#she was like pen girl you gotta let them BREATHE

[dearestgentlereaders]

genevieve was working overtime on her necklines

[revasserium]

can i have one were zoro realises she does things bc of truama (like doesnt speak much etc)

hold me (still)

opla!zoro; 6,680 words; slow!!!!burn, fem!reader, ex-assassin!reader, straw hat!reader, general tragic backstory/trauma, fluff, hurt/comfort, bit of angst, emotionally constipated zoro, communication? what's that?, nami playing therapist bc she's the only one with 1 iota of emotional intelligence

summary: sometimes, stillness is a virtue, and others -- a tragedy. or, in which the straw hats pick up a new member and zoro is equally intrigued and weirded out by you.

a/n: well. you guys asked for slow burn and... the burn is so slow u gotta squint to see the smoke yall. but trust. the burn does get there! pls be patient!! and i tried to combine 2 dif reqs in this one fic :)

You are of the quiet sort. Just a shadow dancing in the periphery of their vision, and when they first met you, you’d told them it was your superpower, a soft, still smile slipping across your lips. Luffy had bought into it immediately, and the invitation was out his mouth before anyone could stop him.

“Come with us!���

“Oh…” your lips pressed into a thin line of consideration.

Zoro’s fingers itched towards his swords because something about you makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. But something else — something uncomfortable and strange, something very much like curiosity — seizes his chest and twists his stomach. Strange, he thinks, too strange.

“C’mon! It’ll be fun!”

And then, you’d smiled wider, and nodded, and that had been that.

It’s been three months since then, and you are still of the quiet sort, though it had receded a bit with time. What with Sanji’s gentle flirting and Usopp’s not-so-gentle stories and Nami’s bright, dry-humored companionship, you’d begun to “open up a bit”, so Luffy observed.

Zoro, for his part, has kept his distance. Because sometimes he still catches you at the bow of the ship, staring out across the midnight waters, still as a stone-carved statue. Still as a wooden beam — stiller, even.

“What’s with that?” he asks one day, strolling up to Nami as she traces a fine line over a new map she’s working on.

“Hm?” is her very eloquent response.

Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth and casts his eyes about the ship, finding them drawn to the shape of you, up at the bow again, reading in the shade of the tangerine trees. Nothing moves except for the wind as it whisps through your hair and the slow scanning of your eyes as it skates across the page.

“New girl,” Zoro says, crossing his arms as Nami finally looks up at him and then off towards you.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

Zoro lets out a puff of breath, unfolding his arms to glare at Nami. He finds her grinning a lopsided grin as she clicks shut her compass and puts down her pen. She leans a hip on the barrel she’d been drawing on and folds her own arms.

“Oh, you like her.”

“I’m weirded out by her. ‘S not the same thing,” Zoro snaps, but when he tries to leave, Nami blocks him with an arm and pins him with a sharp, leveling look.

“No, no, no — we’re gonna work this through.”

“No thanks, I’m good.”

“Uh-uh, you still owe me after that round of drinks the other night — remember when you bet you could drink more than me?”

Zoro narrows his eyes, “I did drink more than you.”

Nami’s grin is gleeful, “No, you didn’t. You had to be dragged back to your room after clogging up the toilet. Or do I need to show you the evidence —”

“Alright — fuck, fine. But really? This is what you’re gonna waste your favor on? You could’ve asked me to —” Zoro gestures around vaguely, ��clean the bilge or something.”

Nami shrugs, looking almost too pleased, “Nope! This is what I wanna use my favor for. And, really, you think a bit of bilge water is gonna gross me out? C’mon.”

Zoro heaves a sigh and leans back against the main mast, closing his eyes.

“Fine then. Go.”

Nami sits back on the edge of the barrel.

“No, you go. Admit that you like the new girl.”

“I don’t.” He doesn’t open his eyes.

“I’ve seen you staring at her. We’ve all seen you staring at her.”

“What, that a crime now?”

Nami fights the urge to roll her eyes, “No, but I’ve never seen you try so hard to avoid someone before.”

Zoro lets out a bark of laughter, hard and mirthless, “Yeah, so that must mean I like her.”

Nami cocks her head, “It means you feel something towards her. And I’d suggest you figure it out.”

“And how’d you propose I do that?”

Nami once again waves in your direction, “Go. Talk. To her.”

Zoro lets out another breath, eyes scanning across the ship, anywhere but towards where you’re still sitting and reading, finger flipping a page in a perfect, smooth, singular motion.

And Zoro’s not blind. Blunt though he may be at times and careless as he is about most material things, he can still appreciate beauty when he sees it. And you — there’s no denying that you’re beautiful. Your strange stillness aside, when you do move, it’s with a dancer’s lissome grace, fluid lines, not a single movement wasted. When you smile, it seems to light you up from the inside, and your words, though soft, carries the well-worn weight of river stones, glittering beneath the clear, spring stream of your voice.

There’s a sharpness in your eyes, a straightness to your spine, a way of carrying yourself as if you’re afraid that one wrong move might shatter you and the entire world around you.

Sometimes when he sees you, he wonders at the hands that had sculpted you this way. He wonders at your life before they’d picked you up in Loguetown, when you’d oh-so-silently slipped up the execution platform and helped Luffy down, all the while staying free of Smoker’s watchful gaze.

The few times he’s seen you fight, he can’t help wondering if you’ve eaten some kind of devil fruit as well. No human could be so fast as that. Or be so quiet. But then again, he’d fought Kuro, and they’d seen stranger things. Still, he marvels at the way you flicker in and out of sight, slipping around the edges of battle like a dark, haunting thing, and men would drop like flies beneath your quick, quiet hands. With nary a sound or shout before their eyes roll back and their breathing is no more.

On the instances when Sanji had asked about your past, your eyes had gone misty and dark, unfocused. You’d gone still, freezing for so long that Usopp would cough just to fill the silence. And then slowly, ever so slowly, you’d turn back towards them with a small, sad smile and say:

“There’s… not much to talk about. I grew up somewhere far away, where if you didn’t keep quiet and still, bad things would happen to you. And then when those bad things happened, if you weren’t quick — the quickest of all, you’d die.”

Bad things, huh? Zoro thinks as he makes his way towards you, a hand resting on the hilt of his swords. He comes to a stop next to you and leans against one of the white planters, casually peering over your shoulder at the book in your hands.

For a long moment, neither of you move. Then, Zoro clears his throat and forces himself to speak.

“Is it good?”

It takes you a second, but eventually, you turn towards him.

“The book? Yeah, I suppose.”

“Not exactly a glowing review.”

You laugh, a soft, breathy little thing as you look back down at the page.

“It's about a girl who falls into an enchanted sleep, and a prince who wakes her up with a kiss.”

“Must’ve been one hell of a kiss.”

“Yes, and one hell of a prince.”

Zoro finds himself chuckling, his shoulders loosening as he takes another breath.

“And then what?” he asks.

“And then… he asks her to marry him.”

You run your fingers along the page, smoothing your palm over the ink and parchment. Zoro watches you, wondering, always wondering.

“What’s she say?” and it’s then that he notices his own voice, hushed and low, barely a whisper.

You look back up at him and smile a smile a sphynx would have been proud of.

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten there yet.”

Zoro takes a breath, and the breath tastes distinctly different than all the breaths he’d taken before it. As if the world takes the breath with him, and some fundamental truth had shifted on the exhale.

The moment breaks, as moments are wont to do, when Sanji calls out for lunch and Zoro jerks out of his almost-reverie. You slowly close your book and rise to your feet, turning back to smile at him.

“C’mon, it’s lunchtime.”

Zoro nods and follows you into the kitchen, where Luffy and Usopp are already digging in, and Nami is pouring herself a drink. She spots the pair of you and catches Zoro’s eyes. A grin ticks at the edge of her lips but before she can say anything, you’re accosted by Sanji sweeping into a deep, flourishing bow, and ushering you towards the table, where he’d set your place in a manner fit for a princess.

“Where’s my setup?” Zoro asks as he drops into the seat next to you, cocking an eyebrow. Sanji shoots him an unimpressed look.

“I’m surprised you can use a fork and knife, moss-head. Just be grateful and eat up.”

Zoro scoffs but digs in nonetheless.

When next they dock, it’s on a rare, peaceful island — an island of light and books and learning, where the air smells of salt and ink and drying parchment, of unwritten words and untold stories. But it smells of a stillness too, and Zoro knows without having to ask that you’d like it here.

And you do.

He’s never seen you smile so much, never seen you so vibrant and full of life. You chat and laugh and read with a voracious hunger, and he finds himself drawn to this new, warm, moving side of you. He finds himself, more often than not, by your side, even when neither of you speak. And he basks in the comfort of the quiet that permeates the air when it’s just the two of you — him hanging in the hammock on deck, you reading by his side.

But now, there’s the soft tapping of your foot, the shuffle of pages when you flip forward to see what’s coming next, and of course the ever-present shush of the ocean as it washes against the Merry’s side.

The Log Pose needs two weeks to properly calibrate to the next island, so they’ve got time to kill.

On the fifth night, over dinner and drinks, Luffy asks the question that everyone’s been thinking since the day they’d all met you —

“So. Why’re you so still all the time? Not that it’s weird or anything — well, actually — it kind of is, but it doesn’t bother me. I’m just asking cause I'm curious!”

You look up from your half-finished wine but Zoro feels it happening, like the hush of a fan blade slicing through air, the gasp before a porcelain vase tips over and shatters. You stop. You stare. You’re frozen in every sense of the word. And he’s known you for long enough to know that you only go still as a reflex, only reach for it as a shield. Against what? He doesn’t quite know.

“It’s… something of a long story,” you say, your voice low and hoarse.

Luffy grins, smacking his lips as he sucks the meat off a chicken leg, “We’ve got tons of time! Right?” he looks around as if for validation, but everyone’s eyes are caught on you and your unnatural stillness.

Zoro shifts slightly in the seat next to you, opening his stance and turning towards you.

“Could do with a good story.”

Your eyes flash in his direction and he offers you the barest hint of a smile.

You relax, ever so slightly, drifting back in your seat, your glass cupped in the palms of your hands. And then, you begin to speak, your voice smooth and lilting, your words washing over them like the faint lull of the tides.

“When I was three, my father sold me for a barrel of beer.”

A dull clack echoes around the room and everyone turns to see Sanji hurriedly righting the thick stein he’s knocked over. Thankfully, it’d been empty.

“Sorry — I just — what?” he sounds furious but Usopp lays a hand across his arm and shakes his head.

You take a deep breath and continue, your voice oddly emotionless as you say, “The man who bought me took me to an island. It was… a dark place. A quiet place. I only learned its name after I escaped — an island called Elysium.”

Nami gasps before clapping her hands over her mouth.

“I’ve just — I’ve heard of that place before, but I thought… I thought it was just a made-up place.”

Luffy swallows hard, frowning, “What’s it like?”

Nami’s eyes flicker between you and Luffy, “Supposedly… it’s the home island for… for the most feared group of assassins in all the seas combined.”

Usopp’s eyebrows jerk up, “The most feared?”

A faint smile seeps across your lips like blood.

“Yes. The Shadows that Live.”

Everyone turns to look at you. Luffy picks up another drumstick.

“Whoa… cool name!”

Zoro hums, “I’ve heard of them before — but mostly, it was just an old wive’s tale about… shadow assassins who hunt in the dark. Mercenaries for hire. But… no one’s ever seen one before.”

“Because… once you see one, you’ll never live to tell the tale,” you say, your eyes now downcast and fixed on the glass in your hands.

“Then…” Usopp’s voice is soft, “What about… you?”

“I… I ran away.”

Silence greets you. But after a moment, Luffy spits out a bit of bone and uses it to pick at the space between his teeth, his eyes round.

“Wow! You must be pretty good to run away from an island full of shadow assassins!”

You almost laugh, his boundless trust hitting you like a punch to the stomach.

“So…” Sanji lets out a puff of silvery smoke, “the staying still thing… that’s just part of your training, yeah?”

You nod, “Something like that.”

Someday, you think, you’ll tell them about the hellscape that was Elysium island, of the long echoing halls, dark and still and silent. Of the mechanical beasts that hunted by sound and movement alone. Someday, you’ll let them know about the poisoned pomegranate seeds that they feed all the “recruits” to keep them hazy, of how you’d kept six of them suspended in your mouth and spat them all out when you’d finally made it far enough from the island to allow yourself to breathe.

“And… are these shadow assassins gonna come after us?” Nami asks, her voice careful and light.

You purse your lips, “I… I don’t know.”

Nami sighs, but a moment later, she moves to refill her drink with a slight shrug, “Well, just one more enemy to add to our growing list. Soon, we’re gonna have to post a sign-up sheet.”

At this, everyone laughs, and the tension snaps like a wounded spring.

Luffy burps loudly, patting his stomach, “I’m not worried — I mean, if you were able to run away from them once, that means you’re stronger than them, right?”

You pause, your hand hovering over the wine bottle. Zoro gently reaches over and refills your glass for you. You shift back into movement, casting him a small smile and taking a sip. The wine is cool and tangy as it hits the back of your throat. You breathe, and the world keeps spinning.

“I… I’m not sure — I’ve never fought… any of… them… before.”

“Guess we’ll find out if they try to come for you then — but you’ve got us now!” Luffy says, reaching for an apple and chomping into it, “ — Sho… you duon gotta wourry —” he licks his lips as he takes another huge bite before tossing the core towards the waste bin, “We’ve got your back!”

Nami makes a disgusted face, “Don’t talk with your mouth full, ugh.”

Sanji chuckles, tapping out his cigarette, “Yeah Luffy, mind your manners.” But his voice is full of laughter and you find yourself relaxing into the sway of the night, the swing of conversation. Beside you, Zoro refills his own glass and leans over to clink it against yours.

You turn, but he only raises his glass before taking a sip.

You mirror his movement, cradling the cup to your chest when you finish.

Later, he finds you by the tangerine trees, ghosting your fingers over their lush green leaves, dark enough to look black in the evening light.

“Hey.”

You turn, “Hi.”

Zoro sighs and looks out over the darkened waves, the moonlight refracted into a million shattered bits of sky.

“Luffy’s right, y’know.”

“What about?” you ask, joining him by the railings. The night air is cool and crisp. Behind you both, the island oozes with lamplight and laughter. Even from here, you can hear the joy, the peace that permeates the air here. It wouldn’t be a bad thing, you think, to stay here forever.

“If they come for you,” Zoro says, “we’ll have your back.”

You let out a small chuckle, looking down at your hands, “I know.”

“So,” he turns towards you, his earrings glinting in beneath the scimitar moon, “you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

You lick your lips, and instinctively, you reach for the stillness. All the days and weeks and months with the people around you have softened you, and for that, you know you should be thankful. Still, old habits die hard, and you have to clench your fists and dig your nails into your own palms to keep from freezing completely.

You take a shivering breath and force it out again.

“Fear’s a hard habit to break.”

At this, Zoro grunts, though it sounds something like consent. The moment stretches, long and soft and taffy-sweet.

He turns back towards the sea, “Yeah,” he says, and then —

“But we can take it slow.”

You swallow hard, passed the broken shards of forgotten words lodged in your throat (you find that they all somehow taste like thank you), and you nod. Warmth tickles your cheeks and you wonder why he’s said we instead of you — and later, lying in your bed at night, staring at the moon-slatted ceiling, you wonder if he was really talking about fear or if it was something else entirely.

You don’t get a lick of sleep that night.

The next few days pass in a light, repetitive blur. You and Zoro are sent on a few short shopping trips in the city, and you’re glad for something to do that involves movement. Shocking how quickly the body adapts once the weight it’d been holding on to is lifted.

You are still quiet, and he, the same; but the silence has shifted around you, and whereas before it’d been solid and steady, it’s now thrumming and charged with some unspoken energy.

Neither of you are blind to it; nor, it seems, is the rest of the crew.

Sanji’s taken to openly teasing Zoro about being with you all the time, complaining loudly that he can’t get a word in edgewise because Zoro refuses to leave you alone. Nami keeps on trying to drag you out for “girl's day” shopping trips, hinting at all the cute clothes you could get and how “green really suits your skin tone, y’know?”

Luffy and Usopp for their part, both just grin whenever they see you together — Luffy stoked at the fact that you seem more happy and talkative, Usopp gleeful at the way Zoro always seems so much softer when he’s next to you.

You’ve taken to watching him when he trains, sitting in the shade of the tangerine trees, a cold drink in your hand as Zoro runs through his katas. You content yourself with watching him flow through the movements, one and then another, and then another after that. He contents himself with your presence, knowing that you’re here, feeling your eyes as they skate down the length of his back or the width of his shoulders.

It’s a peaceful sort of companionship, even if it is living on borrowed time.

When you all wave the little island goodbye, it’s with heavy hearts and tearful smiles. It had treated you well, and you think you’d miss it. But adventure is as adventure does — it calls, beckoning to those with wandering hearts to listen.

The first week back at sea is a strange one, full of a ringing nostalgia. As if you’re simultaneously coming home and leaving one at the same time. Everyone is a bit quiet, except for Luffy, of course, who literally bounces off the freshly waxed planks, humming to himself as he sits on top of the great ram’s figurehead.

“Is he ever still?” you ask one day, sometime in the second week.

To which Zoro makes a sound between a scoff and a laugh, “You’ve been here a while. What’d you think?”

You sigh softly and tear your eyes away from the bright, shivering ball of energy that is your captain towards the far horizon. A sliver of uncertainty twines through you and your breath slows. Zoro glances at you, now long since attuned to your subtle shifts in movement and stillness. He narrows his eyes.

“What is it?”

You shake yourself back into the moment, forcing a smile.

“Nothing. I think…” your words fade as the feeling twists in you again, knife-sharp and stinging. You clear your throat and reach up to brush away a strand of hair. Skin grazes skin as Zoro’s hand meets yours in the same gesture and you both freeze — hands held up, his finger caught against the bend of your cheekbone, your fingers curling over his.

Time slows, slackens around the pair of you, and the moment stays, suspended in space — garnet dark and perfect.

Neither of you dare to breathe. It’s then that you realize how close Zoro is — close enough for you to see the entire ocean reflected in his eyes: big and dark and so endless it nearly unmoors you. Close enough for you to feel the warmth of his skin; his body, emanating heat. You’d often wondered, in the long hours of watching him train, at the glistening copper of his skin and the light-kissed quality, if the sun himself favored Zoro as well.

Like this, it’s easy to believe that beneath his skin, there pulsed something like sunlight.

“Look! It’s an island! It’s an island!”

And just like that, the moment shatters. Time slips back into motion and you pull away from each other, breathless, with warm cheeks and thundering hearts, feeling somehow lightning-touched and static-ridden.

You take half a step back, reaching up to press a hand to your mouth as if to stop something from tumbling through. But what? You can’t really say.

Zoro tips back as well, whipping around to help Usopp and Sanji with the sails as Luffy continues to holler, waving his hat. On the horizon, you see it looming — the silhouette of an island. You lower your palm from your lips to your heart and wonder what kind of island it will be.

Deserted — seems to be the answer when you all make landfall. The island is quiet, but the occasional chirp and cricket staves off your nerves as you all wander cautiously about the beach, squinting into the dense forest that seems to encompass the whole of the island.

“Looks like a good place to camp for the night!” Luffy says, grinning as he plops down on the sand.

Sanji nods, dusting off his hands, “We’ll need some wood for a fire, but I reckon I can whip up some grilled fish from the fresh catch.”

You wrap your arms around yourself and look around, glancing back at the darkening horizon.

“Something the matter?” Zoro’s voice is soft as he helps you carry some of the camping supplies from the ship.

“No… yes… I —” you look up at him, pursing your lips, “I don’t know. I’ve just… this island is…”

Zoro looks around, his dark eyes scanning the thick swath of forest just beyond the beach, “Too quiet?”

You let out a tiny laugh, “Yeah, something like that.”

He nods, “Don’t worry, I’m — we’re here.”

And he leaves it at that, hoisting a stack of wood over his shoulders and going to help Nami with the fire. You watch him with a smile, wondering what on earth you’d done to deserve this level of caring, this magnitude of kindness. Soon, dinner is had and drinks are shared and laughter is spilled like so many silver coins over the white sand beach. The lull of the evening takes over you all, and before long, Luffy and Usopp are slumped over each other, snoring loudly.

You stare into the depths of the fire and try to tamp down the growing dread festering inside your bones. All those years of holding still, of breathing and listening and feeling — you shake yourself — no, not all stillness is a bad thing. Not all silences are made the same.

“You’re doing it again,” Zoro’s voice almost makes you jump. Instead, you turn, finding him next to you as he nurses a half-drunk bottle of wine in his hands. He doesn’t look at you, but there’s a loose grin hinged across his lips.

“Sorry,” you say, ducking your head, feeling a now familiar heat creep into your cheeks that has nothing to do with the dwindling bonfire.

“Don’t be,” Zoro takes another drink, “But I told you… you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“I know… and I’ve said before —”

“Fear’s a hard habit to break,” Zoro echoes back at you, finally glancing over and catching your eye.

You breathe out, looking down at your own hands, “Yeah… but I’m trying.”

You both fall silent, and for a while, the only sounds are the crackle of the dying flames, the shush of the ocean waves, and the occasional snores from the rest of your crew. It’s late — later than you realized.

“Do you… want me to grab a book for you?”

You smile, “No, I don’t think it’s bright enough.”

“I could restoke the fire.”

“No, it’s — it’s okay.”

“Alright.”

A bird coos the distance.

“Why don’t you tell me a story?” you ask, turning to look at Zoro proper, shifting till your body is facing him.

In the faint light, you can see the edge of his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“You’re asking the wrong guy — you should wait till the Great Captain Usopp’s awake.”

“Yeah, but I want to hear one from you.”

Zoro sighs, his eyes fixed on the last of the flickering flames. He takes another swig of wine before he starts to speak, his voice low and a bit stilted, but he pushes on. He tells you about his childhood, the village he’d trained in, the doujou in the middle of the wood, his friend who he’d never beat — not even once.

He tells you about he early mornings and the late nights, and how the world had seemed large enough to conquer.

“… And then… there came a morning when she didn’t show up… and sensei came and told me that there’d been an accident.”

His voice almost breaks then, and your eyes catch on the shining white hilt of the Wadou Ichimonji — his thumb pressing against the guard, running along it’s hard metal edge.

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

Zoro shrugs, “Don’t be.”

You nod, “Still.”

Zoro slates you a lopsided smirk, “So. Now you know my tragic backstory too.”

You laugh, leaning back to cast your eyes up towards the sky, “And you know mine — it’s almost like we’re friends or something.”

Zoro lets out a long breath, “Yeah… or something.”

There’s a tightness to his voice that makes your skin tingle and it takes everything you have not to look over at him, to try and see if he’s looking at you, watching you the way you’d imagined him to be. You fancy you can feel his gaze on your face, but you close your eyes instead.

You let yourself fall into the warm haze of sleep, and for a while you drift there, your mind sifting through shards of memories and slivers of sound, casting them against the backs of your eyelids as you slowly slide into the darkness of dreams.

You wake up to a gasping stillness — the silence pressing in on your eardrums like thumbs, the darkness around you so complete it’s almost a solid thing. You freeze, your breath hissing to a halt inside you. Then distantly, ever so distantly, you hear the sounds of battle — metal clashing against metal, the hard thud of boots against flesh. You shake your head and reach up to clap your hands over your ears and only then do your senses return to you, snapping back as if you’d been abruptly shunted back into your earthly body.

“Gum Gum — Pistol!”

“Seize her!”

You whip into movement, fast as a flash, dashing away, hoping against hope that it would draw your attackers far enough from your crewmates.

“No one… ever… leaves us…”

The voice is serpentine and susurrus, sinking into your skin like sharpened teeth, but before it can reach you, it’s cut short by a bright flash of silver.

You gasp, whirling around, reaching for the nearest pulse, instinct taking over as you sink your fingers into muscle and flesh. The rush of blood thrumming beneath your fingertips comes too easy, even as a familiar scent accosts you. A moment later, your hands are being pinned above you, and thick, rough bark is digging into your wrists as Zoro stands before you, a sword in one hand, the other holding you still.

His eyes are a little wild and a lot worried. There’s a ring of red rawness around his neck, thin trickles of blood trailing along his jugular, disappearing into the wide scoop neck of his shirt.

“Hey, look at me.”

You nearly whimper, struggling against him, fear still coursing through you like a drug but Zoro is strong enough to keep you held. Behind him, you can see the rest of the crew fending off several shadowy figures, Usopp waving a torch, screaming at the top of his lungs, Luffy whooping as he whacks another figure with his fist.

“Z-Zoro?”

“Yeah, it’s me — eyes up here.”

You swallow in a breath, and then another, and you feel the bright thrum of urgency leave you as your body slowly falls slack. And then you’re slipping, and he’s looping an arm around you to keep you upright.

“Th-they’re here — they —”

“They’re gone — we got rid of them — hey.”

Zoro takes you by the shoulders and gives you a gentle shake. Finally, your eyes catch on his and your gaze holds. You see yourself reflected in them, stark and terrified, but alive — somehow alive.

“They’re gone,” he says, his voice soft and low by your ear, his arm still wrapped around your middle. Shivers wrack your body as you bury your face in his shoulder. He smells of steel and skin and the metallic tang of blood. It’s then that you remember — the wounds on the sides of his neck. The marks in the shape of your hands —

You jerk back and feel a sticky wetness against your cheek.

“Zoro, I hurt you!”

At this, he scoffs, pulling back far enough to flash you a look.

“This is nothing. C’mon.”

He offers you a hand, and after a second you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. Wordlessly, he presses his palm to the small of your back, his arm extended to keep you steady as you both make your way back towards camp.

“Phew! That was a workout!” Luffy is saying just as you both reach the outskirts of the now-darkened bonfire. Sanji is pulling out a cigarette, striking a match, and first lighting the end before tossing it into the remains of the firewood, fanning it up into a slow flame.

Nami and Usopp both look a bit shaken, but none worse for the wear.

They all pivot to look at you.

You go still against Zoro’s side, uncertainty flooding through you. Faintly, you feel Zoro’s fingers as they press into the bend of your waist, solid and steady.

Then, Usopp coughs, “C’mon y’all — the Shadows that Live? Psh! More like — the Shadows that Fled, am I right? Yeah? Didya see the way I sent ‘em runnin’ with my brand new fire-powered explosion rounds?”

Nami chuckles and Sanji follows suit, shaking his head and letting out a thin wisp of smoke. Luffy’s grins at you, pumping a fist in the air, clapping his right shoulder.

“See? Told you we’d have your back! We are your crew, after all!”

Weakness seeps into your limbs as you nod, hot pin-pricks of tears itching at your lower lashes. You lower your head and rub at your eyes before looking back up again with a smile. Sanji grimaces as he looks over Zoro.

“Got something on your neck, mate.”

Zoro glares but you glance over and feel your stomach twist with guilt.

“Sorry… I can clean that up for you. They’re not deep but they do need to be bandaged up.”

Zoro wipes down his sword before sheathing it and motioning towards the ship. Behind you, you can hear Nami yawning and saying something about catching up on some more sleep and Sanji reassuring her about having the last watch anyway.

The kitchen is still dark, but the dusty dawn sweeps against the far horizon and neither of you bother to turn the lights on. You carefully set the first aid kit on the kitchen counter and collect the supplies as Zoro leans back against the edge and folds his arms. You work in near silence, reaching up to first wipe the thin threads of drying blood before tending to the tiny, crescent-shaped puncture wounds.

You press an alcohol-soaked cotton ball against one of them and feel Zoro wince.

“Sorry.”

“I’m fine.”

You bite your lips, “If this had been a bit deeper or a few inches over —”

“But it wasn’t. So it’s fine.”

You don’t look up at him but you can feel his eyes on you. Your movements are fluid and sure; you’d clearly done this before.

“Hey, look at me.”

You freeze, eyes slowly gliding up the planes and divots of his neck, slipping up the line of his jaw, so sharp it might’ve been turned on a diamond cutter’s lathe. Your breath hitches as you finally meet his eyes, and there’s a dark, knowing glint behind them that makes your stomach flip.

“I’m fine.”

And for the second time in a handful of hours, you’re caught by the realization of your closeness — only a breath of space between you. There’s a crimp at the corner of his mouth that looks dangerously like a smile and then you’re tipping forward, a thumb reaching up to trace the line of his bottom lip once —

The movement acts like a trigger, and suddenly, he is leaning in and the breath of space disappears.

For all your life of stillness, you thought you’d learned to appreciate the depths and widths of movement. But nothing could’ve prepared you for this — for the push and pull of lips on lips, for the force and friction of skin against skin. For the gasp and hiss, for the breath and kiss.

For the feeling of his large palm as it settles along the swallow’s-nest bend of your neck, the way his thumb runs along your jaw like tracing the guard of his beloved sword, tilting your mouth towards him. For the way your heart might flutter like a tiny, caged bird, or the way you might feel his heart thumping like a fist from his chest to yours.

For the way his voice rolls over your name like a ship at sea; for the way it would shake your body from your bones and leave you more liquid than solid in his arms. For how you never used to think your story would be a love story, but then you realize that every story is a love story if caught in the right moment, in the right light.

And here, breaking apart from Zoro, with a thick, stolen streak of lemon-yellow sunlight leaking in from the kitchen window — that’s exactly what it feels like.

“Oh,” is all you have the strength to say.

Zoro, in all his solid brilliance and quiet audacity, laughs.

You taste the smile on your own lips before you realize you’re smiling. But when you try to bury your face in his neck, he winces slightly as you brush his still-fresh wounds.

“Crap, I forgot about these.”

Zoro chuckles as you hurry to press a few small bandages to the wounds.

“It’s okay. So did I.”

You finish dressing his wounds in silence, though this silence is markedly different from every other silence that had ever existed between you. There’s ease and tension, both, and when you’re finally finished, Zoro takes both your hands in his.

“So…” you say, unsure suddenly of where to look.

Zoro’s laugh is just as soft, just as uncertain.

“So.”

You try to look out the window, but by now, the dawning sun is so bright that it temporarily blinds you and you jerk back. Zoro smiles, reaching up to run his thumbs along your closed eyelids before dropping them to hook around your wrists again.

“Do you… wanna talk about it?” he asks, quiet as always.

You purse your lips and let your lashes flutter open. You find him watching you. Heat crests up your shoulders and into your cheeks, and suddenly, the exhaustion of the night before saps at your limbs. You sigh.

“Right now? Not really.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” he says, sounding as relieved as you feel.

You bite your lips and cast your gaze shyly across his face, your bird-wing heartbeat still flapping in your chest. You fight the urge to go still, to reach for that shield that has always protected you before. Faintly, you feel Zoro’s thumbs tracing circles along the insides of your wrists.

“Can I ask for something else, though?”

“What is it?”

You reach up a finger, nudging one of his golden earrings. You don’t miss the way he shivers, or the way his breath quickens in his chest.

“Kiss me again.”

Zoro grins, tugging you towards him, leaning into the curve of your palm as he does.

And does.

And does again.

reqs are: temporarily closed

but feedback is much loved and appreciated!!!

[fairyrcts]

────୨ৎ──── cherry!reader & tattoo artist!matt headcanons !

ᝰ.ᐟ tattoo artist!matt who met you for the first time by doing one of your tattoos

“uhm, no, rachel isn’t here today. you’ll probably be with me this afternoon.” he gave you a welcoming smile while he put on his black latex gloves.

ᝰ.ᐟ tattoo artist!matt who was intrigued by you within moments of meeting you

“what were you thinking?” he asked, preparing his workspace while you laid back on the bench.

“a pin-up doll, near my shoulder.” you spoke softly as matt looked down at you in some sort of adoration.

ᝰ.ᐟ tattoo artist!matt who loves making you his muse for his art

“stay right there f’me… perfect, baby. just perfect.” he breathed out, looking up from his sketch pad a few times as he drew the two bows that sat at the end of your braided hair.

ᝰ.ᐟ tattoo artist!matt who sits with you on his balcony smoking and having deep conversations

“it’s so nice out, tonight.” he took a drag of his cigarette after his sentence, looking out to the bustling city below them.

ᝰ.ᐟ tattoo artist!matt who loves teasing cherry

“matt!” you whined after he took a large sip of your diet coke when you specifically told him a small sip.

“sorry, sugar. couldn’t help it.” he spoke with a sly smirk on his face.

ᝰ.ᐟ tattoo artist!matt who lets you color in his tattoos

“are you coloring the cerberus red? seriously?” he chuckled under his breath as you looked up at him, nodding.

ᝰ.ᐟ tattoo artist!matt who definitely would have some type of claiming kink

“matt, what?” you look at him like he had just said the dumbest thing ever.

“what? you don’t think my name would look good in big ole’ letters across your neck?” he asked genuinely, letting his fingers run across your neck as if he was visualizing the tattoo itself.

۶ৎ cherry!reader who found herself staring from the second she met matt

“stay still, would you, hun?” he asked, slightly quieter than he intended.

you simply nodded, your eyes still sat on his face. the way he bit his bottom lip in concentration.

۶ৎ cherry!reader who loves doodling on him

“whatcha drawin’, sweet girl?” he asked, his left hand stroking your hair while you moved the ballpoint pen on his right.

“i dunno, ‘m jus’ doodling.” she giggled to herself.

۶ৎ cherry!reader who leaves her kiss mark on him

“look at that. all mine, hm?” you smiled down at the brunette that sat on your bed, his cheek and neck covered in your lipstick.

“yes ma’am.” he nodded, snaking his arms around your waist, pulling you down on him in the process.

۶ৎ cherry!reader who likes watching matt draw

his pencil moved rapidly on the paper while you stared. the way his veins became more prominent in his hands, how his brows furrowed while perfecting his art.

“what? why’re ya lookin’ at me like that?” he huffed out a laugh. “just admirin’ you is all.” you smiled.

۶ৎ cherry!reader who leaves little hand-written letters for matt before he leaves for work

‘bye, handsome ! i love you , xoxo’ the end of the small note said. he smiled to himself, tucking the note in his pocket as a keep-sake.

۶ৎ cherry!reader who wears matt’s favorite pair of red, laced panties

“wearin’ those for me, doll?” he leaned down to whisper in your ear after noticing his favorite pair of your panties peaking through your jeans when you bent over.

۶ৎ cherry!reader who adores telling matt she loves him an excessive amount

“i love you.” you smiled, legs crossed sitting in front of him. “i love you too, beautiful.” he leaned in, pecking your nose lightly.

“like a lot.” you added. he rolled his eyes lightly. “i know you do. that’s the 13th time in the past five minutes.”

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ author’s note !

AHHH aren’t they the friggin cutest?? also like mentally i’m thinking like matt’s sorta older (late 20’s or early 30’s) and cherry’s younger so she kinda makes him feel like alive?? YOU FEEL?? but idk cuz i also wanna make a dilf!matt au so i gotta think this out

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ taglist !

@pvssychicken @emely9274 @emilyfaith2003 @nicholaschavezslut69 @sophand4n4

[archangeldyke-all]

High school Sevika x Secret admirer Reader. Like Sevika keeps getting love notes from reader and she’s just like .. da fuq. She’s just too emotionally constipated to realise their love notes FOR HER. And reader (as well are) is so hopelessly in love with her.

okay OKAY this is so fucking cute i'm gonna make this the masc4masc childhood friends story too heheeh

lets just assume zaun has a underfunded shitty education system lol

men and minors dni

sevika keeps getting these stupid fucking letters.

they're written in glitter pen, usually on construction paper cut out into a heart. the handwriting is agonizingly neat, like whoever's writing them's spending hours getting their cursive perfect. they're always unsigned, and they usually contain some stupid, romantic compliment, like 'your eyes are the stars of my galaxy' and shit.

"whatcha got sev?" you ask as you catch up with her in the hallway, hipchecking her as she glares down at the latest of her growing collection.

this one reads 'sev, you're prettier than you let yourself think.'

sevika scoffs and crumbles the paper up into a ball.

"are there any other sevika's in this school?" she asks. you blink up at her.

"what?"

"like, does anybody else have my name? or is there a sev or a seven or a sven?"

"fuck are you talking about?" you ask.

sevika groans and shoves the note into your hands. "this!! i keep getting these stupid ass love notes. some poor sap's got the wrong fucking locker, or the wrong sevika, or something." she scoffs.

you don't laugh. sevika slows her walk to blink over at you.

you're... staring at her. almost like you're angry?

"what?" she asks.

you take a deep breath then shake your head. "n-nothing."

"nothing?"

"it's nothing." you insist, nodding. sevika glares at you.

"you're horrible at lying."

"and you're gonna be late to chemistry."

"so i'll skip." sevika shrugs and nudges your shoulder. "what's that look for?"

"you're so fucking stupid!" you shout. sevika jumps a bit. you huff, then smack sevika's shoulder as you storm down the hall. she jogs to keep up with you. "you-- you get these romantic, heartfelt notes, addressed to you, and you think; what? there's another sevika in school? you're fucking ridiculous!"

"wh-- you think these are for me!?"

"of course they are!"

"who the fuck would write love letters for me?!" sevika asks.

honestly, she's completely flabbergasted. you never struck sevika as the kinda girl who cares about stupid shit like romance, but apparently it means a lot to you.

"someone who likes you, you idiot! a-and you're probably hurting their fucking feelings by treating their hard work like garbage. this is like the sixth one you've crumpled up. you spit your gum in the first one." you huff.

sevika blinks at you. she didn't tell you about the notes until now.

you seem to realize this at the same moment, because your walking comes to a halt, your eyes stuck on something far away.

sevika starts to giggle. your shoulders shoot up to your ears. "shut up." you mumble.

sevika's laughter only grows. "oh, janna." she snorts and throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into her chest. "what, you gotta crush on me?!" she asks.

you glare up at her. "'y don't have to laugh about it."

"no, i'm not-- i just-- you're so fucking cool, you don't need to leave stupid notes in my locker, i already--" sevika cuts herself off. you giggle. it's her turn to fluster. "shut up." she demands. you giggle.

"c'mon. let's ditch and smoke under the bleachers." you suggest, tugging sevika toward the exit.

as you walk outside, sevika worms her wrist out of your grip and replaces it with her hand-- her fingers intertwined with yours.

"you should become a professional card maker."

"fuck off."

"i'm serious! they're impressive." she says. you groan.

"they're cheesy, i know, i just--"

sevika darts in and kisses your cheek.

you're so distracted by the feeling of her soft lips against your cheek that you walk face first into a low-hanging bar under the bleachers.

sevika cackles as you clutch your head.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @vkumi @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys

[shirefantasies]

firstly happy new year!

i wanted to tell you i love your works and maybe ask if i can request a Thorin's company x reader where the reader is from our world and has many tattoos (like a full sleeve) and the company's reaction, maybe the dwarves show their tattoos too?

thank youuu so much!

Ooh, this is cool! Sorry it took so long this got buried in my inbox 😣 I’m going to try to keep the tattoos as vague/open as possible but I may describe em here & there, sorry 😅 Hope this is enjoyable & accurate hehe, ya girl does not have any tattoos herself~

Warnings: slight suggestive jokes, minor blood in one

Showing Thorin’s Company Your Tattoos

Balin

It started the moment he pulled out the contract. You’d gone traveling with the company but not officially joined until this moment. Soon as the parchment unfurled, you began rolling your sleeves up and out of ink’s way. Glancing upward, you caught Balin’s eyes upon the designs inked into your skin. “Oh,” you cocked your head, pen momentarily forgotten, “have you never seen tattoos like this before?” Such a question earned you a sudden burst of laughter from the white-haired dwarf, who shook his head. “Nay, not in the slightest! Quite the opposite. We dwarves are famous for our designs. I suppose that yes, I’ve never seen ones like yours,” he glances over yours once more, “but many I have seen.” Suddenly you felt compelled to ask: “Well, do you like them?” Balin smiled. “Of course I do! Just because they are different doesn’t mean they are bad. Watch out for my brother, though, he’ll be itching to give you a new one if you get on his good side.” He gave a wink and that sealed it for you- you knew it already, but it rang through your head once more that you had a place in this company.

Dwalin

It had started with a compliment. “I like your tattoos,” you told the shaven-headed dwarf with a smile and a nod his way. He looked surprised, then pride settled into his eyes beneath the fire’s flicker. “Thanks. Bet you’ve never seen anything like ‘em before, eh?” Matching Dwalin’s smug smile, you rolled up your sleeve to reveal the art covering your own body. “By my beard,” he breathed. “Would you believe me if I said there was more where that came from?” You teased. “May not have before,” the dwarf grinned, “but I certainly do now. Bet you don’t know what mine mean, though…” "Well then, tell me." Brows raising, he crosses his arms and looks you over as if anew. "And perhaps if you prove yourself, I can add to your collection." As you can imagine, this turned into quite a long conversation.

Thorin

The king-to-be’s eyebrows raise, a look of pure shock crossing his regal features when you expose the long expanses of tattoos you’ve decorated yourself with. Arching a brow, you assume it is some sort of royal sensibility and roll your eyes, at least until you hear Thorin’s faint words emerge, barely above a whisper. “My sister has something quite like that. May I?” Stunned, you simply nod, holding your arm out as Thorin draws closer, fingers gently brushing over your inked skin as a small smile creeps to his lips. “I remember when she got it. She wanted me to get one, too, but I was too afraid.” A deep chuckle. “You, I see, do not lack the courage. Dis would like you. Very much,” he comments, blue eyes shining into yours.

Oin

“You’ve gotta be more careful next time,” Oin shakes his head as he lowers you onto the blanket, one hand tucked carefully behind your head. “You’re welcome,” you grin, though the expression quickly turns into a wince as pain arcs up your newly acquired wound. Tutting, Oin says nothing, opting instead to strip off your layers to dab at the blood collecting there. He pauses, though, over your bared skin. “You never told me…” Gloved hand waving vaguely over you, and you chuckle weakly. “What, that I have an amazing pain tolerance?” “That’s one way to put it,” he replies, “and let’s hope so. You’ll need it. They did heal quite nicely, you know. Half the ones I’ve done looked a mess after.” “You do tattoos, huh?” You chuckle again, smiling up at him as he worked. “Now that I’d like to see.”

Gloin

Bursting into hearty laughter, Gloin claps a hand to your shoulder. "Thinkin' you can beat Dwalin, are you?” Obviously you are quite confused, tilting your head at him until you trace the line of his eyes to your exposed wrist. The edges of a tattoo showed there, bringing a chuckle to your lips. “Hadn’t thought of it like that,” you shot back, “but I suppose I would have him bested.” Gloin bursts into hearty laughter as you push up your sleeve to reveal skin entirely covered. “Bless me, I was teasing you! You really went for it, though! What did you do for yours? I managed to barter for mine,” he grins, pushing up his own sleeve to reveal a design near his shoulder. “I wish that was how it worked for me,” you sigh, rolling your eyes at the thought of all your lost money, “where I come from, it’s pay or nothing.” Cue Gloin lining you up deeds to get dwarven ink done should you so desire.

Bifur

Catching Bifur gesturing your way, you frown slightly and turn back around, fixing him with a look of concern at his hasty motions. Finally, he traces a hand up his arm, prompting you to peer down at your own. Ah, right. He'd probably never caught a glimpse of your tattoos before. You nod, sign a 'what?' you hope doesn't come across too cheeky, and grin when he gives up and rolls his eyes and grabs your arm. “Well,” you ask, “like ‘em?” In all honesty, you have no expectation for his reply, but the enthusiastic nod and tug up of his tunic still has your eyebrows raising in shock. He has one, too, it seems, at least the one, and wouldn’t you know it, it’s quite similar to one of yours. Smiling, you wondered if that was as meaningful to him as it was to you.

Bofur

“Well you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” You aren’t even certain what the hatted dwarf means until you follow his gaze down the length of the arm you’d bared to spearfish with, tracing the lines of your tattoos. “So you could say,” you reply mystically, waving fingers until the both of you are laughing. “Which one’s your favorite? I wanna see ‘em all. Well, if you’ll let me, of course, and…" Cutting him off with a hand held up and a smile, you answer, "I know what you mean. When we're done here, we'll need some time by the fire. I'll show you then." Eyes shining, Bofur gives you a grin and wades into the river with you. That evening, as you sat and warmed your soaked legs by the toasty fire, you rolled up your sleeve all the way this time, telling him the story of every single tattoo and chortling at his animated commentary.

Bombur

The others saw them, but Bombur’s reaction amused you the most by far. Without thinking, he grabbed your arm and held it up, eyes scanning your art beneath the warmth of his gentle hold. “Well,” you chuckled, “what do you think, do you approve?” “I quite like yours,” he agreed, “yours are pictures. I like them better than Dwalin’s.” A call of protest from the warrior dwarf rang out defending both his own art and of course the traditions of their people. But if you have any of things Bombur enjoys most, things representing family, food, animals, nature, and the like, he keeps fighting for you to the last word! "But I like the pictures! Have you seen them? Come have a look here." There you stand, your hand tightly in Bombur's grip, but you cannot help smiling.

Dori

The two of you had all but insisted the dwarves finally wash some of their layers, so they agreed under the express conditions that the ones who cared so do it. As you knelt at the riverside with a bundle of (frankly filthy) clothing, you rolled up your sleeves to the elbows and saw Dori staring out of the corner of your eye. He didn’t look particularly scandalized and you were used to eyes upon your art, expected it even. “Looking at these?” You asked with a smile. Sheepishly he nodded. “My brother has a couple of those. Always trying to get me to have one done,” he scoffed, “but I don’t exactly fancy a voluntary stabbing myself.” You can’t help laughing at that. “They certainly did hurt,” you agree in your mirth. Dori’s eyes slid down your forearm one more time. “You must be quite tough, then, aren’t you? Strong and sensible,” he beams.

Nori

One of your tattoos is especially meaningful, so the moment its subject comes up in conversation you are peeling back layers to reveal it. Many dwarven eyebrows raise as the sun strikes your skin, but you can’t help noticing Nori specifically, the look of intrigue and perhaps something else in his eyes. Challenging him with a look, you cock your head a bit at him. “Didn’t realize you had any,” he says simply. With a faint snort, you nod. “Well, here you go,” you roll up your sleeve further. Nori’s eyes trail up and down the expanse of skin one more time. “I’ve got a few myself.” Naturally, you ask him where, and that is when he breaks into a rakish smile and winks. “You’ll have to guess.”

Ori

Smiling at Ori as you accepted his sketchbook, you pushed back your sleeve to save it from smudging his work or the addition he'd welcomed you to make on a new page. An entry into his little world you were honored at the invitation to create. But when you glanced back up at the dwarf, your joy faded sharply away at the widening of his eyes. Shock, no doubt, at the revelation of the ink covering your forearm, designs you'd hidden for fear of distaste or harsh questioning. Quickly you slid the fabric back down, but Ori just gaped, looking more than a bit awed. "You have so many. Did they hurt?" A common enough question, posed innocently as you'd expect from the company's youngest. "Some more than others, that is for sure," you answered simply, "but I took it in silence." Humming in further awe, Ori leaned closer to you. "Nori screamed like a baby bird the whole time he got his." Bursting suddenly from your chest, your laughter cascaded over your whole body in relief, comfort returning to your little world. "I quite like yours better than his, too, especially that one," Ori added, pointing where he'd seen a particularly nice piece. Perhaps you should have known the artist would understand.

Fili

“Whatcha got there?” Glancing down at the utensil in your hand, you shrug. “Ladle. I was helping Bombur do the rinsing.” At that, the elder Durin heir smirks. “Not that,” he says, gesturing up from your hand, “those.” Right. “Oh, my tattoos? If you’ve never seen anything like them, I can tell you-” “Never seen anything like it?” Fili snorts in amusement, crossing his arms. “I take it you’ve not looked upon the dwarven kings of old.” Removing his coat and outer tunic, he bares his own arms. “I’d like to get mine here.” He touches his bicep. “One ringing each side.” “How convenient,” you tease as he flexes the toned muscle of his arms. “What?” “Nothing,” you snort, shaking your head.

Kili

The pair of you had been sparring, Kili parrying your every move before you finally sat down in defeat, accepting a newly-filled waterskin gratefully. The dwarf kept teasing you, saying all that he could about how well he knew you and the like. "Why, I practically know everything about you," he said with a proud look, "you'll not be surprising me any time soon." "Well, then, if you know me so well," you countered, "which tattoo is my favorite?" "Very funny, you haven't any..." Kili's eyes widened as you rolled up your sleeve, scanning every inch of ink. "...Tattoos." "What was that you were saying?" You asked, smirking into his speechless gape. Curse him, he regained his composure quickly, though, expression falling back into the smile you had to admit you loved. "Well, I certainly know which one is my favorite."

Bilbo

You start tugging at your top at the collarbones and Bilbo’s eyes practically pop out of his head when your tattoos peep at him. “You too?” He asks, tone incredulous. Chuckling in amusement, you fix him with an inquisitive look. “And what does that mean?” “Well,” he begins, voice faltering, “I suppose I just thought of that as, well, as a dwarf thing. What with Dwalin and all.” “Surprise,” you tease him with a grin, exposing more skin he flushes at the sight of, “but look, I think you’ll quite like this one…” Any tattoo you have from nature, after all, surely catches the hobbit's gentle eye in a heartbeat. “Oh, that is… quite beautiful,” Bilbo breathes with a faraway smile, “can I touch it? Wait, what am I saying, I’m sorry…”

Taglist: @kilibaggins @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart | Message me/reply to join!

[f10werfae]

Daddy’s Princess Fairy

pairing: Husband!Dad!Sy x Wife!Mom!Reader

summary: Sy comes home to his newborn babygirl and wife after his last ever deployment, and he’s desperate to meet his tiny twin, and get into his wife’s panties (Dilf Sy) likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated🫶

Henry Masterlist, Full Masterlist

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Daddy’s nearly home booboo, he’ll be out here any second now” Y/n cooed bouncing her baby girl in her arms, the two month old softly snuggled against her mama, the both of them waiting at the entrance of the military base along with the other families. Her eyes tracing each body that left the aircraft, her breath hitching when she saw her big hunk of a man step out, his head shaven but his beard grown rough and long. God he looked filthy but so sexy.

Biting her lip she saw him take off his dark sunglasses as he scanned the crowd carefully, his lips pulling into a smirk once he saw his baby momma waiting at the back, away from the crowd; holding his baby girl. Practically skipping all the steps he threw his bag to the ground, his built arms bringing his wife and newborn into his arms, this was his first time home since that night their daughter was conceived. That one special night by the fireplace.

“Fuck pumpkin, missed ya n’ your sweet self s’much” He grumbled inhaling her scent deeply as he grazed his nose up and down her cheek, his other hand cupping his daughter’s head, this would be the first time he would see her in person. “And this- this is Penelope, Penelope Syverson” Y/n giggled holding up Penelope up to Sy, and even he could see she already was his twin, the same grouchy look already.

“She’s stinkin’ adorable, i’d say jus’ like her momma but i’m seein’ frowns on her already” Sy chuckled seeing his babygirl whimper and wiggle, leading Y/n to place the tiny babe into his arms, and just the mere size difference between the father and daughter was enough to make a witch’s heart melt. “She missed you, anytime you wasn’t on the phone she’d cry and whimper until I played your voicemail” Y/n explained tucking Penelope’s bib a bit more, seeing how she was drooling onto her daddy’s arm.

“Awk babygirl you break ma heart, m’not leavin’ again, I can’t do it- that’s me done” Sy chuckled bending down and kissing her forehead, breathing out a sigh of relief, he was finally discharged and able to start the rest of his life. “Damn right you aren’t leavin’, we still need to give our bubby a brother” Giggling Y/n latched herself onto his arm, the happy family walking towards the pickup truck waiting for them; Y/n watched on as Sy carefully put his pride and joy into her carseat, pouting up at Y/n when he realised Penelope wouldn’t let go of his finger.

“Babe, jus pull your finger out come on” Y/n laughed as he shook his head, “no can do sugar, don’t want my babygirl thinkin’ am leavin’ her again, can’t be her first heartbreak”

“If ya let go i’ll give ya some of your treat when we get home, after I put Pen down for her nap” It hadn’t even been two seconds but Sy carefully pulled his finger out, kissed his baby bye bye, and jogged over to the driver’s side of the pickup truck. “Now ya gotta keep your promise, wait- are you even okay down ‘er” Sy questioned looking concerned down at her crotch, he knew how hard the healing process was for his wife, needing stitches and medication. It honestly broke his heart that she had to go through it alone, but she was strong and independent, just his typa woman.

“Yup! Doctor gave me the green light a while ago, jus wanted to surprise ya for when you got home, Captain Syverson” Y/n winked grabbing a handful of his thigh tightly, his eyes widening and smacking her hand off, “Jesus woman didn’t ya read the sticker on the car? There’s a baby on board” He joked intertwining their hands and kissing her knuckles, leaning forward and pressing a heated kiss to her lips, his beard scratching her face in the best way possible. His tongue venturing out to lick over hers, tasting his favourite watermelon lipbalm causing him to groan into their kiss.

“Forgot how much I missed these luscious lips of yours” He growled pulling away, kissing her lips once more before sitting back in his seat to look at her, his wife. “Yeah? What else did ya miss” She giggled leaning over and pulling him back towards her, both her hands holding onto his as she looked up at him, her fingers then playing mindlessly with the wedding ring on the chain around his neck.

“These other lips down ‘ere” Laughing his hands smoothed up her thighs, settling under her dress, right on top of her panties waistband; he could already feel that it was those cotton white ones that he had a thing for. She just knows him so well. “No you didn’t”

“I did” She winked pulling up her skirt enough to show the start of the soft cotton pants, pulling the skirt down fast enough once his fingers tried their way up again. “Nuh uh mister, only when the angel is bed do we get to play” She scolded turning the ignition on for him, watching as he scoffed and turned his attention to the road

-

“Alright princess fairy queen, ah need ya to get to sleep pronto” Sy whispered into his baby’s tiny ears, the tiny tot sleeping on his bare chest, her head nestled comfortably on the curls on his chest. Her tiny fist clutched peacefully as tiny gurgles and coos came out every time she hiccuped or moved. “Princess fairy queen? Really Sy?” He heard his wife ask from the nursery door, clad in her white silk robe, very clearly not wearing anything underneath.

“I need my little girl to know she’s the best of ‘em all, n’ that means callin’ her every nickname on God’s Earth so she knows how much ah love her” Looking down at his tiny tot, he felt the need to lean down and nuzzle his nose with hers, pulling away instantly when he heard a toot. A fart.

“Now was that from me or you?” Sy frowned holding her up to face him, her tiny eyes clearly shocked, her own farts had woken her up just from how loud it was; “Tell ya what bubby, you’re definitely your daddy’s daughter”

“Yeah there’s now way that loud thing came outta this tiny precious sugar cube” Sy questioned seeing the tired girl had gone to sleep in his arms again, thankfully for Sy’s sake she didn’t need changed, well not yet anyway.

It finally seemed like baby Penelope finally got the memo when she finally stayed asleep in her bassinet, after 20 minutes of him just whispering pointless happy memories of him and her momma, many soft baby back rubs and head scratches and of course with her binky in place. Princess Penelope was down for her nap. Now Sy could have his wife, any way he darn wanted.

“Momma, you spoil me too much” Walking into their shared bedroom Sy saw his wife, her robe untied as she laid on the bed waiting for him, a chocolate covered strawberry already in her mouth as she winked at him, her legs spread open showing off her glistening folds; she needed him as much as he needed her.

“Irish twins?” Y/n asked plucking the strawberry from her mouth, licking its juices from her lips as she quirked up a brow; Sy doing nothing but growl and rush to get rid of his white t-shirt and cargo pants. “I’d give ya irish triplets if it were possible” He snarked climbing on top of her, his body hovering over hers as he bit into the strawberry that was back in between her lips, his teeth squeezing the juice down the valley of her tits. His delicious welcome home treat, just for him to enjoy.

———

PSA:Hope you all enjoy this bit of Daddy Sy 😗

Library blog of works: @f10werfaes-cosy-collection

Taglist (not accepting, please use library)

@pandaxnienke @thereisa8ella @kimhtoo17 @beck07990 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @madebylilly @kebabgirl67 @marvelgurl @uwiuwi @stormcloudss @girl-of-multi-fandoms @misshale21 @hallecarey1 @nikkitc0703 @mischiefsemimanaged @oliviah-25 @aerangi @bookfrog242 @alina02 @alexxavicry @lastwandastan @hp-hogwartsexpress @angelmather1 @acornacre @ggmimitf @thebaileybugle @p4st3lst4rs @kzhlvlysstuff @thoughtsofreid @cilliansangel @theekyliepage @cookielovesbook-akie @luvabellee @elenavampire21 @hoya122 @rosiesluv7 @yaminax @esposadomd @meyocoko @disaster-rose @severewobblerlightdragon @kemillyfreitas @adoreyouusugar @queensgirl718 @sweetybuzz25

See you all again very soon xoxo

- Fae

[gleefullypolin]

Initial thoughts on first watch through of Part 2

I will need to watch the season again a few more times as I was overwhelmed to be sure as a lot was going on. But my quick thoughts on storylines...

I'll start with my least favorite part. Sorry but it's the elephant in the room.

Ben.

I cannot. Every time they wasted screentime to go back to him fucking, I was like. God no, please make it stop. I mean I got it the first three times we showed it. Was it really necessary to keep harping on it. Honestly, shit or get off the pot with Ben's story. I'm bored and I don't know where they are going with this. I'm disinterested now.

Fran/John

This got better for me in the back half than the first half. I took no interest in them in the first 4 episodes. it was a snooze fest and while I would not watch a full season of them, they were cute in the back half and while the "dying breath" line was a bit harsh (seriously writers was that necessary) I'm even less interested in exploring a full season of Fran's actual story, not because it's been gender bended to Michaela, I just don't care for Fran's character. Personal opinion, sorry.

Kate/Anthony

Loved competitive Anthony at game night, we are the same Anthony, truly first borns. Kate has relaxed him for sure tho. Loved how he seemed to truly support his siblings, first with Colin and again with Fran in their choices to marry. Wished we could have seen his face when Pen announced she was LW after he was so clear that there was no way anyone could be her under his nose as RULER over the Bridgerton lands or some shit. Would have been a delight to see, yet...he did once again run off and leave his duty as leader of the Bridgerton family once again. For all this fandom screams that Anthony is the only man of the house with the actual job and responsibility he has yet once again disappeared from it yet again. No matter, there was little of this duo for me to take true aim at this season and thus not much for me to say other than what I have.

So moving on....

Cressida

What is there to say...Who's afraid of the big bad BITCH. Well not Pen. And no one else, for off to the country she goes and good on ya! Sorry, don't let the door hit ya on the way out. I'm not sad to see you and your big ass sleeves go.

Violet/Marcus

Tend that garden girl. TEND THAT GARDEN! That's all I gotta say, S4 is gonna bring Mama Bridgerton her just desserts! It was lovely seeing her navigating the dating mart and being nervous herself. I can't wait to see her needing to lean on Lady D and her children as she tries to figure this out herself next season.

Eloise

I was up, I was down. I was on the floor in anger and tears and then crying with joy. I understood you, I swore at you, I still love you dearly. There is much for you to learn about love and the world and I will welcome you home to do that. I did feel like she grew a lot this season. She was confused by love. Love of Pen, Love of Colin, love of being a woman in society and finding her way in what all of that means again. It was nice to see that. I loved her scenes with Colin and Pen and even with Benedict. I do look forward to her season as I feel like she had the most growth this season and while I feel like Ben's is next (boo) she can't be far behind, though I would welcome them doing her and Ben together in 4 at this point since it takes so fucking long to film these.

The Featheringtons

The most growth came from the family. Portia, Pru, and Phillipa had a lot of growth. Between mama being put in her place, then having to face how she has treated her daughter, how she sees her daughter, and then realizing how her daughter is stronger than she realized was quite the journey. And then beyond that seeing the jealousy the sisters had for Pen all along, the way it burned in them because some part of them always felt that their mama loved her most, favored her most even with her treatment. That all the girls really wanted was love of their mama. Seeing that family all together at the end, not jealous of who had the heir, just happy, with their families was beautiful.

Colin

Oh dear sensitive Colin Bridgerton. You really are a soft angel boy. He was so in love, so smitten and we needed that for him to understand how he felt up front but the moment he found out about Pen, you could feel the heart break, the confusion, the anger, the loss. And it didn't just magically heal. He loved Pen, he knew that but the burn inside to reconcile that he couldnt tear LW from her, couldn't rip it from her soul was literally a dark cloud over him for the back half. I took no issue with his words in anger, the were to be expected. He no more meant them or believed them than the stupid ass words people say in anger or stating he would never court her. They were simply words.

His mother was right. He is sensitive. Sleeping on the couch, pouting everywhere. He could not reconcile his thoughts. Could not get her to give up LW for anything and his brain could not comprehend. It was only when he went back to her letters that he realized Pen was not LW, LW was Pen. He loved ONE woman and they were the same woman. He also needed to stop taking control and stop trying to save the day. Pen was a capable woman and he needed to stop trying to control her.

I think the greatest thing about Colin as a character is that he is a sensitive person who loves wholly. He is able to put away the notion of the MAN needing to be the one who runs things. He lets her be a partner with him, in sex, in life, in their roles. This is shown not just in the fact he lets her take on how to fix the LW situation in the end, but also having her on top in the bedroom in their final sex scene. She's a participant in their marriage, not a submissive wife. This is refreshing in this world and I'm happy to see it in Colin.

Penelope

What a ride for Pen she had. She was faced with giving up her dreams to let Colin thrive in his. And she was willing to do so, lets just preface they gave us that scene where she put away LW for us to transition to Colin finally losing his writers block and happily writing away. She gave it up only to be faced with a challenge and needing to take up the quill again. Pen needed to save the Bridgertons and did so later on but she was willing to give everything up for Colin.

I loved her convos with Gen and how it was another woman who allowed her to see that women did not need to give up their worth for men. AMEN! No one said, Colin needed to give up his dreams but Pen absolutely was able to have hers too. I loved this and then to see her stand up to Colin in their second fight, to let her voice be heard to him and not let him talk over her was also important.

The fact that Pen stood up for herself, diverging from the books where Colin does this for her in the books, having Pen stand up for herself thus saving herself and outing herself to the ton, I liked this. Pen was able to put LW away and use her OWN voice to the ton and explain to everywhere why she created this entire empire. I thought this was beautifully done and then having her let Colin out of the marriage afterwards so that she basically put them now on a level playing field was perfect. His speech at that point should be put in a museum because it leveled me. I think this put them finally into the right place for their marriage and lets them begin as equals. They both have a career, they both have a purpose, they have each other and they do things together. She's not out there alone anymore.

What a fucking journey. God I love this show.

So yeah, I know I'm seeing people upset, they didn't get the spoilers they wanted, didn't get some pieces they built up and you are allowed to feel that way. I think my only gripe I have is that our sex montage was cut from the show and instead we got too much Ben and his tiresome threesome that went no where. So that is my only gripe. Give me that deleted scene and I'll be happy forever. Otherwise....

Polin is life! I loved everything they gave us and I have no complaints.

A+++ They have a happy fan from me.

[rangersoup]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Thank you @emsprovisions @lemonlyman-dotcom @paperstorm @annoyingcloudearthquake @futures-tense @carlos-in-glasses @nisbanisba and @captain-gillian for tagging me! Here's a little bit from Turn and Burn, my Carlos being good with horses fic (im working on it again! i caught some inspiration from my trip to the farm yesterday):

 TK doesn’t know much about horses but he can still tell this one is angry. She hasn’t tried to kill Carlos yet, but he can see in her cold blue eyes that she wants to. He didn’t think it was possible for an animal to look so hateful… so evil, but somehow she is here proving him wrong. Lilith really seems to be the perfect name for the mare.

“Baby, are you sure about this?” TK asks for what’s probably the tenth time. There’s a million and one ways this could go horribly wrong, and he doesn’t want to be here to see any of the possibilities unfold. “There’s other horses. Why don’t you just train one of them instead?”

“Because I’m sure about this one,” Carlos replies, walking the mare to the edge of the round pen. He had lunged her with little fuss. She had only bucked once or twice. She seems like she’s calmed down, TK wants to believe that she has, but those eyes, he can’t past the devious glint in them. “She’s going to be great.”

She’s going to kill him is what her eyes say.

Carlos wraps the lead rope around the fence post and knots it once, then steps up beside the horse. TK holds his breath.

“How’s my sweet angel?’ Carlos asks, patting her on the neck with a gentle hand. She looks at him but doesn’t react. “That’s a good girl.” he offers her a treat. She thinks about it, but doesn’t accept it. “No sweet tooth? That’s okay, your mom likes grass better too.”

He turns and grabs the saddle pad draped over the top rail of the fence. The mare’s head goes up and her ears prick forward. She’s paying attention now, and the look in her blue eyes only seems to get more dangerous. TK doesn’t let his breath go.

“We’re not going to do anything crazy,” Carlos explains to the horse. “We’re just gonna look at it and maybe try to put it on.”

“Baby, please be careful,” TK pleads as his husband holds the pad out towards Lilith. She blows air out of her nose and takes a step back, eyeing it nervously.

“It’s not going to do anything to you,” Carlos promises without acknowledging TK’s plea. He keeps it angled towards her until she lowers her head and reaches out her nose to sniff it. When she finally does, he lowers it and offers her the treat a second time. She doesn’t take it. He repeats the process a couple more times until the horse stops reacting to him lifting the pad. TK finds his ability to breathe again. Maybe this won’t be as bad as he thought.

“Now, will you let me touch you with it?” he asks, stepping closer to her with it. He lifts it up and reaches towards her shoulder with it. This proves to be too much. She pins her ears back flat against her neck, arches her neck and rears, snorting angrily. TK’s breath catches as Carlos takes a hop back putting a safe distance between himself and the angry horse. She rears a second time, yanking on the rope tying her in place causing the whole fence to groan. She paws at the ground, her powerful neck still arched and swishes her tail angrily.

“Maybe you should stop for the day,” TK suggests as Carlos stands back and crosses his arms over his chest, watching his horse throw her temper tantrum.

“No, we’ve gotta end on a good note,” Carlos explains. “She already got it in her head that if she acts like a bitch she’ll get her way. Stopping now will just reinforce that.”

“Yeah but if you don’t stop she’s going to try to kill you,” TK reasons, begging him to call it a day.

“She wouldn’t be the first, and won’t be the last,” Carlos says over his shoulder, before turning back to the mare who is still throwing her head and beating the ground with her front foot. “Are you done yet?”

She stops and glares at him. TK didn’t think horses could glare, but that is the best description for the look she’s giving Carlos.

“Good, now we’re going to try this again,” Carlos says, picking the saddle pad back up. “You’re going to let me touch you with it, and then we’ll call it a day. Sound good?”

The mare snorts, and TK finds himself agreeing with her. It does not sound good. Carlos lets her smell it again before trying to touch it to her shoulder. This time when he reaches for her back, she lifts up her back leg and throws a very purposeful kick in his direction. He hops out of the way only narrowly avoiding catching a hoof to the gut. TK flinches for him.

I know wednesday is almost over, but open tag! anyone who wants to tag me in what they post is welcome to!

[heartsofminds]

and at every table, i’ll save you a seat -  part i

“Well, apparently Baby Goose’s been losing his mind ‘round the base about how this really smart and sweet girl invited him to a wedding and won’t text him about it.” or you invite Bradley to a wedding but your big fat crush on him won’t let you actually. . .invite him. 

“and at every table, i’ll save you a seat” - tunes of the gossipy Hard Deck patrons and liking someone so much you feel like you can’t breathe 

A/N: hey guys!!! so in the midst of writing this, i realized how long it actually is and how many dividers i had on my google doc? anyway, i thought it would probably work out so much better if it was released in parts rather than just one, big, fat, HUGEEEE piece that would probs crash on mobile. listen along to the playlist (that will be updated with each writing update) and relish in overly flirtatious bradley with me! which btw, he’s the lover album personified with a dash of red and a hint of fearless! 

“I’m not asking him.” 

Phoenix rolls her eyes before she takes a sip from her Ultra. The thought of it tasting revolting because of its lukewarmness crosses her mind despite her head pounding unceremoniously. She almost speaks up to answer you, but closes her mouth. 

She softly places the bottle back down on the counter instead. 

She can’t quite tell if the pain in her temples is from the sound of excited chatter all around her, the sound of Mickey, Javy, and Bob shittily singing Go Your Own Way on the karaoke machine in the corner, or the sound of your blue glitter gel pen scratching away at the scrap paper you have by the register; frantically carrying decimals for tip calculation and pathetically adding and subtracting since Penny’s “older than dirt” cash register bit the dust an hour prior. 

She almost concludes that the pounding ache working its way to the forefront of her brain is because of your absolute and utter refusal to do the simple and the obvious. But wait. 

I haven’t eaten at all today. Yeah, that’s it. 

A deep breath fills her lungs before she exhales. Her elbows find themselves on the lip of the bar top and her forearms come up to rest her head on her hands. She notices that the scribbling stops from what she assumes is you looking at her. 

An uncomfortable beat passes which is unusual for you two. There’s always some sly remark made or interminable giggling filling the gaps of silence. 

You pop your hip on the corner of the table. Your magenta tank top was far too bright of a pink to be welcome in the warm-hued bar. Your bracelet screams “graduation gift” and you can feel the oil on your face contorting your makeup as your time in the muggy air passes. 

Out of place is always in your thoughts but doesn’t become an insecurity until you’re left alone with them. The absence of Phoenix’s voice makes this fact more obvious to you. 

“You good? Not gonna hurl all over the place?” you cautiously ask, “Because it’s fine if you gotta puke, but I’ll murder you if you make me clean it up.” 

Natasha lets out something short of a laugh but too informal to be considered a huff. “I’m fine,” she says, leaning her head into her hand and adjusting herself in her seat. 

You nod, returning to your scribbling when the man sitting next to her hands his card to you. “You know, if you write any harder, you might permanently etch,” she pauses, leaning over to get a peek at what you had just written, “ten dollars and eighty-three cents into the counter.” 

“Maybe it’ll convince Penny that a new cash register is a need and not a luxury.” 

Natasha scoffs. “Could say the same about your plus one, but hey, if you don’t want my advice, then certainly don’t take it.” 

You hand the gentleman back his card with a smile and a small “thank you” before returning your attention back to Natasha. She digs her teeth subtly into the plush of her bottom lip. 

“I already told you. I’m not asking him.” 

She groans, pushing herself to stand up from her seat. Even dressed in civilian clothes, she looks like she belongs. Her aura demands respect; even in a lacy wine-colored top that Hangman had tried to tease her about earlier when the brood of rowdy pilots had first arrived. 

“Well, you said no to Jake.” 

“You say it like he would be willing to say yes.” 

“You said no to Rueben.” 

“He’s in a situationship with that girl from my spin class. Going with me to a wedding and her seeing the pics on Instagram would just make shit weird,” you start scrubbing at the permanent water stain near the beer taps anxiously, “Especially when I set them up.” 

Natasha rolls her eyes again. She swears that by the end of the night, she’ll know exactly what the inside of her eyelids look like. 

“Whatever,” she huffs, “You said no to Javy and Bob.” 

“Javy would rub the fact that I asked in Jake’s face and they’ll start a pissing contest on how to woo me…and Bob,” you look around to make sure no one who knows you all is within earshot, “He’s sweet. Like, sooo sweet.” 

Natasha tries not to crack a smile before you get your words out, but she certainly knows where the tail end of your sentence is going. “But it’s definitely not believable that we would be together and my aunt is one hell of an FBI agent and I’m sure he’d crack and rat us out and I’d have to sit there and eat my weight in tiramisu to drown my embarrassment.” 

Business is painfully slow for a Thursday evening despite the upcoming weekend. Your eyes dart around the room to look for anyone to come and rescue you from this conversation (and even volunteer to be your date to your bitchy cousin’s wedding next weekend without you asking, but you know to only hope for one miracle at a time). And when your eyes turn up empty for an ample opportunity, your shoulders droop while Natasha snickers at you. 

“Cut your losses and just ask him. I know he won’t say no,” she says, coy smirk at home on her face. 

“No. Absolutely not.” 

“What is so wrong with him that you don’t wanna do it? Huh?” 

You ponder on her statement before shaking your head. You’d rather be shot in the foot with a nail gun eight times than expose your silly little schoolgirl crush in the middle of the Hard Deck in front of his best friend turned your best friend since moving to the area five months ago. 

“Why not Neil or Brigham? Or hell, even Mickey? I know he’s like, engaged, but Mariella is so freakin’ sweet and I know she’d understand so like-” 

“Mmm-mmm. No, no, and hell no.” Your frown plasters itself on your lips faster than you can comprehend at her words. “Rooster or bust.” 

Your spine straightens as you begin to engage in protest before you’re cut off by the man himself. 

“Rooster or bust, what?” he asks, lips coming out to lick the dryness of the San Diego sun away. Your knees start to buckle and you can hear Natasha stifle a laugh as you try to conceal your lack of balance. 

He stands in front of you, hand on his hips and sunglasses tucked on the tight, white tank top underneath his button-down shirt. Today’s print was red with cream-colored hibiscus flowers and you wonder how he could pull them off so well. If it were anyone else, you would have had to try your hardest to keep it together with Natasha in front of you; the jokes about touristy dads and low-budget porn actors in the works. 

You realize he’s waiting for an answer as you see Natasha getting called away to sing karaoke with Javy and the gang out of the corner of your eye. 

Great. Just fucking great. 

“Taking bets on who the best pilot is or?” Bradley speaks, trying to get to the bottom of the small fragment of the conversation he had walked into. 

“I-,” you stammer.

Fuck. Can someone just come to the bar and order so I can avoid this? 

“You?” he looks at you through his eyebrows comically. Everything he does makes you nervous. 

“I-,” the lines in his forehead raise with the infliction of your voice, “I need a favor. Like a big one.” 

“Okay,” he laughs, “How big are we talking?” 

“Umm-” 

“Like ‘giving you my other kidney’ big or letting you borrow my car big?” he interrupts. 

“Well-” 

“Or do you need me to house sit? Dogsit? Babysit?” 

You inhale as you place your hands on the countertop. Your eyes find his honeyed-colored ones and you almost drown in them before your pride kicks in. 

I cannot embarrass myself in front of him. 

“I need you to come to a wedding,” you speak gently. You can see the wheels turning in his head without him having to say anything. Bradley’s face always gave his thoughts away. 

“If you don’t have plans, of course.” 

The realization of what you had just said starts to kick you upside the head the longer you look at him. He doesn’t say anything. His face doesn’t move at all. You’re pretty sure he hasn’t even blinked yet.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! 

“And if you’re comfortable! Obviously!” you start to ramble before you can convince yourself to shut the hell up, “It’s next Saturday in Long Beach near the seaside. You don’t have to say yes or anything but I just thought I’d ask because I had a plus one when I had a boyfriend eight months ago and now-” 

“I’ll go.” 

“-we’re not together anymore and my bitchy cousin is the one getting married who, by the way, makes everything a competition but that’s beside the point. But I know my mom is gonna be pissed if I don’t bring someone because my aunt is her sister and she’ll bitch about how they wasted money and how my mom is running out of time to become a grandma because I’m not married yet and that’s totally not true because I’m not even thirty so my biological clock hasn’t even started ticking yet but -”

“Hey!” he raises his voice slightly, amusement hidden in his tone, “I said I’d go with ya, kid.” He steps forward to put his hands on your bare shoulders. You try not to melt into his touch. 

“S’all good. I love weddings and the beach. Promise it’s not a hassle.” 

You’re dumbfounded by his response and how collected he is about your word vomit, not to mention being invited to a wedding where he’ll meet not only your parents, but your entire extended family in a little over a week. You know for certain you wouldn’t have handled the situation as calmly as he had. 

“You - you’ll…go?” The sound of Britney Spears’s “Toxic” and Jake absolutely murdering the high notes in the back of the bar is the only thing keeping you from spiraling into another dimension. 

“Well, I’m not a liar,” he sits down on the seat Phoenix was previously occupying, “I don’t just say things I don’t mean.” 

Your head nods solemnly in silent understanding, your hands grabbing a glass to pour him a whiskey on the rocks. He raises his eyebrows in suspicion at you knowing what his usual drink is, but throws away the thought to comment on it before it can even develop all the way. The subtle pang in his chest of you taking that much notice of him makes itself known. He would be lying if he was to say he didn’t hold a brightly lit candle for you.

You’re a regular, Bradshaw. Get your head out of your ass. 

“To be honest,” you start, placing the chilled glass in front of him, “that sounds a lot like something a liar would say.” 

He gives you a soft smile as he reaches into his back pocket to grab his wallet. “Well good thing that I’m not one then, right?” 

Your heart flutters in nervousness and with about as much grace as a stampede of elephants. You’re positive that Bradley can see the outline of it beating out of your chest. 

“No, no, no. Your drink is on the house.” 

He shakes his head, forcing the twenty dollar bill that lays in between his fingers next to the scrap paper you have laying near the register. “No, I insist.” 

“No, I insist. It’s on me, Bradley.” 

He cracks a soft smile as he forces the money into your hand. His fingers wrap yours around the beat-up bill that has definitely seen better days. “That just won’t do ma’am.” 

“I”m awaiting Bar results, not living in a shoebox on I-405. I assure you that two dollars and sixty cents won’t break the bank.” 

The loud scrapping of a bar stool against the hardwood floor (which will probably leave a noticeable scratch in the hardwood flooring that Penny will pretend not be upset about) interrupts the cocoon of the world that existed with just you and him. Just you and Bradley…and Jake Seresin’s loud ass mouth yelling, “Bradshaw! What the hell, man? Get your ass over here and sing some Journey with me!” across the bar. 

He shakes his head in disbelief and if you didn’t know any better (didn’t feed into your delusions, is more like it) you would almost think that he was…disappointed? That he didn’t want to leave you and that he was almost as desperate as you to give each other attention; eyes fully and ears solely attuned to the other. 

Hoots and hollers and the sound of his call sign being screamed from his rowdy group of friends make the delusion hard to manage, and the reality finally kicks in that he’s not here for you. He’s here for them. 

You wish you weren’t so good at hurting your own feelings sometimes. 

“Your spotlight awaits you,” you sigh, trying not to show how dejected you felt to him. 

A beat of silence passes before he slides his palms on the front of his jeans. 

“Here.” He snatches your blue glitter gel pen off the table, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth as he begins to write. “Text me the details?” 

He offers a slight smile that makes your words catch in your throat; the butterflies dinging around in your stomach begging you to reach out and touch him. To lean forward. To say something. To do something. Anything. 

But before you can he’s zipped across the bar and the sound of Call Me by Blondie inflates the room. You look down at the cerulean ink with specks of shimmer in it. 

xxx-xxx-xxxx  Call me, kid!  Bradley B 

You’re definitely not gonna call him anytime soon…

“Sweetheart, I love you, but if you dry those glasses one more time I think I’ll have a brain aneurysm.” 

Penny snatches the dish towel from your hands as your mouth gapes in silent protest. She throws it lazily on the countertop and snags the crate of beer glasses that you were going to town on away from you. The clinging sound of the dishes makes your head droop with disappointment. 

“I wasn’t done yet! They still feel slippery! ”you complain and she just teasingly shakes her head. 

“So?” 

She winks at you and you have to find it in your heart not to be a little annoyed at her for cutting your task off mid-attempt. 

Perfectionism fuels your life and she knows this. She knows that you’re using the glasses to stress clean. She knows that your cousin’s wedding weekend starts on Friday and you’re fighting the urge to tear your hair out. She also knows that you have Bradley’s phone number on a slip of paper that’s burning a hole through your nightstand because you still haven’t called him. 

“So?” you ask, lightly mimicking Penny’s statement, “Someone’s gonna drop the glass because they’ve never learned how to hold it the right way and then there’s gonna be glass shards everywhere and they’ll get hurt and-” 

“You are such a worry wart, my dear. Reeelaaax,” she interrupts, placing her warm, nimble fingers on your shoulders. 

The subtle sunburn you had gotten this past weekend is slowly starting to calm down, but the initial sting still startles you. She can see the small happenings of a frown starting to form on your lips and she decides to frown along with you. She spins you to face her and holds your forearms in her hands, offering them a gentle squeeze of encouragement. 

It’s not a secret that Penny Benjamin takes pride in knowing her staff well and loving them even better. In the five months she’s gotten to know you, she’s taken you in as one of her own without making her love for you about her. That was kind of her thing; knowing all without having to be told and giving so selflessly without having to ask if you were in need. 

Penny just got it, and it’s hard to find people like that nowadays; people who love you genuinely and truly expecting nothing in return. 

The thought of her warmness makes you sniffle, and you’re sure that if the jukebox wasn’t turned on and playing some Beach Boys tune, the tears would’ve made their way down your face at a speed that Formula One drivers would envy. 

“I know what it feels like to have your every movement judged and not being able to say anything to defend yourself,” she starts, “But you’re smart. You’re kind. You’re so important. And you’re nothing less than amazing, so don’t let anyone treat you like you aren’t.”

You can’t muster up the words to keep the conversation alive. You’re sure that all that would come out of your mouth is a blubbering mess you don’t feel like trying to force out in between choked sobs. Besides, the car doors closing in the parking lot alert you both to the Wednesday night crowd making their way in. 

You settle for a small “thank you” before she cracks another smile at you; lips quirked up in amusement. She saunters off to the back to grab the bucket of prepped lime wedges. 

“You never have to thank me for the words you deserve, sweetheart. Those are on the house.” 

You snort before wiping your nose with the back of your hand. Only she could manage to subdue the mini meltdown brewing in the depths of your chest. But Penny was just like that. 

Always calm, cool, and collected. 

The night moves slowly in a frame-by-frame manner (one that emulates the night you asked Bradley to be your date, but you shake the thought whenever it tries to enter your head because you think you may actually puke). It’s nothing too out of the ordinary for a Wednesday night. 

Mickey and Mariella pop in for mango margaritas after their weekly date night. Mickey gives you a small “hello” before flashing you a knowing smirk. You try to ignore Mariella swatting at his chest, but the imagery eats you up inside. You know that he knows and that she knows, and not taking the steps to actually ask Bradley to a wedding you invited him to makes you feel guilty. 

He picks up on your guilt when his eyes catch you twisting your ring around your pointer finger. His eyes soften and he almost considers apologizing to you before he thinks about it. Bringing more attention to it would embarrass you more, he figures. The apology sitting on his tongue is swallowed down with a sip of his drink and Mariella’s kick to his shin. 

“Well, we’re about to head out. We’ll see you Friday?” Mickey declares as Mariella narrows her dark eyes at him. 

Your heart stops and your fingers feel numb. 

Fuck. He wants to bring up Bradley. What do I say? Fuck. Shit. Wait. How does he even know? Has Bradley brought me up? Fuck, wait. He wouldn’t do that. Why would he even be talking about me? He probably told them that I’m obsessed with him and he was cornered and couldn’t say no and- 

“Uh? Are you good?” Mickey looks at you with soft eyes and waves his hand in front of your face. 

Mariella slaps it down from in front of you. “Don’t do that. She’s not a fucking dog, Mick.” 

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Duh. I know that. I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t having a seizure or anything like that.” 

“A seizure?” 

“They’re called absence seizures. Went down a whole YouTube rabbit hole about them a couple of nights ago.” 

You chuckle at their antics and can’t wait for the day they finally have their wedding. At least when the time comes you know you won’t have to forge a story about having a boyfriend. And it’ll be a wedding filled with people you actually like; ones that don’t make you order water out of feeling insecure about how many calories you’re consuming or ones that gossip about the shade of blush you wore making you look too “flushed” behind your back. 

“I go down rabbit holes all the time,” you chide, “I watched this documentary about the Pentagon Papers and the atomic bomb from World War II the other day, and now I’m confident I could get my Ph.D. in like, Historical American Screw-Ups.” 

Mickey and Mariella let out chortles at your statement before starting to head toward the exit. 

“Well, we’ll see you later then. Tell us about that wedding on Monday?” 

Your mouth hangs open as they stride out the front doors of Hard Deck. The shock of what just happened makes your heart beat erratically. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! He told. 

Mike Metcalf sits at the corner of the bar top on his regular stool with his sweating glass housing a whiskey neat. He sends you a teasing smirk as you move near him to wipe the countertop down. 

“Still haven’t texted him?” he asks. 

The shock continues to run through your body. You have to place your hands on the edge of the table to keep yourself from stumbling over. 

Why does everyone in this bar know what’s going on? 

Admiral Metcalf was friendly with you - one of those regulars who offer you engaging conversation, tidbits of grandfatherly affection, and generous tips. 

You would tell him not to tip you so much for a single drink, but he would always insist; quoting something along the lines of you reminding him of his granddaughter and that you treated everyone with such kindness and respect that you deserved it back tenfold. 

You take a deep breath, arms pushing you up slowly to stand upright. “I’m scared to ask how you know.” 

He chuckles, a real belly laugh, and you struggle to find out why you can’t piece together a logical explanation for how he would know. 

“Well, apparently Baby Goose’s been losing his mind ‘round the base about how this really smart and sweet girl invited him to a wedding and won’t text him about it.” He shrugs before taking a long drink from his glass. “Thought it sounded like you. I meant to ask about it the other night, but once you turn eighty you forget things at the drop of a hat.” 

“Smart and sweet?” you want to ask, but you know that it would confirm rather than get you the answers that you want. You shake your head to dislodge the thought before furrowing your eyebrows. 

“. . . Baby Goose?” 

The older man plays with the paper coaster underneath his drink. A soft smile blooms on his lips. “We’re talking about Bradley Bradshaw. Correct?” 

You start to drum your fingers against the lip of the bar top. The thought of lying briefly crosses your mind until the sound of James Brown’s shriek at the beginning of “I Got You (I Feel Good)” startles you.  

“Uhh, hello? You still there, kiddo?” 

I have got to get better at answering quicker. 

You straighten your spine and pop your hand on your hip. “Wouldn’t the correct terminology be ‘gosling’?” 

He raises his brows, “Rooster. Baby Goose. Bradshaw. Gosling,” he rattles off, counting the phrases on his fingers, “Does any of this ring a bell?” 

You chew on your lip. The toe of your sneaker slides underneath the sole of your other one. The fidgeting tells Admiral Metcalf all he needs to know. 

“Maybe,” you say under your breath. 

“Maybe?” he questions. He leans forward to investigate your expression with his eyes. 

Another sigh exits your lips. “Okay, well, maybe a little.” 

You sound defeated, he thinks. He decides to investigate even though he can hear his wife’s voice in his head telling him not to. If he turns his head just a little bit to the right, his hearing aid catches the sound of the jukebox. He can’t focus on you talking and his wife’s voice if he also hears the jukebox. 

Sorry, Carrie. 

His chair swivels a little bit and he wipes his hands on his jeans. “It’s certainly more than a little, kiddo. Especially if you asked him to a wedding.” 

You scoff, annoyance painting the inside of your brain. Nosiness is one thing you absolutely cannot stand, and it’s the reason why you insisted on not moving back in with your mom after law school. Working yourself to the bone to study for the Bar during the day while mixing drinks and popping caps off of beer bottles at night seemed worlds better than having your privacy invaded constantly. Tired or private. From where you stand currently, it’s safe to say you picked the latter. 

Or so you thought. 

“So is this just a thing?” You can feel your heart rate speed up as you start to become defensive. “Like, a trend where all you Hard Deck patrons like to gossip and spread rumors?” 

“It’s not a rumor if it’s true.” 

You almost roll your eyes but the politeness you were raised with paired with your people-pleasing won’t let you. 

“Yeah, but it’s technically gossip if you didn’t hear it from me,” you state directly, “How do you even talk to all these people on the base? Aren’t you retired?” 

Admiral Metcalf chuckles. “I may be in bed by 8 every night but it doesn’t mean I’m not social, my dear.” 

“Okay, but why would your connections be talking to you about Gosling?” You lean on your forearms and glance at the cash register to make sure someone isn’t waiting to be served. Your eyes glance back to the older gentleman sat in front of you. “Aren’t you guys like. . .fifteen generations removed from each other?” 

He gently pats your arm with his calloused palm. “You’re a funny girl.” 

“You’re dodging my question,” you frown, sitting up straight and grabbing him his usual glass of water he drinks before he decides to go home. 

He mouths a quick “thank you” before taking a sip. “Did it ever occur to you that I was a pilot?” 

The wheels in your brain start turning to decipher why he would say that and how it would mean that he and Bradley know each other. 

“What does that have to do with anything?” 

“And a Top Gun instructor.” 

“Okay. . .?”  You’re starting to get the hint now, but it still just seems like a lot of abstract events put together. 

“I taught Maverick and Goose.” 

Penny’s “boyfriend, not-boyfriend” who comes in to pick her up or hang out on days when the crowd is as dead as a cemetery. Maverick. 

But who’s - 

“Goose?” you ask, finishing your question out loud.  

“Bradley’s father.” 

And shit. Oh shit. Fucking shit! 

“I- You- Wait-” you stammer. He simply sips on his water, amusement painted on his features at the signs of your internal panic. 

“So that’s how I know. I keep in touch with Maverick and he just happened to mention the absolute mess Rooster’s been the past couple days about this wedding,” he declares, “Which, by the way, is kind of rude to invite someone and then not go into detail about it. Don’t you think?” 

Your mouth opens and closes in shock, the magnitude of your recent revelation being endorsed by the silence coming from you. 

Your brain can’t even begin to wrap around all the degrees of separation and acquaintances and friendships Bradley has from the bombshell of information that was just dropped on you. This place is just littered with people who probably knew him before he was Rooster; all puppy fat and awkward haircuts. You bet there’s probably a series of his prom and high school graduation photos that circulated from eye to eye. 

But this also means that if you go through with it, that if you actually bring him with you to Long Beach this weekend, you’ll become part of that essence of knowing - everyone knowing what Bradley told them and your entire weekend spent with him being a topic of discussion. 

You try to get over the dehumanizing feeling that will come with being called “Hard Deck Girl” after this weekend when he inevitably tells Maverick about his weekend who will then tell Iceman who will probably tell Admiral Metcalf. You can’t bear to think about all the snickers and teasing that will come from Bradley’s group of friends. 

Hangman loves to tease you already. You don’t think you’ll survive more “pigtail pulling” if word gets out about Bradley having to hold your hand and awkwardly slow dance with you on Saturday. 

Admiral Metcalf lets out an impressive-sounding whistle that catches your attention and brings you back to Earth.

“That’s one gorgeous Bronco,” he comments, head turned to look outside the windows of the bar. “Used to have one just like it years ago.” 

Your eyes follow his gaze to see the cobalt blue vehicle parked in one of the empty spaces of the parking lot. The headlights fade as the owner steps out of the vehicle and - 

Fuck! 

He has a soft bounce in his strut. His Raybans are tucked into the collar of his white t-shirt. The light-wash denim of his jeans hugs his legs just the right way. His slightly rosy cheeks and tanned forearms bulging from his shirt make him unmistakable. 

Bradley Bradshaw is about to walk into the bar. On a Wednesday night. While the crowd is drier than the Mojave. 

And there’s nowhere for you to run. 

He has a slightly faster pace set to his walk than he usually does. . . Not like you spend your time watching him walk (even though you do, and you’d rather roll over and die than admit that to anyone). 

“Good luck getting him back on that perch,” Admiral Metcalf speaks up. He opens his worn leather wallet and fishes out a fifty-dollar bill. “He won’t fly back up there once he gets off.” 

You follow him to the cash register to ring him up. The drawer is opened and the bills counted for his change before he stops you. 

“Keep it. Part of your tip,” he says, “Least I can do for all the trouble I’ve caused you tonight.” 

You begin to thank him before the saloon-style doors open and Bradley stands dead in the center, hands on his hips and eyes grazing the surroundings. 

“Good luck, kiddo. I’m sure I’ll hear all about it,” Admiral Metcalf says before turning on his heel. He claps Bradley on the shoulder as a brief greeting and continues his stride outside to the parking lot. 

Your heart starts beating in your chest erratically; a tell-tale sign of white hot panic that makes your knees buckle and heat grow on your scalp. 

And you’re. . . starting to sweat? 

Fuck, fuck, fuck! 

Bradley spots you while you stand paralyzed at the cash register. Your fingers are shaky and a lump in your throat starts to form. You feel like a deer in headlights when he begins to stalk forward to approach you. 

“I’ve gotta bone to pick with you, missy,” his voice booms, his steps coming to a halt. 

His hands spread and turn as he leans on the table; eyes locked on your face. 

Your adrenaline kicks in and your feet start to move faster than your brain. A harsh swallow plagues your throat before you book it to the kitchen; french braid slinging heavy on your back and the bucket of lime wedges on your mind. 

Bradley zips around the oval-shaped bar top and grabs your waist before you make it out of the opening. His hands squeeze your sides softly. If you were in your right frame of mind, your cheeks would have flushed.  

“Uh-uh,” he says, whipping you around to face him. His grip falls to your forearms; holding you firmly but not enough to hurt. “What’s your deal, kid?” 

His breaths are exasperated. When he left work today, he had no idea that he would be chasing you around the bar like a goddamn dog who had gotten off its leash. Despite being in good shape (which he takes pride in, given the number of shirtless runs he does in his neighborhood) he still finds himself a little winded. 

Your eyes are almost bulging out of your head. His touch feels electric and you feign the ability to even think about opening your mouth to respond. Bradley Bradshaw is here, right in front of you, and almost holding you hostage. 

Hostage is dramatic, you think. But so is chasing me. 

“I-” you start. Another harsh swallow forces its way down your throat. At this point, you think that swallowing your spit is the only way you can remind your body to breathe. 

Bradley’s eyes soften at your frazzled state. He takes his hands off of you and drops them back to his sides. 

“I- I need to get the lime wedge bucket,” you rush out, the entire sentence sounding like one phrase. 

“Let me come with you,” he says. 

Your eyes widen in surprise. “You’re not allowed back there.” 

“Yeah well, you’re not allowed to ghost me about a wedding you invited me to, but look where we are,” he counters back. His legs start toward the kitchen hidden behind gray steel doors near the back. 

You stand frozen; trying to catch your breath and looking around to still see an empty bar with no signs of life. 

“Are you coming or not?” he calls out, a smile on his face juxtaposed to the annoyed expression he wore a few minutes ago when he caught you. 

And if it were anyone else, you would be utterly annoyed. You would refuse and start rattling off how it’s a health code violation for patrons to be in the back serving area or how it was inappropriate or how you didn’t want anyone to come in and clean out the Hard Deck while you were distracted. 

But because it’s Bradley and because you have this stupid big fat school girl crush on him, you don’t say anything even though you so badly want to. 

He’s already a little annoyed with me, you think. He doesn’t want to hear me ramble on top of that. 

Your sneakered feet follow him into the terracotta quarry-tiled kitchen in the back. He moves to the side to allow you to step in front of him in pursuit of the infamous lime wedge bucket you had your heart set on. 

The silence between the two of you is deafening, but you can’t even rub two of your brain cells together to form a coherent sentence that won’t leave you hunched over in embarrassment. Having a crush as an adult is downright embarrassing. But having a crush as an adult on an older, more refined adult is absolutely humiliating. 

The industrial refrigerator stands sleek and tall. The door weighs as heavy as it looks and you damn near pull your shoulder out of socket every time you attempt to open it. More than often, Penny has to come save you and open it because you can never seem to get the resistance of the rubber door gasket to give way. 

Thankfully, the door opens with a heavy tug and the bucket of limes was left on a shelf you could reach. You pop the fridge door closed with your hip before you start a fast-paced walk back to the bar; leaving Bradley behind to scramble up to you once again. 

In hindsight, your body language and lack of talking makes you seem furious and annoyed. And maybe you are, but it’s mostly frustration and annoyance pointed at yourself because you can’t just be fucking normal. 

No, because you have to be the odd one out of your family. You have to be the one cousin who got dumped by her “perfect” dentist boyfriend (who treated you terribly, but you never complained aloud to your family for your fear of being called ungrateful and unbecoming). You have to be awkward and sensitive and young with a silly-ass schoolgirl crush on a gorgeous man who David of Michelangelo envies.  

The bucket of lime wedges is slammed on the counter before you realize what your hands are doing. 

Bradley rounds in front of the cash register, a sheepish look on his face. “Hey, kid,” he whispers, “I’m sorry for barging in on you like that. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” 

A wave of guilt breaks the tide in your brain. He’s apologizing, and it’s sincere. It’s certainly not anything you’re used to. Usually, everything is your fault and you find yourself pushing your feelings aside to accept a half-assed apology. 

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have invited you to something that’s such a big deal and then refused the details,” you say. 

And you should stop there, you know, but you do that stupid thing you do about having to over-explain everything and keep going. Word vomit to the maximum. 

“I mean, I think I kind of bombarded you about it? I know you said that you would go and that you didn’t mind, but it’s really a lot to ask of someone to come with you and fill in for your ex in front of your shitty family who has a cow because you didn’t get married right after undergrad.” 

You rock back and forth on your heels and you pinch your fingers together to help soothe yourself. The anxiousness exuding off of you is obvious and Bradley can’t help but feel extremely guilty for making you feel horrible on top of what feelings you were already dealing with. 

“You can really say no, Bradley. My feelings won’t be hurt if you do. Honest,” you whisper, finishing your statement. 

Feeling small isn’t foreign to you in the slightest. 

His eyes soften even more. He recognizes the doubt written all over you. He’s felt that way so many times before. 

“I said what I meant, and I really wanna go to that wedding with you. Honest to God, I mean it,” he says, taking a seat on a stool nearby. “I just need to know what the plan is so I can pick you up and everything. Don’t want my suit to clash with your dress now, do we?” 

A small giggle leaves your lips. “Alright, Casanova. You’ve convinced me.” 

He extends his hand out to you. “Deal?” The large palm looks inviting, but you’re sure the adrenaline coursing through your veins has made your hands clammy. 

Your brows knit together and your lips pull themselves into a straight line. “What the hell are you doing?” Suddenly, you’re self-conscious about the potential armpit stains that may have soaked your tank top. 

Goddamn nerves. 

He contorts his expression into one of faux offense. “Making you shake on it. What the fuck does it look like?” 

You let out a breath through your nose. “I mean, exactly that, but don’t you think that’s too. . .” 

“Sophisticated? Formal?” He grins as if he had just won the lottery. 

“Little Rascals -esque.”  

Bradley kisses his teeth before laughing. “You’re never too old to relish in the magic that’s The Little Rascals.” 

“What happens if I don’t shake?” you question, fingers drawing circles on the surface near the cash register, “Will I be a target of the He-Man Woman Haters Club?” 

“Unfortunately, I can’t confirm but I can deny only if you shake on it and promise me a dance.” 

You shake your head before he finishes his sentence. 

“I’m a terrible dancer.” 

“Then I’ll make sure my dress shoes are steel-toe,” he reasons, shrugging his broad shoulders. His biceps subtly flex and you almost bite your lip but the fact that he’s so close and can see your expression makes you withhold. 

“You really wanna go still?” 

“How many times do I have to say yes, kid? I want to go with you and I promise you that we’ll have the best time ever. Is that clear enough?” 

Penny waltzes back in before you can answer. Her eyes hold a mischievous glint as they look at the interaction going on between you and Bradley. She sends you a soft wink before she joins you behind the bar. 

“Bradley!” she greets with a grin, coming to come rest next to you and in front of his seat. 

“Hey, Pen. Mav taking you out on the bike today?” 

She subtly bumps your hip with hers. She’s about to stir up some trouble. 

“No, no,” she sighs, “I have to close up here tonight so we’re going this weekend.” 

Bradley nods as you stand frozen next to her. 

“Speaking of weekends,” she chirps, “What are your plans, Bradley?” 

I love Penny. I love Penny. I love Penny. If I say it enough, I won’t wanna kill her. 

“Oh, the kid and I were planning on going to her cousin’s wedding in Long Beach. We were actually just talking about it,” he answers as Penny lets out a dramatic sigh. 

“Oh thank God. The suspense of if she was actually gonna talk to you about it was killing us.”

“Us?” you ask, voice filled with irritation and concern. 

“Me, Pete, Tom, Mike,” Penny lists, “Jake and Rueben started a money pool. Guess Hangman’s a hundred and twenty dollars richer now.”  

You groan and pinch your nose between your fingers as Penny takes your shoulders into her palms and rubs them. She picks up a crate of shot glasses before turning to leave. 

“Bradley?” she calls, and his ears perk up. 

“Yes, ma’am?” 

“Stay out of my kitchen,” her eyes narrow playfully, “That’s a health code violation.” 

He holds his hands up with a grin. “You got it.” 

“You kids have fun this weekend. Gonna have to take tons of pictures and show them to me!” she exclaims before disappearing behind the same steel doors Bradley had followed you into earlier. 

A beat of silence passes; partly because you’re so stunned by what had just occurred. 

“So,” he clears his throat, “Now that I know you’re old enough to have watched The Little Rascals, what’s the plan? Like is this an overnight thing or a reception thing or?” 

You perk up at his question. 

“Oh, umm.” You subconsciously pick at your cuticles before forcing yourself to stop. Your mom and aunt would be disappointed to see them ripped to shreds. “So I kinda - well, it’s an overnight thing but we definitely don’t have to stay overnight.” 

He nods his head, ears intently listening to what you’re saying. You think he’s nodding his head to queue up a firm decline to your plans despite his insistence on going with you. 

“I mean, you don’t have to! You can like, drive home and come back the next day? Or not go to the rehearsal dinner and just meet me at the wedding? I just know that sleeping in the same room is gonna be weird and I think my room reservation only has one bed because like I said, I had a boyfriend whenever they booked it and I never changed it after we broke up and-” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he interrupts your word vomit, “Breathe, kid. Breathe.” 

You take a deep inhale in and you want to kick yourself for doing it at his request. 

Are you just gonna do whatever Bradley tells you to do, or do we actually have a fucking mind of our own? 

“Why would I leave you hanging like that? Huh?” He licks his lips subtly and you have to keep from drooling. “You asked me to come with you and I’m gonna go the whole time and have a blast.” 

You nod your head. Your thoughts and emotions have been bouncing off the wall in a vapid fashion from the two hours you’ve been clocked in. 

“Okay,” you whisper shakily. 

“Okay,” a laugh jumps from his throat and he leans in closer. “Can I get your number, at least? So I can call you instead and make it easier?” 

You’re reaching beneath the bar and grabbing aimlessly at the mason jar full of random gel pens and a roll of open receipt paper that was too short to be put inside the machine but too long to be thrown away. 

Lime green glitter ink spells out your phone number on the stark white paper before you wordlessly slide it over to rest near Bradley’s fingertips. 

He sends you a smile before pulling out his phone and typing the number into the keypad. You have to look away because if you don’t, you’re sure you’ll start hyperventilating. 

Your cell phone buzzes in your back pocket once, twice, thrice. 

“Are you…calling me?” you ask, head tilting to the side to meet his mischievous glint. 

“Context clues, kid. C’mon,” he replies. He holds his phone to his ear as he listens to the dial tone. 

You stand in disbelief in front of him. 

He shoos you with his hands. “Go on! Answer!” he urges. 

You sigh and playfully roll your eyes before slinging your phone out of your back pocket. You click the green phone icon on your screen before bringing it to your ear. 

“Hello?” 

“Alright, missy. What’s the address I’m picking you up from Friday afternoon?” 

Bradley Bradshaw may not be your boyfriend and probably will never be, but he sure knows how to play the part well enough to fool your family. He may even have you fooled too.

“Shit!” you yelp. Your upper body tenses up and you slam your curling iron on the countertop of your bathroom sink. 

The strong vibrations of your phone ringing move your device closer to the edge. You scramble to pick it up and bring it to your ear. You didn’t bother looking at the caller ID before answering. Odds are, it’s either your mother or your only cousin that you can actually stand, Hallie.

“Fuck,” you whisper before clearing your throat, “Hello?” 

You flash your neck in the mirror, fingers dancing around the irritated baby pink skin surrounding the already darkening magenta wound. The skin feels hot to the touch and you know that its placement makes it look more like a hickey than anything. Your mind starts to wonder if putting makeup on it would be a bad decision. 

“Hey, kid.” 

Fuck. Bradley. It’s Bradley. I forgot about Bradley! 

“I’m outside.” You take a deep swallow that you pray he can’t hear over the phone. “You said the house with the purple hydrangeas near the front steps. Right?” 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Am I this fucking stupid that I can’t even think of another word to use right now? 

The long pause doesn’t make Bradley hang up. 

“Kid? You okay in there?” The sound of a car door slamming can be heard through the receiver. You listen to the Carlsons down the street mowing their lawn. A few dogs are barking and the sound of Bradley’s shoes hitting the pavement plays a symphony with the bliss of what is a Friday afternoon at 2 PM encapsulates. 

His knuckles rap against your front door and you audibly gasp. Your finger hangs up the phone before sprinting to let him in. The flutters in your stomach make you feel like you might projectile vomit any second.  No amount of pep talks you had given yourself in the past two days can prepare you for the events of this weekend; not to mention Bradley and your big fat crush on him being the cherry on top. 

You swing the door open; a shocked Bradley staring at you and a frenzied heart damn near beating out of your chest. 

“I’m not ready yet!” you exclaim, turning your back and rushing back into your bathroom. You move so swiftly that you don’t even notice the bouquet of flowers clutched in his right hand. 

Fuck! The curling iron is still on. 

Bradley lets out a laugh. “Well, hello to you too.” 

You pick the iron back up and finish curling the piece of hair you had started on before being interrupted. 

“Sorry!” you shout back, “Give me five and I’ll be ready to go.” 

Bradley lets out a puff of air he didn’t know he had been holding in. If someone had asked him a month ago where he thought he would be spending a Friday afternoon in mid-March, he probably said he wouldn’t know for sure. 

Which is true. 

He’s worked out a schedule where he’s able to leave work by 11 AM on Fridays and what he does is often a wild card; his Fridays range anywhere from mundane errands to impromptu skydiving endeavors with Coyote and Phoenix. He might even go for a quick afternoon surf session if he feels up to it. 

He’ll admit, sometimes he imagines spending his Friday afternoons with you. In one timeline, he convinces you to ride down the coast with him at sunset. Another has you laying on your stomach at the beach with your nose shoved in a book pretending not to be ogling him while he surfs. 

Bradley even lets his mind wander to the possible tan lines on your hips and how he would graze his thumbs just beneath your bikini bottoms to feel the fullness of the skin there, but then he realizes how inappropriate that may be, and he lets the thought sit in the back of his brain unwatered and underdeveloped.

Besides, he was raised better than imagining women naked. . .Even though he thinks you’re absolutely stunning both clothed and naked. . .And would love the opportunity to see you na-

That’s beside the point. Get it together, man. 

His eyes survey the surroundings of your living room. Throw pillows and blankets. Candles on the coffee table. Books everywhere. Open windows create sunspots on the carpet. A vintage record player on the shelf of your bookcase and your Tango in the Night vinyl playing softly. 

He likes to think that in another life (he’s hopeful for this one, but he’s learned what having too much hope does to a person) your blue fuzzy blanket has a home on his cream-colored couch or that your Fleetwood Mac vinyl finds solace next to his Otis Redding and James Brown records. 

Bradley takes a seat on your couch. The brown butcher paper holding together the peony floral arrangement he had picked up crunches in his hand. The other pats along to the soft rhythm arrangement in time with “Mystified.” He can smell the faint scent of your perfume and the sounds of life you make, the small gasps and soft humming and whispered curse words, fill him with endearment. 

He’s so wrapped up in melting into your aura that he doesn’t even realize that you had left the bathroom until you stood dead in front of him; curled hair, makeup on, and an electric blue dress laying flawlessly on the silhouette of your body.

You make his mouth dry and any words that he wants to say disintegrate with how amazing he thinks you look. Him not saying anything makes you panic and you wonder if you forgot to blend the bronzer near your neck or if your blush was too pink or if there was a piece of hair you had forgotten or if the dress you had on actually made you look like a frumpy version of Aquamarine (a lot of or, or, ors). 

Bradley, please say something. 

He sits up straighter upon seeing you. The navy blue dress pants on his long legs bring out the green in his hazel eyes. Your heart feels warm at the thought of him matching you; especially after offhandedly mentioning that you were thinking of wearing a blue dress to the dinner rehearsal. 

Your eyes glance to his non-dominate hand and spot the pink peonies wrapped in butcher paper. The simple notion of him getting you flowers makes your knees weak, and the fact that he didn’t get them from the grocery store - that it was an arrangement that he had gotten from a florist - makes you wish you were a better woman and weren’t thinking of dropping to your knees right there in front of him and thanking him with a blowj- 

He doesn’t even think you look pretty enough to say something. Don’t get too ahead of yourself. 

“Oh,” he wipes his empty hand on the fabric of his pants, “These are for you.” He pushes the bouquet forward for your observation. 

A smile is center stage on your lips as you grab them from his grasp. “Thank you. This is really kind of you, Bradley.” You turn to head into your kitchen to grab a vase. 

She didn’t say they were pretty. Does she even like peonies? 

The silence surrounding you both is deafening. If you could ignore the slightly prickly feeling of heat eating away at the hairline on the back of your neck, you can almost forget that Bradley is even here. 

But the thing is, Bradley is here. He’s here and so present and you’re gonna have to give your poor heart a break from beating so fast if you want to survive this weekend without having a stroke. 

All the thought does is make you even more nervous (as if that’s even fucking possible at this point). 

“Okay, kid. If we’re gonna be together all weekend, this,” he points his finger between you and him, “Ain’t fucking happening. We need to tallllkkkk.” 

You swallow. “I -We are talking.” 

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” 

“Okay,” you whisper sheepishly, your bare toe grinding into the carpet. The friction sends a wave of heat to your otherwise numb toes. It’s unconventional, but at least it’s helping you feel something other than anxiety. 

He nods his head before standing up. His eyes glance at the gold watch on his left hand. “Well, it’s 2:30 and the rehearsal dinner is at 5. We need to get going if we wanna beat traffic.” 

“Okay.” 

He sighs, watched wrist coming down to lay his hand flat across his stomach. “Talking means more than just saying ‘okay.’ That’s not a conversation.” 

You pause for a moment. The flowers he had brought still rest in between the crease of your inner elbow. More silence ensues. You just don’t know what to say. 

He starts heading down your small hallway. The whiff of his cologne kickstarts your reaction. 

“Hey!” you say, starting to stalk after him, “What the hell are you doing?” 

He snickers. “Grabbing your bags? I was serious about getting a move on. Don’t want your folks to think your boyfriend is a slacker now, do ya?” 

Bradley grabs the two bags you had struggled to set outside your bedroom door with ease. You never forget how strong he looks (oggling at a guy three days out of the six you work will do that to you) but you always seem to forget how strong he actually is. 

You close your mouth before you begin to drool. Bradley will for sure be talking about this weekend with his friends and uncle. You don’t want to add any more embarrassing details to the story. Besides, your awkward preteen pictures from your mom’s Facebook hadn’t even been brought up yet. Some room needs to be saved for your utter humiliation. 

Your feet slide into the pair of heels you had set aside before you scramble to grab your keys and purse. How Bradley can move so quickly is beyond your thinking capacity as you haphazardly take the needle off of your record. Your eyes do a quick sweep over your living room to make sure that everything is turned off so you won’t magically come home to a fire safety example at the conclusion of your weekend. 

Now, if you can just make yourself stop feeling so jittery, you might be able to actually manage to fit your key into the lock of your front door. 

After what feels like three years (and the embarrassment of knowing Bradley probably watched you struggle), the keys are stuffed back into your purse before you pause on your porch. 

A black Ford F-150 sits curbside to your driveway. It doesn’t fit in with the SUVs and small sedans that make up the neighborhood you live in. You had never seen a car like this where you lived at all. Come to think of it, you had never seen this truck ever. 

Doesn’t Bradley drive a Bronco? 

Your eyebrows remain wrinkled with your puzzled expression as he rounds the back of the car; the resounding noise of the back door shutting makes his entrance known. He opens the passenger door for you and stands next to it. 

He squints as he looks up at you. The sun is blazing and he forgot to grab his sunglasses from his side of the door. 

“Cold feet?” he calls. 

You start to head down the stairs and onto the pavement. “It’s seventy-six degrees. I think cold feet is kinda ill worded.” 

“It’s a saying.” 

The crossed arms over your chest signal your apprehension. Bradley stands before you, leaning against the truck and his arm slung on the top of the cab. He raises his brows at you and does a gentle motion of his head to the seat, inviting you to climb in. Even next to the large vehicle, he still looks. . .huge. 

In a good way! In a good way. He’s actually really fit and I’m shaking inside and I’m sure I’m sweating and I have got to stop wearing light colors in front of him because he can probably see the sweat and - Oh God. Oh God, the seats are leather. What if I sweat all over them? 

The lump in your throat is swallowed as you stand before him. “This isn’t your car,” you say lamely. 

He scoffs. “Spying on me? Do you have my license plates memorized too?” 

You know he’s teasing and that he doesn’t mean it literally, but you almost answer, “yes” because you do. Thankfully, you’re in the stage of your anxiousness where you clam up instead of puking your words out. 

You cock your head to the side, eyes narrowed because of the bright sun. 

“How do I know it’s not stolen? What if we get pulled over because it’s stolen?” you wonder, and then the word vomit picks up and - “ I can’t go to jail! I had nothing to do with it and the ABA is gonna pull my Bar application if we get arrested and I spent too much damn money and worked too damn hard to let an F-150 ruin it for-” 

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters into a small laugh, “I know you love the Bronco,” he gives you a teasing look, “But the Bronco has no air and I figured that since we’re driving two hours on the highway, you would appreciate not having to ride with the windows down the entire time.” 

“You still haven’t confirmed that it’s your car.” 

“You know, for someone so smart, you are extremely bad at picking up on obvious context clues. Why the hell would I steal a pickup truck and then drive you to a wedding in it?” 

You scrounge your brain for a reply. “. . .For the plot?” 

He whistles and crosses his arms over his chest, mimicking your current stance. “Wow. I have a comedian for a date.” 

“I’m serious. It could be a possibility!” 

“Well I don’t think “felon” looks good next to “painstakingly handsome,” so I’ll pass.” 

You remain standing in front of him. Stubbornness was a quality that your mother both loved and loathed and you know it, but Bradley has yet to see this side of you yet. Your arms wrap around your torso tighter and your eyebrows are raised every so slightly. 

Bradley knows what you’re doing. He used to do it to Maverick all the time when he was growing up. You’re digging your heels in. 

“C’mon. Don’t start poutin’ on me before I even get to disappoint you with my dancing,” he quips. He brings his face closer to yours before flashing you a toothy smile. 

You sigh dramatically before letting him help you into the seat. The gentle “Atta girl,” he gives you pinkens your cheeks. You pray he won’t notice your flushed face when he sits on the driver's side of the car. Every interaction you’ve had with him has kept you tossing and turning at night because of your nervousness. 

So many things you wish you could take back and so many ways you wish you could act normal; a never-ending cycle of “could’ve, would’ve, should’ve,” and the thought leaves a small seed of sadness in your stomach. 

[dragonflylady77]

people like us

So... yesterday (today? timezones, man...) was @thissortofsorcery's birthday and I decided around 5pm that I'd write a fic for her.

2502 words later... read on Ao3

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BESTIE!!!

Summary:

Billy apologizes, Robin helps Steve with something, then she helps Billy with something.

Steve was standing against his car when he spotted Hargrove walking towards him. He planted his feet, crossing his arms over his chest and waited. It had been a couple of months since the fight at the Byers’ and they’d both done a good job avoiding each other.

He’d heard from Dustin that Max had told the gang Billy was sticking to his word and staying out of her way. The guy didn’t seem to hang around Tommy and his clique anymore and Steve wondered who he was hanging out with. He wasn’t sure why he wondered, but he did.

Hargrove stopped a couple of feet away, taking a deep drag on his cigarette before dropping it on the ground and crushing it with his boot. “Harrington.”

“Hargrove,” Steve said, his face showing none of the turmoil he was feeling inside. He wondered what had compelled him to press a finger to Billy’s chest that night, but he couldn’t get out of his head how warm and soft Billy’s skin had been.

“I took it too far that night, and for that I am sorry. My dad, um, my dad made it very clear that I needed to bring Maxine home and when you lied to me about it and wouldn’t let me take her with me, I saw red. That wasn’t your fault, but you have to agree that a thirteen-year-old girl had no business being alone with a bunch of boys at night in a house in the middle of nowhere.”

Steve felt his face heat up. “That’s not… I mean… I don’t…” he sputtered. What the fuck ?

“Yeah, I know that now, but you gotta admit it looked dodgy as hell. Anyway, you don’t have to forgive me or anything, but I wanted to say I’m sorry I made your face my punching bag.”

“Oh, um, okay.” Steve was having a hard time processing.

Billy nodded. “See ya.”

A car door slamming shut snapped Steve out of his trance and he realized Hargrove had left while he was staring into space. He heard the bell and swore under his breath, grabbing his bag out of his car before running towards the school.

The day passed in a daze and last period found Steve in the library for his tutoring session. His English teacher had arranged for someone from his AP class to help Steve with his college essays. Steve couldn’t ask Nancy anymore, obviously, things were too awkward. Part of him hoped it would be Billy Hargrove, though he doubted the new King of Hawkins High would want to spend more time with a washed out loser like Steve…

“Steve Harrington?” a decidedly female voice said next to him and he sat up, blinking. 

“Yes?”

“Hi. I’m Robin Buckley. Mr. Crowder asked me to help you with your college essays.” Robin sat in the chair next to him, dumping her backpack in the chair next to her. She pulled out a purple pencil case that was bursting at the seams and turned to him expectantly. “Well?”

“Well, what?” Steve had no idea what was going on and he was sure it showed on his face. This girl would no doubt tell everyone he was an idiot.

“Show me. Your essay.”

“Oh, right.” Steve reached in his bag and pulled out a slightly mangled sheet of paper. He passed it to Robin and tried to ignore the face she made as she flattened the sheet with her hand. “Sorry,” he mumbled, looking down at his hands on the table.

“It’s okay.” 

Steve felt her shrug then she started reading, a red pen at the ready. She read it slowly, clearly taking her time, and rereading it a few times as well. The amount of red marks on his essay made Steve wonder why he’d bothered at all.

Once she was done, she put her pen down and looked at Steve, an apologetic look on her face. “Okay, Steve. Um, it’s not all bad. You have some good ideas in there, but the execution is, um, shall we say, clunky.”

Letting out a groan that earned him a glare from the librarian, Steve crossed his arms on the table and hid his head in them. “I suck, I know.”

“Do you even want to go to college?” Robin asked, her voice muffled.

Steve shrugged. He was tired of his father yelling at him about his shit grades, his lack of prospects if he didn’t get into college, even how short-sighted he had been breaking it off with the Wheeler girl. Life sucked, and now he was kinda maybe having daydreams about what it would feel like to kiss Billy Hargrove.

“Ugh,” was the answer he gave Robin, lifting his head to peer at her. “My dad won’t shut up about it, threatens to cut me off if I don’t get in somewhere. But this study thing? Not sure it’s for me, yanno. Senior year is hard enough. From what all my teachers are saying, I’ll be lucky to graduate.”

“What are you going to do then? Work for your dad?”

“Ha!” Steve scoffed. “As if the great Richard Harrington, Jr. would stoop so low as to give his dumbass son a job in his successful empire.”

“Wow, okay… well, I work at Melvald’s on the weekend and they’re looking for a delivery boy. You have a car, you should apply. Don’t tell your dad and earn your own money.”

“Why are you helping me? I mean, you seem great, don’t get me wrong, but we don’t even know each other…”

“Everyone in the school knows who you are, Steve… but I don’t know.” Robin shrugged. “You don’t seem to have many friends and you look sad a lot.”

Steve had nothing to say to that. Her assessment was almost spot on. “I have friends…” he mumbled, embarrassed.

“Middle schoolers do not count, Steve, I don’t care what they tell you to get rides everywhere.”

“How do you know about that?” Steve sat back in his chair, staring. What the hell? Who was this girl and how did she know so much about him?

“I’m in the school band, dingus. I’m as good as invisible. And I’m very observant. For example, I saw you and Billy Hargrove have a chat this morning.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. It surprised me because, last I’d heard, he was leaving you alone after he bashed your head in, last November.”

“He, um, he came to apologize for that, actually.”

“Nice. So… are you going to see him again?”

“What? What are you—no!” Steve looked around, checking to see if anyone was paying attention to them. Thankfully, the few students in the library seemed busy with their own things and they were far enough away that they wouldn’t have heard Robin. “No, it’s not like that,” he whispered furiously, inwardly shushing the little voice in his head saying that he would like it to be.

“Awww, you’re blushing… Your secret is safe with me.” Robin leaned closer and whispered, “I love a good enemies to lovers romance.”

Steve couldn’t make words, he could barely breathe, his mind stuck on a loop of ‘ whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck ’ until the bell rang, moments later, snapping him out of it. He heard someone walk in, the stomping of boots familiar as hell, and he whipped his head to look, even if he already knew. Throwing Robin a small smile, he grabbed his essay from the table and shoved it in his bag. “I have to go.”

He forced himself to walk past Hargrove on his way to the exit, nodding back when Hargrove nodded, and managed to stop himself from running all the way to his car. He sat in his BMW, shaking like a leaf, trying to get his breathing under control before the kids showed up.

*****

“What was that about, Bird?” Billy asked Robin as he sat in the chair Harrington had just vacated. He tried not to react to the residual warmth of the plastic, considering who had been sitting on it. He failed.

“Not sure yet, my sweet. Crowder asked me to help Harrington with his college essay, and, hoo boy, he needs all the help he can get.” She smiled at him. “How was your day since your little chat with our former king this morning?”

Billy groaned, low enough that the librarian didn’t hear, leaning back in the chair. “Ugh. Of course, you know about that.”

“I was literally in the parking lot, and watched the painfully awkward encounter with my own eyes when I was chaining my bike.”

“Painful is accurate.” Billy rubbed both hands over his face then looked at Robin. He knew he was lucky they’d found each other. The two resident queer secret besties.

The basketball team had had an away game a couple of weeks after Billy had arrived in Hawkins. Unlike the cheerleaders, the band traveled with them. As the new guy on the team, Billy’d been assigned the last bed available, sharing a room with the member of the marching band that no one wanted to room with. 

Robin had told him as soon as the door had closed that she knew about his crush and that he needed to be more careful. Once Billy had recovered from the shock, they’d spend the night talking, exchanging stories and tips on how to appear less queer than they actually were. On the bus back to Hawkins, they’d gone into details about their current crushes, vowing to help each other. Billy had agreed to pose as Robin’s boyfriend in front of her parents, so they’d stop asking her about gross boys, and he was able to drop Robin’s name and keep Neil off his back—about the queer thing at least.

“I asked him what you said to him, and he said you had apologized.”

“I did.” Didn’t Robin say she had witnessed the interaction?

“Uh huh, that’s great, I’m proud of you, but wha—”

“Wow, you don’t have to sound so enthusiastic…” Billy deadpanned, hearing Robin’s complete lack of interest.

“Shut up. I asked him if he was going to see you again, and he blushed. He turned bright red, in front of my eyes, my sweet.”

“And?” Billy said, confused. What was Robin getting at?

“He didn’t deny it, he looked so flustered then you walked in and he ran off.”

“Again, and?”

“I think you should go to his house and, and, do that thing you do, you know, with your eyelashes and your mouth.”

“Flirting?”

“Yes, that. Go now, while he’s still all in a state. It’s your best chance.”

“Bird…”

“Fly, my pretty, go get your love,” Robin said, and she honest to god giggled. 

Billy rolled his eyes but had no choice but to do what she said because she started shoo-ing him and the librarian was now looking in their direction. 

He parked a couple of houses down from the Harringtons’ fancy mansion and made his way to the front door, ringing the bell and waiting. No matter what Robin had said, he really didn’t think Steve would open the door. He took a slow spin, taking in the surroundings, noticing the overwhelming amount of greenery in this part of town, especially compared to Cherry Lane.

“Billy?” Steve’s shocked voice said behind him. “What, um, what are you doing here?”

Billy turned around, taking in the soft looking sweater and joggers Steve was now wearing. “I came to see you, pretty boy. Robin said you needed some help and, well, here I am.”

“You… Come in already, it’s freezing out.” 

Steve moved to let Billy in and closed the door behind him. “ You want to help me ?” His tone was saying one thing but the way his eyes swept over Billy were saying another.

Billy took the two steps separating them, crowding Steve, but not quite touching him.

“You bet, pretty boy,” he whispered in the gap between them. “In any way I can…” He let his eyes drop to Steve’s mouth before making eye contact again. This close, he could see the flakes of gold in the brown. He wondered what Steve’s chocolate eyes would look like in the early morning sunlight.

Steve’s hands were on his jaw before Billy could react as Steve pulled Billy to him, slanting their mouths together. The surprised gasp that breached Billy’s lips was all Steve needed to slide his tongue in Billy’s mouth. 

The shock of Steve making the first move only lasted a moment. Billy wasted no time pressing Steve’s body against the door, his hands reaching under the hem of his sweater. His fingers encountered warm naked skin and Billy moaned.

“Fuck, Steve…”

“Not on the first date,” Steve said with a smile, burying his hands in Billy’s hair and pressing their foreheads together.

“Could be a date,” Billy replied, sliding a thigh between Steve’s legs, his heart rate picking up speed when he felt Steve grow hard against him.

“Billy…”

Billy never thought that hearing a guy whine his name would get him hot under the collar, but today was fraught with new and unexpected experiences.

“Yeah, baby, I’m here. I’ve got you. What do you need?” he asked Steve, nibbling along Steve’s jaw, before mouthing at the column of his neck.

“You. Me. Naked. My bed.”

*****

“Billy?” Steve asked, his head resting on Billy’s chest, fingers drawing patterns along his barely visible treasure trail. Billy had gone down on him then Steve had given his first ever blow job and he was pretty sure Billy had enjoyed it. He hoped Billy would let him do it again.

“Yeah?” Billy’s hand on Steve’s back didn’t stop; Steve took comfort in that.

“I… Robin said something earlier, about enemies to lovers romance and I want you to know, this isn’t an experiment for me.”

“No?” Billy’s voice was devoid of emotion and Steve didn’t like it.

“I really like you, Billy. I know what happened in November happened, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

“Steve…”

“What I’m saying is, I know we can’t go out on dates, because it’s dangerous for people like us, but if you wanted, we could hang out here. Order in. Make out in the hot pool my parents installed last year.”

“I like your idea, Stevie, a lot.”

“So you’ll stay?”

Instead of answering with words, Billy flipped them over so he was on top, his hands in Steve’s hair holding him still as he licked into Steve’s mouth. Steve’s hands found Billy’s hips, helping the rolling rhythm that made them both groan and gasp. They never stopped kissing, moving against each other until they both reached their peak.

The ensuing shower to clean the mess that covered them both took so long that they ran out of hot water but they didn’t care. 

With the help of a little birdie, they’d found each other, and, well, that was worth all the cold showers in the world.

[richeeduvie]

Baby and Baby jr being huge Yankee fans (Baby jr barely knows what's going on but is so passionate cause her mommy is) and Roman just watching them cool off from a far during these two losses cause they get a bit scary😤

Or maybe they even go to the world series game and watch from a box Roman doesn't want anyone else in😍🫶

(I'm a LA girly so LETS GO DODGERS💪💪💪💪)

(BOO YORK💪💪💪💪)

(Love you tho💖)

It's okay, lol; the Yankees did not deserve to win this year as much as I hoped they would. I hope this actually makes Yankees management realize how bad of a manager Aaron Boone is so they can fire him, and maybe this will make Aaron Judge WAKE UP LIKE CMON. YOU ARE RUINING THIS FOR STANTON AND JAZZ. They just gotta hope Juan Soto stays....anyways- Baby would see the 2024 world series game 2 and know to not turn the TV onto baseball, wait til next year to avoid embarrassment.

The thing is, Baby would've definitely grown up through Derek Jeter's rookie years and watched him become a superstar. I bet she had a suite Kendall bought out for her at the game he basically folded into the stands to catch a ball for a perfect out. I'm sure Roman (and Kendall) was jealous of Baby...being an average Yankees fan and admiring a player New York loves.

Baby Jr's giggling.

"He got more bald as he got better! So cool."

"Exactly. You got it."

The little girl loves her Jeter Jersey. Roman's...not happy with it, but she looks perfectly amazing and beautiful and like the angel that is his daughter in the pinstripes, so it's whatever. And she gets this scrunched-up little face with clenched fists every time Baby gets angry at a call, error, or loss of her team.

"Ah!"

"...Look what you're doing, fueling our daughter's cherubic rage."

Roman kisses her little cheek, her face gets a little less scrunched.

"Absolutely fucking perfect. Tell me when this is done so I don't accidentally breathe wrong and you end up collapsing my lung with your Yankees pen."

Roman takes to kissing Baby's cheek too. He just hopes he'll be able to bite it off later when she stops being so intense with fat-assed men playing with their balls.

[earthtoharlow]

Flashing Lights

14) In The Moment

Jack Harlow x Singer!OC

Series Masterlist

“Maryse Monet, are you listening to a word I’m saying?”

Maryse continued chewing on the end of her ink pen nervously. It’s been two days since she’s spoken to Jack. All she could think about was how they ended things. The longer they went without talking the worse the situation was going to get especially with them both going on tour on opposite sides of the world.

Her thoughts were broken when CoCo started snapping her fingers in her face. “Huh?”

She watched as her manager just sighed before pulling up a chair and sitting right beside her. “Alright girl, what’s going on? You’ve been staring into space for an hour now looking like a sad puppy left on the porch.”

Maryse just groaned and put her head into her arms on the table in front of them. “Do you think I prioritize work over my personal relationships?” She muttered into her arm.

“Girl, you have gotta speak up.”

She sat up looking CoCo in the eyes and repeated herself. “Do you think I prioritize work over my personal relationships? And be honest with me.”

“Yes.” Coco said quickly without hesitation, making Maryse gasp softly.

“What the hell—“

CoCo held up her hand to stop her, “Look you know I’m always going to be honest with you so listen to me alright.”

Maryse sat back in her seat with her arms around herself as CoCo continued.

“I’m going to start out by saying that you’re a very hard worker, you eat, sleep, and breathe this studio. I always know I can find you here. As a manager I love that about you…” Maryse watched as CoCo tried to gather her thoughts

“But as a friend and someone who cares about you, sometimes I think you forget that you’re allowed to have fun, not everything needs to be work work work.”

Maryse couldn’t help but stop her there. “I know I’m allowed to have fun but my career is very important to me, it could go away any second.”

CoCo let her finish before speaking again. “Your career won’t be in jeopardy if you take a break from the studio, and hang out with your boyfriend or travel to see him for a couple of days.”

She knew Maryse wasn’t going to like what she said next. “Nate has unfortunately done a number on you.” Maryse immediately narrowed her eyes at her manager. “What do you mean by that?”

“You forget that I was around when things got really bad. I remember him telling you that you’d never amount to anything in this industry, and that he would make sure of it. When you guys eventually broke up for good you threw yourself into work because you felt like music was the only thing you had, but Maryse that’s not the case anymore.”

Maryse’s eyes started watering as CoCo put everything in perspective. “You have someone who loves and supports you. This relationship won’t survive if you both don’t prioritize each other and actually open up to one another. You have to find that balance between work and your relationship. I know you said that Jack hasn’t been himself lately. You guys need to have a lengthy discussion that doesn’t involve snapping at one another.”

Maryse knew everything CoCo was saying was right, she always tried to push everything Nate put her through to the side but now it was starting to affect her current relationship. Jack didn’t deserve that all. She needed to talk to him asap.

“Thank you, CoCo.” Reaching out and giving her manager and long time friend a hug. She needed this eye opening conversation more than anything. CoCo squeezed her tight before letting go.

“Anytime, now you don’t have anything scheduled for the next couple days. Go surprise that man!” CoCo told her.

Maryse nodded before rushing out the studio to go home and pack. Once she got in her car she texted Urban letting him know she was getting the first flight to France and not to say anything to Jack.

***

Jack was having a hard day or rather a hard week. It’s been days since his argument with Maryse and they still haven't made up. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on his mind.

The longer they went without talking the harder it was to concentrate on his performances. He kept replaying the argument in his head wondering if he said too much or too little. The distance both physically and emotionally was eating at him, the ache in his chest getting worse with each passing moment.

He was in the city of love with some of his favorite people and he couldn’t even enjoy it because he wasn’t with the love of his life. An overwhelming sense of loneliness started to creep around him. He was yearning for a chance to see Maryse and hold her.

Jack knew he needed to apologize to Maryse, the weight of the negative reviews hung heavy over his head like a dark cloud. Frustration had been bubbling within him and without realizing it he let criticism seep into his interactions.

His thoughts were cut short momentarily when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He sighed in disappointment as it was just Nemo wishing him a good show and to keep his foot on necks and not let the world forget him.

Jack stood as Neelam knocked on his trailer door letting him know he was to be on stage in 15. 15 minutes suddenly felt like 5 minutes, and before he knew it he was on stage. The roar of the fans masked the turmoil within him. Music flowed from him but his only thoughts were of Maryse. Their argument still lingered casting another shadow over his performance as he tried to be as present as possible.

As Jack looked out into the sea of faces, he desperately wished that she was there. The cheers suddenly felt distant, the applause hollow as he continued yearning for the comfort of Maryse's presence.

When the crowd started singing the lyrics of Poison; a song he wrote for Maryse back at him, he found himself silently pleading for a chance to make amends. In that moment the spotlight felt more isolated than ever, even the cheers couldn’t distract him from wanting to seek forgiveness.

Jack almost felt bad for ending his set a few minutes early but he needed to get back to his hotel room. As he stepped off stage the adrenaline was still running through his veins. Lost in his thoughts he was taken aback when he turned the corner and found Maryse standing there, a hopeful look in her eyes. A mix of surprise and relief washed over him as the noise from the crowd faded into the background as they continued to stare at each other.

“I couldn’t spend another day without talking to you.” Maryse admitted, a small smile playing on her lips. Jack walked closer to her, almost not believing she was standing there in front of him. He felt speechless as he opened his mouth to figure out what to say. All he could do was pull her into a tight hug, daring anyone to pull them apart.

“I missed you.” Maryse whispered into his chest, her voice mixed with sincerity and longing. Jack hugged her tighter, the warmth of her presence eased his mind as he was plugged with his thoughts the whole performance. “I missed you more.” He admitted almost desperately. He needed her to know that he missed her more than anything.

Jack couldn’t stop himself as he pulled her into a kiss, he didn’t care that they were still standing backstage with people around. This kiss was a silent promise to set aside the argument for the time being. Breaking away, Maryse gave him another small smile. “Let’s talk after you’ve showered, okay? I just want to be with you right now.” Jack nodded as he held her hand as they headed back to his trailer to grab his things and make their way to his hotel room.

When they got back to the hotel room, Jack immediately hopped in the shower promising not to take long. Maryse got comfortable taking off her shoes and jacket while she waited for him. She was nervous to have this conversation scared it would turn into another disagreement.

As promised Jack was out of the shower soon and sat next to Maryse on the bed. It was silent for a moment before Maryse spoke first. “I want you to know how sorry I am.” She began, sounding genuinely regretful.

Jack sat and listened. “Sometimes, it feels like you prioritize your career over us.” He admitted, his vulnerability laying bare. Maryse took a deep breath and grabbed his hand gently, “I never want you to feel that way. My career matters, but so do you. I’ll work on finding a better balance.”

Wanting to apologize for his behavior he opened up to Maryse as well. “This is all so different to me. I’m not used to dating someone who’s just as busy as I am. In the past, it was easier – plans could change on the fly. But with our schedules, it’s challenging.”

Maryse listened, already sensing he was mentally struggling trying to figure out how they were going to balance work and their relationship. “I get it, we’re going to figure it out, okay. We can find a middle ground.”

Jack nodded, already feeling a lot better after talking it over with her. He already felt lighter, but he knew there was one more thing he needed to apologize for. They were cuddling in bed now, “I owe you an apology.” He began, remorse in his eyes. “Before our argument, I had been distant and that wasn’t fair to you.”

He watched as she nodded. “I understand, but can you help me understand why?”

Jack glanced at her, contemplating whether to open up. Now was the perfect time and yet, the words seemed locked behind a wall of pride. The desire to shield her from his struggles battled with the need for support. He didn’t want to share the weight of the criticism of his album onto her, the pressure to maintain a facade of strength held him back.

He hesitated before talking again, “It’s been a crazy few months with appearances after appearances and I let it affect us. I’m sorry for not communicating that sooner and pulling away.”

Maryse appreciated the apology but couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the story. Choosing to be patient, she decided to ignore the subtle signs for now, hoping that in time he would feel comfortable enough to open up and share the feelings he was holding back.

After the heartfelt apologies they decided to break free from each others arms and explore Paris as it was now dark outside. They walked the streets catching up while indulging in greasy fast food at a corner bistro, sharing fries with one another. The laughter they shared replaced the tension that had been created over the last couple weeks. Their eyes met, exchanging a silent acknowledgment that the storm had passed.

Making their way to the Eiffel Tower, Jack couldn’t help but marvel at the breathtaking sight. Almost captivated by the glow surrounding her, it was like Maryse outshone everything. A smile spread across his face as he gazed at her, realizing just how fortunate he was to have her by his side.

Unable to contain his emotions, he gently cupped Maryse’s face and gave her a lingering kiss beneath the sparking lights. “No matter what happens, I want you to know that I will always love you.” Jack whispered, a promise that they could get through anything. Maryse shared the sentiment by pulling him into another kiss.

Pulling away she tugged on his arm as they walked closer to Eiffel Tower. “Babe, you have to take photos of me in front of it!” Maryse practically begged. All he could do was chuckle back, enjoying her enthusiasm and took out his phone. After he snapped a couple shots, Maryse smiled down impressed.

“Watch out, Urban Wyatt! You should quit being a rapper and become a photographer!” She teases, a playful glint in her eyes.

“Nothing I want more than to get paid to just take pictures of how beautiful you are.” Maryse as always couldn’t help but playfully gag and cringe. Jack grinned, enjoying her reaction. He missed this.

With a mischievous grin, he swept her off her feet and lifted her over his shoulders, playfully spinning her around. Maryse squealed in surprise, laughter bubbling up as she wrapped her arms around his neck. They ignored the bemused looks from strangers as they enjoyed their night, happy to be spending time together again.

JACKHARLOW

liked by urbanwyatt, lifeofmonet, dojacat, yungskylark, saweetie, cozane, thomaschristmas, and 678,568 others

jackharlow: Trying to compete with the Eiffel Tower in the ‘Who Shines Brighter’ contest. Spoiler alert: she wins every time.

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user: oh to have Jack Harlow be in love with me

user: please tell me y’all are looking for a third

urbanwyatt: mom & dad 🥹

user: this post just told me how single I was in 30 different languages

user: adopt me

user: this post murdered me and dragged me all over slaycity with how much it served

lifeofmonet: just developed lactose intolerance from how cheesy this was 🧀

***

AN: rewrote the ending so many times before deciding to make our bbs happy but I wonder how long this will last 🤫 as always let me know your thoughts 💋

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(message me if you'd like to be added or removed)

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[asirensrage]

The Road to Hell

Title: The Road to Hell Fandom: Tokyo Revengers Rating: Explicit Pairing: Sanzu Haruchiyo x Unnamed!Undescribed!FemaleOC Word count: 2306 Warnings: Dark!fic. Dub-con. Drug overdose. Non-con drug use. Obsession. Forced Relationship. Sex. Coercion. Forced Relationship. Unbeta'd. *warnings are not exhaustive* Summary: It's pure luck that she stumbles across him alone in the middle of an overdose. He thinks it's fate.

MANGA SPOILER WARNING! This fic mentions events in the manga that have not yet been shown in the anime. You have been warned.

Notes: okay, I don't completely love how this came out with the pov change, but I can't figure out how to improve it yet. If I do, I'll rewrite/repost it like I dd the Ran oneshot. It is a dark fic. Consider yourself warned. It was inspired by my mother talking about kids accidentally overdosing in parks and how I should pick up one of these kits. The POV change shifts in the middle and there's a bit of timeshifting in it, but I hope it makes sense. (please tell me if it doesn't so i can fix it. I've looked at it too much myself and I don't have a beta for my TR fics) I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think.

“Ha–Haru–” she tries to say his name, unable to catch her breath from the way he’s thrusting into her. 

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, grinning down at her. 

Her arms are tied above her, making her arch her chest up towards him a little more. She’s so fucking pretty like this, tears in her eyes as she begs him for more. He leans down and kisses her, letting her taste the remnants of herself on his tongue. 

God, he wants more. 

He didn’t think there was ever a woman who would drive him to madness, but here he has her under him. His angel. His fucking saviour who’s too good for him but Sanzu doesn’t give a shit. Tasting her is better than any of the drugs he’s been on. She makes him fucking crazy.

“Come on, baby. Lemme see you come for me again.” 

She whines, shifting as though she can resist him. He knows better. He leans down, kissing her neck as he adjusts the angle of her hips. She feels so fucking good. If he hadn’t looked into her, researched everything about her, he’d think she was a virgin with the way she was squeezing him this tight. 

She cries out as he picks up his pace and it’s music to his ears. 

“Fuck!” he groans against her skin, kissing her hard again. “Gotta come for me, baby. Come with me. Show me how fucking pretty you look.”

Her eyes are closed, lost in the feeling of him. She’s fucking glowing with sweat from how long they’ve been fucking. “Open your eyes, baby. Look at me.” When she doesn’t move fast enough, lost in how good he’s making her feel, he grabs her neck forcing her attention back on his face. “Look at me.”

Her eyes open, glaring at him for the distraction. As if he’s going to deny her the pleasure only he can bring.

He grins at her. “There’s my angel.” 

🩹

Some time ago…

He doesn’t mean to do it. He doesn’t. It’s not like he takes more than he usually does. He’s slipped something by one of his usual suppliers but something is wrong. He knows something is wrong and he’s trying to get some air, shoving his way outside as he grabs his phone to call someone for help and he drops. The world is spinning around him and he laughs. He can’t move. 

“Hey, are you okay? Hey, look–” 

A face appears over him but he can’t make out the features. Things are blurring. They’re saying something else but he can’t make it out. He calls for Mikey, reaching for his phone but his vision goes black and he passes out. 

🩹

Being sober fucking sucks. 

It makes him more irritable than normal. He wants to succumb to the feeling of weightlessness, of drifting away from the world just enough that he can actually do his work. But since he was fucking poisoned and nearly died because of the pills, Mikey’s ordered him off of them. Even if he already killed the dealer who gave it to him. 

He’s fiddling with one of the pens that he stole from the purse of the girl who saved him. At least, that’s what he had been told. Whatever she gave him kept him alive long enough for the doctor they have on staff to drag him back from the edge. 

He doesn’t remember more than the sound of her panicked voice and the way the light in the alley acted like a halo framing her head. He’s seen her license, but photos never really do someone justice. He just wants to know…why did she save him?

He tries to shove it out of his mind. He doesn’t have time to wonder about a stranger, not when he has traitors to dig out and Mikey to protect. He’s number two, after all. He has work to do. 

🩹

He can’t stop fucking thinking about her. Why did she save him? Why him? Of all the people he could have stumbled across…it was the one woman probably in the whole country who didn’t fear him, who had something in her bag that kept him alive. 

He’s always felt justified in his choices, in his decisions to follow Mikey. He was certain he wouldn’t let that old timeline come to pass, he’d do what Shinchiro set out to do and keep Mikey alive. But her? She was like an angel in his time of need…the thought stops him. 

He didn’t believe in religious junk, but something brought Shinchiro back, something saved Mikey…and something sent this woman into his path. Maybe there was more to it than just saving him…maybe it was Shinchiro sending his thanks for looking after Mikey. He snorts at the idea but the more he ruminates on it, the more it makes sense. Clearly, she’s meant for him. Otherwise, why would she have saved him? Why would she have been there?

🩹 🩹 🩹

Honestly, it’s a lot of luck on his part that she happened to be walking by. She doesn’t usually like to get involved in the affairs of strangers, but it’s easy to see with one look at him that he’s blissed out. Until he falls and she can see the way his breathing catches, the way he’s struggling. 

When he drops, she’s moving without thinking. She kneels, praying he doesn’t throw up on her and calls out to him. 

“Hey! Are you okay? Hey! Look at me!” His eyes can’t focus, pupils nearly erasing the irises. 

“Mik–” his voice slurs and he passes out in front of her. At first, she’s just going to turn him over to make sure if he does throw up, he won’t choke. Then he fully stops breathing. 

He’s lucky because she’s trained in first aid. Because her mother had been watching the news about children accidentally overdosing on drugs somehow left on playgrounds and strongly recommended that she carry the drug meant to help keep someone alive if they overdose on her person. So she digs it out of her bag, yelling for help as she unzips the pack and shoves the first one into one of his nostrils and presses it. She calls 911 and puts it on speaker since no one is coming to help and starts CPR. 

She talks to the operator, trying to tell them where she is but she’s not from this district and she’s trying to get this man to start breathing. She pauses and instead of putting her mouth against his, she shoves the second dose of it into his other nostril and sprays it in. 

He coughs and throws up. She jolts back, turning him towards her so that he can get it out and not choke. The operator is asking her what’s happening but he’s finally breathing that it takes her attention until she has him in a recovery position. 

She grabs her phone but before she can actually confirm that he’s alive and ask where the ambulance is, someone knocks it out of her hand. She looks to get it but someone steps on it, fully shattering the screen and making it go black. 

“HEY!”

The click of a gun, the cool metal touching her temple stops her from reaming them out. 

“What the fuck did you do to him?”

“Saved his life!” she snaps back. “He needs a hospital and you just broke my call that the operator was probably tracking!” 

“What’s this shit?” another voice asks and she sees a foot kick the pack that the naloxone was in. 

“It’s Naloxone. When used fast enough, it can save someone from overdosing. Now instead of interrogating me, call an ambulance!”

They refuse, instead dragging the man off and leaving her in the alley, covered in his sick after they threaten her if she says anything to anyone. It’s not until she’s home and locked out that she realizes that they took her purse. 

It all goes to shit after that. 

🩹

It all goes to shit after that. 

Getting all of her IDs, cards and papers replaced takes longer than she wants. She does, however, tell her mother that she was right and she did help someone. Even if it wasn’t a child like her mother feared. Honestly, she didn’t know where her mother thought they lived but it was clearly somewhere more dangerous than they did. 

She expected that to be the worst of it. 

Until she runs into him by accident. 

She’s leaving a convenience store and putting her wallet away when she accidentally stumbles into him. He grabs her by the shoulders, steadying her. She looks up, an apology on her lips when she realizes who it is. 

“Oh my god, you’re alive!” 

He looks a little startled at her reaction before he smiles. “It’s you.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I didn’t think you made it,” she admits before remembering the rest of the night. “You stole my purse.” 

“Me? I was dying,” he says clearly. “I couldn’t have.” 

“Your friends then,” she replies. Now that he’s alive and seemingly healthy, she can finally stop thinking about the incident. 

“Let me make it up to you.” He stares down at her and she shifts under the sudden intensity of his gaze. His pink hair falls to his shoulders and his suit looks finely pressed. The scars on the edge of his mouth make him look intimidating. It’s a huge change from the last time she saw him. 

“You don’t need to,” she says. She doesn’t need to get involved with anyone who overdoses and has friends ready to murder her in retribution for causing his death. “I appreciate the offer but it’s fine. I’m just glad I could help.”

He steps forward. “You did. They said I wouldn’t have made it without you. Come on,” he grins at her. “I want to say thank you.”

“You just did,” she points out.

“Properly.”

🩹

She doesn’t think much of it at first. 

Sanzu Haruchiyo, as he properly introduced himself as, is persistent in his determination to say thank you. She expects dinner and refused, not wanting to get more involved with the man than she already was. 

He sends her flowers with a card that holds a number. When she doesn’t call it, choosing to dispose of it instead, her work receives an anonymous donation for upgrades and her class is the first chosen. She refuses the upgrades but then her vacation days are suddenly increased. He pays her rent for the next six months. 

It’s enough to make her track him down so she can get him to stop. She knows the feeling of a gun against her head because of him. She doesn’t want anything else. 

It’s not an easy thing, but she tracks him down to a club. In the process, she learns the name of the criminal organization he’s involved with: Bonten. It’s enough to make her second guess finding him, the criminals more serious than she ever anticipated. She watches the news. She knows the reports of just what they do and how often bodies are found with them as the main suspects. 

It makes her more determined to find him, to get him to stop. It leads to her eventually arguing with the bouncer of the VIP area of the club she waited in line for over an hour to get in. She just wants this to be over. 

She doesn’t know when he spots her, but he approaches with a grin, waving off the guard and leaning in towards her. His pink hair falls between them, brushing her bare shoulders. She’s forced herself into a borrowed skimpy dress to get into this club but she’s more uncomfortable now with him so close. 

“What have I done to earn seeing your face again, angel?”

He doesn’t look high but she doesn’t have enough experience with drugs to confirm it. 

“Why did you pay my rent? Or send that donation to my work. That was you, wasn’t it?” 

He reaches out, brushing her hair back out of her face. “You never called. Wouldn’t let me take you to dinner.”

“And that’s your response?” She stares at him incredulously. It was more than a little overkill. 

He grins at her. “Let me make it up to you?” he asks again, almost a parody of the last time. She stares at him for a long moment. If she says no, there’s no telling what else he’ll do. So she accepts.

🩹

Sanzu keeps her. 

It was an accident, pure chance that she saved him, and he has not let her forget it since. Her attempts to tell him no fail every time. He slowly takes over her life and any attempts to make him stop has him increasing his actions until there’s nothing left except him. 

She gave one small thing. He takes everything in return. 

Every attempt she makes at pulling away has him digging himself deeper under her skin. Before she knows it, there’s a bodyguard outside her work. He moves her into his apartment with claims that it’s safer for her. He breaks down every protest, every action, with cool logic, soft touches and warm promises. He distracts her with orgasms and pretty trinkets, burying her until the only things she has are reminders of him. 

And now they’re here.

🩹

He’s slipped her something. 

“Just to help you relax, baby. Let me lead you back to heaven,” he says, murmuring it into her skin. It makes her head spin. 

“Haru…” She breathes before he kisses her. It’s not the first time they’ve kissed, not the first time they’ve tasted each other, but it feels ten times more intense than before. 

“I got you.” 

He whispers promises into her skin. He brings her to her peak with ease, content in devouring her bit by bit until all she can say is his name. He’s breaking her apart every time she cums under his mouth or fingers or cock.

If she wasn’t bound, stars in her eyes and lost in the feelings he was creating, she’d kill him for this. He’d probably enjoy the attempt, tell her it’s more proof they’re meant to be. If she could feel anything except the constant ebb and flow of pleasure, lighting coursing down her spine, she’d–

“Come on, baby. Lemme see you come for me again.” 

She whines, trying to shift away because it’s too much. She’s overstimulated to the point she feels like crying. He kisses her neck, forcing another mark into her skin and adjusts them until she can barely speak from the way it feels. 

 He kisses her again and she can taste herself on his tongue. “Gotta come for me, baby. Come with me. Show me how fucking pretty you look.”

Her eyes are closed because she can barely keep them open, because she doesn’t want to look at the man who’s stolen her life. 

“Open your eyes, baby. Look at me.” She doesn’t want to, but his hand moves to her throat and she feels the pressure he puts as he forces her to face him. “Look at me.”

She glares at him, eyes brimming with tears and anger at the way he won’t let her escape even just as far as the distance of an eyelid. 

He grins at her. “There’s my angel.” 

She’ll give him this. Let him grow comfortable enough that she has space to make her move. She’ll be free of him. One way or another. 

taglist: @raith-way @zeleniafic @veetlegeuse @chickensarentcheap @residentdormouse @themaradwrites @kingsmakers @far-shores

[little-reader]

“The Son of A Monster.” Ch.5

Masterlist

Warnings; Death, blood, Slow-burn, Sexual tension, Gay awakening (For both), Cursing, Negan is the Readers dad, Enemies to lovers story. Fighting. Zombie apocalypse

<@<3<@<3<@<3<@<3<@<3<@<3

You sharpen your knife, toning out the annoying scrape against the metal. You hummed the song “Do You Remember The Rain.” and peered over the porch to Rick and Michonne talking. They were leaving for something. You weren’t quite sure, but you guessed supply. Your dad will be here in a few days. 

Iris was walking down too, drinks in hand and smiling when she looked up. You smiled back and waved, getting up and placing your knife on the railing. “Let me help you.” You said, grabbing the cups from her hand and setting them on the porch steps. You captured her hands and helped her up the stairs, letting her sit in your previous spot.

She held her stomach as she leaned back, groaning slightly. You handed her the drink and sat on the railing. “Why’d you bring the lemonade?” You asked, taking a sip and humming. She shrugged and rubbed her stomach. 

“I wanted to.” She paused and sat up. “Start thinking of names.” You coughed and looked at her. She only smiled and raised her eyebrows, handing over a piece of paper. “I get to pick one of their names and you the other.” She said You looked down at the car. It had a line in the middle and on one side, it had two different genders and names. 

Baby A

Girl; Nova

Boy; Oliver Rome

You smiled and took out a pen, placing the sheet on the railing before writing down names.

Baby B

Girl; Isha

Boy; Ian?

You gave the card back, and she smiled. “In your shadow.” You said, kissing her cheek. She tucked it into her black sweater and got up. 

“I’ll see you later.” She walked off, waving to Carl with a smile when she passed him. Lucky, instead of hating her because she was married to you, (Mostly) everyone Loved her. They thought she was kind, sweet, helpful, and pregnant with twins.

You sighed and plopped back into the seat, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. You looked at your knife and placed it down. You cracked your neck and leaned back, relaxing as you closed your eyes. There was a slight breeze where the opened trees lay and where you sat. You Breathed in the smoke and breathed back out, allowing your nose to smell the tobacco coming out. 

The breeze stopped briefly, making you open your eyes and peer at the younger brunette by the stairs. “Carl.” You asked, tilting your head at him.” He hummed and looked over with boredom writing on his face. “You gotta’ look after your sister today?” You questioned, only to get a slight head shake from him as he walked inside. 

You sighed, threw your cigarette on the ground, and smashed it, getting up from your seat. “I didn’t just ask for no reason, Carl.” You stated, walking in after him. He turned with one eyebrow raised and took off his hat. 

“I don’t feel like doing anything today, Y/n.” He said, brushing through his hair before placing his hat back on his head. You huffed and groaned dramatically, throwing yourself backward and whining like a child. 

“Come on! We're supposed to be friends. Do you know what friends do? Trick question.” You asked, walking over to him. He rolled his eyes.

“I only said Yes because you wouldn’t leave me alone,” Carl said, heading upstairs. 

“Is that your final answer? If it is, I need you to repeat it, I didn’t catch any of that.” You said, following him once again. He sighed and slammed his room door. You huffed once again and left downstairs.

You went outside, rounded the house, and climbed the side of it, reaching the window where Carl's room was. You banged on in. Carl looked down at you through the window with disapproval. “Let me IN,” You yelled, hanging onto the side of the roof like a cat in a tree. Carl laughed and opened the window.

“You're a dumbass, you know that right?” Carl stated, closing his window when you were finally in. You flipped him off and fixed your shirt. Before he could say anything else, you interrupted him.

“I’m going somewhere, that means your following.” You said, Throwing Carl's shoes at him and unlocking the door. 

"Do I have a choice-"-Nope."

You yanked him by his hand and pulled him down the stairs. You picked up your bat and bag as we went to the “escape wall” and climbed over. You felt the slight breeze from the top as you quickly went over the wall and slowly climbed down. Carl then jumped down beside you and huffed, fixing his hat.

“It's rude to huff at people.” You say, smiling at him slightly as you begin to walk into the woods. Carl only huffed louder and more dramatically. You smile and huff louder than him while you turn. “Hush pretty boy.” You said, flicking his hat and walking deeper into the woods. 

It was relatively quiet, with few groans here and there. They would stop when you threw a knife at them. You watched the ground as you walked, but still acknowledged the world around you. You glanced at bushes here and there, looked into the mud, and listened to each and every sound.

“Boring.” You whined, huffing at the silence. “You bore me.” 

“I’m not a fuckin’ toy,” Carl said, raising his eyebrow. You raised your arms in defense and laughed. Carl raised an eyebrow at your response. “You act like I'm Woody from Toystory.” He said sarcastically.

You laughed again. “Well, if you are woody,” You stopped and put a finger on your chin, tapping it twice. “That makes me” You pointed to yourself. “Buzz lightyear.” you did jazz hands as he looked at you stupidly. 

“Did your mom drink in the womb?” You gasped and hit him on the arm when he walked by. “I’m just asking, you act like you have a disorder or something.” 

(I am switching from the Second POV to First person From here on out :) )

I glare at him and Hit him again. “That's offensive you know,” I said as we continued walking. 

We stopped in the middle of the woods when we came across a lake. It had a lake cabin and a road leading down to a hill with fields. “This what rich people used to buy?” I started as I looked out at the lake with my hand covering the sun. Carl only shrugged.

I looked around, nothing out of the ordinary, so I walked around the lake. “How crazy would I be to jump into this right now?” I asked, dropping my backpack and taking off my shoes. Carl just stared at me in disbelief. 

“Walkers can be in there.” He said, pointing into the dark, green water. I shrugged and stripped down until I was in my boxers. “You are crazy, Your gonna fuckin’ die in there,” Carl shouted as I dived in. Carl watched bubbles go up and then stop. “Y/n, it's not funny.” He shouted from the edge of the lake. He put his backpack down and crotched by the edge of the water.

A firm hand pulled him down by his ankle as he yelped and was pulled in. A hand held the back of his neck and arms had him pulled into the other person. A finger went over his lips, which of course made Carl freak out, There wasn’t much he could do from in the water, but a scratch. 

He was pulled back up and onto the wet mud as I held my face. My het hair covered my eyes as I had my mouth gaped open and blood dripped down my cheek. “You asshole.,” I said, staring at him.

“Im an asshole? You pulled me under!” He half yelled, shoving my face angrily with his hand. “Thought you were dead, and then you pulled me under, what the hell is wrong with you?” He said angrily, shoving me off and trying to get up. The mud under us made him slip and slide as he went backward and his ass landed on my stomach. I felt the wind be knocked out of me as I coughed and shoved him off. 

“Oh my GOD..  you fat ass.” I wheezed as I got off of the ground. I coughed and grabbed onto the grass, making my way up. Carl glared at me as I laughed at him. “Get up dumbass,” I said, seeing that the whole side of his face was covered in mud.

“You shoved me into the fucking.” Carl grabbed a pile of mud. “MUD.” He yelled as he threw it at me. I flinched and covered my face as it landed on my stomach with a splat and rolled down. For some reason, that made Carl laugh out loud. 

“Oh, that’s funny to you?” I asked, shuffling my foot under the mud, that move made Carl stop laughing and plead with me. “I thought it was funny, but when I do it, it’s not?” I asked, then kicked the pile of mud onto him. 

His mouth opened in shock when it covered the other side of his face. Carl wiped it off and tried standing this time, he balanced himself out as I held out my arm for him to reach out and grab. He refused and started to walk. “You’re gonna fall, Woody.” I teased. Of course, he ignored me. And of course, I was right as I watched his feet slip.

I started to laugh loudly, and It was cut off by a scream as he grabbed my hand at the last second, pulling me down with him. “You fucker.” I said, pulling my face out of the mud and spitting out. I wiped it out of my eyes and looked down at him with a glare.

His hair is now covered in mud, as well as his back and clothes. Both of us sit up and cough, wiping the mud off of each other.

We lay in the field, covered in mud, and looked at the sky. Carl had his flannel beside him and wore his white t-shirt as he leaned against his bookbag. He had re-did his eyepatch after drying off and sent me back into the water to grab his hat.

Carl sighed and looked over towards me. “How did you stay underwater that whole time?” He asked, his brows together. I yawned and sighed.

“My dad made me do a bunch of sports. Baseball was one of the main ones, he coached that.” I said, looking at him. He looked a little confused by what I said. “My dad worked as a gym teacher and a coach before the world died… but he got fired a few months before everything happened,” I stated, playing with my hands. “My mom would take me to the beach on hot days, but mostly a pool. We would have competitions of who could stay under the longest, whoever one got to pick out supper or lunch.” I said, looking up at the sky and smiling.

I felt Carl’s fingertips touch mine and looked at him. He was looking at the sky with a bit of a saddened look. He started to speak. “My mom… She and My dad would get in fights, though she would be the only one fighting. Even after the walking dead, they fought. But she protected me from every bad thing out there, or tried to at least.” I watched his eyes close and I moved my fingertips closer until they touched each other. I watched our hands. 

Our feet squashed onto the concrete as we walked back home. We walked closer than earlier, our arms skidding together as we spoke. “You think elephants are still alive?” I asked, looking around. Carl looked up at me like I was stupid. “Well, you never know…. They could be the last ones standing.” I joked.

Carl hit my arm and laughed a little. “That wasn’t funny.” He said and stopped laughing almost instantly. I laughed loudly and hit him harder.

“You're an ass,” I said, bumping our shoulders together a letting out a little laugh. He nodded while smiling. I watched the trees sway in motion with the wind as it blew through them. 

We got home shortly and climbed back into the walls without anyone noticing, thankfully. I ran upstairs with Carl chasing me into the bathroom. “Fuck you, I’m getting one first,” I yelled as he pulled my foot from the stairs. He managed to get passed me and tripped my legs up. “You ass!’ I said, landing on the top floor. I heard the door open and the shower turned on in a matter of seconds and huffed, getting off of the floor.

I entered the bathroom, almost tripping over Carl's clothes, and looked at the mirror, peering at the cut on my face that was now covered in dirt. I turned the sink on and splashed water onto my face and wiped the blood off. I looked at the closed curtain and hit it. “You're a dick,” I said, sitting on the toilet seat. Carl only laughed as I took off my shoes and socks. “Turn around,” I said, hitting the curtain. “I’m getting in,” I stated, opening the shower curtain.

Carl huffed and turned around before I got in. I grabbed the shower head and pointed it at my head, rubbing the dirt off and watching it sink to the bottom of the tub. I looked down at Carl's slighted hunched-over body as he washed off the dirt on his arms. I grabbed the soap and rubbed it through my hair, rinsing it quickly. My eyes roamed his back, there were a few freckles and one scar. Without thinking, I rubbed my finger over it, making Carl's head sharply look over. 

I mumbled a quick “Sorry,” before taking my hand off. His eyes looked at my torso and widened a little. Scars scattered around, large cuts, two bullet shots, and scratches that have yet to heal. I laugh and rub the mud off of my stomach. “I’ve had quite a few interactions with some bad people,” I muttered. “I don't show these much. My dad hates them, felt like it was his fault,” I said, closing the shampoo and placing it back on the rack.

“Was it?” Carl asked. I paused, looking down at him. 

“You still haven't gotten the mud out of your hair,” I said, wiping the soap I had in my hand in his hair. He pushed my hand away and huffed as he started to scrub his head. I got out of the shower as the water dripped down my now wet boxers and hair. I grabbed a towel and dried my hair quietly as I heard the shower turn off. I put my towel over the rod holding the curtain. “I’m gonna go throw our clothes in the washer,” I said, grabbing the clothes off the floor. I heard him hum as he grabbed the towel off of the rod. I walked downstairs slowly and to my bag, grabbed my dirty clothes out of it, along with my jacket, and walked into the laundry room, throwing the clothes into the washer. 

I threw in some detergent and turned it on. I hummed as I walked out and walked down the hall. I hear my radio go off in my bookbag as I walk into the living room. I sighed and Ignored it as I went upstairs. Carl was reading some comics in his bed with fresh clothes. “You got extras I could borrow?” I asked, pointing to his closet. He nodded as he flipped his page. I opened it up and all there were was boring plain clothes. I grabbed the black rusty jeans and black long-sleeve shirt before putting them on and plopping on his bed beside him.

Chapter 6☝️🤓

[keep-the-wolves-close]

Steady Heart

Chapter 1: Bad Things Are Comin’

When a sudden death happens at the Yellowstone Dutton Ranch, Stella Daniels is forced deeper into the world of her employer, John Dutton. It’s much further than her experience from just working with the horses and being an extra wrangler when needed. Now Stella, her brother Ryan, and her best friend Kayce; her employer’s youngest semi-estranged son, have to navigate finding their place within the ranch’s not-so-clean dealings and the challenges that come their way.

Pairing: Slow-burn Kayce Dutton x OFC Stella Daniels

Rating: M? (Still figuring out the rating system) (might eventually be M anyhow)

Warnings: Violence, mentions of blood, character death, grief, panic, language because I mean let’s be honest we’ve all seen the show lol

Word count: 3,803ish?

Stella Daniels breathed a sigh of relief as she leaned backward on a fence in a round pen belonging to Grand Springs Ranch. She was lending a helping hand to her good friend Olivia. Olivia helped run the broodmare portion of her parent’s ranch, and this year the broodmares were giving both women a run for their money. There had been so many speed bumps this year.

Olivia sidled up beside her to join in the viewing of a new broodmare prospect. They wanted to see her movement, her temperament, and also talk to the current owner about her AQHA titles. The usual things they looked for in a good broodmare. Olivia and her parents were very strict with things being ethical and not just breeding to breed. Stella respected that.

The mare in question was a pretty little chestnut thing, spunky and only 6 years old. Stella enjoyed watching her graceful lope. The mare had a bit of an attitude, but that wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. She had been taught well when it came to horses and getting temperament under control. She had faith she would be able to have this girl right as rain in no time. She tapped Olivia’s arm and gave a nod of her approval, to which Olivia agreed.

Stella fixed her glasses and saw movement out of her peripheral. She looked over to see one of the full time hands rushing toward them with a concerned look on his face.

Olivia’s eyebrows scrunched together, “Tim, what’s wrong?”

“There was a phone call from the Yellowstone for Miss Stella.” Tim looked almost nervous.

“Was it Ryan?” Stella pushed herself away from leaning on the fence. “Is he okay?” Ryan would occasionally send a text, but always knew she might not have her phone. He only ever called the barn phone in an emergency when she was here.

“Something big happened. He said to tell you he’s fine, but they need you home right away.”

Her eyes glazed over as she unfocused on everything except her rising heartbeat. Her mouth dropped open as her breathing started to come out in shallow puffs. She didn’t feel when Olivia first grabbed her arm, but it was like she had been electrocuted the second she realized Olivia’s hand was there.

“Liv, I gotta go!” She bolted for the barn to grab her things.

Olivia responded, telling her to go, family comes first; her part of the job could be worked on at a later time, but Stella never heard those words as she ran as fast as her feet would take her.

She didn’t hear anything until she got back to the Yellowstone. As soon as her SUV tires hit the gravel of the ranch, Stella sped up to the main house. Seeing the flurry of activity happening there, she figured that would be the best place to start. Her SUV was barely in park before she hopped out and ran across the grass desperately searching for her brother. There were news vans, reporters, police, EMS, and livestock police all crowded around in the front yard.

It was at that moment that her hearing came back all at once. The chatter from every direction was disorienting. Her eyes were looking but not seeing. Every face was blending in with the next one. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, quicker with each passing second.

She pushed her glasses up while calling out, “Ryan!” Not caring who would look in her direction. “Ryan!!” She hollered out again, sounding more panicked than the first time. Multiple heads snapped in her direction. Lloyd spotted her through the mass of people and moved quickly to her. He grabbed her by the arm gently and guided her to the porch where it was a little more secluded. He knew he had to get her focus. If he didn’t, Stella would raze the whole ranch to ground looking for her brother.

“He’s finishing up something in the house, but he’ll be out soon. He’s okay.” He made sure to try and keep direct eye contact with Stella, trying to keep her glued to the porch. She continued to look around trying to peek at every face that walked by them. She had to physically see her brother to accept that he was alright.

“Stella, look at me!” Lloyd said sternly and shook her to grab her attention. “Your brother is alright. Come with me.”

She finally allowed herself to catch her breath. She trailed closely behind Lloyd, hot on his heels, to the large section of the porch by the front door. He had her sit in one of the chairs, and asked her to stay put. He wasn’t sure exactly how long Ryan would be, but he would be coming out the main door. Stella was in the perfect place to catch him the second he walked out. Lloyd knew Ryan would be glad to see his little sister.

With a numb expression she asked, “What the fuck happened, Lloyd?”

“Some of the herd moved onto tribal land.” He took a deep breath, trying to figure out how he was going to continue this explanation.

“Oh shit, no.” Stella’s shoulders dropped as she whispered.

“Well, both groups butted heads and here we are.” He wasn’t trying to be vague, but he also didn’t want to drop too much on her at once. Especially about Lee.

Stella knew that both groups didn’t always get along, but she never imagined it coming to something that required this much attention from police and news alike. She rubbed her fingertips on her palms trying to get feeling back. Ever since she left Grand Springs her hands had been numb.

Movement from the front door startled Stella into action. She hopped up from the chair and made her way quickly to the door, weaving through livestock police as she went. Kayce and Jamie came out of the house. Kayce, her best friend of 12 years, looked rough. When Stella saw the blood on his shirt, her heart nearly jumped from her chest.

“My God, Kayce!” She rushed over to him to try and get a better look. “Are you okay?” There was a mumbled, “‘m fine, Stell.” He grabbed her hands before she could touch his shirt. Knowing she would thank him later. He gave her hands a squeeze while taking a deep breath to ground himself. Almost as if he was using her as a tether.

Light brown eyes met darker brown. She finally saw the sadness that resided there. Her eyebrows scrunched together and she tilted her head to the left, and wordlessly asked what happened. His eyes dropped and his shoulders looked heavy. Stella’s breathing picked up again, worried by whatever change may be coming. She nodded to Kayce, knowing this was a conversation for another time.

“You’re brother should be right behind me. Go get him, and we’ll talk later.” He squeezed her hand again and let go. More people coming out of the house prompted Stella to give his arm a quick squeeze and move toward the door.

Her eyes locked on her brother, “Ryan!” She propelled herself forward and gripped him in a tight hug. Now that she could physically see that he was okay, her blood pressure started to return to normal. Ryan was her rock. She wouldn’t even dare to fathom the consequences of not having him around.

He squeezed her back and moved them off to the side. He held her tight. Primarily for her, but it also gave him solace because she was safe back here at the ranch.

“Let’s go down to the bunkhouse where it’s quiet. We gotta talk.” He needed to tell her about Lee.

Stella sat forward in the chair bracing herself on her knees. Her brother had just told her Lee was gone. She felt like she was going to vomit. Lee and herself hadn’t been as tight knit as she and Kayce, but she had known both of them since she was 14. He had taught her just as much about horses as Kayce. Hell, they partnered together to train the horses for the ranch. She was flabbergasted. Speechless. She struggled because that very well could have been her brother.

She took deep breaths to keep the nausea down, and placed a hand on her forehead. She pushed her glasses back up her nose and sat back swallowing the lump that was lodged in her throat. She felt guilty for even thinking that, but she also understood the look that Kayce had given her on the porch fully now.

There weren’t any tears being shed. Ryan was concerned, but then remembered that his little sister didn’t like to cry in front of people. Not even him. If she did, it was because she had no control anymore. He didn’t know how she dealt with human death. Animal death? He had seen her deal with it a thousand times over because of the ranch. The work on a ranch doesn’t stop unfortunately. But the untimely passing of a friend? He was worried about how this would go.

“Were you with them?” Stella cleared her throat.

Ryan bit his lip and nodded. “I was a few feet away, and then I got swept off to the side dealing with something else and Kayce was alone with his brother.”

“Oh my god, he was alone? That’s the second time that’s happened to him.”

Ryan knew she was talking about Kayce’s mother and how that whole situation went down. She felt horrible that Kayce had to face that by himself.

Stella knew she would probably cry later on when she was by herself, but she couldn’t even drum up a response to her brother. Other than the occasionally quiet whispered, ‘what the fuck.’ She could understand the disagreement about the herd, and knew things could get rash at times, but her mind was blown that it came to this kind of firing point.

It had been quiet for about five minutes with her staring at the wall where the sink was. “You still with me?”

Stella slowly moved her head to look at Ryan. “Hmm?” She said softly. The energy slowly drained out of her the longer she sat there. He came over and sat next to her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her in sideways.

Ryan comforted her. “Stay with me Stellee.” She leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, letting out a big breath, trying to pretend she was anywhere else but here.

It was quiet for a few moments. Ryan would occasionally rub Stella’s arm. Since he wasn’t sure how far her reaction to the loss would take her, he treaded lightly. He didn’t know if she would react now or later, and he definitely didn’t want to come up on her breaking her hand through a wall.

“I’ve gotta go find Kayce.” Stella started to move restlessly before she got up.

“Yeah, but don’t you think he would want space?”

“If I know anything, space is the last thing his mind needs. And I know he hasn’t been home yet, so he doesn’t have Monica here. I can’t just sit by, Ryan.”

Ryan sighed. His little sister could be one of the most endearing people. If someone had a problem, she refused to let them carry it alone. He was worried one day her back might break.

“I’m gonna go back up to the big house. He’s probably still there.”

Now that the activity had quieted down, Stella poked her head in through the front door. She ran into Beth sitting in the living room, looking very much like she needed to catch her breath. When Stella entered the room she looked up from her long gaze.

“Funny how everyone else employed here knocks, except you. Why is that?” Stella breathed out a sigh at the accusation from Beth. She knew Beth was just in defense mode and didn’t mean to spit fire at her. They got along for the most part.

“Beth… I haven’t knocked on this door since I was 15. I wanted to come check on everyone.”

“There’s nothing to be done except wait for the plan. You know that. You came here to check up on my baby brother, didn’t you?”

“Well, he is my best friend. And you and I both know that being alone is something your brother doesn’t need right now.”

“And you thought you would swoop in and be his savior, huh?

“Not a savior. Just a shoulder.” Stella was getting frustrated.

“Beth, leave her alone.” Kayce’s voice came from behind them. He came from the hallway toward the back of the main sitting room. He nodded toward the porch and Stella did a 180 to make her way around. He placed a hand at the small of her back as he directed her to keep moving. There was a small zip up her spine at the contact. Her back tensed.

He wanted to get them both out of the room before his sister could spit more grief. Stella shook her head and squeezed Beth’s shoulder quickly as they walked by and back out the front door.

Kayce sighed. “I’m sorry about her.”

“You should know by now you don���t have to apologize for your sister. I would have been worried if she hadn’t responded like that.” They shared a chuckle.

Stella seated herself on one of the chairs by the little table. Kayce made himself comfortable in the other. They both gazed out at the vast ranch. They zoned out and let the silence embrace them. Today was chaotic for both of them, in different ways, but tiring nonetheless.

“How the hell did a feud about some cattle that wandered through a broken fence produce this end result? Like, how did we get here Kayce?” Stella was very confused. She hadn’t been on the ranch when the arguing had started about the cattle, land, and who owed the livestock.

“I mean, I understand that it’s a very tender subject about land and all, but…,” she didn’t really know how to continue. Thinking about it made her brain hurt. She sighed.

“My head is spinning too.”

Stella whispered. “Is it selfish if I say I’m glad you’re still here?” Stella adjusted her glasses as she moved her eyes away from him. It was quiet as both of them contemplated her question. Her admission. In a way it was selfish, but he understood the sentiment she was trying to get at.

“I’m not really up to talking just yet, Stell. After I come back for the —,” he halted trying to figure out how to avoid saying the word funeral, finally ignoring the word all together. “We can talk then, okay?”

“I understand.” She pushed her glasses up. “If you or Monica need anything, please let me know and I’ll get it to you guys with lightning speed. Okay? Even if you need someone to take little man for the day or something.” He gave her a look that only the two of them seemed to understand. They stood and bear hugged like their lives depended on it. She knew it would be a few days before he would actually talk. Stella would wait as long as he needed her to.

Neither of them let go for a short minute. They knew that once they did, cursed reality would set in again. For this short span they felt like they were kids again without a worry in the world.

Stella murmured softly, “I’m so sorry this happened,” as she released him from the hug. He nodded, giving her one last glance before he made his way back inside to gather his things to go home.

"Men and brethren, let me freely speak unto you of the patriarch David, that he is both dead and buried... " the Father's voice faded as Stella scanned the crowd of people that had come around for Lee’s service. Everyone from the ranch was there and accounted for amongst other people that knew the family. The only one missing was Kayce. Her eyebrows pulled together. She looked at Monica, and she gave Stella a quiet shrug. He couldn’t have been far. There’s also no way he would have missed his brother’s funeral. She tried to be nonchalant about looking around, but she made eye contact with Beth who gave her a pointed look with a raised eyebrow.

Stella rolled her eyes slightly and kept looking. Not far off she saw a horse that just stood in place. It wasn’t completely out of the ordinary, but from the looks of it, the horse was a mustang. In these particular hills of the ranch property, the most you would find would be a quarter horse if one got out of its designated pasture. Maybe an Appendix or two. No one, that she was aware of, had brought a horse with them today, however.

Just barely above the high grass up at the grave sites, she could see a dirty blond head move back and forth. There he was. She looked to Monica who nodded her permission and Stella silently exited the group. She knew that if anything, Lee would have wanted her to go over to his brother. Lee always joked that they were each other’s Huckleberry. Attached at the hip, and where one was the other was surely not far behind. Most certainly to “fuck some shit up, cause some chaos and leave” as Lee would have said.

Stella’s fond smile at the memory faded as she got closer and heard sniffling coming from Kayce. Her face softened and her heart bled for him. She sat down beside him. The horse paid her little attention, but snorted in acknowledgement and went back to grazing as she folded her legs beneath her. Kayce glanced at her from the side.

When he realized it was her, he turned slightly and made eye contact. Stella pulled her lips together in a small smile, and kept her eyes gentle. They simultaneously leaned toward each other, shoulders touching, as they looked forward. Stella reached over and rubbed his back.

She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and pulled him close sideways and rubbed his arm to offer any sort of comfort to him while they sat there. They both pretended that they were anywhere else, at any other event than his brother’s funeral. She couldn’t believe this had happened, and she felt helpless that she couldn’t change it or do anything to make the hurt less, other than what she was doing right now.

They both heard as the Father finished his sermon, but they remained seated. Even when Stella felt eyes on her back, she stayed. John surveyed the pair closely. That girl, well woman now, had been there through the thick of almost everything for his youngest son since she and her brother showed up on the ranch 12 years ago.

At first, John had been hesitant to have an extra child on the ranch. Especially with his new young wrangler being her parental figure. She turned out to be a great kid, who would pull her own weight and then some. He slowly started to come around to the idea when Kayce started to put up a fight for Stella and Ryan.

She also was the first to throw knuckles when anyone, or anything, came for his youngest. John would swear that she would throw herself in front of a bullet for Kayce. Hell, she threw herself in front of grizzly for him once. Evelyn would have liked her. John couldn’t even begin to think of ways to thank her for keeping Kayce grounded along with Monica’s help. He cleared his throat and came up beside the twosome.

“He's one hell of a horse.” They heard from Stella’s right as John seated himself next to the pair. Stella removed her arm from Kayce’s shoulders, but remained quiet. She wasn’t a part of this conversation.

Kayce sniffled at his dad’s words. “Yeah. Ain't got the breeding of your stud, but he has a heart.”

“I know. I saw.”

“He would have died for me. He almost did.”

John changed the subject. “You want to stay for supper? You can put him in the barn.”

Kayce sniffed loudly and stood. He carefully draped the lead rope over Stella’s lap and handed it to his father. “No. I brought him for you. You can put him in the barn.” She watched as he quickly left to catch up with his family.

“I can take care of him for you, sir.” Stella offered as they both stood.

John looked at her from behind his dark sunglasses and shook his head. “Thank you, Stella, but I’ll take this one up.” As he walked away with the horse, she pursed her lips to the side realizing she was alone. She looked back to the gravesite. She patted her legs trying to decide if she wanted to go back over. ‘By the time you’ve argued with yourself, you could’ve already done it.’ She rolled her eyes at herself and started walking over.

“Hey Lee. I’m so sorry this happened to you.” A little bird sang its song from high in a tree. Stella smiled sadly and fixed her glasses. She hoped it was Lee saying he was listening. She still hadn’t come to grips that he was gone.

“I’ll do what I can for the family, the ranch. To the best of my ability anyhow. Especially for Kayce. I know he was the favorite.” Stella forced herself to look at his place marker. “I guess you’ve left me no choice but to take over your spot as the lead for the horses. If your dad agrees to put me there.” It was a heavy decision, to choose to do nearly anything for the family. It could come with a hefty price tag, but the Dutton’s and the wranglers were all she and Ryan had.

She looked off to where everyone had gone and noticed Ryan was still waiting in the wings for her. “I should probably go catch up with everyone else, but I’ll be around again.” She brushed her skirt off and headed up to the big house on the hill. Everyone was invited for supper. She wasn’t about to turn down Gator’s food. Lee wouldn’t have wanted her to either.

After supper everyone had congregated outside to get some fresh air and talk amongst themselves. The wranglers had parted to one side and Stella stood next to her brother and Colby.

She could see John with Beth and Jamie. They stared off at the helicopter, speaking to each other quietly. Lloyd brought her attention back to the group when he asked her a question.

“I’m sorry, what Lloyd?”

“I asked if you were spendin’ the night, lil’ bit?” She yawned at the exact moment he asked.

“Yeah,” she laughed. “I probably should. I think my overnight bag from Olivia’s is still in my car.”

Comments, thoughts, and commentary is welcome! Just please be gentle lol. 🤓

[whispersafterdusk]

Heart of Stone - ch 17

Unsuur had to admit, it was a really gorgeous horse.

Its mane was pure glossy black and the rest of its fur was black speckled with tiny spots of gray and white, with a oval-shaped white mark over its left eye and around the ear. Dawn had named her Midnight; it was a fitting name since the horse did look like a star-filled night sky, and she was rather cuddly for a horse too - the whole time they had been standing here talking to Elsie Midnight had been all but begging for attention and affection from all three of them.

(And maybe some treats too, but he wasn't carrying any right now and Dawn apparently didn't have any secret horse treats on her either). ((Continued below cut))

"Well, she's all yours," Elsie said as Midnight pushed her nose into Dawn's hair again. "Let me know if you want any advanced riding lessons or something, but I think you know enough to handle what you've gotta handle."

"Thanks Elsie, I appreciate it." Dawn reached up to pat the inquisitive nose with a smile. "I'll be starting patrols tomorrow afternoon now that I've got Midnight here."

"How's the water tower coming along?"

"Right on schedule - in the morning I'll set everything up to make the last set of plates for the water tank, then I'll haul the finished frame over to the base and get it put together so I can put the tank and filtration system in place when they're done. Mi-an also needs the frame up so she can get the pump installed."

Midnight took that moment to nudge Unsuur with her nose, and he stroked her cheeks and neck. "If you're starting patrols tomorrow does that mean you're done training with Pen?"

"Yeah, he thinks I'm as ready as I can be," Dawn answered with a snort. "I think he got bored with the training."

"That doesn't really sound like Pen. He loves fighting."

She smiled at him - there was an underlying something to it, he thought it was maybe annoyance or exasperation. "He loves fighting, not so much teaching. There was a lot of showing off being done along with giving instructions."

"Ah."

Dawn took the lead from Elsie and took a few steps away, Midnight following along happily. "Thanks again. I'll eventually have time to have dinner with you and Mi-an."

"Yeah, yeah. You need to learn how to take a break," Elsie grumbled. "I keep telling you builders and you never listen."

With a quiet laugh and a shake of her head Dawn headed off with Unsuur hurrying to catch up and walk alongside her. "Did you have any plans for later?"

"Just an early night. I'll be getting up super early to get that frame in place." She looked over her shoulder at Midnight. "I'll get this girl settled in, get a few things ready for the morning, then head to bed."

Unsuur nodded. "All right. I'm sure Justice already knows but I'll tell him that you're ready for patrols, so we definitely shift to the new schedule tomorrow." He paused, tilting his head to get a good look at her face. "Are you sure you still want to do this?"

She turned her head to smile at him. "I am. Don't worry about me."

"Will I get in trouble if I say I won't worry and worry quietly instead?"

Laughing she gently elbowed him and kept going. "C'mon - you can at least get a look at my new stable before I have to crawl into bed."

------------------------------------

When Dawn and Mi-an stepped away from the final adjustments to the tower's base there was a loud roar of applause and cheers - it was done. The tower was done and with two days to spare before the next water shipment came in so the entire town could breathe a little easier and relax their water rationing just a tiny bit.

And, with Dawn helping out with patrols now, both he and Justice were getting a midday nap in (staggered, of course - couldn't have both of them asleep at the same time) and Unsuur could honestly say he felt more human and less like a wrung out and worn out sock. As Dawn threaded her way through the crowd to come tightly hug herself against him he could tell she was feeling great too - she didn't even seem to mind it when Pen gave her a congratulatory (if a bit rough) pat on the back as she went passed.

Unsuur rested his chin on top of her head and let out a relieved sigh. Sandrock was back to normal again. Hopefully it would stay this way for awhile.

-----------------------------------

Every so often Dawn woke up right before the alarm went off so sometimes Unsuur would wake up to a muffled clang-click noise. This was another of those mornings though it was less the sound rousing him and more Dawn having to lean away from him to reach it; as she rolled back onto her back beside him and went to stretch Unsuur scooted down in the bed and put his head on her chest, slipping his arms around her again.

She giggled softly and patted the top of his head. "Good morning. Sleep all right?"

Unsuur let out a contented hum and inhaled deep; she still smelled like the soap she'd used in the shower last night, along with a touch of clean linen from the sheets.

"I'll take that as a yes. I think I want eggs with my toast this morning - would you also like a few?"

He let out another little hum that he hoped sounded affirmative enough and felt his hair rustle as Dawn nodded (at least that's what he thought she did - he wasn't looking up at her) and went to sit up but Unsuur remained in place on top of her, getting a small laugh in response. "We do have to get up, Unsuur."

"Not yet." He could hear her heartbeat loud and clear, laying like this.

She laughed again. "You're going to be late for your patrols."

"Nah," he said, pressing a kiss between her breasts. "A few minutes to enjoy the morning won't hurt." A shiver went down his spine and spread a pleasant tingle down his legs as Dawn's hand shifted to lightly scratch his back - now he understood why Captain loved having his back scratched (he would not be sticking his backside in the air, though).

"Oh all right, fine."

There was a pretend annoyance in the words; Unsuur looked up to see her smiling at him.

"Are you having dinner with Mi-an and Elsie tonight?"

"That's tomorrow night."

"Why don't I make dinner tonight then?" he asked, rolling onto his elbow to let her sit up. She slid her legs from under the light cover and over the edge of the bed; her shirt had ridden up in her sleep and Unsuur reached over to tug the hem back down, resisting the urge to run his fingers along her side. "I feel guilty that I haven't gotten as many chances to cook for you as you have for me lately."

"It's not a competition, I just like cooking for you," she said, moving to retrieve a clean shirt out of her dresser.

He allowed himself a moment to admire her bare legs while ignoring how sore his own felt as he finally got up from the bed. "I know. I still feel guilty though."

"Says the man who insists on doing the dishes," Dawn retorted, sticking her tongue out at him. "Even if he's dead on his feet."

"It's not so bad now. You taking on the patrols here in town has really helped -- even Captain is getting a cat nap in the afternoon." Unsuur carefully straightened the pillows and cover as Dawn ambled passed him. "Though, I might need to get some heavier curtains to block out more of the sunlight coming in through the windows."

Dawn paused at the door into the bathroom. "I could make you some canvas screens to hang in the windows? You could pull them up and down like a set of blinds, just without any gaps to let light inside."

Unsuur thought about that for a moment, then nodded. "I think that would work better than curtains."

"I can get the canvas started right away, at least. Do you mind if I stop by later to get measurements for the frames?" she asked as she stepped into the bathroom - she left the door open a gap, waiting for his answer.

"I don't mind. In fact, I don't mind if you stop by for any reason - and if I'm not there, you have my full permission to go inside anyway. Wilson likes having company over."

There was a quiet giggle and the gentle click of the door latching as she pulled it closed. Unsuur got dressed and headed into the kitchen to get a pot of coffee going; as Dawn came into the room there was a timid knock at the door - he was just as surprised and curious as she was, because who would need to show up here before 7am? Dawn hurriedly tucked her shirt in and went to open the door, and peering over her shoulder Unsuur was surprised to spot Mayor Trudy. When was the last time he'd seen her? It'd been...months, easily.

"Hello there, Dawn! I've heard all about you - so glad to finally meet you face to face! I'm Trudy, the mayor of Sandrock."

"Oh, hello! Nice to meet you too," Dawn replied, pulling the door further open. "Would you like to come in for some coffee?"

Trudy waved her hands, looking a bit flustered at the offer. "Oh, no no, that's fine. I just wanted to come by and introduce myself since I just got back in town. We don't get a lot of new folks so I'm mighty glad you're here! I'd also like to extend an invitation to the next Fireside on Sunday - we've got a lot to talk about. No doubt you've heard about what Logan's done..." she sighed.

"Yeah, most of it...and fixed the latest problems too," Dawn said, echoing Trudy's sigh. "Rest assured I'm intending to stick around."

"That's good to hear, and we're happy to have you!" Trudy smiled and went to leave, but turned back after only a single step. "Oh, erm...actually, there is one small thing I could use help with. Although, I'm sure you're very busy..."

"Not as busy as I was building the new water tower - what do you need?"

"You don't need to trouble yourself too much with this but... I do need a new desk at City Hall. It seems Matilda took a liking to my old one and made off with it, ahah!"

Dawn straightened where she stood, briefly looking back at Unsuur questioningly; Unsuur shrugged - this was the first he was hearing of desk theft. "Uh...she just...took your desk?"

Again Trudy waved her hands. "I'm sure she'd give it back if I asked but...perhaps it would just be easier if we both had nice desks, don't you think? So if you do get time, it would be quite nice of you to help me with this minor thing."

"Uh, sure. A desk isn't that hard to make, even a fancy one. Do you want a matching chair?"

"If it's not too much trouble..."

"Nah, no trouble at all. I'll get to work on it later this evening."

"Thank you! And, eh, well, so long!"

This time Trudy did actually leave; Dawn silently shut the door behind her, turning around and again looking to Unsuur with a bewildered look on her face. "Who the heck just steals a desk?"

"No idea, but I'll check with Justice to see if we should do anything about it."

With another sigh Dawn walked over to get the mugs out for the coffee. "Guess I know what I'll be piecing together after I get your screens done."

After they'd each had their coffee, toast, and eggs they walked hand in hand toward the gate where they met Jasmine coming toward them waving a letter in her hand.

"Good morning, Dawn! Got a letter for you today! Did you get to talk to my ma?"

"I did! Thank you," Dawn giggled as she took the envelope from her and waved as the girl hurried off. "Oh, it's from Nia," she said after a pause, looking the front of the letter over.

"You sound surprised."

"Not entirely - she WAS writing pretty frequently for awhile, but I know this semester's mid-term exam period just finished so she was probably just busy studying." Dawn pulled her hand from his to slip a finger under the flap and pop the glue loose to get at the paper inside; Unsuur needed to get going so he bent to kiss her temple but paused when she hissed a quiet 'shit' as she looked the letter over.

"...something the matter?" he asked, blinking at her before standing up straight again.

She let out a low growl and crunched the letter in her hand. "At least she warned me ahead of time instead of just showing up on my doorstep..."

"What's wrong?"

Dawn closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "-did I ever tell you about Emile?"

Emile... That sounded familiar. When had he heard-- Oh. "That was the person who brought you postcards from the...observatory, right?"

"That's the guy. He's my ex-boyfriend."

Unsuur nodded slowly; he didn't quite understand where this was going just yet.

After another breath Dawn opened her eyes, frowning. "Nia did visit me a few times in Atara, and met him through me. When I broke things off with him he and Nia eventually gravitated toward each other - which I was fine with," she added in a hurry. "If they make one another happy it's fine, whatever, not my business. The problem is Nia plans to come visit, and Emile will be coming with her."

"...oh," Unsuur replied softly. Immediately a war broke out in his head between feelings of suspicion and worry. "That's...bad."

"It is, and it isn't," Dawn said, pressing the heels of her palms to her forehead (the letter still clenched in her hand left a smear of ink behind thanks to the sheen of sweat on her face - there was no escaping it, not even this early in the morning). "I'm over him. Fully over him. I just don't know if he's over me. If he IS, then great! No issue! We can double date when they get here and have a good time! If he's not, I...really don't want to cause any friction between him and Nia, and I REALLY do not need another person chasing after me when I'm happily taken."

"Do I need to do anything? Do you want me to do anything?" The worry and suspicion were still there but not directed at her of course, and it seemed like she had the same feelings as he did about this sudden surprise visit (it also felt a little rude to invite themselves here without checking if that was ok first).

After a pause she shook her head and thumped her forehead into his chest as she let her hands drop to her sides. "No. There's really not much you COULD do in this situation. Just know I have zero interest in Emile and I will knock his nose off center if he even hints at wanting me back. Arvio's lucky he's stayed out of arm's reach since his last stupid scheme."

Unsuur blew out a breath. "-you sure do joke about assaulting people a lot."

She laughed, looking up at him. "I'm tiny and full of rage? But in all seriousness, this sort of thing does get really annoying - no means no, dang it."

He smiled after a moment and used his thumb to wipe the ink off her skin. "Just as long as you don't actually follow through, unless you absolutely have to."

"Griping about it is catharsis enough and if I do get to a point where I feel threatened enough to hit someone it wouldn't be just me at fault anyway."

"That's true. Though, if you do, I'll be sure to place you under house arrest, so you don't have to share a cell with whoever you beat up."

She giggled and shook her head. "And then what, stand guard so I don't sneak off to do my builder things?"

"Sounds like I'd have to, if you're already planning on breaking out of...uh...your house, I guess. I'll make sure I'm there the whole time keeping an eye on you so you complete your punishment."

Blushing lightly she nudged him toward the tracks. "I don't need a criminal record to want to stay home all day with you, you know... G-get to work before you're late."

"It'll be ok. I'll help rehabilitate your criminal ways."

"Shooooo," she groaned, trailing off into laughter.

--------------------------------

"How's your wrist?"

Unsuur didn't look up from the wanted poster in front of him - he was on the eyes now, and those were tricky. "It's not hurting. The stretches really help."

"That's good to hear. Just don't forget to do the cool down ones too."

A sandstorm had hit yesterday and blown all the posters away. Again. Justice had given him a day off to get at least 20 more drawn (Unsuur was confident he could get 30 done if he really pushed himself - Dawn had shot that down though). He'd spent all day cooped up in his house drawing and was going a bit stir crazy but then Dawn had come by with the canvas screens; there was still an insistent need to go outside and stretch his legs but with her to talk to now it was easier to ignore.

As she finished with the last screen there was a very obvious difference to the lighting in the room when Dawn hopped off her step ladder and pulled the screen down, and then again as she moved over to the other windows and pulled those down too. This was about as bright as it was at night with only the lamps on (which, thankfully, he had a lamp on the table next to him to avoid any eyestrain while he drew these things so the room wasn't completely dark). "Wow. Napping is going to be way easier."

"They should help muffle outside noise too," Dawn said, brushing her hands off.

"But not too much, right? I want to be able to hear if there's trouble." Unsuur sat his pen down and stood up to stretch before heading over to examine the screen. There was a little brass knob set into a hollow metal dowel where the bottom edge of the canvas was secured. As he watched Dawn twisted the knob gently and the screen began to slowly glide upwards, guided by metal tracks on either side and the roll of canvas was then hidden at the top behind a metal cover that she'd painted to match his window frames.

"If someone is shouting or exploding you'll hear it but people walking by talking normally should be less noticeable. Now, how these work is you use this knob here to lock the screen into place - it's all springs and tension, you can lower it all the way or stop at any point along the tracks. Just tug it down-" she pulled it down about halfway and twisted the knob, and Unsuur heard a soft click, "-and twist, and it'll stay."

It did in fact stay in place when she took her hand away. Unsuur reached over and tested the knob; she'd turned it to the right and it wouldn't go any further that way so he turned it left. There was another click and he immediately felt a bit of tension against his hand as whatever it was that would roll the screen up was no longer being held back. He let go and watched as it smoothly wound itself back up until the dowel was flush with the bottom of the case at the top. "Pretty neat. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome." She rose up on her toes to kiss his cheek then went to gather up the few tools she'd brought.

Unsuur pulled the screens back up and as she walked by him to pick up a screwdriver he grabbed her waist and pulled her in for a quick kiss. "-are you ready for tomorrow?"

The smile prompted by the kiss faltered some. "I... Kind of. It'll be nice to see Nia again but I'm still on the fence on seeing Emile."

"It's only a few days, at least."

"Yeah, true. And they'll be staying at the saloon so if all else fails I'll just avoid the place until they're gone."

Unsuur returned to the table and sat back down, picking his pen up and starting to add in the eyelashes. "I'll bring you dinner if you want to hide in your house until they leave."

Laughing she headed for the door. "I am not going to let them run me out of my home, whether that's Sandrock itself or my own house."

"But they can have the saloon for a few days?"

With a snort she tugged the door open. "Unless Owen chucks them out and they have to sleep in the train station. Knowing how Nia can get that might be a possibility."

Unsuur looked over toward the door at that, intending to ask what she meant, but she was already out and the door was closing. From what he'd heard about Nia he didn't think she was a troublemaker -- she couldn't be THAT bad or else Dawn wouldn't be friends with her...right? Or, how desperate had Dawn been back then to get away from her mother? Maybe it was some combination of Nia plus this Emile guy that caused some...bad behavior? Weird behavior? Annoying behavior? Some clarification was going to be needed but first he had to get these wanted posters done. He turned back to the poster in front of him and started shading in the collar; this set of them wouldn't be as detailed as the last set since he was limited on time but he was still pleased with how they were coming out, and the more he drew the quicker he was getting at it. At this rate he'd know Logan's face better than Logan himself would.

...actually, no, that was weird.

---------------------------------

Unsuur waited calmly beside Dawn as the train chugged into the station; the number of people getting off was barely more than a trickle (the sand sledding thing really hadn't recovered from the water tower attack... Tourism levels hadn't budged much since then) so it wasn't long before a short blonde woman accompanied by a tall dark haired man exited the train car and the girl rushed over to throw arms around Dawn's shoulders.

"Look who it is! I've really missed you, Dawn!"

"Hey!" Dawn laughed, hugging the other woman tightly for a moment before pulling back, hands on her shoulders as she leaned side to side, looking her hair over. "It looks even better in person!"

Nia did similar, looking Dawn up and down. "Thanks! Let me see...alright, you seem fine so that's a start. Have the sand bandits been caught yet? Were you scared back then? I mean, I think I would have been."

Dawn huffed out a breath. "No, they haven't, and yes I was. Just a fence between me and their leader, but he just warned me not to get involved and left."

"Well you'd better listen then!" Nia replied, propping her hands on her hips. "And what's taking them so long? Is this Logan guy really as nefarious and cunning as the papers say?"

"It's just a lot of desert to search, Nia," was Dawn's answer. She took a step back from her and put her hand on Unsuur's arm. "So, this is Unsuur. Unsuur, this is Nia and Emile."

This entire time the man had been standing several feet back from the little reunion, smiling a bit but also acting like he was trying to not look in their direction - either out of respect for letting the two girls have a moment or out of awkwardness, Unsuur couldn't tell.

At mention of his name Emile turned his attention fully to the gathering and offered a hesitant smile. "Er, hello."

"Hi," Unsuur said. Emile was the tallest of the group but very thin; he had pale green eyes and was wearing a button up short sleeved shirt of almost the same shade. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

They all paused as Jensen sat a pair of suitcases down beside Nia and Emile, grunting with effort on one of them. "There you go! Enjoy Sandrock!"

Nia reached down and grabbed the lighter one. "I brought you a whole bunch of stuff! But! For now, I'll let you and Emile catch up and Unsuur here can show me to the Blue Moon. Bye!"

"Wait, Nia-"

And with that Unsuur found himself yanked toward the stairs by her arm suddenly looped through his; he stumbled and nearly fell down the steps before managing to get his feet under him, and tried to dig his heels in a bit against Nia's insistent pulling.

"Wait a moment-"

"Oh don't worry about those two - Emile needs to get a very long overdue apology out of his system. In the meantime we can drop this suitcase off at the saloon and then you and I can have a talk."

She emphasized 'talk' in a way that made him worry this was going to be a long conversation, and Justice had only given him an hour this morning to be there at the station with Dawn. "The saloon is...over there, in front of us. And now I have to get back on patrol."

"You can spare a few minutes, surely. I need to make sure you're good enough for my best friend."

She had an iron grip on his arm and dragged him along into the saloon. Inside Owen looked up to greet them and paused, mouth slightly open and confusion apparent on his face; Nia finally let him go and Unsuur stood just inside the doorway awkwardly as she skipped up to the bar.

"Morning! I'm Nia - I telegraphed ahead to reserve a room?"

Owen quickly recovered and offered her his usual smile. "Ah, of course! I've got your key right here - room number three, just up the stairs."

"Thanks! I'll be right back," she said, directing the last half at Unsuur as she hurried by.

Once she was gone Unsuur glanced back to Owen. "...how do I politely escape?"

Owen let out a chuckle - he still looked a bit confused as he glanced briefly up at the ceiling (where the rooms were, approximately) before looking back to Unsuur. "Want me to run interference?"

"Please?"

He gestured for Unsuur to run out the door and Unsuur quickly retreated outside, pausing to take a deep breath and then hurrying off for the start of his first patrol of the day; since it started at Hammer Time he took a moment to gaze across the tracks and could see Dawn and Emile standing in Dawn's yard. Emile had the other suitcase with him and there was a healthy bit of distance between the two; he couldn't clearly make out either of their expressions from here but as he watched he could see Emile sigh deeply and rub a hand against the back of his neck. Whatever apology the man had to give it seemed like he was getting it out of the way immediately.

Unsuur tensed when he heard the saloon's door open and then spun on his heel, speed-walking up the hill and into the tunnel.

Even if he wasn't short on time her declaration of needing to make sure he was good enough for Dawn was reason enough for him to not want to talk to her if he could help it. She might be Dawn's best friend but this first impression wasn't...great? What would she even do if she decided Unsuur wasn't up to her standards? HER standards didn't matter - he wasn't dating her, he was dating Dawn. Would she encourage Dawn to break up with him if she found him lacking?

Dawn hadn't been looking forward to this visit because Emile would be there but now having met Nia Unsuur was kind of hoping they'd leave early.

-------------------------

Nia was... She just was. Energetic, authoritative, and if Unsuur was being honest, pretty full of herself too. These last two days had been planned out by her and if any of them had any other suggestions on what to do, what to eat, how to spend their time, she sort of rolled over it and kept going. There were times where Unsuur looked to Dawn to both check how she seemed to be feeling and also try to glean how he should react or what to say and she seemed exasperated at times but otherwise just let Nia do her thing.

Emile on the other hand was a total blank slate; he didn't talk much unless someone spoke directly to him, he did what Nia told him to do, and if he was enjoying himself he was giving off no hints of it. Unsuur actually felt a little bad for him -- not only was he not dating Dawn anymore but he'd chosen someone like Nia to replace her.

...that was a bit unfair. All Unsuur knew of Nia was what she was choosing to show him now. She and Dawn had grown up together, there had to be more to her than this.

And, admittedly, he wasn't spending too much time with her, and he didn't think Dawn was getting to spend that much time either. They both had their patrols along with Dawn still having her builder stuff she had to do, and from what he'd gathered from the chatter when they all sat down to dinner the last two nights was Nia was spending most of her time at the Moisture Farm -- she was a botany student so...he guessed she was getting some lessons from Zeke? Or something. He wasn't really sure.

Tonight was their last night here in Sandrock and they'd be catching the train back to Highwind tomorrow; this time they were having dinner at Dawn's place, and both women had shooed him and Emile out of the kitchen so he'd found himself sitting awkwardly on the opposite end of the couch from the man who did not seem inclined at all to talk to him. If it had been anyone else other than Dawn's ex-boyfriend Unsuur would have been fine with the silence (he liked sitting silently and did it pretty often on his own) but he had the slightest nagging feeling that Emile (obviously) didn't like him along with a hint that the man didn't feel welcome here either. Unsuur couldn't do anything about the former but he could try to do something about the latter.

"Did you enjoy Sandrock?" he asked quietly. Behind them the girls burst into laughter over something or another and Unsuur wondered if Emile even heard him as he didn't really react at first.

Finally Emile took a deep breath and turned his head just enough to look over at him. "Yes, I did. The landscapes here are rather awe-inspiring, and I was surprised to find a fellow architect here in town. She was good company and has a sharp mind for design."

Guess that explained what he'd been doing to pass the time. "Yeah, Heidi is pretty smart and good at designing things. She writes for our newspaper too."

"Ah? She didn't mention that."

Emile fell silent again and after it dragged on awhile Unsuur figured he wasn't going to add more to that part. "Did you two get to try sandrunning?"

After another long pause Emile shook his head. "No. If Nia wasn't with Dawn she was at the farm. I plan to visit again in the future so, perhaps then."

"Catori owns the sandrunning stuff and wants to make it a yearly thing, like a festival. You should try visiting then. It'll be fun."

Finally a faint smile from the man. "I don't intend to limit myself to festivals, but...it's a possibility."

"Dinner is done you two!" came Nia's singsong call then. Unsuur stood and as he went to step around the end of the couch to head to the kitchen Emile stood up far faster than Unsuur could have predicted and grabbed his sleeve, yanking him close.

"Don't screw this up. Regret is not something you get over quickly," was all he said, voice pitched low and then letting go of the sleeve just as quickly as he'd grabbed it.

Unsuur stared at him as the other man headed over to the kitchen with a totally normal expression on his face - like nothing had just happened. Don't screw this up. He assumed 'this' was his relationship with Dawn and of course he didn't plan to screw anything up -- this was probably the most thought-out thing he'd ever done in this life (if anything he was OVER thinking most things) and there was a comforting amount of confidence and relief in that. If he did mess something up it would never be on purpose...was it meant to be just a warning, or a hint that he'd actually done something wrong?

His sleeve was wrinkled and the rolled cuff had been uncomfortably pulled down his arm and Dawn gave him a curious glance as he came over to the table fiddling with it. He gave her a small shrug as he finally got it back in place and sat down; as usual Nia dominated the conversation, full of chatter on what she'd learned from Zeke and then how much she'd miss Dawn.

"You really should come visit Highwind again -- we've gotten some new cafes, a new library, and they finally redid that park near the shore."

Dawn shook her head, wrinkling her nose. "Absolutely not. I don't want to see my family. If they ever move away then I'll consider it."

Nia huffed and crossed her arms, pouting. "We can just ignore them if we run into them - I don't even think any of your brothers are living at home anymore so there's way less of your family hanging around."

"Doesn't matter. If they're there, I won't be. And besides, I'm not really interested in going on vacation any time soon."

"But that means I have to come all the way out here!"

Dawn shrugged. "Sorry, but I'm not budging on this one: I'm never going back to Highwind so long as my parents are still there."

"But-"

"No means no, Nia," Unsuur said then. Everyone looked to him in surprise - he was surprised he'd said it himself - and a breath or two later Dawn's expression melted into one of gratitude before she stood up and went to refill her glass from the pitcher of tea sitting on the counter (there hadn't been room on the table for it along with the dishes of food and their plates). Nia gave Unsuur a sour look but picked up her fork and began to dig into her dried sandberry-topped salad in silence. Dawn topped up Unsuur's glass of tea while she was at it then came back to the table to start on her own dinner; Emile, as usual, remained totally silent, but gave off the barest indication that he liked the saucy sandfish thing -- it was just on the side of too spicy for Unsuur's tastes so he mostly ate his salad and had a bit more rice porridge for dessert than he normally would have eaten.

Nia and Emile couldn't stay too late - early train to catch and all - so after Nia had helped Dawn with the dishes they both left, and Dawn let out a loud and long-winded sigh as she closed the door behind them.

"Whew. I should probably head to bed soon too so I can see them off tomorrow but first-"

She hurried over toward the couch and slid a box out from under the coffee table there; Unsuur hadn't noticed it when he'd been sitting there earlier with Emile, and based on how Dawn huffed as she picked it up it must have been heavy. As she sat it on the table Unsuur came over and rubbed a hand across her back.

"Nia brought some stuff for me and some of it I think you'll enjoy too," she said, pulling a small knife from a pocket to cut away the twine tied around the box (it had two latches on the lid as well so he wasn't sure why the twine was also there). Once she'd yanked all the twine free she clicked the latches open and lifted the lid to reveal dozens of small canvas sacks with tightly tied tops. "With everything calming down I'll be able to get set up to start blowing glass again so she brought me a lot of colored glass to use."

She plucked one of the bags up and plopped it into his palm; it was heavy and cool to the touch, and it felt like a small bag of sand as he gently squeezed it. When he got the knot loosened he carefully opened it to reveal brilliantly red glass shards. "How much glass do you need to make something? These bags don't hold a lot."

"I'll be mostly using these to add patterns to bigger pieces, which I'll show you how that's done when I'm finally all set up for it. She brought me every color imaginable so I'll really be able to do...pretty much whatever comes to mind," Dawn giggled. She started taking the bags out of the box and stacking them in a sloppy pyramid-shaped pile next to the box, steadily revealing what looked like fist-sized spherical rocks under it. "This is what I wanted to show you though."

Unsuur made sure the bag of shards was tied securely before setting it down and accepting one of the rocks and was intrigued by how light it felt; there was a rubbery band about an inch wide wrapped around its middle and with him holding the rock still Dawn popped it loose. Instantly the rock came apart in two pieces in his hands, surprising him to the point he nearly dropped one half, then found himself staring into a glittering dome of bright purple amethyst.

"Oh wow, it's a geode," he said softly, holding the halves up and slowly turning them back and forth in his hands so the craggy gemstones inside caught more of the kitchen light behind them and sparkled. "It takes thousands of years to make a geode. They're supposed to be more common in deserts but I've never actually found one myself. You can tell a rock might be a geode if it feels way too light compared to other rocks of the same material and size." Looking down into the box he counted five more sitting in there. "How did she get so many?"

"No idea," Dawn said, smiling at him as she picked up another. Inside that one was agate and it was a bit more compact than the amethyst one he was holding with only a thumb-sized hollow in it. "She said they were a late - or early, depending on how I wanted to read a calendar - birthday present and she didn't want to risk them getting lost in the mail."

With a permitting nod from Dawn he put the amethyst geode down and picked up another. "This one feels heavy." Tugging the halves apart he revealed a solid core of opal without any hint of a hollowed spot. "This is a thunder egg. Not technically a geode but since they're shaped like one and can be found in the same areas they get lumped in with them."

"I never knew there was a difference. They're really neat, aren't they? I've 'worked' with geodes before in that I leave them as is and just attach a base for display purposes but I've never had this many at a time," she said, setting the agate one down and opening the next to reveal lots of white quartz. "That's what I plan to do with these, though I'm thinking I'll build a shelf just for that." The rest of the geodes were also quartz, mostly white though one of them was full of almost clear crystals; Dawn moved the box aside and carefully arranged the halves in a line on the table. "Would you also like a shelf?"

"I do need more storage space for my rocks but you don't have to take on more work for that. I'm not in any hurry and it can be kind of fun to rearrange what I have on display every few weeks or so."

She laughed and picked up an amethyst half and put it back into his hands. "Sorry, I meant for these, silly."

"...but they aren't mine," he replied, glancing between the geode and her. "I don't need a shelf for something I don't own."

"You will if I give you some."

"Oh. You don't have to do that either."

"Too bad, I am," she giggled. "You can keep some halves and I'll keep the others, and we both have something pretty to look at later."

The amethyst glinted in his hand; he ran a thumb around the smooth cut edge and smiled. "All right. Though, you really don't have to."

Dawn gave him a quick kiss on the temple and started to pile the bags of glass shards back into the box at her feet. "I know, but I want to, so I am. So there. I'll just need to know what wall you want the shelves on."

"Ok. I'll decide on that after I've had some time to picture how I want it to look." He carefully sat the geode half down next to its pair and sat down on the couch, waiting for Dawn to finish with the glass before pulling her into his lap. "Did you at least enjoy their visit?"

"Mostly. Emile apologized for how things ended and while I wouldn't call us friends, exactly, he cleared his conscience and I don't have to worry about any trouble coming from him."

"He didn't talk much... He wasn't mad at me or anything, was he?"

She shook her head, settling into his lap and leaning her head back to rest it on his shoulder. "No, he's not the jealous type. He screwed up, he owned up to it and apologized, even if it was a bit late, so we're done and over with, and if he plans to come back to Sandrock to visit Heidi I'm fine with that."

To visit Heidi? "Why Heidi, specifically? Some architect thing?"

"Oh boy, no, it's more-" Dawn huffed, pressing her fingers to her temples and beginning to massage them. "Ok, so, I want to preface this with the fact I DID let Nia have it when she admitted to this, and gave Emile an earful too, but Emile was using Nia to get back in contact with me and Nia was using Emile as a doormat as some kind of punishment for how he treated me at the end."

As though how he felt about Nia couldn't get any more confusing. "...why? Why would they do that? It doesn't sound like fun for either of them."

"Yeah, you'd think that..." Dawn pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaling deeply. "Emile went to Highwind trying to get in contact with me, found Nia, thought he'd be slick by using her to find me. Nia caught on to what he was doing but was content to let him buy her dinners and do nice things for her as a sort of revenge in my name. Both of them are idiots and will be breaking up once they're both home."

"And...how does Heidi fit into that? Does Emile like Heidi?"

"Seems like it but it was Pablo who pulled me aside and asked about it. No damn clue when he noticed anything and I have no way to confirm it or anything but since he IS Heidi's close friend I guess if anyone would see something developing it'd be him. That and he's the town gossip. You can't fart without him taking notice."

He settled his arms around her waist, leaning his head against hers. "I didn't want to be rude but, I don't see how someone like Nia ended up being your best friend. Not based on how she acted and what you've just told me."

She laughed quietly and found his hand to tangle their fingers together. "To be honest... From her letters I could kind of tell she was changing, growing in a direction I wasn't entirely approving of. She's a warm and caring person, and was that way when we grew up together, but it seems like she's veered more into...'Nia knows best, because she cares.' I knew we were drifting some while I was off in Atara but I didn't notice it was THAT much since we were just writing letters. Having her around in person again was... It wasn't what it used to be? She definitely wasn't like this when we were together in Highwind."

Unsuur nodded - that made sense. People matured and changed as time went on so just because they'd been best friends before didn't mean they were best friends now.

"Emile didn't say something to you, did he? I saw you looked a little out of sorts earlier."

"Uh. Kind of." Her question drew him away from pondering about the fate of past friendships, and back to how Emile had warned him -- he wondered what Emile had done to Dawn to cause the break up. "He told me not to screw things up with you because regret is hard to get over."

Dawn rolled her eyes and gently pushed his hands away so she could stand up. "He always had his moments of the dramatic."

"What did he do? If you want to talk about it, that is. You don't have to."

"He turned into my mother, is what he did," Dawn replied, tone flat. "I do not want to be someone's trophy or pet wife. Wanting to be successful and take care of your partner is a noble goal but he wanted me to stay home and pop out kids while he was the sole provider - I warned him several times that's not what I wanted but he kept falling back into that line of thought until it turned into a big fight and things ended." She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, and glanced back to him. "I want to support and be supported in turn - a partner. If I ever get injured and disabled or too sick to work that's one thing, but expecting me to sit at home doing nothing with my life except raise kids is another."

Unsuur let that sink in for a few breaths, then stood up with a nod. "That seems like a really simple thing to not screw up, so I think I'll be ok."

Dawn started laughing, then shook her head. "I wasn't expecting you to do something like that." She went quiet, studying him for a moment. "What do YOU want out of a relationship?"

"I think I've already got it. I didn't ever see myself getting this far - I left my home village without a plan, after all. I do think..." He paused to make sure he was going to get the words in the right order. "...I do think that you're someone I can be with for a long time. Just standing by you. I've felt this way for awhile now. So long as I have you, I know I can become deputy, and keep protecting Sandrock, and have a good life here. No matter how many bridges or water towers get blown up. Which I guess that's on me to stop that from happening again but the sentiment still stands."

Slowly Dawn first pressed her palms flat against his chest then slid them up to lace her fingers together behind his neck and pull him down into a kiss. When she pulled away she smiled at him. "It might have been hell getting here, and it's probably not going to be an easy road going forward, but I'm glad I decided on Sandrock."

"Me too. Really glad." Unsuur smiled down at her for a second or two, then bent to sweep her up into his arms. "Time for bed. Or time to get ready for it - I won't make you go to bed without using the bathroom or getting to put pajamas on or something."

With a small chuckle she put her arms around his neck and let him carry her toward the bedroom. Unsuur put her feet back on the floor just in front of her dresser and unzipped his jacket as she went to retrieve the aforementioned pajamas, and was stripped down to his boxers and undershirt when she came back from the bathroom fully changed and with her hair let down.

He headed passed her for his turn in the bathroom and from behind him heard "you know, Pablo also tried convincing me to let him cut my hair."

Pausing in the doorway he glanced back to her. "Why? Well. I guess because he's a barber he has an interest in attracting business. But, why? I like your hair long."

"Me too, though I guess I could use a trim. My ends are getting a bit frazzled." She pinched some hair between her fingers, flicking the fingers of her other hand through the fringe-like gathering. "The idea IS tempting though. Cutting my hair was also something mom wouldn't let me do -- as in an actual cut and style, not getting a trim or whatever. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to at least hear him out on what he wants to do with it."

Unsuur finished up in the bathroom quickly and crawled into bed beside her, gently moving her hair aside so he wasn't laying on it, then clicked the lamp beside the bed off. "I know you'll look good with whatever you decide."

"That's the hope but at least it's just hair -- if I don't like the cut I can just wear a hat while it grows back."

She snuggled in against him and it didn't take long for her to fall asleep. Unsuur was just about to drift off when he remembered how Nia had wanted to make sure he was good enough for Dawn; she hadn't tried to corner him again so whether she approved or not was still a mystery, and also still none of her business. Dawn was the only person whose opinion on that mattered, and since he was the one laying here with her he was relatively certain he knew the answer anyway.