#that ‘hey me and my garage friend saw you across the race and we’re judging your ride’ mood <3

[lavampira]

see these people I ride with this moment, we own it

for the fast & furious ‘verse with d'alia + @scionshtola's corisande !

[marvelslut16]

Can’t fight this feeling I

Pairing: Jim Hopper x Wheeler!reader

Synopsis: A reader insert where the reader is Mike’s oldest sister, who has already graduated and works at the police station. She has always been infatuated with Hopper, and he seems to be quite taken with her as well. This part takes place in season 1 episodes 1 and 2.

Word count: 4616

Warnings: swearing probably. Age gap relationship. And eventual Stranger Things canon gore. 

Author’s note: this is going to be super long, eventually I’ll do all three seasons. So read at your own risk. I may continue into season 4, it depends on the fate of Hopper honestly.  

“Hey (Y/N),” Dustin calls from the doorway. “There's a slice left if you want. Pepperoni and sausage.”

“Thanks sweetheart,” I walk over to him, grab the piece of pizza from the box and kiss his cheek. “How about I walk you out?” I wink at him. 

“Okay!” he gives you a toothless smile as heat rises to his cheeks from the kiss.

“How long were you guys in the basement for?” I ask as we walk down the stairs.  

“So far it was ten hours, but the quest still isn’t over yet.” 

“Well if I ever get time off, maybe I could join you guys for the next one.”

“That would be awesome!” Dustin exclaims as we walk out to the garage. 

“Bye Lucas! Bye Dustin!” I call as they start to bike away.

“The roll was a seven,” Will says to Mike before turning to me. “I’ll see you tomorrow right?”

“Yep,” I smile at the younger boy. “I’m hanging out with Jonathan tomorrow after work. Have a goodnight Will.”

As Will bikes away I throw my arm around Mikes shoulder and pull him into my side. He leans into my side as the lights flicker. 

“That was weird,” I murmur. Mike shrugs it off before walking back into the house. 

--

The next morning we’re all sitting down at the table eating eggs for breakfast. The phone starts to ring and mom groans. Mike and Nancy are bickering, dad is watching the tv, and Holly starts crying. I smooth my dress pants down as I hurry towards the phone so mom doesn’t have to. 

“Hello?” I ask as I glance over at the time, shit I’m running late. 

“(Y/N)? It’s Joyce.” The bickering behind me gets louder, I snap my fingers at my siblings to get them to quiet down. 

“Hi Joyce, is something up with Jonathan?” I ask. 

Jonathan Byers, my best friend for as long as I can remember. I’m two years older than him, meaning he’s the same age as my younger sister Nancy. Not that they talk to each other, Nancy may not be the Queen of the school, but her friend group still doesn’t mix with him. Jonathan has always been shy and kept to himself, but we just clicked when we met each other. 

“Nothings wrong with Jonathan,” the slight smile can be heard in her voice. Joyce always loved that I could get Jonathan out of his shell, and that I never judged him. “But was that Will I heard?”

“No, just Mike and Nancy,” my eyebrows furrow in confusion. 

“Will didn't spend the night?” The worry in Joyce’s voice grows more prominent. 

“No, I saw him off around eight last night,” I frown and glance back at Mike. “He's not home?”

“I-I was working late last night, and so was Jonathan. I'm sure he just left early for school.”

“If you want to talk to Hop, I’ll sit with you while he fills out the report. I’m leaving for the station in like five minutes.”

“Thanks (Y/N),” Joyce sighs in relief. “I’ll see you there,” and the phone clicks. 

“I’ll see you guys later,” I smile at my family as I grab my bag. 

“Who was on the phone?” mom asks. 

“It was Jonathan,” I lie effortlessly. “He was telling me we might have to change our plans for tonight.” I kiss Holly on the head and ruffle Mike’s hair before heading to the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m already running late!”

--

Being late didn’t matter, I was still earlier than Hop. Police Chief Jim Hopper, I’ve been smitten with the older man for four years now. There was just something about his brooding and slight beer belly that was all pure man that made me crush on him and his cynical personality.

“Good of you to show,” Flo gives Hopper a look as he walks through the door. I give Joyce a reassuring smile before heading into the bullpen behind Hopper, my heels clicking as I walk. 

“Mornin' to you too, Flo,” Hopper heads straight for the coffee machine. Callahan and  Powell look up from a game of five-card draw, their boots kicked up on their desks.

“You look like hell, Chief,” Callahan points out the obvious. 

“Your girlfriend looked worse when I left her,” Hopper retorts. I sigh rolling my eyes at the men. Powell cackles at this.

As Hopper is making himself a cup of coffee Flo walks up to him and takes his cigarette out of his mouth and snubs it out. I can’t help but laugh at the interaction.

“While you were drinking or sleeping or whatever it is you deem so important on Monday mornings,” Flo starts laying into him.”Phil Larson called, said some kids stole the gnomes out of his garden again-”

“Gnomes again, huh? Yeah, tell Phil I'll get right on that-” he cuts her off. Hopper already has another cigarette in his mouth and coffee in his hand. Flo follows him as he makes his way towards his office, which I’m in his way of getting to. 

“You’re late,” I snap at him. “Joyce Byers called.” 

“I’ll call her back in a minute,” he fake promises.

“This is actually important,” I snap again. His brows furrow at my attitude, no matter how annoying he is, I’ve never been this snippy with him. 

“What have we talked about? Mornings are a time for coffee and contemplation,” he grins down at me. 

“You’re so annoying,” I roll my eyes at him.

“Why do I even employ you again?” he teases me.

“I don’t know, ask yourself that. You’re the one that hired me, not the other way around. Now back to Joyce-”

“Coffee and contemplation,” he brushes past me.

I quickly follow behind him as he makes his way to his office. Hopper almost spills his coffee when he sees that Joyce is already in his office. He spins around and looks at me accusingly. 

“I tried to warn you!” I threw my hands up in defense. “But like I said, this is actually important Hopper.”

“I’ve been waiting for an hour!” Joyce exclaims. “Luckily, (Y/N) was here to keep me calm.”

Joyce and Hopper go back and forth for a while, debating if Will is really missing or just playing hookie. 

“What’s wrong with his clothes?” Hopper asks when Joyce mentions that he gets picked on for them. 

“I-I don't know. Does it matter?” Joyce questions.

“Maybe,” Hopper responds.

“No,” I roll my eyes at him again. 

“Lonnie...Lonnie always said he was queer-” Joyce whispers. “Is he?” Hopper asks.

“He’s missing! His sexuality has nothing to do with that!” I glare at him.

“Maybe he’s with Lonnie,” Hopper says, stroking his beard.

“No,” Joyce and I say in unison. Hopper and Joyce continue to bicker about whether Will is with Lonnie or not. 

“Find my son Hop,” Joyce says sternly. She gives my hand a quick squeeze before heading out. 

“Hopper-” I start.

“Not now (Y/N),” he sighs.

“I guess you don’t care that I’m one of the last people that saw Will then?” I smirk as I plop down in the seat across from him. 

“What?” his eyes snap up to meet mine as he lights yet another cigarette. 

“Yesterday, Will was at my house all day. He was with Mike and their friends. I saw all of the boys off around eight last night. He didn’t seem like he was running away Hopper, he told me he’d see me today.”

“Was he planning to see Mike again today?” Hopper asks.

“No. I was supposed to go see Jonathan after work today. Will seemed set on seeing me later today, Hop.”

“What are the kids names?” he asks grabbing a pen and paper, but not before squinting his eyes at me. 

“Michael Wheeler, Dustin Henderson, and Lucas Sinclair.” He grabs the paper and heads out of his office.

“You coming or not?” he calls over his shoulder, and I hurry to follow him.

--

At the school I sit on the arm of the couch that the threes boys are squished on. Across from us is Hopper and Callahan. I put my arm on the back of the couch and rest my right hand on Mikes shoulder while Dustin holds onto my left hand, and I give Lucas a smile and a nod since I can’t reach him. 

“(Y/N) says she saw you guys off, was this before you guys were- uh- racing?” he asks Hopper asks the boys.

All three boys start to talk over each other, but I’m used to it and can follow what they’re saying. Hopper on the other hand keeps growing more and more frustrated with their antics. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. One at a time,” Hopper points at Mike. “You. You said he takes...what?”

“Mirkwood,” Mike says and I smirk. 

"Mirkwood?" Hopper turns to Callahan. “You ever hear of a "Mirkwood?" “Sounds made-up,” he responds.

“It’s from Lord of the Rings. Well the Hobbit actually-” I smile at the older men’s confusion. 

“You remember?” Dusting gives me another toothless smile.

“Of course I do!” I laugh and squeeze his hand. “You kept telling me I had to read them.”

“That’s not important!” Lucas glares at Dustin. 

“I know but-” Dustin starts talking over him. 

“Hey! What'd I just say? One at a damn time,” Hop snaps before pointing at Mike again. “You.” “Mirkwood. It's a real road. It's just the name that's made-up-” Hopper cuts off his explanation. 

“What's its real name?”

“It's where Cornwallis and Kerley meet,” I look Hop in the eye as I speak. He doesn’t tear his eyes from me as he writes down the roads. 

“We can show you where it is,” Mike adds hopefully. 

“No!” Hop and I snap at the same time. 

“After school you all go straight home,” he glares at the boys. “No biking around looking for your friend. This isn’t some Lord of the Rings book-”

“The Hobbit,” Dustin corrects him. I can’t stop my laugh from coming out, and Hop’s glare shifts from the boys to me. I hide my face Dustin’s small shoulder and giggle quietly into it. 

“Do I make myself clear?” Hop borderline yells. The boys all nod, and Dustin squeezes my hand. After Hop and Callahan head out of the office Mike stands and gives me a quick hug. 

“I love you little man, but listen to Hop. All of you,” I look at Dustin and Lucas. “This is dangerous. We’ll find him.”

“(Y/N)!” Hop yells from down the hall. 

“I’ll see you three later,” I give them a small smile before leaving the three alone in the office. 

“You think they’ll listen to me?” Hop asks me.

“Honestly? Probably not,” I sigh before getting into the back of his truck.

--

“Stay in the car,” Hop looks at me as he heads towards the woods.

“Not likely,” I mutter when he’s a little ways away. Slipping off my heels I head out to join the officers in their search for Will. 

“Hey I got something here!” Hopper calls. I run over to his side and see the bike.

“It’s Will’s,” I whisper. His glare softens when  he sees the tears welling up in my eyes. “He’d never leave his bike behind. If he was hurt he would still manage to take it with him.”

Hopper turns to Callahan and Powell, “follow us to the Byers’s house.” He grabs the bike and heads back to his truck. I quietly slip into the passenger seat and slip my heels back on. 

“I thought I told you to stay in the car,” Hopper says sternly as he slams his door shut. 

“I’m not helpless, ya know. I’m just trying to find Will.” Hopper doesn’t speak for the rest of the car ride. 

As Hopper and I pull up to the house, Joyce and Jonathan come running outside. Their faces fall as Hop pulls Will’s bike out of the back of the truck.

“(Y/N),” Jonathan whispers. My face scrunches as I fight back the tears. I open my arms wide and he immediately runs into them and buries his face in my neck. 

“We can still find him, he could still be out there,” I run my fingers gently through his hair. 

“What’s Hopper doing,” he asks looking up. 

I catch the tail end of a glare Hop sent our way before he goes stomping into the house. “He’s just making sure Will isn’t hiding somewhere in the house.”

“He can’t honestly think we haven’t checked-”

“It’s just to make sure Jonathan. Before they set up a search party.” I grab his hand and pull him inside. Callahan and Powell are searching his room, so we head that way. Callahan is staring at Jonathan’s Evil Dead poster while Powell is checking under the bed. I frown at their lack of enthusiasm, they aren’t even trying. 

“Who’s is this?” Powell holds up one of my shirts. He raises an eyebrow at Jonathan.

“Uh-” he stutters.

“That’s mine,” I rip it out of Powell’s hand. “Thanks for finding it! I was looking everywhere for it.” Powell and Callahan share a look before they start laughing at us. I shoot them a deadly glare, and they actually shut up.

“Hey kid, you got some water or juice or something? Dying here,” Powell bugs Jonathan. The teen nods and leads the group to the kitchen.

After a few minutes Callahan heads out to check on Hopper, who was checking the shed out back.

“Did you two find anything other than a beverage?” Hopper gives them a disapproving look when he walks in. 

“Yeah, (Y/N)’s shirt was under Jonathan’s bed,” Callahan laughs and wiggles his eyebrows. 

“Just because I sleep here sometimes doesn’t mean I sleep with anyone,” I glare at the two laughing officers.

“I didn’t hire you two to gossip,” he snaps at them.  

“You know (Y/N), if you ever want to lose a shirt again,” Callahan grins. “I definitely wouldn’t mind if you lost it at my place.”

“Callahan!” Hopper roars. I shrink back slightly, not used to the threatening tone. Hopper turns to me and his face and voice soften, “c’mon. I’ll take you home.” In the car Hop fills me in on the search party and what time he’ll pick me up so we can meet up with everyone else. 

--

“We've been over this. The chief said-” Mom starts telling Mike he can’t leave the house tonight as we eat dinner. 

“I don't care what the chief said,” Mike grumbles. 

“Mike!” a look of disbelief crosses my face. 

“He's not even real police, Mom,” Mike continues. “We have to do something! Will could be in danger!”

“More reason to stay put,” mom argues. “End of discussion.”

“So...me and Barb...we're gonna study for the chemistry test at her house tonight. That's cool, right?” Nancy asks. I’m flabbergasted that she thinks mom will say yes to her. 

“No. Not cool,” looks up from her food and at Nancy. 

“What? Why not?” Nancy whines. 

“Why do you think? Am I speaking Chinese in this house? Until we know Will's okay, no one leaves,” mom says sternly. The two argue back and forth for a while, even going as far as to blame Will for why she can’t leave. 

I quickly stand up from my seat and clear my dishes. “And where do you think you’re going?” Mom asks me. 

“Out to look for Will,” I look at her like she’s crazy for thinking I wouldn’t.

“How come she can go out?” Nancy’s voice goes up an octave as she whines.

“It’s my job,” I deadpan as I pull on my gym shoes. When Hopper dropped me off earlier I changed into more comfortable clothes that I could trek through the woods in. “And Hop’s here now, so I have to go,” as if on cue there's a honk from outside. “I promise I’ll be safe.” I run out the door and into the Blazer. 

“Look at you all casual,” Hop jokes, lighting up a cigarette. 

“What can I say? It’s search party chic,” I softly smile. But that drops soon after as thoughts of Will and Jonathan flood my mind. 

“What are you thinking about?” Hopper gives me a quick glance, before turning back to the street. 

“I can’t imagine what Jonathan must be feeling,” I play with the hem of my sweater. “If it was Mike I would be a wreck. Especially if I was supposed to be there when he got home instead of work, like Jonathan.”

“We’ll find him,” Hop promises, as his right hand reaches across the car and engulfs my left one.

“Good,” I blink back my rising tears, squeezing Hops hand for reassurance. I’m so upset I almost miss the butterflies fluttering because of our contact, almost.

--

I’m walking beside Hop in silence as a middle aged man with a mustache walks up to us. “He’s a good student,” the man tells us. 

“What’s that?” Hop asks. 

“Will. He's a good student. A great one, actually. I can't fathom him getting into any kind of trouble,” the man says, Hop nods before looking away.

“You’re Mr. Clarke, right?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he smiles at me. “But feel free to call me Scott.”

“I’m (Y/N) Wheeler,” we briefly shake hands. “Mike loves your class and AV club. All of those boys do,” I smile at him.

“They all talk fondly of you too, Dustin the most,” he admits.

“I’m not surprised,” I laugh and smile brightly. “Dustin isn’t that good at hiding his feelings. He’s a sweet boy who wears his heart on his sleeve, some girl is gonna come and steal his heart one of these days.”

Scott turns back to Hop, “I don’t think we’ve officially met. I teach at Hawkins Middle.

Earth and Biology.” Hopper shakes his hand, then averts his gaze.

“Always had a distaste for science,” Hop admits, I smack his arm lightly. 

“Maybe you had a bad teacher,” Scott tries to save the conversation.

“Ms. Ratliff was a nasty piece of work,” Hop says, and I nod in agreement. 

“Ratliff? You bet. She's still kicking around, believe it or not,” Scott adds.

“Oh I believe it. Mummies don't die, or so (Y/N) keeps telling me,” Hop smiles down at me. 

“So you're local?” Scott tries again.

“Class of fifty-eight,” Hop murmurs.  

“Sixty-two. Just missed each other.”

“Class of eighty-three,” I add with a small smile. Scott laughs lightly as Hop stares off into space, lost in thought.  

“Sara, my daughter. Galaxies, the universe, whatnot: She always understood that stuff,” Hopper suddenly says. My eyes soften as I turn to look at him, he’s only ever talked to me about her once. He was drunk off his ass when he called the house late that night, I’m sure he doesn’t even remember it. “Maybe she got it from her mother, I dunno. There's enough down here, I don't need to go lookin' elsewhere.”

“Your daughter. What grade is she?” Scott asks, as I silently cringe. “Maybe I'll get her in my class.”

“She lives in the city. With her mother,” Hopper lies, and my heart breaks. He’s in so much pain.

“Oh,” Hopper slaps Scott on the back.

“Thanks for coming out, teach,” Hop walks ahead of us, trying to distance himself from the conversation. 

A nearby volunteer whispers to Scott, “She passed a few years back.” My fists ball up at my sides, who does this lady think she is?

“Sorry?” Scott asks rightfully confused. 

“His kid,” the volunteer specifies. Scott’s face darkens as he looks back up at Hop.

“Gossiping gets you nowhere,” I glare at the lady. “Hop wait up!”

--

I yawn for the hundredth time as Hopper and I walk up to the Byers’ door. The door opens almost immediately after Hop knocks on it. 

“We’ve been waiting six hours,” Joyce complains, I just yawn in response. 

“I know,” Hopper sighs. “We came as soon as we could.” 

“Six hours,” Joyce repeats. 

“A little trust here, alright?” Hopper asks. “We've been searching all night.” 

“Went all the way to Cartersville,” I add as Jonathan pulls me into a side hug. We both slump into each other, holding each other up. 

“And?” Joyce asks.

“Nothing,” Hop sighs. Jonathan’s grip on me tightens. “Flo says you got a phone call?”

“Oh, yeah,” Joyce nods, leading us to the phone, which is now charred. 

“Storm barbecued this pretty good,” Hopper observes. 

Jonathan pulls me into his room and immediately digs around in his drawers. Soon enough he’s chucking a pair of sweatpants and a warmer sweater at me. 

“You’re the best,” I smile at him. Jonathan exists the room so I can change.  

“And you think I don't know my own son's breathing?” Joyce’s voice raises, and I quickly rush out of the room so I can join the other three. “Wouldn't you know your own daughter's?”

“You hear from, uh, Lonnie yet?” Hop changes the subject.

“No,” Joyce admits.

“It's been long enough,” Hop grunts. “I'm having him checked out.”

“Oh, come on!” Joyce protests. “You're wasting your time,” calling after us, as Hopper guides me towards the door. 

“Hey, Hopper,” Jonathan says as he walks us out of the house. “Let me go.”

“I'm sorry?” Hop asks.

“To Lonnie's,” Jonathan clarifies. “You know, if Will's there, it means he ran away,” I squeeze Jonathan’s hand as his voice wavers. “And if he sees the cops, he'll think he's in trouble. He'll...He'll hide. You know, he's good at hiding.”

“Yeah?” Hop asks again “Well, cops are good at finding.”

“I’ll go with him,” I intervene. 

“No,” Hop snaps. “ You are going home and sleeping.” Turning back to Jonathan, he points at him, “Stay here with your mom. She needs you.”

“I’ll return your clothes later,” I kiss Jonathan’s cheek before climbing into the truck. I wave at his shrinking figure as we drive away.

“Get some sleep kid,” Hop says to me. “No looking around on your own.”

“Let me come search with you,” I protest. 

“You need sleep. And my guess is that Mike stayed home today,” Hop’s voice softens. “He needs you right now.”

“I guess you’re right,” I sigh.

“Always am,” he grins at me, eliciting a giggle from me. “I’ll pick you up again tonight.”

“Pinky promise?” I ask, sticking my pinky in front of his face. He laughs and shakes his head at my antics, before hooking his larger pinky around mine. 

“I promise,” he says softly.

--

When I enter the house I can hear Mike's muffled voice coming from his room. He’s probably on his walkie talking with Lucas. My heart rate picks up when I hear a girls muffled voice responding to him. Mike doesn’t talk to girls, so why is there one in his room?

I quietly make my way to his door, where a girl around his age with a shaved head is sitting on his bed. I let out a long sigh as I lean against the doorway. Mike jumps at the sound, while the girls eyes widen and she cowers. 

“Mike?” I ask in disbelief. 

“It’s not what it looks like!” he assures. 

“So you don’t have a girl I’ve never seen before in your room when you thought you were home alone?” I raise an eyebrow at him. “You’re as bad as Nancy.”

“We found her out in the rain last night-”

“You three went out in the rain after Hop and I told you guys no?” my voice goes up an octave. “I can’t lose you Mike, you guys need to listen to us.” I slide down the door frame and sit on the floor. 

“Yeah, yeah, save the lecture for later,” he rolls his eyes. 

“This isn’t a joke Michael! You can’t go back out with us tonight.”

“He’s my best friend!”

“And your my little brother! My first priority is making sure you’re safe. And you need to be safe and healthy for when we find Will.”

“Speaking of finding Will, El can help us!” Mike insists.

“El?” I ask

“It’s short for a Eleven, that’s her name.”

“That's quite a unique name,” I smile at the girl, who is still sitting on his bed. Oh I wish I was curled up in a bed. 

“She has powers,” Mike insists. 

“Like from your comics and game?” I ask slightly annoyed now. 

“You look tired,” Mike tries to change the subject. 

“I was out all night looking for Will, I haven’t slept in more than twenty-four hours,” I roll my eyes. “Sorry I don’t look like Farrah Fawcett.”

Before Mike can come up with some witty remark, mom pulls into the driveway. Freaking out, Mike shoves El into the closet.

“Ted is that you?” mom calls up the stairs when she hears Mike arguing with El to get in his closet.

“It’s just us mom,” Mike calls, pulling me down the stairs with him. “I just... I don't feel good. I woke up and my head, it really hurt bad,” Mike lies when we reach her. “And my throat was all scratchy, and I wanted to tell you, but the last time I told you I was sick you made me go to school anyway, and-”

“Michael,” mom cuts in.

“Yeah?” he asks nervously.

“I'm not mad at you,” she looks down at him.

“No?” he asks confused. 

“No, of course not,” she sighs. “All this that's been going on with Will, I can't imagine what it's been like for you. I want you to feel like you can talk to me. I never want you to feel like you have to hide anything from me. I'm here for you. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Mike says back and I shoot him a look. A thud comes from his closet upstairs and his eyes widen.

“Is someone else here?” mom asks.

“No, it was probably just my bag falling off my bed,” I wrap my arm around Mike’s shoulders, before yawning yet again. 

“How was last night?” mom turns to me. 

“Long,” I sigh. 

“Anything new?” I shake my head and look at the ground. “You look tired.”

“Exhausted,” I weakly smile at her. “I should sleep, Hop demanded it.”

“He did?” he eyebrow raises and Mike smirks up at me. 

“I fell asleep in the truck on the way to the Byers’ house this morning. Plus he’s picking me up again in a few hours for the search.”

“I don’t like you spending so much one on one time with him,” she crosses her arms. 

“He’s my boss, Mom! What, do you just want me to quit or something?”

“I want you to go to college,” she gives me one of those mom looks.

“I’m not having this conversation again,” I huff turning to head up the stairs.

“You’re wasting your perfect GPA,” she calls after me.

“And that’s my decision to make!” Mike runs up the stairs after me.

“Hopper huh?” he teases.

“Shut it,” I warn, playfully pushing him to the side. 

“Which one of us is Nancy now?”

“Still you, I’m not sneaking behind mom’s back,” I smirk down at him. “I won’t say anything, just please be careful. And if something happens, come to me or Hopper, we’ll help. And if she needs clothes, you can look through some of my old stuff. Something’s bound to fit her,” I kiss his head before heading to my room.

“Thanks,” he calls after me.

“I love you Mike,” I smile back at him.

“I love you too (Y/N),” he smiles. 

Part 2

Tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen

[mrsbhandari]

Artsy as Fuck - Cups

A/N: Hii!! so I was actually going to put this series on hiatus because I wasn’t really getting super inspired by it, but then @lovehugsandcandy​ commented something that made me think!! so yeah thank you so much for your lovely thoughts on this series as it lives on another chapter!

Word count: 2245

Warnings: language

Summary: Colt has a conversation with both of the Wheelers. He can see a few similarities.

Tag List:

@omgjasminesimone, @edgiestwinter, @bucketofsoup, @donutsgirl36, @desireepow-1986, @lovehugsandcandy, @troublemakerinspace, @client-327

Masterlist

----------------------------------------------------

“My mother liked it here.” Colt’s eyes snapped up to hers, meeting an open and vulnerable gaze across the table. 

“What?”

“My mom. She died when I was young. Murdered in the street. This was her favorite restaurant.” All at once, Roze’s stare hardened and her tone changed to defensive and cold. For a split second, Colt was scared. “It’s not important.”

“Well, Jesus, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s not like we’re dating or anything,” she mocked, a twinkle of amusement replacing the stony hatred in her eye and easing some of the tension. Colt wondered how long she had been doing that; confronting her pain only to hide behind a mask. “I thought that coming here would be good, so we can get to know each other better.”

Flashes of the morning crept into his mind. “I think we’re very well acquainted, don’t you?” He silently cursed himself for not taking anything seriously, but the small giggle she hid behind a stained hand erased the thought from his mind like an undo button. Her other hand covered his own and his heart began to race.

“How about….emotionally acquainted?” she said, ripping her hand away when she thought harder about her words. “You know...to be more convincing for Ingrid.” She cleared her throat, leaving Colt to hope that it covered the sound of his heart dropping to his shoes. “Ask me whatever you like.”

Looking at her encouraging smile slightly downplayed the rush of scenarios depicting this going horribly wrong that raced through Colt’s mind, but not by much. Nonetheless, he sighed and thought of an easy question with little to no consequences. “Favorite color?”

“Seriously?” Colt shrugged. “Purple. Yours?”

“Black.”

“That’s not a color.”

“Don’t go all ‘pretentious art student’ on me.”

She laughed again, but it was fuller this time. It formed a hazy bubble around Colt’s mind. “Fine. Your turn.”

“This is a game?”

“Just ask questions. And make it uncomfortable this time. Don’t be scared.”

“Uh...okay, what was your first impression of me?”

There was a flash of surprise in her eyes that was quickly replaced with a long, thoughtful look as she tried to come up with an answer. Colt considered if she was debating lying or not, but she finally came up with an answer. 

“I thought you were arrogant and conceited.” Her tone was certain and obvious, as if she hadn’t spent time to arrive at a response. 

“Explain.”

“It’s not your turn.” A playful gleam accompanied the deep brown of her irises.

“It’s not a question, and I’m not asking.”

“Mm,” she hummed, and he decided not to mention the shiver he saw go down her spine, electing to tuck it away for later instead. “Well, you were naked, so I wasn’t completely in the right headspace. But you were naked and seemed to be fine with it...which is fine, it’s just…” she trailed off, eyes flitting between his to try and find the right words between his eyelashes. “You had this smirk.”

Colt raised an eyebrow.

“I saw it and immediately thought, ‘Wow, this guy’s an asshole.’” She popped another piece of chicken into her mouth, surely cold by now. 

“Hm.” Colt gave a smirk. 

“There! That’s the one. I was right about it, you know.”

“You think I’m arrogant?”

“Yup.”

“And conceited?”

“‘We need to prove to Ingrid that you can get a guy as hot as me!’” she imitated, dropping her voice and mimicking his smug smile. He hated that it was actually a pretty decent impression. 

“Alright, alright,” he surrendered, holding his hands up. “I’m exactly what people think I am: an asshole.”

“Mm…” She pursed her lips. “I think there’s more to you. I’m coming around. Although that first impression was forever captured in that drawing, I’m afraid.”

Colt recalled the haughty, regal look she drew with her first assignment and smiled at the memory. “I don’t know. I kinda liked how you made me look. Plus, you’re crazy fast!”

“Really?”

“Yeah! Everyone else only did my body, but you had time for face and everything. Very impressive.” She liked the way his eyes lit up at the thought of her art; it filled her stomach with butterflies. “It’s your turn.” 

“Oh! Uh, why do you not like cars?” Colt’s eyes dropped to his empty plate and his eyebrows furrowed. He stayed silent so long, Roze worried she hit a nerve, but he finally opened his mouth to speak, looking like the action pained him. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I can ask another question.” He nodded, giving her a small smile that eased the tensions in her shoulders. “Well, what was your first impression of me?”

“Innocent,” he answered, no hesitation. 

“What?!” Her surprised face sent him into a fit of boisterous laughter, face flushing as he caught the attention of other customers at surrounding tables. 

“Your….face!” he wheezed, face filled with uninterrupted glee. Even though he was laughing at her, she couldn’t help but laugh with him. He had an unexpectedly contagious laugh, one that he rarely let out in public--or ever. She took a sip of her water, hoping that it would cool down the heat that spread to her neck. “Ah, that was priceless!”

“How about you tell me why you thought that, meanie?” She picked off a piece of asparagus and threw it across the table at him, hitting him harmlessly in the cheek before falling to his plate. 

“When I got undressed and was posing and stuff, you got really flustered. I figured that you hadn’t really seen...anything like that.” He wiggled his eyebrows, cheeks still red. “I was wrong, judging by your lovely performance this morning.” 

“Tch. Whatever. It’s your turn.”

“Hm...why do you pay cash for everything?” 

“What?”

“You always pull out cash when you have to pay. At the garage and here. Why?”

“Oh, um.” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “My dad is...weird about my money. He’s just protective, but he tracks my accounts and stuff. It’s just a habit to pay with cash so he doesn’t worry about it.” Colt hummed, not wanting to push her. “I’m not like...rich, or anything like that. Did you think I was?”

It was Colt’s turn to shift in his seat. “Well...kind of. You would just pull out wads of bills and I thought--” He cut himself off, trying to avoid offending her. She nodded. 

“No, I understand. I must’ve looked really pretentious, huh?” Her voice sounded small, and Colt knew that this was a sore spot for her, so he didn’t want to patronize her. Luckily, their conversation was cut short by her phone ringing, a soft piano melody rising from her purse. 

“Dad, hey! What’s--Yeah, I’m with him.” Roze gave him a small wink, trying to lessen the awkwardness of Colt listening to the one-sided conversation. “Bring...him?” Her eyes went wide as they met Colt’s. “Uh…” He frantically shook his head, trying to convey that it was not a good idea. “Sure!” Colt gave a look, eyebrows knit and mouth partially open in shock. She finished her call and gave a sheepish smile. 

“Roze, I don’t do parents.”

“It’s only one.”

“...I don’t do parent.”

“I hope not, that’d be awkward.” Colt sent her an exasperated expression. “It’s not that bad!”

“What have you even told him about our...unique situation?”

“That I was seeing a guy from my art class, that’s it.”

“That’s what you told him? He’s going to think I’m some artist guy.” She shook her head slightly, asking him to elaborate. “I’m a mechanic, Roze. Far cry from ‘cool artist worthy of your daughter.’”

“It’s technically true that you’re from my art class, so you have no reason to worry.”

“What if he doesn’t like me?”

“It’s likely.”

“Roze!”

“I’m preparing you! He’s a detective and very...gruff. He’ll have to warm up to you.”

“How do I get him to do that?”

“Be yourself.”

“Bullshit.”

-----------------------------------------------

“Roze and friend! Come in.” The man, Mr. Wheeler, greeted them with a warm smile that made Colt wonder if Roze lied just to see him sweat about making a good impression on her father. The couple walked in, hand-in-hand, and Colt looked around, loving the small, cozy feeling of the house. It really felt like home. Roze detangled her fingers from his own, and he felt the feeling dim ever so slightly.

“Hello, sir. I’m Colt.” He grasped Mr. Wheeler’s hand in his own, nearly wincing at the death grip the older man had. Looking closer, Colt realized that the smile didn’t reach her father’s eyes. Shit.

“So I’ve heard; Rosemary doesn’t stay quiet about you.” Colt held in his surprise at hearing her full name.

“Dad!”

“Oh, come on, Roze. I have to embarrass you.”

“Mhm.” 

“Can you get us some drinks? I’ll have a beer,” he requested, eyeing Colt as if testing him. 

“Just water for me, I drove.” A slight flicker of approval in Mr. Wheeler’s eyes told Colt he passed. Roze walked to the kitchen, leaving the two men alone. 

“Yes, drove a motorcycle?” 

“Yes, sir.” Colt sat with almost obnoxiously good posture, trying to discreetly wipe his sweaty palms on the pants of his overalls.

“Hm.” Mr. Wheeler’s face barely changed, but Colt could feel the judgement radiating off him. To avoid digging himself further into any holes, he elected to stay silent and let Roze’s father do all the asking. Briefly, Colt thought of how he didn’t need to impress him; this is all fake. Roze isn’t really his girlfriend. There was no reason he couldn’t just walk out of this house right now. He remembered the feeling of her hand in his and thought hard about what exactly he was doing here, but Mr. Wheeler interrupted the discussion Colt was having with himself. “You ever had an accident on one of those things?”

“No, sir.” Colt could hear the noise in the kitchen and prayed that Roze would come back. Until she did, he tracked her sound to help distract from the icy glare that was so far removed from what he associated with his girlfriend, he wondered if she was adopted. 

“Never?” Clink! Roze was taking a bottle out of the fridge.

“No, I always take the utmost care with my bike. It was a gift from my mother.” A soft ksh. She closed the fridge. 

“Your mother?” Psh-psh. Roze’s bare feet on the tile as she walked through the kitchen. 

“Yes, she’s on the east coast. I used to live with her but moved here to be closer with my dad.” A hollow thunk. A plastic cup being set down on the counter. 

“What does your father do?” Multiple high pitched taps. Ice being put into the cup. 

“He owns a garage, I’m a mechanic there.” Colt pointed to the small logo embroidered above his name tag on his outfit, focusing on the loud shh from the faucet. Roze was pouring the water. 

“Ah,” Mr. Wheeler nodded his head in understanding as Roze walked back to where the two men were sitting in the dining room. “You’ll have to forgive me for not connecting the dots with your outfit; I thought you were a stripper.”

“Colt had been sipping his water as his anxiety had dried his tongue, but Mr. Wheeler’s admission made him choke and sputter. “Sir?”

“Dad!” Roze sent her father a glare, and Colt realized that her cold expression was actually pretty similar. 

“What? C’mon, I’m just playing with the kid. Plus, you said he’s from your art class, and I read that art pays so little that some do have to resort to that line of work.” He casually took a sip of his beer while Colt sent confused glances over to Roze. 

“He’s not an artist, Dad. He’s been the model for a few classes. I’ve drawn him; that’s how we met.”

Her father perked up, sending an interested glance towards Colt, who prepared himself for anything else completely random that could possibly be said. 

“Nude?” Mr. Wheeler asked, a playful smirk complemented by a dangerous look in his eyes. 

“Okay! That’s enough chatting. Colt needs to get back to the garage, right?”

“Uh, yes. It was a pleasure meeting you, sir.”

“Likewise.” Mr. Wheeler waved a bored hand as Colt was dragged out the door and across the street by a fuming a ranting Roze.

“--so disrespectful, I can’t believe it! He always does this and acts stupid! Stripper? Because you don’t make money with art?!” They reached Colt’s bike, Roze’s voice rising until Colt was sure that her father could hear her outburst from inside. 

“Hey, hey,” Colt cooed, pulling her flush against his body without a second thought. Hesitantly, she wrapped her arms around his wrist, nuzzling her face into his neck as best she could. The hug was tender, far more tender than Colt every believed he could be with another human being. They stood like that for minutes before she wordlessly pulled away, face flushed. Colt gave her a small wave as he climbed on his bike and secured his helmet, riding off with a small “see ya.”

She crossed the street and slammed her door shut after entering, sending another glare her father’s way. He was still on the couch, looking at her with an amused smile. “Was that really necessary, Dad?”

“I liked him.”

[autumn-maple13]

Lost to Time - Chapter 13

Chapter 13: The Search Begins – For What?

Amara watched the expressions on her friends’ faces (and anyone nearby) change into looks of horror and grief as she told them (select portions of) what she had seen in Insomnia. Pausing after the death of Clarus, as well as the death of Regis, they gave Noctis a few moments to collect himself before urging her to continue. Ending her tale with the same lie she had given Cor, the woman was well aware of the look of disbelief that crossed Ignis made her shrink in on herself, her hands shaking in her lap as she looked away from the guys.

“At least… that’s what I told Cor.”

“Amara?” the guys were confused now, not knowing her to lie so blatantly.

“The truth is after I reached my house, I ran into Ardyn. He got me out of the city. I think he wants me alive for some reason.” She feigned confusion of her own, looking up at them. “To be honest, I don’t know how I got out of the city – I fell out not long after I ran into him and don’t even remember if he spoke to me. I mean, I’m sure he did but everything’s just a blank… Well, I’m sure you guys can understand why I was so scared to tell the Marshall that, what with so many of the Glaives…”

Ignis pushed his cup of coffee across the table to her. “You didn’t want him to think you were one of the traitors as well, that’s understandable.”

Noctis nodded, though it was clear by the look on his face that his mind was still elsewhere. “All that matters is that despite everything you still told us the truth.”

“We’ll keep this a secret too!” Prompto gave her a smile.

Gladio took a breath, burying his face in his hands. “It doesn’t feel right, but if you felt like you had to tell the Marshall that, I won’t say any different.”

Amara put on a slight smile, motioning to Ignis’s cup of coffee. He gave her a nod, then got up to go talk to the diner’s owner (had they called him Takka?) leaving her there with the others. With Prompto and Noctis on either side of her she couldn’t help but feel a little safer than she had earlier, but guilt still edged her thoughts.

It was still clouding her mind as she followed the boys out to a haven some several yards out behind the Garage – though an easily ended attack from some Sabertusks provided a decent distraction until they reached their camping spot. While the others worked to get everything set up, Noctis pulled her aside and motioned for her to follow him down to a lightning deposit. With the proximity of the crackling deposit blocking a lot of the sound around them – she realized Noct was wanting to talk to her about something he absolutely did not want the others to hear.

“Amara, how are you doing without dad’s magic?” despite the events of the day he was still concerned about her abilities?

“I won’t slow you guys down, I promise.”

“No, no Amara that’s not what I mean. The way you reacted when you connected to him, I wanted to make sure it didn’t happen again.”

She shook her head. “No, it just stung a little bit. I didn’t even notice it until later.” Noctis seemed satisfied, but when he didn’t move, she was left wondering what else was on his mind. “What’s up?”

“I want to connect you to my armiger. Those blades of yours are good and all, but if we get attacked by another pack or swarm, I think we’d all feel better knowing you could fight properly.”

Fear shot through her, she had to fight to stay calm – keep her armiger from throwing a weapon into her hands. “I don’t know… I mean, it hurt so bad when I connected to King Regis… With his being ripped away the way it was, wouldn’t it make being connected to you even worse? I’d be out of commission for a while in that case.”

“I know, but I think having you at full capacity would be worth it. The Empire has drop ships all over the continent looking for us – fuck the wildlife, if they send a platoon after us, we’re in serious trouble without you being your best.” His own fear was clear in his eyes, mixing with the grief he still obviously held from their earlier talk. It made her consider just how worried the others must be about it if he so worked up over it. So despite her own fears about it, she nodded.

“Alright, let’s do it.”

With a nod, she watched the Prince (or should he be ‘King’ now?) close his eyes and focus on her. She did the same, willing her own powers to play nice and not reveal itself when the connection was made. It came as a surprise when she felt his powers not only reach her but combine with her own, and when she opened her eyes, she realized he seemed to be unaware of her side of things. He gave her a look when he opened his eyes again; with a shrug she summoned one of the weapons she could feel floating around in his armiger’s reach, a laugh escaping her when she realized what it was.

“You scored your own spear I see!”

Noct was obviously relieved, giving her a grin and motioning for her to follow him back to the haven as he told her about how he got it from an Imperial Soldier on their way to check out the situation in Insomnia. The guys were also clearly relieved, smiling as the duo rejoined them.

“Did you plan work, highness?” Ignis had the teasing tone again, which triggered a grin to pop up on Gladio’s face.

“You do know that since we’re so closely connected, we felt her connecting right?”

“I know, I know, I just didn’t want you guys to jump on her about it.” Noctis sunk down into one of the folding chairs set up around the fire. Amara was content to listen to them bickering playfully as she plopped down on the stone, stretching out until she felt her back pop.

She must’ve dozed off though, next thing she knew she was trying to sit up in the tent – Gladio and Ignis trapping her between them. Judging by the lack of noise from outside she figured it must still be pretty late and opted to carefully pull herself free to slip outside the tent.

Amara took a seat on the edge of the haven, looking out over the landscape before she laid back on the rock and started to study the sky again. Part of her training with the Glaive was astrology so they could use the stars to navigate if they got lost on missions. It was so much clearer out in the open expanse of the Leide region, though that fact made a pang of homesickness shoot through her.

Her home was really gone, huh?

All of Lucis is your home. It wasn’t the usual voice that was overshadowing her thoughts this time – with a jolt she realized it was one of the women she heard the day she was connected to Regis. Your past is not one that is to define you, it is merely to be a guide as you find your true history.

‘Who are you?’ she tried to reach out but received no answer. A sigh escaped her, and she resigned herself to going back to stargazing. She didn’t realize she dozed off again until she felt a pair of arms slipping under her. Opening her eyes, she spotted a mass of tattoo first thing.

“What time is it Gladio?”

“Just after five. Gotta admit you had me worried when I woke up and didn’t see you.”

“Sorry, it was just too hot in there.”

“So, you decided to go sleep on the edge of camp?” he chuckled.

“That’s where I usually slept on Glaive missions. We didn’t always have room for tents, so we’d have to sleep where we could in what we could a lot. On the bad side though, beds are too damn soft for me now. Fuckers feel like I’m gonna fall straight through.” She stood up almost as soon as Gladio sat her in a chair, watching him wince as her stretch made her spine produce a sound akin to an empty water bottle being squeezed. “Whatcha doing up so early?”

“Was gonna go for a run.”

“Oh great, where’d my boots go?”

“I’ll get them. You might want to make sure your back isn’t broken.”

“No need, here you go,” they both looked in surprise at Ignis as he walked over from the tent. “I heard you two talking and figured I should get ready to make breakfast.”

“Thanks Iggy.” She was aware of the two watching in curiosity as she expertly pulled on those thigh-high combat boots, checking the straps for those bits of red armor that now braced her shins. They clearly caught the eyes of both men, and the fact that they were not in the placement she had put them in the previous day made her chuckle at the thought of the guys toying with them – imagining their blatant “what the fuck” faces.

That gave her an idea, and as she stood up, she stretched again – starting to walk slowly towards the edge of the haven. “Hey Gladio, how far do you usually run?”

“A couple miles at least.”

“That plateau way over there, is it too far?”

“Nah, we can run there no problem.”

“How about we race there?”

“Even better,” she could hear the grin on his face and felt a smirk spread on her lips.

“Ready?”

“Sure thing.”

“Then go!” Ignis laughed as Gladio faltered, seeing Amara run to and launch herself straight off the edge of the haven. She hit the ground several feet away and was already a decent distance ahead when Gladio made it to the base. The woman was incredibly surefooted, far more than Gladio, as she kept her lead, only slowing down as she got closer to the road. Gladiolus crossed it not far behind her, though he fought to catch up when he noticed her laughing at him.

But neither of them were laughing when a pack of Sabertusks interrupted their path. Gladio hadn’t even summoned his broadsword when he saw something go flying, a purple glow following it. Amara warped from creature to creature, effectively dispatching each of them and serving to remind her companion of her abilities. She sent him another smirk before darting off towards the plateaus again, leaving him to follow.

“Remind me not to piss you off!”

“You need to be reminded of that?!” she cackled, launching off one foot to jump onto the large stone face and rebounding off it – right over Gladio’s head as he closed in on her. It threw him off guard, and she listened in amusement as he clearly slipped on his turn and hit the ground, but she didn’t dare turn around to check on him. Amara went ahead and warped herself over the road this time, laughing at her friend’s cry of ‘cheater’, pausing for a moment on the other side to make sure of where he was. His slip up had given her a comfortable lead that he was hurrying to close, sending her running once more when he reached the brush that lined the asphalt. Her lungs were burning as her breathing got heavier, but Gods damn it she was not about to lose her own challenge.

The others may have been fast, but she knew Gladio’s training had given him the stamina to keep up with her own. He was a Shield, he had to hold out, she was a Glaive, she had to move fast through unfamiliar terrain while taking on fucking armies. No way in Ifrit’s hell was she about to lose to the man.

Opting to use her surefootedness against him on the uneven terrain around the Haven, Amara started leaping from highpoint to highpoint, keeping him several feet behind as he tried to make sure his weight didn’t play against him as she was trying to make it do. Ignis and Prompto were waiting at its edge: Ignis sipping on a cup of coffee while the younger man cheered for Amara. She risked a glance back at the shield before losing a summoned blade and warping herself up onto the campsite, though this time her fatigue caught up to her and her landing sent her tumbling across the stone. She came to a stop inches from the folding chairs, her sides heaving as she laughed, though it was choked by her lungs’ fight for air. Gladio snarled at her when he reached them, plopping so heavily into a chair she was surprised it didn’t break under him.

“Never again.”

Prompto’s laughter mixed with her own as he helped her up. Ignis was soon handing each of them a cup of coffee before going to wake up the sleeping noble. The sight of him was enough to make the weight of the day’s task suddenly land back the Glaive’s shoulders, and she gave him a small smile as he came to sit by his Shield. A moment later Ignis was bringing them breakfast and motioning for Amara to take the last chair. She shook her head, sitting down on the stone with her legs crossed under her, though it didn’t last long with the armor digging into her thighs. Knowing there was no swaying her, the group simply ate in silence, with Gladio and Ignis finishing first and beginning to pack up. With the younger trio taking a few minutes longer Amara felt like the atmosphere was becoming more and more charged – and several of her scars from using Regis’s magic throbbed in response to the feeling.

“We need to be careful today.” She finally spoke and felt everybody’s eyes on her before she ever looked up from her tray. “Something’s going to happen.”

“You got some kind of sixth sense or something?” Gladio frowned at her from where he was folding up the tent, earning a nod in reply.

“As a Glaive, I learned very quickly to “read the air” as one of the guys called it.” She made no move to explain what she meant, but the weight behind her words seemed almost equal to what was already resting on everyone’s shoulders. It made everything pick up the pace (at least a little), so they were soon re-stuffing everything in the Regalia’s trunk and amazing the woman with the expert packing that made it all actually fit. As soon as she retrieved her new motorcycle from Cindy - free of charge, much to the boy’s chagrin – they were taking off for the outpost Cor had left instructions to head to.

She had been able to study the map they had been given – comparing it to the one she had found in her previous ride’s glove box, so once they were all safely on the road she took the first chance she got to whip around them, taking the lead as they rumbled down the road, though Ignis’s cursing when he had to hit the brakes only a few miles down the road caught her ear quite easily.

“Amara Solis what in the name of-“

“Shut up!” she snarled from where she sat on her bike ahead of the suddenly tense men. “Hello?”

“Hello?! Is anyone there?! Help!” the voice was close, just a few yards behind them. The woman whipped her bike around and raced towards the dirt road they had just passed, though she pulled off when she reached the rocks just before it. They watched from where they were stopped as she helped a man, a hunter they figured, up from the rocks – noticing the glow from a potion she used on him. The woman took a minute to make sure he was okay and waved down a man in a hideously colored truck that was coming down the dirt road beside them. Only when the hunter was safely in the bed of it did she remount her bike and race back to her friends.

“He said he was part of a group that got scattered. Try to keep your ears out while we’re in the area in case they’re still out here.”

“How did you even hear him?” Prompto was clearly concerned (and a little impressed going by the look on his face).

“I was trained to listen to my surroundings. It there really are masses of Imperials after you guys – you’ll learn to do the same very quickly.” It was more of a warning than advice, they figured, so they watched her take the lead once more and followed decent distance just in case they did discover another injured hunter that had managed to survive in the wilderness.

And they did: a young woman was found in the ruins of some old buildings a few feet off the road – she had been poisoned, they realized, when Amara came back to them to ask for an antidote. This hunter followed Amara back to her bike and climbed on behind her, holding tight to the red-haired woman as she took off once more.

Thankfully there were no other hapless persons to be found, and they arrived at Prairie Outpost without further incident. The female hunter bid the group thanks, and a generous amount of Gil, before taking off to speak with some fellow hunters, though her place was soon taken by a familiar woman.

“Monica? Hey!” Amara gave the older Crownsguard member a hug and a smile when she joined her, which was happily returned.

“Amara I’m glad you’re safe. When we heard about the Glaive, we were concerned…” the brunette shook her head. “But the Marshall was adamant that you’d be alright.”

“Alright and back on duty.” She motioned to the guys, who had parked the Regalia some several feet away. Monica immediately bowed and gave them a smile when she returned to standing.

“I’m glad you're safe, your highness.”

“Monica, where are all the others?” Gladiolus was clearly worried about the fate of his fellow Guards, as was Amara and Ignis, and looks on their faces made Monica’s turn grim.

“Most of the Crownsguard didn’t make it. It was all we could do to escort Lady Iris out of the city. Dustin’s with her as we speak, seeing her the rest of the way to Lestallum.”

Gladio looked away. “I owe you guys big time.”

Monica shook her head and returned her gaze to the Prince. “Head for the tomb. The Marshall awaits.”

[chaos-weekly]

another good memory

Magnolia was doing this shoot as a favor to some of Ainsley’s up and coming photographer and stylist friends, but nothing beat being on rollerblades. The duo had wanted a fun, retro photoshoot, and when the idea of skating had been tossed out, she had immediately agreed. Nollie had grown up rollerblading with her brothers, and those memories were some of the few good ones she had from her childhood. 

Needless to say, she was excited. Nollie was feeling more like herself than she had in a while.

She was sitting on a bench on top of the parking garage they were shooting on, lacing up her rollerblades when she saw him. She’d noticed men’s clothing on the rack, but out of everyone they could have picked, why did it have to be London? He wasn’t even a real model (not that he couldn’t be if he wanted to.)! Nollie knew Ainsley had probably arranged for him to be the other model, and while he could have gotten literally anyone, he’d picked London. He needed to stop playing matchmaker-- every date he’d set her up on had gone to Hell. After her first encounter with London, she doubted this would go any different.

“‘Sup?” he greeted, plopping down beside her. 

“Hey, London,” she replied, offering a smile. An olive branch. He smiled back. “Look, I just wanted to apologize for--”

He cut her off, shaking his head as he looked over at her. His eyes stared directly into hers. Nollie’s heart skipped a beat.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” London said firmly. “You were right. It’s your name. You have the final say in what people call you. I’m sorry for not understanding that at the Gala, Nollie.”

In all her years on earth, Magnolia had never received an apology as sincere as his. There was no gaslighting, no making her feel bad. He accepted her decision as if he’d made it himself. 

“Um,” she began, unsure of what exactly to say. Her wide eyes surely gave away the sheer astonishment she felt. Fortunately, she was saved by the photographer, Mindy. 

“Magnolia, London, if you could just get up and skate around a bit, that would be great. I’d like to get some test shots to get my camera adjusted.”

She nodded, standing up with ease and waiting for London to do the same. He looked hesitant, and she offered her hand out to him. Chuckling, he took it and she helped pull him up. 

“You made it look easy,” he muttered.

“It is easy,” she teased, dropping his hand and skating backwards. “Can you keep up, Twinkle Toes?”

“God, I sure freaking hope so.” He skated forward to join her, and Nollie smiled. 

She wasn’t really sure when the test photos stopped and the real photos started. In fact, she’d almost forgotten this was a photoshoot at all. It was fun, light, breezy, and Nollie didn’t even mind being around London. As it turned out, he was much nicer than Kendall had said he was. 

And he was free. Childish. Goofy. He had a great laugh. Sure, he was rough and tumble, as evidenced by the colorful language every time he even slightly lost his balance, but she didn’t feel remotely threatened by him. It was comfortable, and she could tell he was feeling the same way.

“I need some stills of you two!” Mindy called out, waving them towards her. “I want some of these rollerblades up close. Nollie, do you think you can lift your back leg up in the air? Grab on to London for some balance, honey. I don’t need you breaking anything on my watch.”

Nollie didn’t even think anything of it. She skated close to London, wrapped her hands around his-- incredibly toned-- biceps, and lifted her leg slightly into the air. She felt his hands grab her sides, and when she looked up to thank him, she felt the mood shift. He was looking at her differently, more intensely. This wasn’t just friendly anymore. 

“Lovely, lovely,” Mindy was saying. “I need a picture of those arms, London. Your tattoos are beautiful. Stay like that a minute, please.”

His tattoos were beautiful. His arms were stunning. The more she thought about it, the hotter she realized London was. Ainsley was right-- she hadn’t been with a man in a hot minute. And he was clearly interested. She could have him after this shoot if she wanted.

But she didn’t. She had good reason for avoiding sex, and she knew enough hadn’t changed for her to start back up again. Especially with London Lovell. 

She went through the rest of the photoshoot reminding herself of that. 

“I think that’s enough of the rollerskates,” Mindy said, wiping sweat off her forehead. “Let’s do a quick outfit change and then meet by London’s motorcycle. If that’s still okay with you, London?”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging. “I just want these stupid things off my feet.”

Nollie snorted, but her mind was racing. Motorcycle pictures? This hadn’t been in the communication she received. But it would be fine. It was a favor to Ainsley. She was doing this for him, and boy would he get a kick out of it when she called him.

Her outfit for this part of the shoot was in stark contrast to the previous part. She was trading in her rainbow sweater for a tiny black tank top and her skates for dirty converse. It was simple and sexy, and Magnolia was terrified. 

But Professional Model Magnolia didn’t get terrified. These kinds of shoots weren't unusual for her. She was going to do her job and do it well. At least she’d be able to channel in all the sexual tension she’d felt in the last half of the shoot.

Swallowing, Nollie joined London and Mindy outside.

“This is going to be like a quick, fifteen minute mini shoot,” Mindy explained. “I’m going to give a few directions, but I need you both to keep the vibe. We’re going for sexy, lots of chemistry. Nothing too risque, we just want viewers to be saying, ‘Hot damn,’ when they see these. Now, London if you could go lean up against your motorcycle. I want some singles of you.” 

She watched as Mindy took a few shots, then waved Magnolia over. She strode over more confidently than she felt. 

As soon as she was within reach, London was looping his fingers through her belt loops and pulling her into him. 

Normally, Nollie would have gasped, but Confident Magnolia just smirked, resting one hand on his chest and letting another slide up his body to cup his cheek. He was so tall. So strong. Her heart was absolutely pounding. She was sure he could feel it. His arms started to snake around her waist, and she stood on her toes, leaning in to kiss him.

“Wait! Don’t move! I want a shot before the kiss!” Mindy screeched excitedly, clearly happy about how these pictures were turning out. But this in between was torture for her, and judging by London’s heavy breathing, torture for him too. 

 “Okay, okay, you’re good. You two can break it up, now. But slowly! I want pictures” the photographer said. London let his hands run down her body, caressing literally every single (non-existent) curve she had. God, she was going to have a heart attack. And he was obviously enjoying this! There was very little she could do to get him back, to make him feel the way she was feeling without crossing professional boundaries.

She settled for a tiny kiss on the corner of his mouth, soft and lingering, dangerously close to his lips. The way his eyes caught hers as she pulled away let her know she’d done just enough. The score was settled. Magnolia pushed herself off of him, smirking. 

Mindy gushed about how great the photos were the entire way back to the dressing room. She ran off to show the stylist, leaving London and Nollie alone.

“So,” he said slowly, leaning against the door frame of his dressing room. “Milkshakes? We didn’t get them after the Gala.” There was a sexy glint in his eyes, and Nollie couldn’t help but laugh.

“Not today, London. But if you ever want to rollerblade, let me know. I’d love to teach another friend how to skate backwards.”

“So we’re friends now, huh?” He seemed content with this.

“Friends,” Nollie agreed. “I’d give you my number, but I’m sure Ainsley has given it to you by now. Shoot me a text.” She smiled and ducked into her dressing room.

Friends. Friends was all they would ever be, but she was happy with that. This little thing had been fun for the day.

/// 

Four days later, the file of all of the pictures came in. Nollie always printed a few photos from every shoot. From this one, she printed one of her and London laughing while he grabbed onto her arm trying not to fall and the close up of their rollerblades. She didn’t want to print any of the motorcycle ones. As far as she was concerned, that had never happened.

She printed one more, one she didn’t even know existed.

It was of her and London, rollerblades in hand and making faces at each other as they walked across the top of the parking garage in their colorful socks. It was pure, it was fun, it was everything she’d felt skating around with him that day.

It was another good memory.

[omgnsfwisnsfw-blog]

Game #5: Kiss with a Fist

It was good to be home. The lackadaisical adventure that was Mike and John’s cross-country drive to Los Angeles was not so leisurely on the way back- as a matter of fact, their route from LA to Pittsburgh was as direct and, daresay, boring as Mike could manage. They didn’t really have time to take in the road like before, after all, and the lack of interesting sights served as a good deterrent for unnecessary stops. The plan had worked- they made it home in three days’ time. The first day back was spent falling back into their regular routine- sleeping off road fatigue, airing out the house that’d been shut up for two weeks, shopping for groceries to refill the fridge after emptying it of perishables before they left, and collecting their mail from their friendly neighbor, Todd. Mike liked Todd. The other nearby residents of the block were polite but curious about the pair of wrestling housemates living on their street, but Todd was an accepting sort and didn’t like to judge. After that, though? They spent every possible moment they could either in the garage or in the ring. They had something unusual to train for, after all- not only did John have a title defense this week, but Mike had their first EWC singles match. It was something that they found both indescribably thrilling and somewhat nerve wracking. They weren’t afraid of a fight, of course, but they had to admit that when it came to one on one ring combat, they were awfully rusty. They’d asked John to come at them more aggressively than usual. They’d been studying their opponent, Nick James, carefully, from watching what they could find on EWC TV of his matches to poring over their partner’s notes (he’d had the foresight to make notations on him the week prior, as James had been a potential contender). But there was only so far observation could go, and Mike needed to practice against an aggressive fighter. John, however, was a bit apprehensive. He knew what he was capable of, and Mike knew he knew. They’d done ring work together nearly every day since John first came to live and get settled in here, and Mike was well aware of the raw power that her best friend could exude. Yet, they’d always honed their skills as a team, and though they’d certainly sparred it was never terribly heavy. James was a fighter, though. Like Mike, he was a two fisted brawler with a broad streak of old school in his style who ate and drank combat. Still, familiarity wasn’t going to be enough. They couldn’t go in against a young, fresh fighter with any kind of ring rust: that would be just asking for an ass whooping of monumental proportions. Something more practical was required. I need to do this, they said. I need to win this. I win this and I make it crystal clear that I ain’t being held back, or stifled, or any other fucking ridiculous thing. I shut people like that up, put the whole fucking matter to bed like a swaddled-up baby. Come at me. I’m not scared. I trust you. So he came at them. He adapted on the fly, swapping out some of his holds in favor of strikes, mimicking their opponent’s style based on what he’d seen. They took some knocks but got back up, learning. Counter, dodge. Keep your footwork tight. You got a killer right, put it to use. Remember everything you learned from the old man. He was still holding back, Mike could tell. But he was holding back far less than normal. They were just fine with that- compromise was the soul of coexistence, after all. Besides, it just wasn’t in John’s nature to do them any kind of serious harm if he could help it. If by some fucked up circumstance they were ever to meet in the ring, they doubted he would lay a hand on Mike. Mike doubted if they could do a thing to hurt John, either. They’d said as much, after all, and had meant it with all their heart. They kept at it on and off for a few hours, despite the stubborn rain that kept dropping various levels of drizzle on their heads. The canopy of maple leaves helped, but not much. It was alright, though. By Mike’s logic, if they could fight on soaked canvas in the rain, than anything else should be cake. Finally, they decided to stop, reaching for a bottle of Gatorade and trying to catch their breath and make their heart stop racing so fast. They could feel a buzz through their whole body, a hum of adrenaline even though the rest of them was sore. Good, that sort of thing would keep them going later. Drinking deeply, they wiped their mouth on the back of their hand and grinned widely at the man across the ring from her. “Okay. I think I’m ready. Might wanna do that a couple more times before Monday, but yeah. I feel a lot fuckin’ better about this now. Thanks, bud. I couldn’t have done it without you.” Leaning back against the ropes, they looked up skyward, only to get a few fat raindrops smacking into their face. “Remember. Don’t overlook him. Having that opportunity snatched away from him will either make him hungry or worse. Desperate.” “Oh, trust me, I’m not. If I didn’t think there was somethin’ to this guy I wouldn’t be workin’ this hard. Nuh-uh. Like I told you before, I got somethin’ to fuckin’ prove here. But I’m a goddamn fighter. Nothin’ better than proving my point against another smashmouth scrapper like me.” They shook their head, scattering rainwater. “Hey. I know I’ve already asked a lot outta you today, and trust me, I appreciate it. But… heh. Since you know how to work the camera on my phone, would you mind runnin’ it for me for a bit?” John smiled warmly at them. “Sure.” “Say hey, EWC Faithful! It’s ya boy, Mike McGuire. If you’re missin’ my partner in mayhem, Bishop Church, don’t you worry- he’s a lot closer than you think.” A familiar, gentle voice piped up seemingly out of nowhere. “I’m filming.” Mike chuckled, flashing a huge grin. “So don’t you get any misconceptions, Faithful. NSFW ain’t going nowhere. Unlike, seemingly, the rest of the fucking tag division.” That grin faded off, being replaced by an incredibly annoyed expression. A finger tapped against a rope that’d been taped and re-taped heaven knows how many times. “Seriously, guys. What the hell. You all get kidnapped or something? I mean, me an’ Church are relegated to facing off against makeshift teams, or this week, not even teaming at ALL, because all’a y’all have decided to go fuckin’ AWOL! I mean, as much as I fuckin’ hate Collateral Damage… ugh, I just say their goddamn name and I throw up in my mouth a little bit… I at least have to give them a tiny crumb of kudos because they ACTUALLY FUCKING SHOW UP. Oh. And you know who else decided to appear out of the pit of humiliation they were tossed into? Fuckin’ Bulletproof! Enjoy your participation trophy, you fucking amassment of shitheads. It’s more than the rest of the division gets.” She huffed. “Garcia. How about taking that newly lit fire under your ass and taking us on? If Mucho Grande! wants to take a powder, hey, we’re here chomping at the bit. Get a partner. Don’t get a partner. Fuck, get Noon in there with you, see if that little butterball can throw a punch or two. Yank fucking Bennett off commentary and have him try to fuckin’ bore me to death. Just. Somebody. Freaking DO something.” She closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths, trying to bring herself down a bit. “But this week ain’t about the tag division. This is about me. Now, I don’t know if you knew this about me, Faithful, but this here is gonna be my first single in a looooong time. Like, literally years. I’ve spent my whole run here tagging. This is by choice. I love tagging. It’s fucking fun. But by doing nothing but tagging, I seem to have set the field up for certain… accusations. But not towards me- towards my partner. Now, Church can speak for himself, and has a couple times now on this subject. But since it involves me, I’m going to say my piece. I fight how I want, with or without who I want. I’m nobody’s ‘second option’. I’m nobody’s fucking hanger-on. And anybody who thinks I’m some seething ball of repressed fucking jealousy can come tell me that to my goddamn face.” A fist slammed hard into the opposite open palm. “I don’t single because that’s not what I’m interested in right now. I didn’t ask for this match. But fucking hell, I am going to fight in it. Not just because it’s my job, but because these naysayers need shut the hell up weeks ago. And for that matter? So do whoever’s out there being a patronizing little bitch, wringing their hands and going ‘poor Mike’. I am not being held back. Nothing or no one can do that to me because I wouldn’t fucking allow it. I am not being told to stand to the side, because my partner and best friend would never ask that of me. I am going to prove all of you fucking wrong and I’m going to do it by beating the living jimmies out of Nick James.” Mike looked thoughtful all the sudden, rubbing her chin and looking slightly upward. “So let’s talk about Nick James for a second. I like your style, pal. You love this business almost as much as I do, I can tell. You just love to get in there and fucking fight, and that? That’s awesome. And you know what? You ain’t half bad either. I saw your match with K2 last week, and sure, you lost, but you made a hell of a showing. I ain’t being fuckin’ facetious neither. Real recognizes real, bro.” There was a small nod, a slight sign of respect from one brawler to another. “Problem is, though, you’re an asshole. Which wouldn’t be that remarkable as assholes are a dime a dozen around here lately. But you’re a LAZY fuckin’ asshole. You know why Kross beat you? Because you know how goddamn good you are, and because you know you’re good you think you can fuckin’ coast. You don’t just want to win, you EXPECT to win because you’re so much fuckin’ smarter and better than everybody else. That kind of attitude drives me up the fucking wall like you wouldn’t believe, and I’ll tell you why.” She leaned forward. “Because I had that same rotten fucking attitude once upon a time. I was trained by a fucking literal legend in this business, so I thought I was hot shit. And you know what that got me? A win here and there, and otherwise, fuck all. And you, Mr. Mad Legend or whatever cockimaney bullshit you call yourself, have a wealth of raw talent any member of this roster would kill for, so you think YOU’RE hot shit. And that’s gotten you wins. Against Emma Louise and Grizzly Motherfucking Duggan.” Golf clap. Oh, the sarcasm, you can cut into it with a fork. “Yep. You beat a girl who can’t even be assed to do the tiniest basic fucking research on who she’s facing, and a guy who’s blown more shots than Draco Lazarus blows crackheads in back alleys. Good for you. But a guy like K2, you couldn’t get past that wall on skill alone. Maybe if you’d bothered to work a little harder. I mean, look around you.” Mike gave a small gesture, and the camera swept from left to right before settling back on her. “This ring? Yeah, I know it’s a goddamn eyesore. But it’s mine. It’s sitting in my fucking backyard. I’ve spent all afternoon in this ring, fighting, training, preparing. Preparing to step in those ropes and kick your ass. I’m going to keep doing this as much as I can spare between now and when we have to leave for Hotlanta. And if you’re not working as hard as me, I can promise you, that 1-2 is gonna turn into a 1-3 in a damn hurry.” She nodded. “So you better not fucking dissapoint me, James. You better give me the fight I’m working so hard to prep for. And if you lose? You’ll know why. Cuz I’m Not Slacking on the Fucking Work.” After they finished and cleaned up any Gatorade bottles they had laying around outside, Mike and John went in, cleaned up, and spent the rest of the evening chilling out, eating teriyaki noodles and fried tofu for dinner and then hanging out in the living room. John, naturally, had his nose stuck in a book (he seemed rather happy to have print and paper in his hands again), and Mike was idly flipping through the channels, staying on each a minute or two before clicking past. They rolled their eyes at the sight of a clean-shaven, wizened old man with a quavering, high pitched voice. “Oh. This fucking guy. NEXT.” They’re about to click onward when they catch what the old man is saying. “...a young man who, by turning to Jesus, escaped an unhealthy relationship and an unfulfilling life, despite being on one of the best football teams in America.” The picture did a soft cut to someone Mike thought, and hoped, they would never see again in their entire life. An airy voiced woman was saying things about a troubled past, rowdy college student, abusive relationship, landed in front of a jury. And then something changed his life forever. “You know, I thought I had it all.” He was sitting in a leather recliner, golden retriever at his feet. A nameplate designated him as ‘Steve Archer’, but Mike already knew that. He looked almost exactly as they remembered, the handsome son of a bitch, save some signs of age and his once perfect physique gone slightly to seed. But they’d know him anywhere. Everything else blurred, they could feel color starting to drain from their face, heart pounding damn near into their throat. “Think about it. I was professional football player. Championship caliber team. Believe me, I was making good money. Real good money. And you know what? I thought I was with someone real special. That all fell apart. You think you know someone, right? And then lies get in the way and they just tore me apart. There I was. Fired from a career I’d worked my whole life for. In front of a jury of my peers. I’d let a bad person influence me in ways that got me to that point. My lowest point.” Blurry stock footage of a jury, general courtroom scenes. Somewhere at the edges of Mike’s consciousness they thought they heard John asking them if they were alright, but they couldn’t even move, much less say anything. The narrator explained that Archer had got involved in one volatile relationship after another until it culminated one horrific night where Archer says he had to defend himself against an assault by his girlfriend at the time. The police at the time said otherwise and he was arrested and put on trial for aggravated battery. “I felt I was just seconds away from the end. So at that table, right next to my lawyer, I bowed my head. I clasped my hands. And I gave myself to Jesus. I asked for his forgiveness. I knew … I knew that He died for my sins. All of our sins. I prayed to God. Please help me, Lord. I can be better. I can change. I looked up and opened my eyes. The jury foreman read the verdict. Acquitted of all charges.” Steve wiped a tear from his baby blue eyes, and flashed that winning smile. The narrator resumed speaking, saying that after his pro football career ended, Steve went on to become a youth counselor in his hometown of Boston, advising trouble teens and dispensing advice on how to keep their relationships healthy, both with God and family. “If I could talk to myself from nearly fourteen years ago, I would. He was just drafted. Had the money. The fancy car. Even thought he had the girl. But I would tell him, he didn’t have anything without the grace of God. He was a pretty angry young man despite all of that wealth. So what advice would I give him? Forgiveness. Jesus forgave all those who transgressed upon Him. And I’d say forgive her, too-” Suddenly, the television exploded. The screen shattered and the set sputtered sparks before dying entirely, the victim of a heavy glass ashtray thrown directly into its center. Its flight had been accompanied by a horrible scream, something that was a blend of rage and utter terror. Mike’s eyes were wide, lips parted, breath panting, face ashen. They felt like they were freezing to death and burning alive all at once. Then Mike ran. They ran, yanking something out of the kitchen island junk drawer on their way out the sliding back doors, planting themselves by the backyard shed. The rain fell on relentlessly, patches of mud squishing under their bare feet. Despite the rainfall, they managed to get their lighter ignited, and one by one, smoked their way through the entire remainder of the cigarette pack that’d been untouched for months. They didn’t even realize that they were sobbing harder than they had in as long as they could remember. Once every last cigarette had been smoked down to ash, Mike’s terror and anger was joined by something else just as strong- shame. This wasn’t supposed to hurt anymore. This wasn’t supposed to scare them, HE wasn’t supposed to scare them. Numbly, they slipped into the shed and curled onto the dusty concrete slab beside the lawnmower. It had to have been over an hour before the door opened. Instinctively, they whimpered and pulled back as a large, masculine shadow fell over them, balling up even tighter. They didn’t speak a word, but the message was clear- don’t hurt me. There was a pause, and the figure crouched down to their level. In the dim light, they could see him clearly now. Eyes of a far prettier and gentler blue, an expression of soft concern. Their voice was very small, almost a mouse’s squeak. “...i’m s-sorry i b-broke the tv…” “I didn’t like it much anyway.” They didn’t laugh when they normally might have, but there was a tiny, momentary upward flick at the corner of their mouth, and they sat up, slowly. They kept quiet, though, save for the odd sniffle. “You knew him?” They nodded. There was so much she wanted to tell him. About who Steve was. What he’d done. But it wouldn’t come out of their mouth properly right now. They would have to spit it all out later, they knew. Just not right at this moment. “He was lying. On the show, I mean.” Another nod. “...he was always real f-fuckin’ good at that.” “I know how you feel. I hope you can understand that.” He paused as if he were carefully choosing his words. “I can leave if you would like.” “Please don’t.” Mike said it very quickly, as if, rightly, that was the absolute last thing that they wanted. John, in turn, looked them in the eyes. It was, to Mike’s recollection, the first time he’d ever done so: his gaze to her always seemed to land at their forehead, or just past their shoulder. Anywhere but in their eyes, a direct meeting of sky and emerald. The moment held in silence for a beat or two. He opened his arms and Mike all but collapsed into them, wrapped in the safest warmth they’d ever felt.