesn’t plan on recovering). She doesn’t have any place to go.
Maybe she could sit at the top of a cliff? And when Simon comes over she could be like “I’m only going to say this once. Go away. And don’t follow me” and weather or not he listens she jumps? Or maybe she, using a knife with sentimental value, could carve out her own heart? Like what Simon, or..more accurately, Ghost, promised to do? In one hand her heart and in the other a suicide note with things like: “hope you’re happy daddy” and “I hope there’s no ‘other side’ I never want to see them/anything again. I don’t want to exist anymore” yeah it would hurt but I have a feeling self harm won’t be too hard to do for Y/N. And on her grave could be written “I didn’t do it” or “it wasn’t me!” As per drawing of her grave/request on her suicide note. Thanks for reading my rambling. I hope you have a nice day/evening/night.
Nothin' better than hearing your angst hit successfully as a writer for real. THANK YOU DEAR READER!
Keep in mind that I will indeed be writing multiple endings, so anything's a possibility.
Hey Dalring! Just wanted to let you know that another creator has basically stolen your “A traitor among us.” Series. I think her name is @criminalamnesia
Read the 7 parts, unmistakably similar details. Thought you should know.
Love your work btw❤️❤️
I appreciate you letting me know, sweet reader, thank you. However, we've actually already had the conversation about this, any similarities, thoughts and ideas aren't purposely copied or stolen.
We do follow a similar plot in the beginning completely accidentally, 'traitor' and 'traitors among us' have literally no correlation between each other on purpose though.
I will clear this up: her story came first, so if a reader were to go to her claiming she'd stolen something, she hasn't, just take your complaints to me.
I hadn't been aware of her story until halfway writing my own, then publishing and following some ideas given to me by readers for my newer chapters. Possibly a mistake and the reasons for concerns, I have been changing a few things around when I have time.
But 'Traitors Among Us' is completely my idea, my story. might change the title to 'Fifth Columnist' tho....
'Traitor' is completely hers, undeniably.
I do appreciate your concern, and I highly appreciate you guys and your love for the story. Be great.
LOGAN HOWLETT X FEM!READER
LAURA KINNEY X PLATONIC!READER
Summary: Recalling the last day he'd held you.
If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?
---
September.
A September morning it had been.
He remembers the sudden change of pace in the mansion, the school year was starting, students would be lining up in the halls for the start of the semester.
You had been so looking forward to returning to teaching, to your students.
Planning and setting up a curriculum, a classroom, that they'd never get to see.
It was a September morning...
Logan had kissed you that morning.
But, not in the way he should've. Not in the way he wished he had.
It was swift, a tight-lipped peck on the forehead per your bitter request. You had to practically beg him to show you a hint of romance these days, he'd been pulling himself away from you at the time. Feigning uninterest in your relationship, in you.
But, it hadn't been true.
His feelings for you could never be explained in words, 'Love' felt too simple, too modest, so he never said it. But, that had been it. He was in love, devastatingly so. Night and Day. Dreams and daydreams. Even his nightmares, spiraling images of mayhem that would silence with your presence. Every thought, every moment, every breath seemed to be dedicated just to you.
And it made the future a terror in his mind.
He's lived decades, over a century, through wars, torture, plagues and lovers. Nothing in his life ever lasted, especially nothing good.
Though this was his longest relationship, and you shared a healing factor that contributed to you living since the 1890s while appearing as a woman in her late 20s. Naturally, he looked forward to many more years with you, decades and decades of breathless love, a hundred lifetimes.
But, Logan was a disease. A plague on anything good that came his way. One day, he'd always come to destroy the beautiful things he loved so much.
And he didn't want that to be you.
So, thinking it was the best thing for you, for the both of them in the long run, he slowly, agonizingly stretched the bonds of your relationship. He stopped kissing you unless you asked, stopped touching you unless you begged, stopped eating with you at breakfast, stopped embracing you, indulging you, loving you in the way you needed. He stopped everything, but slowly, so slowly.
Logan couldn't help himself, he wanted it all to last. But, it couldn't.
When he caught himself slipping, staring at you a little too long, kissing you a bit too fiercely, he'd curse himself. Dig his claws into his skin, piercing the flesh and tearing a scream from his lungs.
It was to protect you.
His feelings couldn't get in the way of you being safe from him. From the bad luck that followed him up from hell, that clung to his form and wrapped around anything to close.
It was a September morning when he was confronted by you.
"Logan," you took his wrist as he tried to part from you. "What's wrong?" you wondered, sadly.
He doesn't turn to face you, keeping his eye on the bedroom door, leaving you, he had to leave. If he stayed any longer... "Don't do this again, nothing's wrong."
"Of course, there is," you pulled at his hand, trying to pull him back. Back to you. "There's been something wrong for a long while, just tell me. Tell me and we can figure it out."
"Tell you what?" Logan coldly glanced back at you. "Haven't I told you enough?"
"You haven't told me anything," you frowned, staring right back. "This, whatever you're doing, isn't saying anything. I don't want you to walk away. I need you to talk to me."
He rips his wrist from your grip, forcefully, turning fully to face you, nostrils flaring but it doesn't faze you. You've handled the wolverine's temper before, hell your relationship used to be malicious before it became romantic. "Then you must be deaf," he says. "I think I've been more than clear. Any person with sense would've gotten it by now. Or maybe you're not as smart as I thought."
"Don't do that," Jaw tensing, your eyes narrow at your lover. "Don't be a child. Just say it. Tell me how you feel instead of pushing me away to make it easier on yourself."
"If you don't know by now," he spoke, he took a breath as he struggled to say much else. "I haven't been showing you clearly."
At that, you quiet a bit. Eyes flickering around his face for the truth, face falling, hurt evident in your expression, his heart hurts at the look, but he masks his agony as best as he knows.
Logan was physically stiffening up, fists clenched up, jaw clicking, he wasn't ready to confront this with you. He never even wanted it to end, he thought it'd be easier. So, he doesn't say anything, fighting with himself, expression twisting with his rampant thoughts.
"Logan," your painful expression nearly breaks him. You open your mouth, but your words come out in a stuttered whisper before falling quiet again. You're lost, confused.
"I don't understand. I...I thought we'd...found each other. Didn't we? Find each other," you murmured. "In all this pain, and grief, I found you, Logan..." the crack in your voice makes him turn away, a grimace along his face, a wince at your words.
Though you hadn't lived as long as him, you'd faced a century of hardship, decades of loneliness, death and vulnerability, you'd known no concept of safety until the X-Men. Until him.
Found through the rubble, you'd pulled each other out of, it was easy to fall in love. Promises of forever and beyond even that. Promises of together through the end of time, through the end of the world. Logan Howlett had confessed his love a thousand times over without saying a word, and you'd believed him like he held every precious ounce of trust in his hands.
You take his hand now, your eyes filling with tears as he stayed silent, your thumb running along his knuckles, he lets you. "Tell me you found me," as you cried, he takes your face in his hands, bridging the gap between you. Your first tear runs down his fingers, he wipes them away. "Tell me you love me..."
Logan Howlett speaks a truth he's regretted throughout his life afterwards, a moment that would plague his dreams for the rest of his life. "Have I ever before?" he wondered simply.
Instantly you're out of his arms, stumbling back away as if he'd burned you. Your eyes are wide, they dart away from him, your shoulders dropping as you come to the terrible conclusion, he was right. Logan had never said he'd loved you.
Logan's eyes burn, his fingers curling in on themselves and his chest hurts too much to take a breath. He wants to take it all back. Beg on his knees for forgiveness. He'd do anything. Jump through fire, fall in a pit of snakes, fight an army, snatch as many souls from hell that he needed to get back into your arms.
But, this was the plan. This was how it had to be.
Every word meant to sting, to burn and brandish you in a way that destroys your love for Logan Howlett.
Pulling himself away from this room before he can face your tears for another moment, he turns the knob to the door, opening and closing it behind him.
Stomping down the hallway, fighting every step as he could smell, hear, practically taste the sobs that tore from your throat as he leaves.
He nearly collapses as he takes the corner, his hand pressing into the side wall to steady himself. His heart in his ears, breathing harshly as his eyes redden and sting with unshed tears.
"Logan?" Scott sounds from behind him, questioning. "Everything alright?"
His rival, his friend, puts his hand on his shoulder, but it's shrugged off immediately. "Fine," Logan says without turning. Continuing down the hallway and away from him.
Scott makes a face, confused, before turning to Jean, who follows him out of their room. She notices Logan turning the next corner down to the stairs, "What's going on?"
"No idea," Scott sighs. "Just Logan being his usual self."
At the sound of a motorcycle driving away from the driveway, he glances out of the side window of the manor, frowning deeply as he watches Logan speed away.
Jean hums, amused. "Surprised?"
"Never," Scott says, before perking up as he hears your crying down the hallway. "Or maybe I am. Is that (y/n)?"
Jean's face falls, she steps out into the hall, walking slowly over to your room. Your crying louder this time, she rushes over to the room. "(Y/n)!" she knocks hurriedly, before bursting inside. Holding you instantly as you collapse to the floor, your hands covering your face, you hiccup, allowing Jean to hold you tight. "Hey, hey, what happened, what's going on?"
Scott comes up to the open doorway, confused, worried. But, he opts for giving the women their privacy, closing the door a crack, before reaching for his phone and texting Logan.
This was unlike Logan. Well, upsetting you was unlike him, not being an asshole, that was completely like him.
But, he knew how much Logan loved you, never saying so much as a tease that would indirectly upset you. Logan was smitten for years, unable to even put his feelings into words without going flustered. Something was wrong.
Angrily typing, Scott sends the text to his teammate, before perking up in surprise as a subtle beep rings out in the hall. He walks around the corner, down the hallway, and notices a phone laying on the edge of the steps, Logan's phone. He frowns. "Shit."
He sighs then, walking back around the hall. Running into Ororo, the weather goddess's brows are furrowed in worry. "What's going on with Logan? He looked upset, what happened?"
"You should see (Y/n)," Scott breathes, disappointed. Ororo's eyes widen at the news. "I've never seen them like this."
"Oh my," she frowns, before a streak of light passes by the window, nearly blinding them both.
"Jeez, what the hell," Scott turns, putting his hand up as the light gets brighter. Is that the afternoon sun?
But, it's not the sun. It's humming...like metal vibrating against the glass.
The light eases and the two mutants stare in horror. A sentinel, giant in size, it's eye peaking into the X-Manor, it's glowing red eye catching sight of the two of them immediately.
"SCOTT!" Jean screams.
He and Ororo spin around as a beam of light tears through the hallway, through the walls, through the glass. Tearing apart the building as a rush of power obliterates everything, a green blast of fiery energy coursing through the bricks.
"JEAN!" Scott bellows. "(Y/N)!"
You, with Jean in tow in your arms, flying through the chaos, dirt and scorching heat searing through your skin, having narrowly avoided the beam. Jean casting a telepathic shield as you both ram through the side wall and away from the sentinel shooting from the northside of the building. "Go, go, go!"
Ororo takes Scott's hand, the two of them lifted by the winds and hurtling out of the window as the radiating beam tears through where they were last standing.
Jean and you following, a sentinel chasing after the two of you, you glance backwards as you force gravity to propel you forwards and towards the tree line. Your swollen eyes widen in horror as the chest of a sentinel pops open, falling down to meet you and Jean. The metal tendrils bursting through and wrapping around your ankle, quickly you let go of a surprised Jean.
She screams as she falls before hurriedly catching herself, as she carefully lands on the grass below, rolling down to safety. A dirty smear of soot along her face, she looks up, watching to her terror as you're swallowed inside of a sentinel, it's tendrils wrapping around your body and pulling you inside of it's trap.
You scream as the doors slam shut, hand extending outwards. Out towards the road, out towards Logan.
Jean's hands immediately rise upwards, desperately, "No, no!" she cries, but then the inside becomes engulfed in flames, you scream in agony in the air as your prison of metal suffocates you in a sudden rush of fire. "NOOO!" Jean screams, the violent light of a burning flame fills her eyes as she sobs out in horror.
The sentinel crashes downwards toward the far tree line with you buried in its casket, Jean's telepathic pull interrupted at the sheer weight of it's fall. She rushes down, running desperately, but the northside sentinel crashes down in front of her, it's beam of light rushing down on her.
Ororo with tears in her angry eyes pulls the winds down and towards Jean, pushing her out of the way of the lethal attack. She then pulls lightning from the sky, storm clouds rolling in, rain falling from them, a sudden strike of electricity collides with the large sentinel. It jerks, it's metal shuddering and loosening, but it then turns to her, it's beam whistling through the air.
She flies up, avoiding it. Then past the sentinel, pulling lightning from the clouds, she desperately strikes at the sentinel balled up by the tree line that burns with fire with you inside. With a cry, she brings it down, splintering its shell. But then, before her eyes, the metal changes in texture, from a dented metal, to a rocky surface of stone.
Fire spills out, and she can hear your weakened vocals crying for help.
Ororo wails like a vengeful spirit, bringing down the wrath of the storm down on the shield of the sentinel. But, without warning, a large hand of a sentinel swings toward her, knocking the weather goddess out of the sky. "Ah!"
Scott rips his glasses off his face, beams of concussive force springing from them and knocking the giant robot back a few feet, it's hand coming up to block the attach. The beam wearing down on it's metal, but it comes closer and closer.
With a rageful cry, his beams become larger, nearly covering the giant being, it stumbles back, the ground rumbling with each forced step back.
Jean lifts herself up, a telepathic push shoving the sentinel over before it can restart its beam to attack Scott. "Rah!" the sentinel lands on its back, nearly blowing them all back with the force of it.
As the sentinel falls, the rest of the X-Men emerge from the manor, Hank and Charles guiding the students out of the building and towards the field, away from the chaos.
Without wasting a second, the X-Men rush down the tree line, to the sentinel that's captured you, no noise escapes the trap. Jean telepathically tears into the metal, the sentinel's regenerative body fighting against her wishes. Forcing the metal to open, a terrible heat pouring out of the cracks, no one can get close enough, your crumbling hand falling out limply.
Jean screams.
Ororo cries. "No!"
Scott curses, hands coming up and over his head, horrified. "Oh God!"
Another streak of light tears through the field, rushing up towards them all this time, a violent beam of energy destroying everything. They turn, but it's too late.
---
Logan turns his glass, watching as the liquid swishes and shifts with every move.
Sitting in a local pub in the city, he sighed heavily to himself. He can't stop thinking of your face, how you looked when he said all those things, when he gave you lives that he'd forced you to believe.
He beats his forehead with his fist, grimacing miserably, as he sat there, taking another swig of his beer. "Fucking idiot," he curses himself.
Why did he have to ruin that? Every good thing. Ruined.
Why did he have to do this to himself?
What kind of joke was his life? This one thing. He couldn't just have this one thing...
No. He remembered. He couldn't.
He took another drink, waiting for the kick. He sighs at the burn in his throat that he waits to numb his thoughts to silence.
Against his better judgement, Logan takes out his wallet, realizing he'd forgotten his phone. He opens it, eyes softening at the picture of you he kept there, pulling it out, it was folded to block him out of the picture.
He held a little smile, letting you pull him to your face so you both were smushed together for a happy little photo. He recalled the day as it being the moment he knew he wanted to spend every waking moment with you, it was also the day he realized his selfish faults for dragging you into the mess of his life. But, dammit he wanted you so bad, he wanted to keep you, to love you as you loved him, eternally.
He couldn't have that.
Logan Howlett was destined never to have that again, he had decided.
But....the thing is he could've. Right?
He thought to himself, you weren't an average woman, you were an X-Man, an immortal so it seemed. You were no normal woman that he'd lose to time or disasters.
He could have you for decades more, a century longer. A millennia if you both were lucky.
Who else could say that? Just you. Just the two of you, really.
And he's been so desperate to ruin that...for fears that may never come true.
Logan thoughtfully puts his glass down, glancing around as he thinks to himself, what an idiot he was.
He bursts from his seat, a newfound purpose in himself, a revelation that he hadn't had before. He could be happy with you, as long as he protected you, as long as he loved you, as long as he left behind that plague that followed him. Leaving it behind in that stool, tearing himself from the darkness that followed him constantly, he thought only of you.
The things he'd make up for. The moments he'd never taken with you. The days he'd cherish with you. The life you could build together.
But, first, he had to apologize. And fuck, did he have a lot to apologize for.
As Logan's leaving the pub, the news turns on, a broadcast that makes him stop at the door.
"Breaking News, Charles Xavier's school for gifted youngsters, a home for wayward mutants in upstate new york, has been attacked as of 6 p.m. tonight, so far there's been 14 casualties and counting..." as the news anchor speaks, all attention going to Logan at the news. His eyes widening at the helicopter view of the manor ripped to shreds, smoke traveling up the ruined building. A sentinel striking down on the land.
"No," he breathes. "No, no!" Logan rushes out of the pub, to his motorcycle, revving the engine and driving off.
---
Arriving at the institute, driving straight into the smoke filled land, strands of flame, burned fields and falling embers from the crumbling manor. Logan looks around, blood running cold as he runs through the field, finding the bodies of his students, bodies broken or just their limbs seared right off from the beams.
He finds Scott, his eyes staring open into the sky, this glasses broken, but his eyes don't light up with red energy as they would've. He's gone.
Then Jean. A few paces away from Scott. Blood in her hair, reaching out for her husband. Gone.
He doesn't find Ororo until he finds Hank. The both of them dead next to one another, he cradles her in his arms, leaning over her.
"(Y/n)," he gasps out, sick to his stomach. He cries out again. "(Y/n)!"
His voice echoes in the silent, crackling field. The sentinels having gone, the carnage remaining.
A creak of metal falling apart makes him turn quickly, rushing to the noise, the smoke is heavy here, embers flying to the sky.
Creaking metal splits, a sentinel he realizes, but it'd been burned through the inside out, charred.
A body falls out of the crack, hitting the grass as it crumbles.
His grief moves him first, rushing over, "Oh my god, oh my god," he repeats to himself as he runs. "(Y/N)!" Logan screams.
Dropping down in front of his lover, your skin cracked and burned to charcoal, hardened to the touch, beneath the skin, he can still see the flames that scorch beneath. And yet your eyes still find him.
He takes you in his arms, feeling as your body begins to crumble away. "No, no, no, what's happening?" he shudders as he realizes you're not healing. "No, why aren't you--why aren't you healing?" he takes your face in his hands, gentler this time than he had this morning, than he had any day. "Why aren't you healing, baby?"
He looks closely, your body's sustained blasts from explosions, beams, you've walked through flames before. What's going on?
Logan shakes his head. "Why--" he doesn't known what to do. "Come on, come on, please. You've gotta heal, darlin'. Come on."
Your heavy-lidded eyes just stare at him, you breathe subtly, hardly a breath at all.
Tears run freely down Logan's face this time. "I lied," he began quickly. "I had found you before I knew I loved you. I found you in my dreams and in my thoughts before I slept, I found you in every moment of every day, (Y/n), please," he admitted to his love. Eyes flickering around to see if her body would finally start regenerating as it always had, but you continued to crumble and crack. "Please. Please, (y/n), please," he sobbed.
A hiss of steam runs off your face, your tears sizzle away on your skin as they leave you. Your eyes closing briefly as Logan puts your forehead to his, "I love you in every moment," he hiccupped. "Of every day, of every hour," he gasps out as he feels your hand dragging up to his wrist. He takes your hand, it's fragile, cracking beneath the weight of his touch and the effort to move.
"I love you..." you speak with your last breath, sparing it for him.
"I love you," he cried, reaching down, kissing your lips.
He feels your hand crumble to dust in his hands, your legs in his lap lose weight as they follow in the same way. As your lips fall apart, he kisses your forehead, unable to open his eyes to watch as you fall away.
Logan breathes in a painful breath, heart breaking as he can't feel you in his arms any long. Squeezing the remains of you in his fists, he inhales deeply, a stutter of an agonizing sound, he cries as he finds the strength to open his eyes.
Nothing left of his lover, nothing left of you, but the embers that flies in the air, the ashes at his feet.
"Oh god," he cried, bringing himself down to the ground, fisting his hands in your ashes. He shakes violently, weeping into your remains, before sitting up and wailing into the air, a scream ripping through his lungs, tearing at his vocals.
The terrible sound could be heard miles away from the destroyed manor.
---
Years later, Logan sits at a pub. Taking another shot of whiskey.
"Another," he requests.
"No more," the bartender says to him, frowning with a look of disgust. "You know you're not welcome here."
Logan glances up, jaw tightening before sighing, fists unclenching. "Just one more and I'm outta here."
Reluctantly the bartender pours him another.
And then suddenly, a red suited merc jumps out of a portal, clumsily flipping off the pool table and spinning over towards the empty stool next to Logan.
Kate got me legitimately pissed in the last piece. The fuck you mean we’ll have to come crawling back when you call? We are permanently disabled and broken because a call *she* made, and she didn’t even have the balls to talk to us after it all, waiting for us to hunt her down? She was going to make us stay with the team that tortured us into a shell of a human being and we are supposed to be grateful she allowed our resignation enough to come running when she calls? I would’ve just said “you either let me resign or I finish what you started and kill myself in front of you, since that’s what you and the rest of the team so desperately wanted”.
And all of them acting like they just now realized what they did to us?!??! They were there!!!! They did those things to us and they want us to forgive them??? They were hoping for our death, wanting to maximize our suffering at every fucking point, but they shed a few tears and say “I’m rweally sowwy 🥺👉👈” and it’s all forgiven? “We had bad intel, but we thought it was good at the time”, cool, I’m permanently disabled, I can’t feel water without being brought back to the torture my closest loved ones did to me, I’ve been disowned and blamed for my own torture by my family, all my shit was broken and left for me to find, and even now the people who I thought loved me before they tortured me won’t respect me enough to listen to my boundaries and kept triggering my PTSD for their own gain. Let me just wipe away all of that because you said “sorry bad intel”.
I love this hahaa, Laswell is a piece of shite though.
Honestly, I imagined her to be someone that would've seemed to be a girl's girl, on your side to think better of you, but she definitely wouldn't be realistically. She'll take you down in a heartbeat if she thought it'd better the squad or her career.
Same goes for the team, little boys that think they'll be forgiven with just a slap on the wrist. But, reader is ready to wring their fucking necks and it still won't be forgiven.
AAAAAAH! All the emotions I feel with your 'Traitors Among Us' series! It's the whole spectrum of emotions! I can feel the Reader's despair at essentially being stuck with the 141 when they want out and how they can't stand to even THINK about being anywhere near them much less even try to be civil towards them. This might be a bit of a big ask, but will we get to see more of how this will affect the 141? What sort of consequences would they face for essentially torturing one of their own only to learn that the evidence that painted them as a traitor was ultimate false?
Would they all be placed under investigation to see if they did anything questionable in the field? Would there be talks of the 141 being dissolved and disavowed because this was such a major screw up that international trust has now become shaky? Would all members of the 141 be sent to temporary assignments and then grilled about what they subjected the reader to in additional to times they did something that wasn't within the guidelines of conducting modern warfare?
I just needed to ask you because if I didn't get this out of my head, it would've exploded! I wish you all the best with getting this series to us and hope that you can gain some semblance of compensation for all the cockups going on with your apartment.
Honestly, those are all good suggestions, really good. I do have a set ending in mind for our characters, our reader specifically, that I hope would be satisfying.
Consequences need to be seen though and it most probably will be shown in the next part, Clear Skies: Part 5 of Traitors Among Us.
I'm glad you're enjoying the angsty mess of a ride we're on in this series lol.
