Plot: You intentionally hire a hit man. Not realizing said hit man would interrupt you burning down her house.
Warning: Arson, stabbing, angst, absolutely no fluff, I don't hold your hand through this, anxiety, death, you both die at the end, violence, reader got anger issues (I think it's a valid crash out tho), CIA agent, hitman, blood, gore, if I missed anything lmk.
Authors note: Another pre-written fic for you lovely people. I'm still in my funk so I apologize for how long the Lesso fic is taking me.
Word count: 1109
No matter how much my eyes beg to be closed or how my body slumps and my feet drag, the burning doesn’t stop. The match in my hands and black soot covering my arms, the memory of my family's scream echoing through me. The smoke filling my lungs. I had just destroyed another family and I don’t know how to fix it.
What is wrong with me?
I did this to prove what? That no one can be happy just because my family was brutally burned in our close to condemned house.
My hands are shaking and the only thing I can seem to do is dig my heels in the ground. The wind wraps its arms around my torso, pushing me forward. That's what reality shoved me in, making me realize where I am right now.
An old friend's house.
The shutters are brown and rough. It looks like it was hanging on by string. The white surrounding it was dusty and looking like it has been abandoned. I could just tell it had been years since the last time the house had been cleaned. Let alone fully lived in.
Lorraine and I have been best friends since the day we were born, May 27, 1964. We were both born on the same day and that is why I thought it would be so perfect to become best friends, it was fate. But when we were younger she disappeared. I don’t know how but she was just gone. I didn’t see her blonde hair run down my street along with her blue haired sister. I barely see her family anymore. All she left was a note saying: I will always find you. This is for your own safety. I’m too dangerous.
The sinking feeling hit me this morning, like the stress she carries surrounds me. A knowledge of the energy shift, something heavy arrived in town. I’ve had these gut instincts since I was young and it has yet to be wrong. But this feeling, this feeling has only been felt when she’s around. When we were young the same heaviness followed her.
My first response was to throw on my clothes, grab my gas can and matches, running straight to her front steps. Knowing if I were in a car it would be easy to track my plan. I had to keep reminding myself. Staying on foot will always be the least trackable method. Given I’m about to commit a major crime, I don’t want to get caught. Even with rage running through my veins I stay precise, my training coming to me like second nature.
She deserves it. She left you alone. Alone with your own thoughts, the darkness.
I look over at their rocky driveway. There was no car, no lights on inside, no sign of life. They must have left for the day.
Shit.
No one was home which means they will probably know it was me who burned their memories. I was the only person who knew about the place. A safe house they’ve been calling home. This wasn’t supposed to happen, they were supposed to be in the flaming house.
Yet my anger consumes me. I had walked here, there’s no way they could track me. The boots I picked were a whole size too small, in shoes I'd never wear. The track I did leave I wiped away with leaves, spreading small amounts of bird seed I had left in my pants pocket. When we were children Lorraine had taught me how to go unnoticed, all those little tricks that make a huge difference.She said her father had taught her them. Although those trainings never stopped me from letting the anxiety creep in.
“Fuck you.” I spat at their steps.
Pouring the fuel around the house spitting insults at the ground. Like that would help me. The smell of gasoline and rage fuel me.
When I make it around the house I just throw in the can at their front door. Letting the liquid pour all over their deck. The match felt light in my hands. The flame warming my fingertips. A small smile playing on my lips.
Before I could even process strong arms pulled me to their chest, dragging me away from the fire.
“What are you doing?! You could have gotten hurt.” Her deep voice said, full of concern.
It’s her. She’s back. Her breath is warm on my frozen skin, bringing me out of my own rage. Her fingertip putting out the small flame.
“Fuck you Lorraine.” I push her hard, almost knocking her to the ground. She looks different now. Her hair is cut short and almost wavy. Her eye dark and tired.
“Why’d you leave me. Fuck you.” I yell. The anger coming back in full force.
“Bab-” She starts but I cut her off.
“Don’t fucking call me that.” My hand meets the side of her face harshly and all she can do is look at me in shock.
“No you don’t get to look at me like that. You left me all alone, when I needed you most. You didn’t have a care in the world. What's the point of coming back now? You already made your fucking choice.” I spat. Lighting another match and dropping it in the gas before she even gets the chance to speak.
“No please.” She sinks to her knees, her hands finding their way to my hips, begging me not to leave. As much as I want to obey, I can’t. Not now. Just get the job done.
“I can’t Lorraine, I’m too hurt. Go back to the CIA.” I roll my eyes, prying her hands from me.
“Wait- How do you know about that? No one is supposed to know.” Her voice was shaky.
“Because Lorraine, I am the one who put you on this mission. I went through extensive loops to keep you from finding out. I needed you, no one else. I missed you too much” She’s on her feet in an instant, hands gripping my hips tightly, almost too tightly. A sharp pain cuts through my stomach, my face immediately dropping. Fire burns through my rib.
“No.”
“I’m sorry my love. “ Tears run down her cheeks.
“Why did you pick me as a hit man?” She sobs as my blood covers her hands. The world fading in and out.
“I can’t live without you. I want eternity with you. Where no one can take you from me.” I say, my hand weakly opening my pocket knife and slamming it into the side of her neck. Using all the strength I had left.
what's lancaster plus ladybug's ship name, and how would you rate it?
...im so tired that took me a second to realize what you meant.
ruby/jaune/blake is ‘Burning Match’
vomit / don’t ship / ok / cute / adorable / sexy / perfect / beyond flawless / hot damn / screaming and crying / i will ship them in hell
somehow when i was talking with @psynar since he loves jaune/blake and i love jaune/ruby we got into a ot3 with them, i think, and then shit happened and burning match came to be
