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heliads · 2 years

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I’d like to request a Butchy x female reader one-shot. The reader is a biker and is dating Butchy. She has straight hair like Elena in season 1 of The Vampire Diaries and is dressed like Sandy in the “tell me about it, stud” scene from the movie Grease (black leather jacket, black shirt, black leather pants) but wears red boots instead of red sandals. In the musical number Cruisin’ for a Bruisin’, she sings the line “Two wheels and an open road. Wrapped in leather. Ready to go!”

have you ever wanted teen beach movie to be wandavision a horror movie? here you go :))

masterlist

Do you know what it is like to live inside a dream? One would not even know it was a fantasy if it was not called to their attention. The best part of a dream is that it feels so real you could die without ever knowing the truth. This is how it feels to live inside your story, but also why realizing that after all this time it was nothing but fiction was the rudest awakening you have ever been forced to witness.

You were never supposed to find out the truth. You’re certain of it now, days or perhaps years later when you look the same despite playing through the story an untold number of times. There are a thousand different showings before a thousand different audiences, all starting within minutes or hours of each other. It should be enough to keep your mind occupied long enough to forget every detail of how you are nothing but a character. It is not.

It has been all this time, however. At first, you’re not entirely sure what woke you from the story. It becomes apparent soon enough, but for the first time in what may be your entire life, or every one of your lives, you do not know the answer before the story ends. Perhaps it’s that feeling of uncertainty that makes you realize how little you know. The musical number outside your window has two extra dancers. Your boyfriend is not singing alone when he begins to mark the restaurant as his own. He always has been before.

You don’t have time to worry about that until after the song ends, though. Butchy is the leader of the bikers, he will always sing and you, as his girl, will always sing with him. You have never missed a step. He has never missed you.

What you miss is when the blond boy came into town. Staring at him is like looking out a window and belatedly realizing that the entire scene before you is clouded with rain. You do not know when the storm began, only that it is already over, and you have missed the entire thing. Something is wrong here, you think, and this boy may be the key to all of it.

Butchy does not miss your glance. He is only free to act on it, however, when the song ends, and he rushes to your side as soon as the plot allows. He takes your hand instinctively, for it has never belonged to anyone except him, not even for a mother or a father that your story didn’t make time to name.

“What’s with the new guy?” Butchy asks, eyes narrowed. He was written to be easily jealous a long time ago. He has never disappointed in his role.

You laugh, although you’re not sure that what he said was funny. “Who knows? Not sure I mind him being here, though. I’d love a fresh face.”

For the first time, you hear the sound of your own voice, truly hear it. Your words are shaped one way in your head, yet come out a different way, twanged into some sort of strong accent as if each sound were a guitar string plucked to perfection. You don’t know that you’ve ever heard an accent like that outside of your town, or specifically, outside of the bikers. It makes you feel like a caricature, some off shade of what could have been a perfectly normal character.

Butchy’s hand squeezes yours, making you focus again. You’re not sure if he’s dragging you back to reality or farther from it. “Everything alright, sweetheart?”

You nod quickly. “Perfectly perfect. Never been better.”

He smiles, although it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You sure? My momma always said that I was a great listener, and I’d love to hear ya talk if you need it.”

You tilt your head at him. “Who is your momma? What’s her name, Butchy? I don’t know that I’ve ever seen her before.”

Butchy’s smile falters. “What are you talking about?”

“When have any of us seen our parents outside of photographs?” You ask, voice trembling slightly. “Can you see her face in your mind? I can’t remember the color of my own mother’s hair.”

That sort of detail was never in the story, and Butchy knows it. “Why would you ask that, Y/N?” He asks, keeping his voice careful. “Why are you asking it now?”

You tug at his hand. “Can we continue this conversation outside? Something about this place is messing with my head.”

It’s hard to focus inside Big Momma’s. You can sense that a song is about to start, but for the first time, you find that you can fight it, slip in between the chords and find a hiding place from the lyrics. Butchy follows you without question. He always has, even when not contained by the story.

Outside, the sky seems fractured, as if seen through broken glasses. One moment, you’re certain that it’s just as you left it when you went inside Big Momma’s for the bikers’ big song, around midday with the sunlight streaming down your shoulders. Then you squint and it’s dark again, getting ready for the next song. You’re caught in between moments, you realize, the break between chapters. You don’t know how long this will last, but you’ve never seen something like this before. Perhaps you were right, something truly has happened to wake you up.

Butchy seems to have realized it too. “What’s up with the town?” He asks, looking around him. There’s a surfer down the block who seems to have trouble putting his board up to dry. The boy raises it above his head to stack it on a picnic table only to drop it back to his side a moment later.

You feel your shoulders start to tense up. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”

Your accent is slipping, the words less like a script and more like you.

Bucky finds time to smile in the midst of the madness. “Your voice sounds different. I like it.”

You smile back at him, and even if the action wasn’t written for you, it still feels right. “I like you, Butchy.”

He chuckles. “I should hope so, we’se been together for a long time.”

His voice drops as he mentions how long you two have been seeing each other. Butchy feels this too, you realize, the way that nothing has been real all this time.

You glance back towards the doors of Big Momma’s. “It’s those two new kids, isn’t it? The boy and the girl. They’re messing up our story.”

Butchy nods. “Think we can do anything about it?”

You shiver. “I don’t know that I want to. I haven’t said something for myself in a long time.” Perhaps never. You don’t know if you would remember a time before the story started holding your tongue.

Butchy pulls you close, and you can feel his heart hammering through his chest. “I don’t know how long this is going to last, but just in case they start changing things again, I want you to know something.”

You look at him, your foreheads pressed together. “What?”

Butchy opens his mouth to speak, but all of a sudden he’s gone. You stare at empty sand, his footprints already blowing away in the breeze. The story must be fighting to keep itself alive after all, forcing the town back on track. You’re supposed to be with your girls, he with his guys. You won’t see each other until the night falls for real and the dance begins.

When you open your eyes, Butchy’s little sister Lela is beaming at you. The only sign that she feels this too, this sudden disorder, is the single tear that falls from her eye before she turns to the new girl and starts to sing. After that, the music envelops her so deeply that Lela doesn’t have time to feel a thing. None of you do.

It is different, though, even with the story trying to reclaim all of you. There are slight missteps, moments in which the new girl, Mack, tries to tell you and your friends that boys don’t always have to be in charge. In those moments, you can feel the force of the story beating on your back, caving in your chest until you sing back that you know what boys like. It’s a song you’ve been singing for quite a while. You know all the words by heart.

It is worse after the dance. You do not realize why at first, until you start to remember more of the previous iterations of the story and compare all that went wrong. Lela should have been with a surfer, you think, but not the new surfer either. The story is changing. It does not like that, but it has no other choice. That, or to fold the newcomers into the story, and they like that even less.

You cannot escape the feeling now that something is wrong. It presses in on you like grease under your fingernails, begging to be named. Butchy does not leave your side. You are afraid that he will go and the story will take him so far away that he may never return.

In the end, it’s sort of fun to run along as the story fractures. You can sense it trying to heal itself, and you have no doubt that by carrying out the usual plot will allow the story to heal, but the road to get there is far longer and more treacherous than it has ever been before. That, and your map no longer seems to exist.

At last, though, Brady and Mack manage to find their way back through the water to their other world. You stand with Butchy just before it all falls apart. You have no doubt that the second Brady and Mack disappear back to their world, yours will revert back to normal, but for now you still have your free will. You’ve grown to like it, you realize. You don’t know if you’ll remember that when the story comes for you again.

You can feel the air start to pick up around you, the words rejoining into sentences that reorder the universe. As Brady and Mack draw further away, the story reknits itself, fragment by fragment. Soon, you won’t have much time left until it all begins again.

Butchy reaches for you as the last of your freedom falls apart. “This was fun,” he says, and you’re not sure if you’re truly hearing the words or just feeling the vibration of his voice carry to you across the tumultuous sky. The wind is picking up, tearing disorderly plotlines apart and sticking them back into their proper places.

You smile back at him anyway. “It was,” you agree, “All I ever needed was you. This proved it.”

Butchy grins. You feel like you can see him clearly for the first time in a very long time, perhaps since the story first allowed you to meet during the first telling of your tale. His eyes are sharper than you remember, his smile broader. You can see him without edits, without changes. No decades have dulled his shine. You love him ceaselessly.

Some part of you is terrified that you will never be able to look at him the same way. The story has always forced a biker’s rose tinted shades over your eyes, but even the raw, harsh truth still paints Butchy in the loveliest colors to you. You can say it now, even after the next song begins. You love him. There is no plot compelling you to stay by him, but you hold on tight to his hand anyway.

Butchy must feel the same way, because even without his cues and stage directions, he’s only ever looking at you. This is love, you decide, that even after a thousand lifetimes of being forced together over and over again, he would still spend his last free moments by your side.

He shouts something to you, before it is all torn away. It is difficult to hear him through the whipping of the wind, the flipping of the pages back to the very start.

“I love you. Story or no story. I always will.”

disney tag list: @rogueanschel, @lovesanimals0000, @thatfangirl42, @amortensie

requested by @thornyrose463, hope you enjoy! no i cannot explain this either <3

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