#just thinking of how must have felt in that second

[1randomcomic]

A Reaver's Fate

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Clang, creak. Clang, creak. Clang, creeeak. Clang!

The sound of the rusted iron door of my cell opening and closing with the howling wind woke me once more. Blearily, I rubbed my eyes open. The glow from the ever-burning torches faintly illuminated the cell that I’ve called home for—Gods, I don’t even know how long at this point. I sat up on the slab of stone that constituted for my bed, rubbing the remaining sleep from my eyes. I swung my legs around to the open side of the ‘bed’, raising my arms behind my head to stretch. 

Crack!

The familiar sound of my joints cracking brought a small smile to my face. If there’s anything that I’ve learned in my indefinite stay here, it’s to appreciate the small things. The scratchy pillow that the last guard to watch over my cell had given me from his own bedding; The fresh, albeit cold, air that swirled and howled throughout the halls; The—now filled—paper and empty quill another guard had gifted me after I mentioned how I used to make blueprints of weaponry for His Majesty’s army; Even the uncomfy but fitting clothes I’d been given so I wouldn’t freeze. 

A sigh escaped my lips, my cracked goggles fogging up in the chilly air of my cell. Cracking my neck, I got off my bed. Standing up fully, I did my morning stretches. Nightly stretches? Midday stretches? I wasn’t quite sure what time it was anymore. I used to be able to tell what time of day it was by who was guarding my cell. Jenford in the morn, Aylex during midday, and Merrin during the night. Or was it Merrin in the morn, Jenford during midday, and Aylex during the night? I don’t know anymore, it’s been so long since I’ve seen any of them—or anyone for that matter. 

I shook my head, clearing those confusing thoughts from my mind. After completing my stretches, I walked through my cell, inspecting everything. It was a ritual at this point. Go to the door and inspect the rust covering it. More seems to have covered the sliding mechanism where the guards used to slide my food through. I tried moving it slightly with my fingers, but it refused to budge. 

“Must be rusted shut.” I mused to no one in particular. 

After studying the door, I headed over to the wall with what I think is my most recent marking of the number of days I’ve been here. I grabbed the small pebble and added another vertical slash onto the wall, marking the new day.

Next, I head back to my ‘bed’ and fix my pillow, fluffing up so it’s slightly more comfortable during the night. The pillow was the only thing that separated me from the stone while sleeping. The scent of Reeves’ cologne had long since faded with time, though the memory of his kindness still clung to me like a child would to their blanky. 

“I, uh.” Reeves cleared his throat, trying to hide something from me behind his back. “I noticed that you, uh. You tend ta have bruises an’ cuts on your face afta’ sleepin’. So I, uh.” He looked away in embarrassment, his cheeks flushing red as the blood rushed to his face and screwing his eyes shut. He looked slightly like a tomato from the market stalls in King’s Square. 

“Takemypillow,it’lldoyousomegood.” He slurred while shoving a well-worn travel pillow towards me. I blinked for a few awkward seconds, unmoving as I stared at the pillow. He nervously opened one eye, both of us glued to our positions, unsure what to do. 

“Do—do you not want it?” He asked, his lip quivering like a wet dog in the cold. 

His question brought me out of my stupor. I blinked a few more times before responding. “I—I don't know what to say. Thank you, Reeves.” My voice was barely above a whisper and yet it felt like the loudest sound I had ever heard, louder than the bang and explosions of artillery in the cacophony of battle. 

I shook my head, chasing those far off memories away before I broke down again. 

“There’s no use in dwelling on the past, it just makes us weak and liable to ignore the future.” My old Master used to say. 

Master… Gods, I haven’t thought about him in years. Decades? I truly can’t tell how long I have been here for anymore. Still, I miss that sly old man and his strangely useful wisdom. I miss the way he used to braid my hair when it got too long and how he used to sneak confidential scrolls that were far too out of my league into my room to study. 

I chuckled sadly, sniffling as I felt tears prickle at the corner of my eyes. Ah, shit. I’m already breaking down again. I wiped my tears away with my sleeve, only to feel more coming. The tears rolled down my face as my chest heaved for a comforting presence that I knew I would never feel again for as long as I lived. For what felt like days I stood there, hovering over my ‘bed’, sobbing silently and longing for the warmth of the man who raised me. 

When I had finally come to my senses, my body ached. There was also a dull throb in my head that was particularly vexing. Wanting to retain some sense of normalcy, I dragged my uncooperative feet to the pile of paper covered in various diagrams I would draw in my youth. I attempted to sit down, only for my body to collapse in exhaustion. 

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“This place gives me the creeps.” 

“Oh, quit being such a wimp, Gunar.” 

“I am not a wimp! You just clearly lack any self-preservation! If you hadn’t taken this stupid job, we could’ve been in Varmoss drinking right now!”

Davi scowled at the Lizard-folk, she’d had enough of his whining and moaning about their current job. “Shut up, Gunar! I don't ‘lack self-preservation’, you’re just a coward with a drinking problem. Besides, it’s just a clear-cut exploration mission. ‘Explore the ruins beyond the borders of the ancient kingdom of Hemonar. Find out what’s there and if there’s anything of value for Her Majesty’s Archives.’ It’s a simple job.” 

Gunar scoffed, “Yeah, and what are we going to do if we found any Reavers?”

Davi gave him a scathing glare. “I highly doubt that we’d run into any Reavers.” She barely managed to suppress the urge to shudder at the mention of those foul creatures. 

You could never trust a Reaver, no matter how harmless they try to convince you that they are. They brought about only pain and destruction. She had to learn that lesson the hard way. 

As the two continued exploring the ruins, they came across a hallway that led to a thick, rusted iron door that seemed to open ever so slightly and then slam shut in a consistent rhythm. The door had an openable slot that was likely used to feed whatever prisoner was stuck in there, but it appeared to be rusted shut. 

The two shared a look. Gunar shook his head, trembling slightly. Davi rolled her eyes and gestured to his Scimitar. He gulped nervously while unsheathing the weapon. Davi grabbed the handle of the door, which was curiously unlocked, and turned it to the right. The door shuddered and groaned as it opened, having clearly not been opened for centuries. 

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Clank! Clank, click, clank! 

Footsteps? Who in the Reagent’s name is here? The sound of armoured footsteps grew louder, loud enough for me to discern that there were two sets of footsteps coming towards my cell. I sat still, praying that they’d turn around and come back another time, preferably when I wasn’t stuck reliving the bittersweet memories of my imprisonment at the hand of Ser Nightcolt’s forces. 

I waited with baited breath, staring at the door to my cell. For a few tense moments, the door remained closed. Despite the now silent halls, I could still feel my heart hammering in my chest. The sound of it was so deafening that I almost felt like I was back in The Forges. With the sweet sound of hammers hitting steel and fires roaring as I shoveled more coal into the furnaces. 

NO! Now’s not the time to be longing for the familiar ash and soot scented halls I owned. Get your head in the game, Duskroar! There are people outside your cell! They could be bandits that will force you to create all manner of terrible things for them! 

I shook my head, trying to clear my mind and refocus on the present. 

“Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Focus on the now. Leave your thoughts be, let them come and go, like a leaf in the wind. Breathe in, breathe out.” I could hear Master Drust’s voice walking me through the familiar breathing exercise from my childhood, almost as if his spirit was still here guiding me, even in death. 

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

Don’t dwell on your intrusive thoughts, let them be and focus on your senses.

Five objects near me: The diagrams, my quill, the empty jar of ink, the clothes on my back, and my pillow. 

Four sounds I can hear: The howling wind, my chest heaving as I try to slow my breaths, the silence of my door..

Shit! My cell door is never quiet! I could feel my heartrate picking up tremendously, its drumming drowning out the sound of the cell door opening. 

As the door opened, I saw two figures rush inside. Both had their weapons drawn. One was a stout Dwarf that was carrying a battle axe of some sort, one clearly far less advanced than what my wife used to make in The Forges. The other was a trembling Lizard-kin holding a not very well taken care of Scimitar out towards me. His—her?—grip was shaky, as if they were going to drop it and flee at any moment. 

The dwarf’s face went pale, as if they’d seen a Ghoul. Their eyes were wide with fear, but they held their axe steady. “Cò thu? Dè tha thu a 'dèanamh an seo?” They shouted in, what was, a language similar to Dwarvish but clearly more than just a newer dialect. 

“Is mise Duskroar, cé tusa?” Gods, I really need to brush up on my Dwarvish.

The two looked at me in surprise, not expecting me to speak Dwarvish. The Dwarf narrowed their eyes at me. Their eyes were a piercing green, one that made it seem like they were looking into my soul, judging my very existence. They turned to the Lizard-kin, careful to keep me in their sights before speaking in a tongue I couldn’t recognise. The two conversed for a bit before the Dwarf turned back to me. 

“Hva vet du om dette stedet? Ah, shit. That’s not Common….” The Lizard-kin muttered. They cleared their throat before speaking again, “Ak-hem. What are you doing here? What can you tell us about this place?”

Common? Huh, it’s not quite how I remember it but I can work with it. 

“This is—or was—a fortress that Ser Nightcolt’s forces used to keep high profile prisoners.” The two seemed quite shocked, sharing a look of surprise. 

“So you are, er, were a prisoner here?” 

“Indeed. I got captured during the Battle of Mistband and transported here. I do hope my wife is okay, it’s been…” I started counting on my fingers, “One, two, three, four, eight, eleven… I don’t know how many years since I’ve seen her.” 

“Why did Ser Nightcolt’s forces capture you?”

“I am an Artificer. I work for King Vollert of Hemonar. I studied under Grand Wizard Drust of His Majesty’s Court.”

The two shared another look, this one bordering on a mixture of pity and skepticism.

“Should we…?”

“Should you what?” I asked, perplexed. What are they trying to hide from me? 

“Go on. Tell them, Gunar.” The Dwarf made a gesture for the Lizard-kin—Gunar, I presume—to continue.

“Are you sure, Davi? Are you sure that this is a good idea?”

The Dwarf, Davi, glared at Gunar. “Just do it, I’ll buy you a drink later.”

Gunar gave them a sharp-toothed grin before turning their focus back on me. “I’m not sure how exactly to tell you this, but… King Vollert of Hemonar has been dead for about half a millennia. His kingdom fell about five hundred and fifteen years ago.”

“And what of Ser Nightcolt’s forces?” This can’t be right. Has it really been over 500 years since I got sent here? They're joking, right?

“The Nightbourne Empire fell roughly two hundred years after the Kingdom of Hemonar.”

“So it’s true… If they’re all dead… Why am I still alive? Why did I live and they die? Why must the Gods be so cruel?” I could feel my heart pounding in my chest and my hands clamming up. My breaths became raggard, my lungs struggling to take in any air. It felt as though my throat was being crushed by my Uncle’s hands, like when I was a child.

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Translations:

Cò thu? Dè tha thu a 'dèanamh an seo?: Who are you? What are you doing here? in Scottish Gaelic

Is mise Duskroar, cé tusa?: I’m Duskroar, who are you? in Irish

Hva vet du om dette stedet?: What do you know about this place? in Norwegian

(All Translations are from Word Hippo)

You have been imprisoned for so long that you have completely lost track of time. You are not even sure whether those who imprisoned you are still alive. When finally someone came to check on you they were surprised to find you, claiming that the dungeon has been unused for centuries.

[andvys]

The edges of your soul (I haven’t seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter two

⭐︎ can you see right through me?

Warnings: angst, misunderstandings, post apocalypse, gore, mentions of death, grumpy!steve, grumpy x sunshine

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 5k+

Summary: You didn’t think that trying to get close to Steve would end up hurting your feelings — but you also didn’t expect to get a glimpse of who he once was, before the darkness of this world dimmed the light in his eyes.

Authors note: Buckle up for the next chapter y’all, it’s gonna be something. always a shoutout to @hellfire--cult who always takes her time to edit and write with me 🩷

⭐︎ series masterlist

⭐︎ prologue ⭐︎ previous chapter

☀︎

On the first day of your official stay in Hawkins, Nancy took you to the greenhouse, you spent all day gardening, taking care of the crops, watering vegetables and fruit, picking the ripe ones and planting new seeds – it amazed you how well everything was growing, you didn’t think that it would be possible after seeing the effects this world had on nature but you suppose that miracles exist after all. 

By the end of the day, your knees hurt, your hands felt sore and there was too much soil and dirt under your fingernails, not that you would ever complain, you haven’t felt as much happiness as you did when Steve told you that you were allowed to stay since… well, since your college acceptance letter and that is too long ago. 

On your second you cooked french toast with leftover bread that Nancy had made the day before, using fresh eggs – you were surprised when you found out about the little stable with chickens behind the garden, you thought most animals had died. You made ratatouille for dinner, using the freshly picked vegetables from the greenhouse. Nancy and Eddie had complimented your cooking skills, though the reaction you were mostly looking forward to was Steve’s, he only hummed in approval and he got a second plate, you took that as a good sign. 

Today, you haven’t been assigned to any tasks yet and you don’t exactly know what to do when you walk down the stairs to find the house empty, well, mostly empty. There are no signs of Eddie and Nancy, you don’t hear him humming, you don’t hear her walking around in the kitchen or somewhere else, the only one around is Steve. He is in the living room, standing in front of the window, holding a cup in one hand while the other is propped against his hip. 

The smell of coffee lingers in the air, it must be his third cup, he already had one before breakfast, another during it. You wonder if he is just addicted to the bitterness of it – it certainly matches his attitude. Or if he is just tired and in need of something to keep him awake, you have a feeling that he doesn’t sleep much. 

“Where’s everyone?” 

Steve doesn’t even flinch, he heard you walking down the stairs, he felt your eyes on him. 

“Eddie is working on the RV,” he grumbles, still not fond of the idea of leaving, nothing will change his mind, he is just waiting for his friends to drop it. “Nancy is with him.”

You nod even though he can’t see you. You look around, still holding onto the railing of the stairs. The house is spotless, clean, not a single grain of dust lying around. Eddie is cooking dinner tonight, so there isn’t anything for you to do around here. 

Steve takes one last sip and then he puts the mug on the coffee table, not even glancing at you as he turns around and reaches for the gear he had left by the doorway. He puts the gun into his holster, secures the walkie into his belt and lastly he picks up his rifle before he starts making his way over to the door. 

“Wait, where are you going?” You ask, not hesitating to follow him. 

“Patrol.” 

You furrow your eyebrows at him, shaking your head, “I thought you said it’s a two man job.” 

He rolls his eyes and stops walking, turning around, he looks down at you, “Eddie and Nancy are busy–”

“I’m not,” you shrug, giving him a smug smile, knowing that he isn’t fond of your company. “I’m coming with you.”

“Can’t you find something else to do–”

“No, I cannot.” You interrupt him as you reach for the door knob and open it, “can’t let you break the rule and let you go out there by yourself, who knows what you might run into. I’m gonna keep an eye out for you, maybe you’ll get distracted with your shoelaces again!” 

Steve huffs, clenching his jaw. His eyes move up and down your body, eying your belt, the knives tucked into it, the gun in your thigh holster – he has a hard time believing that any of those things have been used by your hands, you couldn’t even kill the man that had attacked you when you had the chance to – he heard your conversation with Eddie that night, heard what happened, what almost happened to you, you could have killed that man, you should have, but you didn’t. 

People like you are not made for this world, it will get you sooner or later. 

“Like you’d be able to do anything,” he murmurs under his breath as he steps out onto the porch and shuts the door behind him. 

“What was that?” You turn around to face him. 

“Nothing.” 

Steve brushes past you, not glancing at you but motioning with his hand for you to follow him, “c’mon.” He makes big steps, fast ones too, forcing you to catch up with him when he is already past the gate and out on the road, walking down the empty street, he ignores the way your footsteps get louder as you hurry to get to his side. 

“Jesus, slow down, cowboy.” 

Steve scrunches his nose up, furrowing his eyebrows at the nickname you have just called him by. 

“Cowboy?” He scoffs as he turns to look at you to see you nodding already, a small but smug smile on your lips, though you look right ahead and not at him. “Why, cowboy?” 

“You’re so grumpy and brooding.”

He scoffs again, like you said something crazy, like you didn’t say the truth. 

“Who says that cowboys are grumpy and brooding?” 

You shrug, “there’s two types of cowboys, the flirty funny ones and the grumpy, brooding ones!”

Steve looks away from you, shaking his head a little. He can’t fight you, knowing you’re right about one thing, he is grumpy. He no longer is the guy he was before all of this, this world that has changed him, and not for the better. He was forced to kill the boy in him when he realized how much he was hurting someone he once loved dearly, he became better, he became a good guy but that guy got his heart broken – that was for the better, as much as it hurt at that time, it was for the better. He became better, he stopped caring about what other people thought of him, he found new friends, he found a best friend, his soulmate. 

Robin.

Robin made his world a better place, she fixed his broken heart, she taught him what it was like to have a real friend, an actual best friend. She taught him that love didn’t always have to be romantic, that it could be platonic and that this love could be just as strong as any other. 

They had so many plans for the future: leave Hawkins, live in a big city, get a place, figure out a future together. 

But then this happened, the world got uglier than before, evil. Their plans got crushed and they were ripped apart. She changed and he did too, and now he can’t be with her whenever he wants, too many things are in the way. 

This world had forced him to kill the person he was before all this, he was forced to kill himself a second time. 

Steve looks back at you, you don’t seem fazed by this world at all. You’ve been attacked not too long ago and not even that has fazed you, he doesn’t know you, doesn’t know half of your story and all the things you have been through since the day the world had gone to shit but from what he heard, you have seen – encountered some ugly things out there and yet there is something about you, something pure, something… good, something he didn’t think was still out there but he can see it. 

He can see it in your eyes, no ounce of hatred resides in them, only goodness, hope that should not even be a thing in this world. You are the complete opposite of him, you are bright, so bright that it almost blinds him, you are all smiles and giggles – and you are so goddamn talkative. 

Thirty minutes into patrolling and he fears his ear might fall off from listening to you jumping from one topic to another. So far you have talked about all your favorite movies, bands and books, told him of a specific cowboy character that he reminds you of before saying how much he looks like Patrick Swayze or well, how much his hair looks like Patrick Swayze’s. 

You are chattering away, not minding the huffs and sighs that keep falling from his mouth, a signal for you to just shut up. He begins to regret his decision to let you stay. 

“I think I made a grave mistake.” He murmurs as he looks around the empty neighbourhood, looking out for any signs of monsters or sick ones. 

“What?”

“Nothing. Do you ever shut up?” 

To his surprise, you do shut up and for a moment the only thing heard are yours and his footsteps and the leaves rustling from the wind. With a heavy sigh, he turns to look at you. You are pressing your lips together, looking down at the asphalt. He turns away again in satisfaction, enjoying the silence… the silence that doesn’t last long. 

“You called the monster demobat before, what does that mean?”

He restrains his eye roll, tries not to clench his jaw. 

“Uh…” He pauses, he keeps forgetting that the world doesn’t call the monsters by the names the teens have given them. “Eddie is a fan of a game and he used a name from there to name them…” He cringes at himself. 

“Oh!” You say in that voice, the one that pisses him off, the cheerful one. “What game?”

“Dungeons and Dragons.” He replies, hoping that answer is satisfying enough and you finally give him some peace. 

“Do you play?” 

Steve sighs, tightening his hold on the rifle in his hands. It was a mistake to let you come with him, he hates talking, hates answering questions, hates company. 

“No.”

You furrow your eyebrows, tilting your head at him. 

“Why not?”

“I don’t have the patience to learn all of that,” he shrugs. 

“Why?” 

Steve takes a deep breath, he is getting irritated by all your questions but he still turns to you, scrunching his face up as he shrugs again, “I-I don’t know, I don’t wanna be a nerd like him?”

You raise your eyebrows, lips parting, your head is still tilted – you look like a fucking curious puppy, he has to look away. He almost sighs in relief when he sees the house at the end of the road. 

“It’s a nerd game?”

He huffs loudly, glaring at nothing in particular, “seriously, can you keep quiet for more than two seconds!?” He snaps at you, forcing you to be quiet… for a moment. 

He counts the seconds, one… two… You are quiet, it’s almost nice to enjoy the silence again, almost. 

He hears you taking a deep breath. 

“What was your job before the world ended? Cop?” 

Three seconds. Three fucking seconds. 

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs under his breath and he finally stops walking, looking up at the sky, he places his hands on his hips and takes a deep breath before he turns to face you. 

You halt in your tracks and turn to face him as well, taking in the sight of his deep frown, of the irritation in his hazel eyes and the annoyance that radiates right off him. You almost get nervous, almost. 

“What the fuck,” he grumbles at you, “are you always this talkative?” He asks, stunned. He will be forced to get used to this. 

“You don’t ask me anything, so I have to make conversation,” you shrug, pulling your hands up in front of you, “I haven’t had a good talk in months, I have pent up words.” 

And you chose him out of… three people – that is… he doesn’t know what to think of this. 

“Yeah, Eddie is the best choice for this, not me.” 

The frown on your face says otherwise, your eyes move up and down before they stop at his face again, he doesn’t know what you are exactly looking at or searching for but he needs you to stop. He shifts and huffs again, tapping his fingers against the rifle that he holds on for dear life. 

“But I want to talk to you.” 

He blinks, staring at you like he didn’t understand what you just said, he tries not to look at anything but your eyes.

“Horrible decision.” 

You break eye contact, looking away to take in the view around you, you sigh at his words and shrug before you continue walking, making him follow you this time. 

“I don’t think so.” You pause and look back over your shoulder to see if he is following. “Don’t you have any questions for me?”

“Uh…”

He does. 

But he won’t ask. He can’t. He just can’t, the less he knows the better. 

He looks down awkwardly, clearing his throat, “how old are you?” 

This time you scoff and shake your head at him, “seriously?” 

“What?” He frowns, looking up to see you staring at him with a confused pout – jesus christ. 

You sigh and roll your eyes, of course he asks the most boring question. 

"Twenty-two."

His eyes widen and his lips part – this might be the first other expression you see on his face other than the constant frown. He stares like you have grown two heads. 

“You’re a fucking year older than me!?” 

Oh. 

Oh… 

You didn’t expect to be older than him either, though you aren’t as surprised as he is, he looks shocked even. He stops walking again, you do too. 

“So… what about it…?” You ask quietly, lifting your shoulders.

Steve notices the unsure look on your face, the way your eyes move back and forth between his own and the ground, the way you cross your arms over your chest, like you are suddenly insecure.

He clears his throat, straightening up as he blinks himself out of his stupor. 

“I… nothing. Nevermind.” He retorts, ready to drop that topic. 

“No, tell me.” 

For some reason, he can’t look at you when he opens his mouth again. 

“You don’t act your age.”

“Oh?” Your voice is suddenly higher than before, hopeful, “do I act older?” 

He pulls his brows together, not looking at you yet, finding the ground beneath him very interesting all the sudden. 

“...Sure.” 

You don’t reply this time, don’t say anything to it, don’t ask any more questions, you simply turn around after a beat of silence, you start walking again, giving him your back. 

He counts the seconds, one… two… three. You give him the silence that he wanted this whole time. You don’t look at him either. He got what he wanted but when the awkwardness fills the space between you both, he suddenly feels a sliver of guilt rising up in him, he knows he must’ve hit a sore spot and he can’t help but kick himself for it. 

A part of him wants to apologize, the other wants him to stay quiet – the stronger side wins though. 

“I uh–”

Though you don’t give him the chance to keep going, you pick up your pace when you see Nancy on the porch, walking away from him quickly, not wanting to spend another second beside him. 

He watches you basically flee from him, it makes him sigh and it makes him halt in his tracks. Frustration bubbling up inside of him, a voice in his head calling him ‘dumbass’. He sighs softly, brings his hand up to his head, he runs his fingers through it nervously. 

He hit a sore spot, one that made you stop talking to him, one that prevented him from finding out more about you. 

It’s for the better. 

Yeah, he knows it’s for the better. 

-

Eddie cooked dinner and Nancy set the table tonight, neither of them noticed the lack of attention you were giving to the man sitting across from you or how he kept looking at you, not with hatred or anger in his eyes but with guilt. 

He hates that feeling, he hates feeling guilt or regret towards someone he barely knows, towards someone he does not want to let in. He knows that he hurt you with what he said, with how he reacted, he didn’t mean to, he couldn’t have known either – he didn’t react badly, he thought, and yet it shut you up and it made you stop looking at him. 

It’s for the better. He kept telling that to himself, kept repeating it in his head, over and over again until he could no longer stand these words. 

He notices that your plate is still filled with food, you only ate half of it. The whole time you sat there and pushed around the vegetables on your plate, you looked a little lost, your eyes were troubled, you looked far gone, like you weren’t at the table. Nancy and Eddie didn’t notice as they were busy talking about some news Dustin had shared from the radio station earlier. 

“You’re gonna like Dustin,” Eddie says, nudging your shoulder. 

Steve watches the way you blink, the way you plaster a smile on your face before you look at Eddie. 

Nancy hums, nodding, “yeah, he was always my favorite out of my brother’s friends.” 

You squint your eyes, like you are trying to remember something, “your brother is… Mike, right?” 

“Yeah, hold on!” She gets up all the sudden, walking away from the table and out of the room, she comes back a moment later with a book in her hand – a photo album. She sits back down beside you and pushes away her empty plate before she slams the album on the table and opens it, flipping the pages, she furrows her eyebrows as she looks for a certain picture, “wait… there it is!” 

She points at the picture of a group of four boys, dressed in Ghostbusters costumes. A smile instantly appears on your face and your eyes light up, “aw! They’re little Ghostbusters!” 

Eddie chuckles at the picture, even Steve smiles but you don’t notice. 

“That’s Mike,” she points at her brother, before she moves her finger to the boys next to him, “that’s Will and Lucas, and lastly that is Dustin!” She points at the curly haired boy. 

“Adorable,” you smile, thinking of your own brother. “My brother loves Ghostbusters too, although he’s way older than they are.” You chuckle. 

Steve’s eyes are back on you, he didn’t know you had a brother… but then again, he doesn’t know anything about you. It’s for the better. 

“Well, that was a few years back, they’re not the tiny humans they used to be,” Nancy laughs sadly. She flips to the next page, “that’s them now – or well, that was them before the world went to shit, I’m sure Mike is even taller now and his hair is longer too.”

The picture shows them at a skatepark, Dustin is grinning into the camera, Mike’s arms are crossed, a grumpy look resting on his face, Will is smiling, Lucas is looking down at the girl leaning into his side. 

“That’s Max,” Eddie points at the redhead, “she’s kinda scary.” 

You giggle at the serious tone in his voice. 

“I have to agree with that.” Steve snorts, earning a short glance from you. He pulls his sleeves up and leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Your eyes lock with his for a moment, though you quickly look back down.

There is another picture of Mike and Dustin, both of them wearing the same shirt – The Hellfire Club. 

“What’s that?” You point at their matching shirts to which Eddie straightens up in his seat, already grinning. 

Nancy and Steve groan at him, causing you to frown. 

“I’m glad you asked, sweetheart.” He pauses, looking at Steve smugly. 

“That was his nerdy game club that I told you about before,” he rolls his eyes. 

“You didn’t tell me he had a club!” 

“Shame on you, Harrington. It was the best thing to ever exist beside Corroded Coffin, of course.” 

You know all about Eddie’s band already, he told you about it on your first night here, and showed you pictures of his sweetheart. 

“I beg to differ–”

Nancy sighs loudly beside you, leaning back in her chair as she prepares herself for their banter. 

“Dustin, my buddy, was very passionate about the club.” Eddie grins. 

“Oh yeah, that little nerd you stole from me?” Steve retorts, squinting his eyes at the metalhead. 

“I didn’t steal him, I’m just cooler than you, Harrington–”

“You– You literally play a boardgame, how is that cool? I was prom king!” 

“Oh my god,” Nancy mumbles, shaking her head. 

Her reaction tells you that she is used to this, and sick of it. 

You though, you can’t help but be amused, looking back and forth between them. 

“Cry me a river, Henderson thinks I’m better, in fact, all teens do.” Eddie shrugs and reaches for his beer. 

“Except Lucas,” Steve smirks. 

Eddie nearly chokes on his beer when he straightens up in his seat, “I apologized!” 

Steve shrugs at him this time, taking a sip of the whiskey he poured himself earlier. 

“What about you, sweets?” Eddie asks, turning to look at you, “what did you do in high school?”

Nancy turns to you, as well as Steve – and suddenly all eyes are on you and you can’t help but feel a little flustered beneath their gazes. 

“I uh… I was prom queen…” You admit shyly, not looking at the hazel eyes that stare at you intensely.

Eddie’s eyes widen, “oh, we have royalty up in here, Wheeler.” 

Nancy giggles at his reaction, more so at the look on your face. She’s not surprised, you’re beautiful and sweet. 

“You were prom queen?” 

Out of the three people around you, you least expected him to ask you anything, but just like before, the tone in his voice, his reaction leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You slowly look up at him. 

“You sound surprised and I’m kinda offended. Am I that ugly?” you joke but he notices how your shoulders fall a little. 

His cheeks heat up and he wants nothing more than to roll his eyes at Nancy’s and Eddie’s judging faces towards him. He shakes his head at you, “I– no, I didn’t mean that… I mean it’s not all about looks anyways.” 

You purse your lips and furrow your eyebrows at his words, taking a deep breath, “...so I am ugly?”

Nancy huffs beside you, glaring daggers into Steve. 

“I didn’t say that, I’m just saying that apart from looks… people vote for nice people,” he mumbles, shifting in his seat and under your gaze. 

Nancy is back to pinching the bridge of her nose, begging him with her eyes to just shut up. 

If only you looked to your right, you would have seen the stunned and comical look on Eddie’s face. 

“So you’re saying I’m nice?” You tilt your head at Steve, growing a little satisfied with the way he is squirming around. 

He sighs, clenching his jaw and turns away from you, “I’m done with this conversation.” 

“...You were a fucking asshole in high school. You got prom king because Billy was a bigger asshole.” 

“Were?” You blurt out, making him look back at you stunned. 

Nancy hides her giggle with a cough, earning a glare from him. 

“He redeemed himself at Scoops Ahoy,” Eddie smirks, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Scoops Ahoy?” 

Steve shakes his head at him, if looks could kill, Eddie would be lying on the floor, right now. 

“Mhmm,” Eddie nods. “He was an ice cream man, and wore a sailor outfit too.” 

“Wait, what?” You ask, stunned. You can’t even imagine that. “I refuse to picture him in a silly sailor outfit, I need proof or else I won’t believe it.” 

“Too bad. Every picture of me in that outfit is burned.” Steve declares, looking very convinced until he sees the smirk on Nancy’s face.

He clears his throat before he leans closer to the table, “Nancy Wheeler… do you have a fucking picture–”

“No, I was just smiling,” she shrugs but pulls out two pictures from the album and hands them to you, giving him a smug smile.

“No way,” you mumble as you take a good look at them. There he is, the man you thought had a serious job before all of this actually worked at an ice cream shop, wearing a sailor outfit, in the first picture he even wears a silly hat as he serves ice cream to someone not part of the picture. His hair was much shorter back then, so different from the mullet he now has. His eyes are crinkled, his smile so big and bright, his cheeks slightly pink, unlike the pale color in them now. He looked so different, he looked happy, he looked like a different person. 

You glance over at him to find him staring at you already, watching you. His hazel eyes are cold, the frown on his face so deep you are surprised there aren’t any lines on his skin yet, the light in his eyes has faded. There is nothing left of the guy he was before, at least at first glance. 

You look back down and focus on the second picture, placing it on top of the other – it turns out to be a mistake because for some reason, your eyes like what they see, a little too much. With his hands behind his back, he stands against a brick wall, wearing the same sailor outfit, though this time without the hat, his hair styled yet messy, a hint of a smile pulling at his lips. You don’t know what it is about that picture, perhaps it’s his broad shoulders, the blonde highlights in his hair, the tanned skin or the way the golden light shines on him but he looks handsome – it’s something you haven’t noticed before, you aren’t blind, he is a good looking man but you couldn’t really see it before, not this clearly at least. His rude and mean attitude made it impossible to see, you couldn’t look past it. 

Your cheeks heat up a little, your ears do too, you sink deeper into your seat, hoping that none of them notice how flustered you feel. 

But Eddie does, he notices the way your eyes are basically glued to that picture, Nancy notices as well – they both glance at each other, amused. And Steve, he notices too, of course he does… The Steve from back then would have loved it, the flustered look on your face. 

As you hold the picture, you notice that the sides are frazzled, like a part is missing, like something or someone was cut out of both pictures. You look over them, taking a look at all the pictures lying around, of the teenagers, of other people you haven’t anything about yet, of Nancy’s family, of Eddie and Dustin and it only now dawns on you, that you stepped into something, that these people haven’t found each other in this world but in the one before – a tight circle, a family. 

A family you don’t belong in, you intruded – and now even more than before, you understand why Steve didn’t want you here, it wasn’t only about him not trusting you, it was about you stepping into something he didn’t want you to be a part of. 

This is his place of comfort that he didn’t want to share with a stranger. 

You hand the picture back to Nancy and reach for the wine Eddie had poured for you earlier, you take a big sip. 

Maybe you should have left when he told you to, maybe you should have done him a favor, you shouldn’t have broken into someone else’s home. 

“Is your brother older or younger?”

It wasn’t Nancy’s voice, nor was it Eddie’s.

It’s Steve’s. 

Not only do you look at him in surprise but also Nancy and Eddie. He ignores them though, keeping his eyes on you. 

You blink, putting the wine glass back down, you lick your lips. 

“Uh… he is older, he’s twenty four.” 

“Is he with your parents?” Nancy asks. 

You nod. 

“Yeah, he was home from college when it all… started. That idiot broke his leg during lacrosse, I don’t know why he kept trying with it, he was never the most athletic,” you chuckle. 

“Yeah, me neither. I always hated anything sport related,” Eddie says with wide eyes, earning a snort from Steve. 

“You’d get along well, he’s a major nerd.”

“Are you calling me a nerd, sweetheart?” Eddie pretends to be offended. 

“Uh,” you look him up and down, “yeah, major nerd just like my brother.”  

He nudges your side with his elbow, chuckling at the look on your face. 

Steve hides the smile on his face, looking down at his hands. 

“I’m hoping to get home, see a big gate surrounding my house, and I bet that asshole has a semi-automatic somewhere and is pretending to be in a zombie movie or something,” you chuckle. “He always dragged dad and me to the theater and forced us to watch the goriest shit. I used to hate it, now I want it back more than anything.” 

“Hey,” Eddie says softly, smiling at you. “Maybe you’ll do it again someday, maybe not at the theater but you could do movie nights with your family.” 

And his smile slowly fades again, he doubts that you will see your family again, he doubts that you’ll find them how you want to. He thinks it’s wrong of Eddie to fuel your hope, he is doing more damage than anything else and it’s gonna hurt even more when you find your family dead. 

There is no hope for anything or anyone in this world, it’s a foolish thing to have. 

You shrug, a smile on your face as you get up from the table to rush upstairs. Everyone just sits there wide eyed, looking at each other, hearing how there’s some stumping and then, something falling, and then you are cursing. Two seconds later you are coming back downstairs with something in your hands.

“This is my family.” You put the polaroids on the table, the ones you took back to camp so you would not miss your family so much. “That’s my mom, my dad, and the idiot of my brother.” 

They all grab a picture each. Eddie’s picture was of the four of you smiling while camping. Nancy’s was a picture of a family trip to the grand canyon, but Steve’s picture was something that made his heart shrink for some reason. The four of you were laughing, surrounding a christmas tree. You were younger, probably a teen, and it made him think of how now your personality made sense. 

You were never shown anything but love. Something he never experienced from his own family. He was slightly jealous at your picture, and he knew you were the only one between the four of you that had a normal and loving family. Nancy’s parents didn’t seem to love one another, Eddie’s father was an abusive asshole that ended up in jail and his mother passed away, and then there was Steve. Even with the apocalypse happening, his parents didn’t even care to find him. Find out if he was dead or not.

His eyes moved upwards to find you looking at him, and he wondered why you had a frown on your face. It wasn’t a second later that he felt his eyes burning and you could see the glistening of tears forming. He can’t cry. It’s stupid to cry about his family now. It’s stupid to cry about something he knew all along. It’s stupid to cry over people that he knew never cared for him.

“Your brother looks like Eddie.” Nancy suddenly speaks, making him look at her as well as you and Eddie. The metalhead tilts his head as he grabs Nancy’s picture and– 

“Ha, ha, very funny.” Sure, it was a picture of you four in the grand canyon, but it was your dad’s birthday, and your dad has a fear of pigs. Your brother had the greatest idea to put a pig's head over his head for the picture, and your dad was simply screaming bloody murder while you and your mom laughed.

“I mean, my brother doesn’t play that game you do, but he is a fan of star wars, and he read a lot of books! He liked one called The Hobbit?” Nancy and Steve groaned loudly at your words, which made you confused for just a few seconds and then you realized your mistake when Eddie was talking your ear off about why your brother was so cool, and the reason for that was because the plot for the hobbit was incredible.

And he explained it bit by bit and you didn’t know how to escape him. He was still talking about it like a kid on christmas as Nancy and Steve started washing the dishes, and you wanted to hit yourself for your big mouth. In all fairness, you didn’t know Eddie was gonna get as excited as he did.

“Anyways, what matters is, your brother is cool, so is Dustin and the other teens and Steve sucks.” At the sudden insult, Steve turns around with his hands covered in soap.

“What?” Eddie opened his mouth to probably repeat his words, only for Steve to shake his hands on his face, making the soap fly all around as well as water, and getting into Eddie’s mouth.

“GOD–” He screeched loudly as he got up from the table, rushing towards the sink to try to wash his tongue with the water while Nancy screamed at him to not waste it. Steve was smirking and all you could do was just stare at him. He was being playful. He was being more than the grumpy self he claimed to be with you. You started laughing loudly when Eddie insulted Steve with his tongue out, trying to not taste the soap anymore.

Steve shrugged as he wiped his hands away, turning to look at you doubling over in laughter and it made him feel less guilty for his actions of before. You weren’t immature. Your world was just always filled with love and affirmations, and you just wanted people to feel the same exact way you felt. It was a lost cause for him, but he felt good for making you laugh like this. It’s been a while since he made someone laugh.

It’s a good sound.

☀︎

taglist: @prettyboyeddiemunson @thecreelhouse @tvserie-s-world @thesickestqrmydcll @crispystarfishhottub @sophal22 @definitionwanderlust @talkativecarnation @mysticalwoolenfroglegs @ariesandwolves @mortqlprojections @sattlersquarry

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Strings

Summary: The reader's been assigned to watch over Dory Shaw when she runs into trouble. But when her big brother, Colter, shows up in town, things in the case are about to take a dramatic turn...

Pairing: Colter Shaw x reader

Word Count: 5,100ish

Warnings: language, serial killers, drugging, smidge of violence, innuendoes galore, not so implied smutty times

A/N: Welcome to my first ever Colter one shot! Please enjoy and let me know what you think and if you want more Colter! 😊

________

“So that’s the brother that does the reward thing you told me about?” Dory hummed beside you at your hightop, smirking at you. “What?”

“Nothing. You’ve only been drooling over him the past hour.” She gave her brother a wave from where he was getting the three of you refills at the bar. You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Defensive pose. I must be totally wrong, hm?”

“So what if he’s hot? I wasn’t drooling.” She shuddered. “You have hot brothers, Dory. Live with it. It’s a shame how you turned out. Your poor parents.”

“Screw you,” she said, flipping you off with a smile. You only grinned, stealing one of the cold fries from the basket before you. “I thought you swore off men anyways.”

“I swore off boys. Douchebags that don’t want commitment. Men? Men, I’m okay with.”

“Ain’t that the fucking truth,” she said, Colter wearing a pleasant smile as he returned with three bottles. 

“Ladies,” he said, setting one down in front of each of you before taking a seat. 

“So how long are you-” Dory groaned when he phone started to buzz. “Oh, come on. It’s fucking Hendricks.”

“Yikes,” you said, taking a sip as Colter frowned.

“Who’s Hendricks?” he asked, Dory answering and walking away to a quiet corner of the bar.

“The department chair. They’ve been having a problem with one of the professors and keep asking Dory to cover his night classes last minute,” you said. Colter frowned, keeping his thoughts to himself. Slowly you brought the lips of your ice cold bottle to your lips, taking a baby sip, Colter’s gaze on Dory’s agitated form. “What did you study in college?”

“I never went,” he said, Dory approaching again with her phone by her side. She gave you a look. She had to go. Colter picked up on it as she faced him, an apology in her eyes. He only softly returned a smile, hiding his disappointment well. “Go to work. I can stick around town a few days.”

“Really?” she asked, her voice so young sounding, a little girl’s spark in her eyes. 

“Of course, kiddo,” he said, handing her the black bag on the table belonging to her. “We’ll get dinner at your place tomorrow.”

“You’re serious? You’re not going to run off in the night?” He shook his head, hiding the flash of pain on his face. Dory only smiled, pecking a kiss on his temple. “Alright, I’ll text you later. Oh, and Y/N totally thinks you’re hot. Have fun!”

“Dorian!” you screeched at her as she happily scurried away, heading out the bar entrance. Your face felt hot as you turned back to Colter, he eyes suddenly narrowed. “Uh, she was just joking-”

“You have five seconds to explain who you are and why that man by the door followed her out. Five. Four,” he said, already getting to his feet. “Three-”

“Protective custody,” you grit out. Colter took two steps to be by your side, leaning down to your ear.

“How many are covering her?”

“Three at all times. One of us is always by her side. That call was a cover. She has to go into the agency for a debrief,” you said quietly. You felt his hot breath over the back of your neck, your skin prickling. “Back off, Shaw.”

“You’re going to tell me what’s going on, right now.” You growled, pushing out your seat and standing, forcing him to take a step back, if only so. 

“Not here.” You left without waiting for him, Colter right on your heels though. You stopped by your SUV in the parking lot, Colter crossing his arms. With a sigh, you put your hands on your hips. “You’re not going to let this go, are you.”

“The only reason I didn’t storm out after Dory is because I believe you. Now what is my kid sister involved in?” You shook your head, Colter tilting his own back. “I will not interfere but you need to tell me. Or else, I’ll go poking on my own and then I very well might end up interfering which you don’t want. Talk.”

“You would never risk putting her in danger so no, you won’t do anything. You are going to get in your truck, go sleep in your camper and tomorrow, hang out with your sister and me, her old friend from college that’s visiting until further notice. Got it?” you snapped. He looked you up and down, searching for a weapon maybe? He’d never find the small pistol in the back of your waistband though. “Shaw, I told you to go.”

“You need to be better at your job,” he said, reaching around his back and pulling our a small pistol. Your small pistol. Your hand shot to your back, now feeling very flat. 

“How-”

“I distracted you in the bar.” He flipped the gun around, holding the grip out to you. “I’m sure you know all about our family. If someone is after her, I can find them. You know I can.”

“You think you can do a better job than the FBI?” you scoffed, taking your weapon back. He shrugged. It was maybe a sliver of cocky but you knew he had the record to back it up. 

“I think if you don’t find this guy soon, the case will go cold and the FBI will not waste so many agents time. You’ve probably got what, a team of seven people covering her?”

“Four now,” you mumbled, his eyes flashing wide for a brief moment. “Maybe a few agents have been pulled the past few days but we wouldn’t leave her to fend for herself.”

“How long before that team drops to two? To one? Before they force her into witness protection or this bastard finds her first?” You tucked your gun away, Colter tilting his head to the side. “You know what’s going to happen? You’re going to be the last agent left and either you both get killed, you do and she goes into witness protection or she does and you have to live with the fact you failed her. You seem capable of defending her but if this person is as dangerous as you make it seem, you are going to need all the help you can get.”

“Go to your camper,” you said, opening the drivers door, Colter making a face. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“Cozy,” you said, stepping into the airstream forty minutes later. You’d changed into a pair of jeans and an oversized hoodie from college. Colter pouted from the kitchenette area, nodding to the table. You tucked yourself in along with your backpack, tugging out your laptop and files before he set a beer down in front of you. “I ordered us a pizza. Should be here soon. You’re paying.”

“Of course I am,” he said, taking the seat across, spinning your folders around and opening one as you got your computer booted up. He barely glanced at the thing before you felt his heated stare. You met it quickly, Colter pointing a finger to a picture on the page. “A suspected serial killer? Seriously?”

“She saw him drug a woman at a bar. Gave a good description to locals, it flagged in our system. Two days later, someone broke into her house. Luckily for your sister, she was covering a lecture that night and wasn’t home.” He ran a hand over his face, closing his eyes. “I know. She’s his next target. Good news is we know what he looks like and have a name. Bad news-”

“Twelve years and he hasn’t been caught?” said Colter. He grabbed his beer, tightening his grip around it but not drinking. Yet. He steadied himself, breathing deeply. “When do you lose sight of him normally?”

“He’s not shy. After a kill, he sticks around the area for a day or so. We get footage of him at coffee shops, stores. We’ll track him to bus stations and then we lose him.”

“He doesn’t take the bus?” You shook your head. Colter pursed his lips, flipping through the pages of your files. “You think he changes appearance in station bathrooms and sneaks out with the crowd?”

“That is the agency’s working theory,” you said, Colter giving you his attention. You were no stranger to working under scrutiny but his intense stare made you feel like you were back in the academy on your first day.

“You disagree with that.” You nodded, turning your computer around, his eyes darting around the screen, pondering the data. “Huh. You think he uses the station as a cover and heads into the sewer system through maintenance.”

“I have…been told this is impossible and there’s no way he has done this in eleven separate cities and no one has been the wiser.” You took the computer back, Colter flipping up a page. “It doesn’t matter. We need-”

“It does and I agree with you. He always goes into the station wearing gray trousers, black boots and a black hoodie. That could easily be covering a maintenance jumpsuit that he uses to gain access and then escape without watchful eyes.”

“But it tells us nothing about where he might be now,” you said. Colter smirked, finally taking a sip of his beer. “I know what you’re thinking but countless stores sell basic jumpsuits.”

“You’re right. But if I were him, I wouldn’t want to get behind the wheel of a car smelling like crap while I get out of town. Now this guy is tall, right? He’s not going to want to walk more than a few miles at most hunched over in a sewer. Let me see your computer.” 

You slid it over, Colter pulling up a map of the city, dropping a pin on the bus station. He typed something and then his phone was ringing, Colter muttering something to someone named Bobby before he hung up. A few seconds passed before he smiled, turning it back to you, a giant red circle on the screen.

“People would notice if a guy came in stinking to a hotel or motel. My best bet, he has a hideaway somewhere in that perimeter. My guy is looking into foreclosures, rentals, abandoned properties. We’ll hear back soon.”

“You could be wrong. You’re making a pretty big assumption based on the fact the guy wouldn’t want to sit in his own stench.” Colter shrugged, holding up his hands.

“I might be. Or I might be right. What’s the harm in looking?” You sat back, crossing your arms, glancing out his wide back window to the darkness beyond.

“I’m meant to be Dory’s handler. I sleep in her house, I am by her side almost twenty four seven. I cannot spend time kicking down doors and I won’t be able to get my boss to approve more field agents to go off on a wild goose chase.” Colter cocked his head, licking his lips. “What?”

“You already figured all this shit out about the perimeter on your own,” he said, leaning forward. You sighed, Colter shaking his head. “They turned you down when you brought it up.”

“Like I said, I’ve been told it’s impossible.” You grabbed your beer, picking at the paper label. “I was the junior lead on the case. I was demoted to protective services when I presented my idea. I was told it was childish and clearly I was not ready for difficult case work. If I go off on my own and they find out, I’m fired.”

“Then we won’t let them find out,” he said. “I have an idea.”

“Well that was mortifying,” you said twenty minutes later after hanging up the phone, Colter smirking from the drivers seat. “Oh, shut up. It was your shitty idea.”

“They seem to have bought it,” he said, still smiling as you glared. “You do this thing with your nose when you get embarrassed.”

You flipped him off, Colter chuckling before heading down the road out of the parking lot and towards the perimeter circle form the bus station. 

“I can’t believe I asked for a night off for a fake date with you,” you mumbled, pressing your fingers to your temple and rubbing.

“Well you were drooling over me at the bar and your little agent friend and Dory seeing it certainly helped.” You smacked his arm, Colter feigning pain. 

“First off, I did not drool. Second, you are objectively attractive and I allowed to appreciate good looking men. Third, you are lucky I’m overworked and my boss was happy I’m taking some time off to recharge.”

“I’m pretty sure I heard your partner say they wished you a happy trip to pound town tonight.” You growled audibly, Colter laughing to himself. 

“One more word and I will arrest you, Shaw,” you said. He held up his hands, that stupid smile still on his face. “Don’t be cocky.”

“Interesting choice of words.” 

“Someone kill me now,” you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest, your vest heavy underneath your hoodie.

“Seriously though, thank you for doing this with me. It’s a lot safer having backup,” he said. You nodded, knowing fully well that if you did find your killer, tonight was most likely your last night as an agent.

“Yeah well…I’m only letting you do this because Dory told us all about how you were raised. You can handle yourself if it comes down to it.” The air was quiet, the jovialness slipping away with a single breath.

“I’m sorry you were laughed out of the room,” he said, turning down a quiet street. “We might not be right but it’s worth investigating.”

“They were looking for any excuse to move me down the ladder after my boss’ son started in the office. He took my old job the little shit,” you said. “Straight out of the academy, never even seen a dead body and he’s working a damn serial killer case.”

“I see you hold no resentment,” he said. You rolled your eyes, Colter clearing his throat. “For what it’s worth, I’d rather have the woman that gives more of a shit about my sister than her job than have the nepo baby ridin’ shotgun.”

“So you know I’ll probably lose my job tonight,” you said, Colter humming. “I won’t if we don’t find the guy.”

“We both know odds are good we’ll find him,” he said, sparing you a look when you stopped a red. He had a look of…softness, a sad smile there. “Thank you for protecting her.”

“Well, at least I won’t have to look at nepo baby’s stupid face anymore. He looks like a smug little prick,” you said. 

“Is he good looking?”

“God no. Ugly as sin like his dad.” Colter chuckled, a quiet one leaving your lips.

“Looks like you got an upgrade then,” he said. “Even if you do drool.”

“Just shut up and drive, Shaw.”

Three hours and twenty eight minutes later, you were staring at the ceiling of a rental house, blood dripping down from your temple from where you’d been pistol whipped in the face. Your body told you to make sound, move, call out for Colter who was at the front of the house. But your lungs weren’t working, the breath knocked out of you.

A dark shadow leered down at you, his eyes narrowed.

“Little miss roommate,” he said, squatting down, pushing the gun that’d fallen from your hands away. He cocked his head, resting a hand over your throat, stopping you from getting the air you desperately needed. He squeezed harder, pushing up your hoodie with the other one, tsking when he saw your vest. “Come on, sweetie. Look at me. Get a real good look at me, Y/N.”

He let you get a rush of air in your lungs as your eyes drifted over. The man looked slightly off somehow as he reached behind his neck. There was a sound of rubber as a synthetic mask was ripped off, a sweaty face appearing underneath that made your eyes go wide. He spun the mask around before setting it down beside him, fixing his hair as he applied more pressure again.

“I know you have questions,” he tutted, patting your face as you squeezed his wrist. “Come on, really?”

 Something sharp pricked your shoulder, a syringe pulled back as you felt your limbs get heavy. He backed off with choking you at least when all you could do was manage a limp grasp of him. 

“That’s better,” he said. “So I-”

He went down the ground hard, Colter standing over his prone form, eyes shooting to you. “He stabbed you with a sedative because this sick fuck likes his victims to be awake. You should be okay.”

“Nepo baby,” you mumbled, Colter tilting his head like he heard you wrong. “Him. Nepo baby.”

Colter got him restrained and tied to a nearby radiator before helping you sit up against the wall. He was shoving a cup of coffee in your hand by the time your attacker was waking up, your body heavy but a few sips of the scalding hot liquid had you feeling a tiny bit better.

“Good morning,” said Colter, his voice way, way darker than you thought it could go. Franklin was fully awake now and staring at you. “I interrupted your monologue before. How rude of me. Continue.”

“I ain’t saying shit-” he said, cutting himself off when Colter pressed the cold barrel of his gun right in Franklin’s crotch. 

“It probably won’t kill you but you’re going to think of me every time you take a piss the rest of your life. So, I’d take a second and really think about the next words out of your mouth because you’ve tried to kill my sister and you’ve tried to kill my friend over there and I am more than happy to pull this trigger if you don’t tell us everything. Now.”

Franklin slammed his head back against the wall, muttering curses to himself.

“His name is Franklin,” you said, forcing yourself to chug back the coffee.

“Franklin,” sang song Colter, his hand grasping Franklin’s chin. “You have three seconds before I start shooting off body parts. Three. Two-”

“I did it! All of it. My dad found out and…”

“Fuck. He protected you,” you spit out. 

“You figured out where I hid so he made you a laughing stock, got you demoted for being crazy. We knew we had to get rid of you so we…set up a failed job. I picked the blonde girl cause I thought she was pretty-”

Colter pressed his gun down hard, Franklin making a guttural sound in response.

“Keep talking,” Colter snarled. Franklin caught his breath, closing his eyes.

“He put you on protective detail and I was going to lay low until he pulled the whole detail except for you and the blonde girl. I was going to make it look like I got the jump on you before I played with the blonde…and you…before I…” he trailed off.

“Play with the blonde? With Y/N?” growled Colter. “That’s my baby sister. That’s my friend.”

“Walk away, Colter,” you said, forcing yourself to your feet. You swiped the gun from his hand and sat down in a nearby chair, aimed at Franklin. Colter didn’t move though, his body like solid steel. “Colter.”

He forced himself away, breathing hard and putting his back to Franklin. You imagined you looked like shit. Your head was pounding and you felt like going to sleep and running a marathon at the same time.

“I want you to call my old partner, Denny Piplin. Tell him everything. He has friends in high places and will make sure a trusted agent is watching Dory when shit goes down in that office.” You handed him your phone, Colter’s eyes darting around your face. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” he said, taking the phone. After a moment, his jacket was pressed against your head, his strong hand holding it there as he flipped through your phone contacts. “You need a hospital.”

“I’ll go when this bastard is behind bars,” you said, lifting your chin at Franklin. “And you over there? You don’t make a sound, move a muscle, or else I give him back the gun and let him do whatever the hell he wants with it.”

You swore Franklin didn’t move a millimeter for the next hour while you waited for agents to arrive. An ambulance showed up as they escorted him out to the back of a car, driven away to the field office most likely. You got lucky and your cut looked worse than it was thankfully.

“Hey,” said Colter, taking a seat next to you on the front steps of the house. 

“Hey,” you said, holding an icepack to your head. He shifted and you felt his fingers brush yours, holding the pack in place for you so you could lower you arm. You sleepily smiled at him, Colter returning it. “Were you really going to shoot his balls and dick off?”

“Would you think less of me if the answer was yes?” You shook your head, resting it against his shoulder. “How long until the sedative wears off?”

“A few hours they think. How’s Dory?”

“Fine. She’s back home. Some agents are going to spend the night with her. You old partner picked them himself.”

“Good. Denny’s a good guy,” you said, shivering when a gust of wind caught you. Colter shrugged out of his only slightly bloody jacket, wrapping it around your shoulders. “You were laying it on kind of thick in there with the ‘you hurt my friend’ schtick, you know.”

“It wasn’t a schtick. He was going to do vile things to you too. That pissed me off.” 

“Still, you didn’t have to…” you stopped talking when he sat you upright, his eyes darting to your lips.

“There you go, doing that thing with your nose again,” he said, cupping your cheek. “You deserve to protected too, even if you are a badass, got it?”

You nodded, Colter smiling. “Good girl.”

“You think just because you saved me, you get to kiss me?”

“No, I think I get to kiss you because you think I’m objectively attractive.” 

“Shut up, Shaw,” you said, brushing your lips against his as you heard a squeal nearby that made you both flinch.

“Aha! I so knew you two were into each other!” said Dory, suddenly standing there with Denny trailing behind. “You guys were so eye fucking each other at the bar.”

“Dorian,” groaned Colter as Denny shook his head and came over, giving you a big hug.

“She’s right, he is cute,” he chuckled, earning a slap on the back from you. “What’d I tell you when I retired? Stay out of trouble. What’d you go and do?”

“It wasn’t my fault I’m smart,” you said, a wave of fatigue rolling over you. Colter placed a hand on your back when you wobbled. 

“We need to get her somewhere she can sleep this off,” he said.

“Come on kid, the guest room is all made up.” You were about to protest that he should stay with Dory when Denny cut you off. “I’m sure Colter can handle it. You can see them in the morning.”

“Fine,” you grumbled, both men helping you stand and over to Denny’s truck. They shared a word in private after getting you inside, your eyes drifting shut now that you were in the nice warm cabin.

“Y/N,” said Denny with the thud of a car door. You hummed, not bothering to even look at him. “You need anything?”

“I wouldn’t say no to food truck tacos before I pass out,” you said. 

“That’s my old partner,” he chuckled. “Let’s get you some dinner.”

Two Days Later

“Hey,” you said when Colter pulled up outside Denny’s place in his truck. Between countless meetings at the office, you hadn’t been able to catch up with him and Dory yet. You didn’t miss the way your stomach did a small flutter at seeing him again.

“Y/N,” he said with a subtle smile, walking around the truck, stopping where you were washing your dirt bike at the end of the driveway. “You trail ride?”

“Denny got me into it when I first got paired up with him years ago. He let’s me keep my gear in his garage. I think I might take a trip, hit some trails I always wanted to.” Colter nodded, biting his bottom lip. “Dory told you I quit?”

“Yeah. Not that I blame you,” he said. You wiped off the frame with a towel, Colter picking up the spare nearby and getting the wheel spokes for you. “I was thinking of heading over towards Park City.”

“For a job?” you asked. 

“Play,” he said, standing and handing you the towel. He shoved his hands in his jean pockets, cocking his head and doing that little shrug again. “I’m pretty decent at mountain biking myself you know.”

“Oh, are you?” you said, crossing your arms.

“He’s flirting, moron,” said Denny as he passed you on the way to the mailbox. You shot him your best bitch face, Colter stifling a laugh as Denny returned with a package and some mail in hand. “She’d love to go.”

“Denny! He could be a serial killer!” Denny ignored you, looking over Colter. 

“She’s never been good with boys you have to understand. Always ends up with duds,” he said, Colter nodding with a smirk. “Little bit of a workaholic this one. Probably a good fit for you though. Take her on one of those reward jobs when you two are done with the mountains.”

“Angela!” you shouted, Denny’s wife popping her head up where she worked in the flowerbed by the front of your house.

“Oh he has a point, honey. You are awful with men.” 

“I should have let Franklin kill me,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. Denny dodged your attempt at smacking his arm, laughing as he ran back towards the house. Your face was hot when you found Colter’s cheeky smile. “Let me guess. I’m doing the thing with my nose again.”

“So what if you are?” he teased, looking down at your bike, nodding his head. “If it makes you feel better, I’m pretty awful with women too.”

“I imagine it’s hard to do the relationship thing with a job like yours.” 

“Yeah,” he said quietly, pursing his lips. “We could just…go have some fun for a week. No strings.”

“Is that what you want? No strings?” you asked. For the first time, you noticed a small flush to his cheekbones, his eyes intense as they met yours. “So you can get flustered. Good to know.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, hiding his shyness behind a cocky smile. 

“Answer the question, Shaw.” He looked up and then over your head.

“I wouldn’t…mind strings…with the right person if that makes sense.” 

“You two can take down a serial killer but you can’t ask each other out? No wonder your generation is screwed,” said Denny, going past again with a dirty car mat in hand. 

“You, quiet,” you said, pointing at him when he flipped you off. “You, Shaw. Park City. Whoever gets down the mountain fastest pays for dinner. Then you take me a reward job and by the end of all that, I think we’ll know how we want things to proceed, got it?”

“Yes ma'am.”

Two Weeks Later

“What are you giggling at?” you asked Colter. He chuckled underneath you in the airstream bed, his arm tightening over your waist. “Are you a giggly cuddler? Is this what I’m discovering?”

“I’m just thinking Dory’s never going to let us live this down when we tell her,” he said, pushing down the sheet on your back to trace up and down your exposed spine.

“I know,” you sighed. “How will she ever live with the fact you’re slow as fuck down a mountain?”

He gently smacked your ass, pointing a finger when you grinned. “You cheated.”

“You’re a sore loser,” you said, his hand brushing the hair out of your face, thumbing over your mostly healed mark on your temple. Your chin rested on his chest, Colter continuing to stroke over the faded scar. “If you’re thinking of telling Dory about us, does that mean you want me to stay?”

“I like the strings,” he said quietly, his warm hands traveling up and down the sides of your body. “This is what it’s like. A job, downtime, a job, downtime. S’all I know.”

“I get that,” you said, lowering your eyes to his chest. “It’s easy to get wrapped up in the job and forget to have a life.”

“Why’d you really quit? They would have promoted you back up I’m sure,” he said.

“They broke my trust. The only person that had my back was you.” He tipped his head forward, kissing your forehead. “I want to stay.”

“Well that’s good considering I wasn’t letting you go.” You smiled when he tucked your hair behind your ear. “So. Ladies choice. We take another job we don’t yet have or we head over to Washington, hit some trails, maybe I show you some rock climbing basics. Or we stay here in bed until further notice.”

“Such hard choices,” you said, Colter grinning and shifting his leg so you felt him poking you in the thigh. You sat upright, narrowing your eyes. “If you make a hard joke, I swear-”

“You’ll what?” he teased, flipping you around, body hovering over yours. You frowned up at him, Colter kissing the tip of your nose. “So you don’t want the bed option?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Shaw.” He raised his eyebrows, a dark smirk on his lips that had your hand flying to his mouth. “Do not say it you filthy gutter mind. Nothing in my mouth. Got it?”

“You make it so easy though,” he chuckled, burrowing his face in your neck, kissing under your jaw. You purred, Colter humming. “That’s my girl.”

“Bed. Washington. Job. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like you like the strings too,” he mumbled trailing his hand down between your bodies. “I can’t blame you. You do drool over me.”

“Why don’t you shut that mouth of yours, Shaw and put it to better use?” you said, slipping your hands to his hips. 

“Whatever you say, beautiful.”

____________

A/N: Let me know what you thought and if you'd like to see more Colter x reader stuff in the future!

[princesssmars]

sooooo....sub!vi and sub!reader tribbing.

nsfw. fem!reader. lesbian sex. tribbing ofc. inspired by one of the first nsfwtwt accounts i encountered 5 years ago...ill never forget you </3 wc: 905.

at first glance, every woman vi approached thought she was a dom. in a way she could understand it, she was muscular and tall and had every other stereotypical dominant top butch feature that had femmes falling at her feet begging for a chance for her to strap them until they saw stars.

while she was always flattered, there was an uneasy feeling whenever she was commanding a girl in bed, a nagging in the back of her head that she just couldn't shake. she figured it was just her brain catching up to the fact that she had become incredibly desirable to so many people so quickly, that after a few more girls in her bed, she’d settle into a good rhythm

until she met you.

after a few shared drinks at her favorite bar and a sloppy make out in the back of a taxi, she’s got your pretty form pushed down onto her bed, sheets ruffled and both of your jackets thrown to the ground as your form writhes beneath her, your body so, so pliant for her. but that nagging feeling is coming back with a vengeance, and before she can stop herself she’s pulling off of your body with a groan and flopping into her pillows face first.

she muffles a somber apology, words barely legible through the soft fabric, telling you that she’ll pay for your uber home and that she is really sorry for getting your hopes up. she expects to hear you scoff and get up with a huff, to hear the rustling of you putting on your clothes before the slam of her door. but instead, it's quiet, the only sound reverberating through the room is your shared heavy breathing and the faint sound of crickets in the night.

she slightly jerks when she feels your hand graze her shoulder, so incredibly gentle as you tug on her so she turns onto her back, eyes locking onto yours. your face is…calm, understanding almost.

“is everything okay? do you want to just…talk about it?”

and maybe it's your delicate look and touch, the tone of your voice, and genuine inquiry about what she’s truly feeling instead of being mad at your ruined night, but she lets every little bottled-up emotion that's been building up for the past few weeks go.

and you understand her problem completely.

“im sorry you felt like you had to hold all of that in. if you want,I know a few ways we could help with your problem.”

her eyes widened and face flushed at the prospect. “you mean that you - you would?”

“wish I could, but i’ve never been very good at it. but there are other things we could do. together.”

and it's in moments like these, where after a long day of work she gets to come home, relax, and lose herself in pleasure with you in front of her, that she’s so grateful you helped her find this part of herself.

there isn't an inch of space between you, your shared borderline possessive embraces and the tightly connected collars around both of your necks ensuring so. she doesn't even want to (or can, at this point) think about how desperate she must have looked when you raised the surprise up to her gaze earlier, how she had shown no hesitation in attaching it around her neck before dragging you to your shared bed to get her hands on you and yours on her.

she’s brought out of her thoughts when a punctured cry is torn from her throat, the friction of your clits brushing and grinding together sending a burst of sharp pleasure up from her cunt into the rest of her body. it amplifies the heat already surrounding the both of you, a thin sheen of sweat covering both of your bodies from the strain of rubbing against each other for…for who knows how long at this point.

but it doesn't matter, she’d risk the chance of passing out if it meant she got to feel like this for even a few more seconds.

neither of you can speak, only shrill whimpers and endless moans bouncing off of the walls. luckily you seem to have maybe a few more brain cells active at the moment, aware of the impending fifth noise complaint, taking initiative, and pushing your heads together to lock your lips in a sloppy kiss.

and god, everything is just too much. the friction of your slick cunts meeting in a rabid frenzy, both of your hands scratching at each other backs and breasts, and the mushing of your tongues leading to drool dripping down your faces only catapults her into a mind-breaking orgasm, back arching and arms holding your body even closer to hers as she feels you both gush against each other.

and once your highs finally die down, you both take care of each other. the collars are taken off, and giggles are shared when you both stand up to wobbly legs to clean each other up in the bathroom. and it's in moments like these, where you're sitting across from each other in the tub, rubbing fruity-smelling suds over each other's bodies and sharking sweet kisses and praises, that she really, really loves being a sub.

[fic--writer]

The archmage must get married

Rolan x fem!Tav, Lia, Cal.

1780 words. Humor, romance, SFW, Post-canon

Rolan and Tav are secretly in love with each other, but neither of them dares to make the first move. However, the circumstances are changing.

"Rolan! You have to get married!" — Lia blurted this out right at breakfast.

Rolan froze with his glass in hand, then sharply turned to his sister, staring intently at her tired, yet extremely serious face.

"I have to... what?" — he asked, not believing his ears.

"Get married! You're an archmage now. You have status, and you're in the public eye. Damn journalists found out you're single and wrote that ridiculous article, and..."

Rolan frowned and took a sip of wine.

"What article?" — he asked cautiously.

A laugh came from the other side of the table. His brother, Cal, quoted from memory:

"'The new Archmage has been named the sexiest bachelor of Baldur's Gate.'"

Rolan choked.

"Zurgan!" — he gasped, coughing. "Maybe you both could finally start reading something more respectable than tabloid trash? Just think about it! You live in a tower with one of the rarest libraries, have access to any books, and instead…"

Lia interrupted his tirade, gesturing irritably with her hands: "It's not about that! The problem is your new admirers, who are becoming more and more persistent every day! Hundreds of letters, all smelling of perfume, and often cheap ones at that... I have to manually sift through the important correspondence, and yesterday I spent an entire hour explaining to one pushy woman that you don’t see visitors without an appointment!”

She shook her head and, crossing her arms over her chest, stared at him intently:

“Rolan, you're a grown man. You have a huge tower, a position, work... It’s really time for you to settle down."

Rolan sighed in resignation:

"Fine, I'll think about it, but only if it makes you shut up."

"Think about it? As if we don’t all know who 'exactly' will be your sweet little wife," - Cal chimed in, and he and Lia both started giggling.

"What?!"

"Oh, come on," - Cal smirked. - "You're too obvious. Even if you think you're hiding it well."

"What. Do. You. Mean?" - Rolan narrowed his eyes, his voice dropping dangerously low, and why did these troglodytes always manage to get under his skin...

"What do I mean?" — Cal chuckled, making faces and mimicking his brother. — "Tav, shall I pour you some wine? Tav, want to read together? Tav, will you have dinner with us? Tav..."

"Hush you!" — Rolan barked, feeling the heat rush to his face. — "She’s my friend, not my damn girlfriend!"

Cal just smirked and shook his head.

Of course, Rolan felt a whole spectrum of emotions toward Tav. How could he not? She saved his red hide from certain death, she saved his family, she helped him become an archmage, and even saved this damned world.

And she was damned beautiful. But did he have the right to want more? To demand her — all of her, without reservation?

"Well, it's your call, but decide soon before your fans start storming the tower or slipping love potions into your food."

Lia cast a glance at his plate.

"By the way... where did that pastry come from?"

Rolan froze. Then, slowly, he lowered his gaze to the dessert in his hands. The next second, he violently shoved it aside, desperately spitting out the remains.

Tav stepped into the Archmage's tower and found Lia, deeply focused as she sorted through some papers. Over the past few months, Rolan’s sister had essentially become his personal secretary, keeping order in the endless stream of work.

Tav’s attention was drawn to a tall stack of letters, many of them pink.

She frowned, grabbed one of the letters, and flipped it over in her hands. On the envelope, oh gods, there were... little hearts?! And in the recipient field, none other than Archmage Rolan was listed.

"What... is this?" — Tav asked, concern evident in her voice as she shook the letter in her hand.

"Oh, these?" Lia replied, not looking up. "Love letters. From women... and not just them. They all dream of being the companion of a man of status..."

"Oh? Ooo... Oh." — Tav could barely manage to squeeze out, her mind racing.

Almost with disgust, she shoved the letter back into the pile, her eyes darting nervously.

"Tav? Are you okay?"

"Me? Uh... yeah... no..." — she swallowed nervously. — "I think I’m a little... sick."

Lia narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Tav looked the same as always, no signs of illness. Shrugging, Lia sighed and returned to her work.

Tav, not saying another word, stretched out her hand. One quick incantation — and from her finger erupted a narrow pillar of flame, instantly turning the letters into a handful of ashes.

Lia swore, jumping back:

"What the hell are you doing!?"

"Oh, that was totally an accident! I don’t know..." — Tav desperately tried to put on an innocent face.

Lia raised an eyebrow, her gaze sharp with suspicion.

"Really? You don’t know? One of the most powerful sorceresses in the city ‘accidentally’ casts a spell?" — She wasn’t buying this nonsense.

“When I’m sick, I… I’m not myself!” — Tav blurted out, taking a step back.

Lia opened her mouth to respond, but just then, the door slammed open, and a stranger burst into the room.

A young woman, dressed in tight clothing that emphasized her very noticeable curves, smiled as she entered:

"Hi! I want to become the Archmage’s apprentice... I want to learn magic from him."

Tav slowly shifted her gaze to Lia.

Lia slowly shifted her gaze to Tav.

Tav narrowed her eyes, giving the young woman a thorough once-over. Before Lia had a chance to respond, Tav stepped forward and calmly said:

"Really? Then show me the simplest spells you already know. Please."

"Show you? Oh. Well, I need to get in the right mindset..." — The stranger blinked in confusion, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

There’s no magic in her at all, Tav realized, and continued:

"You know what?" — she suggested with a tight smile. — "It would be best if you wrote a letter to the Archmage."

"Really?" — The girl brightened, her eyes sparkling with hope.

"Really," Tav confirmed, barely holding back a sly smirk. — "He will definitely respond."

Satisfied, the girl nodded, apologized, and quickly hurried off.

Lia watched the girl leave, then slowly turned to Tav, her mouth slightly open, clearly about to ask a million questions.

But as soon as their eyes met, all the words got stuck in her throat. Tav's gaze clearly said: "Not a word more."

Lia sighed heavily and returned to her papers. Another day in the Archmage's tower was shaping up to be exceptionally long.

When Rolan entered the reception room, the first thing that caught his eye was the blackened scorch mark on the table.

"Zurgan! This is a red oak table! Who the hell did this?!" — He froze, then his tail flicked irritably.

"It was Tav," — Lia said flatly, not even bothering to look up from her papers.

Tav, standing off to the side, nervously cleared her throat.

Rolan blinked, finally noticing her:

"Oh, Tav? Hey... How are you? I mean... why my table?" — He ran a hand over his face, exhaling heavily. — "Alright, never mind."

The Archmage's anger noticeably subsided, and taking advantage of the moment, Lia lazily added:

"Oh, and she just kicked one of your potential apprentices out the door..."

Rolan slowly turned his head toward Tav.

Tav greeted him with a flawless, innocent smile.

Lia smirked and flipped the page of her papers.

Tav’s cheeks instantly turned crimson, and she hissed at Lia:

"Can you be quiet for just one second?!"

But it was too late.

Rolan crossed his arms over his chest, staring at her intently.

"You did what?"

Tav straightened up, trying to look confident.

"The cat at the fish stall has more magic flowing through it than that girl," — she countered. — "I just made your job easier."

"But you didn’t even let me take a look, you didn’t even tell me! Why?!"

Tav opened her mouth... and immediately realized she had no coherent explanation. She began stammering, stumbling over her words, cursing herself for not being able to just fall straight into hell right now.

Rolan, not waiting for an answer, let out a heavy sigh, grabbed her by the wrist, and decisively dragged her toward his office.

The door slammed shut behind them, leaving Lia alone.

She smirked, gave a satisfied hum, and walked off.

“Finally”.

"What the hell is going on, Tav?!" — Rolan stormed into the office, his voice echoing through the room. — "First you scorch my table, then you make decisions for me! Has a worm eaten your brain?"

Tav, without taking her eyes off his face, replied, trying not to let her irritation show:

"I told you, there’s no magic in that girl. She just came to show off in front of you. You wouldn’t have taught her anyway, so why waste time?"

"Really?" — His voice turned mockingly amused. — "Then why didn’t you even let me take a look? Why didn’t you let me make the decision myself? Do you think I can’t do anything right?!"

"Do you really have to talk to me like that? Did I step on your tail or something?" — Tav took a defensive stance.

Rolan froze, staring at her face… and suddenly his smirk became almost devilish:

“Wait, what? Are you jealous?”

Tav quickly turned away, pretending that something interesting was happening outside the window, but her flushed cheeks gave it all away.

“Oh, I always knew there had to be some special reason for you to save me and my family so many times…” — he continued, stepping closer — “But I never could have imagined…”

Tav had no time to answer. Driven by something inexplicable, the Archmage scooped her up in his arms, sat her down on the table almost effortlessly, and placed himself between her legs.

Tav gasped, but made no protest. On the contrary, she grabbed his collar and pulled him closer...

Cal, as usual, entered the Archmage’s office without knocking:

"Rolan, what do you want for dinner? Oh! Sorry... uh... I didn't see anything, go ahead."

He took a few steps back and slammed the door shut with a resounding thud. A moment of silence, as if he wanted to forget what he had just seen, and Cal was already on his way to his sister:

"Lia! You won’t believe it! I think we can start preparations for the wedding!"

Lia simply raised an eyebrow:

"Relax, I started a month ago."

[xdantegallo]

"Well. Thanks for not judging me too much, I guess." Though Dante had to wonder if he was really the usual type for these masters. Most of the other slaves that he'd seen around had fallen into the category of pretty boy twink, something Dante absolutely was not. So either it was just a recent theme going on for the Undercroft or Dante would only appeal to a handful of the masters. The second option was the better one, of course, though the omega still felt nerves at the thought of being rented by anyone.

His eyebrows raised, Dante's head cocking slightly while he considered Danny. "Forty-five years and all of a sudden they decide to snatch you up and bring you here? You must have been causing some kind of trouble to get their attention now." Or maybe they'd just been on the market for ghost slaves. Who knew how this place worked. "I think you have to be a certain kind of bastard to bring people to this castle. Hunter was good at pretending to be the exact opposite of that." His face flushed somewhat at the thought of the vampire and the omega huffed quietly.

"Yeah, just a little bit overly optimistic," he admitted, holding up his thumb and forefinger and pinching them together for emphasis. "But I won't judge you for whatever helps you sleep at night. Or daytime. Whenever you close your pretty little eyes."

Danny tilted his head and smiled, maybe a twinge more genuinely, when asked about his ghostliness. He didn't mind talking about his death or his after life. He supposed not many people who weren't capable of being mediums had the chance to speak to a spirit. It wasn't that ghosts were rare. It was that they had a hell of a time staying in the physical plane unless they were older. Danny hadn't been more than a wisp for years.

"Nah, not insensitive. I've been dead for forty-five years." He paused, trying not to let his anger seep through to an otherwise pleasant expression. "Hm. I think mine was called Magnai. At least, that's what I thought I heard someone call him. Fucking bastard. They all are, yours included probably."

[staticscreenwriting]

I took the good times, I'll take the bad times II Joel Miller

Summary: Joel doesn't think he's deserving of love after all he did and all he went trough. Or maybe he's just scared. Either way he can't let himself fall for (Y/N). Now if only she'd stop sending him those damn postcards.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader (I always try not to describe the reader physically, if I missed something please let me know so I can change it and make this "applicable" to every reader. Thank you!)

A/N: This is my entry for the dear-uary challenge by @jolapeno . My prompt was "Character A keeps finding X and traces them back to Character B, who might be leaving them intentionally—or not." And I chose Postcards as my form of epistolary.

TW: This is mostly angsty fluff. There is some talk of self doubt and loss of a child but I think that should be it.

Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.

It all starts with a simple postcard tucked into the side pocket of his bag. Joel almost doesn’t realize it’s there, folded twice into a tiny square. It’s only when he’s looking for the list Maria gave him of all the things to look for on this run, that he grabs a hold of the card. 

His gloves make it hard to unfold the small paper but it’s way too cold to take them off. Joel was never big on winter and snow, even before everything went to shit. He doesn’t like the way it lingers, the way it consumes you from the inside out. Now, an unforgiving cold is all he feels as a thick blanket of snow has settled upon Wyoming. 

Bold bright letters scream out to him from the wrinkled paper “ Greetings from Tampa Florida. Wish you were here!”.

It’s one of those campy vintage ones where the letters are filled with drawings of landmarks and beaches. He remembers sending one just like this to his High School girlfriend when Dad took him and Tommy on a trip to Nashville when Joel was 16 maybe 17. It was a good trip, the last one they ever took together. Sometimes Joel wonders how his dad would deal with all of this. This new reality. This fucked up world. He always seemed so strong, so fearless. That man was unstoppable force and immovable object all at once. Every vulnerability Joel finds in himself, he’s sure was absent in his father. Maybe if he was a little more like his own dad he could’ve saved Sarah, could’ve spared Ellie the pain of living in this limbo of knowing and not knowing. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Joel moves closer to the fire, his only light source other than the stars. There’s writing on the back, blue ink on off-white paper. It’s not a handwriting he knows and for a second he wonders if the card has been there ever since he found the bag years ago, back in Boston. But he would know that, right? Would've found it by now. This must be new. This must be meant for him.

“ I know you hate the cold. I know it makes you sad and gloomy, well gloomier than usual. So let me tell you about the hottest day I ever experienced. I was a kid, maybe 7 or 8 and my mom took me to Florida. Not Tampa (it was the only postcard I could find at the library), but Orlando. We went to fucking Disney World!! We didn’t have a lot of money back then so mom must’ve saved a long time for this. Anyway, Joel, it was so hot. Unbearably hot. My clothes stuck to my skin and my hair got all frizzy. Maybe July wasn’t the best time to go. The air was so thick and heavy, so moist (ew). It felt like breathing in honey, syrup maybe. I still had the best time. I know it doesn’t take away the cold but I hope I can take you away to that hot and humid Florida summer for one small moment. If not, there’s a wool scarf at the bottom of your bag. Made it myself. You never told me what your favorite color is. I hope you like blue. xx 

P.S.: I wonder what happened to Disney World.” 

A chuckle falls from Joel’s lips and forms a cloud against the sharp winter air. He's never been to Disney World. The Millers just weren’t a Disney World kind of family. They were more of a local fair kind of family. All corn dogs and funnel cakes and first kisses behind the bumper cars. Sarah would’ve loved Disney World though. Ellie too. Ellie who doesn’t even know what the hell Disney is. 14 years and the girl has no idea who Mickey Mouse is. What a surreal thought. What a strange world. More than 20 years and it still feels strange. Joel wonders if life will ever let him settle in this new reality. If one day this feels like home and not a bad dream. Not a cosmic punishment. A bad joke that no one’s laughing at anymore.

His eyes travel back towards the blue swirly writing. It’s not Ellie’s bad chicken scratch, he could pick that out of a line-up any day. This looks much neater, more deliberate, and thoughtful. 

“There’s a wool scarf at the bottom of your bag.”

Quiet, as not to wake up the others sleeping just a few steps away, Joel opens the zipper on his bag and rummages through it with a gloved hand. There’s a bunch of stuff in there, food rations, ammunition, a second pair of gloves. Going on supply runs is not something Joel enjoys but it is a way for him to give back. To Tommy and Maria and the entire community. Jackson and its people have taken him and Ellie in as one of their own without much hesitation. They provided them with food, with shelter, with trust. He has so little to give in return. Going on a supply run to look for medicine and other necessities, that’s the least he can do. 

Something soft and squishy meets his hand and he pulls out a dark blue woolen scarf. There are so many holes and even in the dim light of the campfire, Joel can tell those holes are not there on purpose. Maybe it was Ellie after all, but then she never showed any interest in knitting, and the idea of her doing just that is far too ridiculous. No matter how imperfect it is though, Joel has to admit the scarf does make him feel warmer as he wraps it around his neck. 

“Hey,” Adam, one of the other guys on the run, speaks up from beside Joel, “you can catch some sleep if you want. I can take over the watch.” 

It’s a strange thing, how sometimes you don’t notice just how tired you are or how hungry you are until someone points it out to you. Until they offer to take it from you. Then it hits you like a brick to the face. A wave pulling you under. 

Joel feels his eyelids grow heavy and nods at the younger man. "Thanks". 

This mystery, it can wait until tomorrow. Until then he will bury his face in the warm soft wool of the scarf and think of that Florida sun. And though it most definitely is just his imagination, Joel could almost swear the night feels a little less cold.

His boots leave deep imprints in the white icy blanket as he makes his way past the Tipsy Bison and the community hall further towards his house. His home. 

No place has really felt like home in years. Not since all of this started. Everything was temporary. 4 walls and a roof. He wonders if this place will ever start feeling like home? Will he ever get to a point where he doesn’t wait for the second shoe to drop? It all feels like he’s Charlie Brown and life is Lucy pulling the football away at the last second. And it always ends with him falling. He’s so tired of falling. So tired of getting back up.

Joel almost expects the house to be silent as he steps inside. Ellie is slowly making friends with the other teens living in the settlement and is spending more time at their houses than she is at home. He can’t blame her. If he was more like his father he’d find it in himself to start conversations with people, get to know them, forge connections, make friends. Of the Miller boys, Tommy is the one who inherited their dad’s social gene though, Joel only got the snarl and the crippling inability to talk about his feelings.

Laughter echoes through the house as Joel rounds the corner connecting the entryway to the living room. Ellie’s laughter, loud and bright and light. As if for a moment all the horrors and the pain and the trauma have been taken from her.

When he steps into the kitchen, Joel understands. 

(Y/N) is standing by the counter, a smile on her face so soft and radiant it might just rival the sun. That joy she brings out in Ellie, it’s familiar to Joel because he feels it too whenever (Y/N) is around. Not always but sometimes. It’s a spark of warmth that starts in his chest and crawls up his spine. It settles in his lungs, his heart, his brain. Like a parasite. Like a virus. Like a wonderful dream. He doesn’t allow himself to feel it all the time but sometimes, sometimes he can’t deny himself this little bit of warmth.

Joel can’t even remember when exactly (Y/N) became a part of their life. It’s like one day she was there and refused to leave. And really that’s kind of how it went. She works at the library and the school, lives across the street from him and Ellie and for some reason, she’s taken pity on them. Joel isn’t sure if it's him or Ellie she pities. Maybe a mix of both. Either way, she brought over some soup one day and that’s the beginning and end of it all. She’s wormed her way into Ellie’s heart and by extension his too. Whether he likes to admit it or not. Doesn't hurt that she's so damn beautiful too.

“Joel, you’re back!” 

Ellie pulls him in a tight hug. It’s something Joel still has to get used to. Ellie isn’t a particularly affectionate person. She’s definitely not a hugger. And neither is Joel — not anymore at least. So when they do hug, it’s still a little strange. Not bad strange just unfamiliar. 

“Yeah, I’m back. 

“How did it go?” (Y/N) asks and meets his eyes over Ellie’s head. A silent conversation happening between her and Joel. It’s that thing she does where she doesn’t need to say a single word but Joel can tell exactly what she’s thinking just by the look in her eyes. He sometimes wonders if this is a them thing. 

“Did someone die” her eyes are saying. “Did someone get hurt?” 

“Did you get hurt?” 

He quickly shakes his head answering her unspoken questions. Not this time. 

“Good. It went good.” 

Maybe the relieved sigh he sees her let out is just his imagination. But Joel doesn’t think so. Joel thinks it's very real.

“Did you bring us something? “ 

He can’t help but smile at that. It feels good to smile. In a world that gives you grief and sorrow, you start to count the moments when it gives you a reason to smile. They are few and far between but the number has surely increased since Ellie stepped into his life — and since (Y/N) did. 

“I brought food and medicine. Isn’t that enough? “

A determined “no” falls from both their lips in a chaotic harmony. 

“Geez, you guys are demanding.” 

“Well — did you bring us something?” 

Joel just rolls his eyes and rummages through his bag for the goods. 

“For you— “ he says and throws the old wrinkled comic book towards Ellie who regards it with that endless sense of wonder she does possess. It’s the kind of spark that flickers and dies once you grow old. Or maybe just his did. Maybe grief leaves no room for wonder. 

Placing his bag on the ground, Joel moves into the kitchen and holds out his loot to (Y/N). Green background. White goats. Yellow bubble letters.

“Oooooh, you did get me something. Pet Sounds, nice!” 

There’s a spark in her too. Dulled and dusted from time but it is there and it flickers and grows every time Joel brings her a vinyl record from his trips outside of the settlement. In a world with so little joy, music seems to be one of the few things that hasn’t changed. In the face of immeasurable pain, humans turn to music. They have done so for a long time and judging by the world as is, they always will. 

“I hope it works still. Didn’t really have a record player to try it out.” 

“I’ll try it out as soon as I get to the library. Feel free to come by and listen with me.” 

“Sure.” 

“Thank you, Joel. I hope you didn’t have to do anything stupid to get this.” 

He didn’t. Not this time. He would’ve though. It scares him how willing he is to put himself in danger just to get her something that will put that radiant smile on her face. He’d walk to the end of the earth if he knew there was a record there she wanted. That thought scares the shit out of him. It’s bad enough he cares so deeply about Ellie, about Tommy. The more people you care about, the more you open yourself up to hurt. Losing either of them would tear him apart. Joel is not sure he can handle opening his heart to yet another person no matter how much his heart wants just that. 

“ Nah. No issues.” 

“Good.” 

She just looks at him for a moment. All soft eyes and gentle smile. There must be something she sees in him, Joel thinks, something he doesn’t see. A version of himself that he isn’t, that he will never be. A version he once was, maybe. A version he so desperately wishes he could be. For her.

“Well,” (Y/N) says and snaps him out of her enchantment “Ellie and I made some stew. I know you must’ve been freezing outside, some good warm stew might help warm you up a little.” 

“It smells great.” 

“You have impeccable timing because we just got done. So, dig in. And uh — I guess I’ll see you guys at the movie screening?” 

He doesn’t want her to leave. The devil and the angel on his shoulders are both screaming at him to ask her to stay. And if he was any stronger a man, any more like his own father and more deserving of good things, he would ask her. To stay for dinner. To stay forever.

But he isn’t. And he doesn’t ask. Just watches as she wraps a scarf around her neck and slips into the thick jacket that's a few sizes too big on her.

“I left the recipe by the fridge. Just in case you ever want to cook it yourself.” 

“Thanks.” 

And he really is grateful. For her. For everything.

“Oh Joel,” she says and stops in the doorway. “I like that scarf. Blue looks really good on you.” 

And then she’s gone, swallowed by the cold winter air. 

Joel hasn’t thought about his favorite color in forever. It’s something you stop thinking about once you start growing hair on your chest and fantasizing about girls in a way you haven’t before. Kids talk about their favorite colors all the time. Sarah did. It’s just once you grow old you lose that sense of self, define yourself through different things. 

Looking at the scarf now, all holes and imperfections, there is no doubt in his mind that his favorite color is blue. 

“Have you ever been to Paris?” 

The lights are dimmed in the big community hall, the movie playing on screen providing the only source of light as the people of Jackson have gathered for another movie night. 

A glimpse into a world that was but no longer is and never will be again. And for some of them, like Ellie, a world that never was to begin with.

Ellie is sitting in the front with some of the other teens, her friends, Joel supposes. She has friends now.

“Joel, have you?” 

A soft hand rests on his arm, shaking him from his gloomy thoughts. (Y/N) sits next to him, eyes focused on the pictures dancing across the screen. Ilsa and Rick, falling in love over and over again in Paris. The beginning of a love story doomed from the start. 

“I uh — no. Never.” 

“Me neither. I would’ve loved to go though. It looks beautiful.” 

He doesn’t know why or how it happens but the words just flow from his mouth like a waterfall. For the first time in a while, he finds himself wanting to talk more. About the past. About Sarah.

“My daughter, Sarah, went to Paris once. Some school exchange program. They don’t usually do it until later but her French class was above average and I guess they won some contest. I don’t know it was a long time ago.” 

“Sounds like she was a smart cookie.” 

"Oh, she was. Too smart for me, that’s for sure. Was hard letting her leave and fly to a whole different continent though. I was scared out of my mind until she was back home. Drove Tommy crazy for a whole damn week.” 

(Y/N) turns her face away from the screen and regards him with that infinite sense of something more. Soft and endearing. If he was a different man he would call it love. He would see the way she looks at him and he would kiss her stupid and life would be all sweet dreams and gentle touches. 

But he is the man he is. Not worthy of whatever she is willing to give.

“What’re looking at me like that for?” 

“It’s just sweet how much you care. About everyone. I think you don’t even know you’re doing it half the time.” 

“Do what?” 

“Care for others. For Ellie and me and all of us. You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I just wish you’d let someone take care of you for a change.” 

He doesn’t need to be taken care of. He can do it all on his own. And anyway, he is not as good of a man as she thinks he is. Good men don’t have the blood of their loved ones stuck to their hands. Good men don’t let their daughters die in their arms. Good men don’t kill. Good men don’t do all the things he did. 

Joel doesn’t want to be a good man. He just wishes he was good enough a man to allow himself to be with (Y/N).

“I ain’t a good man. And I don’t need someone to take care of me.” 

“You wore that scarf, did you not? You allowed me to take care of you then.” 

That damn scarf. He had a hunch it was her. The handwriting on the postcard matched the one of the recipe stuck to his fridge an awful lot. But it’s something else entirely to hear her say it outright. 

“That was you, huh? Had an awful lot of holes that thing.” 

“Hey, I never said I was good at knitting. You wore it anyway.”

Joel turns back towards the screen as Rick and Ilsa share a loving kiss. 

“Yeah, I wore it anyway.” 

And to the sound of bombs and tanks, (Y/N) rests her head on his shoulder.

That’s what you do for the people you love. Even if you don’t allow yourself to love them.

You wear the scarf anyway.

The mailbox flag is up. Bright red against the sharp white of the winter's day. 

It’s never been up. People around here don’t get mail. It’s but an ancient relic of a life they used to live. Remnants of a society long gone. 

But Joel is nothing if not curious. So he stomps up to the mailbox, leaving deep imprints in the freshly fallen snow. 

It’s another postcard. Only this time it doesn’t come with a mystery. This time it comes with that silly little feeling that makes his heart beat just a little faster. That makes his head swirl with stupid thoughts of stupid dreams.

“From Paris with love,” it says on the front. Fucking Paris, of course.

Sometimes the way he feels about her is infuriating, confusing, scary.

And sometimes, like right now, it feels like a ball of warmth settles in his ribcage and warms him from the inside out.

“Dear Joel,

We’ll never have Paris. Not in this life at least. And while I would’ve loved to see the Eiffel Tower sparkle with you and make you eat a croissant (which you would’ve pretended to hate but I think you would’ve enjoyed it secretly), I am glad to get this life with you at least. Or alongside you. Whatever it is we are, I am glad this life gave me that in between all the pain. Despite what you like to tell yourself, Joel Miller, you are a spark of fire, a light in the dark. You are more than the sum of your failures, you are more than your pain. All the good that is in you, that counts. That’s all that matters in the end. And there is so much good in you.

I wish you’d let yourself see it. 

We will never have Paris. But we’ll always have Jackson and that is enough for me. I hope it’s enough for you.

Here’s looking at you kid! ;) “

There’s a tragedy in knowing someone else sees all your good parts and none of the bad. A tragedy in knowing how much they like those good parts and being awfully aware that seeing all the bad parts would destroy them. 

A tragedy in still wanting to show them all of you, even the ugly soul-destroying parts.

But if she thinks he’s a good man, then Joel needs to be just that. A good man who keeps those ugly parts hidden and away from her. Even if that means denying himself the one thing he wants. 

“What’s that?” Ellie speaks up from beside him, a curious look on her face.

“Postcard.” 

“Like what people would send from vacations and stuff?”

“Yeah, how do you know about that?” 

She rolls his eyes at him and it’s one of those moments where he feels like a dad again. Those little moments that mean the world to him because he gets to feel like the old him. The Joel he thought was long dead and buried beside the bones of his own child.

“I watch movies? I talk to people? I read books? Take your pick.” 

“Wow, when did you become such a smartass, huh?” 

She shrugs his shoulders at him “Was born that way. Nothing I can do about it.” 

“Unfortunately.” 

“Hey, you’ve grown to love me! You wouldn’t want me any other way.” 

And she isn’t wrong. Ellie, with all her curiosity and her bravery and her lust for life, whatever that life may look like, is exactly what he needed. Which makes him wonder if saving her from the fireflies was ultimately more of a selfish act than that of a heroic savior. 

“Who’s it from?” 

“None of your business.” 

“Oh, so (Y/N).” 

His eyes flick up and he is met with that satisfied, mischievous grin that is so uniquely Ellie.

“What makes you think that?” 

“You always change the subject when I bring her up. And that way you just jumped when I mentioned her? Yeah, you’re not slick, old man.” 

“Hey! Who are you calling an old man?” 

“You! Old and scared!” 

“I’m not scared!” 

Like hell he is. Terrified even. But there ain’t no way in hell he’ll admit that to Ellie. She’ll never let him hear the end of it. 

“Then go talk to her! She likes you, you like her. Why do you have to make it so complicated?” 

If only she knew all the ghosts swirling around inside of him threatening to break free. Things could be so easy. Only nothing ever is.

“Mind your own business, kid! Anyway, don't you have someplace to be? Think Dina came by earlier asking for you. You two are getting along well, huh?” 

“Aaaand on that note. See you for dinner, old man!” 

She’s gone before he can even hurl a reply at her. It pulls his lips into a smile. There’s no better way to get a teen to shut up than to bring up their crush. Nice to see that some things never change.

Another run. Another record. 

Joel feels silly, standing here in front of her door with his heart beating fast and heavy as he clutches the vinyl record in his hand. 

If Ellie saw him now, she’d surely make fun of him. Tommy too. Sarah even. 

What happened, Joel? You used to be so brave. What makes you so afraid now? 

Life, he thinks. Life has made him scared and bitter and sad. 

“Did you wanna knock or — ?” 

Joel turns around as the voice calls out to him. There it is again, that softness, that smile. 

“Uh, yes.” 

“Okay, good. Did you come to see me? Sorry, I was helping Maria at the farm.” 

“Yeah no uh — don’t worry about it. I just came to drop this off” 

Her eyes grow wide as she catches sight of which record it is he’s holding up. 

“No way! The stranger! You found it.” 

“ I did.” 

He had to clear an old dilapidated bar full of clickers to get that record. Almost lost his damn arm in the process. But her smile, that god-damn, life-ruining, world-shattering, heart-beat-faster, smile of hers makes it all worth it. He would give both arms, all of him. He would give it all to see her smile.

“Do you wanna come in and listen to it with me? Got my player fixed so I don’t have to use the one at the library anymore.” 

Say no. Just say no and go home. Be a good man! Be a better man! 

But he’s not. For this one moment, he can’t be that man. He’s just as weak as the rest of them. 

“Sure.” 

This feels so — normal. So before everything. Different and twisted and warped. But normal.

It’s scary and comforting all at once. Like a tipsy dream when you know you’ll wake up with a headache for sure.

(Y/N) is twirling around her living room, a beer in hand and a smile on her face. Joel leans against the door connecting her living room and her kitchen and all he can do is stare. At this woman who means so much to him. Too much for him to ever put into words. If he even knew how to. He’s never been a poet. 

“I said I love you, that's forever

And this I promise from the heart, mmm

I couldn't love you any better

I love you just the way you are, right”

“I love this song. Can you imagine someone loving you enough to write something like this about you?” 

Yes, he thinks. If only he WAS a poet. He would write a hundred songs. A thousand. And all of them would talk of her smile and her eyes and the way there is no single thing about her he would change. 

But words fail him. They always do. 

So he just nods.

“Joel,” she says and moves closer. The bottle of beer now placed on her couch table, her hands find his chest. So warm. So soft. And all he does is stare. 

“I know you got my postcards. I know you know how I feel. And sometimes I think you feel the same. I see the way you look at me. I know the dangers you put yourself in to get me those records. I just — you never say anything. So am I making a fool of myself here? Please tell me if I — “ 

“You’re not.” 

Wow, so eloquent. 

“I’m not?” 

Her voice sounds so small. So unsure. He hates that he’s the one who put the uncertainty there. Be a better man, Joel! Be a good man for once! 

But all he does is stare. Words fail him. Again. again. again.

“Then can I — can I do this?” 

(Y/N)’s gaze falls to his lips then back up to his eyes. She is so close. He can feel her warm breath on his skin. Can smell the scent of her shampoo. Notices the tremble of her fingers as her hands rest on his chest.

And he wants to kiss her. Every version of him that ever was and ever will be wants to kiss her. But all he does is stare.

All he does is stare and pull away.

And it breaks his heart to see hers break in that moment. 

“I uh — oh I’m sorry Joel.”

Tears gather in her eyes, fill them with sorrow, fill his heart with rage. He can’t do anything right, can he? Everyone he’s ever loved, he’s disappointed. But how can he let himself love her, how can he let her love him, when he is so broken? When all he does is break things?  Taint them with this infinite sadness that lives and grows inside his bones? 

“It’s not you.” 

“Oh please, Joel. I made a fool of myself already. Don’t make it worse.” 

“I ain’t trying to. It just ain’t you. It’s all me. It’s always been me”

His palms are sweaty and he feels like someone has reached into his ribcage, cracked every rib on the way to his heart, and ripped it out with bare hands. Snapping veins and arteries and all.

“I want you. I want this but I can’t have it. You think I’m a good man but the truth is, I am not. I do bad things all the time, over and over again and time and life have made me so numb to it. But you, you are so good. You deserve someone better. Someone whole.”

It’s like once he’s started it all comes flowing out like a fucking waterfall. All his fears and insecurities and pain. It’s all there for her to be disgusted by. Because god knows there is no way she won’t be. He is. All the time.

“I have not been the same since this all started. Since Sarah — since she died. I live with this immense grief. It surrounds me. It IS me. All of me. And I so desperately want to claw my way out of it. Rip it apart and leave it behind. But at the same time, I want to bury myself in it. Because what if I do leave it behind and I start to forget? Her and all that she was? How is it fair that I have to remember her far longer than I got to know her? So if I get better, if I become the man I need to be to be worthy of your love, am I still gonna be the man she knew? Can I still remember? Because that is all I have. And that is not a burden I can put on you. Not you and not Ellie.”

Joel takes a breath then another but it does little to calm him down.

“You two mean everything to me and I am sorry I am bad at showing it. That I can’t say it. I need you to know, it’s all me that’s the problem. It was never you. I’m sorry.” 

He doesn’t wait for her to say anything. He doesn’t think he has the heart to hear a reply anyway. It’s like he just ripped himself open and spilled all his guts, his heart, his lungs, and all his inside out on her living room floor. 

If he was any better of a man he’d pick them up and try to rearrange them.

But he is not a good man. Maybe he never was.

“There was something for you in the mailbox” Ellie exclaims and slumps down on the couch next to him. “I was this close to opening it but I didn’t want to make you even more grumpy than you already are.” 

“I’m not grumpy” 

He has to admit, the tone in which he said those words does not do much to counter her point. Ellie knows too, judging by the way she raises her eyebrow “Sure, you’re not.” 

She drops a sunflower yellow envelope on his lap. ‘Joel’, it says in that swirly handwriting he’s become so familiar with.

It’s been a few weeks since he’s seen (Y/N). Since he spilled all his sorrows and worries to her and then ran. And, surprisingly, Jackson makes it very easy for someone to avoid another person if you only try hard enough.

Maybe Ellie has a point, maybe he has been exceptionally grumpy lately. No correlation to any recent events though. Absolutely zero.

“Sooo are you gonna open it?”

Ellie looks at him with curiosity and that little spark of mischief as if she knows something he doesn’t. 

“Not with you watching over my shoulder, I ain’t.” 

“Why?” 

“Cause it’s none of your business.” 

“Excuse me? I have to live with your grumpy ass because you guys can’t get your shit straight. I think it very much is my business.” 

“Jesus, Ellie. Language!" 

“Sorry,” she says and gives him that pseudo-sheepish look he’s grown familiar with. “You guys need to get your stuff straight.” 

He used to scold her for it but really, he isn’t one to talk. 

“Anywayyyyy, I’ll go stay at Dina’s tonight … just in case you decide to go over and apologize for whatever it is you did and you guys finally sort it out and need some privacy later.” 

“Why do you think I did something?” 

And there it is again that sassy eyebrow raise. The same one he’s seen on Sarah so many times before. It truly is a woman’s world and he’s but a fool living in it. And they let no opportunity pass to remind him of just that.

They are also absolutely right.

“My lawyer advised me not to answer that question. Anyway, be nice. Have fun. Byyyye” 

Her voice trails off as she grabs her bag and rushes outside leaving Joel alone in this big empty house with nothing but his demons and this mysterious envelope.

Carefully he opens the seal and shakes out the contents. A postcard, a photo, and a — cassette tape? 

His eyes find the photo first. It’s a polaroid of him and Ellie and (Y/N). All 3 of them smiling, yes even him. He remembers that day back last summer. It was one of those warm but not yet hot days. (Y/N) was wearing that agonizingly beautiful red sundress. The one that made his heart beat twice as fast. She brought over a whole basket full of cherries from the tree in her garden. A pie too. And that damn Polaroid camera. 

Of course, Ellie was enamored by it, wasted almost the whole damn film. 

“Come on Joel, let's take a picture together,” she had called out to him and pulled him to sit down next to her and (Y/N) on the blanket they had placed on the lawn. 

“I’m not a picture guy,” he had grumbled, “ ain’t nobody want to see my old mug.” 

“Oh shut up. Joel, you are so handsome, don’t even pretend like you don’t know that.” 

It was the first time (Y/N) had ever called him handsome. It was hard for him to believe it then, hell it still is. But she has done it a lot more since then. Calls him handsome and gorgeous and pretty all the time. At first, he thought she was just humoring him but slowly but surely it dawned on him that she meant it. Means it still.

“We don’t know how many good sunny days we have left. Ain’t no shame in trying to remember this one, right?” 

Her eyes held so much honesty then. Vulnerability too. And gratefulness for all they had then after all they had lost. It made him smile then and it makes him smile now.

The Postcard is next, big bold letters spell out TEXAS and in the corner, there’s a drawing of the Texas State Capitol in Austin.

When he turns the Postcard over, there it is again, that swirly writing he’s grown to love so much. 

“Joel, the ‘Postcards from around the world’ book I got from the library didn’t have an Austin one but it did have a Texas one so that’ll have to do. I’m not even sure if you're going to read this. I hope you do because you didn't give me a chance to say my part when you stormed off & I think I deserve that.

You're not the man you were in Austin, you lived through the worst thing imaginable and it changed you. But you are not just your pain. It is part of you but it doesn't define you. I know you see all the bad but none of the good but believe me I see it! Ellie does! You are your pain but you are also the smile on Ellie's face when you bring her a new comic or teach her a song. You're the guitar chords echoing through the air on a warm spring afternoon. You are those fluttery feelings in my heart whenever you look at me.

Joel Miller, I understand if you don't want to be with me but if it's only because you don't think you're good enough then I think that's a choice I get to make. Taking that from me is a dick move. 

You said you're bad at showing love but you're not. You showed me through all those records. Through all those songs. Now let me love you back.”

Joel can’t quite name the feeling spreading through him. It’s both foreign and familiar at the same time. Like an old friend. A hazy memory. Pictures blurred and dulled by time and age. 

Maybe he was wrong, and he hates admitting that. Maybe he ain’t a good man but maybe that is hers to decide. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

He takes the cassette tape in his hand and squints his eyes at the tiny writing on the label. God, he really is getting old. Those eyes ain’t what they used to be.

God only knows - The Beach Boys - Pet Sounds

You’re my best friend - Queen - A Night at the Opera

Just Like Heaven - The Cure - Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me (you should!) 

In Your Eyes - Peter Gabriel - So

Time After Time - Cyndi Lauper - She’s so unusual

Your Song - Elton John - Elton John

Can’t Help Falling in Love - Elvis - Blue Hawaii

Wonderful Tonight - Eric Clapton - Slowhand

The Book of Love - The Magnetic Fields - 69 Love Songs (!!!! LOVE SONGS!!!)

Just The Way You Are - Billy Joel - The Stranger

"You gave me all these records with all these songs and all these words to tell me you love me and I’m not sure you even knew.” 

And she’s right. He got her those records because he knew they’d make her smile. Because that smile means everything to him whether he wants to admit it or not. He got those records to show her that even when he’s gone on a run, she’s always on his mind. He believed it to be a curse, a ghost haunting him for all his past mistakes and taunting him with what he shall never have.

But maybe it’s not a curse. 

Maybe it’s a blessing. A sweet song to remind him that someone back home is waiting. A gentle reminder that life can and will go on and good things can come from immense tragedy. And moving on doesn’t mean forgetting, in fact, it means remembering. Remembering the bad and believing that there can and will be good and that it’s worth it to go on. Even if you are a different you. Not worse or better, just changed. And that you deserve love. And kindness. And warmth.

Joel drops the envelope and its contents on the table and grabs his thick winter jacket as he rushes outside. The cold feels only half as bad as it nips at his skin, he barely notices. There is a fire inside him now, burning away all the doubts and hesitation. 

He’s back at her door, only this time he doesn’t wait to knock. He’s spent so much time denying himself the one thing he wants that he can’t lose just one second more. The rapping of his knuckles against her door echoes through the winter day. Oh, how he can’t wait for the spring and the summer and her in that gorgeous dress. 

“Joel?” 

Back before — everything, Joel remembers a movie night with Sarah. She got to choose and despite being an avid fan of trashy action and horror movies, that time she chose a romantic comedy. All things considered, Joel can admit that when Harry met Sally wasn’t the worst choice but he still would’ve preferred Star Wars or Terminator. 

He does remember the ending though, the grand finale. He remembers Sarah trying to wipe away tears without him noticing. And he remembers Billy Crystal’s words “When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.” 

Back then he thought it was some silly, cheesy movie speak. No one feels that way, right? It’s grandiose and kitschy for the sake of movie magic.

But no, he’s sure now, that one is true. Because it’s how he feels.

“I love you!” 

That confession should come with ribbons and flowers and fireworks but it doesn’t. It comes with honesty and that is all that matters. It comes from the heart.

“Huh?” 

“I got your postcard. The photo too and the tape. And I love you.” 

“I know. Took you long enough to figure it out.” 

“I’m sorry. I — I still believe that I am not a good man and that you deserve better. But it would be selfish to punish you for my own insecurities. I love you and I want to let you love me. If you still want to, that is.” 

“Joel Miller?”

“Yeah?” 

“Please just fucking kiss me.” 

Joel remembers a lot of kisses in his lifetime. Some rushed, some clumsy. Quick kisses in secret. Long drawn-out smooches in smokey bars. Loving, fast, aggressive, and soft. 

This one is different, as cheesy as it sounds.

This kiss makes him feel like all he’s ever been and all he ever will be can live in peace with one another. This kiss makes him feel like none of it matters as long as he has her. 

She tastes like peppermint and sunshine and he’s sure he’ll never get enough of her. The feeling of her skin against his as he gently cradles her face in his hand. The soft movements on her chest as she breathes. The twitch of her lips as she smiles into the kiss.

For the first time in his life, Joel is sure that a kiss is more than a kiss. It’s a healing hand on a shattered heart. It’s a new path to a new future. It’s sunshine melting the ice from his bones.

It’s a promise to try every day and to be better and to be enough. ---

[hockeyboistrash]

As a cat mum of two I had this idea pop into my head. This is purely self indulgent. The cats in the story are based on my two and will use their names (Winston and Louis)

Your boyfriend Joseph meeting your cats for the first time.

You were nervous. It was the first time any boyfriend of yours was going to meet your cats. Not only did you not know how they were going to act but you didn't know how Joseph would feel about them. You knew your cats could be a bit much at times. They were kittens after all.

"Don't be alarmed if Winston runs away from you. I don't think he likes men much. Louis has his days, sometimes he sits on your knee, other times he sits on the arm of the sofa." You told Joseph as you walked up to your front door. He couldn't help but smile at you, endeared by your worry. He could tell this meeting meant a lot to you.

"Y/N, it'll be fine, okay?" Joseph assured you, reaching for your hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. "Besides I brought treats so I'll just bribe them." He grinned and it was contagious, your lips pulling up into a smile of your own.

"Thank you. I know it's stupid but it's just- they're important to me and- and so are you. I want you to get along." You admitted, your voice quiet as you felt vulnerable, your heart on your sleeve.

"You're important to me too." Joseph said, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "And it's not stupid. I love how much you want this to go well."

You looked down, heat rising to your cheeks. You haven't felt like this about anyone before. The last guy you went on a date with thought it was weird you had cats, the connotations of crazy cat ladies at the forefront of his mind. You were going to give up on finding love but then you met Joseph. It was the second date where you told him about Winston and Louis. He immediately asked to see pictures, asking you a million questions about them. It made your heart full at how attentive he was.

You walked into your apartment, Joseph following behind. It was quiet, something you were usually met with after coming home from work. It was a tell-tale sign they were asleep on your bed. Like clockwork, a few seconds later you would hear chirping running towards you, their way of saying hello to you.

Tonight, though, instead of Winston running up to you for fuss, he stopped when he saw your boyfriend, eyes wide like he's trying to decipher who this stranger was. He then ran to the cat tree, hiding in the enclosed section. Louis remained unbothered, finding his usual spot on the couch.

"I'll start dinner. Will you be okay in here?" You asked, biting your lip slightly.

"We'll be fine. Me and Louis are gonna hang out. Aren't we bud?" Joseph grinned, gently stroking Louis's head who started purring at the contact. You gave Louis one last head scratch before doing the same to Winston, whispering reassuring words to him.

You didn't take long putting the dinner on, not wanting to leave Joseph alone with the kittens for too long. You didn't hear any raised voices or crashes so you took that as a positive sign. Although normally with kittens silence is just as bad as noise.

The sight you were met with made you melt. Winston and Louis were both curled up on Joseph's knee purring, his hands gently stroking them. The cats were getting big now but still managed to both fit on his knees, with room to spare. You silently took a photo of your boyfriend, wanting to remember this moment for a long time.

"They must really like you." You said, making your way over to couch.

"I might have put the charm on. It worked on you so it was bound to work on them." Joseph grinned at you. You shook your head slightly, letting out a soft laugh, thinking back to how Joseph's words were like honey to you. "See nothing to worry about."

And he was right. You didn't have to worry about your cats not liking the man you love and can see spending the rest of your life with. You didn't have to pick between them like you would have in previous relationships.

[daddyissuesbecauseofhotch]

Daddy issues || #5

{masterlist}

Aaron: Did you sleep well?

Aaron: Are you mad at me?

Aaron: Look, I don’t know what I did, but this silent treatment is pretty childish. Talk to me.

Aaron: Come on, I know you read these messages.

You: Stop. Please.

Aaron: Okay, what have I done?

You: Nothing.

Aaron: Then?

You: It has nothing to do with you.

Aaron: Is it related to your boyfriend?

You: My what?

Aaron: The guy who left your apartment this morning.

You: Oh, that guy.

Aaron: “That guy”? Who is he?

You: It’s none of your business.

Aaron: You went out some time after you left my apartment. Where did you go?

You: Who the hell do you think you are?

You: Where I go is none of your business.

You: Thank you for the dinner, but that’s all it was about.

Aaron: Why are you so hostile all of a sudden?

You: I don’t want to be interrogated. I have plans for tonight, don’t disturb me.

You hate to be mean, you don’t want to hurt him, but this is what needs to be done. To be honest, you don’t know why you’re like this all of a sudden, but you have this gut feeling that you can’t let him get closer. Was that kiss the best one in your life so far? Absolutely. But you weren’t ready to deal with their family dynamics.

It’s not that he didn’t talk about what made Jack upset, it’s more the fact you had no idea how to react, how to comfort him. You are not girlfriend material, never have been, maybe you shouldn’t start with a man who’s a good twenty years older than you with a son he raises alone.

Last night you felt like being locked in a cage after you returned to your apartment, and in the end you asked a friend to go to a club with you. Leo is a friend with benefits, although he’s not really a close friend of yours. A fuck buddy? Yeah, maybe that’s a better way to describe your relationship with him.

You’re not proud of yourself, not proud of your always partying lifestyle, but you’re an adult with a good job and a decent salary, you’re doing your best to be nice to people–that should be enough. Maybe you’re just too hard on yourself, that’s why deep down you’re building a distance between you and Aaron. Before calling Leo last night, you realized that your life isn’t compatible with Aaron’s, you two are too different to be able to make this work.

Yes, this must be the answer you’ve been looking for. You’re scared of not being good enough. You’ve always had a problem with that. Your parents loved you, but they were so very proud of you that you developed this need to be outstanding in whatever you were doing. Sometimes it happened, sometimes it didn’t. There were more failures, which probably guided you toward parties and one-night stands that helped you get away from reality temporarily.

When you wrote to Aaron that you have plans for tonight, you meant it, but not in the way he probably thought. You were going to watch a movie with a girl you know from college, then you probably go to some fast food restaurant where you can talk freely. She’s the closest thing you have to a best friend, which is probably pretty sad from the outside.

Just when you turn the key in the lock of your front door upon leaving, you hear the familiar creaking sound from next to you, followed by confident footsteps that get louder with each second. You know who it is. You don’t have to guess or look, because his presence is overwhelming from the moment he stops next to you.

“Does it have anything to do with me not telling you about Jack’s nightmare?”

He sounds exhausted, exasperated, and maybe there’s a hint of uncertainty too. His eyes are fixed on your face, carefully watching your reactions to see if he can find out something you’re not telling him. At this very moment you hate that he reads people for a living, because it’s simply not fair. There’s a power imbalance in a way–he knows everything, you know nothing.

In the end, you shake your head to assure him it’s something else. “I have to go,” you tell him, your tone being timid, sounding nothing like it should based on your messages.

“I thought it meant something, you know,” he notes as he crosses his arms over his chest. “That kiss yesterday, it was… I want more. I want you, all of you. I know, maybe there’s an age gap that can cause problems, but we should give it a shot, just to see where it leads us.”

What are you supposed to say? That he should choose someone better than you? That this age gap might be a problem? That you’re not sure you could take care of Jack in the way he would like you to? It’s hard to say, because the thought of hurting his feelings causes physical pain.

So, you shake your head and draw in a shallow breath. “Aaron, I like you, but why me? We’re so different, you should pick someone who’s more like you. Someone with a successful career, someone more mature than me,” you tell him.

He smiles. That damn smile and those dimples. God, why is it so hard to think clearly around him? And why can’t you just wave goodbye and walk away? Why are you torturing yourself by staying in his gravitational field?

Before you know it, he leans down to place a kiss on your temple, and he stays there, maybe a little too close to your liking. “Those short dresses and stilettos of yours are my biggest weaknesses,” he begins, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine. “But putting that aside, you’re down-to-earth, kind, beautiful, and the way you talk about your job tells me you’re good for a reason. You are perfect for me, never doubt that.”

You look at him wide-eyed, taken aback by all the things he told you. It feels surreal, to be taken so seriously by him–or anyone for that matter, but that’s a different issue. Right now you have to focus on not fainting on the spot. You can’t help but wonder if he knows what he’s doing to you, what numbing effect he has on you, as if he was a drug that can give you a delicious high with a single look.

“Don’t go anywhere, just come over,” he tells you, looking into your eyes to be more convincing.

And damn it, it works like a charm.

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

I Can Show You Lies

I'll Write Your Name Chapter 11

Roy Kent x Latina!Popstar!Reader

6.6k words

Warnings: Language, angst and pining, Vigilante Shit & Roy's very understandable reaction, mentions of an almost-hookup, Roy is still an idiot

A/N: I hope you enjoy the angst! I can't believe I'm almost done with this series... Thank you for being so wonderful as always ❤️

“Uncle Roy, did you get all these bracelets last night?”

Roy glanced over his shoulder from our spot in the kitchen to the living room, where Phoebe was. “Yeah,” he called to his niece before turning to face me again. “Thanks,” he continued, grinning down at the tickets on the counter. “She’s going to lose her shit.”

My own smile grew as I looked over at Phoebe, sitting crisscross on the living room floor and sorting through the friendship bracelets Roy had been sporting the night before. “I’m a little offended you felt like you had to ask,” I teased as I took a bite of one of the cookies I’d brought over with a pair of concert tickets. “I thought you bringing her would be a given.”

Before Roy could answer, Phoebe’s little voice cut though our conversation. “Uncle Roy, why does this one say ‘Daddy’?”

Cookie crumbs sprayed onto the counter as I tried and failed to hold back a laugh. Roy shot me a dirty look, his face furiously red as he stammered out a couple syllables of nonsense.

“Uncle Roy!” Phoebe ran into the kitchen, clutching the bracelet in question. “Are you two having a baby?!”

My face was probably as red as Roy’s now. I eyed the manager, wondering how the hell he wanted to navigate this one.

“No one’s having a baby,” he growled, hastily taking the bracelet from his niece and stuffing it into his pocket.

Her smile faded into a small pout. “Oh,” she sighed. “I would’ve liked having a baby cousin.”

At least this time I didn’t have a cookie in my mouth to spit out. Roy paused for a moment, eyes flickering briefly to me, before snatching the pair of tickets from the kitchen counter.

“Here,” he said simply as he handed them to Phoebe.

There were a few seconds of silence in the kitchen as she scrunched her nose and cocked her head, studying the tickets she clutched. That silence was pierced by a high-pitched shriek as Phoebe threw her arms around her uncle, who now wore that smile he only ever had for her. He laughed and hugged her back, planting a little kiss to the top of her blonde hair.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she was gushing, sounding like she was about to border on hyperventilating at any moment.

“You’re welcome,” he chuckled, releasing her slightly; he was probably hoping she’d take a breath or two, I realized. When we locked eyes over the top of her head, his smile softened. “D’you think there’s someone else you’d better thank?”

In an instant, Phoebe’s arms were around my waist as the little girl beamed up at me. “Thank you,” she repeated. “Thank you so much. This is going to be the best night of my life!”

Unable to help myself, I hugged her back tightly. “You’re so welcome, Pheebs. I hope you have a good time tonight.” I glanced back at her uncle, who was watching us with that familiar fondness on his face. “Both of you,” I added with a grin.

~

“Wembley, you are looking beautiful tonight!”

The crowd cheered boisterously for the popstar, who smiled as she took in the sold-out arena. Roy was impressed; her energy was just as strong as the previous night, her awe and amazement genuine, as though this was her first time performing for a full stadium as opposed to her second night in the row.

When Roy managed to tear his eyes away, he looked down at his niece. The look on her little face was magical. She was completely entranced with the show- the lights, the dancers, the music, her- that she barely even looked at Roy. He smiled to himself, remembering his own catatonic state the previous night; this must have been what it was like for Keeley and Jamie. This concert really was impressive, he told himself. That was why he’d been so enraptured, of course.

Onstage, the singer strummed her guitar casually, beaming at her screaming fans. “You know,” she was saying, “I’ve been hearing a lot of rumors lately. And, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to clarify something.” The song she began to play was familiar, bouncy and fun, sending the entire stadium into an uproar.

I love my hometown as much as Motown, I love SoCal And you know I love Springsteen, faded blue jeans, Tennessee whiskey But something happened, I heard him laughing I saw the dimples first and then I heard the accent They say home is where the heart is But that's not where mine lives

When Roy glanced down, his niece was positively gleeful, singing along to every word of the pop hit from the singer’s previous album. He felt a strange surge of pride at how familiar he was now with her discography. A smile on his own face, he turned back to the stage just in time for the first chorus, her pretty voice almost drowned out by the fans who sang along.

You know I love a London boy I enjoy walking Camden Market in the afternoon He likes my American smile Like a child when our eyes meet, darling, I fancy you Took me back to Highgate, met all of his best mates So I guess all the rumors are true You know I love a London boy Boy, I fancy you

Roy bopped his head along, almost tempted himself to sing along; maybe, just maybe, by the end of this tour he would be, he pondered. That would be fucking something. Surely their publicists would be thrilled at that image, of Roy Kent singing along to these silly love songs that weren’t as silly as he’d initially believed them to be.

And now I love high tea, stories from Chelsea, and from Richmond You can find me in the pub, we are watching football with his teammates

The stadium practically shook with excitement at the lyric changes. Roy’s cheeks were red-hot from the sight of all the eyes- and camera phones- that turned his way immediately. His face burned hotter when he caught that cheeky grin onstage, clearly smug over the reaction her surprise had garnered from her fans. Roy laughed and shook his head when their eyes met; he could admit when he’d been bowled over.

But God, I love the English- And he laughs at all my jokes And he says I'm so American Oh, God, it's just not fair of him To make me feel this much

Fucking hell, Roy thought, tearing his eyes away from the singer to marvel at the crowd. Has Wemley ever been this loud in its entire history?

He vaguely knew the song she’d switched over to; it was by another singer, another American popstar, he recalled. It was a cute song, one that Phoebe really liked, based on the way she bounced and sang along. He’d heard that this was a common thing at her concerts, covering songs by friends or singers she really admired, as well as mashups. And, if the crowd’s reactions were anything to go by, this would end up being a fan favorite.

I'd go anywhere he goes And he says I'm so American Oh, God, I'm gonna marry him If he keeps this shit up I might just be in lo-lo-, lo-lo-, lo-lo-, lo-lo-lo-lo-love

Her eyes were on his, sparkling and joyful. Fuck, she was perfect up there, singing and smiling. Something in Roy’s chest ached as he watched her, that weird ache he’d begun to feel back at the lake, the one that popped up in her kitchen and at the quinceañera. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, or what he should do about it. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he liked it.

But damn, he couldn’t help but admit to himself as she basked in the audience’s deafening applause. He sure as hell liked watching her.

~

The Liverpool crowd was deafening, just as loud as the fans at Wembley had been. The first three shows in London had streamed all over TikTok; it was fun to see people so excited to share their experiences, but I had worried about it taking some of the surprise away for other fans. If the Anfield Stadium audience felt any disappointment, they sure as hell weren’t showing it. They screamed and cheered and cried just as much as that first night at Wembley did.

One of my stagehands, one who’d been touring with me for years now, handed me my guitar with a smile and a wink, the way he always did. I slid the strap over my shoulder and smiled into the microphone, letting the sound of the stadium sink into my heart. I didn’t care how many times I did this or how “used to it” I was supposed to be; every little moment made me wonder when I was going to wake up from this fantasy.

“Liverpool,” I started, the simple few syllables sending the stadium into pandemonium. I laughed and shook my head. “Being here is so unreal. I mean, you’re only the home of the biggest band in history!” The mention of the city’s musical history garnered more shouts and cheers. “And I would be completely remiss if I didn’t take the opportunity to pay tribute to them and share one of my favorite songs with you.”

I closed my eyes and gave a little strum, smiling at the light, easy sound, one I’d played countless times in my bedroom as a teenager.

Here, making each day of the year Changing my life with a wave of his hand Nobody can deny that there′s something there There, running my hands through his hair Both of us thinking how good it can be Someone is speaking But he doesn't know she′s there

Through the lights and blur of faces I managed to find Roy’s eyes, a familiar anchor now that made my smile grow instinctively. I shook my head at him as I sang, hoping he’d recognize the look in my eyes, the one I always wore when he was around. His own grin widened as the song went on, and I swore I saw him mouthing along to the words. Somehow, in a stadium of thousands of people, it felt like it was just the two of us, the way it had been by the lake, where the rest of the world didn’t matter as long as we were together.

Knowing that love is to share Each one believing that love never dies Watching their eyes And hoping I′m always there I will be there, and everywhere Here, there and everywhere Mmm-mmm Here, there and everywhere

As the stadium burst into cheers and applause, I kept my eyes on Roy, who wore that stupidly bashful and adorable grin that made my insides scramble. Unable to help myself, I blew a kiss in his direction and mouthed the three words I couldn’t help but think every time I saw him-

“I love you.”

~

Roy should be used to the knowing smiles at this point, he realized. For months now, the Greyhounds had smirked and winked at him whenever her name, her music, her pretty face appeared. So, he really should have known they’d spend half her concert with their eyes on him rather than the stage.

She’d generously offered to host the Greyhounds at any show they wanted to attend, probably assuming they would want to see her at Wembley. Instead, Richard had joked about everyone coming to France for the Paris show, Jamie had said something about wanting to take April to see the Eiffel Tower, Colin commented that he and Michael were planning on something special for their next holiday, and the next thing Roy knew, about half the team was booking flights and hotels to see her opening night in Paris.

Roy wasn’t sure how many of her shows he was supposed to travel to- especially with pre-season training looming on the horizon- but he was keen to fit in as many as he could. Initially, he’d grimaced at the thought of seeing the same show over and over, convinced that it would eventually grow tiresome to keep rewatching it. But, not for the first time, the pop star proved Roy wrong. Between the energy of the crowds, her adlibs and surprise song performances, and, honestly, her magnetic showmanship, Roy found himself just as enthralled as he’d been that first night at Wembley.

And he had to admit, seeing his team so mesmerized was pretty fucking fun.

“Roy, you must really love those costumes of hers, no?” Richard chuckled, elbowing Roy in the side. “Does she ever bring them back after a show?”

All Roy could do was roll his eyes and blush, hoping that was a believable enough response for his player. As he watched her strut in the dark blue bodysuit she’d suddenly appeared in- this one’s new, Roy mused with a quirked eyebrow- Roy couldn’t help pondering that last bit of Richard’s teasing. Those bodysuits were flattering, he admitted. Each and every one was custom-made, after all, designed to show off both her fluid dance moves and her gorgeous figure. He’d stumbled upon some photos and videos online of people- men and women alike- gushing over how good she looked and calling Roy a lucky man.

Yeah, he admitted with a dry chuckle as he watched the lights change for the next song. If this was real, I’d probably insist on seeing those fucking outfits at home.

But he didn’t have time to scold himself for his admittedly dirty thoughts, or to linger on what those thoughts could mean. Not when the music started and the dancers appeared back onstage with- chairs?

On Roy’s other side, Jamie leaned close. “Don’t remember this part,” he said, echoing Roy’s own thoughts.

Before Roy could confirm the striker’s comment, his mouth went completely dry.

Shrieks and screams filled the stadium, along with the sultry music, but Roy honestly couldn’t hear any of it. Not over his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, drowning out every noise in the packed stadium- except for her voice.

Draw the cat eye, sharp enough to kill a man You did some bad things, but I'm the worst of them

Once again, he knew the eyes of his teammates- and probably a lot of other people- were on him. But, fucking fucking fuck, he could only gaze at the vision onstage.

She stood center stage in that shimmering bodysuit- with so many damn cutouts he wondered if she was sewn into the thing- looking like sin itself with that red smirk of hers. One boot stomped onto the seat of the chair in sync with the music, showing off those thick, powerful thighs that Roy couldn’t help remembering feeling wrapped around him. Her movements, while smooth and confident as ever, were methodical now, copied by dancers Roy’s fuzzy brain barely registered.

I don't dress for women I don't dress for men Lately I've been dressing for revenge

Her hand traveled down her front slowly, tantalizingly, bringing Roy’s wide eyes down its seductive path that ended before it could land anywhere truly scandalous. The smile she flashed was sinful and teasing- and aimed right at him.

Without missing a beat, she turned and plopped herself into the chair with practiced ease, bouncing enticingly with her legs spread, the way Roy suddenly wished she would bounce on-

Whoa, he warned himself, swallowing hard and forcing himself to blink. Don’t fucking go there, Kent. He wasn’t sure what he was more worried about: crossing lines that had already been violated, or his… arousal becoming obvious to anyone who glanced at his jeans. More than ever, Roy Kent needed to get his imagination under control- and fast.

But it was as if she was trying to thwart his attempts to keep his cool. She stood and strutted as she sang in that sultry voice, the sequins on her costume shimmering as if they were trying to keep his attention on her suggestive movements. Hips that dipped just so, coquettish winks over her shoulder, open-mouth smirks; Roy couldn’t stop watching her even if he wanted to.

And she looks so pretty Driving in your Benz Lately she's been dressing for revenge

Oh fuck, she was doing that hand thing again. An involuntary gulp travelled down Roy’s throat as he once again forced himself to blink, briefly wondering what kind of dazed expression he wore; he’d be seeing it soon enough on social media, he thought wryly. There was no fucking way his every reaction wasn’t going to end up all over the internet.

She hovered over the chair, her back to the crowd, and slowly lowered herself back over it. Lower, lower, lower… and down with a satisfying bounce, her ass perfectly curved as she arched her back.

Don’t get mad, get even

Roy’s face- hell, his entire body- was white-hot as his jaw slacked, watching her turn over her shoulder to sing directly at him, adding a shameless wink as she continued to sing. She held his eye firmly for a moment, as if this were a private show, just for Roy, rather than a stadium filled with screaming fans who only grew louder with every erotic little movement.

So on the weekends She don't dress for friends Lately she's been dressing for revenge

She rose from her seated position, her movements slow and enticing, keeping Roy’s eyes glued firmly on her backside. He marveled at how truly sexy she was up there. Thinking back to the previous concerts, to the events where she was all dolled up, to the sleepovers where she wore pyjamas and sweatshirts, even to that night that he kept trying to push out of his mind, Roy had known all along that she was beautiful and attractive. But fuck. She was glowing up there, confident, moving flawlessly. She looked like any man’s fantasy come true.

Fuck it, he thought, shaking his head and grinning at her. She kind of looked like Roy’s fantasy come true.

~

April giggled as she scrolled past another video. “Holy shit, look at this one.”

I rolled my eyes and attempted to take her phone. “Stop,” I whined as she pulled out of my reach. My cheeks warmed as I glimpsed yet another video of me dropping onto the chair during “Vigilante Shit”, a sight that was apparently trending online.

“You look great,” my assistant insisted as she perched her phone on my nightstand and out of my reach. “Believe me.” She offered me a wicked smirk. “Roy Kent seemed to think so too.”

My face was warm as I laid back on my bed. “Oh hush,” I scolded, trying to hide a growing smile.

Her smirk widened. “Jamie said Roy looked absolutely wrecked when he saw you up there doing that chair dance,” she went on, as though I hadn’t just shushed her. “He barely blinked the entire song, just kept watching you do that little chair dance.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. Dating Jamie Tartt had made April bold, I realized. She had never teased me this much during my other relationships. But for some reason, here she was, sitting in my hotel room after a night out with the Greyhounds following the show, giggling like a schoolgirl over my fake boyfriend.

She went on. “And you’ve seen the videos of him during the concert, right?” She fanned herself. “I think Mister Roy Kent might have lost his damn mind watching you, babe.”

“Sure,” I scoffed, shaking my head. “Kent, interested in me. That’s a laugh.”

April studied me carefully for a moment, as if she was considering her next words. “What if he was? Interested in you, I mean.”

The words caught in my throat. Sure, I’d spent months with this man on my arm, kissing and fawning over him for the world to see. And for a few weeks now I’d been singing songs about him, teasing an album about him. But I had yet to tell a single living soul how I felt about him. How could I? Nearly everyone in my life thought we were in a serious relationship, clearly blissful and in love. The only people who knew the truth about me and Roy were Lanie, April, and Keeley Jones. Lanie was out of the question; she’d kill me for complicating the plan and mumble something about shitting where I ate. And Keeley Jones? The thought of telling Roy’s gorgeous model girlfriend- the one who got away- that I had feelings for Roy made me feel like my head was going to fall off.

So that only left April.

I swallowed hard and turned my gaze to closed curtains, as though the greige material was the most interesting thing in the world rather than April’s implications. “If Roy Kent was interested in me,” I repeated slowly, knowing that I’d never get this cat back into its bag, “it would not be the worst thing in the world.”

April shot up faster than the fireworks my brothers set off in the streets after the Dodgers won the World Series. “Excuse me?” she squeaked, eyes wide. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said,” I scoffed, sitting up. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

“Does that mean…?” She quirked an eyebrow at me expectantly.

For a moment, the two of us simply stared at each other, neither willing to break the silence. We’d engaged in countless staring contests just like this over the years, with victories shared pretty evenly between us. But this time, I was determined to take the win, desperate to prolong the way I kept my feelings for Roy to myself.

Sure enough, the corner of April’s mouth finally ticked upwards. “You finally gave in, huh? I wondered how long it would take.”

My friend’s smile was impossible to resist. “Guess I did,” I chuckled, running my fingers through my unruly hair.

Before I could get in another word, April grabbed me and pulled me in close for a hug. “I knew it!” she gushed, laughter in her voice. “I knew from that first match I went to with you that this would happen.” She let me go, choosing to simply take my hands in hers, reminding me of childhood sleepovers with friends, chattering about crushes and chisme. “When did it happen?” she demanded. “How’d you realize you liked him?”

Unable to help myself, I shifted on the mattress, straightening my shoulders and thinking back. “When I met his niece,” I finally murmured, feeling my entire body soften as I remembered that night. “He was so soft and gentle with her.” I sighed dreamily. “And… and we ended up sharing his bed that night- Not like that!” I quickly added when I saw her eyes light up wickedly. “But I did wake up with his arms around me,” I admitted. “And I realized… I think I could love him.”

“Love?” April’s smile widened. “All of those songs were for him, weren’t they?” she whispered, eyes sparkling with suspicion and joy.

“Maybe,” I murmured with an eyeroll. It was pointless trying to play coy now- but it was kind of fun. “The man is kind of… inspiring.”

April shook her head. “I’ll bet,” she purred, waggling her eyebrows. She sobered a little, giving my hands a squeeze. “And Roy? How does he feel?”

My smile faltered. “I… I don’t know,” I admitted. “We, um, nearly had something happen in L.A., after the quince. But then he just kind of left.” I blinked rapidly, trying not to dwell on that night. “And then we came home, and after a while we went back to normal. Which is good.” I cleared my throat.  “We’re friends. And that’s good.”

“But you don’t want to be friends, do you?”

I shook my head. “It’s good enough for me,” I assured her. “I… I’d rather have Roy as my friend than not at all.”

April studied me for a moment, her head cocked thoughtfully. “But what if…” She pursed her lips. “What if he does feel the same way?” As I opened my mouth to refute her, she continued. “I mean, Jamie talks about Roy. A lot actually. It’s a bit concerning sometimes.” She let out a fond chuckle and went on, “And he cannot stop saying how in love Roy is. How he’s always got your music playing, how Jamie’s seen him just casually scrolling through Tweets and TikToks about the two of you, how he lights up when you’re around. How he hasn’t seen Roy like this in a long time.”

My voice came out so small I hardly recognized it, especially after singing in front of a sold-out stadium. “Should I tell him?”

“That’s up to you,” April said slowly. Leave it to April to choose now to stop trying to tell me what to do. “But,” she added, “I think either way, you can’t lose Roy Kent.” She squeezed my hand. “I think you’ve got that man for life.”

~

Some small part of Roy was almost dreading the second Paris show. Not that he was tired of seeing it; on the contrary, the show only seemed to get better with each performance. He found he not only had, well, fun, but he had a sense of pride watching her grow in confidence each night, looking more and more at home on that stage and the joy that radiated from that pretty face when she saw her fans’ passionate reactions to the new work she premiered. No, Roy could watch this show every damn night and never get bored.

What had Roy’s palms feeling clammy was knowing he’d be seeing that dance again. During the late dinner the Greyhounds had shared after the show, the guys had teased Roy nonstop, eliciting soft chuckles and eyerolls from him and the popstar who snuggled close to him at the table. Roy’s chest tightened with every joke about that little bodysuit, every wink shot their way, making his mind wander back to her bedroom in Los Angeles, to her arms around him and her mouth desperately on his, to all those things he was still trying to shove into a small corner of his brain and forget about.

But fucking hell she made it impossible, grinding on that chair again, putting on a damn burlesque show that made his skin go hot. At least this time he didn’t have to watch it in front of his entire team; no, tonight his only company was Keeley, who’d insisted on flying out after seeing all the clips of “Vigilante Shit” that Jamie kept sending her the night before.

Keeley’d said it was because she needed to see the sultry performance in person, something every single Greyhound understood. But, if the blonde was being honest, she wanted to see Roy. She’d had her suspicions for a while now, but she needed to see up close and in person how her ex reacted to seeing that gorgeous woman moving around in ways that made even Keeley’s mouth go dry.

And oh, Roy did not disappoint either. Keeley caught the way his jaw slacked and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he watched her plop onto that chair. If nothing else, Keeley mused with a smirk, her friend was clearly attracted to the beautiful singer. That much was obvious.

Roy managed to get his heart rate back down in time for the surprise song. He couldn’t help smiling as he watched her strum her guitar, reminding him of those afternoons by the lake, of that late morning in her backyard, moments he realized he held close to his heart.

Moments that might be more special to him than he’d even let himself believe.

“I want to share a really important song with you,” she told the already screaming audience. “You know, when you meet someone, it’s the scariest and most exciting thing in the world. You’re so thrilled to find someone so amazing and wonderful, but there’s that gnawing feeling of… ‘they’ll never like me back’. And living in that limbo is the most wonderfully hellish thing.” She laughed and shook her head. “And everything just feels so… Delicate.”

Roy’s ears were bombarded with screams as the crowd recognized the title, one of the songs from the new album. He allowed himself to add his own clapping and shouts, thrilled to get to hear yet another song that she’d kept hidden from him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Keeley, her mouth wide with glee and her phone ready to record; but, not for the first time, he ignored the sight of his ex-girlfriend in favor of focusing his attentions on the popstar who began playing the new tune.

This ain't for the best My reputation's never been worse, so You must like me for me We can't make Any promises now, can we, babe? But you can make me a drink

She swayed to the music she played, looking bashful in front of the thousands of people screaming and cheering for her. Her voice was tender and vulnerable, as sweet as Roy remembered it being those afternoons at the lake, in their own little world of laughter and music. Some of the happiest afternoons of his life, he realized. Just the two of them, the cat, and her pretty voice.

Is it cool that I said all that? Is it chill that you're in my head? 'Cause I know that it's delicate Is it cool that I said all that? Is it too soon to do this yet? 'Cause I know that it's delicate

Roy stopped fighting his usual statuesque instincts and let his body rock back and forth to the music, the way he had in her kitchen while cookies baked in the oven and a Selena song filled the house and her fingers intertwined with his.

Another memory locked in his heart.

Third floor on the West Side, me and you Handsome, you're a mansion with a view Do the girls back home touch you like I do? Long night with your hands up in my hair Echoes of your footsteps on the stairs Stay here, honey, I don't wanna share

Something in her voice changed, carrying an almost desperation, something strangled, something that made the muscles Roy’s throat freeze up, making it impossible for him to swallow all the feelings that refused to stay squashed anymore. All he could think of was the image of her in her bed, the smell of alcohol floating in the space between their mouths, the shots he’d taken all night whispering doubts in his ear, telling him that the desire in her eyes was drunkenness and months of pretending, nothing more.

But when her eyes found his in the crowded stadium, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, those doubts were wrong. Because she was singing, right at him, eyes sparkling with something Roy knew his held, too.

Sometimes I wonder, when you sleep Are you ever dreaming of me? Sometimes when I look into your eyes I pretend you're mine all the damn time

Fuck. Fuck. Oh fuck. Roy’s heart pounded in his chest so hard he pondered if he should call a medic.

What the fuck was he doing? This woman- this beautiful, talented, intelligent, fun, sexy as all hell woman- was serenading him in front of thousands of people. The past few months with her had been some of the best he’d ever had- months of laughter and joy and affection.

He loved her. Fucking hell, he loved her. Of course he did. He’d been in love with her for a while now, if he was being honest. How could he not be?

Isn’t it delicate?

Yeah, he realized as he added his clapping to the cheering crowd. It was delicate. Really fucking delicate. He couldn’t just dive in; he needed to get this off his chest and talk to someone, get some advice.

“Keeley,” he huffed in the model’s ear. “After the show, can we talk?”

~

See you at dinner!

I reread the text from Roy and fought the silly grin that grew at the sight of his contact name on my phone. After the show he’d suggested we grab some dinner, saying I should take my time getting ready because he needed to talk to Keeley first. (“Some stupid PR shit,” he’d grumbled with light eyeroll.)

A late-night dinner in some cozy Parisian restaurant after performing one of the most vulnerable songs I’d ever written? Seemed like just romantic enough to be the perfect opportunity to tell Roy how I felt about him.

I took a deep breath as I entered the restaurant, thankful that neither of our publicists had insisted on tipping off our location to photographers. No one paid any mind to me and my racing heart as I scanned the tables looking for-

Roy sat with his back to me, with Keeley perched on the chair next to him. Neither seemed to notice me, too engrossed in whatever somber conversation they were in the middle of.

I pondered what was the least obvious way to get Keeley to leave so I could be alone with Roy. It wasn’t that I didn’t like her, she’d actually grown on me quite a bit, but I couldn't handle having to fake my way through a casual dinner. Not when I had my feelings for Roy weighing in my chest.

“Keeley,” Roy was saying as I got closer, “I just don’t know how to fucking do this anymore.” His growling sigh had me stopping in my tracks. “All this fucking pretending, I… fuck.”

The model patted Roy’s arm sympathetically. “You’ve gotta tell her,” she said softly. “You really have to just tell her.”

Roy shook his head. “Fuck am I supposed to say?” he hissed. “I mean, I only did this in the first place because I was trying to win you back, Keels. Because I never fucking got over you.”

My hands began to shake as I took a step backwards, turned, and briskly walked out of the restaurant. I tried to get my breathing under control as I flagged down a taxi and climbed in, mumbling the address for my hotel.

I was trying to win you back. I never got over you.

Stupid, stupid me.

I stumbled into my hotel room, finally allowing the tears to fall as I slammed the door behind me. The feeling in the pit of my stomach was all too familiar as I flopped onto the bed, not caring about the mascara stains I’d leave behind on the pillowcase.

I was trying to win you back. I never got over you.

How dumb could I be? I really thought Roy felt something more than friendship for me. Really? After that night in L.A., how could I be so damn foolish? A few smiles, a couple of compliments, some tipsy encouragement from April, and I really tricked myself into believing that Roy could love me too.

As I turned onto my back and let the silent tears stream down my cheeks and onto the pillow, I made a decision.

Friends with Roy Kent was no longer enough.

~

“You’ve gotta tell her,” Keeley had told him. “You really have to just tell her.”

 “Fuck am I supposed to say?” he had argued. “I mean, I only did this in the first place because I was trying to win you back, Keels. Because I never fucking got over you.”

After a moment, Keeley gave a twinkling little giggle. “But you did,” she pointed out. “Just like I knew you would.”

She admitted it: this had been her plan all along. She knew from the moment she met the pop star that she was something special, and that she and Roy could be something special together. All Keleey had to do was give a few little pushes- sleepovers, a vacation, an album full of love songs- and watch the obvious attraction take its course.

As Keeley explained the plan she’d deviously masterminded, Roy glimpsed his phone; a text, saying the popstar was really tired after her show and would be staying in.

“Go get her,” Keeley had laughed, seeing Roy’s disappointed face. “Hurry up now, or I’ll steal her from you.” She fanned herself playfully. “I mean, after that chair dance, Roy-o…”

So now, Roy strode down the hotel hallway, clutching the sunflowers he’d nicked from a closed flower stand on the corner; he figured the fistful of euros he’d left behind would more than cover his theft. Maybe it was a little cheesy, bringing sunflowers for the woman he called Sunshine, but to hell with it. He’d listened to enough of her music to know she liked cheesy and romantic and all the other silly things Roy suddenly wanted to be.

It felt like an eternity before he was finally in front of her door. Scrounging up every ounce of bravery he had, Roy knocked, two quick, hard raps, praying she was still awake and that he wouldn’t have to pound on her door like a werido-

The door opened quickly, revealing the popstar, in those familiar cozy pyjamas Roy found so damn endearing. His entire body softened at the sight of her, his excitement fizzling slightly when he caught sight of the streaks running down her cheeks. But dammit, he was a man on a mission and he just needed to fucking say it.

“Sunshine,” he breathed, his entire body trembling. “Listen, I-”

“Go away, Kent.” Her tiny, sharp voice stabbed at Roy’s heart.

His face fell, but he took a miniscule step towards her. “No, see, I’ve gotta tell you-”

“Just leave,” she said harshly. “Like, back to London.” She shifted, leaning in the doorway, her body blocking Roy from entering the room. Her eyes refused to meet his. “We’re done with this. We did our jobs, I got the press off my back about Everett, so congratulations. We can be done with this whole charade. So just… go home.”

Roy couldn’t believe a single thing she was saying. “But Lanie and- and Keeley-”

Something in her face darkened. “Yeah, I think Keeley will be just fine,” she all but spat. “So, why don’t you go so ask her to book you a seat next to her on the next flight out to London, hmm?”

What the fuck?

“We have that preseason match coming up,” he tried again, growing more desperate with each word out of her mouth. “You’re still coming, right? Even just as my friend- we’re friends, right, sunshine? Real friends?”

The dry laugh that came out of her mouth lodged a pit in Roy’s already turning stomach. “Friends?” she repeated. “Roy Kent, let’s be fucking honest about one thing, nothing about any of this has ever been real.” She shook her head, gripping the door so tight her knuckles turned white. “I fucking heard you, man.”

Roy winced at her words, at her tone, at her stony expression, and could do nothing but blink at the furious popstar.

She went on, “I was going to that restaurant to tell you how I felt about you, maybe turn dinner into a real date.” He now realized the streaks on her face were from crying- because her tears were flowing like a pair of rivers. “And I got to hear you tell Keeley Jones all about how you only did all of this to win her back. Well, congrats. You’re officially single again, so go fucking get her.”

With a finality that stole the breath from Roy’s lungs, she shut the door, leaving him with a bouquet of sunflowers and maybe a broken heart.

Taglist: @infinetlyforgotten@ladygrey03@book-of-roses@thatonedogwithablog@misshall14@wibblywobblyvampywolfystuff@akornsworld@itswhateveripromise@purecinnamonextract@oceanncurrent@dearvoidgoodnight@hopefulromances@respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog@hotleaf-juice@emmy2811@captainorbust-blog@preciousbabypeter@shion-ah@royalestrellas@eugene-emt-roe@littleesilvia@teenwolf01@sisinever@yagotgames@queen-of-the-downtown-scene@emmaallisonann@mrdsturd@confessionsofatotaldramaslut@charkachow@mrdsturd@littlepinapple@sunfairyy@shadowzena43@uhmidkmuch@imsoluckyeverythingworksoutforme@alicedsworld@222333777@thegivenvoid @tortilla-maria1@treblebeth@maackiimoo@di-essere-amato@sortzz@i-am-mrsreckless @dreadfuljas @klaudosh @adri4na

[windsson]

He doesn’t appreciate what Bruno saying that does to him. It shouldn’t! They aren’t even like that- Bruno was talking about touching his face, idiot. What made it more frustrating is Makani has no idea if blushing is visible on him; he knew from people saying it that blushing made you pink, but not only did he have no clue what pink even looked like any more, but he had no idea if blushing made him pink.

He knew he had to be blushing though, he could feel it in his face, remnants of a lightning bolt that went straight from his head down to his toes in an instant. He just prays it dissipates quickly- he was being weird, and he didn’t even mean to do that, anyway. He didn’t want his new friend getting the wrong idea- he was the only friend he had, after all, if he lost Bruno he’d be…alone again.

To try to brush it off, Makani laughs down at the ground, shrugging a shoulder.

“Well, you really can’t get as much information from doing that as you’d think- I mean, I have no idea what I look like, and I can touch my own face whenever I want. But yeah, actually, maybe just for a second, it couldn’t hurt.” He’s trying to play it off casually. Just two bros touching faces alone together, nothing weird about this.

He continues to talk through it as well as another way of making it feel less awkward, or at least that’s how it starts, but Makani’s sincerity don’t let him feel awkward for too long. He did genuinely want to do this, the last time he had was…gosh, maybe 13 years old? He didn’t get to connect with people like this. Makani was always distant from people, in his own world, the only touch he ever received usually being harsh grabs on the wrist from his father (the ring of bruises on his right arm being proof enough of that.) Makani wanted connection, he wanted physical contact, he wanted any kind of belonging that didn’t make him feel utterly left out. He had been in too many rooms crowded with people and felt utterly alone.

“I really am happy, by the way- I’m sorry if you were nervous to do all this,” he says, very tenderly and apprehensively putting his hands on the sides of Bruno’s face to start.

“I know this won’t happen in a day, but man, this is the first time in my life I haven’t been scared for the future. I know what’s coming and it’s- woah, you need to shave, dude,” he stops and laughs.

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding! I wish I could grow facial hair- it never comes in right so I just gave up.” Bruno’s cheeks are more sallow than Makani envisioned- he was entirely smaller to hold than he imagined. His nose felt similar to his own, which Makani thought meant Bruno must have a big nose- his father had told Makani he had a big nose, anyway. He wouldn’t say anything since it sounded like a bad thing, not that it ever mattered to himself.

The yammering to break the tension, if there was any, gets slower and more sparse the longer he goes, concentrating harder and getting a little lost in the sensation, and trying to fit together a mental image of his friend. He stops completely, however, when the back of his hand brushes against Bruno’s hair.

“I’m sure we’ve got a lot to uh, to…talk about, though- with this. I don’t know what your…your family will say, this is weird news to get, and I- woah!…Gosh, your hair is soft! How do you DO this?” He excitedly gets two gentle handfuls of each, his excited-rambling voice coming back for just a second before he realizes how odd he’s being.

Makani let’s go and puts his hands in his lap, clearing his throat and smiling politely.

“I’m sorry- I just said a second and I uh…thank you, in any case-but no, um,” he tucks his hair behind one of his ear, definitely not as soft, continuing,

“This is…wild. I-I mean how is this even going to happen? D-Does anyone even want me here? Where would I be, how does…” he laughs a little, incredulously, “This is so incredible but I don’t know how I’m supposed to be feeling right now. Wh-What do we do now?”

“Dude. That was the greatest thing I’ve ever got to be a part of.”

In comparison to his nervous friend’s upright posture, Makani was catching his breath leaning back onto his elbows, and by the state of his hair, he had been through a tornado. It was wrapped around his face like a fishnet, Makani needing a moment to get some strands out of his mouth.

“I get to stay…I get to- Bruno, are you even hearing yourself? I get to stay!” He crawls over to where Bruno had shuffled off to, intending to reach out to (happily) shake some sense into Bruno, but his thoughts get interrupted when his hand collides with something.

“No matter what, this is good news, I just wish I knew h- ah- oh, what’s this…thing?”

He runs his hands over the glass, feeling the etches on its surface and tracing vague shapes with his fingertips.

“Where did you get this…metal? No, wait…” he taps his knuckle against it, “Glass. It’s like…an upside-down house, and an upside-down pers- wait!”

He grabs the glass plate off of Bruno’s lap and flips it right-side-up for himself, putting it down on his own lap and tracing his fingers as if he were reading in Braille.

“You said it was me, in front of your house, walking down a…yeah! Okay! This is the road, yeah? So this little thing in the middle is me!”

He was so small in the frame, his fingers couldn’t make out a ton of detail in the face, but Makani still eagerly swiped over the picture to try to intuit any kind of information about the drawing.

“Wow, my hair feels long. Do I just keep growing it out?” He laughs a little, chin still raised in concentration to try to turn the abstract feelings in his fingers into something more tangible.

“I know like, vaguely what I look like? The last time I saw myself I was 8 years old, so I’m always guessing- it’s not as important to me as it used to be, but I do still wonder, sometimes,” he chuckles. He does allow himself a few seconds to trace the mysterious hand, fading into a blob of just smooth, unmarked glass. Of course he was curious about that, and he’d ask questions and wonder in due time, but his excitement over this revelation meant the little questions could wait.

I get to stay. I’m safe.

He was going to sorry about the details later; including that it was kind of weird to learn he was about to start living with these people he’s known for a month, whose hand was he holding and why (and trying not to be disappointed with the reality that someone was probably guiding him somewhere, Occam meet razor,) no, right now he was going to allow himself to just be happy and excited for a moment.

He didn’t understand why Bruno was so nervous before, this couldn’t have gone any better.

“I know you probably have some important stuff to tell me about this, but give me just a second to do something stupid before any bad news,” he says with a smile, trying to subtly get across to Bruno that he wasn’t mad, he liked the fortune, no one was in trouble. “Do you wanna hear something stupid about me? Then it’s serious time, I promise.”

Makani puts his fingertips back on the rendering of his face, no way of really being certain if Bruno’s magic-fortune-telling-glass-wind-sand-thingy had actually rendered him accurately. He snickers down by his chest, clearly embarrassed about whatever he was going to say, but wanting to tell nonetheless.

“What I’ve been doing with this thing, trying to like, feel what I look like, I definitely did this to your door before you answered it,” he laughs at himself, “I didn’t know it was carved! And when I realized it was you, I was trying to gather all the I formation I could in…5 seconds. I was just trying to figure out what you looked like…from a door, so probably not super close, yeah?”

[indifferentinfatuation]

PrapaiSky

LITA parallels - both Phayu and Prapai deciding to do a fake-out before confessing

[a-shade-of-green]

do you think it was weird for mike to go to california and experience his first byers family dinner in months just for it to be far too similar to wheeler family dinners

[otaku553]

A certain first encounter

[presdestigatto]

breaking my silence i fully believe charles is winning in vegas

[polaroid-petals]

Sometimes my thoughts drift into how lonesome and terribly bored Omori must've felt in those four years waiting in a blank room, my heart starts hurting, and I gotta back out again