#quilted coaster | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

small-sinclair · 1 year

Text

Roadside Angel: Sinclair's Promise

Part 2 of Roadside Angel and it's inspired by this song and this song, too :3 . I decided to turn this into a series, so this isn't the last part. Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Lester x reader (Vincent is mentioned at the end.)

Welcomed readers: @justmeandmyghosties, @idorkish, @mommymilkerfanclub, @early20sfailingplenty

Tw: blood, death mentioned, yelling/arguing, Lester punches a wall

Part 3

When you woke up, you were greeted with two things: a splitting headache and the cutest black and white dog laying next to you. Either way, you were happy to be awake, to be alive. Yesterday was all a blur but you knew some things. There was a car crash. You lived. A man (Lester, right?) drove you, your brother, and William here. You were stitched up by a man with a mask covering his face and injected you with some numbing thing, so you didn't feel anything.

Then came here. You weren't sure where your brother was, but you hoped he was close. You hoped that he was around to keep you safe or to have you call home to let your family know you're okay, but you didn't want your family to worry too much in the same breath. It's confusing how things work around in your mind.

The dog's head lifted and moved closer to you. You couldn't help but pet the dog, smiling to yourself. "At least I got a pretty baby to keep me company," you cooed, giggling lightly.

You looked around the room and realized you weren't in the same room as before. You were in a soft bed with a quilted blanket over your shoulders. The sheets were soft against your skin, and your hands wondered over the cool bedside next to you. The room was painted a golden orange with dark wood trimming to match the floor. There was a standing dress, and it looked old and worn from years of use. The dark red rug under the bed needed to be vacuumed, but it wasn't too bad. You also didn't question the slippers that are shaped like life-sized ducks. You found them quite cute. The white door was close to show a poster of Louisiana's wildlife in the marsh, and it looked like it was from a school book sale from way-back. A green hat hung on the door knob, and it made your eyes perk, tilting your head to the side. Was... is this Lester's room?

Off to the side, the sound of water turning off and the door made your shoulders stiffen, but you winced from the pain in your shoulders. The door opened and Lester freezes. His face wasn't grimy or dirty. There were no blood stains on his hands or in his cream colored tank-shirt. His jeans were now light grey sweatpants and socks with turtles on them. His eyes were brighter without the dirt or blood, and the water made his curls more defined and standing. He pauses and looked at you, confused then scared then relaxed. What a roller coaster of emotions.

"Ya awake," he breathed out relieved. "Was worried when ya didn't wake 'is morn." He sat on the other side of your head. The dog's head perked up and the tail wagged. "Jonesy's been wit' ya all day," he pats the dog's stomach, "she's a good dog."

Jonesy nudged her head under your arm for more pats, her bright eyes begging for love. You smile warmly as you patted her ears and head. There was silence between you two, but you were happy with it. It was comfortable and not forced, something that was always given to you when you and your brother were forced to looked at each other after an argument. You relaxed to the sound of the birds outside the window singing.

Lester was the one who broke the silence when he asked, "How do ya feel?"

"Sore," a finger went up, "tired," another finger went up, "and uncertain." Your lowered the three fingers and nodded at him. "You? What are your three feelings?"

He wiped his nose and folded his hands, leaning forward on his knees. Under the ream shirt, you noticed a large back tattoo of angel wings folded up and tied by barbwire. "Confused, relieved, and... anxious," he drawl, his voice struggling to pinpoint the right words. "'M sorry, feelin's ain't my strongest suits, sweet pea."

You shrugged. "That's okay. My ma says people struggle a lot with that type of stuff, and it's good to let it out, you know? Like," you bit the inside of your cheek, "talking about three feelings."

He glanced at you as soon as you mentioned your mother, his eyes surprised. "Yer mama 's a smart woman," he gave a toothy grin then looked forward. "Mama never lik' it when I tol' 'er 'bout my feelin's. Shot, Pa was t'same. Yelled at me when I did."

He stops himself and looks down at his hands that were once covered in your brother's blood. He could still hear your brother drifting away in his arms while Lester promised to take care of you, to look after you. He never liked killing, Bo knew that and so did Vincent, and he tried to stay far from it. He wants to tell you so bad, but the tugging feeling was too much. You can't handle that type of grief right now.

"Sorry," he said in a low voice. "Drifted off."

"Where did you go?" You asked sincere. You were always a good listener. You were the one person that people went to talk and rant.

He swallowed hard. "Somewhere 'at y'all never see, honeycomb." His eyes watered then he wiped away the tears, staggering a breath. "'M sorry, y/n," oh... he remembers your name, "didn't mean t'open lik' 'at."

You shake your head. "No, you're good," you offered a smile then looked down at Jonesy, who was sleeping on your thigh. "It's good to let that type of stuff out."

"Thank ya kindly, but I should be more worry of ya." His eyes met yours. "Ya went through t'crash."

"I'll live," you shrugged. "Just have to see Jace and William. I have to make sure they're okay."

His face melted from worry to sadness. He looks down at his hands, listening to your brother's dying breaths. It was struggled and staggering over each word as he and Lester promise to keep you safe. To swear it over and over until he died then and there in his grasp. He hated death. He hated it.

Ever since Lester killed his father--

"They're at the house," he lied. "Bo's havin' 'em help with th' car."

Jace helping with cars? That doesn't sound like him.

But it must because he has to pass the time doing something while he waited on you to wake. William knows a bit of cars, but you didn't think that the car was going to be fixable.

"Bo?"

"My brother. He owns the station and garage in town."

"He can fix that car?"

"C'n try."

"But it exploded, and there was fire--"

Lester let a chuckle escape. "Bo's lik' a god when it comes t'cars." He let a cheesy smile leave. "He c'n fix anythin'!"

Behind his smile, you knew something was wrong, but you didn't want to say anything. You know better than to open old wounds and wake sleeping dogs. You closed your eyes and closed your mouth to cover a yawn. You were tired from everything still, and Lester knew it.

"Do ya need me t'gettcha anythin'?" He offered. "Water? Pain killers? A bit of food?"

"Water, please," you hummed tiredly. "It's been a long day."

"You got it, y/n." He stands and leaves the bedroom. You looked at the window again to see the afternoon sun shifting to the evening sky. The sunset from yesterday was perfect; you wonder if tonight's sunset was the same. When he came back, he had a clear glass, with little yellow ducks on it, in one hand and cupping two white pills in the other. "Drink slow," he advised. "My brother said t'do 'at... Vincent."

"He was the one that fixed me p, right?" You asked, taking the glass and pills. When your hands touched, you were expecting hard and rough skin, but they were soft and gentle. You looked at his ridged hands, admiring the little scars from long ago before taking the pills.

"Yeah," he said, his eyes lingering over your lips and throat, swallowing again. "Yeah, Vincent did. He said ya were lucky. The glass missed some major vines and such." He flashed a smile, but it faded when he looked down at his hands again. He can still see the blood. Why does he still see it?

"You okay, Les?" You asked, your words careful. "Where you going to?"

His eyes started to water as he squeezed his eyes shut. Every thing was burning inside him, and it was making him explode in colors that he didn't understand. Feelings are for girls! For women! He's not that; he's a man! So, why is he getting chocked up? Why does he hate the sudden smile of blood? This morning when he was picking up roadkill, he smelt the death, the sourness of bitter copper and salt. For the first time in years, he had to turn his head and throw up. Something inside him re-bloomed when he looked at you like a dying tree regrowing their leaves after years without water or sun.

He clinched his jaw up tight. "I did somethin' bad, y/n, 'n ya won't forgiv' me."

You tilted your head to the side confused. "What do you mean?"

He takes in a shaky breath. "Yer brother ain't here," he admits, closing his eyes. "I lied."

No... no.

"Where is he?" You asked concerned. Lester swallowed hard and closed his eyes. You didn't like how long his silence stayed. "Lester-?"

"He ask-asked me to keep ya safe," he leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling. He was choking up now, his words filling with hurt. "He asked me t'watch ove'a ya."

Your blood ran cold as you looked at him then at the dog. "Where is my brother?"

He looked at you dead in the eyes and gave an answer you didn't want, "Somewhere no one c'n follow."

Your stomach dropped as your hands started to shake. "What did you do?"

"I didn't--"

"What did you do, Lester?!" Your voice cracked as you brought your legs up slightly. Jonesy's head lifted. "Give me an answer!"

"Bo killed 'em!" He spat. His eyes started to over flow. "I-I tol' Bo t'stop but he didn't! He didn't!" He drew in a shaky breath and looked down at his hands. His damn hands. "I tried and tried but-but t'blood won' stop! It didn't! It didn't stop!" His voice crack as he slid off the bed to his knees. H covered his face in his hands, and he felt sick. He could still feel that boy's blood. He could smell it and he wanted it to burn. "I tried t'stop it! I tried!"

You only could sit there and watch as he fell apart on the floor. "You..." you shifted in the bed and shuffled away from him. "You're a monster."

His head shot up and looked at you. He was breathing fast, shaking his head. "Don-don't say 'at!"

"You let him kill Jace!"

"Stop! Stop it, please!" His voice was cracking, every word breaking at the seams. "I-I'm sorry! I tried so hard!"

You moved away from him until you were on the other side of the bed. Jonesy was next to Lester licking his tears. Your legs shook as you rolled out of bed and pressed your back against the wall. Here you thought he was a nice guy, a gentleman like in the books. Here was... his angel winged tattoo wrapped in barbwire for a reason, and you wanted to hurt. To bleed. To kill.

But you were better than that. You had to be better than that.

You hugged your legs and tied to silent your cry, but sob escaped as you looked up at the ceiling, screaming out in pain, crying out to the ceiling. Your best friend, your brother. He was all you had left because he took you in from your family, from that pitiful place called home. Just for a trip to see the south! Your mother was excited for you to leave and travel. She always wanted to travel. Here you were, going on an adventure and he's gone. Dead.

You heard his feet shuffling towards you with Jonesy on his heels. Soon, she was licking your face and whining as she tired to calm you, but you hugged her tightly and cried in her fur. Lester sat on his knees a couple feet away from you, his face broken with too many emotions and tears. He was trying so hard to keep it together long enough to finish his story. You had to hear him out. You have too!

"He ask-asked me t'keep ya safe 'n cared fer," he choked in choppy breaths. "An' I-I gave 'im my word. Sinclairs keep their-their words." He gripped his hands tightly. "I begged Bo not t'kill ya! I Begged an' he made-made a deal wit' me."

Your head perked up. "What deal?" You felt sick.

He lets out a deep breath, answering, "He-he said ya hav'two months t'say-say ya love me."

You let out a laugh loud enough to cut him deep. "You're dreaming if you think I'll ever love you!"

He swallowed hard as fat tears fall again. "Ya gotta or-or Bo'll kill ya."

"Let him," you laughed. "Jace was all I had left! Now what? Take me out back-"

"No-"

"-and shoot me?"

"No!" He yelled. His face was mangled in fear and sadness. "No! I-I can't do 'at!"

"Why?" You scoffed. "You're like him, aren't you?" Your words stung him as he was trying to grapple at something, anything, but his hads were falling through. "You're a killer like him!"

He snapped, his fist balled up as he hits the wall. Jonesy jumped up from you and stood between you and him as if she was trying to keep you safe. His hand went through it as if it was paper. "I don't lik' killing! I-I never had!" Then his face fell as he looked down as his voice grew softer. "I never liked killin'. Animals, bugs, people-- I don' lik' killin'."

Your eyes glossed over him then squeezed your eyes shut. "So, you promised to keep me safe?"

"Yea," he whispered, his voice defeated and tired. "I gave my word." He moved his hand from the wall and holds it close to him. Lester licks his lips nervously, "Sincalir's always keep their promises." His knuckles were bleeding and the skin was raw from the new pain. "He-he called ya 'snickers' an' said 't'keep sinkers safe'." That was your nickname. Only Jace knew it. "An' I promised."

You took a few shakey breaths. "And Bo won't kill me if I save that I love you?"

He nods, his brown eyes red and puffy.

You looked at the bed and closed your eyes. What were yo to do? But you made your mind up. "You said I have two months?"

"Yes."

"It takes thirty days to fall into habit," you hummed. "And it takes thirty days for feelings to grow." You looked at Lester up and down. "I do not love you today, Lester Sinclair, and I will not love you tomorrow." He looked like a puppy that just got kicked. "But, everyday, I will find a reason to. Even if that mean I have to think about it really hard." You kissed Jonesy head and hugged her. "For now, I don't love you and I think I will never love you." You closed your eyes as you looked away from his hurt face. "But I will learn to. One day at a time. Thirty days. I'll write them down."

Lester nodded his head as he held his hurt hand tighter. Thirty days. That seems good enough.

"But you have to do the same in kind," you said, locking eyes with him. "You have to find thirty things about me every day."

"Lik'," he swallowed the lump in his throat, "lik' twenty questions? Askin' a question a day?"

You needed. "Yep. Every single day until there is nothing left." You looked at the bed. "We are not sleeping together. No chance in hell."

"Got it."

You both looked at each other then at the hole in the wall. Shakily, you found the strength to stand up from the floor. "Come on, let's get that hand wrapped."

************

Outside the door, Vincent stood still as he listened to the whole thing. He was going to check on you and his brother since last night, but hearing this, all of this and the plan...

He has to make sure it works and Bo doesn't interfere. He was to or you'll die. Lester can't handle that type of pain.

His brother was right, though. A Sinclair's word is strong, and a promise is a promise. He'll do everything that he could to make sure you're safe with his baby brother. He'll make sure Bo doesn't do anything. He'll make sure to keep his murderous thoughts to himself and act out on visitors... both him and his twin.

He promises, y/n.

Vincent Sinclair promises.

#lester sinclair #roadside angel #vincent sinclair #house of wax (2005)#house of wax 2005 #house of wax fanfiction #house of wax #house of wax fanfic #vincent sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x you #vincent sinclair x you #lester sinclair fanfiction #slasher fanfic #slasher fic #slasher #slashers

159 notes · View notes

cricketnationrise · 3 months

Note

hello! :) THIS IS SO CUTE I CAN'T WAIT FOR A POSSIBLE CRICKET EXCLUSIVE!! because i am obsessed with u fr but that's common knowledge. <3

for the ficlet fest, if you'd like:

time stamp: 2:23am

location: brownstone

character: alex/henry

song: this is me trying by taylor swift (only if you want!!!!!!!)

rating: whatever you'd like

but like you can go any direction with this I'm just always projecting my adhd/anxiety/not good enough feelings onto alex on a regular basis :')

my ao3: firenati0n | Archive of Our Own (same as tumblr user)

THANK YOU SO MUCH! SENDING LOVE XOXO

your cricket exclusive is here! i actually went full on henry pov with this one bc my brain got stuck on the trying of it all. so have some first post-canon fight make up. this is actually the longest ficlet yet, but somehow i don't think that'll be a problem 😂 💜🦗

read the rest of the ficlets here!

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

2:32am, brownstone

The brownstone is quiet when he returns, which is completely reasonable for just after two-thirty in the bloody morning.

It’s also immaculate, which is decidedly less so, especially considering the state of the place when Henry stomped out a few hours ago.

The hallway is clear of trip hazards, shoes neatly in the rack. The kitchen gleams in the range hood light; counters clear and wiped down, small appliances lined up as precisely as Buckingham guards. Peeking his head in the for-once dark office reveals two tidy desks, chairs pushed in, and both of their laptops plugged in and charging.

The den at the base of the stairs makes Henry pause. The stacks of books have been put away. The coasters on the coffee table have been relieved of their burdens of half-drunk tea cups and abandoned coffee mugs. In the dim light from the street lamps through the window, Henry can even see vacuum lines in the carpet. A second glance has Henry taking cautious steps inside.

There is one thing out of place after all.

On the couch, propped on a few of the numerous throw pillows Pez insisted upon, and tucked into the quilt Ellen sent them, is Alex. Like an anchor to the ocean floor, Henry is drawn into the room, and to Alex’s side.

He kneels between the coffee table and the couch near Alex’s head and just looks for a long moment. Alex clearly hasn’t been sleeping well. The couch is too short, even for Alex’s shorter frame, so his legs are tucked uncomfortably. His curls are more of a wild mess than normal, like he’s been tugging at them. Alex is gripping the quilt as tightly as he normally clutches Henry, and there’s deep furrows on his forehead.

Henry should let him sleep, probably—neither of them have been sleeping all that well. Increased paparazzi presence as Alex’s first semester of law school starts and Henry takes a more active role in the shelter has been stressful. But Henry can’t help but reach out and try to smooth those lines on his forehead. Something churning and tense settles inside him when his gentle touch has Alex’s eyes blinking open, a small smile on his face when he recognizes Henry..

“You came back.”

“Of course I did, love.”

Alex exhales messily, blinking back tears now. “I wasn’t sure— After earlier—”

Henry shushes him with a hand on his cheek. “I will always come back to you. Promised I was done being an obtuse fuckin’ asshole, didn’t I?”

“You still left, though,” Alex says.

It’s Henry’s turn to fight back tears. “I could hear myself sounding more and more like Philip at his worst. It scared me. I didn’t want to subject you to that, to even inadvertently use my knowledge of you as a weapon. So I left before words I didn’t actually mean could find their mark.” He sways forward, resting his forehead on Alex’s, needing to be closer. “You deserve more than sharply aimed words, especially when you haven’t done a thing wrong.”

“Hen…”

“I’m sorry Alex. I shouldn’t have— I knew it would be different once the paparazzi got wind of our plans, but I wasn’t prepared for how much more invasive they would feel. I’m having a hard time adjusting to life beyond Kensington’s thick walls and I started to take it out on you.”

Alex’s hand pulls on his shoulder. “C’mere.”

Henry climbs onto the couch and sprawls undignified on top of Alex, tucking his head into the crook of his neck. Alex’s hands, as ever, hold him steady, rubbing large circles across his back.

“There were two people in our fight, Henry. You aren’t the only one struggling. Or taking it out on the person he loves.” He presses a kiss to Henry’s temple. “I could hear echoes of my parents, but couldn’t figure out how to stop the word vomit. And that scared me—I never want you and I to be like them.”

Henry pulls his head back to meet his gaze fiercely. “Never.”

Alex smiles at his vehement tone, but it's got a rueful edge to it. “We’re gonna have to figure out how to talk about this stuff before it blows up in our faces again.”

“Not tonight, though?”

“Nah, not tonight.”

They’re quiet for a long moment, curled around each other on the couch, when a niggling thought finds its way past Henry’s lips.

“Alex?”

“Hmm?”

“Why were you on the couch? Did you— Did you not want to be in our room?”

Alex holds him tighter. “I— You left and— So I was cleaning, and I did this room last, and when I was done there was no way stairs were happening, so I just collapsed here. I didn’t actually think I'd fall asleep, I don't usually when you aren’t right next to me.”

“So it wasn’t because you wanted space from me?”

“Fucking hell, baby. No, I never want space. I want the opposite of space from you. If I could figure out a way to crawl into your rib cage every night I would.”

“Oh.” The last bit of tension leaves Henry’s body at that and he relaxes fully on top of Alex.

“Yeah, oh.” Alex chuckles. “But, as nice as you feel on top of me, it’s late and this couch ain’t big enough for the two of us.”

“You fit on it better than I do,” Henry can’t help but tease.

“First of all, rude. Second of all, I also have to pee so get up before I shove you off.”

Reluctantly, Henry stands and reaches down to help Alex up after him. Henry folds the quilt and hangs it over the back of the couch, smoothing the last wrinkles with his hand. When he straightens up, Alex is only halfway up the stairwell.

“Meet you in bed?” Alex whispers.

Henry climbs up to meet him. “Always, love.”

#cricket writes #firenati0n #ficlet fest 500 #rwrb #pov henry #the brownstone #they'll have a longer talk later and come out stronger #but early mornings are for lovingly flopping on top of your boyfriend

45 notes · View notes