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this is not canon to the main timeline. Purely an AU.
What if Bruce wasn't fast enough that night?
Recommended listening: Futile devices/ Metamorphosis / Needle in the hay / Death with dignity
Fic masterlist!
cw: Reader is dead, grief, mentions of addiction, mentions of underage drinking, depressive thoughts,no one is happy bruh. - I DO NOT CONDONE OR SUPPORT ANY UNDERAGE DRINKING OR SMOKING, stay safe stay in school
âI didnât say goodbye⌠I always say goodbye⌠why- why didnât I say it? I wanted to.â your grip on his arm gets weaker. âI know Iâm a bad person⌠but I donât... donât want to dieâ it gets harder and harder to breathe, âI havenât done anything with my life. I thought I had time-â pain like youâve never known shoots up and down your body. You convulse in his arms. Unintelligible sobs fight their way out of your mouth. You nearly choke on them. âI donât wanna die aloneâŚâ your throat tightens up. There is nothing you can do. Your begging doesnât change anything.Â
It isnât painful. There are no fangs in your skin, or daggers in your back. It feels like an apathetic wind. The kind youâd feel when September bleeds into October, and the leaves wither away. Before you know what's happening, the memory brings itself forward.
Youâre seven. It was your first day back to school, and now youâre walking home. The street is alive with community. Neighbours chattering on their front steps, shop keepers nattering with customers. The wind bites your cheeks, so you pull your scarf up. You were so small back then. When you open the door, Mother is there. You canât remember the conversation, but you remember her making you your favourite dinner, and letting you watch whatever you wanted on TV. That was one of her good days.Â
The wind picks up again, brushing against your finger tips and dragging a second memory forward. Ten. Your birthday. A wobbly table set for ten. Two friends showed up. The rest couldnât make it. So they said. The birthday candles flicker as the wind from outside creeps through the window. When theyâve finished singing, you blow out the candles. What did you wish for again? It was either a puppy or a dad.Â
Third. Thirteen. You donât want to remember this one. The fight. The yelling, the screaming, the crying. Sheâs outside your door, screaming at you to get back out there. Youâre begging her to leave you alone. She laughs. She says that no one else would ever let you talk to them the way you talk to her. No one else would ever be as patient with you. No one would ever look after you the way she did. No one would love you more than her.
âYou can hate me all you want. Iâm the only person who will ever love you unconditionally. From the moment you were born I put everything on hold for you. No one else would do that.â
âI never asked you to do that!â you shout back.Â
âYou are so ungrateful- do you know how many kids out there would kill to have what you have? I give you a roof over your head, I give you food, I buy you clothes and school shit- whatever you need, I get it. I take my pay-check, and I give it all to you. But I guess that makes me the worst mother in the world. Iâm the worst mother ever arenât I? I bet you wish I was anyone else.â
âI never said that!â
âI know you think it.â
And you didnât respond. Last time you ever heard her voice.Â
Fourth. sixteen. New years. Youâre alone in the Wayne Manor Garden. In the heart of the maze with your hand wrapped around a bottle neck. While the fireworks leap into the sky and explode tremendously, youâre starting the year as you mean to go on. Drunk, right under your Fatherâs nose. The wind rustles the hedge and the sound of the leaves gets drowned out by the screaming pyrotechnics. Waiting for someone to search for you. Take a look out the window and see you in the ocean of leaves. The search party never comes. You woke up on the dirt ground the next morning.
Lastly, Nineteen. Crying your eyes out in bed. Two weeks ago. Feeling so incredibly low that you think youâll never get up. You arenât quiet. You want someone to hear. Someone, please. Just open the door and come in. Please. Just hold you and lie that everythingâs okay. Find the empty bottles under the bed. Smell the smoke trapped on your clothes. Notice that you havenât opened the curtains in a month. Anything. God please anything. The en-suite window is ajar, and the wind soothes in, brushing against your shaking body. Like a blanket.Â
But then the images fade. You watch them melt away until thereâs nothing left. Like snow in the rain.
Bruce watches your eyes glaze over. The light within them, the light that faltered but never went out, ebbs away. Your jaw goes slack. He roars. Itâs incomprehensible, just a raw, guttural noise. His calloused hands keep trying to lift your head up, but it lulls and rolls limply. You feel so small. Like a doll in the hands of a bear.Â
You were his biggest mistake. Not your existence, no he could never fault you for that. Your downfall was all his fault. For years he passively watched you destroy yourself. He saw his reflection looking back at him, and instead of building you back up he left you. In his mind, if he left, you couldnât get any more broken. But that didnât fix you either. No. No, stop being so noble. He didnât face you because he was a coward. He would have to acknowledge that he did this to you.
âI havenât got school today,â you were hoping heâd catch your drift so you wouldnât have to keep speaking, but the way he cocked his brow told you that wasnât going to happen, âso I was wondering if we could⌠I donât know, uh, maybe spend some time together? I just, I feel like I donât know you. At all. And I want to. I want to know you. And- And I want you to know me, I know youâre busy but I just think that-â
He raised his hand to stop you. All the courage you thought you had died instantly.Â
âIâm afraid I canât.â There had to be more. Surely. That couldnât just be it, right? When he went back to whatever it was you interrupted, your heart sank.Â
Dick feels his feet turn to stone. The little girl who used to tail him like a lost puppy, the one who would always be the first to reach out, that girl who used to look at him like he was made of gold and stardust, was gone. Eyes glass and supposedly unseeing, but he felt as though you were looking right into his soul. Last time he saw you, you were avoiding eye contact
âBut itâs not right now, is it? Itâs all the time.â Dick counters. He didnât take any joy in this, but he couldnât ignore what heâd seen. âSheâs piss-drunk at eleven in the morning, that's not normal. Please tell me thatâs not normal. For Godâs sake she looked half dead when I walked in! She couldnât string two words together! Iâm shocked she managed to walk in a straight line!â
Now you wouldnât look away. It took him back to that fateful day. The first domino that led to this.
When you looked up and faced him, it was like watching a horror movie. Your eyes were wider than the moon and blood trickled down to your chin. He shouted for Alfred and Bruce, whichever came first. Over and over again, you tried to say sorry, but he shushed you and pleaded with you to keep your mouth closed, not wanting any more blood to spill.Â
The red stained your shirt, blooming out with fervour, and unstoppable force. Out of instinct, he tried to put pressure on the wound. It does no good. When his hands reel back, he canât tear his eyes off the blood caked on them.Â
Jason doesnât think. He just does. He marches over to the crumpled form of the shooter and before anyone can say anything, he unloads the clip into his back. Each bullet a lightning strike, sending a deafening wave through the air. It doesnât change anything. But it evens the score. No. No, not really. This guy was a worthless piece of shit, the bottom rung in a corrupt ladder, and you were you. You were that kid who dreamt of escaping Gotham. Who wanted to make new friends, but never seemed to get it. It would take thousands of them dead to even the score. Men like him were a dime a dozen. Cowards whose morals could be bought and sold. But people like you, people who still tried even when all the chips were down, those were hard to find.Â
âI think⌠heâs⌠ashamed⌠of me.â you admitted, pausing to hiccup or take a breath. âAnd⌠I kinda⌠I like, I see why. Cus⌠heâs right. Iâm a screwup.â
Red Hood kept his hand on your shoulder, guiding you along with a grip that felt strong but not overwhelming. âSays who? Youâre gonna let them decide what you are?â. Â
Bruceâs head snaps up. He wants to shout, but he canât open his mouth. Jason storms out of the alley, when he passes Bruce a hollow voice trails out from his mask like smoke on the wind. âThis isnât finished. Weâre going to talk.â His promise lingers after he leaves.Â
He drifts into the night with a gun and a mission.Â
Tim had this nightmare before. One where you did something stupid and killed yourself. Sometimes you fall down the stairs drunk, or youâre face down in a body of water. Whatever the path, youâre dead.
So this must be a dream. Heâs asleep. Heâll wake up and everything will be fine. Youâll be asleep too. Heâll knock on your door and open without waiting for an answer. Heâll bug you till you wake up. Thereâll be a pulse under your skin and breath in your lungs. The breakfast table will be alive with noise. Youâll pester Damian about something silly. Forks scrape against plates, coffee gets slurped, glasses clink against each other.
That limp body isnât yours. Itâs just his mind. His worst fears manifest. Just an image made to torture him. No, it's not you. Youâre alive and well. Maybe not well, but alive. The smell of blood and gunpowder grounds him against his will, dragging him into reality. An anchor bringing him down to the darkest part of the ocean.Â
He shoulders past Dick, pushing the eldest to the side. He wants to do the same to Bruce, but his grip on you is too tight. He doesnât want to hurt you.Â
Everything about you is wrong. Your eyes are way too wide, pupils blown wide open. The pupils are like space, dark, vast and unfeeling. Those eyes used to crinkle at the corners when you laughed over a bad joke, or when you teased him over something trivial. Never maliciously though, no you were better than that. He wanted those eyes to blink, to shift, to do anything but stare ahead.Â
Your mouth hung open, the same way your bedroom door was always slightly ajar. An unspoken open invitation. An SOS message. Say something. Please. Shout, scream, whatever you want.Â
When you were in the room, it was never quiet for long. You could pull a laugh out of him with no effort. Or ramble about some online drama he had never heard of. It wasnât just you talking at him though, you always pulled him into the conversations. It was a gift, truly, you could make anyone feel seen and heard, no matter how trivial the conversation was.Â
Just say anything. Blame him, hate him, please.Â
His hands tremble when he reaches for you. Bruceâs eyes snap up, and his grip on you tightens.Â
Without thinking, Tim spits out âWhat the hell is wrong with you?â His voice is sharp. âYou never held her before, not once. Get off her.âÂ
Timâs normally better than this. More composed. But now everything is upside down and inside out. The blood pouring out of you should be inside. It should be pumping through your veins and keeping you here. Not leaking out onto the filthy ground.Â
âThat's my sister.â He growls, and it apparently gets through to Bruce. His grip loosens but doesnât vanish. Tim kneels to Bruceâs level, and holds you. This wasnât the first time.Â
You pushed his door open slowly and crept in. He didnât look up. Without talking, you sat on the floor next to his bed. Your front faced the door, and your back was in front of him. The memory is cloudy now, you donât know if he asked you to stay, or if you offered, but you remember waking up on the floor with your head on a cushion and a comforter draped over your body.Â
It got a little easier after that. You checked in on him every couple days. Small talk was awkward but you still tried. Eventually, with enough persistence, you managed to get through to him. You met him where he was at. It wasnât instant, it took time, but you got close enough to confide in him. About your fears, your dreams, your Mother.
But it hits him then that this is the last time. He wishes he was still in denial, to believe that you were going to miraculously leap up and everything would be okay.Â
You are dead.Â
Gone.Â
Your last words played in his head over and over again. When did you ever get what you wanted? All you asked for was a home, and you had been given a guest room and a one way ticket to your demise. Resentment simmered in his chest, bubbling against his ribs. It felt boiling.Â
While Tim was mentally spiralling, Damian could only stand there and watch. His feet wouldnât move. He had seen death before. People had died by his hand. Blood wasnât a stranger to him. But everything felt new now.Â
He felt small.Â
You always made him feel small. Just by breathing. When he found out that he wasnât the sole heir, and that his competition was a drunk with nothing to show for herself, he felt confident that he could get you out of the way. But whenever he was around you. he was furious, because it made him feel so small. Despite not having anything going for yourself, you had a warmth and charm he didnât.Â
Now, watching the chaotic scene unfold, he had never felt smaller.Â
This was his fault. He had written your death warrant and performed it for an audience. He wrote that school presentation for Father, to prove that he was superior. To compare and contrast the two of you. He felt he had to prove his superiority.Â
In the storm of discord, he remained still. Dick hovered next to him after being muscled aside by Tim. The eldest kept his hand on the youngest with a terror fueled grip. A tether, a wordless promise that he wouldnât let Damian go into the storm.Â
The night felt never ending. The hospital lights stung, unnaturally bright. They stayed in the waiting room. In their own little bubble in the corner of the room. No one spoke. The air was pregnant with dread.Â
In a few seconds, someone would come out and confirm what they all knew to be true. It was just about waiting.Â
âThe Trust is doing well.â Tim spoke out to the air. It was a bright day, the kind you wouldâve liked. Your headstone was recently polished. Mustâve been Alfred again.
âAnother clinicâs set to open next month. Near Birch street.â He fiddled with the petals of the flowers he had bought you. âI, youâll find this funny, I forgot my words in the middle of the meeting- the one ironing out the opening ceremony details, so I just gave them a bunch of corporate buzzword slop. Ate it up.â His laugh is forced and gravelly.Â
He notices the packet of cigarettes left on the top of your tombstone. Someone kept leaving them no matter how many times they threw them out. It felt gross. Like a cruel joke. He pocketed the packet, still sealed, and made a mental note to bin them as soon as he could.Â
âDamianâs got his med school entrance exams soon. Give him some good luck, yeah? Heâs too proud to ask.â It never got less awkward. It had been three years now, but it still felt stiff. âI havenât spoken to him in a while, but I'm sure heâd appreciate it.â
In the last three years, the family drifted apart. Bruce was slowly driving himself to an early grave, working even harder as Batman. He nailed the trafficking ring shortly after you were taken. But it didnât ease the hole in him.Â
Dick came home more often. Touching base with the others incessantly. It never felt authentic. His guilt and fear was so obvious they could smell it. No one pointed it out, or spoke up about it. It was easier that way.Â
When he thought no one could see him, heâd dip into your room. Just to sit there. He wouldnât touch anything, he didnât dare to. It was a museum to him. Front row seats to an exhibition of the life he never saw. The bottles under the bed. The diary left on the desk. He never opened it. Too afraid of finding his own name in there.Â
Jason doubled down. Not speaking to the others unless absolutely necessary. He came to the funeral at least. Small turnout. A couple of people no one recognised came. Said they were your friends from college. It took everything in him not to lose his cool and lash out at them. What right did they have to saunter in when they were nowhere to be seen when you needed them? His anger was evident in his guarded posture.Â
âI thought Iâd be better at this by now.â He admits. âPeople keep saying âtime heals woundsâ but it's not true. Iâm not healed. Maybe the woundâs closed over but itâs not healed. Itâs like a scar.âÂ
âI keep thinking youâre gonna come back.â
There was a fight the night after ⌠the incident. About the lazarus pit. The idea of bringing you back came up. Tim, driven by grief and desperation, was adamant that it would be okay. He could rehabilitate you, he wouldnât let you become something you didnât recognise. Damian was on his side. The two never saw eye to eye. But you changed them. The other three were vehemently against it.
The fight lasted three hours. It got physical at one point. In the end, you stayed dead. It was kinder that way.Â
âSometimes I come back to the Manor, and when I pass your room I think about knocking. Out of habit, yâknow? I go to ask if youâre okay in there, and it just hits me. It doesnât feel like youâre hereâ. He runs his hand over the stone to make his point. The body under the dirt didnât feel like yours. The coffin six feet under never felt full. But it was.Â
His watch beeped once and he sighed. âI gotta run.â he reluctantly lets go of the flowers and lets them fall onto the ones from yesterday. He isnât sure who left them, his guess is Alfred. He always came to clean your stone. There was a period of time where he couldnât bring himself to confront your grave. But now cleaning the stone had become one of his morning rituals. Often bringing small offerings for you.Â
Y/N Wayne. Beloved sister and daughter.
He always hated that carving. It kept you tied to them, like a branding. You were more than just a sister or daughter. You had dreams, passions. But to the world, you'd only ever be Bruce Wayne's personal failure.
âGoodbye, I love you.âÂ
How are we feeling guys?
So, life has been hectic as hell for me atm. Moved in to the new place, only to have no wifi (wifi order delayed), have a HUGE leak two days ago RIGHT OUTSIDE MY ROOM AT 3 IN THE MORNING- fix the leak myself bcs landlord is away on holiday, and then make the commute back to my hometown to visit family. BUT WE'RE BACK WITH WIFI.
I got a little emotional toward the end bcs I haven't seen my sister in two years and I'm seeing her in 2 days. She moved halfway across the world and I couldn't afford to fly out and visit her, so i was in my 'little sister missing big sister and forcing everyone to suffer' mindset.
Im locking in this summer fr⌠ill hang with friends all the time, ill draw more, ill drink record amounts of beer, ill flirt harder, ill laugh louder, ill eat better .. this summer im about to be lifemaxxing im dead serious
âCelebrating 25 years, makes me look back when I first met Gillian. It was during the casting, I was looking for some matches and she took them out and approached me, just like that, without saying a word.â
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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i'm hoping to do more soon! they actually have a pretty nice variety, specially scully. feel free to reply if you have any suggestions for next ones :D
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Tags fake dating, miscommunication, mutual pinning, idiots in love, suggestive, accidental love confession, hurt/comfort, bit of yearning
based on order #4 & 29 from the event iâm doing
and ty to @lechelovestoyap for looking over this, ilyyy <3
Thereâs something so unsettling about how easily Roy grabs your hand. Itâs not the hesitation of a friend. Or the unease of a stranger. No, his hand swallows yours whole, the cold metal of his rings biting into your skin. And every time someone glances your way, his green eyes narrow.
Itâs so unlike his usual casual demeanor. Youâre used to him cracking a joke every ten minutes.
âMânot the suit type,â he mutters, leaning down to whisper in your ear, his voice rough against the room bathed in gold and shimmer. The gala he forced you into.
âThen whyâd you ask me to come?â you hiss, just as uncomfortable as he is.
Not even Jason attends the galas Bruce hosts, but for some reason, Roy wants to be here. The question nags at the back of your mind, begging to be answered. Why ask you to be his fake date when youâre sure his heart belongs to someone else?
Someone he told Dick was his life.
Youâd heard it a second too early. They hadnât known you were standing there, and before they could notice, youâd scurried away, your heart pounding painfully against your ribs. Ever since then, youâve avoided him like the plague.
âThought weâd try somethinâ new. Dickâs always raving about these things,â he replies easily, tugging you closer.
The we warms your heart despite every reasonable thought.
âYeah? Why drag me along? Donât you have plenty of options?â you grumble, looking away.
If you look at him, really look at him, youâll lose all restraint. The way strands of ginger hair stick out despite his effort. The sharp line of his jaw. The broad set of his shoulders under the suit. You want to trace your fingers along him, memorize the shape of him.
Youâre so not ready for that.
But it happens anyway when his thumb brushes over your knuckles. Goosebumps erupt across your skin.
âWell, baby, youâre the only one whoâd go along with it,â he jokes.
You pull your hand away like youâve been burned. The words hit you harder than they should. It should have been gentler, after all you'd known. Yet you can feel the walls pressing in, his warmth slowly suffocating you.
You let out a quiet laugh because otherwise youâre sure youâll cry. âWow. I feel so special.â Your voice is sharp and bitter.Â
He reaches for you again, his hand hovering midair before stopping. âThatâs notââ
âIâm convenient, is that it, Roy?â You turn to face him fully. His brows lift in surprise, and a few nearby guests glance over, already whispering.
âTroubleââ
âDonât call me that,â you whisper yell. âAnd donât act like youâre not just using me to get what you want.â
His hands settle on your shoulders, steadier now. He doesn't argue.Â
Instead, he quietly ushers you toward an empty room. The murmurs follow. Across the hall, Dick shoots Roy a look before flashing you an overly bright smile.
When youâre finally alone, the silence feels heavy, and you glance at him, knowing you shouldn't.Â
He looks unfairly good. The suit hugs his broad shoulders, his tie slightly loosened like he canât stand feeling restrained. He runs a hand through his hair, making it messier, and you long to reach up and smooth it back into place.
âWhat I meant,â he says slowly, like heâs handling something explosive, âis that youâre the only one I trust.â
âYouâve got plenty of people,â you reply
âYouâve got Dick. Youâve gotââ You swallow. âWhoeverâs your life.â
âYou,â he says immediately, brows furrowing. âIâve got you.â
Youâre in love with an idiot. That has to be it.
âWe arenât actually together.â
He throws his hands up. âYou mentioned Dick and meâand him and I arenât together.â
âThatâs different, and you know it!â
âWhat the hellâs gotten into you today?!â He crowds you enough that youâre forced to look up, his eyes boring into your own, jaw clenched with frustration. His hands come down to your hips, pulling you closer.
Your throat bobs, the fire being doused by whatever heâs doing.
He seems to realise it too and swears under his breath, trying to take a step back, but you don't let him.Â
Filled with need and desperation, you grab his tie and pull him until your lips hover over his. You give him a moment to stop you, but when his eyes widen, and his large hands slide up to your waist, you kiss him.
He doesnât waste time, his lips moving against yours, fast and hungry, like he wants to devour you too. The taste of him is smoky and minty, and you gasp when he grinds against you.Â
He mutters your name every time he pulls away for air, as if he canât bear a single second of not being fully consumed by you.
âRoy,â you whisper, eyes fluttering closed when his lips move over your neck, his nose brushing the sensitive curve there.
His heartbeat thuds so closely you can feel your own in sync with his. âFuck, I love you,â he groans against your jaw, pressing tiny kisses there.
You still. And he feels the exact moment your heart stutters.
"Shitâm'sorry."
"Why're you apologising?" you ask.
He looks away. "Thought you hated me or something."Â
"Wish I could," you mutter, softly. But even that softness didn't stop the wounded look on his face. His hands fall against his sides.
"Yeah? How'd I fuck up this time?" He gives you a wry smile, leaning his head down close to you.Â
"Well, can you even be in love with two people at the same time?"
âAlright, thatâs enough,â he says, voice rough. âWhateverâs going on in that head of yours, spit it out. Cause this is the second time tonight youâve said something, and I havenât got a clue what you mean."
Your cheeks heat up. "You called someone your lifeâŚI'm guessing you love them," your words came out slowly as embarrassment crept over you. Nothing like his own confession earlier, but this meant you cared.
Understanding passes through his face, and his lips tug upwards. "You were jealous."
"Roy."
"You were so jealous over aâ
You glare. "Roy."
"âkid," he finishes.
You peer at him. "Sorry, what?"
"I was talkin' 'bout Lian." He explains, his previous emotions wiped away by a cocky look.
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh." He snickers and then leans in to kiss your jaw, then the bridge of your nose.Â
"There's no one else I'm in love with, baby," he whispers, then kisses your lips while you were too caught up in your revelation.Â
You put your hands on his chest, stopping him.
"Wait, so why ask me to be your fake date to a gala?"Â
He shrugs. "Wanted to be with you in any way I could," his fingers brush your hair back, then go to cup your jaw.Â
"Guessing you love me too?" he asks.
You stay silent, feeling like you are drowning in a sea of emotions. His eyes search yours.
Finally, you whisper, âYeah⌠I do.â
âKnew it,â he mutters, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead before letting his lips find yours again.
"No, you didn't, you thought I hated you," you mumble against his lips.
He doesnât answer, but when his hands slide under your thighs, and you wrap your legs around his waist as he kisses you, it says everything you need to know.
Summary: on a bad night, Roy picks you up to have a smoke and take your mind off of things
Content/CW -> smoking, nicotine use, just slice of life tbh
froggi yaps -> lowk wasn't feeling well tonight & wasn't gonna post but this just came to me while watching buffy <3 hopefully it's somewhat cohesive
The sound of the lighter sparking to life is music to your ears. You lean against the side of Royâs car, watching the sparks fly from under his thumb as he tries to get it to light.Â
âAh, shit,â he curses when the cold night air snuffs it out once again.Â
Cigarette pressed between your lips, you canât help but smile just a little.Â
When youâd first called him twenty minutes ago, youâd been a complete mess. Crying, dressed in yesterdayâs sweatpants, moaning to him about your problems.Â
You hadnât even wanted to leave the house, but with the promise of a fresh pack of darts and a joyride around the city, you couldnât possibly resist.Â
Finally, Roy manages to get a solid flame going, the orange light casting shadows over his face like sunlight. Heâs pretty like thisâpretty all the timeâbut especially with flames dancing in front of him.Â
You lean in, Roy cupping a gentle hand over your face and bringing the lighter to the end of your cigarette. You inhale, the end turns amber and the sweet taste of nicotine fills your mouth.Â
You cock your head back and sigh in relief. âThank you.â
Roy joins you in leaning against his car, the side of his shoulder brushing yours. âAnything for you.â
The stars glimmer over head, Roy having drove the two of you far enough out of the city to actually make out the lights.Â
Another puff of smoke and you find the tension in your shoulders easing.Â
âFeeling any better?â He asks.
âFelt better the minute I got in the car,â you admit.Â
Royâs suddenly grateful for the darkness, if only so you canât see the way his face is hearing up. He hums in acknowledgement, jabbing a thick finger up towards the starry sky.Â
âIs that the big dipper?â
You squint, waving away another murky cloud of smoke. âWhich one?â
He grabs your hand, pointing your own finger up towards the constellation. You close one eye, trying to focus.Â
âThat one, right there.â
You laugh slightly, âI donât think so, thatâs a circle.â
âIs it not a circle?â
Your slight laughter turns into full on giggling, the sound falling easily from your lips. Roy laughs with you, albeit quieter so he can hear you better. He thinks, if only for a moment, that it might be his favorite sound in the whole world.Â
You finish off your cigarette, dropping the butt to the ground and snuffing it out beneath your foot. âReady to go?â
Roy nods, and you pluck the butt off the ground and run it over to a nearby trash bin.Â
Getting back into the passenger seat of his car, the heat is on and quiet music is playing. You lay back against his seat, head turned on your side so you can face him.Â
Heâs drumming a beat on the steering wheel, nodding his head along in concentration. He hasnât put the car in gear yet, too focused on his song.Â
Your heart flutters at the sight.Â
âRoy?â You ask before you register what youâre doing.Â
âHm?â
âCan Iâcan you kiss me?â
And he pauses then, a lull in the beat heâd been mimicking. âRight now?â
You shake your head and a goofy sort of smile falls over his face. He nods, just once, and then heâs leaning in, cupping your face the way he does when he lights your cigarettes.Â
His lips are soft on yours, the lingering taste of smoke and spice and something sweet on his mouth. You lean into him, give yourself to him, falling the rhythm he makes with his mouth.Â
He pulls away, still smiling, âcome home with me?â
You nod.Â
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thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /á > Ë <ă âËâšâĄ
btw it's so fucking stupid you can be anxious physically in your body even after you've decided mentally you don't care. I'm supposed to be in charge here
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Thinking about the time when I was really mentally unwell and I would just sit in my bed and listen to an eight hour version of the shire theme from the lord of the rings movie every single day