A/N: Logged on in the first time in forever and finished a draft.
Pairing: Trevor Collins x Reader
Description: I’m looking for baggage that goes with mine...I should tell you (I really don’t know how to put an actual description to this besides the two song lyrics)
Inspired by I Should Tell You from Rent
You stormed out of the restaurant and wrapped your coat around you.
“(Y/N), wait!” You kept walking as someone jogged up to you. “(Y/N), just-”
“Just what, Trevor?” you asked as you stopped in your tracks. “Did I do something wrong?”
“What do you mean?” You scoffed and continued you walk to God-knows-where. “(Y/N), what are you talking about?” he inquired as he caught up to you.
“Oh, you know, just the fact that you invited me to a company party only to ignore me all night long,” you argued. “Look, I get it if you’re not ready for a serious relationship, but that’s a pretty shitty thing to do to someone.” He grabbed your wrist and turned you around. “What?”
“I know,” he sighed. “I know what I did was shitty, and it’s no excuse. All tonight I’ve been trying. I swear. It’s just that...I’ve got a lot of baggage.”
“So does everyone else!” You took a deep breath. “Including me,” you added on. His eyes softened as he loosened his grip on you. Your gaze switched from him to the ground. “Life’s too short to waste any moment on dwelling on it.”
“Well, what’s your baggage?” he questioned.
“Why? It’s not like you care anyways,” you snorted.
He raised an eyebrow at you. “But what if I do?”
You shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe then I would tell you that I have shit luck when it comes to love.”
His hand slid down from your wrist to your hand, and he intertwined your fingers. He took a step closer. “What else?” You ran a hand through your hair and shook your head. “(Y/N), what do you mean by that?” he asked. “Because so far, you sound like every other 20-something-year-old.” You rolled your eyes at his statement. “Look, I’m not perfect, but at least I’m trying.”
“Are you really though? Because from what I’ve seen, you left me to fend for myself,” you told him. “You can’t expect me to tell you my fucked up life in exchange for you to feel better about yourself.” You pulled your hand away. “That’s not how this works.”
“Then what do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know!” you screamed. He flinched and took a step back. “I’m just looking for baggage that goes with mine, okay?”
“(Y/N), I-”
“Save it,” you interrupted. “It’s clear that you’re not willing to share.” You turned around and started to walk.
“Wait,” he called out. “I should tell you that I’m a disaster.” You stopped in your tracks. “I have a whole story that I’ve never told anyone.
You sighed and turned around. “You have one minute.” He grabbed your hand and took you to a nearby bench.
After a few moments of silence, he finally spoke. “It’s been a while since I’ve had to go over my story,” he admitted. “I forget how to begin it.”
“You have thirty seconds left, and I have yet to be in it,” you attempted to joke in order to help him feel a bit more comfortable. “If it makes you feel any better, that night when our apartment complex had a power outage, I blew the candle out just so I could get back in.“
He chuckled. “Well up until your candle burned my skin, I had forgotten how to smile.” You cracked a small smile. “If I’m being completely honest, I’m still trying to get to a place where I can trust someone,” he said.
“And if it’s anything to you, I’m still learning to trust people too,” you confessed. “What made you stop trusting people?”
“Just...my last girlfriend cheated on me,” he told you. “What about you?
“Every single person I’ve met essentially used me to either get to someone else or just for a good fuck.” He took your hand in his and squeezed it tight. “It’s sorta hard believing someone actually wants something real with you when everything before that has been so shitty.”
He took a deep breath. “(Y/N), I want you to know I’d never use you like that.”
“Trevor,” you sighed.
“I mean it,” he reiterated. “I would never hurt you.
The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes. You find yourself looking out onto the street in front of you.
Soon enough, you both turned toward each other and said, “I should tell you-”
You bit your lip as he motioned toward you. “You first,” he said.
“It’s just, I like where this is going,” you breathed out, “but I’m afraid to fall.”
“Even if you know I’ll be there to catch you?”
You shook your head. “You’re missing the point. I’m afraid because I don’t know if you’ll be there to catch me,” you told him. “I just...Trevor-”
“(Y/N),” he interjected. “I won’t let you crash and hit the ground. We’ll never know where this goes unless we try though.”
You cocked your head to the side. “What are you saying?”
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Lumberjack AU
Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader
WC: 3500+
Date posted: 25 Nov 2018
“Are you sure you guys don’t need our help?” Trevor asks for what feels like the hundredth time, shuffling his feet and shrugging on a thick black trenchcoat. Fiddling with the sleeves, he casts glance to his girlfriend that makes it undeniably clear that he doesn’t intend on offering his time to the cause. The quirk of an eyebrow challenges her disapproval.
Lauren gives him yet another exacerbated look, taking the challenge in her stride. Hands on her hips, she serves him a look that would have you wincing if you were on the receiving end. Trevor doesn’t shrink away, rather enjoying himself. “Don’t even think about leaving, asshole. We need you here.”
Alfredo nods, looking as though he understands what you’re saying until he opens his mouth. “Well, if you insist.” He readjusts his sweatshirt, making sure his neck is completely engulfed by his red scarf. He hits you with a cheeky grin, lips hidden beneath the fabric. “But don’t pretend like we didn’t offer.”
“You didn’t offer!” you reject vehemently, “and you’re not even listening to us!”
Trevor looks offended, scoffing at the prospect while latching on to Alfredo’s arm - who’s equally insulted - and yanking open the door. “How dare you? We’re going to the tavern, you funky witch bitches, where our talents are appreciated.”
“They’re appreciated here,” wails Lauren, motioning to the sheer size of the task that’ll take over the night.
“Nope, we can tell when we’re not welcome,” interjects Alfredo, clutching his chest and pulling a pained expression. “C’mon Treyco, let’s get outta here.”
Trevor nods firmly, turning on his heels and storming out into the snow, yelping as the cold settles across his skin. Alfredo suddenly looks a lot more apprehensive, taking a moment before following with a hollar, “We’ll drink drink your share, don’t worry!”
“Oh really?” You laugh, watching them traipse through the garden on unsteady feet, wobbling with every hole they slip into. Knees hitting the ground, forcing laughter from their lungs and smiles across their faces. “What a generous offer!”
“You fucking know it!” yells Trevor heroically, beaming back to the lodge, “don’t forget the sacrifices we’ve made here today!”
“Welp, they’re gone and I hate you.” Lauren’s voice doesn’t waver, certain in her statement as she closes the door after a moment, your friends having been swallowed in the night. “I hate you so damn much, Y/N. Do you have any idea how hard it was to carry all this shit back from the library?”
You smile, settling in the firelight cast across the livingroom floor, tea warm against your fingertips. “You made it home though, didn’t you?”
Lauren follows your lead, sighing into her seat. “Barely,” she snorts, “I nearly died.”
“Really?”
“Not at all. Right, where do you wanna start?” She motions to the left of you, battered books clinging to life and enough dust that your throat burns. “Over there we’ve got the handwritten journal of our ghosty friend, and over there we’ve got town records right the way up to the time her son ran Motbury.” She directs your attention to a collection of binders, surprisingly small in comparison to the amount of information you expected. “Not much, right?”
“Yeah,” you frown, flipping through the closest folder, only to be met with architectural plans and a few lackluster excerpts. You could take better notes in your sleep. “Lots of stuff about how he protected the town… That’s kinda really fucking weird. There’s nothing after that.”
She nods, hand running through her hair before she taps her cheeks a few times, determined to stay awake. It’s only once she’s settled and finished rubbing her eyes that she realises her coffee sits on the counter. She frowns. “And the night just got worse.”
“What are you talking about?”
She motions to her cup, your gaze following the saddened expression she throws across the room. A flick of your wrist sees her mood brighten, concentration burning your palms and static in your fingers while the mug rattles excitedly against the bench. Another smooth motion sees her drink lift, your hand pulling the air like a long string until it reaches you. Across the carpet, threat of spilling mounting to an uncomfortable peak before gently coming to rest in front of Lauren.
She grins, relieved when plucking it from your control and taking a sip. A sigh escapes into its depth, rumbling happily. “Oh yeah, that’s the good shit.”
“You’re welcome.”
She peers over the rim, already brightening. “Your Granddad would be so disappointed. ‘Kids these days and not using their legs! Grumble grumble, I’m so old’.” You cackle, her impression knitting her eyebrows together and flattening her lips into a thin line. The short, sharp jerks of her shoulders punctuate every grouchy exclamation, and a finger jams her glasses up the bridge of her nose so roughly you can practically hear them clatter against her skull. “What next, huh? ‘Back in my day we punched each other for fun. Burnt women at the stake for friend-zoning us’.”
“Stop,” you wheeze, putting your tea down before it can spill. Between laughter she flicks a spark into your cup, contents steaming once again. “Granddad was so old.”
“He knew Jesus, right?”
“He probably cursed Jesus for trespassing on the footpaths. That old fucker was the worst.”
“The worst,” she agrees firmly, snatching at a page and bringing it up to a settling expression. “Speaking of the worst, you got a light?” Lauren asks, straining at the handwriting she attempts to scan for the third time, squinting through her glasses.
“I mean… you got health insurance?”
“In this country?” she scoffs, “hell no, why?”
“Well,” you start, rubbing your hands together, “I could give that light thing another go.”
Her eyes narrow critically, and Lauren shuffles further away. “That crap from the other night? That you scared the bear thing off with?”
“Almost bear, yeah.”
“No,” she rejects, “no no no. You’re gonna fucking shoot me.”
You roll your eyes, offended but completely understanding her lack of faith. “C’mon, it’ll be fine.”
It takes her a moment to reply, but she doesn’t seem any more convinced. “Have you been practicing?”
Your slow response doesn’t fill her with confidence, her groan ruining your attempts to get her on side. “Nope. This’ll be a great time to practice.”
“I’m going to die,” she laments, slipping further in her seat.
“You’re not going to die.”
“Yes I am, oh god. This is it. This is the end…” She sits back up, beaming eagerly. “Well, go on then. Least I’ll die cool.”
“Gimme a fucking minute, I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. In your own time, but soon cus we’ve got shit to do.”
“Don’t make me curse you out,” you murmur, attention already drifting.
Staring at your hand, tracing the curves of silver scars and lost in the clusters of ink staining your palm like stars across a night sky, you start to remember. It’s small at first, the feeling. Gentle and timid, pinching in your chest. But warm, surprisingly. Nothing like the searing cold that has surged through your fingers and buckled your elbow. Nothing like the freezing desperation that’d seen seen it fountain from your being like a burst damn.
Because you’re not afraid this time.
And why would you be? Clinging to the sheer fact you’ve done this before, on an admittedly larger and uncontrollable scale, is all you need. You can feel it. Like the light is trapped between your ribs, uncertain, but undeniable. Almost like the warmth of the first sip of a hot drink after walking through the snow, comfort pooling in your chest and stretching throughout your limbs. The thick blankets that come along with winter, or the roaring of a well established fire.
“You’re glowing.”
Glancing up, Lauren is watching you attentively. Eyes glued to your shoulders, her expression caught in the moonlight emanating from your skin. You smile, and airy laugh accompanying your excitement. “I can’t believe this.”
“You’re a night light.”
“Does it help?” you ask, shuffling closer to her to ward off the shadows the night is chasing across the documents.
She nods. “A little.”
The motion happens before you realise you’re doing it, focusing on the redirection of the light. It burns as it follows the lines of your veins, stinging at the wrist before it glows so brightly in your hand that you’re left squinting. A quick flick of your fingers disperses the light, scattering it towards the ceiling where it clings to the air. Suspended and glittering like stars caught by the roof.
“How about that?”
“I - holy fuck! Y/N, this is amazing! You know what we should do?” You can’t quite tear your attention away from the small balls of light, questioning her logic through numb lips. “We should order dinner!”
You rock back, your smile so broad your cheeks hurts. “Fuck yes we should.”
“Can I get HSP?”
“Nope.”
She slumps, groaning in a lackluster flail of limbs. “Ugh. What even is life?”
Tossing a journal at her, you grin. “I’m fucking kidding! Do you really think I’d live somewhere without HSP? I’m not a monster!”
“I want wine.”
“We can get wine.”
She thinks for a moment. “And whiskey.”
“And whiskey.”
-
“Looks like Ryan was right,” Lauren says eventually, feeling no need to hide her disappointment. She slumps in her seat, head resting on the couch while she shares her grievances with the ceiling. “We haven't learnt anything new. Gotta admit, your lumberjack lover is thorough. You and Michael may have figured out that the story is linked to all this, but this Turner person is useless.”
The weight on your shoulders grows heavier, anxiousness scratching against your ribs. Frustration clinging to the hair your force from your face, scalp lined with the effort to sooth yourself. A swig of whiskey doesn’t help. “There has to be something, Lol, there’s a truth to every story somewhere. We can't just give up.”
She bristles through a sip from her glass, though barely. “There's only so many times we can read about some woman and her rambling tea habits. I mean, fuck, who drinks this sort of shit?”
“I do,” you reply, offended and rosy cheeked.
“You're the only one.”
Then it hits you, knocking the air from your lungs with enough force that, if you were standing, you'd buckle into the realisation. Lauren sees the shift, watching the energy that had been draped across your shoulders dissipate. Breaking away and fracturing into golden shards as you rock onto your knees.
You're eager, enough to have her waking up from the sleepy alcohol stupor she's almost ready to let take her. “You're right, that's it!”
“What’s it?”
“The tea - the bloody tea thing! You said that I'm the only one that drinks that sort of shit.”
Her brow furrows, struggling to follow as you start rifling through the pile of information. “You and Turner, yeah.”
You emerge beaming, clutching the journal Lauren had tossed aside in disgust. “And what did you mean by shit?”
“What?”
“Type of tea, Lol. What makes up the tea?”
“Herbs and weird flowers and that kinda gross stuff.”
You nod, not even bothering to correct her on the subtle act of tea making, or calling out her strict reliance on camomile or sugarless coffee. Instead you're smiling, flipping through the pages. “Why?”
“Why what?” She pulls a face. “I swear I am going to kill you. It’s too late for this shit.”
“Why do I use those ingredients?”
“Cus they're fucking awful and you hate yourself? C’mon, Y/N. Just tell me!”
Fingers drum against the file, incessant while you stare. When she doesn’t respond your eyes roll. “Witches drink tea.”
Lauren’s face goes blank, eyes widening and eyebrows disappearing beneath her unruly bangs. Her mouth opens with a small pop, hands starting to flap as excitement sees her bouncing. “Witches drink tea!”
You smack the folder to punctuate the point, rocketing to your knees and shuffling over to her as fast as you can. Thrusting your file under her nose, you tap at the margin lined with tea recipes. “Exactly! Witches drink tea. This is the type of stuff I drink when I’m feeling paranoid.” You pull it back, flipping through the pages. “Look, she’s got teas for calming, teas for sleep, teas for cleansing, teas for all emotional healing-”
“That’s crazy!” Lauren exclaims, yanking the closest free journal over and scanning for herself. “The tea shit is everywhere.” She snaps the book shut, moving on to another that’s exactly the same. “Holy fuck.”
“Ugh, I can’t believe it’s taken us this long to figure that out. It all looked normal to me,” you manage, lowering the text into your lap and sitting back down, fingers tangled in your hair while you stare out the window. The cold screams back, faint whispers of snow caught in the lights glowing outside. “It’s kinda sorta really fucking weird. You reckon she was a proper witch, or that she was just really good with tea?”
Lauren makes a weird noise, shrugging. “I dunno, I’m going with no, though? Tradition carries a lot of weight, and recipes and tea properties are used by people without magic all the time. Turner hasn’t done anything remotely witchy that I’ve noticed. Shame the son didn’t keep any journals. There’s nothing from him in this pile. You’d have thought that if your mum was actually a witch you’d want to write some cool stuff down.”
“Moira was incredibly thorough... Her whole life up until her disappearance is here. All we’ve got on the son - oh god, what’s his name?”
“We don’t have a name.”
“Great,” you groan, “brilliant. Fucking fantastic. All we’ve got on no-name-Turner is stuff from his mum and the other crap from the town plans before it all just stops. There’s not even any mention of markings on doorways and stuff.”
She nods, frustrated and exhausted. “Great. We’ve got tea recipes and a man that just disappeared along with his record keeping skills-”
A loud crash cuts her off, the rattle of a lock and smack of a door knob hitting the wall followed by a quick succession of frantic footsteps pounding down the hall. But it’s nothing in comparison to the roarious laughter. Alfredo and Trevor stumble through the door arm in arm, tripping over their feet and bouncing against the entryway. Silly beams split across their faces when you and Lauren glance up, Alfredo breaking away and collapsing on the couch, somehow managing to shove his hand cheekily across your face in the process. The surprise has your concentration shattering, along with the orbs of light you’d managed to keep strong up until this point. Though the alcohol had seen them lower, most of the light having hovered around your elbows rather than dusting the ceiling as they originally had. They dissipate quickly now, dropping the room into the firelight.
Trevor wastes no time in launching forward, letting his momentum carry him into Lauren’s lap despite her half hearted protests, curling up in her arms and determined not to move. “Hey there baby,” he muses sleepily, lost in the smile she presses to his forehead. “Did you miss me?”
“Miss you?” she laughs, running her fingers through his hair, “not at all.”
“It was actually really nice,” you confirm, leaning against Alfredo’s shoulder, “I haven’t had peace and quiet in a long time.”
“Nahh,” Alfredo groans into the couch cushions, turning to face you. His expression crushes, balling into something so comical that you can’t hold in the sniggers. “You missed us. You always miss us.”
“Shut up,” you groan happily, batting away the hand he uses to mess up your hair. “You shut the hell up Fredo, or I’m kicking your ass to the curb.”
“Fine,” he exclaims, sitting up suddenly, “but we made friends, Y/N. New friends. Better friends. One of them was a cop-”
“A drunk cop!” Trevor chimes in too close to Lauren’s ear, causing her to bite back a wince.
“A drunk cop!” Alfredo agrees, swinging his arm around. “And there was a coffee man with this… this beautiful hair. And a British person! I’ve never seen a British person more English than he was.”
“Made up words,” coos Trevor, flailing in Lauren’s arms, “made up words he did!”
“He did! You know what?” Alfredo glares, the expression not quite holding the same accusations they would if he were in the least bit sober. “I’m gone go stay with Gavin. Ma man will look after me.” He moves to stand, swaying as he swipes one of the journals from the top of a pile, squinting at the spidery writing like he’s forgotten how to read. “Maybe I’ll take him this damn book as some firewood, huh? Huh, Y/N? How’d you like dat? Fucking kick my ass to the curb, you animal. You… wait - what is this? This thing that I’m holding?”
Lauren doesn’t miss a beat, smiling sweetly into his confusion. “Alfredo, that’s a book.”
He blinks hard at her, leaning into the motion and holding his eyes closed and eyebrows together for far too long. “I know what a book is.”
Trevor nods into the crook of Lauren’s neck, nuzzling into her like he’s desperate for warmth. She spares him an unsympathetic pat on the head, giving his hand a firm squeeze. Trevor can’t hide his grin. “Sauce can’t read.”
“I can read!” Alfredo wails dejectedly at his drunk friend, offended. Returning to the page that seems to have insulted him so much, he jabs a finger to it’s margins. “I’m talkin’ bout this crazy chick. She’s as weird as you. Yes, you, Y/N. Look. Look, are you looking? Looky. C’mon, just look! See? She’s does the same crazy shit that you do!”
Only minorly outraged, you press a disgruntled frown to your face. “Crazy shit? Rude.”
He pays you no mind, continuing to sway while he fails to grab your hand - not once, but twice - before pulling you unwillingly to your feet. Gripping his elbow to ensure he doesn’t clatter to the ground, you make sure he’s steady before peering at the passage he keeps indicating too. “Well, look,” Alfredo starts, “this bitch be doin’ these weird ass symbol things that you do.” A clumsy finger drags down the side of the page, gliding over ink splattered and familiar illustrations. “See? You see dat? Look at dat… you looking? Dawg, just look-”
“Yeah,” you reply, cutting him off. “Yeah, I’m looking. I didn’t, wait - how didn’t I notice these? This changes everything.” Your attention breaks away from the page, settling on Lauren. She watches you, equally shocked. “This means that Moira was a witch.”
“Course she was a witch!” reprimands Alfredo, “your lumberjack man even told you it was a witch hunt.”
Lauren scowls, struggling around Trevor until eventually standing. He doesn’t want to follow, but reluctantly does; gripping the couch like a lifeline. “Yeah, but the people in witch hunts weren’t actually witches. They were just poor women that we’re caught up in stupid superstitious bullshit. And Turner didn’t do any of the usual shit people used to accuse witches of.”
“So that means she can’t be a witch?” Trevor questions, paling slightly with the churn of his stomach. “How closed minded.”
Alfredo nods eagerly in agreement. “You two see this shit every day, so course you didn’t recognise it as weird. Us normal fucks don’t. This bitch is a witch!”
A hand you can’t deem to be excited or nervous shifts through your hair, brushing away the exhaustion of a long night. You stare at Alfredo, watching him vibrate proudly. “You’re kidding,” you manage around an incredulous laugh, “we spent hours doing this. Hours! We found the tea thing, but we couldn’t pin that to a witch properly. And then you come stumbling in here and do it in 2 minutes?!”
Lauren grins. “That means I can go to bed!”
Your face falls. “It means we’ve got a lot of stuff to do-”
“Bed!” she reiterates, snatching Trevor’s hand and making her way towards the stairs without a backwards glance. “C’mon, Trev, we’re celebrating.”
Alfredo watches them go, offering a clumsy wave to his friend before turning back to you. He looks awkward, pleading. “Please, I don’t wanna celebrate.”
“Hurtful, but mutual,” you agree. His face brightens in relief. “You want a hot chocolate with marshmallows?”
“Yes!” he exclaims, scampering towards the couch and curling up on the cushions. “By the fire with blankets.”
“Done,” you laugh, collecting a bunch and unfurling them over him, watching his face gleefully reappear from beneath the throws. He’s grinning, cheeks threatening to split. Childhood innocence oozes from the expression, eyes sparkling in the light. “We’ll watch Brooklyn Nine Nine?”
You didn’t think it were possible, but he smiles even wider. Wiggling in his spot, he can’t hold in the excited squeal that follows you into the kitchen, sound lost in the sound of the kettle and clatter of cups. “Y/N, you’re my gurl!”
Smiling, you don’t have to turn around to know that he’s already drifted off to sleep.
A/N: okay, so this has been in the works for a very long time now, as you’ll be able to see once you start reading.
I’ve finally been able to finish it, and now this post limit is prohibiting me from posting it as a whole, so this is the only way I can think of to get this out for you. I hope you enjoy!
———————————————-
You're speechless.
The ending theme song to Always Open fades off, and you stare into your bedroom in stunned silence.
You've just finished listening to episode number six. For the second time. This new installment includes Barbara, Ashley, Mauriel.. And Miles. The man you just so happen to have the BIGGEST crush on.
Actually, let's be real, 'crush' is an understatement of the feelings you have for the man.
And hearing that Miles would be in episode 6 of Always Open, you were instantly excited to listen to it. Though, it's been released to the public for two days, and you finally have a day off and can sit down and actually listen to it. You listened to it twice.
And now that it's over, your body is overly warm, and your breath has grown heavy, ever since the first segment of the show, My First Time.
You want to personally thank the person who asked about their kinks.
You know Miles fairly well, you're good friends, but you have never had the nerve to ask what his kinks are. Though, you were desperately curious.
Miles is the second one to answer the question, just behind Barbara.
"I like to dominate."
As the words leave his mouth, an instant list of possible scenarios pass through your brain, and your cheeks grow hot, and your lips go dry.
You, personally, like to dominate, as well. As a woman, that's not seen or heard about often. But hearing that Miles has the same kink, you find yourself wanting to submit to him, which surprises you. You find yourself wanting Miles to dominate you and your body, the idea gets you hot and bothered.
Hearing him speak at length about what he likes and what turns him on, is making you see him in a whole new light, and you are greatly enjoying the new light.
You listen to the whole podcast intently the first time. But when it plays a second time, you let your imagination run wild with the new Miles. And boy, does it run.
You end up laying in the center of your bed, spread eagle, vibrator in your hands, relieving your...tension.
Though, before you can finish, there's a rapping on your front door.
You jump straight up, your heart thumping wildly in your chest.
You hurriedly hop into your bathrobe and rush down the stairs, confused. You aren't expecting company, so you don't know who it could be.
Though, you look through the peephole, and your heart stops in an instant.
Miles.
You still completely, and you are unable to move to open the door.
Your eyes are trained on him as he stands outside your door, looking tense.
It is a common occurrence that he comes over to see you when he's stressed out, because you, for some reason, have a calming effect on him.
But now, being worked up over him, and knowing what you were just doing, you find yourself not knowing what to do.
About a minute passes before Miles knocks on the door again. He calls out to you, "Y/N, come on, open up! I know you're home, your car's outside, lemme in! Please?"
His voice pulls you out of your stillness, and your hand is shaking as it reaches for the doorknob.
It's fine, you tell yourself. It's Miles. He is your friend. You don't have anything to worry about. Relax.
You force yourself to take a deep breath, then two, then three.
You open the door, and are met with Miles, in mid knock. He doesn't waste a moment, as he steps into your home, pulling you into his arms.
He always greets you with a hug, and the sudden contact almost makes you gasp, but you catch yourself just in time. You return his hug, and he slowly pulls away after a few moments.
"What's up, Miles?" You ask casually, trying to slow down your racing heart.
He sighs, "I'm just.. Ugh. Stress, ya know? Stress. And you know what I do when I'm stressed?"
You smile, "you come see me."
The smile he returns is boyish and charming, "damn right. So what are you up to tonight?"
The flashback of you laying in your bed, squirming in pleasure and whimpering Miles' name under your breath passes through your head, and you quickly clear your throat, pushing the thought from your head, as you give him a little white lie, "not much, I was just about to make some food and watch a movie."
He nods in silence, "cool, cool. Do you mind if I join you?"
You nod in return with a soft smile, "of course not, Miles. Make yourself at home."
He smiles in thanks and moves to sit on your couch, slipping off his shoes along the way. You walk into the kitchen and search through your refrigerator for something to focus on. The atmosphere you have with Miles is usually comfortable, but now it's a bit odd. Though, you know that is fully because of what you had been doing before he arrived. As well as the very inappropriate things you've been thinking about Miles since you listened to Always Open.
Oh, the things you'd like to do to him.--Oh, pardon me, I mean the things you'd like HIM to do to YOU.
Well.. both.
The silence between you is growing uncomfortable for you, and in a stupid attempt to make conversation, the words come out of your mouth before you can stop them.
"So, Miles, I listened to Always Open earlier."
He gives a soft laugh, "yeah? How was it?"
You settle on an apple, and bring it with you to the living room as you settle into the couch beside him. You laugh in return, "I did not expect to hear about your kinks when I started listening, that is for damn sure."
He laughs louder, "sorry, I couldn't not answer the question."
You giggle and wave him off, "no, no, it doesn't bother me any. It's pretty hot, I'm not gonna lie."
You see him jump in surprise, and his eyebrows shoot up. He hums, "oh, really?"
You simply nod, and a smirk crosses his face. He says, "well, you know my kinks. Now, I'm curious about yours. Why don't you clue me in?"
He looks at you with a curious look in his eye, and you adore it. You laugh and nod, "alright, that's fair," you clear your throat before speaking again, "well.. I like to be in control, too, most of the time.."
"Most of the time, huh?" He asks, "what are your exceptions?"
You think for a moment, "honestly, if I'm gonna give up my control, and place my pleasure in the hands of someone else, I have to really trust them. Like.. If they do something I don't like, and I tell them to stop, I gotta know that they will immediately stop. I need to know that my pleasure will be in good hands, ya know?"
“You’re afraid that you’ll lose me in big crowds so you always hold my hand but now you just hold my hand when there’s only, like, five people around and I’m getting vry suspicious” with Adam Kovic mayhaps bc he is a kind giant
The RTX after-party was bigger than you’d expected, with people crowding the small area, and you soon found yourself nearly lost in the sea of bodies.
“There you are!” You feel a hand grab yours and turn, sighing in relief that Adam found you. “I was beginning to think you either didn’t show up or you were lost in here somewhere.”
“It was very nearly that second one there for a minute.” You tell him. You grasp his hand a bit tighter as he leads you to the back corner. As you get closer, you can see the Willems, the Joneses, and Geoff all huddled around one table.
“Ay, Y/N!” James greets you cheerfully.
“We already grabbed you a drink!” Lindsay says, passing the glass to you.
“Ooooh, thanks.” You take it happily with your free hand and immediately sip at it. It’s sweet and a little tangy, but good. Adam picks up what you assume is his drink from before his search for you, but his other hand keeps a firm (but gentle) grasp on yours.
You all continue to chat, with people coming up occasionally to say hello and meet everyone. Over the course of the night, Adam did finally drop your hand, but he made sure you stuck close anyway. When you finally decided to leave, Adam decided to go with you. You said goodbye to the Willems, the only ones to have stayed the full night, before working your way outside.
“Hey, it’s this way.” Adam leans down to say so you could hear him. He grabs your hand again and leads you outside, where you both sigh in relief and grin at each other.
“Oh, um, excuse me?” You turn and there’s a young guy standing to the side. He pushes the hair out of his face and grins nervously at the two of you. “Could, um, could I get a picture with y’all?”
“Sure, I don’t mind.” You agree and Adam shrugs, no argument. After snapping the picture, Adam is immediately by your side again, your hand in his. You can tell he’s getting tired.
“Thanks so much.” The guy grins at you then eyes where your hands are entwined. “So, it’s true, huh? That y’all are dating?”
“What?” You ask.
“Sure.” Adam says. You look up at him in surprise, but play it off in front of the stranger. He finally says bye and heads back inside the party so you and Adam walk to the parking lot.
“We’re dating, huh?” You asking, waving your hands around. Adam blushes a bit and drops your hand.
“I really just wanted to leave as soon as possible.” He explains.
“It’ll be all over Twitter by morning.” You point out, reaching out to grab his hand again as you near your car. “Oh, god, I can’t drive, I had drinks.”
“I’ll take you back to the hotel, I stuck to nonalcoholic tonight.” Adam says, tugging you towards his car now. “And it’ll just be another rumor, same as always.”
“Except that dude will think you were being for real and no one is gonna think you lied to a fan.” You argue.
“I’ll worry about it tomorrow.” Adam says, exhausted and drained and obviously tired of dealing with a lot of people.
“Or! You can take me on a breakfast date tomorrow! Then it wouldn’t be a lie and I could finally get you to go on a date with me.” You say cheerfully, swinging your held hands between the two of you. Adam is quiet for a long moment before he speaks up.
Can I see some "I'm way too drunk to be driving, so I was gonna walk home - stay on the phone with me, okay?" Prompt With Adam Kovic? But any Funhaus member is good too (:
You held your phone in your shaky hands, typing a number and placing it to your ear. It rang and rang until a voice finally answers -- and it wasn’t a taxi like you had thought.
“Y/N? What’s wrong, is everything okay?” The voice of your best friend caught your attention. “Uhh yeah. I’m way too drunk to be driving, so I was gonna walk home - stay on the phone with me, okay?” You stuttered, carefully watching your step, giggling as you took a stride over a crack in the concrete path.
“Oh yeah sure. So how was it?”
“It was okay to say the least, Y/BFF/N got really drunk and shit went down. It was a good night but my head kinda hurts from the music,” You complain, instinctively covering your other ear with your free hand. “Ahh good ol’ Y/BFF/N. Are you sure you’re okay -- where are you?”
“I’m uhh -- “ You pause a look around for any street sign or really anything that could tell you where the fuck you were but nothing seemed familiar, in fact you started to feel your chest grow tight and tears begin to sting your eyes as they welled up.
“I-I don’t know where I am Adam... h-help,” You blubber, breaking down in a rack of tears. You were going to die out here. Die. In the middle of absolute no-where.
“Y/N, stay with me okay? I’ll come and find you,”
You nod, “O-okay,”
Your heard the sound of a car starting up and Adam muttering “fuck fuck” over and over again as the tears kept pouring down your cheeks. Your makeup smudged and you probably looked like a complete wreck but hey, at least you wore a cute outfit.
You sniffle and look up as a black car parks in front of you. Your first instinct was to crawl backwards. The door slammed shut and you saw a figure approach you, you open your mouth to scream --
“Y/N, hey, it’s me.”
You felt Adam’s arms wrap around you and carry you to the car, he made sure you were buckled in before he went back to the driver side. “I’m so sorry Adam, I-I..”
“Hey, shh. You’re safe now and you’re coming back to mine for the night.” You could feel a faint smile creep up on your lips, you stretch your arm over to Adam and start playing with his hair. It felt natural to you.
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Lumberjack AU
Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader
WC: 1600+
Date posted: 4 Nov 2018
“You guys gonna be alright finding your own way home?”
Lauren makes a noise on the other end of the phone, offended that you’d question her lacking sense of direction and desire for adventure. “Of course we will. If not, I know where the pub is.”
“At least you won’t starve out in the wilderness.”
“Excuse me?” Lauren laughs, the sound of snow crunching underfoot soft beneath her teasing. “Have you actually seen this place? There’s a bakery or coffee shop on every corner. I’m going to eat myself sick.”
“I have noticed, and it’s glorious. Oh, before I forget.” Your foot hits the cobblestone lining the town centre, gaze barely managing to focus on the three figures you assume to be your friends going the opposite direction of home. Lifting a hand, you wave. “Look to your right - no, other right. Hey. Hey, it’s me. So, tomorrow night I’m thinking of having Ryan over for dinner, if that’s all good by you guys?”
“Hold up a minute, bitch. Is this why you’re fucking glowing?”
“Glowing?”
Lauren gasps, loud enough for you to hear her across the expanse of the town. She jabs an accusatory finger at you, and you can almost see her glaring. “You’re lit up like a fucking Christmas tree, Y/N. The only reason for you being so happy-”
“- because I’m not allowed to be happy?”
“- is because something’s happened between you and lover lumberjack! Talk, right now. Or I’m jogging over there.”
You take a step back, testing the distant yellow figure. “You wouldn’t run.”
“You wanna go?”
-
Despite her threats, Lauren hadn’t pursued you further than the fountain. Trevor had managed to swoop in and stop the yelling, lifting her in his arms until her shouting redirects to him. He’d implored that you keep running, that he’d sacrifice himself for your life, and you’d taken him on it. Jogging most of the way to the police station until the laughter had faded and your lungs burn, throat raw with fresh air and giggles.
“Are you dying?” Michael’s voice makes you jump, whirling on him halfway through the station entrance with a tray of coffee cups. “Cus if not, I could use a hand holding this fucking thing open.”
“I mean, dying is a little extreme,” you manage, taking the stairs slowly and wedging the door open around him. “But you know, exercise will do that to you.”
“That’s why I don’t run anywhere,” he chuckles, “it’s not worth the pain.”
“You’re right,” you insist, thankful for the ache of your body as the artificial warmth of the room washes over. “I’m never running again. Ever.”
“Y/N,” exclaims another voice from behind the reception desk, Jeremy moving around the woman stood beside him, “what’re you doing here? I thought you were taking the day off cus of your friends moving in.”
“I’ll end up picking them up from the tavern later on tonight, so I’ve got some time to kill.”
He smiles, taking you by the elbow and bringing you over. “In that case, let me introduce you to Jackie Butler from forensics. She’s been our go to girl with the Lumberjack of Motbury. Jackie, this is Y/N.”
The woman smiles, a beautiful expression that peels across elegant features. Bright hazel eyes sparkle behind thick lashes, face framed with sheets of chestnut hair. She offers a delicate but firm handshake, confident. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Jeremy was just telling me how you’ve rendered my job useless.” She laughs musically. “About time. I need a break. Bodies get a bit much, they don’t really hold a juicy conversation. Juicy everything else, but not conversation.”
“Okay, ew.” Jeremy wrinkles his nose, but Jackie rolls her eyes.
“Jackie comes down from the lab every now and again,” Michael continues, handing out the coffees, giving you the cup holder for the lack of anything else to offer. “We’ve been thinking about getting a full time forensics expert in now that the case is moving again.”
“That’s a great idea,” you agree, “is there anything new?”
“Eeehhh... C’mon follow me, we’ll head through and I’ll show you what I’ve got. I ordered pizza, so it won’t take long. I’m starving.”
You’re already pulling your phone out as their backs turn, fingers flying frantically across the keyboard while you follow them down the hall.
Y/N: Fredo, get to the police station.
Alfredo: Why? U good?
Y/N: Now.
Alfredo: You’re not making me less panicky
Alfredo: Cus now I’m panicking.
Alfredo: Cus you’re being weird.
Y/N: Can’t explain, about to go into a meeting. Just trust me. CUTE GURRRLLL.
“Hey Y/N, you alright back there?”
“Hmm?”
Jeremy raises and eyebrow, glancing at your phone. You quickly stash it away, smiling innocently when stepping back into the room he’s holding the door open too. The whiteboard inside is covered in images. Photographs of victims accompanied by trauma patterns of an array of weapon types, close ups on skull structures and significant wounds, and lists upon lists of dot points. Jackie adds some notes here and there while Michael takes a seat, the door closing with a soft click before Jeremy slips past and starts unloading the boxes tucked beneath the closest desk.
“We’ve compiled all of the files related to the case - which is a lot of paperwork, I wanna put that out there - and this is everything.” Jeremy shuffles the final box onto the table, taking off the lid. “This was the first victim, Jemma Perkins. She and number 2,” he points to another stack of files, “James Williams, were found with their skulls. After that none of the others were recovered.”
“Jeremy told me about your theory, Y/N,” continues Jackie, clicking the lid back on her pen, “about combining number 1 and 2 with the injuries experienced by the livestock, and we came to the same conclusion you did.” Jackie circles one of the images on the board with her finger. “We don’t have any of the skulls from the livestock, but we do have pictures. So we did a number of tests and confirmed your suspicions, based on what we had. It’d have to be a relatively heavy object, something big enough to cave in bone.”
You nod along with her words, standing before the board and taking in the wounds. “What about the lacerations, any ideas?”
Jackie shakes her head. “Nada. We haven’t been able to figure out what’d make that kind of pattern, let alone split skin like that.”
You pull a face. “It looks a lot like the grooves on the houses.”
Jeremy makes a displeased sound that rattles at the back of his throat. “So you’re saying we should look at the shape of animal claws to determine the weapon?”
It takes you a moment, but you eventually give the idea some credit. “I wasn’t thinking that, but it certainly might help. Could be a customised weapon.”
Michael sits up in his seat, leaning across the bench. “You’re thinking that we should track the marks, figure out when they started and compare it to the murders?”
“Yeah. We already know that the knocking and all of this started at around the same time, but we haven’t actually tied the damage to it. People have been saying all sorts.”
“Animals?” Jackie inquires curiously, perching on the end of a table. “I saw them on my way in. They look like bear claws or something out of a horror movie.”
“We’ve already determined that the killer is a human being,” Jeremy dismisses, waving a hand. “So I think It’d be safe to assume that the knocking was a person that drew an animal in.”
“But what if they’re connected further than that?” you push, Michael nodding by your side. “I can’t see an animal rocking up just in time for the person to leave every single time. Wouldn’t they go after the food that’s walking around, and not locked in a house box?”
Jeremy doesn’t respond immediately. “Animals aren’t smart. I honestly don’t think that animal marks are related-”
“I think it’s worth investigating,” interjects Jackie firmly, “just to rule it out.”
“There’s nothing to rule out.”
“Why won’t you at least try?” She’s growing frustrated, standing up and placing her hands on her hips.
Jeremy fumes quietly, Michael taking over with a cheeky grin. “It’s because all the damn looneys in the town think the marks on their doors are from the Widow of the Woods.”
“Widow of the Woods?”
“It’s a local ghost story,” you explain, wringing your hands. “Jeremy is very against acknowledging that it could play a role in all this.”
“Because it can’t play a role! Ghosts aren’t real.”
“But copycats are,” you interject, “besides. We’re not going to go ghost hunting. We’ll be tracking the markings and applying it to the victims timeline. You don’t even have to think about Turner.”
Jeremy’s eyes narrow, curious but too confronted for pleasantries. “Turner?”
“Moira Turner. Badass, the first leader of Motbury, witch hunt victim that disappeared and searches for her lost son-”
“I don’t care, Y/N. I really couldn’t give a crap about the stupid story, or the people who believe it. Look. Whoever’s been telling you that this ghost story has any truth in it is crazy. We work with facts, not scary stories.”
“How are we supposed to work with facts if you refuse to let us find any? As detectives we investigate every lead, no matter how crazy it is.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Y/N, you’re not a detective!”
“I wish you’d realised that sooner, rather than forcing this fucking case on me!”
“Okay.” Michael scampers to his feet, putting himself between his friends as a form of crowd control. “How about this? Y/N and me will check out the marks, while Jeremy prepares an ‘I told you so’ speech. Yeah?”
“I like it,” you confirm curtly, gathering your things. “C’mon, Michael, let’s go do our jobs.”
10. “I’ve never been in love, okay? I don’t know what it’s like, but I know it hurts. And I don’t want what we have to hurt.”
Your friend’s words kept repeating in your head: “That’s not the look that someone gives someone when they’re just friends. He’s in love with you.” Although you’ve told her numerous times that he is just a friend, she kept persisting that she knows what she’s talking about.
You shook the thought out of your head and grabbed a drink. You made your way to a corner to stay away from everyone, but, unluckily for you, Gavin spotted you.
“Hey, are you alright?” he asked you. You hummed in response. “It’s just, you’ve been avoiding me all night. Did I do something wrong?”
“No, you did nothing wrong,” you told him. “Just, something that my friend told me is getting to me.”
“What did she tell you?”
“She said that you’re in love with me and the way she knew was the way you looked at me. It’s stupid, right?”
“Yeah….stupid,” he mumbled.
“I mean, you’re not in love with me, right?” He stayed silent. Your eyes widened. “I-I have to go,” you stuttered.
You ran out of the company party and made your way to your car.
“(Y/N)! Wait!” Gavin called after you. You fumbled with your keys, but he stopped you before you could get into your car. “(Y/N), just wait one moment.”
“What Gavin? What did you want me to say?” you questioned.
“So what if I might be in love with you? What’s wrong with that?”
You sighed. “I’ve never been in love, okay? I don’t know what it’s like, but I know it hurts. And I don’t want what we have to hurt,” you confessed.
He took your hand in his. “I promise you that whatever we have is not going to hurt,” he whispered. “Just, give us a chance.” He took a step closer to you. “Please.”
“If I do, whatever happens, you promise it won’t hurt?”
“I promise.” He kissed the top of your forehead. “So what do you say?”
