stel's fanfic archive

Oh, Stars

SUMMARY

North Star. The sheriff. Next to you.

Oh, stars.

North Star. The sheriff. Next to you.

Oh, stars.

You quietly attempt to refrain from losing your shit, leaning against the bar and sipping your drink, trying to seem nonchalant as the sheriff casually chats with Dina, the bartender. You couldn't be asked what they were talking about—all that bounces around in your mind are "holy shit", "holy fuck", and other such phrases.

"…'m sure this fine citizen would disagree." You're snapped out of your daze as the sheriff, with a hand on your shoulder (holy FUCK), tilts his head toward you.

You have no idea what conversation you've just been pulled into, and you have no idea if you should be scared.

"Huh?" You give a small, kind of stupid smile, confused.

Dina stifles a laugh. "Star, stop harassin' the townsfolk."

North Star ignores her. "Dina 'ere just said that I"—he puts a gloved hand to his chest, feigning offense—"look stupid in this hat."

"Outfit."

"In this outfit! That's worse!"

You look him up and down, trying to ignore the very much unignorable presence of his hand on his shoulder. He's not dressed any differently from his normal getup—hat, bandanna, and poncho. Still, it makes you blush internally (not externally, you hope).

"I think you… I think you look nice." Your voice shakes slightly, and you beg you don't sound too uncomfortable.

The sheriff beams and lets out a laugh. "Told ya so!" he boasts pointedly at Dina, who simply rolls her eyes in amusement.

He looks back at you. "For that, kind citizen, how 'bout I buy you a drink?" Before you respond, he continues: "Dina, get this 'ere kind citizen a root beer, lickety-split! 'An put it on my tab."

Dina feigns annoyance, but gets to preparing a root beer for you. North Star grins at you, leaning his head against his hand, elbow resting on the bar. You give a wordless nod of gratitude, worried that your way-too-fanbodyish thoughts will spill out the second you open your mouth.

Dina sets a root beer down in front of you, her snakes moving in circular patterns around her neck. The sheriff raises his own cup, inviting you to clink glasses. You do.

He smiles at you. You catch a glimpse of a teal shadow dusting his cheeks—you can't tell if he's flustered or just tipsy.

Oh, stars…

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