#I used to play outside so much as a kid that one summer my hair had lightened and my skin had darkened so I felt like I looked like a penny | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sanguineterrain · 2 years ago

Text

i'll put us back together at heart - s.h.

Summary: It's 1987. You haven't spoken to Steve Harrington in nearly five years. Then Dustin Henderson tells you about a sweet deal he has at Family Video, where he can rent any movie he wants.

Pairing: ex-best friend!Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 8.8k

Warnings/tags: friends to strangers to lovers. the reader is twenty in 1987 and i technically made steve twenty-one/about to turn twenty-one. s4 happened but eddie's alive and vecna's dead. no earthquakes or anything like that; reader has no idea about what really happened. lots of angst, mentions of billy hargrove (yuck) and steve's s1 asshole friends.

A/N: oh my lord. i don't know where this eighteen-wheeler of a fic came from but here it is. there is a happy ending, not to worry. i'd never do that to y'all <3 feedback and reblogs are always always appreciated!

divider by firefly-graphics

August 1981

"I wish we could stay eighth graders forever."

You lift your head from your orange pool floaty. Steve drifts on the surface of the water. His hair is longer, way longer than you've seen it in the three years you've been friends. He says it's better for styling that way; he's even bought a gel and cream for his hair. You don't understand why he wants to change something that doesn't need changing.

"Why?" you ask. "I thought you were excited for high school."

He hums. The sound echoes in his backyard.

"It's bigger than middle school. More kids, more teachers, more work. I like eighth grade."

"I'll help you with your work," you say.

Steve turns his head and smiles at you. Part of his face is in the water, the image distorted.

"You'll do great," he replies. "You're so smart."

Steve doesn't say those things to get you to help him like other kids do. Steve means it.

"You'll do great too," you say. "You're funny and nice and my best friend. People will like you."

"You think?"

You nod. Steve turns his head and closes his eyes again.

"We'll stay friends, right?" he asks.

The floaty squeaks as you move to sit up. You paddle to Steve so you can look at his face.

"Why wouldn't we?"

"I dunno." His eyes are still closed. "You might make super smart friends. And I'll just be a dumbass holding you back."

You shove Steve's shoulder lightly.

"You are not dumb, Steve."

One muggy June night had had Steve admit he wasn't thirteen, like you and all the kids in your class, but fourteen. He had been held back in third grade after his parents moved from Illinois. It's why my brain's mush, he'd said. I was born dumb.

He had made you swear not to tell anyone.

"You're not dumb," you say again. "Say it, Steve. Say you're not dumb."

His frown deepens, but he still won't look at you.

"Tommy says I am."

"Tommy Hagan is a shithead," you shoot back with so much venom, Steve's eyes fly open. "It's not true, whatever he tells you."

You hate that they've been hanging out more this summer. You can't tell Steve that, because it's not like you own him. He can be friends with whoever he wants. But you can't help that your skin crawls when Tommy and his stupid girlfriend, Carol, drops by and pulls Steve away from you.

“Promise?” he asks.

“Yes, Steve. I promise.”

“‘Kay.” Steve smiles a little. “Thanks.”

You nod and lay back on the floaty.

“Wanna get ice cream after this?” he asks.

“Just us?”

“Just us.”

Now. (January, 1987)

You slam the phone back onto the receiver. A girl playing Pac-Man carefully glances at you.

Whoops. Right. You're still at work.

You smile and give a thumbs-up. She turns around. You return to your wallowing.

You’ve called three different video rentals. Jewel Films, which is about to go out of business; More Movies, whose attendant hung up on you before you could say Molly Ringwald; and finally, Blockbuster, which is thirty minutes outside of Hawkins. None of them have a copy of Pretty in Pink.

And okay. You could just watch another movie. You don't need that specific one. But this year has been shit. You'd thought after starting college, you'd finally break out of the Hawkins forcefield that had limited your social life. You'd thought you'd make friends and not be so terribly lonely. Life is supposed to get better after high school, isn’t it?

Obviously, whoever said that is a big, fat liar.

“Dude!” you hear a familiar voice exclaim. “Stop hogging the game!”

Tawny curls peek from under a green and yellow hat. The hat hovers over an older boy who’s glued to the Tempest booth. You go to them. Dustin Henderson lights up when he sees you. You can read his hat now; it says Camp Know Where ‘85.

“Hey, Y/N!” he greets brightly. “This guy has been here for a half hour. I left to get nachos and when I came back, he was still here.”

“I’m this close to beating my score!” the kid insists.

“Come on, guy," you say, one arm on the machine. "You gotta give other people a turn."

The kid, evidently demon incarnate, sneers at you.

“Who’s gonna make me? You?”

You lean against the side of the game, considering.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” he says.

You snort.

“Sixteen? And you’re still on Tempest?”

He glances at you.

“So?”

“Everybody your age is playing Rampage, that’s all.”

You wink at Dustin. He beams.

“And, uh, I saw a couple girls hanging around Rampage,” you add.

The kid turns to you. You tilt your head innocently.

“Seriously?” he asks.

“Seriously. People always flock to the new games.”

Which is true. The girls part is not, but he doesn’t need to know that. With that attitude, he won't be getting many phone numbers anyway.

You drum your fingers on the game like you have all the time in the world. And sure enough, the kid takes his quarters and heads towards Rampage. Dustin jumps in delight.

“You’re awesome, Y/N!"

You grin. “I try. Where are the others?”

Dustin sours.

“They ditched me. To hang out with their girlfriends! Can you believe that shit?”

“No way!"

He shakes his head.

“I know, right? My friend told me that that’s what happens in high school. People change, y’know? And he’d know, I guess. He’s old like you.”

You scoff. “You make me sound like some kind of ancient. I’m not that old, Henderson.”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” He pats your arm. “In many cultures, the elderly are wise. Now in my experience, this hasn’t been the case. But I think you’re wise.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Dustin smiles like the little shit he is and puts his change in the slot.

“Well, contrary to what this other friend says, I’m sure it’ll pass,” you say. “You guys will hang out again."

You swallow your acidic truth. Dustin's a good kid, and so are his friends. You don't want him to turn cynical like you have. He's too young.

Dustin shrugs, starting the game.

“I guess so. I got a copy of The Lost Boys for us to watch on Friday. They said they’ll be there.”

“Whoa, seriously? That one just came out, how’d you get a copy?”

“My friend,” he says. “The one I mentioned. He works at Family Video and reserves stuff for me.”

“Huh. I thought Family Video was closed."

You'd applied to work there last year and never got a call back. You'd gone by once and it had looked abandoned. Hence why you now work at the arcade across town.

"It almost did, but Keith took over so now it's barely scraping by."

"Ah. Sweet deal on the movies."

“Yeah,” Dustin agrees, eyes crinkling. “My friend's pretty cool. You'd like him."

"Would I now?"

"Absolutely," he gushes. "He's a total badass too. He won his first fight last year. He used to be a jock but he's recovered."

"Wow. Impressive."

"Mmhm. I could ask him to hold stuff for you too, if you wanted.”

“You would?”

The game makes a sad game over noise. Dustin sighs and takes a gulp of his slushie.

“Yeah, totally,” he says through a mouthful of blue raspberry ice. “Which one do you want?”

“Pretty in Pink? I missed it in theaters."

“Sure. I’ll tell him to hold it tonight and tomorrow you can pick it up.”

“Cool. Thanks, Dustin.”

Dustin gives you an apple-cheeked grin.

“Gotta stay in good graces with the arcade attendant who lets me play Tempest as long as I want.”

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say, walking away. "Don't get slushie on the game."

"'Kay!"

Dustin only gets a little bit of slushie on the game, but he cleans it up with about a million of the cheap snack bar napkins. When he leaves, he tells you to mention his name at Family.

"Who do I ask for?"

"You can talk to either of them," Dustin says. "Doesn't matter. Except Keith. You know Keith, right?"

"Unfortunately.” Keith used to terrorize the arcade before he blessedly moved on. “He works there?"

"Barely." Dustin scoffs. "He's almost never there, so don't worry. And feel free to ask for more movies. They owe me one."

Your sole interactions are with professors and a gaggle of high school freshmen. But now you get to watch any movie you want. Maybe this year won't totally suck.

The bell rings pleasantly as you step inside. There's a few people on line, so you take your time walking in. There's a movie display with about thirty copies of RoboCop. A cardboard cutout of RoboCop stares back behind his red helmet.

"Can I help who's next?"

You go to the counter. A girl about your age with a choppy haircut smiles at you but it's sort of strained. She has a pin on her green work vest that says Ask me!

"Please don't ask for Adventures in Babysitting," she says.

"Oh. No, I'm, uh, Dustin's friend?"

You can't believe you're name-dropping a high schooler.

She nods in realization.

"Oh, yeah. God, I keep telling that dweeb not to promise holds."

You wince.

"Sorry. If it's going to get you in trouble…"

Her brows raise. She smiles a bit.

"No, it's okay. Usually my coworker deals with it but, well. He's taking an extra long break today. So, what movie was it?"

"Pretty in Pink," you say.

"Classic," she replies. "John Hughes fan?"

"Somewhat. I didn't get to see it in theaters. I like Molly Ringwald."

She grins.

"Me too. She's pretty."

"Super pretty," you agree.

The girl considers you, then sticks out her hand.

"I'm Robin," she says. "Nice to meet you."

You take her hand. "Y/N.”

"Did you go to Hawkins High?"

"I did. Graduated last year."

"Oh, cool. Are you in college?"

You nod.

"Hawkins State. Twenty minutes from here."

"Sweet! I'm taking a gap year, but afterwards, I’m gonna apply there. It's cheap. College is college, right?"

"College is college," you agree. "But I wish I'd gone away for school."

You don't know why you're telling her this. You've known Robin for all of two minutes. But she seems friendly. And her sense of style is cool. She wears a blue blazer and tie underneath her vest.

"How come?" she asks.

"Everybody from Hawkins is there," you say. "And I… I just want a new start."

Robin smiles sympathetically.

"They're jerks," she says.

You huff. "Yeah."

You'd turned yourself into a social recluse a million years ago. It's your own damn fault you can't befriend anybody in this town. At least, not anymore.

Robin types into the computer, then smacks the monitor. She groans.

"Ugh. Gimme a second," she says. "Stupid technology."

"No problem," you say, smiling. You like her. Maybe you can integrate Family Video into your regular routine, become friends. You can see Robin becoming a good friend. One you wouldn't grow apart from.

She disappears into the back room. You browse the old releases and stop at Die Hard. This one you saw in theaters. John McClane is a badass.

You think of Dustin, and his supposedly badass new friend. It's too bad you didn't meet today. Dustin has a good sense about people. If he says so, it's possible you and this friend really would get on.

The bell rings again. You're slow to look up. The entrance is empty when you do. You keep reading about John McClane's adventures.

"Have you been waiting long?"

You turn at the new voice. The video slips out of your hand and clatters onto the counter.

Steve’s hair has grown since you last saw it. He looks different too, though he has yet to break out of his signature church boy polos. There's a smattering of stubble on his jaw. His arms are lean with muscle. He wears a matching work vest like Robin's, name tag printed Steve in blocky font.

He looks at where you've dropped Die Hard and smiles.

"This is a good one," he says. "John McClane is a total badass."

You blink.

"Did you want to rent that one?" he continues, meeting your eye.

"No," you manage.

"Okay, no problem. Just browsing?"

He doesn't remember you.

You stare and stare. Steve leans in, concerned. He's changed, but he hasn't. He's still handsome with his swoopy hair and big, dark eyes, but the Steve you knew wouldn't have been caught dead working at a video store.

And he doesn't remember you.

"Are you okay?" he asks, sounding genuine.

You take a step back from the counter. The blood roars in your ears. Robin comes back in, Pretty in Pink in hand. She looks at you, then at Steve.

"Got it!" she tells you. "Computer should work now."

"I have to go," you say.

You don't look at Steve again, instead focusing on Robin.

Her brows rise.

"Oh. Is everything—"

"I forgot my wallet," you blurt. "I can't pay for the movie. Sorry."

"That's okay, we can just—"

You run. The bell chimes over her words. You keep running until you get to the bus stop, three blocks away.

Only there do you stop to catch your breath.

And then you cry.

February 1982

"What do you think about Marie?"

You look up from your textbook. Steve is doodling in the margins of his notes. You gently prod his arm. He returns to reading but his leg starts to bounce under the table.

"Marie Iverson?" you ask.

"Yeah."

Steve glances at you. He pushes his hair back. It had taken him freshman year to get his bearings with all the gels and creams, but now, his hair is a point of pride, always perfectly coiffed. Seniors call him "The Hair" and high-five him in the hallway. You hate it.

"I don't know. I don't know her that well."

"She's cute."

"I guess so," you say.

It's harder to get Steve to focus on homework these days. Last year, he happily made flashcards with you and even bought fancy gel pens to share for your notes. Now, he prefers to talk about girls or—

"I was thinking of asking her out."

The tip of your pencil breaks. You really ought to start using pens, but you don't like being unable to erase.

"Shit, here. Take mine."

Steve offers his still perfectly sharpened pencil. You stare at it.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah." You take the pencil. "Thanks."

"Sure. So what do you think?"

"I don't know, Steve. I thought you talked about this stuff with Tommy."

"I would, it's just…" Steve shifts uncomfortably. "He can be rude about it sometimes. He doesn't even get why we're friends, y'know? Doesn't understand why I don't just date you."

Tommy is a moron, but you've said that since last year, and Steve's never listened before.

"Some people don't get it," you say mildly, because you have an upcoming French test and there's no use in getting upset over Tommy Hagan right now.

"But you do. And you know about this stuff better than me. Girls and all."

"Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I know what girls are best for you to date, Steve. It's weird to talk about."

Steve deflates.

"Oh. Yeah, I guess so. Sorry."

You sigh and rub your temple.

"I thought you knew all about that," you say, extending an olive branch. "Asking girls out and stuff."

"Well, I mean, I've kissed girls but I've never… you're, like, the only girl I really know."

Something like pride swells in your chest. Selfishly, you want to keep Steve. You don't want to help him if it means losing him. Oh, you're so greedy, aren't you? You watch Steve run off with Tommy and Carol and nameless seniors and seethe, because Steve was yours first. Steve is yours.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah." You give him back his pencil and fish for another one in your bag. "Did you ever think about writing how you feel?"

"Writing?"

"Yeah, like a poem or a letter."

"I'm terrible at writing," Steve laments. "The letters get all jumbled and I never spell a damn thing right."

He'd told his mom once how letters melt into each other, how b's become d's. She'd taken him to get his eyes checked, and when the doctor said Steve was fine, Deborah Harrington had told her son to stop begging for attention.

"Someone who really likes you won't care about spelling mistakes, Steve," you tell him. "As long as you write from the heart. Don't do that cheesy shit and quote Romeo and Juliet. They're young, impulsive, and they die at the end, and that's not romantic."

Steve laughs, nose scrunched.

"What!" you demand. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, 's just—of course you'd have something to say about quoting Shakespeare."

"It's overdone," you say, crinkling your nose. "And girls would much rather read your own words."

"So you think I should write Marie a letter?"

"If you really like her," you say. "Only write letters for girls you really like. Otherwise they lose their meaning."

Steve frowns. "I don't know if I should write her a letter, then."

Don't, you want to say. Don't write any of them letters.

You shuffle your papers into a stack.

"Can we study now?" you ask.

"Oh, sure, yes. Sorry."

"You don't have to keep apologizing, Steve."

He shifts closer to you. His leg has stopped bouncing.

"Lemme take you out," he says.

You nearly swallow your tongue.

"Wh–what?"

"For ice cream," Steve clarifies. "Like we used to. Dairy Queen."

"Oh. Okay, sure. But after we study."

Steve beams. "I'll drive you."

Steve's dad had bought him the BMW as a birthday present this year—not that Richard Harrington actually knows when his own son's birthday is, considering the gift was three months early. Still, it's another point of pride for Steve and about all anybody talks about whenever his name comes up. Steve is the only person in your grade with a car. Junior girls hit him up for rides. You make yourself scarce when they do.

You don't care. You liked Steve before the car. And the clothes. And the hair.

Your throat feels tight. You want your best friend back.

"Just us?" you check.

You can't tell these days. Steve seems to hang out with everybody but you. You're shocked he'd even asked to study together.

"Oh, sure," Steve says. "I just have to drop off Tommy and Carol first, okay?"

You check your watch and close your book.

"I have class," you lie. "I'll see you later."

Steve catches your wrist. He looks at you and you're struck by how sweet his face is. It's not like you didn't understand why girls want him but it's Steve. Your Steve, who still sleeps with a nightlight and who framed a picture of a sports car he cut out from a magazine because he'd thought it would make him cooler (it didn't. You still tease him about it.)

"Please," he says. "For helping me."

Your eyes slit. "I didn't help you to get stuff, Steve. I helped you because you're my friend."

Steve blinks like he's forgotten what it's like to be friends with someone just for the sake of being friends.

"You're right," he agrees. "You're not like that. I'll tell Tommy and Carol to find another ride. It'll be just us. I promise."

You perk up at that. "Really?"

"Really. You can sit in the front with me and we'll play Bruce Springsteen, like we used to. Please?"

"Okay, Steve." You ache. You’ve never been very good at telling him no. "I'll meet you in the parking lot."

And maybe… maybe your best friend is still in there after all.

Now

You ask your shift manager if you can work at the snack bar today. It's in the back and you won't have to deal with any game hogs.

"You didn't put enough syrup in my slushie."

You might have overshot the perks, though.

Slushie Girl's hair is bleach blonde and hairsprayed to God. You want to tell her that all that hairspray doesn't keep friends. Or brain synapses.

"I don't make the slushie," you say for the third time. "That's how it comes out of the machine."

She shoots you a mean look.

"I'm complaining to the manager."

You paste on a smile.

"You do that. Have a nice day."

She finally walks away, probably on the hunt for your manager, who's definitely smoking a joint outside to avoid this exact situation.

Dustin comes around the corner and this time, he's with the rest of his party. You smile.

"Hey, Y/N!" Dustin greets.

Lucas waves at you. Max and Mike are arguing and therefore are in their own world. And there's their newest addition, El, whose story you're still not clear on, as well as Will, quiet as always.

You lean your elbows on the countertop.

"What'll it be, gang?"

"Six nachos and six slushies, please. One blue raspberry, three cherry, and two Coke."

You fill up the slushies first. Dustin dances on his toes.

"So did you pick up the movie?" he asks.

"Oh." You try to smile. "I went there but I couldn't. I forgot my money. Pretty dumb of me."

Dustin accepts this with no argument.

"Well, you can go back. They'll hold it for a few days."

You're never setting foot in there again, but you don't tell Dustin that.

He takes his slushie and immediately starts drinking.

"Slow down, dude. You'll get a brain freeze," you say.

"You sound like Steve," Dustin informs you. "Doesn't Y/N sound like Steve?"

Lucas nods.

"Yup. They're both parents."

You feel queasy. You focus on making the nachos, the cheese pouring out thick and gooey.

"Did you meet Steve?" Dustin asks. "You probably know him from high school, but he's different now."

"Yes," you say quietly. "I knew him."

"I promise he's different. Even Mike likes him, and Mike hated his guts. Right, Mike?"

Mike pauses in his animated discussion with Max and looks at you.

"What?"

"I'm telling Y/N about how Steve is cool now," Dustin explains.

"Oh." Mike shrugs. "He's fine. Much better now that he's not dating my sister."

"He's not?" you ask. "But they were in love. I–I mean, that's what I heard, at least."

"She dumped his ass," El says, and it sounds a little ridiculous in her soft monotone.

Max scoffs, taking her Coke slushie.

"Did you live under a rock? It was a huge thing."

"Now Steve is lame," Mike says with a snort.

"Getting dumped doesn't make somebody lame," you say with an old ferocity you'd thought had disappeared.

"Okay, jeez." Mike holds up his hands. "Steve's alright. He's different, that's for sure."

"He's our paladin," Lucas says. "A protector."

Dustin nods eagerly.

You blink. "He protects you guys?"

Max elbows Lucas. You have no idea what that's about. El steps forward and smiles softly.

"Yes," she says. "He's our babysitter."

"Aren't you guys freshmen? I thought you were too old for babysitters."

"Oh no, Steve doesn't get paid for it or anything," says Mike. "He just does it 'cause he has nothing else to do."

"That's not true!" Dustin argues. Then he shrugs. "Well, it's a little true. But he does like us. He's a good guy. He cares about his friends."

You bite your tongue, not wanting to reply to that.

"That's great, guys. The girl, Robin? She seems pretty cool too."

"That's Steve's best friend," says Dustin. "She's great."

"Oh." You wince. "Best friend?"

Dustin huffs. “Yeah. They don’t date. He won’t say why."

"Platonic with a capital P," Max confirms. “It’s obviously because he’s in love with somebody else.”

“Not Nancy!” Lucas protests.

“There are other girls besides Nancy, Sinclair.”

You busy yourself with serving the last set of nachos. The kids pull out crumpled bills and coins in return. You count the money and stack it directly into the register; you know there won't be any change.

When you turn, they're still there. Dustin has his signature grin on, eyes squinty.

"Yeees," you drag out. "Can I help you?"

"We need a favor," Lucas says. "Please."

"Hmm." You lean over the counter. "What's up?"

"They're showing Prince of Darkness on Friday," Dustin explains. "But it's rated R."

"So just sneak in. Isn't that what you guys did at Starcourt?" you ask.

"We had an inside man then. They're a lot stricter at the new one," Lucas frowns. "They ask for IDs 'cause some mom complained after her kid snuck in to watch Risky Business."

"And why can't your babysitter take you?"

You sneer at the thought. Steve spending his Friday nights herding a bunch of adolescent teens into a movie theater. There's a reason you consider Dustin affectionately delusional.

"He has a stupid date," Dustin groans. "He's a serial dater, Y/N. It's terrible. He gets lucky once and totally ditches us."

Now that sounds like the Steve you knew.

"I see. I don't really like horror stuff."

"You don't have to stay!" Dustin insists. "You can watch whatever you want after we’re in. I'll pay you back for the ticket."

“This would be so much easier if Steve still worked at Scoops,” Mike grumbles.

You blank for a moment, the image of Steve in a sailor’s hat and those ridiculous shorts whiting your brain.

“Um,” you begin. “You know I don’t have a fancy BMW to cart you guys around in, right?”

“It’s cool. We’ll get there,” Max says.

“So?” Dustin bounces on his toes. “Sooo?”

You sigh. It’d been nice of Dustin to get you the movie, even though you’d chickened out and ran. And it’s not like you have anything better to do.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll get you guys in.”

Dustin pumps his fist. “Thanks, Y/N! You’re my favorite old person.”

You roll your eyes. “Funny. Any funnier, and I might rescind my help, Henderson.”

“Byeeee!”

They all disperse to the arcade. You wonder how on earth Steve got involved with them.

March 1983

“Okay, but if you had to choose.”

“Pass. I would literally rather swallow pennies than kiss Principal Coleman’s bald-ass head, Steve.”

Steve takes a triumphant swig of beer. “So you’re saying you’ve got the hots for Benny the janitor.”

“No!” you insist through giggles. “I don’t. God, you’re gross. Can’t believe I’m being treated like this on your birthday.”

“Exactly! My birthday.”

He rolls onto his side in his deck chair and nearly faceplants on the cement. You reach out, reaction time delayed.

“Steve!” you yell. “Careful.”

“I am, I am,” he mumbles, and rights himself on the chair. “Jus’ wanna see you better.”

“I keep telling you you need glasses.”

“I do not,” he whines. “My vision’s ten outta ten. Could a guy who needs glasses do this?”

He crumples up a Twinkies wrapper and throws it towards the garbage. The wind picks up and sends the wrapped into the pool.

“Shit,” he says.

You belly laugh in delight.

“Wait, wait, redo. Go fish it outta there.”

“Oh, as if. I’m not going in there. I told you you need glasses. Even Mother Nature agrees.”

"She does not. Mother Nature thinks I'm a doll."

You hum and close your eyes. Alcohol always makes you sleepy.

The chair scrapes against the concrete. You hear a crinkle of a chip bag. Those are your only warning before you’re crushed by two hundred pounds of drunk boy.

“Steve!” You wheeze, squirming as his hair tickles your face. “Get off!”

"’M sleepy,” he mumbles.

“Well, don't sleep on me, weirdo.”

“‘S cold.”

“You run, like, a hundred degrees, don’t lie.”

He lifts his head. “So you’re saying I’m hot?”

“I’m saying all that booze cooked your brain,” you reply sweetly.

“I’ve been wounded,” he moans and plops onto your shoulder.

“Ugh.” You resign to your fate and lean back. Steve’s not actually that heavy; even drunk, he has a lot of control over his weight and he’s situated himself so he isn’t crushing anything important. No, you squirm underneath him for a very different reason.

“Steeeeve,” you whine. “You’re gonna squish me into a pancake.”

“Can’t believe no one else came.”

You still. Steve’s face remains buried in your shoulder. His body is beside yours, and he has an arm slung over your belly.

“I didn’t—didn’t want a party,” he continues. “I always throw parties. I thought I’d do somethin’ different. An’ none of them even wished me a happy birthday. ‘Cept you.”

You rest your hand on the back of his hair. It’s wind-blown and messy from the drinks, free of his heady hair gel. You’ve never loved it more.

“Did you tell them your birthday is today?” you ask gently, even though you know he did.

“Yeah,” he says. “Told all of ‘em. Guess they weren’t listening.”

“I listen.”

Steve looks up at you. His eyes are glassy.

“God, I miss you,” he says.

You feel the wall you’ve built this year crumble, just a little.

“I’m right here, Steve.”

“I know but—been a jerk lately. I know I have. You’re my best friend, okay? Nothing’ll change that. I–I love you so much.”

Your breath hitches. Steve barrels on, not noticing.

“And I’ll be better. We’ll hang out more. Not–not here, drunk. But for real. We’ll go to the movies. Y’wanna see a movie?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I wanna see a movie.”

“‘Kay, what movie? Anything you want. We’ll get popcorn and Raisinets.”

“You hate Raisinets,” you choke through a watery laugh.

“I’d eat Raisinets anytime with you.”

You lay there, in the dark, the only sound being the pool filter.

“Let’s watch the new James Bond.”

“Hmm, okay. But you’ll have to say the name eventually.”

Your nose crinkles. “I am not calling it by its name.”

His laugh is warm in your neck.

You don’t tell Steve to get up again. He snuggles into you, leg over yours. You fall asleep like that, curled underneath him.

Now

“Wait.” Max stops. “Shouldn’t we have, like, a game plan?”

“Game plan?” El asks quietly.

“Yeah. Some of us aren’t so great at playing it cool.”

She stares at Lucas.

“I play it cool!” he squawks. “I am so cool!”

“Right.”

“Just let Y/N do the talking,” Will says. “She’s technically the adult so she should act like this is a conscious choice.”

You shrug. “Makes sense to me.”

Dustin beams. “This is gonna be great!”

“Or a total disaster,” Max says.

You go to the counter, the kids trailing behind like ducklings.

“Six tickets for Prince of Darkness, please,” you say. “And uh, one for Dirty Dancing.”

The attendant looks at you, then at the kids.

“Don’t you mean seven tickets for Prince of Darkness?” she asks. “It’s rated R.”

Shit. “Right, yes. Sorry. Seven tickets. And one for Dirty Dancing. We have another friend who’s late.”

“Uh-huh.”

The attendant, whose bored expression you’ve recognized on your own face after long days in the arcade, hands you your tickets without any questioning.

“I think we’re in the clear,” Lucas whispers when you enter the concession area.

You wait for them to buy their snacks. Max persuades Lucas to let her mix M&Ms into their bucket of popcorn. He agrees and shuffles closer so they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder while they share.

“Okay, last stretch,” Mike says, shoveling a frighteningly large handful of sour worms into his mouth. “We just have to get past the ticket guy.”

Said ticket guy is a kid who can’t be much older than you. You think you might’ve gone to school together, but you’ve made it a point to eviscerate everything about high school from your mind.

“Hey,” you say, trying to act cool. Maybe you’re the one Max should’ve been worried about, instead of Lucas. “Uh, here are our tickets.”

He takes the tickets, then looks behind you.

“Prince of Darkness is only for people seventeen and older,” he says.

“I’m an adult, so I’m with them,” you explain. “I’m, like, their guardian?”

“Yeah, uh—” He hands you your tickets. “No can do. There needs to be an adult for each person under seventeen.”

“Come on,” you cajole. “They’re high schoolers. It’s not like they’re gonna be scarred for life watching some zombies, or whatever.”

He shrugs. “Rules are rules.”

“She’s an adult!” Dustin argues.

“Look, if you’re gonna hold up the line, I’m gonna have to—”

“Yo, Gillespie! That you?”

Dustin turns and lights up. The seven of you part for Steve Harrington and his date, a pretty strawberry blonde you think you had biology with.

“Harrington, man, what’s up!”

Ticket Prick gets up to slam Steve into a bear hug. You barely resist an eye roll.

“Shit, I haven’t seen you in a year! Where’ve you been all this time? Hey, did you hear about that shit with Munson?”

Steve flinches. It’s a tiny movement, indiscernible to the trained eye. But it’s there all the same.

“Gillespie, c’mon. Don’t bring the party down with that,” Steve says, all sweet charm.

“Sorry, sorry. Daisy,” he greets the girl attached to Steve’s arm.

“Gil,” she replies with a giggle. “You smell like popcorn butter.”

America’s future taxpayers. Terrifying.

“Are you gonna let us in or not?” Max interrupts, arms folded.

You feel a burst of pride.

Gil shoots her a dirty glare and puffs up, ready to fight a fourteen year old. Steve cuts in smoothly.

“Gillespie, listen. I know her.” He points to you. You bristle. “I can personally vouch that she’s just trying to do right by these kids. They wanted to see Prince of Darkness, y’know? Get away from the parents.”

“It’s a sick film,” Gil agrees. “You seen it?”

No, of course Steve hadn’t seen it. He hates horror.

“Planning on it,” Steve says, the ultimate image of playing it cool. “Look, you remember sneaking into the movies. Fast Times? Ring any bells?”

Max rolls her eyes. You’re inclined to do the same.

Gil laughs dopily, and nudges Steve. “Hell yeah, I do. That was a crazy night, Harrington.”

Steve smiles thinly. “Sure was. So whaddya say? For old times’ sake?”

Gil considers your little troupe. Then he shrugs.

“Why not. Manager’s not here anyway.”

He takes the tickets and tears them to stubs, then gives them back.

“Theater six. On your left. Enjoy.”

The kids stampede into the left theater wing. You hang back with your own ticket.

“Appreciate it, man,” Steve says, all smiles. “Take care, alright?”

“Hey, you too, Harrington! We gotta catch up!”

Steve and Daisy go in. You expect them to walk right past you, and Daisy does, predictably. But Steve stops.

“I’ll catch up, okay?” he tells her. “Find us some good seats?”

She paws at him a little, then goes, sodas in hand. You stiffen as Steve walks and stops three feet away from you.

“Hey,” he says. “Sorry about that. Gil’s an asshole.”

“I know. He yawned during my poetry reading sophomore year. And then you guys went to the movies together.”

Steve shrinks. “Your poems were great.”

You’re suddenly exhausted.

“What do you want, Steve?”

“I just… I wanted to see you. Say hi.”

“Okay.” You cross your arms. “Hi.”

“You forgot your movie,” he says. “The other day.”

“I didn’t want it that much.”

“Dustin said you looked everywhere for it.”

“Well, in the end, it didn’t really matter,” you say. “Not enough to stay.”

“Y/N—”

“I think your date’s waiting for you,” you interrupt. “Better get back to her. Wouldn’t want to taint your reputation.”

Steve makes a noise like he’s been wounded. You turn on your heel before you can think better of it.

“Wait.” He catches your wrist. Steve’s grip is light, like you’re something precious to hold. You wrench your arm away. “Y/N, I want to apologize. I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you ask. “For forgetting me? I didn’t expect you to remember, Steve.”

“I didn’t forget you,” he insists. “I could never forget you. I wasn’t—please, can I just explain?”

“I don’t need your explanations,” you snap. The hurt corrodes your tongue like acid. “I know what happened. We were both there. You left.”

Steve’s eyes are huge and dark. He looks like you just stabbed him in the heart, and that makes you feel worse. You’d thought telling him how much it hurts would put you back together, but all it did was break you more.

So you run. Again.

You slam through a back exit and rip your ticket into a million pieces. The wind is cold and unforgiving. Your eyes sting.

You call out sick for two days in a row. You kind of expect to get fired, but then again, people have been leaving Hawkins and if you’re not here to serve the masses their slushies, who will be?

So, after lying in bed not thinking about movies and strawberry blonde girls and how sick you are of this town, you get up and put on your arcade vest.

Now it is two in the afternoon. You’d heard it was supposed to snow today.

Robin eyes the snack counter like it holds the next plague outbreak. You don't blame her; you make it a point to wash up to your elbows after work.

"Slushie?"

She looks at you like she’d forgotten you were there. "What?"

You point a thumb at the machine. "Are you here for a slushie?"

"Oh. No, sorry. Red dye makes me insane in the brain. Steve actually—"

Robin stops, grimaces. So he's told her. Probably everything, if the kids had been telling the truth.

You're honestly surprised she's here. Unless it’s to, like, swirlie you in the vat of artificial cheese.

"Are you here to drown me in nacho cheese?" you ask.

Robin's eyes go wide as dinner plates. "What? No!"

"Just checking." You lean against the counter. "What can I do for you, Robin?"

Robin suddenly looks like she's never interacted with a human being before. You like her a lot. Steve probably does too.

"I came to drop off your movie." She holds the tape over the counter like it's a pool of lava.

"But I didn't pay for it." You shove your hand in your jean pocket; you only have a couple dollars on you. "I guess I can get you the money tom—"

"It's on the house. For a fellow Molly fan."

Robin wiggles the tape with two fingers. You take it and wait for a catch. There is none.

"Thank you," you say. "You didn't have to do that."

"Actually, it wasn't me," she confesses. "I'm just the mailman."

You prepare to hand it back but Robin shakes her head.

"He's not going to pop out of the slushie machine, okay? He's just trying to make it up to you."

"He doesn't need to make it up to me," you bite, except those aren’t the words you mean. "Why does he even care? We're not in high school anymore."

Robin smiles a sad smile.

"I know," she says. "We’re not. I know he should've known to fix things earlier. He's received a lot of blows to the head, though, so he's still catching up."

The thought turns your stomach. More? More you weren’t there to protect him from?

"He doesn't owe me anything," you say and wave the tape again. "You can take it back and leave it for somebody else."

"Y/N, I know we don't know each other, like, at all. But it's important to me you know that Steve cares about you, because you’re important to him. And you knew him way before I did, and you probably know a lot of stuff I don't, and that's good because he has a friend like me, but he should also have a friend like you too, Y/N."

"I don't want to be his friend," you mumble.

"Yeah," Robin says. "I figured. But I don't think that's a confession he should hear secondhand."

You look at her, stunned. She's such a clever girl. You hope she treats Steve well.

"If you two are—"

"We're not," she says, like this is a regular explanation she goes through. "Steve and I are friends. Steve has crashed and burned with every single date since his fall from regency. Steve is the best person I've ever met."

"Yeah, I’ve heard. You and Dustin are his biggest fans."

Robin snorts. "Trust me, I'm not proud of it."

You shake your head. Your eyes feel hot.

"This town is so shit," you say.

"Yeah," Robin agrees. "It really fucking is. But I'm not asking you to give this town a second chance. Just him."

"Why are you trying so much?" you ask. "You don't even know me."

Robin shrugs. "No, but you're the one person Steve used to be friends with who's not an asshole, and I think us non-assholes need to band together."

"I can sometimes be an asshole."

"Me too. So are those little dweebs. How about calling ourselves the Semi-Assholes Club?"

You laugh. "We'll get jackets."

"With partially drawn butts on the backs," Robin says with a giggle.

You look at the tape in your hand.

"Does Steve like John Hughes?"

"He does. He's a total sap for those. He thinks he's in his own coming-of-age movie because he's delusional."

He sounds perfect. He sounds like the friend you loved.

"I did want to watch this one," you say.

"It won't hurt you to," Robin promises.

You suppose not.

December 1984

You don't believe the whispers. All week, the rumor mill spins tales of Billy Hargrove finally pushing the King off his throne. There's no way he'll show his face, a girl at the adjacent lunch table astutes. I sure as fuck wouldn't.

Steve Harrington is a loser. Steve Harrington got dumped for Jonathan Byers. Steve Harrington may as well be dead, and on and on.

Every line gets you angrier. A boy who sits behind you in chemistry taps his pencil like he always does. Tap, tap, tap.

Halfway through class, you snap at him to quit it. He does, but not without a tinge of embarrassment. You’re so angry this year. Angry at your loneliness, angry at the unfairness of said loneliness. You might’ve done this to yourself, and that fact only gets you angrier.

You see Nancy Wheeler in the hallways with Jonathan Byers, and the confirmation of that rumor should make you happy. It doesn't.

A week later, most of the excitement has died down. Everybody’s moved onto the next big thing, which is to deduce who fucked in Vice Principal White's office. One look at V.P. White, and it had been decided that it can't have been White himself.

You can't care less. Once upon a time you might’ve laughed about it with a friend, but you don't have any more of those, and high school is bullshit with or without them. So.

Steve walks in twenty five minutes into the period. Mrs. Kaplan gives him a downright beastly glare and demands to know where he had been.

"I'm sorry," is all he says. "If you give me detention, I understand."

There are a few snickers that rub at an old hurt, one that had flared up whenever somebody dared to make fun of your best friend. It doesn't bother me, he'd said, and you'd known it was a lie.

It bothers me, you’d replied, and Steve had hugged you tight.

Mrs. Kaplan seems more stunned Steve hadn't swaggered past her like a peacock escaped from the zoo and lets him go sit down without a fight. He takes the only empty desk, two rows across from you. You stare. You can't not.

Half of his face looks like it was mashed in a garbage disposal. It's purple and a sickly yellow. His eye and lip are still swollen. You stare and stare. You feel queasy.

Billy had done that. You're so angry. You think you might never get past this grief, this loss of a once permanent fixture in your life.

No one wished Steve a happy birthday this year, you realize out of nowhere.

You stare and stare and stare until Steve looks right back. You're blindsided by thick guilt, like blinking through a milkshake. And then the familiar curl of anger returns because why the fuck should you feel guilty? You aren't the one who fucked everything up, who mascerated this good thing. Steve did this to himself. Steve deserves to walk the halls alone. It's Steve's fault.

But when you look at him, at his raw wounds, at his bruised knuckles, you know that he already believes he deserves every punch Billy Hargrove gave him.

You hate Steve Harrington. But you really wish you'd been there to drive him to the hospital.

Now (And Forever)

The tape sits buried in your drawer for three days. You don’t know what Family Video’s return policy is, but you hope you’re not racking up late fees. You doubt name dropping Dustin will work again.

It’s Saturday when you decide to watch Pretty in Pink. You remove the video from its sleeve. An envelope falls out.

The front has your name printed in squished, loopy script. You remember January at Steve’s house, a stack of thank-you cards courtesy of his mother awaiting the Harringtons’ sign-off. Steve’s hand would cramp and you’d take over while he made grilled cheese for the both of you. Love, The Harringtons, and there was no love in that house, but you think maybe Steve loved enough to make up for it.

Hi, the letter begins. I hope you’re good. Robin told me you’re going to Hawkins State.

That’s fucking amazing. I’m so proud of you. Are you still writing poetry? I liked that one you wrote about the birds who shared a branch and kept each other warm. I still have it in my notebook in my room.

I’m sorry for the other night. I’m sorry for every night since freshman year, honestly. I’m kind of a dumbass, but you know that, so it doesn’t really excuse anything. I think I’ve actually lost brain cells since we drifted apart.

You crumple the corner, suddenly hot with anger. Who keeps telling him he’s dumb? You want names.

I didn’t forget you, you know. I got scared and I thought maybe I could ease into it, but then you recognized me and… well. I don’t blame you for running.

Anyway. I’m talking too much about myself, when there’s nothing to say. I’m really sorry about what I did, or, actually, what I didn’t do. Somebody told me I was living on autopilot, and that it wasn’t really living at all. I think it was you.

I’m not living on autopilot anymore. I woke up. And I realized that you’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me. I love Robin and the kids and this little family that has apparently invayd invaded your life too. Sorry about that. They never leave and they eat all your food. Good luck.

But I miss you. I always have.

Shit happened these last few years that I’ll tell you about one day, if you want. I’d rather not, though, because you’ve always been the paranoiac (like that one? Robin said it’s an SAT word) of the two of us and I feel like this would just make you even more of one. But I will tell you, if you want to hear it. I want to tell you everything. I want you to tell me everything too. Like we used to.

I want you to tell me how college is going. Who the annoying jerks in your classes are so I can go beat them up (kidding). I want you to stop by to rent movies so I can lend them for free and you’ll yell at me about taking advantage of fre friendships.

Fuck, I miss you. It’s always been there, bubbling below the surface. I never stopped missing you. I never stopped loving you. I’m sorry I didn’t write this sooner. I know you said writing is how we express things we can’t say. You were right. You always are. Can’t believe I forgot that.

It’s okay if you don’t want to be friends. I mean, it hurts, but I respect it. I understand. Most days, I can’t believe people can bear to be around me. But then I hear your voice in my head, telling me that most people are shitheads and that I’m golden and. Well, I don’t know if I believe that, but you were right that most of the people I surrounded myself with were shitheads. Except you, of course. And then I went ahead and fucked that up.

I’ve been working on finding the non-shitheads of the world. I think I’m doing pretty well. And I wrote this because I realized that while I will probably end up buried in this fucking town, you’re going to do something incredible. And nothing incredible ever happens in Hawkins, so I figure you’ll be far away when you do it.

I didn’t want to miss this chance to write things I never said. So here they are. And you can do whatever you want with them. You’ve always been the best of the two of us. I trust you.

You should watch Dirty Dancing. You’ll like it. I did. I’ll see it again if you want. I’ll watch anything with you.

Did you know there’s another Bond movie coming out in the summer? We could watch that one together too. If you wanted more time to decide.

Sincer

Your friend,

Steve

You don’t bother ejecting the tape. You run all the way to the bus stop, Steve’s letter in hand.

You have to see him. No other thoughts register except that one. You have to know if Steve wrote these words because he can’t say them or because you won’t listen.

It isn’t too late when you get to Loch Nora. The neighborhood is dead, which is weird. Steve’s house looks frozen in time: his parents’ car isn’t in the driveway. You wonder if they’ve ever come back since you’ve been gone. You wouldn't be surprised if the answer is no.

There’s a tarp over the pool. The gate is locked with a chain. You can’t sneak in through the fence like you used to. Not that you would. You don’t think strangers can sneak through pool gates.

You knock on the door three times. And wait.

Steve’s car is in the driveway, a duller burgundy than when he first got it. There are a few scratches in the paint. No longer a prized possession. Maybe well-loved instead.

The door swings open.

Steve says your name like a prayer. You swallow and steel your spine.

“I got your letter,” you say.

“Oh.” He rubs the back of his neck. His hair is damp like he’s just showered. It curls around his ears. Waves of want hit you.

“I don’t want to be friends,” you continue before he can speak. “I don’t—I can’t do that again.”

Steve’s mouth draws into the saddest frown you’ve ever seen.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Thank you for telling me.”

“No.” You shake your head. “No, that’s not—I don’t mean it like that.”

His brows knit. “What?”

“I…” You pull out the letter and wave it. “Did you mean it? Do you love me?”

“Yes,” Steve whispers. It’s like a shout in the quiet street. “I meant it.”

“Like a friend?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Will you love me like a friend forever?” you ask.

“Always.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I love you as something more,” you blurt, watery. “I have for a long time.”

You hear the door shut. This is it: your heart on the line, all for nothing—

“Then I’ll love you as something more back,” Steve says. “I’ll love you any way you want me to.”

And he holds you the way you’d held him so many times. You inhale and wrap your arms around his neck. You’ve got an iron grip around the letter. Tears slip down your cheeks.

“I missed you,” you confess.

Steve nods against your shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says, and it sounds a little wet. “I missed you too.”

“You were wrong,” you say into his neck.

“Hmm?”

You pull back to look at Steve.

“Incredible things do happen in Hawkins.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve smiles, cheeks blotchy. “Like what?”

“We found each other again.”

#steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x yn #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x you #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #friends to lovers #strangers to lovers #friends to strangers to lovers

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 7 months ago

Text

1968 [Chapter 5: Artemis, Goddess Of The Hunt]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 6.6k

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💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

“So you smoked grass in college,” Aegon says, pondering you with glazed eyes as he slurps his cherry-flavored Mr. Misty. You’re in Biloxi, Mississippi where Aemond is making speeches and meeting with locals to commemorate the first summer of the beaches being desegregated after a decade of peaceful protests and violent white supremacist backlash. Route 90 runs right along the sand dunes. If you walked out of this Dairy Queen, you could look south and see the Gulf of Mexico, placid dark ripples gleaming with moonshine. “And swore, and had a boyfriend, and presumably, what, did shots? Skipped class on occasion?”

“Yeah,” you admit, smiling sheepishly, remembering. You stretch out your fingers. “I chewed gum, I talked during mass. And I loved black nail polish. The nuns would beat my knuckles with rulers, I always had bruises. I wore these flowing skirts down to my ankles and knee-high boots. My hair was a mess, long and blowing around everywhere. My friends and I would do each other’s makeup, silver glitter and purple shadow, pencil on a ridiculous amount of eyeliner and then smudge it out. If you saw a photo you wouldn’t recognize me.”

Aegon takes a drag on his Lucky Strike cigarette, weightless smoke and the tired yellowish haze of florescent lights. Buffalo Springfield’s For What It’s Worth is playing from the Zenith radio on the counter by the cash register. “I’d recognize you.”

“I used to skip this one class all the time. The professor was a demon. I could do the math, but not the way he wanted me to. Right solution, wrong steps, I don’t know. I learned it differently in high school, and I couldn’t figure out the formula he wanted me to use. So he’d mark everything a zero even if my answer was correct. I couldn’t stand that bastard. Then the nuns kept catching me sunbathing on the quad when I was supposed to be in Matrices and Vector Spaces. I racked up so many demerits they were going to revoke my weekend pass, and then I wouldn’t be able to go into the city with my friends. So I stole the demerit book and burned it up on the stove in my dorm. Almost set the whole building on fire.”

Aegon is laughing. “You did not. Not you, not perfect ever-obedient Miss America!”

“I did. I really did.” You sip your own Mr. Misty, lemon-lime. Across the restaurant, Criston and Fosco are eating banana splits—dripping chocolate syrup and melted ice cream all over their table—and passionately debating who is going to end up in the World Series; Criston favors the Cardinals and the Orioles, Fosco says the Red Sox and the Cubs. The rest of the Targaryen family is back at the hotel watching news coverage of the Republican National Convention, something you can only stomach so much of, Otto’s cynical commentary, Aemond’s remaining eye fixed fiercely on the screen as he nips at an Old Fashioned. “I was wild back then.”

“And you gave it all up to be Aemond’s first lady.”

You think back to where it started: palm trees, salt water, alligators in drainage ditches. “My father grew up in a shack outside of Tallahassee. No electricity, no running water, he dropped out of school in eighth grade to help take care of his siblings when his mom died. They moved south to live with their aunt in Tampa, and my father wound up in Tarpon Springs working as a sea sponge diver.”

Aegon’s eyebrows rise, like he thinks you’re teasing him. “Sea sponges…?”

“I’m serious! It paid better than picking oranges or sweeping up in a factory. It’s dangerous. You have to wear this heavy rubber suit and walk around on the ocean floor, sometimes 50 feet or more below the surface.”

“What do people do with sea sponges?”

“Oh right, you would be unfamiliar. You’re supposed to clean yourself with them, like a loofah. Soap? Water? Ringing any bells?”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes. “You’re a very mean person. Aren’t you supposed to be setting an example for the merciful wives and daughters of this great nation?”

“Painters and potters buy sponges too. And some women use them as contraceptives. You can soak them in lemon juice and then shove them up there and it kills sperm.”

“I suddenly have great appreciation for the sea sponge industry. God bless the sea sponges.”

“So my father spent a few years diving, and he fell in love with a girl who worked at one of the shops he sold sponges to. That was my mother. They got married when he had absolutely nothing, and by their fifth anniversary he had his own fleet of boats, a gift shop, and a processing and shipping facility, all of which they owned jointly. They just opened the Spongeorama Sponge Factory this past April, a cute little tourist trap. But my point is that they were partners from the start. My father listens to my mother, and she works alongside him, and it was never like what I’ve seen from my friends’ parents: dad at the office 80 hours a week, mom at home strung out on Valium, just these…deeply separate, cold planets locked in orbit but never touching each other. I knew I didn’t want that. I wanted a husband who was building something I could be a part of. I wanted a man who respected me.”

Aegon watches you as he lights a fresh cigarette, not saying what you imagine he wants to: And how is that working out? He puffs on his Lucky Strike a few times and then offers it to you. You aren’t supposed to smoke, not even tobacco—it’s not ladylike, it’s masculine, it’s subversive—but you take it and hold it between your index and middle fingers, inhaling an ashy bitterness that blood learns to crave. The bracelets on your wrist jangle, thin silver chains that match the diamonds in your ears. Your dress is mint green, your hair in your signature Brigitte Bardot-inspired updo. Aegon is wearing a black t-shirt with The Who stamped across the front. When you pass the cigarette back to him, Aegon asks: “What music did you listen to? The Stones, The Animals?”

“Yeah. And Hendrix, The Kinks, Aretha Franklin…”

“Phil Ochs?”

“I love him. He’s got a song about Mississippi, you know.”

“Oh, I’m aware. It’s one of my favorites.”

“And I’m currently getting a little obsessed with Loretta Lynn. She’s so angry!”

“She’s sanctimonious, that’s what she is. Always bitching about men.”

“Six kids and an alcoholic husband will do that to someone.”

Aegon winces, and then you realize what you’ve said. Loretta Lynn sounds a lot like Mimi. He finishes his Mr. Misty and then fidgets restlessly with his white cardboard cup, spinning it around by the straw. You feel bad, though you shouldn’t. You wouldn’t have a month ago.

“Aegon,” you say gently, and he reluctantly looks up at you, sunburned cheeks, blonde hair shagging over his eyes. “Why do you ignore your children? They’re interesting, they’re fun. Violeta invited me to help her make cakes with her Easy-Bake Oven last week. And Cosmo…he’s so clever. But it’s like he doesn’t know who you are. He might actually think Fosco’s his dad.”

Aegon takes one last drag off his cigarette and discards the end of it in his Mr. Misty cup. Now he’s fiddling with it again, avoiding your gaze. “I don’t have much to offer them.”

“I think you do.”

“No you don’t.”

“I do,” you insist. “You can be kind of nice sometimes.”

He frowns, staring out the window. You know he can’t see anything but darkness and streetlights. “I should have been the one to go to Vietnam. If somebody had to get shot at so Aemond could be president, I was the right choice. No one would miss me. No one would mourn me. Daeron didn’t deserve that. But I was too old, so Otto and my father got him to enlist. Now he’s in the jungle and my mother has nightmares about Western Union telegrams. If I was the son over there, I think she’d sleep easier.”

I’m glad you’re still here, you think. Instead you say: “Your children need you.”

“No they don’t. Between me and Mimi, they’re better off as orphans. Helaena and Fosco can be their parents. Maybe they’ll have a fighting chance.”

The glass door opens, and a man walks into the Dairy Queen with his two sons scampering behind him, all with sandy flip flops and carrying fishing rods. The dad is at least six feet tall and brawny, and wearing a Wallace For President baseball cap. You and Aegon both notice it, then share an amused, disparaging glance. You mouth: Imbecile bigot. The man continues to the cash register and orders two chocolate shakes and a root beer float. At their own table, Criston is mopping up melted ice cream with napkins and telling Fosco to stop being such a pig.

“Me?!” Fosco says. “You are the pig, that spot there is your ice cream, do not blame your failings on poor Fosco. I have already let you drag me to this terrible state and never once complained about the fried food or the mosquitos. And that thing out there is not a real beach. The water is still and brown, brown!”

“For once in your life, pretend you have a work ethic and help me clean up the table.”

“You are being very anti-immigrant right now, do you know that?”

Aegon begins singing, ostensibly to himself. “Here’s to the state of Mississippi, for underneath her borders, the devil draws no lines.”

“Aegon, no,” you whisper, petrified. You know this song. You know where he’s going.

He’s beaming as he continues: “If you drag her muddy rivers, nameless bodies you will find.”

Now the man in the Wallace hat is looking at Aegon. His sons are happily gulping down their chocolate shakes. Criston and Fosco, still bickering, haven’t noticed yet.

“Oh, the fat trees of the forest have hid a thousand crimes.”

“Aegon, don’t,” you plead quietly. “He’ll murder you.”

“The calendar is lyin’ when it reads the present time.”

“Hey,” calls the man in the Wallace For President hat. “You got a problem, boy?”

Aegon drums his palms on the tabletop as he sings, loudly now: “Oh, here’s to the land you’ve torn out the heart of, Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of!”

In seconds, the man has crossed the room, grabbed Aegon by the collar of his t-shirt, yanked him out of his chair and struck him across the face: closed fist, lethal intent, the sick wet sound of bones on flesh. Aegon’s nose gushes, his lip splits open, but he isn’t flinching away, he isn’t afraid. He’s yowling like a rabid animal and clawing, kicking, swinging at the giant who’s ensnared him. You are screaming as you leap to your feet, your chair falling over and clattering on the floor behind you. The man’s sons are hooting joyously. “Git him, Paw!” one of them shouts.

“Criston?!” you shriek, but he and Fosco are already here, tugging at the man’s massive arms and beating on his back, trying to untangle him from Aegon.

“Stop!” Criston roars. “You don’t want to hurt him! He’s a Targaryen!”

“A Targaryen, huh?” the man says as he steps away, wiping the blood from his knuckles on his tattered white t-shirt, stained with fish guts. “All the better. I wish that bullet they put in Aemond woulda been just another inch to the left. Directly through the aorta.”

Aegon lunges at the man again, hissing, fists swinging. Fosco yanks him back.

“Are you gonna call someone or not?!” Criston snaps at the girl behind the cash register, but she only gives him a steely glare in return. This is Wallace country. There’s a reason why it took four years after the Civil Rights Act of 1964 to finally desegregate the beaches.

“We should go,” you tell Criston softly.

“Yes, we will leave now,” Fosco says, hauling Aegon towards the front door. Then, to the cashier: “Thank you for the ice cream, but it was not very good. If you are ever in Italy, try the gelato. You will learn so much.”

“I can’t wait ‘til November,” the man gloats, ominous, threatening. His sons are standing tall and proud beside him. “When Aemond loses, you can all cart your asses back to Europe. We don’t want you here. America ain’t for people like you.”

“It literally is,” you say, unable to stop yourself. “It’s on the Statue of Liberty.”

“Yeah, where do you think your ancestors came from?!” Aegon yells at the man. “Are you a Seminole, pal? I didn’t think so—!” Fosco and Criston lug him through the doorway before more punches can be thrown.

Outside—under stars and streetlights and a full moon—Aegon burst out laughing. This is when he feels alive; this is when the blood in his veins turns to wave and riptides. You didn’t think to grab napkins from the table, so you wipe the blood off his face with your bare hand, assessing the damage. He’ll be fine; swollen and sore, but fine.

“You’re insane, you know that?” you say. “You could have been killed.”

Aegon pats your cheek twice and grins, blood on his teeth. “The world would keep spinning, little Io.” Then he starts walking back towards the White House Hotel.

~~~~~~~~~~

When the four of you arrive at your suite, Aemond, Otto, Ludwika, and Alicent are still gathered around the television. The nannies have taken the children to bed. Helaena is reading The Bell Jar in an armchair in the corner of the room. Mimi is passed out on the couch, several empty glasses on the coffee table. ABC is showing a clip they recorded earlier today of Ludwika travelling with Aemond’s retinue after he made an impassioned speech condemning the lack of recognition of the evils of slavery at Beauvoir, the historic home of former Confederate president Jefferson Davis. The reporter is asking Ludwika what she thinks makes Aemond a better presidential candidate than Eugene McCarthy, as McCarthy shares many of the same policy positions and has an additional 15 years of political experience.

“This McCarthy is not a real man,” Ludwika responds, her face stony and mistrustful. “He reminds me of the communists back in my country. Did you know he met with Che Guevara in New York City a few years ago? Why would he do such a thing?”

Now, Otto turns to her in this hotel room. “I love you.”

Ludwika takes a sip of her martini. “I want another Gucci bag.”

“Yes, yes. Tomorrow, my dear.”

“What happened to you?” Aemond asks his brother, half-exasperated and half-concerned. Criston has fetched a washcloth from the bathroom for Aegon to hold against his bleeding lip and nose. Aemond is still wearing his blue suit from a long day of campaigning, but he’s taken out his eye and put on his eyepatch. His gaze flicks from Aegon’s face to the blood still coating your left hand. On the couch, Mimi’s bare foot twitches but she doesn’t wake up.

“There was a Wallace supporter at the Dairy Queen,” you say. “Aegon felt inspired to defend you.”

Aemond chuckles. “Did you win?” he asks Aegon.

“I would have if the guy wasn’t two of me.”

On the television screen, Richard Nixon is accepting his party’s nomination for president at the Republican National Convention in Miami, Florida.

“He’s a buffoon,” Otto sneers. “So awkward and undignified. Look at him sweating! Look at those ridiculous jowls! And he comes from nothing. His family is trash.”

“Americans love a rags to riches story,” you say. And then, somewhat randomly: “He loves his wife. He proposed to Pat on their very first date, and she said no. So he drove her to dates with other men for years until she finally reconsidered. He said it was love at first sight. He’s never had a mistress. And jowls or no jowls, his family adores him.”

Aegon turns to you, still clutching the washcloth against his face. “Really?”

You nod. “That’s the sort of thing the women talk about.”

There’s a knock at the door. You all look at each other, confounded; no one has ordered room service, no one is expecting any visitors, and the nannies have keys in the event of an emergency. Fosco is closest to the door, so he opens it. A man in uniform is standing there with a golden Western Union telegram in his hands. Alicent screams and collapses. Criston bolts to her.

“It’s okay,” you say. “He’s not dead. Whatever happened, Daeron’s not dead.”

Otto crinkles his brow at you. “How do you know?”

“Because if he was killed, there would be a priest here too.” They always send a priest when the boy is dead. Aegon glances at you, eyes wet and fearful.

“Ma’am,” the soldier—a major you see now, spotting the golden oak leaves—says to Alicent as he removes his cap. “I regret to inform you that your son Daeron was missing in action for several weeks, and we’ve just received confirmation that he’s being held as a prisoner of war in Hỏa Lò Prison.”

“He’s in the Hanoi Hilton?!” Otto exclaims. “Oh, fuck those people and their swamp, how did Kennedy ever think we had something to gain from getting tangled up in that mess?”

“But he’s alive?” Aemond says. “He’s unharmed?”

“Yes sir,” the captain replies. “It is our understanding that he is in good condition. The North Vietnamese are aware that he is a very valuable prisoner, like Admiral McCain’s son John. He’ll be used in negotiations. He is of far more use to them alive than dead.”

“So we can get Daeron back,” Aegon says. “I mean, we have to be able to, right? Aemond’s running for president, he’ll probably win in November, we have millions of dollars, we can spring one man out of some third-world jail, right?”

The captain continues: “Tomorrow when your family returns to New Jersey, the Joint Chiefs of Staff will be there to discuss next steps with you. I’m afraid I’m only authorized to give you the news as it was relayed to me.” He entrusts the telegram to Otto, who rapidly opens it and stares down at the mechanical typewriter words.

“I have to pray,” Alicent says suddenly. “Helaena, will you pray with me? There’s a Greek church down the road. Holy Trinity, I think it’s called.”

Obediently, Helaena joins her mother and follows her to the doorway. Criston leaves with them. Otto gives his new wife a harsh, meaningful stare. Ludwika, an ardent yet covert atheist, sighs irritably. “Wait. I want to pray too,” she says, and vanishes with them into the hall.

As the captain departs, Mimi sits up on the couch, blinking, groggy. “What? What happened?”

“Go with Alicent,” Otto tells her. “She’s headed downstairs.”

“What? Why…?”

“Just go!” he barks.

Mimi staggers to her feet and hobbles out of the hotel room, her sundress—patterned with forget-me-nots—billowing around her. The only people left are Otto, Aemond, Fosco, Aegon, and you. The fact that you are the sole woman permitted to remain here feels intentional.

After a moment, Otto speaks. “You know, John McCain has famously refused to be released from the Hanoi Hilton until all the men imprisoned before him have been freed. He doesn’t want special treatment. And that’s a very noble thing to do, don’t you think? It has endeared him and the McCains to the public.”

Aemond and Otto are looking at each other, communicating in a silent language not of letters or accents but colors: red ambition, green hunger, grey impassionate morality. Fosco is observing them uneasily. Aemond says at last: “Daeron wants to help this family.”

“You’re not going to try to get him out.” Aegon realizes.

Aemond turns to him, businesslike, vague distant sympathy. “It’s only until November.”

“No, you know people!” Aegon explodes. “You pick up the phone, you call in every favor, you get him out of there now! You have no idea if he has another three months, you don’t know what kind of shape he’s in! They could be dislocating his arms or chopping off his fingers right now, they could be starving him, they could be beating him, you can’t just leave him there!”

“It’s not your decision. It could have been, had you accepted your role as the eldest son. But you didn’t. So it’s my job to handle these things. You don’t get to hate me for making choices you were too cowardly too take responsibility for.”

“But Daeron could die,” Aegon says, his voice going brittle.

“Any of us could die. We’re in a very dangerous line of work. Greatness killed Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley, Huey Long, Medgar Evers, John F. Kennedy, Malcolm X, Vernon Dahmer, Martin Luther King Jr., does that mean we should all give up the fight? Of course not. The work isn’t finished. We have to keep going.”

“Will you stop pretending this is about America?! This is about you wanting to be president, and everything you’ve ever done has been in pursuit of that trophy, and you keep shoving new people into the line of fire and it’s not right!”

“Aegon,” Otto says calmly. “It’s unlikely we’d be able to get him out before the election anyway. Negotiations take time. But if Aemond wins in November, he’ll be in a very advantageous position. The North Vietnamese aren’t stupid. They wouldn’t kill the brother of a U.S. president. They don’t want their vile little corner of the world flattened by nukes.”

“Still, it feels so wrong to leave a brother in peril,” Fosco says. “It is unnatural. Of course Aegon will be upset. We could at least see what a deal to get Daeron released would entail, maybe his arrival home would be a good headline—”

“And who the fuck asked you?” Otto demands, and Fosco goes quiet.

“Okay, then tell Mom,” Aegon says to Aemond. “Tell her you’re going to pretend Daeron made some self-sacrificial vow not to come home until all the other POWs can too. Tell her you’re going to let him get tortured for a few months before you take this seriously.”

Aemond replies cooly: “Why would you want to upset her? She can’t change it. You’ll only make her suffering worse.”

“What do you think?” Otto asks you, and you know that he isn’t seeking counsel. He’s summoning you like a dog to perform a trick, like an actor to recite a line. He’s waiting for you to say that it’s a smart strategy, because it is. He’s waiting for you to bend to Aemond’s will as your station requires you to, as moons are bound to their planets.

“I think it’s wrong,” you murmur; and Aemond is thunderstruck by your treason.

Without another word, you walk into the bathroom, turn on the sink, and gaze down at Aegon’s blood on your palm. For some reason, it’s very difficult to bring yourself to wash it away.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s mid-August now, the world painted in goldenrod yellow and sky blue. The Democratic National Convention is in two weeks. You and Aemond are posing on the beach at Asteria, surrounded by an adoring gaggle of journalists who are snapping photographs and jotting down quotes on their notepads. You’re sitting demurely on a sand dune, you’re building sandcastles with the children you borrowed from Aegon and Helaena, you’re flying kites, you’re gazing confidently into the sunlit horizon where a glorious new age is surely dawning.

“Mr. Targaryen, what is it that makes your partnership so successful?” a journalist asks as flashbulbs pulse like lightning. “What do you think is the most crucial characteristic to have in a wife?”

Aemond doesn’t need to consider this before he answers. He always has his compliment picked out. “Loyalty,” your husband says. “Not just to me or to the Targaryen family, but to our shared cause. This year has been indescribably difficult for me and my wife. I announced my candidacy, we embarked on a strenuous national campaign that we’re currently only halfway through, I barely survived a brutal assassination attempt in May, in July we lost our first child to hyaline membrane disease after he was born six weeks prematurely, and at the beginning of this month we learned that my youngest brother Daeron was taken by the North Vietnamese as a prisoner of war. To find the strength not just to get out of bed in the morning, not just to be there for me and this family in our personal lives, but to tirelessly traverse the country with me inspiring Americans to believe in a better future…it’s absolutely remarkable. I’m in awe of her. And when she is the first lady of the United States, she will continue to amaze us all with her unwavering faith and dedication.”

There are whistles and cheers and strobing flashbulbs. You smile—elegant, soft, practiced—as Aemond rests a hand firmly on your waist. You lean into him, feeling out-of-place, bewildered that you’ve ever slept with him, full of dull panic that soon you’ll have to again.

“How about you, Mrs. Targaryen?” another reporter asks. “Same question, essentially. What is the trait that you most admire in your husband?”

And in the cascading clicks of photographs being captured, your mind goes entirely blank. You can think of so many other people—Aegon, Ari, Alicent, Daeron, Fosco, Cosmo—but not Aemond. It’s like you’ve blocked him out somehow, like he’s a sketch you erased. But you can’t hesitate. You can’t let the uncertainty read on your face. You begin speaking without knowing where you’re going, something that is rare for you. “Aemond is the most tenacious person I’ve ever met. When he has a goal in mind, nothing can stop him.” You pause, and there are a few awkward chuckles from the journalists. You swiftly recover. “He never stops learning. He always knows the right thing to do or say. And what he wants more than anything is to serve the American people. Aemond won’t disappoint you. He’s not capable of it. He will do whatever it takes to make this country more prosperous, more peaceful, and more free.”

There are applause and gracious thank yous, but Aemond gives you a look—just for a second, just long enough that you can catch it—that warns you to get it together. Fifteen minutes later, he and the flock of reporters are headed to one of the guest houses to conduct a long-form interview. This will be the bulk of the article; you will appear in one or two photos, you will supply a few quotes. The rest of the story is Aemond. You are an accessory, like a belt or a bracelet. He’s the person who picks you out of a drawer each morning and wears you until you go out of fashion.

Released from your obligations, you return to the main house and disappear into your upstairs bathroom. You are there for fifteen minutes and emerge rattled, routed. You pace aimlessly around your bedroom for a while, then try again; still no luck. You go back outside and stare blankly at the ocean, wondering what you’re going to do. Down on the beach, Fosco is teaching the kids how to yo-yo. Ludwika is sunbathing in a bikini.

“What’s wrong with you?”

You whirl to see Aegon, popping a Valium into his mouth and washing it down with a splash of straight rum from a coffee mug. “Huh? Nothing. I’m great.”

“No, something’s wrong. You look lost. You look like me.”

You gaze out over the ocean again, chewing your lower lip.

Aegon snickers, fascinated, sensing a scandal. “What did you do?”

Your eyes drift to him. “You can’t make fun of me.”

“Okay. I won’t.”

There is a long, heavy lull before you answer. When you speak, it’s all in a rush, like you can’t unburden yourself of the words fast enough. “I put a tampon in and I can’t get it out.”

Aegon immediately breaks his promise and cackles. “You did what?!” Then he tries to be serious. “Wait. Sorry. Uh, really?”

You’re on the verge of tears. “I’ve been bleeding since I had the baby, and I hate using tampons, I almost never do, but Aemond wanted me to wear this dress for the photoshoot and it’s super gauzy and from certain angles I felt like I could see the pad bulge when I checked in the mirror, so I put a tampon in for the first time in probably a year. I’m not even supposed to be using them for another few weeks because my uterus isn’t healed all the way or whatever. And now I can’t get it out and it’s been in there for like six hours and I’m scared I’m going to get an infection and die in the most pointless, humiliating way imaginable.”

“Okay, calm down, calm down,” Aegon says. “There’s no string?”

“No, I’ve checked multiple times. It must be a defective one and they forgot to put a string in it at the factory and I didn’t notice, or the string somehow got tucked under it, I don’t know, but I can’t get it out, it’s like…the angle isn’t right. I can just barely feel it with my fingertips, but I can’t grab it. I’m going to have to go to the hospital to get it taken out, but I’m scared word will spread and journalists will show up to get photos when I leave and then everyone will be asking me why I was at the emergency room to begin with and I’m going to have to make up something and…and…” You can’t talk anymore. There are other reasons why you don’t want to go to the hospital. You haven’t stepped foot in one since Ari died; the thought makes you feel like you are looking down to see blood on your thighs all over again, like you’ll never have enough air in your lungs.

“Did you bleed through it? Because that should help it slide out easier.”

“I don’t know,” you moan miserably. “I mean, I guess I did, because there was blood when I checked a few minutes ago. I had to stuff my underwear with toilet paper.”

“Why didn’t you just tell Aemond you couldn’t wear this dress?”

You give him an impatient glance. “I’m tired of having the same conversation.” When do you think you’ll be done bleeding? When do you think it’ll be time to start trying again?

Aegon sighs. “Do you want me to get it out for you?”

“Please stop. I’m really panicking here.”

“I’m not joking.”

You stare at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I have fished many objects out of many orifices, you cannot shock me. I am unshockable.”

“I’d rather walk down to the sand right now and strangle myself with Fosco’s yo-yo.”

“Okay. So who are you gonna ask to drive you to the hospital?”

You hesitate.

“I’d offer to do it,” Aegon says, grinning, holding up his mug. “But I’m in no condition to drive.”

“But you are in the proper condition to extract a rogue tampon, huh?”

“Two minutes tops. That’s a guarantee. My personal best is fifteen seconds. And that was for a lost condom, much trickier to locate than a tampon.”

Perhaps paradoxically, the more you consider his offer, the more tempting it seems. No complicated trip and cover story? Over in just a few minutes? “If you ever tell anyone about this, I will never forgive you. I will hate you forever.”

Aegon taunts: “I thought you already hated me.”

You aren’t sure what you feel for him, but it’s certainly not hate. Not anymore. “Where would we do it?”

“In my office. And by that I mean my basement.”

“Your filthy, disease-ridden basement? On your shag carpet full of crabs?”

“You’re in luck,” he jokes. “My crab exterminator service just came by yesterday.”

You exhale in a low, despairing groan.

“Hey, would you rather do it on the dining room table? I’m game. Your choice.”

You watch the seagulls swooping in the afternoon air, the banners of sailboats on the glittering water. “Okay. The basement.”

You walk with Aegon to the house and—after ensuring that no one is around to notice—sneak with him down the creaking basement steps, the door locked behind you. Aegon is darting around; he sets a small trashcan by the carpet and tosses you two towels, then goes to wash his hands in his tiny bathroom, not nearly enough room for someone to stretch out across the linoleum floor.

You’re surveying the scene nervously. “I don’t want to get blood all over your stuff.”

“You’re the cleanest thing that’s ever been on that carpet. Lie down.”

You place one towel on the green shag carpet, then whisk off your panties, discard the bloody knot of toilet paper in the trashcan, and pull the skirt of your dress up around your waist so it’s out of the way. Then you sit down and drape the second towel over your thighs so you’re hidden from him, like you’re about to be examined by a doctor. Your heart is thumping, but you don’t exactly feel like you want to stop. It’s more exhilarating than fear, you think; it is forbidden, it is shameful, it is a microscopic betrayal of Aemond that he’ll never know about.

Aegon moseys out of the bathroom, flicking drops of water from his hands. He wears one of his usual counterculture uniforms: a frayed green army jacket with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, khaki shorts, tan moccasins. He kicks them off before he kneels on the shag carpet. He checks the clock on the wall. “2:07. I promised two minutes max. Let’s see how I do. Ready?”

You rest the back of your head on your linked hands, raise your knees, take a deep and unsteady breath. “Ready.”

But he can see that you’re shaking. “Hey,” Aegon says kindly, pressing his hand down on the towel so you’re covered. “Do you want me to go to the hospital with you? I’ll try to distract people. I’ll pretend I’m having a seizure or something.”

“No, I’m okay,” you insist. “I just want it out. I want this over with.”

“Got it.” And then he begins. He stares at the wall to his left, not looking at you, navigating by feel. You feel the pressure of two fingers, a stretching that is not entirely unpleasant. He’s warm and careful, strangely unobtrusive. Still, you suck in a breath and shift on the carpet. “Shh, shh, shh,” Aegon whispers, skimming his other hand up and down the inside of your thigh, and shiver like you’ve never felt before rolls backwards up the length of your spine. “Relax. You alright?”

“Fine. Totally fine.”

“Oh yeah, it’s definitely in there,” Aegon says. His brow is creased with comprehension. “No string…you’re right, it must either be tangled up somehow or it never had one to begin with. Maybe you accidentally inserted it upside down.”

“Now you insult my intelligence. As if I’m not embarrassed enough.”

“I should have put on a record to set the mood. What gets you going, Marvin Gaye? Elvis?”

“The seductive voice of Richard Milhous Nixon. Maybe you can get him on the phone.”

Aegon laughs hysterically. His fingertips push the tampon against your cervix and you yelp. “Sorry, sorry, my mistake,” Aegon says. There are beads of sweat on his forehead, on his temples; now his eyes are squeezed shut. “I’m gonna try to wiggle it out…”

As he works, there are sensations you can’t quite explain: a very slow-building indistinct desire, a loosening, a readying, a drop in your belly when you think about the fact that he’s the one touching you. Then he happens to press in just the right spot and there is a sudden pang of real pleasure—craving, aching, a deep red flare of previously unfathomable temptation—and you instinctively reach for him. Your hand meets his forearm, and for the first time since he started Aegon looks at your face, alarmed, afraid that he’s hurt you again. But once your eyes meet you’re both trapped there, and you can’t pretend you’re not, his fingers still inside you, his pulse racing, a rivulet of sweat snaking down the side of his face, his eyes an opaque murky blue like water you’re desperate to claw your way into. You know what you want to tell him, but the words are impossible. Don’t stop. Come closer.

Aegon clears his throat, forces himself to look away, and at last dislodges the tampon. It appears dark and bloody in his grasp. “No string,” he confirms, holding it up and turning it so you can see. “Factory reject.”

“Just like you.”

He glances at the clock. “2:09. I delivered precisely what was promised.” He chucks the tampon into the trashcan and then grins as he helps pull you upright with his clean hand. “So do you like to cuddle afterwards, or…?”

You’re giggling, covering your flushed face. “Shut up.”

“Personally, I enjoy being ridden into the ground and then called a good boy.”

“Go away.” You nod to where he disposed of the tampon and say before stopping to think: “You’re not going to keep that under your ashtray too?”

Aegon freezes and blinks at you. He smiles slowly, cautiously. “No, I think that would be a little unorthodox, even for me.” He pitches you a clean washcloth from the bathroom closet. “That should get you upstairs.”

“Thanks.” You shove it between your legs and rise to your feet, smoothing the skirt of your dress. “I owe you something. I’m not sure what, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Hey,” Aegon says, and waits for you to turn to him. “Maybe I’m not that bad.”

“Maybe,” you agree thoughtfully.

Just before you hurry upstairs, you steal a glimpse of Aegon in the bathroom, the door kicked only half-closed. He has turned on the water, but he’s not using it yet. Aegon is staring down at the blood on his hand, half-dried scarlet impermanent ink.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hi, it’s me again. I’m in solitary confinement. There’s a guy in the cell next to mine; we talk to each other with a modified version of Morse code. Tap tap tap on the wall, he taps back, etcetera etcetera, you get the idea. You’re not going to believe this, but he says his name is John McCain. Well, actually, he told me his name is Jobm McCbin, but I think that’s because I translated the taps wrong. I might be in the Hanoi Hilton, but at least they have me in the VIP section! Hahaha.

Every few hours the guards show up to do a very impressive magic trick: they wave their batons like wands, I turn black and blue. Sometimes one of my teeth even disappears. Isn’t that something? Houdini would love it. There’s a rat that I’m making friends with. I give her nibbles of my stale bread, she gives me someone to talk to. She’s good company. I’ve named her Tessarion.

Allow me to make something absolutely fucking clear.

I would very much like to be rescued.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon targaryen x you

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sxnshxnxxnddxxsxxs · 1 year ago

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Duke Thomas headcannons becuase please just write him as a black boy:

the first time there’s a summer rain at night after he moves into Wayne Manor Duke sets up the speakers and the floodlights and lives out his 00’s rnb music video dreams

after that Alfred will sometimes drive him around in the back of one of the cars when it rains at night because he doesn’t want his latest grandson to get hypothermia but understands that it is very important to live out 00’s rnb music video dreams

Duke teaches Cass the Usher watch this thing and originally they only use it to tell each other that they’re gonna do some dumb shit but then Cass decides she really likes it and uses it more than the actual sign

Duke and Cass have a theme song because they are besties and that theme song is black and yellow by Wiz Khalifa whenever it plays they drop everything to rap to each other and if anyone turns it off before it finishes they start it again even louder it becomes a great distraction technique for other batfamily members. they chose the song because of their uniforms but the first time a civilian sees how enthusiastic they are about the song they draw a different conclusion and they find it so funny that they definitely have to keep it as their theme song from now on

Duke lives a no shoes in the house life no matter who’s house it is or what everyone else is doing

He also keeps his Signal uniform exclusively in the batcave because no uniforms in the Manor seems like the natural extension for no outside clothes in bed

Duke sneaks scotch bonnets into the Manor kitchen generally timed with the occasions that Jason is around and in the mood to cook. Dinner those nights feature running eyes and noses from Bruce Tim and Steph along with all the milk in the Manor finishing. It’s great entertainment for Duke Cass Damian Jason and Dick

Duke has locs he lowkey thinks about bleaching the ends to match the aesthetic of his uniform but he’s unsure of if it will make him to conspicuous

When he first moved to the Manor he got pooled into the schedule to pick up hair shop (beauty supply store) supplies with the Fox’s because they’re all way too busy of people to be driving out of the way individually so it only made sense to add Duke to that. He and Tam also timetable his retwist appointments with her hair appointments for the same time

Duke is an instigator Jason and Tim will be having a petty squabble that is about to fizzle out but then Duke walks past them and just whispers a quick “if I were you I wouldn’t have that” and then an hour later a priceless vase is broken there’s holes in the wall and Tim and Jason have matching black eyes. Duke considers it a public service to provide Babs with entertainment for when Oracle hours a slow she agrees and doesn’t snitch on just how much shit Duke starts so he can get away with even more

Duke joins Jason and Alfred’s book club and the first book he picks is Beloved because like they’re in this big old gothic manor respect the aesthetic

One time Bruce walks passed Duke on ft to his friends and he’s performing “Wisdom” and Bruce thinks it’s something Duke came up with himself and is trying to be a supportive dad and is like “that’s great son” with a really strained smile and Duke just sticks to the bit like “you really think so?” bruce even more pained “yeah it’s amazing”

He also has exclusively satin pillowcases and gives everyone in the Manor a set because it’s good for the hair and therefore a good use of Bruce’s rich people money

Duke upon realising that he was gonna be adopted by a bunch of crime fighting pseudofurries and was going to join them in the crime fighting said this some white people shit and that’s why he chose Signal rather than some bioluminescent bird

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beomiracles · 5 months ago

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Hi!! May I request just an any member of TXT x reader wherein they are both demigods and go to camp halfblood??

⌞ 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐎𝐃 ⌝

DREAM RECALL stumbling across a hidden camp on the Long Island shore reveals that you are not the only one with a compromised family.

pairings demigod!txt x demigod!reader (gn) warnings none !

#serene adds ✎ anon...you brought out my inner nerd with this one. I've read ALL and I mean all Percy Jackson books. I LOVE THE SERIES. Though this was when I was 12, so I'm sure there are a few details missing BUT hehe, this was sm fun. I couldn't pick just one member so I did head canons for all of them!!!

IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THE BOOKS (shame on you) It's basically a series in which the greek gods occasionally have children with ordinary humans, thus creating a "demigod". These children will grow up to have a fragment of the powers their parents have. Camp half-blood is a sort of safe haven for these children where they're assigned a cabin based off of their godly parent. They train and specialise in their powers in order to defend themselves !

this post makes a lot more sense if you have read the books or seen the movie(s) but I have tried to make it understandable for those who haven't !

either way these are the type of demigods I personally think the members would be, (yes I'm trying to be different).

YEONJUN — son of ZEUS CABIN 1

After spending four long and excruciating summers at camp half blood, Yeonjun finally got acknowledged by his father last year, becoming the first to move into cabin one.

Thanks to his outgoing nature he's never had any issues making friends despite his unusual parent. — He’s also one of the first to greet you upon your arrival. Making sure you get introduced to everyone and everything as he shows you around, throwing in a quick pick-up line or two as he tours the place for you.

Most definitely likes shows off, I mean, he’s not Zeus only acknowledged son for nothing. — Summoning large thunderstorms, relishing in the way you cling to his side as he makes lightning strike not far from the two of you.

Your first nights at camp half-blood are spent in cabin one with Yeonjun, despite the protocol being for unclaimed demigods to stay in Hermes’.

It’s a little bittersweet to say the least when Aphrodite finally decides to acknowledge you as it meant you had to bid farewell to your new friend’s spacious living quarters.

Though Yeonjun gets along well with almost everyone, there’s a kid in cabin seven that always seems to get on his every nerve.

SOOBIN — son of ARES CABIN 5

Despite being the son to the God of literal war, Soobin considered himself to be somewhat of a pacifist. Unlike his half siblings, he never engaged in any of the fights usually taking place both inside and outside of cabin five.

He much preferred spending time with you, picking flowers as he lets you braid them into his hair. Reading poetry together on an open field or going to care for the horses in the stables.

Soobin knew that his nature got him on his father’s bad side, but he didn’t really mind. Instead he used his almost supreme strength to help out where he was needed, carrying heavy hay bales or helping you move large furniture in your room.

He’s probably too shy to ever admit out loud that he thinks you’re very cute. As one of Aphrodite's children he thinks you must hear that a lot, thus he holds back from showering you with compliments.

He’s also not one to participate in the many games hosted by your camp, and if he does, he’s always the first one to get sent to the infirmary.

BEOMGYU — son of APOLLO CABIN 7

Has been around for pretty much his whole life, his necklace filled to the brim with beads, representing each summer spent at camp half-blood.

Very much a show off as well, knows how to use a bow but can also both sing and play the guitar. His ego might just be bigger than Yeonjun’s.

Quickly introduces himself on your first day there, even though your tour guide (Yeonjun) purposefully avoided cabin 7 as he showed you around.

Beomgyu often complains that you use your powers on him, as Aphrodite's children are known for their manipulation of both love and lust, and that’s the reason as to why he can’t get you out of his head, dedicating song after song to you as he plays them by the fire each night.

Often takes joy in casting minor curses on whoever does him dirty, cough, cough. So you’re not surprised when you hear the loud yell coming from Zeus’ cabin on a Saturday morning.

TAEHYUN — son of ATHENA CABIN 6

Unlike the others, Taehyun finds little amusement in anything that involves the outdoors. Cooped up in his room, he spends his days reading and researching the most diverse topics that he can come across.

You have to practically drag him out of the cabin as you force him to join you and Beomgyu whilst you practice archery. He will most likely just whine and complain the whole time, pointing out your errors as he goes.

Thanks to his introverted nature, Taehyun doesn’t have a lot of friends, to be honest, you might be his only one. — He will never admit it out loud, but his heart beats a little faster when he sees you skip inside the dimly lit cabin. Ready to listen to him talk about whatever book he had last read.

He does care for you, not that you would know because he only talks fondly of you when you’re not around. Standing up to whoever might have something negative to say as he quickly shoots them down with a witty remark.

On a brighter note, there’s little Taehyun doesn’t know and you can always count on him to be able to handle any kind of situation.

HUENINGKAI — son of HADES CABIN 13

Kai almost wanted to cry when his father finally claimed him two years ago. Being associated with death wasn’t exactly something one wished for, especially not Kai. Not to mention the fact that he would have to sleep in the creepy and dark cabin all by himself.

Quickly becoming an outcast, Kai was very hesitant to approach you, not wanting to scare you off with the literal epitome of death lingering around him. But you liked him from the start, the two of you made for an odd pair but you thought it was kind of charming.

You ate dinner and breakfast together, and you often visited him in his cabin so that he wouldn’t have to be so lonely. Despite his father being the ruler of hell, Kai was both scared of the dark and any horror movie rated 13+.

He didn’t care much for the powers passed onto him by his father and thus he never practiced them very much. — If he did use them, it would be in order to bring back your pet cat that had been run over by a car, or saving a mouse that got caught up in a trap.

Kai did however become quite close with Yeonjun, the fact that they were both the only children of their parents sparked a friendship that no one really saw coming.

taglist ✎... @theresawtf @jjklvr9 @binniebakery @beomies-world @hyukaaa @ninoshome1 @gardnhee @babymochibeargyu @lunathewritingcat @duckywuckypookiepie @naoristerling @oddracha @soohashits @junimoa03 @sendhelpiloveyeonjun @beomtasticc @369girlswannadrinkwine @gudboibeomgyu @flowzel @lit1esec @hwanghyunjinismybae @inkigayocamman @sthwaaberry @izzyy-stuff @silentisle

(if your tag is not working please check your settings to make sure that your blog is not hidden!) if you're struggling, go here.

#beomiracles ₊˚⊹ ᰔ #tubatu's dreams #txt x reader #txt x you #txt imagines #txt scenarios #yeonjun x you #soobin x you #beomgyu x you #taehyun x you #hueningkai x you #txt fanfic

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okay-j-hannah · 6 months ago

Text

Part 2: A Lacrosse Boyfriend

Teen Wolf : Multishot

Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Word Count: 11.4k

Warnings: series rewrite, start of season 1 {aka 2011}, slow burn, friends to lovers, eventual pining, eventual NSFW, usual teen wolf levels of violence and gore, heart conditions, health problems, lightheadedness, fainting

Request: This just came from my own head 😊

Part 1: Her Broken Heart

Part 2: A Lacrosse Boyfriend {You Are Here}

Part 3: Blue Handprints

The summer heat had finally decided to die down to a reasonable temperature. It was the only reason your mother decided a picnic at the park would be nice. It was equal parts safe for you and enough of a distraction that you could pretend you were a normal kid.

At just four years old you were starting to notice how you didn’t live like the children you saw outside your window. You had started to grow bored of your usual antics stuck at home.

You lay on your stomach near the edge of your blanket. Along the blades of green grass you spotted a ladybug climbing towards the sky. You were practicing counting the spots on its back when the beat in your chest became noticeable.

The pressure from laying on your tummy made it easier to feel your heartbeat unevenly.

“Do you want another grape, sweetie?” your mom asked, stretched out and enjoying the shade.

You reached out a smaller, pudgier hand, accepting the grape with a hungry toddler’s mouth. Your eyes looked above the ladybug grass and stared at the playground, complete with twisting slides and a rubber rock wall.

“Mom,” you say in your timid tone. “I want to play.”

“I know, honey,” she says, “But you know how that’s not safe for your heart.”

A pout grew instantly, “I am careful!”

Sensing your coming tantrum, your mother drew your attention away from the other children playing with a lacrosse ball in the nearby field.

“Yes, you are very good at being careful. But remember your heart sometimes has a mind of it’s own. Sometimes being careful isn’t enough. The doctor said not to be too crazy.”

You ball your little fists but hold back the angry words. “I don’t like my heart.”

Your mother cooed, reaching for you, “No, sweetie, you have a wonderful heart. It’s big and warm and full of love for far too many things. It tries its best to take care of you. So we need to try our best to take care of it, okay?”

You snuggle into your mother’s arms, upset feelings turning into tears, “Okay, mommy.” You feel a kiss on your head when the children playing in the field came running past your blanket.

They stopped on the other side of your shaded spot and conversed behind dirt smudged hands. They were both rowdy boys with scabbed knees and grass stained shirts, but they had wide smiles as one approached you.

He had unruly hair and sunburnt cheeks.

“Hello,” he said in a nervous voice, “What’s your name?”

You rub at your eyes, “(Y/N).” You sink further into your mom.

The boy was out of breath and already itching to run again judging by his fidgeting. He said quickly, “Hi my name is Stiles. Do you want to come play with us? We were playing sharks and minnows, but it’s not so fun with only two people.”

You look up at your mother’s chin and ask quietly, “Can I go play?”

Your mother sighs, tickling your sides, “If you don’t run around so much and stay on the playground…”

You were instantly crawling out of her lap, “Okay!”

“And if you start getting out of breath you need to tell me!” your mom continues, “Be careful climbing the ladders and don’t you dare stand on the slide!”

“Bye!” you yell in reply, already jogging away with Stiles to meet with his other friend.

He touched your shoulder, “Do you like chasing bad guys?”

“I’m not supposed to chase,” you say seriously, “But I do like to catch bad guys.”

Stiles nodded his head in deep thought, “Okay. How about we make traps for bad guys under the slides.”

You agree enthusiastically, grateful at your young age for someone who didn’t know about your heart. Grateful that they played with you like any other child.

And you schemed underneath the slides, building traps out of woodchips and leafy twigs. Innocent kids that didn’t know any better. Didn’t know that you wouldn’t remember this first meeting.

~~~

“I’ve started TAing.”

Allison gives you a strange look, “What?”

“I’m a teacher’s assistant now,” you lead the way into the school, “I have a free period since I finished a core class during my homeschooling.”

“Who will you TA for?”

You hold back a grimace, “Coach Finstock.”

Allison snorts, “You know I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know what’s going on half the time. He forgets which periods he’s teaching economics and which periods he needs to be in the gym for P.E..”

“All the more reason why he needs a TA to sort things out,” you say, straight-backed. “And it means I can help out at lacrosse games too.”

“What, like a waterboy?”

You bump into Allison’s side, “No… well maybe. Just helping out with supplies and plays and locker room stuff.”

“Locker room stuff,” Allison says with raised eyebrows.

You choke on a laugh, “Don’t start. I reserve the right to ban you from the locker rooms. Especially seeing as that’s become your new make out spot.”

That caught her off guard, ramming right into the person in front of her. With a squeal she drops everything in her arms and put her hands into her hair. It was Scott who turns around after the collision.

“You scared the hell out of me,” Allison laughs, joining you as you help pick up her things.

Scott looks terrifyingly relieved, “You’re okay.”

“Once my heart starts beating again, yeah.” You smile ruefully at that statement. “What?”

“I’m just happy to see you.”

You thought Scott looks more like seeing Allison walking and talking was a miracle. Like he couldn’t believe that she was alive. You hand Allison her pencil case and folders, watching their goodbye with skepticism.

“What was that?” you whisper as Allison walks away to first period.

Scott was still breathing shallow, “She’s okay.”

You snap your fingers in front of his dazed eyes. “Are you okay?”

The speakers suddenly turn on with a crackle of fuzzy interference. “Attention, students, this is your principal. I know you’re all wondering about the incident that occurred last night to one of our buses. While the police work to determine what happened, classes will proceed as scheduled. Thank you.” With another crackle of microphone feedback the principal’s voice was gone.

You return your eyes to Scott and furrow your brow.

He took in your confusion and whispers, “I had a dream last night where Allison and I snuck into the buses behind the school.”

“Oh?” you say, still skeptical but now with a smile on your face.

“And I sort of had… an outburst.” He seems to struggle with finding the right words. “I killed Allison and broke through the back of the bus.”

“Well, shit that sucks Scott,” you fold your arms, “But I don’t think you’re capable of all that.”

He grimaces, “No, when we showed up to school and saw the bus out back – and how it looked just like it did in my dream – I thought maybe I had actually killed Allison somehow.”

You reign in your teasing smiles and bump into his shoulder, “Scott, like I said, I don’t think there’s a mean bone in your body. There’s no way you could kill someone and tear up a bus.” He still slumps as he follows you to first period. “I can understand why that would still be scary regardless.”

It was his turn to bump into your shoulder, but with more force, causing you to trip into a row of lockers. “God! I’m sorry, (Y/N),” he pulls you closer by the hand.

You laugh, ignoring the jump of your heart. “It’s okay, let’s just get to chemistry.”

Stiles was already sitting down, bouncing his leg against the table stool. He looks at Scott as if asking if everything was okay. Scott gave him a reassuring nod as he took a seat at the table in front of him.

You smile at them as you took the remaining empty seat at a back table. You immediately start copying the diagram drawn on the blackboard, taking out your science project notes for inspiration.

You could hear the frantic voices of Scott and Stiles near the front, and a needle of hurt stuck in your chest as you remember the secret that Stiles wasn’t ready to tell you. You had to remind yourself that the friendship was still relatively new.

There was still a secret you hadn’t told them either.

“Mr. Stilinski, if that’s your idea of a hushed whisper you might want to pull the headphones out every once in a while,” Mr. Harris says from the blackboard. “I think you and Mr. McCall would benefit from a little distance, yes?”

Stiles begrudgingly moves his stuff to the back but stops when he spots the empty seat next to you.

“Hey, trouble,” you say quietly.

He sat clumsily, “How was the rest of your weekend?”

“It was fine. Just a lot of reading.” You finish copying the blackboard notes.

Stiles leans on his elbow, “Still reading that werewolf book?”

“You mean Harry Potter,” you snicker, “Yeah I’m on the fourth one now.” Turning your head you could see Stiles staring at you, “What?”

He swallows hard, awkwardly straightening himself, “Nothing just… I like that coconutty-strawberry smell.”

Warmth came up your chest, “That would be my shampoo.”

“Then thank god for personal hygiene.” He grimaces and smacks the back of his head.

You ignore it, pulling your notebook closer. You could still feel his eyes on you as a classmate jumps to the window, “Hey, I think they found something!”

Everyone ran for the wall of windows. You stood quickly from your stool too when a fuzzy feeling flickers on in your head. You grip the table, closing your eyes and frowning.

No one notices as you compose yourself, waiting for the fainting feeling to go away. You wander closer to the group of kids terrified at what they were seeing. A tingling was making its way down your legs – the blood rushing to your toes.

You felt uncomfortably warm when a cool hand touches your shoulder, “(Y/N)?”

Stiles was at your side, unsure of what was happening. “You look ashy. Are you lightheaded again?”

The breath leaving your lungs was shallow and rapid, cotton was building pressure in your ears. “I’m going to faint, Stiles.”

“Mr. Harris!” Stiles yells, “(Y/N) needs to get to the nurses office!”

Not that the student body would know, but every teacher at the school knew of your health problems. They knew it was a possibility that you would require medical care. Mr. Harris, as cynical and distrustful as he was, let you leave promptly despite his feelings.

“You may leave, Miss. Westbrook.”

“Sir, I don’t think she should be walking alone to…”

Mr. Harris was using his phone as he looks out the window, “Get out of my classroom, Stilinski!”

Stiles keeps a hand on your back and another on your arm, watching your face the whole way. His voice was frantic and small as he talks you through it.

“It’s like I can see the blood draining from your face. Does that happen a lot? I mean, I know you get head rushes a lot, but the fainting thing? Do you just have bad blood circulation? Was it something I said? Look I know I’ve mentioned how good you smell twice now and while it is true I acknowledge that it’s a little creepy of me to be sniffing your hair so much. I probably shouldn’t have admitted that. Not gonna lie it’s kinda freaking me out that you’re not saying anything.”

You struggle to breathe, “It’s sort of hard when you don’t give me time to answer.”

The shallowness of your breathy words put a strange feeling in Stiles’ chest, “Do you need me to do something else? Does the nurse… what the hell is that?”

Your watch was suddenly beeping with an alarm. Your heart rate was far too high and had stayed that high for more than thirty seconds. A pain enters your chest, and your walking slows.

Stiles starts panicking, “What does that mean? (Y/N), what’s happening?” He yells down the hallway towards the office, “Hey! We need help over here!”

It was hard to keep your eyes open as you start to slump, “Stiles…” you mumble. And you lost consciousness, falling into Stiles and in return he fell to the ground to catch your body.

He held your back and shoulders, using his free hand to brush the hair from your face. Your skin was still gray-tinged. An office lady and the school nurse came rushing down the hallway. Their heavy footfalls matching the hard beating of your heart.

Stiles was finally at a loss for words, holding you like you had just died. “(Y/N)?! Oh my god, I think she just fainted,” he says to the incoming help, “I hope she just fainted.”

The nurse asks Stiles to help drag you to the sickbed. He complies, frantically asking questions until the nurse ordered him to stop.

“Alice, will you call her mother and I’ll get her doctor on the line,” the nurse says to the office lady. She dials a number and holds it to her ear as she elevates your legs and checks that your airway wasn’t obstructed.

“What did she say to you before she fainted?”

Stiles was still flabbergasted, “She turned gray and said she was lightheaded. She told me she was going to faint.” He ran a hand over his shaved head, “And then her watch started freaking out and she had a pain in her chest.”

“It’s been more than 90 seconds now,” she mumbles to herself, checking your watch monitor to measure your heart rate.

“Wh-What does that mean?” Stiles asks, blinking blearily. “Is she going to be okay?”

The nurse starts talking to a doctor on the phone and Stiles was ushered out by the office lady, forced to watch from a different room. He refuses to leave the office until he sees your eyes open just a few seconds later.

~~~

“By the time I checked with the office at lunch she was sent home,” Stiles vents, one hand on the wheel and the other in his short hair. “She hasn’t answered any of my texts or phone calls.”

Scott was stretched thin between worrying about his possible dreamlike wolf attack and the mystery of his newfound friend. In all honesty he was more worried about how worried his best friend was.

“I talked to Allison about it, she doesn’t know anything either.”

“God, I knew there was something wrong,” Stiles bites the inside of his cheek. “That scar she has… whatever I look up says it has something to do with her heart.”

Scott eyes his friend, unsettled by the palpable worry. “She’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know that.”

“We would have heard something if she wasn’t.”

Stiles grips the steering wheel, “We would have heard something if she was.”

They pull up against the fence to the bus drop off, putting the jeep in park. Stiles rubs at his worn face and Scott leans in with an edge to his voice.

“Listen, let’s just get this Derek theory over with and then we can go check on (Y/N). Sound good?”

Stiles grumbles, slipping out of the jeep with his friend.

“Hey, no, just me,” Scott says, “Someone needs to keep watch.”

“How come I’m always the guy keeping watch?”

Scott pulls on his friend’s arm, “Because there’s only two of us and I happen to have wolf-like reflexes and you’re distracted by your sudden love for (Y/N).”

“I am…” Stiles scoffs, caught off guard. “I am not in love with (Y/N).”

“The eight text messages and four phone calls would say otherwise.”

Stiles juts a finger in the air, “Hey, that is totally untrue.” He put his hands on his hips, “I only made three phone calls.”

“Whatever,” Scott whispers, “I’ll just be in and out.”

“Okay, why’s it starting to feel like you’re Batman and I’m Robin? I don’t want to be Robin all the time.”

Scott was bewildered, “Nobody’s Batman and Robin any of the time.”

“Not even some of the time?”

But true his word, Scott was quick upon entering the bus. Stiles surrenders and sits in the jeep ready to drive with the headlights off. He pulls out his phone and scrolls through his messages to you, concern eating away at his stomach.

It was bad enough that he witnessed you fall ill so quickly and dragged you to the nurses office. But now he was realizing, through some personal investigation and the unhelpful words of Scott, that he had a crush on you.

He liked you.

With all the strange supernatural problems infiltrating his life, it was almost an unexpected surprise to have something so human as a little crush. His stomach flips. But what if there was something more supernatural about you?

Your heart rate was elevated when you fainted. Scott’s heart rate is a tell of an oncoming werewolf transformation.

Is that why you wanted to keep it a secret?

Stiles was sick of his investigative brain, slamming his forehead against the steering wheel. Couldn’t he have normal high school problems like fretting over the girl he liked instead of deducing if she was a shape shifter or not?

Flashlight beams could be seen from the school’s entrance. Stiles lifts his head to see them shining in his eyes, “Oh, shit…” he starts laying on the horn.

~~~

After dropping Scott off, Stiles sat in his jeep contemplating his next move. Staring at the clock on his dashboard he knew it was far too late for your parents to accept company.

But there was still that garden trellis outside your window.

Making his decision, Stiles drove to the end of your street, hopping out and running for your house. It was easier to climb the garden trellis now that he knew where to put his hands and feet through the vines and ladder.

He creeps over the roof tiles and squats outside your window. The lights were off, and he could just make out the human shape lying in bed… he still couldn’t help himself. He taps on the glass until he saw your figure stir.

Ruffled in white pajamas with little blueberries printed on the fabric, you carefully tip toe to the window to let him in.

“Stiles,” you yawn, the moonlight still bright enough to make your eyes squint. “What are you doing here?”

Stiles made a much more graceful entry, afraid to disturb your parents. “I wanted to check on you. You haven’t been answering my messages.”

You sit on the edge of your bed, clearly exhausted. Stiles remains standing – because he wanted to pace or because he was preparing to catch you should you fall, he didn’t know.

“I’m sorry,” you run your fingers through your bedhead. Stiles thought it was cute. “Between the hospital visit and the bedrest I haven’t even looked at my phone. My mom usually keeps it whenever I have a fainting episode. Gives me time to unplug and unwind.”

“But…” Stiles folds his arms, “But you are okay?”

He didn’t like that it took you longer to respond. “Yes, I’m fine. You know I get lightheaded a lot. Fainting is usually a consequence of that.”

“Your watch went off right before you fell,” he says quietly, his eyes dark and serious. “Like some kind of alarm.”

“Yeah,” you look at your watch that you wear even when sleeping. “It measures my heart rate. Whenever it spikes for too long it warns me that I might faint.”

“That’s why you get lightheaded… your heart?” his eyes linger at the collar of your shirt, hoping to see that scar again.

You fold your arms, protective, “When I get worked up it doesn’t beat enough to get oxygen to my brain. Then I get lightheaded and sometimes faint.”

Stiles nods his head and walks over to your bed, “Can I?”

A soft smile quirks your lips, “You may.”

He sits beside you, the mattress sinking down further. “So when we saw the ambulance and the bus driver all mangled like that…”

“It got my heart rate going,” you say easily. Of course you got lightheaded before even seeing the commotion outside the window. You didn’t feel like getting too deep into your diagnosis. This was a good start.

“It was really scary seeing you get sick like that,” Stiles says honestly, looking down at his hands. “Not knowing what was going on made me feel… like I was helpless to make it stop.”

You turn to him, silhouetted by moonlight. His eyelashes were so long that they were casting shadows onto his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you say gently, placing a hand on his forearm. It made him look up at you. “I should’ve been more honest with you.”

“Is this where I can ask you my one personal question of the day?” his eyes were warm as his voice held slight sarcasm.

You lean into him, “I suppose.”

“If you start feeling faint or if you do faint, what can I do to help? Just so I’m prepared if it happens again.”

You blow air between your lips, “Oh, it’ll happen again. That’s my curse.” You hum as you think, oblivious to how Stiles was unconsciously smiling at your thinking face. “I generally avoid things that would get my heart rate up.”

Stiles scoffs, having an epiphany, “Like a lacrosse game or an after party.”

“Or a crowded lunchroom,” you smile. “But if it goes up regardless, I usually try to ground myself. Like thinking about what my five senses notice. And I hold onto whoever I’m closest to. Doing that and taking deep breaths can control my heart rate.”

“I know a thing or two about that,” Stiles mumbles, “That’s a technique to control anxiety.”

You nod, “You’re right.”

“And if you faint again?”

“First step is to call for help and the second step is to make sure I’m stable.”

You turn to him, and he looks so sincere that goosebumps erupt on your skin. He was taking your words so seriously. Without interrupting your council he grabs the blanket off your bed and drapes it over your bare arms.

“Lay me down and elevate my feet. Make sure I’m not choking on anything. And then if I’m out for more than 90 seconds or I start seizing, then turn me on my side.”

“Why 90 seconds?” he asks.

You pull the blanket closer around you, “Because after 90 seconds then there might be some brain damage or something else seriously wrong.”

He turns his body towards you more, your thighs fully touching. “The nurse today said that you were out for over 90 seconds.”

“That’s why they sent me to the hospital,” you nod, “But they didn’t find any serious damage. I just can’t have any more fainting episodes like that.”

Stiles swallows hard, tracing the outline of your side profile with his eyes. Brow. Nose. Lips. Chin. “Why?”

“Because the more I have the weaker my body will become. The more damage I’ll get. We don’t want that to happen.”

He licks his lips and plays with his fingers, “Thank you for telling me.” He thought back to the scar on your chest and realized that some things still didn’t add up. Craning his neck to look at you, he asks, “That’s still not everything, is it?”

Your eyebrows slant and you look scared for the first time that night. “No.”

Stiles found himself closer to you than he intended, urgency laced into his next words, “(Y/N), I want to know everything. I want to be able to help.”

A sad smile crept onto your face, “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

You take a shaky breath, “Because then it’ll become too real. I’m not ready to share that reality yet.” You match his urgency as you express, “This is enough for now.”

Stiles suppresses the instant anger that brought up. He hated not knowing things. “Does anyone else know?”

“The school staff and most parents know,” you say, “Yes, even your dad.”

“My dad!”

You shush him, “It’s a small town and my mom works under him.”

“What about Scott and Allison?”

“Not yet,” you sigh, “But I don’t mind if you tell them now. It was stupid of me to keep it to myself when I could faint at any time around you guys.”

He bites his lip, “When will you be back at school?”

“Maybe Wednesday,” you shrug, “Fainting always puts my family in a tizzy. My parents don’t like me leaving the house until they’re sure I can handle the stress again.”

Stiles was sinking further towards you, your arms now touching along with your thighs. “Is that why you were homeschooled?”

“Yes. I finally decided to not let my problems stop me from living my life to the fullest,” you relish in his warmth beside you, the goosebumps going away. “I decided to go to school, to get a job, to do things my parents and doctors said I shouldn’t do. My heart rate will go up the same way if I get jump scared in my own kitchen. I might as well be out doing something enjoyable.”

Stiles sighs and he was close enough you could feel his breath on your cheek. “I like that.” You smile and cuddle further into your blanket. He felt reluctant to leave, but all the same says, “I should go.”

He stands and walks carefully to your window. “You’re going to miss a wicked history test tomorrow and the ‘hang out’ between Scott and Allison.”

“I thought they were going on a date?” you say, crawling back towards your pillow.

“Nope,” Stiles began to slide out your window, “Lydia and Jackson made it a hang out at the bowling alley.”

“Does Scott even bowl?”

He snorts, “Never.”

“That could only end in hilarity,” you grin, “I’ll text Allison about it tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Stiles mutters, “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

“Stiles?”

He slips on the roof tiles, “Yep!”

You smile at his goofy face, “Thank you for helping me today. Not everyone would’ve done what you did.”

“I think anyone would be competent enough to cry for help when…”

“No, you coming to check on me. Asking me for details so you can help more in the future. Not judging me for having a problem. No one else has done that for me.”

Stiles nods awkwardly, gripping your windowsill. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”

~~~

Wednesday evening you were on a mission to convince your parents that you were well enough to go to school tomorrow.

You stood in the kitchen, soft blue silk pajamas on and fuzzy socks keeping your toes warm. A home speaker was playing songs from your favorite playlist, coercing your body to nod and sway with the beats.

“Are you sure you feel alright enough to be alone?” your mother frets, putting a coat on as your dad grabs the car keys.

You hold up your wrist with the watch, “My heart has been steady all day.”

“Yes, but you don’t know if…”

“Mom!” you cry, “It’s Wednesday. Wednesday is date night. You should enjoy your Wednesday date night. I can make myself dinner and watch a movie before bed.”

Your dad nudges your mother towards the door, “Let her have some freedom,” he teases.

Angela smacks his arm, but keeps moving nonetheless, “You better believe I’m getting my own cheesecake tonight.”

Your father, Tom, gave you a wink, “Let’s treat ourselves tonight, sweetheart.”

And for the next ten minutes you were blissful in making yourself some chicken and rice, green beans on the side. Clad in your softest sleepwear and dancing around to your favorite tunes, it was hard to shift the mood when you receive a frantic phone call.

“Hey, Stiles. Sorry I wasn’t at scho…”

“(Y/N), I need your help,” he says quickly.

You turn away from the stove, “Cutting to the chase, alright. I’m listening.”

Stiles trips over his words, “Y-You work at the hospital right? You have a wealth of doctor knowledge? Like you could tell me a few facts about first aide?”

You lean against the counter, the marble cold under your arms. “Yes… Stiles what’s going on?”

“I might, sort of… maybe have a friend who is… very hurt.”

“Very hurt?”

“He has a wound that just keeps sprouting blood and he’s not looking so hot.”

You hum a ‘uh huh’ as you ponder who this friend might be, “Not looking so hot meaning what?”

“You know, just the general sweating, pale skin, heavy breathing.”

“He must be in a lot of pain then.” You could hear a slam on something metal in the background. Stiles must’ve jumped by how his voice rose an octave.

“Lots – lots of pain. Listen, what might we do to help said wound?”

You go to stir your sizzling chicken, “How does it look?”

“Red and gross and all around a major health code violation,” he felt his chest tighten at your slight laugh. “There’s also these purple veiny things creeping up his arm.”

The smile falls from your face, “That would mean he has blood poisoning. Whatever wound he has is infected and if it reaches his heart then it’ll kill him.”

Someone was rummaging through drawers; you could hear pill bottles flying around.

“That’s good, great,” Stiles curses, “What do we need to stop that from happening?”

“Well, you need to stop the infection with some pretty heavy antibiotics,” you rub at your forehead. “And you need to clean the wound to stop more infection from getting in. And you could put a tourniquet on to help stop the bleeding.”

Some heavy whispering was happening behind Stiles’ hand. Something recognizable was in the other man’s voice.

“Stiles,” you say warningly, “Who are you with?”

“Just some guy,” Stiles replies, moving around, “We’re putting a belt around his arm as a tourniquet now. Thanks for your help, (Y/N).”

A cry of pain was heard through the phone and you hiss, “Are you with Derek Hale?”

“What?! No way… not a chance,” he laughs weakly before growing silent. “Yes, I’m with Derek Hale.”

“What the hell, Stiles – I thought you hated that guy.”

A growl was heard behind him, “Listen, I gotta go. Talk to you later?”

“I’ll be here, making dinner and watching old Disney movies.” You wait for a goodbye, but the line went dead. “That was weird.” And it continues to be that way as you finish making the dinner and grab a soda from the fridge.

You sat on the couch, pulling a fluffy forest green blanket on you. It was quiet and serene as you pull up one of your favorite movies: Atlantis: The Lost Empire.

You weren’t even ten minutes in when there was a knock on your door. Slipping on your thick socks, you skid across the hard wood to the door.

Suspicious, you say, “Stiles… how is Derek?”

“He’ll live,” Stiles says, out of breath and wrapping his jacket tightly around him. “He’s having a chat with Scott right now about the Hale family or something.”

“About the house fire?” you ask, “So now that he’s innocent of killing his sister you’re suddenly buddies with him?”

Stiles had an exaggerated look on his face, “Well, not exactly. He’s still a big scary guy that we got thrown into jail for a day. And now the town thinks he’s some murdering recluse because of the evidence we put against him.”

You couldn’t fight the smile creeping onto your face, “So it was just a favor you helping him tonight?”

“Yeah, it was a hunting accident,” he says casually, as if it were the whole truth. “And he didn’t have any friends to turn to.” He dances on his toes, looking up at the porch light, “While I love chatting out in the cold, do you think your parents would be alright if I hang out here and check on you?”

Leaving the door open, you walk inside, “My parents aren’t here. It’s date night.”

“Right,” he says, closing the door and kicking off his shoes, “How are you feeling?”

You sigh, “I feel fine. My mom is just determined to keep me couped up for the rest of my life.” Without prompting you prepare a dinner dish for Stiles and meet him in the living room, “I’ve only been in school a few weeks, but I miss it.”

Stiles eyes the plate of food with wide honey eyes, “Oh my god, that smells amazing.”

“Come on, I’m watching Atlantis.”

The boy was only too eager to follow you onto the couch. He flops down, staring at his plate hungrily. You share the green blanket, throwing it over his lap. He looks at you with big eyes.

“You said it was cold outside,” you shrug, picking up your plate. Your legs were touching again as the pair of you ate.

Stiles was eating the chicken and rice like his life depended on it, “This is the best food I’ve had in years.”

“You must be in love with it,” you snicker, “Judging by the sounds you’re making.” You laugh as he chokes on his fork.

“No, it’s just…” he scratches the back of his neck, “I don’t eat a lot of homecooked food anymore. My dad and I survive on takeout mostly.”

You push the rice around your plate, “Did your mom cook a lot?”

There was a shift in the air as Stiles continues to eat, but he responds with as normal a voice as he could manage. “Yeah. My dad used to say that… that she would bribe him with a good dinner to get him home from the station sometimes.”

Your voice was warm as you say, “She must’ve been an excellent chef if that got the Sheriff away from his caseload.”

“She used to make this delicious homemade mac and cheese, like fancy mac and cheese…” he made silly hand motions in the air, “Like with the little chopped up green things on top.”

“Parsley?”

He shrugs, but his eyes grew wide and bright, “And she’d serve it on top of a piece of garlic bread with some Italian sausage on the side.” He makes an overexaggerated chef kiss. “It was a masterpiece.”

“Sounds amazing,” you lean back into the couch, leaving your plate on the side table. “Like a fancy kid’s meal.”

Stiles guffaws, “That’s what it was! When I was little the only thing I would eat was kraft mac and cheese with chicken nuggets. She was determined to make me a better version.”

“I would’ve liked to have met her,” you say softly, fixated on the points where your bodies were touching. “She sounds like an amazing person.”

“She was,” Stiles says just as quietly, playing with his food like he had lost interest in it. “She would’ve thought you were sweet.”

You lean closer, intrigued, “Sweet?”

“That was her descriptor word for all things she liked.” He puts his plate aside too, resting against the couch and your shoulder that was so near. “We got a coupon for the arcade? Sweet! My dad picked her a flower from the woods? That’s sweet of him. I’m forced into a sailor outfit for family pictures? He looks so sweet!”

You take a deep breath, “That is pretty sweet.”

Stiles turns to you, startled to see you so close to him. His throat grew dry and his chest felt tight, all words trickling from his brain and out his ears. He never talked about his mom. Not to Scott, not to his dad, not to his pillow – not to anyone. But talking about her to you was… easy.

You were having the quick realization that Stiles had not just brown eyes, but the most glassy brown eyes you had ever seen. Like if sunlight were to shine through the liquid of a whisky bottle. Or if a sunset caught a glimpse of a glistening honeycomb. Or if a campfire reflected off a drop of amber tree sap.

“So…” Stiles clears his throat, not wishing to pull away but very conscious of how high his voice sounds. “You like Atlantis?”

The movie had been playing the whole time in the background.

“Yes! Have you seen Milo Thatch? I’d marry him in an instant.”

“I didn’t realize you felt so strongly for an animated man.”

You poke your shoulder into him, “Fictional men.”

“And the appeal is?”

“It’s in the name,” you snicker, “They’re fictional.”

Stiles hums a reply, turning his attention back to the tv screen. “I’ll add that to your case file: only attracted to fictional men and therefore can conclude that she’s never had a real boyfriend.”

“Oh, it feels real though.”

Stiles fought a shiver tickling the top of his spine. He instead readjusted his pants, “I think I’m going to need more research on these fictional men you’re so fascinated with.”

“We’d have a lot of ground to cover,” you sigh, “Seeing as I don’t think you’ll read any of the books I give you, we’ll have to have a lot more movies nights like this.”

“I think I’d be okay with that,” Stiles says with a smirk on his face. His hands were above the blanket you share, lying in his lap and fidgeting with the green fuzzies coming from the fabric he was pulling.

~~~

You sat on the windowsill in the girls bathroom the next day, reapplying your lipstick and combing your fingers through your hair. Allison was readjusting her hairband in the mirror while Lydia fixes her mascara.

“We’re going to have a movie night,” the redhead says, admiring her eyelashes. “All of us.” She turns with a flair and points to the other two. “It’ll be prime time for a little under the blanket action.”

You make a face while Allison coughs awkwardly, “You want to do a double date?”

“Triple if we can get (Y/N) a boytoy,” Lydia smirks.

“I’m not exactly in the market for boytoys,” you say, crossing your arms.

Lydia leans against the sink, “You will when I tell you half the lacrosse team wants to ask you out since you started helping with Coach.”

A nauseous feeling enters your stomach, “I’m not a huge fan of dating, Lydia.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll handpick the perfect one for you.”

Allison was all skepticism as the bell rang, “There goes the last of English.”

“And now we can go straight to lacrosse practice!” Lydia claps her hands, “Let’s go shopping for (Y/N)’s boyfriend.”

The trio make their way to the field, each at a different level of enthusiasm, as you see Scott and Stiles in their uniforms. The boys were quick to pull you to the side.

“Why did you skip the rest of English?” Scott asks, “Is Allison okay?”

“We got an emergency text from Lydia,” you huff, “Turns out it was just the regular scheming and gossip.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows, “Like…?”

“Like how Lydia is going to find me a lacrosse boyfriend to match her and Allison’s lacrosse boyfriends…”

Scott and Stiles spoke at the same time:

“I’m Allison’s lacrosse boyfriend?”

“You’re getting a lacrosse boyfriend?”

You roll your eyes, “And with all our lacrosse boyfriends we’re going to have a ‘movie night’ to coverup the sexcapade I think Lydia’s planning.”

Scott was blinking really hard, and Stiles seems to have left on a thought tangent based on the slack jawed look on his face.

You snap your fingers, “I need your help with Lydia.”

“No,” Scott mumbles, “She’s scary.”

Stiles was still lingering on his imagination as he says, dreamily, “You don’t want a lacrosse boyfriend?”

Your hands fall on your hips, “I just don’t want Lydia to conduct a speed dating the lacrosse team weekend.”

“WESTBROOK!”

You close your eyes, “Yes, Coach!?”

Coach Finstock stomps over, clipboard in hand as he struggles to wrap the whistle around his wild haired head. “I need you to register the team for a spring retreat.”

You blink blearily, “A spring retreat, Coach?”

“Yeah, yeah it’s good for bonding and teamwork and… bonding.” He threw his hands up, “We have the funds this year so we’re going out.”

The teenagers share looks as you attempt to get a baseline of knowledge, “What’s our budget? When are the dates? Who do I contact?”

“Everything’s on my desk. Now get to it,” he puts the whistle between his teeth, “The district likes to hear about these things in advance.”

You back away to the locker rooms as you silently plead to Scott and Stiles to handle the Lydia situation. They were frantically whispering back to you, making exaggerated and confused gestures. You could spy Lydia and Allison talking to a lacrosse huddle by the bleachers.

For the next forty-five minutes you handle the paperwork that the principal and district employees emailed Finstock. You create an excel sheet for signups and a budget tracker. You contact a sports summer camp that allows retreats and field trips during the school year. All you need was to pass out permission slips and gather player information.

You were on your way out of the copy room when you spot Lydia on Jackson’s arm, conversing with some players on the sidelines. Scott was playing goalie while Stiles and a few others were doing a play on the field.

“Give me some good news, Westbrook,” Coach grumbles, bending his clipboard to near splintering levels. “Because these dancing monkeys need some incentive to play better than my recently deceased grandmother.”

“I’ve got everything scheduled here,” you say, not even bothering to show all your hard work. The Coach trusts you enough to have it finished. “I just need to get players information.”

“Done. Boys! Get your pansy ballet asses to line up next to Westbrook! Do what she says fellas or you’re going to miss one hell of a weekend retreat.”

A herd of maroon jerseys and shoulder pads stampede towards you on the bleachers. Sweaty, and slightly smelly, boys began to filter past as you write down their names, shirt size, contact information, and give them a permission slip. You could feel Lydia and Allison waiting on the bench behind you.

Lydia’s heel toed boot prods the middle of your back whenever a boy she particularly likes came up.

“Ben Manley,” a blonde-haired, freckled face says. “I like your jacket.”

Seeing as it was a jacket you borrowed from Stiles’ jeep, you smile, “Thanks, Ben Manley. Get this paper signed if you want to come on the retreat.”

He looks a little dejected as he walks past. Another boy comes up, shiny with sweat on his wonderfully dimpled cheeks. His hair was chestnut brown and curly, “Andrew Wickstrom,” he says with a smile, “Thank you for helping Coach. He hasn’t been as manic since you started.”

“I’m glad my hard work is paying off.” You hand him a permission slip as another sharp poke was felt in your back. “Just turn that in within the next week.”

“Thanks, (Y/N). See you in gym.”

Right, gym class that you were a TA in instead of attending. You told the other students that you already got those credits during homeschool, but really you had a doctors note detailing how under no circumstances were you to get your heart rate up.

While others ran laps and did pushups and played volleyball indoors, you graded papers for Finstock from various classes.

Scott and Stiles came next in line. Scott gave a lovestruck wave to the girl sitting behind you while Stiles whispers to you.

“Hanging in there?”

“I think Lydia is making a March Madness chart with eligible lacrosse players,” you hand the boys permission slips. “She’s relentless.”

“You think I’ll make the bracket?” he asks clumsily, his cleats sticking into the grass.

You shrug, a teasing tone to your voice, “She’s very particular about who she adds.”

Stiles hopes he wasn’t hearing sarcasm, or even worse – dislike, in your voice. He was shoved to the side by a much taller boy coming in next.

“Josh Arnett,” he says.

He was broad, darkhaired, light eyed, and currently getting a dirty look from Stiles.

“Hi there,” you say, a little starstruck at the intense eye contact. You immediately recognize him as a narcissistic asshole, one that you’d still gladly kiss and get your heart broken over. He was one that made you think Greek gods still existed. He was one that made dirty look sexy.

And you just said, ‘hi there.’

His smile was killer, “Are you going to be at the retreat?”

You ignore the boot in your back as you fumble over your words, “Probably. Coach has kind of grown dependent on me to function.”

He took a permission slip, “I’ll go if you go,” and he winks. Like full on ‘sent-a-warm-river-of-shivers-down-your-chest-and-to-your-middle’ kind of wink. Your uneven heart patters at the sight of him walking away. Those wide shoulder pads… slim waist… and tight little…

You snap out of it as you realize the boy next to you was doing the exact same thing. Danny Mahealani was gawking as he groans under his breath, “Damn I love being on the lacrosse team.”

You laugh, shoving him away in a playful gesture. Danny was by far one of your favorites on the team. Lydia was right above your shoulder in an instant.

“I think we have our winner.”

“What?” you say a bit breathless, “Mr. Tall, Dark, and Philanderer?”

Allison was choking on laughs as Lydia huffs, “Come on, just a little movie date tonight. You don’t have to see him again if it’s really that bad.”

“You’re just trying to get a hot squad together,” you poke her button nose before you stand. “But you can’t force a healthy relationship on incompatible people.”

“Sure I can,” she scowls, “Jackson and I are still together.”

You share a look with Allison before packing up, “If you two are bringing dates tonight, I might as well bring the one that flirted with me.”

“Oh, please,” Allison crosses her arms, “All of them were being fl…”

“Perfect,” Lydia claps, “I’ll talk with Josh in the locker room.” And she flounces off in her skirts, leaving Allison to walk with Scott.

And Stiles appears at your shoulder, grabbing your leftover papers and the laptop from your hands. “So, has Lydia decided your fate?” He tries not to sound too eager (and/or desperate) to learn about the evenings plans, but he was hovering a bit close as you rub your temples. Your heart rate was a little high since encountering Mr. Philanderer.

“We have a big movie date tonight.”

He holds his breath as he continues, “… slash sexcapade?”

You snort, “I’d rather clean out whatever is festering in Coach’s desk drawers than have a sexcapade this weekend.”

His next breath was deep and tight, “Then who are you watching the movie with?”

“Josh Arnett.” Stiles stuck to the grass while you walk a few steps ahead. “What?”

“You are going to spend the night with Jealous Josh? Judgy Josh? Jockstrap Josh? Forget that last one.”

You giggle, “Yes, I’m going out with Jaw-dropping Josh.” You pull on Stiles’ arm, “It’s just to appease Lydia.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Of course you don’t,” you say, “It’s going to be just a one time thing.”

“But what if he charms you and kisses you and you agree to more dates…” he watches a dreamy look slide onto your face. “Oh my god, you’re thinking about kissing him, aren’t you?”

You open the door to the locker room, full of sounds and smells alike. “It would be a crime not to acknowledge that he’s hot. And I’d have more status by saying I kissed him once.”

“I don’t have a good feeling about it.”

“Because I’m going on a date or because I’m going on a date with him?” You try to keep your tone civil as you’re surrounded by changing lacrosse players.

“Because he’s a douchebag that will probably do something to hurt your feelings and I don’t want that to happen.”

You take all your supplies from him, speckles of anger popping up your spine, “You trying to control who I go out with is a little douchy, don’t you think?”

“I’m not trying to control…” Stiles threw his gloves on the ground, “I’m trying to look out for you.”

“I’m not going to catch feelings for him,” you say indignantly, “I just want to try it Lydia’s way for once. It’s just one date, how bad could it be?” A sudden rush to your head makes you stumble, ramming your shoulder into a line of lockers.

Stiles jumps to your back, hands on your arms as you screw up your eyes. You take a deep breath and force the black spots from your vision. Slowly the voice of Stiles enters your ears.

“I’m fine,” you say, standing straight, “My heart was just beating a little fast.”

“Because of our argument?”

You turn to the sound of his voice. The previous anger was gone. In its place were fearful honey eyes and an open, honest expression.

“Among other things,” you say, trying to catch your breath. “I’ll see you later.”

Stiles was screwing up his lips, chewing the inside of his cheek, clearly worried as you retreat. “Call me if something happens!”

~~~

You wait at your living room window for over an hour. You wait in your comfy blue sweater that’s cute enough for a date and soft enough for cuddling. You wait with styled hair and a little lipstick.

You could feel your parents spying from the kitchen, disappointed that you were being abandoned like this. A pain creeps into your chest that has nothing to do with your heart. It made your stomach twist and your head hurt.

It did not feel good to be stood up.

You text Lydia to give her an update. Her quick reply was that she and Jackson would pick you up and you could pick out the movie together.

You didn’t wave goodbye as you left the house, embarrassed by the turn of events. “I was such an idiot.”

Lydia turns in her seat, “You’re not an idiot, you look gorgeous.”

“I’m an idiot for getting excited about a night out with that jerk,” you play with your fingers. “And I knew from the beginning that he was an asshole, and I still got all ready trying to impress him.”

“No, you got ready because you wanted to feel hot. Remember you were going to one and done him tonight; Josh should be the one feeling disappointed that he isn’t here with you.”

You crack a faint smile, “Where’s Scott and Allison?”

“Oh, Allison’s hanging out with her aunt and so Scott decided to make other plans.”

“Meaning it’s just us three tonight?”

Jackson sighs begrudgingly, “Yep.”

“Then we might as well make it a chick flick night,” Lydia says, cheery despite her boyfriends obvious disdain for the situation. “Let’s watch The Notebook.”

“Absolutely not,” Jackson says, “We are not doing chick flicks just because your friend was dumped.”

Lydia purses her lips, “You’re not making this any easier, Jackson.”

“Yeah, I don’t really feel like crying, Lyds,” you attempt, the video store just down the road.

Jackson starts to ramble about different action and sports movies, “We never choose a movie that I pick. How about Hoosiers? Not only is it the best basketball movie ever, but it is also the best sports movie ever made.”

Lydia was quick with her reply, “No.”

“It’s got Gene Hackman and Dennis Hopper.”

You grimace at Lydia’s same short reply. “We can go in and browse for a little bit.” The night was shaping up to be one of the worst by far.

“I am not watching The Notebook again!” Jackson raises his voice.

“Come on, Jackson,” you say, opening the door. “Let’s just go look around for a second. I’ll help pick a good one.”

You walk to the first aisle inside, both of you on edge for different reasons. Jackson makes no effort to make conversation as you peruse the romantic comedy shelves. “She means well. She’s just trying to cheer me up.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry if I don’t want my date ruined by turning it into a girls night.”

You cross your arms, “I’m sorry.”

Jackson scowls at your drawn expression, “Arnett really is an asshole, by the way. I told Lydia as much.”

“Again, she meant well,” you sigh, “But thanks anyway.” A phone starts ringing in the background and kept echoing through the empty store. “Geesh, you would think someone would pick that up by now.”

“Hello?” Jackson calls out, “Is anybody working here?”

“What’s that?” you ask, pointing at a pair of shoes sticking out from an aisle further down. “Did someone fall off that ladder?” The medical assistant in you was already in action, pulling your phone out as you near the shoes.

You both move slowly, tense as the atmosphere gives an eerie flicker of lights. As you round the aisle of movies, there laying on the ground is the store manager – his throat clawed out.

“Oh my god!” you scream, gawking at the blood soaking the front of his shirt. It was fresh and glistening, splattered up onto his face and glasses.

“Holy shit!” Jackson yells, jumping back and onto the ladder. It moves enough that a broken light fixture falls, ripping the exposed wiring and plunging the entire video store into flickering darkness.

One second it’s dull yellow light, and the next an awful red dark, and then light again. It was making your vision blur with spots. You fall to your knees, sickened by the sudden wet warmth that soaks your pants.

Your heart was racing, beating like a war drum as you fought to control your breathing. Jackson was standing in the middle aisle, clearly shocked into silence. You were fumbling with your phone, attempting to dial any number that came up first.

There was a low, deafening growl that ripples through the store. You eye the claw marks on the store manager and immediately think of something big and terrifying. Jackson did too as he falls to hide behind a shelf.

You could hear the growling towards the back, too near for your liking. You shuffle away from the body, aware that Jackson had just left you to fend for yourself. A row of shelves falls behind you as you make your way to the front, crawling on your hands and knees.

You finally manage to dial a number, the first one you could think of. And the sound of Stiles on the other end brought you a sense of relief. He would do something.

“Hello.”

“Stiles…” you whisper, crawling along the front of the store and next to the windows.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong?”

Your breath was shaky and came out in wheezes, “I need help.”

There was a rustling on the other end, “Where are you? (Y/N), you need to breathe.”

A snarling growl came from your left and you dread to turn your head, “Oh god…”

“(Y/N)! Stay awake – tell me where you are!”

But as you turn your gaze to the hot breath and red gaze of the growling creature, you let out a bloodcurdling scream. The giant monster swipes a paw at you, clawing at your shoulder and sending you spinning into the opposite wall. You slam against the brick with a sickening force, a crash of broken glass above you as the creature jumps through.

Shards of glass collect on your body, stinging some of your exposed skin. Warmth was spreading down your left arm as you fought to breathe. Your vision was blurring, and you were falling in and out of consciousness.

Jackson crawls out from under the fallen video shelves and finds you at the front, noticing Lydia screaming in the car. He kneels beside you and pulls out his phone, dialing 911.

~~~

Stiles sat in the parking lot of a burger joint, eating dinner with his father in the police car. He was reminiscent of the homecooked meal you made him, fondly thinking of his mother too.

“Did they forget my curly fries?”

He chides his father, “You’re not supposed to eat fries, especially the curly ones.”

The Sheriff smirks, “Well, I’m carrying a lethal weapon. If I want the curly fries, I will have the curly fries.”

Stiles took his bitten straw out of his mouth, “If you think getting rid of contractions in all your sentences makes your argument any more legitimate, you are wrong.”

His dad gave him a bewildered look, “Somethings off with you tonight. Did you take too much Adderall?”

“No,” Stiles grumbles, picking at his hamburger wrapper, “Just… thinking about school.” He watches his dad’s expression egg him on further, “… and lacrosse… and Scott…” He huffs and throws his dinner back in the brown bag. “And girls.”

The Sheriff scoffs, hiding a laugh, “Just the usual then.”

Stiles felt his phone ring and he was surprised to see your name appear. Thinking you’re going to tell him Josh Arnett is the asshat that they all knew him to be, Stiles says confidently into the phone, “Hello.”

There was a terrified whisper in reply, “Stiles…”

He sat straighter, his dad catching a soda before it fell to the floor. “(Y/N), what’s wrong?” You sound like you were on the verge of a panic attack.

“I need help.” Your breathing was erratic, and he knew your heartbeat was probably the same.

“Where are you? (Y/N), you need to breathe.” God forbid you faint in whatever terrifying situation you’re in.

There was a terrible growl behind your shaky words, and you sound so small when you cry, “Oh god…”

It sent a thrill of terror through Stiles, “(Y/N)! Stay awake – tell me where you are!” A million scenarios were flying through his mind. Was there a werewolf there? The alpha? What had happened to your date?

There was a deafening bloodcurdling scream as the phone must’ve fallen from your hand. It took Stiles a second to realize that it was you that screamed. “(Y/N)? (Y/N)!” Your cries flew to the side along with a crash of glass as the snarling beast left.

The line went dead and Stiles fell into a panic, “How do I… where… god, dad we have to find her!”

The Sheriff listens with sincerity as he had watched the entire conversation. “What’s going on?”

“That was my friend, (Y/N) Westbrook. She was supposed be out tonight on a date, but something went wrong. She sounded terrified and then there was a scream and a crash and then… nothing.” His arms were flailing as he sat on the edge of the car seat, “We have to find her!”

“Westbrook?” the Sheriff says, throwing his wrapper to the floor, “You don’t mean…”

“Yes! And I know you know about her heart.”

His dads eyes widen ever-so-slightly, “How do you know about…?”

Stiles slams a hand on the dashboard, half tempted to grab the steering wheel, “We have to go – she’s in serious trouble!”

“Now hang on just a damn minute,” was his reply, “We don’t even know where she is. And before you go flying out the window, let’s think about this with some sense. Do you know where she was supposed to be on her date?”

Stiles whacks his head, as if to jog some memories over the panic, “They were going to watch a movie.” He bounces his leg, pleading with his dad, “Please, dad, she’s going to have another fainting episode.”

The police radio turns on with some crackling feedback. The dispatcher on duty was a man judging by the voice. At least that meant Mrs. Westbrook wasn’t on shift that night.

“Unit One, do you copy?”

Stiles leapt for the radio and the Sheriff slaps his hand away. “Unit One, copy.”

“Got a report of a possible 187.”

Stiles jumps in his chair, shaking the whole car, “A murder!?”

“It’s at the local video store. Some teenagers are involved.”

The Sheriff confirms he’ll be there and felt a twang of guilt as he watches the fear bubble in his son. “Do you have confirmation on how many are hurt?”

“Negative, but the boy on the phone was in a frenzy about an animal attack.”

“Thanks, Johnson.” The Sheriff put the radio up, speeding down the street with sirens blaring. “Let’s not fear the worst, Stiles. They said there was just one possible 187.”

Stiles was biting his lips, drumming his knuckles over his mouth, “I should have stopped her from going out. I knew it was a bad idea.”

The drive was tense and painfully slow despite the speed the Sheriff was emitting. When they reach the video store it was swarming with EMTs and an ambulance. The store window was shattered, and Jackson was yelling at whatever emergency personnel he could. Lydia was huddled in a shock blanket on the curb, and sitting on the edge of the ambulance was you.

“Oh, thank god,” Stiles cries, “Thank you god.” He was falling out of the police car before it even made a complete stop. “(Y/N)!” He ran for the Beacon ambulance.

You were leaning against the side of the car, an EMT bandaging your left arm. You had a few butterfly bandages on your face and a rapidly developing bruise to the side of your head. There were dark circles under your eyes and your skin was ashy again.

“What happened?” he asks, quiet compared to the panic he was in moments ago.

You turn your wet eyes to him, gulping, “Stiles. There… there was a monster.”

“She hit her head pretty hard,” the EMT says, finishing your bandage. “She needs to go home and get some rest.”

Stiles gave the man a nod, gently sitting next to you and giving his full attention. “What kind of monster?”

“It was like a bear or a wolf,” you whisper, exhausted. “I was so scared.” The break in your voice put a hitch in his chest. “Josh bailed on me and then Scott and Allison. And I just wanted to go home.” You turn to him, “I want to go home, Stiles.”

He clenches his jaw, his throat bobbing, “Okay. Okay, we can go home…” He stole a shock blanket from the back and wraps you in it, careful around your left shoulder. “Did you faint at all?”

You stare off, disassociating, “In and out.”

The Sheriff calls your parents as you lean into Stiles. Your head nestles into the crook of his neck and shoulder. He couldn’t put his arm around your shoulders for fear of hurting the new wound. Instead he wraps his hand lower on your waist.

With his other hand he reaches for your fingers, worry still eating away at his stomach. “Where are we on the possibility of fainting right now?”

You groan, “60% chance.”

He gives a painful smile, wrapping his hand in yours. With his fingers he felt for the pulse in your wrist. It was a little high and stuttering unevenly.

“What do you hear?”

You hum, “Sirens. People. You.”

Stiles felt a warmth seeping into his chest, it was loud and suffocating and squeezed at his heart. “What do you smell?”

“Rubbing alcohol. And you.”

He plays with your fingers, tracing them with his thumb, “What do I smell like?” A small huff of air escapes your lips, and he likes to believe it was almost a laugh. “Cause you know exactly how I think you smell.”

You try to clear your throat, “Like sandalwood.”

“I’m not even sure what that is.”

“Like the woods,” you whisper. “Like rain, and trees, and honey.”

“How did you know my favorite pastime was bathing in forest rain and honey?” He imagines the twitch in your cheek against his neck was an attempt at a smile. “What do you feel?”

You fidget in his embrace, “Tired. Pain. Fear…”

“Okay, bad question.”

“Your hand,” you continue, “You’re warm. It’s nice.”

The inflation of his chest was reaching a bursting point, and he laid his face against your hair. Holding you there, he checks your pulse again with his long fingers. It had lowered since his arrival.

Your parents came soon after that, fretful and terrified of your condition. They wanted to take you to the hospital for a full checkup and your grip tightened on Stiles’ hand as his dad took him away.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers in your ear, your parents approaching. “I’ll see you later.”

~~~

It was very late into the night when Stiles climbs the garden trellis to your window. He was delighted to see that it was left cracked open. He pushes it open the rest of the way and falls inside, careful not to make too much noise.

You lay in bed with the lamp on, illuminating the room with its peachy color. You were in midnight blue pajamas with little stars printed on them. Your left arm was stiff and heavily bandaged, painkillers adding to your collection of prescription meds on the nightstand.

“Hey,” he whispers, gaining the attention of your wet gaze. You must’ve been crying for a long time judging by the redness of your eyes. “How was the hospital?”

“I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t believe you. He sat on the edge of your bed, itching to grab your hand again but needing a good reason. “When I got your call… it scared me shitless.” A chuckle escapes him, “My dad was ready to clobber me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” Stiles says, “You don’t have to be sorry for anything. You did nothing wrong. This was all just a terrible ordeal.”

You sniff, “I’m tired.”

Stiles nods, “Yeah, I just wanted to check on you before bed. I should let you sleep.”

“I’m not going to sleep.”

His chest tightens like earlier. He aches to touch you again, seeing you so fragile and tense. “(Y/N)…”

“Every time I close my eyes I see that thing clawing at me.” Another tear escapes your eyeline and runs down your cheek, “I’m too scared to sleep.”

“Well…” Stiles picks at a seam in his pants, “How about you call for your mom? I’m sure she’ll…”

“I don’t want to worry them anymore. I’m tired of making them worry so much.”

Stiles chews on his lip, “Hmm, okay. How about I stay? I’ll just sit at your desk and keep watch.”

You watch him with swollen eyes, “You’d do that?”

“Of course,” he shrugs his shoulders, “I’m worried about you too. And I feel better knowing I can keep you calm.” He wasn’t going to tell her that for the last three hours he had been replaying their moment outside the ambulance. The way you leaned into him, and he got to hold your hand and listen to you talk about how nice it was to be next to him.

“I want you to stay,” you say quietly. “But you can’t sit in a desk chair all night.” You pat your uninjured hand on the mattress beside you.

Stiles feels warmth flood his cheeks, “Oh, yeah… well – great.” He sits down and stretches out on top of the covers, “This is a much more comfortable spot to keep watch.”

You pull at your blankets, turning towards him and grounding yourself in his presence. “There’s a squeaky floorboard in the hallway. You’ll hear if my parents are coming.” You place a hand on his forearm, “Thank you for being here.”

His throat bobs at your touch, “Always.” And he lays there well into the night, cursing when your hand falls away in your sleep. He waits for sunrise to leave, occupying himself with watching your breathing patterns and checking your pulse every once in a while. He even brushes the hair from your face and flattens the arm bandages that start to unstick.

He was just memorizing the curve of your nose and the slant of your cheekbone when the sun broke over the horizon.

He sighs, rubbing hard at his face. If this is what having a crush on you was like… it was going to consume him.

~~~

Taglist: @assassinsasha23 @tasty-book-fans @lovelybaka @the-fandom-queen @runs-with-sciss0rs

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi x reader #teen wolf stiles #okay j hannah #okayjhannah #fandomfantasia

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queenie-ofthe-void · 7 months ago

Text

A Desperate Fool - Part 2

written for @steddiemicrofic

Prompt: 'top' | wc: 510 | rated: T | cw: hurt/no comfort (comfort is coming I promise!), mentions of child abandonment, breakup fic, AU-Modern Rockstar!Eddie

Part 1

~~~

“Hey, Teddy Bear!”

Eddie quickly scans for the voice piercing the buzzing swarm of paparazzi outside his home. It’s a cold winter night, yet after his public outburst with Robin a week ago and the ensuing onslaught of viral videos, they never seem to leave. Attention that used to have him feeling on top of the world now only leaves him feeling like the scum of the earth.

The overtly personal nickname rings through his memories, filling him with hope and dread in equal measure.

If I’m your baby, Eds, then you’re my Teddy Bear.

A swath of red hair and a high fade catch his gaze against the light snowfall. The boy’s usual charming smile’s been replaced with a cold stare, while she’s actively scowling. Eddie rushes through the crowd, excited to see them after so long despite the circumstances. He pulls them into the safety of his home, slamming the door behind them.

“Did you honestly think Steve was the only person you abandoned?” Max asks, before Eddie can even say hello.

Abandoned. A low blow, throwing Eddie’s childhood in his face, at least before he was adopted in all but name by the Wheeler’s. But coming from Max, he thinks maybe it’s fair play. She’s always been more Harrington than Mayfield, Lucas too. Out of the bunch, they’ve always been Steve’s kids.

“Mike had to go back to therapy! Nancy actually cried,” she spits, pacing the foyer while Lucas stands stoic by the door.

“I didn’t think they’d-” Eddie starts before he’s interrupted.

“What? That your family wouldn’t be upset, feel as betrayed as Steve?” Lucas finally speaks up. “So when you bragged about outgrowing your roots, that wasn’t supposed to mean us too?”

Eddie shrinks in on himself. He’s being admonished in his own home, and he knows he deserves it. He knows, truly. He just can’t handle the overwhelming aches of guilt and regret, which pang louder with each disappointed loved one. Another reminder he’d surrounded himself with people who only care about Metal Munson.

He’s foolishly desperate to win back his family, people who loved him for himself. He wants to be Eddie again. His baby’s Teddy Bear.

“What-” he tries again, forcing words around the growing knot in his throat and watery eyes. He’s cried so much lately. “Why are you here?”

Max eyes him skeptically, glancing at Lucas and sharing a look Eddie can’t decipher. They make a silent decision, and she moves to stand by her husband at the door.

“Steve’s getting married this summer,” she states, like it’s nothing. Like it’s not the end of Eddie’s world.

The tears fall, then. He loses control of a sob before he gets his voice back. “To who?” he pitifully asks, pretending he actually wants to know.

“You don’t know her,” Lucas replies.

Her. Her. Herherherher.

“Oh,” Eddie says softly. He can’t stop shaking, or is the earth quaking beneath him.

Max sighs, sympathetic, and rips his world open further still.

“Steve wants to talk, but you’ll have to get through Nancy first.”

Part Three

~~~

I SWEAR it's gonna get better!!! Some solid Eddie and Nancy comfort coming up next. Think I might keep adding on to this fic via prompts only but we'll see.

#eddie is officially a wheeler sibling in this fic #hurt/no comfort (but the comfort IS IN FACT on it's way)#rockstar eddie munson #modern au #steddie breakup #eddie munson whump #steddie microfic #steddie ficlet #steddie prompt #eddie munson #hurt/no comfort #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #lumax #steve and max #steve and max is still my favorite thing #QueenieWritesStories

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stevie-petey · 4 months ago

Note

If I show you my toes, can we have a little bit of stug fluff (im a fluff girly at heart, but you’re writing is so amazing i don’t care what im reading honestly)

pls keep ur toes i can give u stug free of cost <3

enjoy !

"mrs. waters misses her favorite costumer," walking into family video, you breeze past steve and set down the lunch hes asked for onto the register counter. "says its a shame youre employed again."

steve sorts through some movies and chuckles. "what, max and el arent enough for her?"

"no," you dig through the food and take out your own meal. its still warm, the smell of fries and sandwiches floats through the store. "she adores them, but i think she just misses staring at your face."

"i am handsome, arent i?"

"alright buddy, lets not get ahead of ourselves now."

steve places the last movie onto the shelf before he walks over to you. he pouts, places a hand over his heart. "why must you say such mean things?"

"because youre freakishly adorable when you pout," you kiss the tip of his nose, causing him to laugh, and you giggle as well. "youre welcome."

"insults masked with nose kisses. youre evil, henderson."

"and yet you love me anyways."

"and yet i love you anyways." steve kiss your forehead, his hands find yours from across the counter. he doesnt even spare a look at the food youve brought him, hes just content to have you here with him again. he plays with your fingers, hums to himself while you eat, and its a nice, quiet moment.

robin took the day off rehearse for band. its blazing hot outside, no one dares to leave their homes, so its empty in family video. just you and steve and the food. with summer winding down, you try to enjoy every last moment alone with him. soon youll have assignments again, college applications to worry over, kids to watch.

for now, your entire world is steve, and his is you.

as you eat, the strap of your dress slides down your arm. you dont notice it, lost in a comic you brought with you, but steve does. his fingers trail up your arm. the skin beneath his fingers shivers, his touch cascades warmth throughout your body. carefully, softly, steve slips the strap back over your shoulder before pressing a kiss to the skin.

you shiver again, and steves smile can be felt. his lips havent left your body yet, they linger on your shoulder and feel the heat coat your skin. he smiles again, he knows what hes doing, and you release a shaky breath. "t-thanks,"

steve hums, presses his body against yours. he stands behind you, peppers kisses over your shoulder, across your exposed back, the base of your neck, down your arms. he doesnt leave an inch of skin untouched, his back encases your body. you lean against him, your eyes flutter closed as he kisses you.

your comic lays forgotten on the counter. instead, your hand finds steves hair as his teeth now sink into your neck. he nips at the tender skin, soft enough not to leave a mark, but hard enough to draw a pleasured sigh from your pretty lips.

one of steves hands drags around your waist until his palm is flushed against your abdomen. he uses it to push you deeper against him. his other hand cups your jaw, delicately coaxes your head up higher so that he has better access to your neck.

the sensation is almost too much. to have so much of steve, yet enough of him. its intoxicating, having him so close. to feel his body against yours, to feel his tongue soothing the skin he has bitten. steve sucks lightly, still careful not to leave any trace behind, and youre about to tear out of his grasp so that you can just kiss him already, when the bell above the door rings.

"do i smell fries?" robin walks into the store, still dressed in her band practice clothes, slightly sweaty and out of breath.

you and steve jump apart. he quickly fixes his hair subtly places you in front of him so that he can hide the mess that youve made him. you clear your throat and tug your dress down, praying that the flush on your skin isnt so obvious in the stores florescent lighting.

robin, however, catches on immediately. her face morphs into disgust and she shrieks. "ew."

"robin-" your voice is scratchy, breathy still.

"this is my place of work-"

"technically you took today off." steve voices, adjusting himself slightly when robin isnt looking. he cant walk quite yet, his heartbeat pounds in his chest.

the girl scoffs. "so you make out in the store?"

"we werent-"

"y/n i am so disappointed in you right now."

you make a hurt sound. "but-robin!"

"no, i need therapy about this."

"you didnt even see anything!" steve sputters out, absolutely embarassed.

"this store is tainted now. its ruined for me. no longer a safe space. cursed. haunted, even."

"if i give you my fries, will you shut up?" you hold the bag of fries up to robin, which she quickly yanks from your hands.

she smiles. "now, why didnt you just start with that?"

#ask #anon #m speaks #come home blurb #m's writing #set in between seasons 3 and 4 !#robin is so real for this

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yoredoesmore · 4 months ago

Text

Until Fate Reunites us - An Unexpected Storm | Cyno

pairing: Cyno x Reader

summary: Two young children who both share different fates meet. They are connected by a bond that surpasses even the universe, but the worlds they were born into divide them. Will their paths cross again or will their first encounter be their last?

cw: fight scenes, the story takes place in cyno's and y/n's childhood, mentioning of child abuse, kidnapping

genre: angst, action, eventual romance, [wc: 2,7k]

a/n: this story was written long before more parts of cyno's backstory were released, so none of this is canon

enjoy!

The burning summer heat fell onto the world, penetrating not just the climate but also one's mind. It was safe to say that this was by far one of the hottest days of the year in Sumeru, yet you didn't seem to mind. With a smile on your face, you walked over the sandy surface, carefree and full of joy. Today was a day of celebration, one you were destined to remember forever– today, you were going to create your very own family.

Years of loneliness and desperation were finally coming to an end, you could feel it in your heart.

Now, one would ask themselves how a little child like you was going to achieve such goal but you were ready to surprise them all. Months have gone into the making of your plan and nothing and no one was going to stop you from pursuing it. So as you sneaked past the gates of Caravan Ribat, you held your eyes out for your new family members.

"Look at this.." You said in awe while making your way through the bustling streets of the marketplace. You were no stranger to crowded places and commotion, despite being born in the middle of the desert. When the rations got thin and the nights too dangerous, you would often come here and borrow one or two items from the stalls or seek shelter behind one of the buildings. It was safe to say that you were at least familiar enough with the place to know where to search first.

But even though you fit right in with the people, you still had to be cautious. This place was just booming with guards and thieves, a dangerous mixture for an outsider and little kid like you. But you still did a pretty good job at mixing in with the locals. Hardly anybody took notice of your existence and even those who did, did not bother themselves longer than two seconds with your presence. After making it through the entire street, you finally arrived at your first destination.

Right under a structure or bridge, you weren't entirely sure what it was, they sat. Children like you, but a tad bit older. Despite their young appearance, nobody dared to walk past or even look at them. These teenagers were known for causing trouble after all. Yet you didn't even hesitate to approach them with a bright smile.

"Good afternoon." You said, holding out your hand. "My name is Y/n, and I would like for you guys to join my family!"

A long silence followed your words which was followed by an awkward cough. The teenagers exchanged confused looks with one another before one of them decided to speak up.

"Are you lost, kid..?" The tallest asked.

"I was but I am not anymore. I am here to recruit you guys to join my family!"

"Join...your family? I'm sorry kid but we have no interest in playing house with you. Why don't you ask mommy and daddy to get you some toys to play with them instead?"

"Don't be rude, Galehunter, the kid is just lost." A brown haired girl came to your defense. The blonde girl simply rolled her eyes and nodded her head towards your direction, acting as if you weren't right in front of them.

"Listen kid. I don't know where your parents are but you should go back and find them. You don't know us so stop saying these weird things. We could easily cut you open and sell your body parts, distribute your organs on the black market and much more. Return now and let us be."

The five teens patiently waited for you to run off in fear, show some signs that their presence was intimidating you but you remained stuck in place. Your stubbornness must have gotten on their nerves, because one of them suddenly revealed a dagger to you. The shiny object absorbed the sunlight, making it look like some expensive jewelry. The boy swung the weapon in front of your eyes but you didn't move one inch.

"This kid is crazy.." The boy with the dagger said, returning the weapon to its previous spot.

"They call you Stone Enchanter, right?" You asked the boy.

"I would like you guys to call me Frostbite. I may be young but I am the leader of a gang that is in desperate need of new members..or members in general. You and I are quite similar, forgotten kids who roam the sand and fight for their survival. We were abandoned by this world, by our archon and by the people and now seek vengeance. Follow me, thrust me and become one of the most feared soldiers the world has ever seen."

"And why should we?" Galehunter suddenly asked while approaching you.

"Why should we put our trust in the hands of a child? We don't know if you're capable of leading a group. Being from the streets means nothing if you can't play by its rules." The girl looked down at you with daring eyes, eyes which you adored but also saw as a provocation.

You knew that things wouldn't go as smoothly as you wanted them to, that is why you came prepared. You still believed that today was a date which would be engraved into the stars and you were going to do everything to make that happen.

"How can I prove myself?"

Galehunter thought for a while before her eyes suddenly lit up. She grabbed you by the shoulder and turned you around and pointed at a young boy. The child was walking hand in hand with who you assumed were his parents. An uneasy feeling started to erupt in your body as you waited for her answer.

"You see that happy family over there? The father looks like he makes good money judging from the clothes they're wearing..I'm sure he wouldn't mind a few missing Mora."

"That's it? I just have to steal some Mora?" You found the request amusing at first, a challenge easily done, but when you noticed all the guards that started to surround them, your smile quickly dropped. Their expensive attire obviously didn't go unnoticed by your eyes but to think that they were that important people, here in the middle of the desert? The task immediately shifted up on the difficulty scale.

"Today history will be written. The birth of a new organization, one that will make it all the way to the stars. We shall celebrate that birth with a big feast, which I of course will pay for."

The teens just nodded their heads and laughed, none of them taking you serious. They were doubting your skills and intelligence but that was only to be expected. None of them could ever have fathomed the strength that laid within your grasp..

✎ᝰ

Time passed, yet the sun still burned down on Teyvat like an ungodly fire. For the past thirty minutes you have tried your best to keep up with the family– which went quite successful most of the time. They were an easy target despite the crowded place and not to mention the unusual hair color of their son that made them stick out more than a sore thumb. By listening in during some of their conversations, you managed to find out that they were from Sumeru City and came here for some business affairs. They were indeed a family but to your surprise they weren't as rich as you thought they were.

The man was part of the Matra, a group of self proclaimed heroes of the Akademiya and his wife was a professor. They gave off a rather friendly aura but that of course didn't stop you from following through with your plan. You cautiously watched them enter the Gilded Journey, a famous resting place for all types of travelers but also quite the dangerous place for the average person. But given the man's occupation, he would have no troubles defending his people.

While watching them, you constantly tried to find an opening, a moment of distraction, but your search was in vain. If they weren't surrounded by guards and mercenaries, they would be in an too unideal position to attack from.

The only opening there was, was the son. His curious eyes gazed into all kinds of directions as they walked through the bustling marketplace. He was your best chance– and most likely even your only. Unsure of how to draw his attention towards you, you waited and waited, for the perfect opportunity to find you and indeed after a couple more minutes an idea popped into your head.

You waited a few more moments for one of the merchants to pull the parents into one of their exaggerated stories before you approached the kid.

"Did they sell out yet??" You asked him in a worried tone.

"The..what?" He replied in a rather confused voice.

"The nuts of course! Did they sell out yet?" Concern reflected in the boy's eyes as you continued to confuse him. He had absolutely no idea what you were talking about yet he couldn't help himself but become curious.

"What nuts are you talking about?" You carefully took a peek at his parents, who were still chatting with the merchant. You then pointed at a man who was standing in the far distance.

"His name is Hawad and he sells the most delicious Candid Ajilenakh Nuts! they're a delicacy here and are mostly known for their sweetness. They sell out really fast and I wanted to know if he still had some left. Every child loves them, so I thought that maybe you have gotten some already but..seems like you don't.."

This was the moment of truth. The boy's eyes still reeked of confusion and conflict yet the small sparks of curiosity didn't go unnoticed by you. Your heart stopped for a second when he turned around to talk to his mother but when he asked her for some Mora a big smile found its way on your face.

"Yes mother, I will be back shortly. Do not worry, the vendor is right over there." And with that said the boy ran off and you followed him. Your eyes were dead focused on the bag. He had told the woman that he was just going to buy some of the books he saw at the other stall, what a clever child. Based on that, you figured that someone as posh as him wasn't allowed to snack on such unhealthy delicates.

"What's your name?" The boy suddenly asked.

"I'm Y/n, what about you?"

"I'm Cyno!"

"Nice to meet you, Cyno." The two of you exchanged smiles before you continued to focus on the task at hand. You were only a couple minutes away from the merchant, you could already smell the sweet aroma of the nuts. You weren't lying when you said that the Ajilenakh Nuts were beloved by the people of the desert. They were sugary and nice to chew on, the perfect snack when craving something sweet and you loved them.

Your heart bloomed with each step you took forward. Cyno walked ahead of you and was equally excited, but the both of you for different reasons.

Stretching out your hands, you prepared yourself to snatch the bag out of his grip, but all of a sudden an eerie atmosphere filled the air. All the exhilaration had clouded your mind, making you forget about your surroundings. You had let your guard down and that led to a group of strangers suddenly approaching you.

"Look at that.." One of them said with a mischievous smile on his face. "We got ourselves some lost kids."

"Who appear to be in desperate need of help from some capable adults."

Cyno's smile immediately faded upon noticing their dangerous nature. He shifted closer to you but not to hide himself but rather to shield you with his own body.

"We are in no need of help." He said in a serious tone. "Just on our way back to our parents."

"Well, then why don't we guide you back?" One of the men suddenly grabbed you by the shoulders and started pushing you towards the exit of the market. You were about to yell out to get the public's attention when one of them pulled out a dagger and held it against the boy's back. It was perfectly concealed, for only your eyes to see.

"Let's bot bother anyone else, shall we?" A woman, the leader of the group you assumed, gave you a soft smile.

"Let's move to a more quiet place, shall we?.."

Your gaze moved over to Cyno, who's face was filled with horror and concern. All you were able to do was comply and follow the group off the market ground..

✎ᝰ

The sun was starting to set and with the setting of the sun , the radiant heat drastically decreased as well.

There you were, in the middle of the desert, surrounded by criminals. The group of gangsters had taken you to an abandoned camp that wasn't too far away from Caravan Ribit you believed but not exactly close either.

Neither you or Cyno had said a word throughout the entire journey, too scared to piss one of them off. Turning your gaze around towards the boy, you tried to make out the state he was currently in but his eyes were completely empty.

"Why did you take us all the way out here? If you had wanted our Mora, you simply would have taken it."

"We got ourselves a little thinker over here." The woman said, slowly approaching you.

"Times are getting rather rough out here, little one, I'm sure you heard mommy and daddy talk about it as well. The prices of basic goods are rapidly increasing day by day and simple commissions aren't enough to get us by anymore."

"So you kidnapped us in hopes that our parents would pay you guys a fine price?" Cyno suddenly joined the conversation.

"Impressive. Looks like we caught a bundle of little researchers." The woman's voice was filled with sarcasm, which earned her soft chuckles from her comrades.

Cyno just rolled his eyes at their remarks but remained silent. The situation had spiraled out of control and you were starting to get really worried. If you had been on your own, these eremites would have been taken care of in no time but the boy's presence was a great limitation to your options. You didn't want him to be confronted with any graphic scenes but you knew that you had to do something about this mess of a situation at some point.

"I must disappoint you then, I'm an orphan." You said with a smug smile on your face. Both the adults and the boy turned around to look at you.

"Then you have no worth to us.." A deep voice came forth. A tall figure raised itself into the air, pulling out a dagger from his pocket. Cyno's eyes widened in terror as he saw the sharp weapon being pointed at you but when he tried to scream out for them to stop, another individual placed their large hand over his lips, forcing him to watch in fear.

The eremite swung the dagger into the air but missed, as you moved quickly and dodged him at the last second.

A ball of your spit then hit the man right between the eyes, setting off the fury in him. But while he was cursing you, you freed yourself from the ropes they had tied your hands with together and threw yourself onto him with full force. The blade he held only seconds ago was now pointed at his own neck, but it never came in contact with his skin.

Yet he still screamed out in pain.

The Eremites around you froze up upon hearing their comrade's cries and watched the scene unfold.

"My eyes!" The man cried out, desperately pressing his hands over his face.

"That fucking brat froze my eyeballs!"

From there on, everything moved in slow motion. All remaining Eremites came charging at you but they fell as fast as they came. Your attacks were quick and unforeseeable. Like a snowstorm you swooped over them and froze their different body parts to the core. After only minutes they were all on the ground, knocked out cold or shivering uncontrollably.

The boy was beyond speechless. His mouth hung wide open as he watched you pat off the sand from your clothes as if what just happened was nothing. He didn't know what to say or how to react– if he should feel grateful or intimidated. He was frozen in place like the enemies on the ground and his eyes stayed stuck on the small item that had fallen out of your pocket and now dangled around in the cold desert wind.

Your Vision.

#yoredoesmore #anime fanfic #x reader #cyno #genshin impact #genshin fanfic #cyno x reader #angst #sumeru #genshin

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nuri148 · 7 months ago

Text

My Take on Levi's Age

I originally wrote this as a rb addition to another post. I've been meaning to make it a stand alone post since then, and with all the talk about Levi's age since the publication of bad boy, here it is, finally.

If you ask me, Levi could not have been more that 4-5 years old at the time Kenny found him around 829.

Why?

He's severely malnourished, probably spent several days cloistered in the room with Kuchel with nothing to eat. So my guess is that, though he was old enough to speak and understand Kuchel was dead (even if he could not quite grasp the bigger concept of Death), he was too young to go out and procure himself and his mum some food, be it by stealing or begging. And for that, he's need to be very young.

I lived in Greater Buenos Aires more than half of my life (the infamous "conurbano"), and I've seen lots of very small kids, 4-5 years old, begging like pros for either change or food. It's unfortunately very common in impoverished areas. And I wasn't even in the bad ones. So, in that aspect, the Underground wouldn't be different from our villas or Brazil's favelas.

Kuchel was a prostitute. She wouldn't want Levi to witness her at work. It is fair to think that as soon as he was old enough to cross the street she'd let him roam and go play with other kids while mummy's busy. There, he'd quickly learn how to come by a piece of moldy bread to stave hunger.

So in order to just sit starving by his mother instead of going out looking for help, Levi must have been young enough that his mum could still keep him under wraps; too young to know his way about the Underground's streets, too much of a rookie in terms of using his charm or his cunning to get a bit of food.

Uri Reiss inherited the Founding Titan in 829. BUT, nowhere does it say that Kenny's encounter with Uri happens right after the latter became a titan. So Kenny might have joined Uri up to a couple of years after 829 (not many, as Rod Reiss still looks young in that flashback).

So Kenny finds Levi between 829 and 831; And Levi is 4-5 then, meaning he was born, at earliest, in 823 (considering his b-day is only one week before the year's end, that'd make him 5 in for most of 829) and latest in 825 (same if Kenny found him in 831). That makes him 10-12 years older than Eren and company. , ~20 when he joins the SC, ~26 during seasons 1-3, ~30 after the time skip, and ~33 in the epilogue.

"But Yams said he was thirty-somethiiiing!"

TLDR: I wouldn't consider canon some spur-of-the-moment answer given by Yams in a panel where he's probably tired, nervous, and doesn't have his timeline handy.

Allow me to speak here as a writer: the whims of your imagination often don't align with the logic of what needs to go on the page. So it is perfectly possible to imagine your character in a way that is inconsistent with your timeline. You see them with short hair and summer clothes fixing lunch in their sunny kitchen in a scene and, when they move to the dining room you see them with hair 4 inches longer and serving supper as a snowstorm rages outside. When you write it, you're going to have to pick up one, and go back to your notes often for continuity after, bc your brain keeps forever placing the kitchen in sunny summer and the living room in a winter night. Oh, and they're both simultaneously on the ground and the second floor. Escher pictures make more sense.

The story of AoT spans many years, so we don't know which year Levi is the default Levi in Yams' brain. It could even be the Levi from the time skip, or from a future after the last chapter that only exists in his imagination. Also, Yams has bungled up numbers before so, personally, I don't trust him much in that department.

In any case, Math is a hard science, so if Kenny found Levi with 4-5 years in 829, he can't be 30+ in 850. 5+21=26. No matter what Yams says.

Additional notes:

The original post. With additions. I recommend reading the quoted twitter thread.

Another, recent twitter thread on Levi's age

A lengthy post by an actual psychologist providing scientific foundation for Levi's age when Kenny finds him.

I saw yet another post on Levi's age recently, but I can't find the link rn and I have to make lunch. if/when I find it, I'll add it (and others I may come across)

#levi ackerman #levi's age #aot meta

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bagopucks · 2 years ago

Text

J. Hughes - More Than I Do Now

✄————————————

Jack Hughes x Reader

Requested✨

Word Count: 2k

Warning(s): none!

Bold and Italic is song lyrics

Just italic is like.. flashbacks of sorts?

—————————————

Shoulda known what I was getting in

Fallin' for a boy from Michigan

You love your mom like every Midwest kid

You like driving to Texas

You put up with all my exes

To deserve you, don't know what the hell I did

“Just put that down at the end of the table, honey.” I lowered the glass of wine from my lips, watching Jack help his mother set the large wooden table outside. Jim was on the back deck grilling burgers, kept company by Trevor. Quinn and Luke were playing croquet with Cole.

It was a beautiful summer day. Jack and I had spent most of it tanning in the front yard. Despite his energetic tendencies, he did enjoy laying with me in the sun. Anything to aid his appearance. Vain, but perhaps not in a bad way. Jack valued his looks.. there was nothing wrong with that.

When Ellen and Jimmy showed up, the whole lot of us spent hours in the living room catching up. Ellen and Jim only had three kids, but one would be none the wiser with the way they talk to their boys’ friends. They were parents to anybody and everybody their kids liked. I found it to be the same with myself.

Jack set down a bowl full of fruit, peeking up from where he stood to look at me. He still didn’t have a shirt on. The boys usually ate without much clothing at all at the lake house. I wondered if Ellen would get on them for that today.

I watched Jack look toward his mother, saying something I couldn’t hear from where I sat, in my boyfriend’s wooden lounge chair. Ellen nodded, they crossed paths and stopped only momentarily so the woman could kiss her son’s cheek. Then Jack grabbed a piece of fruit and waltzed his way over, a dorky smile on his face.

“Watermelon?” He offered, and I leaned forward as he lowered the sweet snack to my lips. I took a bite out of the chunk of fruit, and Jack popped the rest into his mouth.

I can't love you anymore

I can't love you any more than I do now

You can try to talk me down

But I can say without a doubt

I can't love you any more than I do now

Jack was a Diamond in the rough. Especially when it came to Jersey.

The first time we met, he had been all over me in a bar. I let it slide because he was cute. Perhaps I let too much slide when he took me back to his place. But there, I met his brother, and if not for Luke asking me to stay when the morning came around, Jack and I never would have been together. I had the youngest Hughes to thank for our relationship.

Jack sat in the grass next to me, and I moved my arm from the armrest of the chair, resting my hand on the back of his sunburnt neck. I placed my glass of wine down on the opposite arm rest.

“Dinner almost ready?” I asked, watching his head turn to look up at me. Through those dark lashes. With those big blue eyes. The same ones I admired endlessly.

I fell in love with him even more every day. Since day one.

Bring me coffee every morning

People said there’d be a honeymoon phase. That it would end. That we’d go through hardship. I wouldn’t admit it out loud, per superstition, but I knocked on wood any time I thought, ‘that never happened.’ Sure, Jack and I weren’t perfect, but we never gave up on each other. We never chose something over the other. Jack was my rock, and I was his.

The first morning we spent together showed me the type of commitment he had, that I never would have seen in him from a one night stand.

“Hey, Lu.” Jack and his wild hair had passed by me completely in the kitchen. Luke mumbled a, ‘hi,’ before retreating back into his own room with a bowl of cereal. When Jack turned to look toward the door, only then had he noticed me.

“Hey.” A surprised look faded into a delighted smile. I smiled back.

“Hey.” I spoke in a sing-song tone.

“Hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Coffee?”

We spent that morning leaning into one another seated at the island, sipping on our customized mugs full of caffeine.

We spent the next two weeks going on dates before we finally made it official.

You're fun even when you're boring

“Can we do something?” I muttered as Jack threw his weight against my side, leaning into me like a cat seeking attention.

“No.” His big old smile never ceased to make my heart flutter. His mischievous eyes watched me as he slowly leaned further, until he was laying across my lap. I broke into a fit of quiet laughter, resting my hands atop his stomach.

“Jack.” I complained, inching one of my hands beneath his shirt, only for him to jump at the cold feeling.

“Quit!”

We didn’t have to do much to be satisfied with one another.

And you like me even when I've been a bitch

Like said before. We weren’t always perfect. Sometimes Jack got on my nerves, and sometimes I got on his. Especially during my period. It’s no excuse to be mean, but when one has a bad day, they’re prone to be irritable.

“Jack! Just fuck off!” He’d been trying his hardest to help from the moment the sun rose. He was doting and caring, but admittedly overbearing. I didn’t have the heart to tell him until I couldn’t handle him, until I simply couldn’t do it any more. He looked hurt, confused, lost, but Jack simply stopped talking and laid down next to me in bed. Cuddling was the one thing I’d actually wanted that day, but Jack had been in and out so much trying to find a fix, that I felt I hadn’t been able to ask for it. He turned onto his side and pulled me back into his chest. He grabbed the heating pack from the bed and rested that over my stomach as well.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered.

“S’okay.” Jack kissed my shoulder.

Always so understanding.

You watch me while I'm gettin' ready

You lighten up my heavy

You're so good lookin' it kinda makes me sick

“How does this look?” I turned to Jack, wearing the fifth outfit of the night. Correction, the fifth one I had tried on. Jack sat on the bed, his phone face down in his lap, eyes raking me over for the thousandth time.

“Good.”

“Jack,” I whined his name, my head falling into my hands. “I can’t go- I just won’t go.”

“Hey, hey. Woah.” I lifted my head when I heard Jack stand, his hands finding my hips immediately. “Baby, you look beautiful in this. And you looked beautiful in the last four outfits too.” Jack reached for my hands, squeezing them and pressing them to his chest. “You’ll be the prettiest woman in the room.”

“Are you sure?” I sighed, still uncertain. Jack was always there to reinforce my foundation when it cracked.

“I know. For a fact.” He leaned in to kiss my forehead, and it caused me to smile. “What about me?” He asked with a playful grin.

“You look pretty good too.” I removed one of my hands from his own to smack his ass.

Jack’s innocent laugh that followed was one I’d never forget.

I can't love you anymore

I can't love you any more than I do now

You can try to talk me down

But I can say without a doubt

I can't love you any more than I do now, aye, aye

“How’s that ring feel?” Jack asked, pulling me from my trance. I looked back down at him and smiled.

“Feels perfect.”

“You like it.. yeah?” He’d only asked that question a million times since the night he proposed days ago.

“I love it, Jack. You picked a perfect ring.”

“Mom helped.” I moved my hand from the back of his neck to run through his hair.

“Why don’t you sit here so I can see you better?” I asked, gesturing toward the arm of the chair. I didn’t really care about seeing him, it was more so about kissing him. Jack slowly stood up and parked himself on the arm of the chair, looking down at me.

“Better?” He asked. I reached upwards and rested my hand beneath his jaw, guiding his lips to my own.

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

You're the angel to my devil

We broke apart when I felt something fall into my lap. One of those heavy croquet balls. I glared at Luke.

“Fuck off, blondie.”

“Woah- babe!” Jack’s shocked tone amused me.

The pot to my kettle

“You wanna go?” Luke teased.

Jack and I both looked at him immediately.

“Let’s get him.” Jack spoke, practically reading my mind. Luke’s eyes went wide.

“Good idea, Jack-O.” I agreed.

“Never mind- forget I said anything.” Luke held his hands up in surrender. He’d fight his brother any day, but he knew better than to fight Jack when Jack was fighting in the name of my honor.

To some I might be an acquired taste

Jack started to get up.

“Wait hold on-“ I grabbed Jack’s arm. He looked down at me in confusion. “Let him think you’re still mad. Psychological torture will harm him more than a few bruises.” The brunette looked down at me with concern and adoration in his eyes.

You tell me I'm your favorite person

Hey, what we've got is working

And the years have only made it more that way

“You’re so amazing.” Jack spoke in a playful yet dreamy tone, leaning in once again to kiss me. I pulled away after a moment, smiling up at him.

“I love you.” I whispered.

“I love you too.”

I can't love you anymore

I can't love you any more than I do now

You can try to talk me down

But I can say without a doubt

I can't love you any more than I do now

“Alright, kids!” Jim finally called hauling a plate full of burgers off the deck and down toward the large picnic table. The boys all seemed to drop what they were doing to find their places at the table. Jack stood up, and our hands met almost instinctively. I brushed my thumb across the back of his hand as we found our way toward the table. I couldn’t see myself spending my summer any other way.

“Alright. Everybody get situated.” Ellen put her finishing touches on the table before she and Jim took seats at the head of the table in fold-out lawn chairs. Jack and I sat across from one another, closest to Ellen. Then the food started getting passed around. Jack and I quickly got swept up in the surrounding conversations, eating and enjoying the company of those we valued most.

Heaven knows that I've attempted

“Alright, who wants dessert?” The sun had begun to set, and the once depleted energy immediately spiked at the mention of sweets. Ellen stood up as the boys all chimed in with various versions of, ‘yes.’ Like dogs, they all watched Ellen disappear inside. Jack was the first to turn back.

Couldn't even put a dent in

There were those blue eyes.

He flashed me a smile.

I blew him a kiss.

I can't love you any more than I do now

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

#nhl imagine #nhl x reader #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #luke hughes #quinn hughes #trevor zegras #cole caufield

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normspellsman · 11 months ago

Text

what sports i think the metkayina trio + spider would play modern au headcanons!

second part to what sports i think the sully children play!

slowly but surely trying to get thru this writer block & hiatus 🤞🏽

ao’nung

swimming and/or water polo

— he probably just naturally has a build built for water sports so he excels in it & is super cocky about it too (#blessedgenes)

— was defeated not given the choice on which sport he’d play when he was younger. both of his parents probably did either sport so they’d want him to also do it as well. or they at least wanted him to do one

— i don’t see him being the team captain but he’d def be co-captain or an alternate. he loves the sport don’t get him wrong but not to the extent where he’d be team captain. he already has enough pressure to perform well & doesn’t need that kind of title placed on him

— def see him being a butterflyer or a backstroker. like he much rather do those strokes in a swim meet than the other two

— is 100% the type of kid to have “eat my bubbles!” sharpied onto his arm or lower back during meets. probably begged his mom to write it on there too 😭

— also has to have the order of his races written on his arm so he doesn’t forget the order & where he’s supposed to go

— sees no point in wearing a swim cap

— always challenged himself by trying to score a point higher from his last game in water polo or get a better time in whatever stroke for swimming. he’d make sure to ask his parents to like reward him or something so he’d have the drive to do it. but even then, he’s still able to do it without the prize

— wears sandals everywhere. period. no arguments.a

— has such a bad swim trunk tan line. he really tries to get it even in the summer or during swimming season by wearing speedos lol

tsireya

volleyball (indoor, sand, + grass)

— girl is graceful asf on the court

— position would probably be setter or outside i feel like. she might not have the height for it but def has the hops. like a secret weapon of sorts. you’d never expect it

— is 100% the team captain

— she is so supportive of her team & always makes sure that one of her teammates is not stuck in their head or blaming themselves for a bad play

— i can see her number either being 1 or some random ass number, like 49 or 27

— always has the best hair-dos on the court. she seriously goes all out

— def the designated braider of the team so she has to make sure her girls are looking fresh asf on the court too 🫶🏼

— very humble about her accomplishments & wins. she very much believes that an individual does not win a game, a team does so all of that congratulations should be projected to the team rather than on an individual level

— probably has this pregame ritual where she gets there super early to get used to the size of the gym/court. peppers by herself & gets into the zone 100%

— does volleyball literally all year around. so she’ll do school & club for indoor, sand in the summer, & grass for fun. it’s her whole life tbh

— ronal is 100% the team mom. no questions asked

swimming

— i can also see her doing swim, but like only for a club during the summer when she doesn’t have anything for volleyball

— her & ao’nung are the best sibling duo in this sport 100%. they’re always paired up for a medley relays

— she likes free style more than the other strokes so that’s her main event during meets usually

— isn’t as passionate about it as her parents or brother. would much rather do & play volleyball than swim

— is also the kid to have “eat my bubbles!” written somewhere on there body lol

rotxo

soccer

— i can def see him playing soccer & being like a striker or a forward

— is def the one that annoys the coach to no end & ends up causing the team to run laps bc of it. sometimes it’s totally not intentional. it just happens lol

— team clown 100%

— he doesn’t really score a lot of goals but he does assist his teammates in their scoring. has the most assists on his team (idk if that’s a thing in soccer)

— has the most weirdest celebrations ever whenever he does manage to score

— been playing since he could walk fr

— jersey number is probably something like 14 or a random even number. bro likes even numbers for some reason

— is a really versatile player & if need be, can play goalie or be a defender if a player is out sick or injured

— def plays for his school & local town club

baseball

— can def see rotxo playing this as well

— most definitely a catcher (idk why but i just see it)

— probably only got into it to work on his soccer skills somehow or to work on his eye & hand coordination since he’s quite good with his feet & eyes

— only plays for his school since soccer usually takes up most of his free time

— lowkey has a wicked curveball

— he likes the catcher uniform bc it looks like he’s an autobot from transformers lol

— surprisingly somehow became captain & doesn’t know what to do with that title most times

— really good at determining calls for the pitcher & suggesting what they should throw next

spider

hockey

— no one would expect someone like spider to play this sport so everyone’s shocked when he says what sport he plays

— probably a defenseman & has the most penalties on his team lol

— ^ will literally fight everyone on the ice if need be. he plays dirty & truly doesn’t give a single fuck

— not a team captain but probably one of the alternatives. he’s more on the silent side regarding his “captaincy” but has the ability to talk his teammates up when they aren’t playing very well. bro has a way with words fr

— a lot of people think he’s a playboy hockey player but that’s FAR from the truth. he barely has enough confidence to talk to a girl on & off the ice. poor boy just shuts down

— since he’s like 6’0+, his build is really intimidating & he uses it to his advantage. def slams others into the boards as hard as he can when they’re down however many points. like, just imagine a 6’0+ dude like spider skating down the ice at literal lightning speed to slam you into the boards. i’d be shitting my pants fr

— started playing at the age of like 4 or 5 probably

— he loves skating so much that he goes to the rink or puts on rollerblades & just skates around to calm down or let out some steam. it’s really his outlet

— his number is most definitely 69 or 96. some funny shit like that

— will also defend his teammates with his life on the ice if someone were to fuck with them. that’s his family. he’d do anything for them

— ^ especially their goalie. bro is only gentle with their goalie & if anyone fucks with them, you best expect his gloves to be thrown & knuckles bloody from how hard he punched. ride or die fr

— nicknames probably consist of spider (obvi), kilometer (for miles lol), socks (for socorro), ironfist (for how much he gets into fights), & oreo/orro (for socorro)

— has the talent & ability to potentially go to college for hockey. he puts so much time & effort into his skills & the sport & it def shows through how he plays

#normspellsman #normspellsman talks!#avatar #avatar imagine #avatar x reader #atwow imagines #avatar: the way of water #modern au #modern au headcanons #headcanon #headcanons #ao’nung headcanon #tsireya headcanons #spider headcanons #rotxo headcanons #ao’nung #spider socorro #tsireya #rotxo

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maximoffcarter · 8 months ago

Text

The story of us.

Pairings: Casey Novak x Alex Cabot.

Summary: Alexandra Cabot was a nine year old that loved books, privacy and nature; the best way she could spend her time alone, was at the park reading a book. Casey Novak was a seven year old that enjoyed softball, playing around and nature; the best way she could spend her time, was at the park playing softball. Once they crossed paths, it was the beginning of their story, a kids love.

A/n: This was requested by bestie @saurgaeee, everything started with a silly cute conversation about Alex and Casey being kids and meeting, and then the rest just came up as we talked about it and we thought it would be cute to write a fic about it, so this is specially dedicated to my bestie that keeps giving me ideas and keeps me writing hehe. I hope you like this, at first I doubted so much about posting this, but I thought it turned out cute. Keep the requests coming you guys! Enjoy and leave your comments, reblogs, hearts, whatever you'd like, will be very much appreciated🫶🏻

*not my gif*

Age 7/Age 9.

It was summer vacation, just a week away from starting school again, and Alexandra Cabot was in her 12th book, just about to finish it. Yes, it was probably unusual for a nine year old to want to read that much and spend her whole summer reading books that not even a fifteen year old would want to read, but that was Alex’s favorite hobby. She could get lost in fantasy land, or learn something new, there was no in between, though she had to admit that her favorite ones were those cheesy fantasy books where the girl always ended up with the handsome guy; though she sometimes questioned herself why it always had to be the girl falling and had to be with a guy, not exactly a question that a nine year has in mind, but it was in Alex’s.

People could say that Alex was the loner of the school, not because of how Alex acted, but mostly because Alex didn’t feel comfortable acting like other kids did, they were messy, they were too childish for her liking, and they wanted nothing more than to play. Of course, she enjoyed playing with her dolls, she enjoyed playing tea party, she enjoyed basic kid things, but being an only child and in a house full of diplomatic people, it was hard to want to be childish.

After returning from her house in the Hamptons, she had asked for a full day of reading in the outside world; meaning the park. She had felt like she had spent too much time surrounded by her parents, so she decided to have a small break and be able to enjoy the park and the fresh air of the summer. Not that she wasn’t excited about school, but she enjoyed quiet summer days where she could enjoy the fresh air and the sun hitting her skin while she read a book. She tried to always be in the farthest tree of the park, knowing that people wouldn’t be around, and she’d be able to peacefully read her book, just enjoy some alone time. But it seemed too good to be truth. Alex had been lost in the words of her book that she hadn’t noticed a redhead just a few feet away from her, that wasn’t until she felt something hitting her arm that made her lose her balance and fall to the side, making her whine at the impact.

“Oh no! I’m so sorry!”

Alex whined as she sat back and leaned over the tree, looking at her left side and noticing a bruise already showing up. “It’s fine.” She whispered softly.

“No, it’s not! I should be careful, dang it. Are you okay?” The redhead knelt beside Alex and placed her bat on the grass.

Alex looked up and frowned slightly, looking at the redhead girl in front of her, her heart skipping a beat. The first thing she noticed was the beautiful red hair, long and messy, a cap a bit too big but the girl didn’t seem to care. Then she noticed the green eyes, people could confuse them and think they were blue or a bit darker, but those were definitely green. And then she noticed the worry on the girls face, she noticed the girls hand trying to figure out if she should touch Alex or not.

Alex shook her head and chuckled. “Guess you’re good at baseball.” As she rubbed her arm.

“Softball, actually.” The redhead chuckled as she sat down with Alex. “I really am sorry. My mom told me to be careful and I swore I will.”

“Would.”

The redhead frowned. “What?”

“Would. That you would be careful.” Alex smiled. “Orthography.”

“Oh! Yes. Sorry. Mom says I’m still learning how to talk.” The redhead chuckled as she looked at Alex.

Alex smiled softly as she noticed her dimples, she had never seen someone with dimples, and it was cute. “I’m a bit more advanced than I should anyway. I’m only nine, but I have been told that I seem older.”

The redhead shrugged. “Looks like it. You sound like you’re a big girl.” She smiled. “But you seem nice. I’m 7, and I’m Casey.” She extended her hand for Alex to take.

Alex looked down at her hand and noticed some dirt on in and also some cuts, probably from the bat. She sighed and took her hand, preferring to be polite. “I’m Alexandra, but you can call me Alex.”

Casey nodded. “Nice to meet you, Alex.” She smiled as she let go of her hand. “Why you reading when you could be playin?”

“I don’t know. I enjoy it. I like reading.”

“My mom wished I read more. But I prefer to play.”

Alex shrugged. “Not weird for your age.”

“A bit weird for yours.” Casey chuckled. “I’m sorry about the bruise.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. It’ll go away.” Alex smiled.

“Here.” Casey looked into her pocket and got a lollipop out, handing it to Alex. “I get these whenever I go to the doctor, maybe it’s gonna make you feel better.” She smiled.

Alex looked at it and took it, smiling softly and looking back at Casey. “Thank you, Casey.”

Casey nodded as she smiled. “You welcome. Can I sit with you?”

********************

“C’mon, Alex! We just need more kids to play.”

Alex rolled her eyes again as she looked at the kids. “I said I didn’t want to play.”

“You never want to!”

“Then you already know the answer, why are you still asking?”

The boy sighed. “Why you never want to play with us?”

“I just don’t like to play tag. And you’re noisy.”

“Oh, but you get alone with Casey.” One of the girls said as she shrugged, looking at Alex.

Alex stared at her. “I actually like her, she’s nice.” She looked back at her book as she sighed. “Besides, you won’t let me finish my book, and I’m so close to-“

“Lex! We’re gonna play tag! Do you wanna play with us?” Casey appeared all of a sudden and smiled as she stood in front of Alex.

Alex stared at her for a moment, her eyes then looking at the rest of the kids who were waiting for an answer. She sighed softly as she looked back at Casey. “I guess a game won’t hurt.”

Casey jumped and looked at the kids. “Let’s start then! Tag!” She touched one of the girls and started running away.

Alex placed her book on the table and then looked back at the kids. “You better not hurt Casey.”

The kids looked at each other before they started to run. Ever since Alex met Casey, they had become pretty close, something that was a bit odd for Alex since she really didn’t have any friends, but after meeting Casey, she felt attached to her in a way she had never felt about anyone. She came to find that Casey was an extrovert while Alex was definitely an introvert, but she knew that opposites were attracted to each other, so it made sense that Casey and Alex fell into a quick friendship even if they were the whole opposite from each other. They had met at the park the whole week and then came to find out that they were in the same school, just different grades, but still had the chance to see each other at lunch -when Casey was not running around with the rest of the kids-.

She definitely didn’t like tag, not like she didn’t run or anything, because she liked to run, she liked to exercise but she didn’t really like to play any sports, but if Casey wanted to play, who was she to say no? She mostly moved to the same places, not having to run much since whenever she was touched, she quickly found a kid to tag next and that’s how it went on for a while, until Casey noticed that no one was tagging her, frowning slightly as she stood beside Alex.

“Do I have the plague or something?”

Alex turned to look at her. “What do you mean?”

“No one has tagged me. I know I can be fast but like…I’m right here?” Casey raised her brow as she looked at Alex.

Alex sighed as she looked at the kids who were fast to give them both attention as they felt Alex staring. “You’re seriously not gonna tag us?”

One of the kids looked at the rest and then back at Alex. “But- you said…”

“Follow the rules, kids! It’s tag!”

Casey laughed as she looked at Alex and then at the rest of the kids. “You guys are lame. C’mon, Ali, let’s go get some fruit before the bell rings.”

Alex looked at them and shook her head. “You wanted to play and don’t even know the rules? Like she said, you’re lame.” She went for her book and then followed Casey.

*********************

Age 8/Age 10.

Alex was leaning back on a tree with a book on her hands while Casey was practicing, another sunny and hot day of summer. Alex looked up from her book and smiled softly as she saw Casey putting the ball back in the stick she had made to hold her ball; Alex had made fun of her cause Casey had told her that she broke her last set and she was saving to buy one, so she had to get creative and grab some sticks and build something steady to be able to hold her ball as she practiced. After a little over a year of getting to know each other, they had made it a routine to meet at the park and just spend time with each other, while Alex read, and Casey practiced.

It was still fascinating to Alex how she had come to have such a good and nice friendship with someone like Casey, the age didn’t matter much, but the fact that Casey actually wanted to hang out with her, perfectly knowing the kind of kid that Alex was. She thought Casey would want to find kids like her that would want to practice with her, play in the dirt, do any other activity than reading, but Casey seemed to enjoy Alex’s company, even if she was just sitting there reading and watching her practice. Casey yelled as she finally accomplished her goal, jumping and celebrating.

“You go, Ali Cat!” Alex chuckled as she clapped.

Casey frowned, tilting her head as she walked to Alex. “Ali Cat?” She chuckled. “That’s silly, I’m not a cat, Al.”

Alex chuckled. “Well, you are like a cat, Casey. Very fierce.”

Casey rolled her eyes as she sat down beside Alex. “I don’t have any whiskers or paws, y’know?” She smiled.

Alex shrugged. “Still think you’re a cat.”

“Okay…if I’m gonna be an animal, then you’ll be one too.” Casey grinned.

Alex frowned as she grinned. “Oh, yeah? What kind of animal am I?”

Casey chuckled softly. “A bear!”

“A bear?! Do I look like a bear to you?” Alex growled like a bear then, making Casey hysterically laugh, Alex joining right after, a faint blush on her cheeks.

“You’ll be Ali Bear.” Casey laughed as she looked at Alex.

“Still funny?”

Casey shook her head. “The fact that we’re both Ali’s is kinda funny. You’re the only one that I’ll ever call me Ali or Ali Cat.”

Alex nodded. “And you’ll be the only one allowed to call me Ali Bear.”

“Sounds like a deal.” Casey bit her lip as she smiled, leaning on the tree, sitting close to Alex.

********************

Age 11/Age 13.

“Case, I’m sure you’ll make it in the team. You’ve literally been playing since I know you, and it’s been quiet some years.” Alex chuckled as they got to their spot and sat down.

Casey sighed as she placed her bag down and then sat down beside Alex. “I know, just…”I guess I’m nervous.”

Alex chuckled. “You’re overthinking it.” She smiled. “You did great, Ali Cat.” She grinned.

Casey tilted her head as she smiled. “It’s cause you were there, Ali Bear.” She chuckled.

Alex smiled softly as she looked down at her book. “You know I’ll always be your #1 fan.” She looked back at Casey with a faint blush on her cheeks.

Casey nodded as she bit her lip. “I’ll hold you to that.” She smiled. “Oh! By the way.” She opened her bag and looked inside it, getting a book out and then handing it to Alex. “I noticed the other day that you were looking at this book at the store and I remember my mom bought it for me a few weeks ago but…it’s not really my thing. So I wanted you to have it.”

Alex stared at it for a moment before grabbing it. She smiled softly and looked up at Casey, who was staring at her with that adorable smile she so loved. “Case…this is so sweet of you.”

“I just thought you’d enjoy it more than I would. It’s your thing after all.” Casey smiled softly. “And I’ll be waiting to listen to the end of it. I’d love to hear it from you other than reading it.”

Alex nodded softly as she smiled. “I’ll definitely tell you about it.” She chuckled. “Thanks, Casey.”

“You’re very welcome.” Casey smiled before she started to talk about something else.

That was the moment when Alex started to look back to all these years since she had met Casey and before that. She had always considered herself to be the loner kid who really didn’t fit in any group or fit with any other kid, but it turned out that fate had chose to put Casey in her life in the most unexpected way, and it had been her decision to help grow the friendship that they now had. She couldn’t imagine having another friend, she thought that there couldn’t be anyone better than Casey. And that’s when it hit her; it wasn’t only a friends love she felt for Casey, it was more. It was what she had read in all those fantasy books, the love they described as unique and wonderful, something unexpected and beautiful, a love that not anyone could feel. She thought it was just a fantasy, something to catch the readers attention, but now she was coming to te conclusion that she was starting to experience it. It was silly, because she was only thirteen years old and anyone would tell her that it was just a kids love, and maybe it was, but it was everything for her.

It was now crystal clear why she acted the way she did, always blushing around Casey, always trying to look over her -even if Casey was basically her same height, maybe a little taller, and she was braver than Alex was-, always the need to see Casey smile or hear her laugh, being able to spend every day with her even if it was just for a moment. Alex had a cush. She had a crush on her best friend. She had a crush on Casey Allison Novak. Was that even right? She didn’t know. Her parents had never said anything about it, and they knew Casey. The question she had in her mind years ago had made its appearance again. Why in the books they always had the girl falling for the handsome boy and not for the best friend or someone else? She knew people weren’t too open about it, she had heard a bit, but it had never crossed her mind that she could be that person, but now everything made sense.

After the new discovery, Alex tried to hide it as best as she could, she had tried to act as she always did and just keep the friendship going. She went to every practice Casey had after getting in the team, she waited for her while she read the book that Casey had given her, every now and then looking up at Casey, and at time catching Casey staring back at her. She went to every single game that Casey had, never missing one, and it had become their tradition to go for milkshakes after them. But just like every perfect story in the books, there had to be some angst to it. Casey had showed up at her house one time and told Alex the terrible news that she would be moving, and she was not sure she was coming back. It clearly broke Alex’s heart, but she made it seem like things would be okay and that they’d see each other again at some point, maybe call each other every now and then, and they’d find each other soon. It worked for the first year, until it didn’t anymore.

********************

Age 27/Age 29.

It was insane that sixteen years had passed since she had last seen Casey, it haunted Alex every single day how she was stolen from her life, and she never had a chance to see her again. Last she had heard was that Casey still played softball, and that she’d be going to college somewhere in New York, but she was not sure yet what she wanted to do, after that, in her last year of high school, they just lost contact and never spoke again. The calls had worked for a while, Alex had even been willing to visit Casey, but school and extra classes wouldn’t let her, just like Casey being involved in softball barely gave her any time to socialize or do anything else in her life. Alex thought maybe that’s why they lost contact, their lives had become so busy, it wasn’t like they were kids anymore, they had responsibilities and sometimes life worked that way, people come and go just like that, and sometimes there is nothing else they could do about it. As unfair as it sounded, Alex was a realistic person, and she knew better than to pretend that she could’ve avoided what happened between them. And even if she never saw Casey again, that crush had never vanished, she thought every single day about Casey that it was painful. But they were just kids, how could she go to Casey and tell her that she had a crush on her when Casey was focused on softball and she was 2 years younger than Alex, it felt so wrong, but she couldn’t have helped it.

She tried to move on the best she could, she tried to focus on her career, she tried to focus on her future, because the more she looked into the past and what could’ve been if things were different, the more she felt sad and it drained her at some point, it haunted her dreams, it haunted her mind whenever she got nothing better to do and that’s why she preferred to drown in work over letting her mind go to thoughts that would not help her. Even with that heartbreak, she was thankful that she got to have Casey in her life, even if it felt like it had been for a short time, she was thankful and proud to say that after thinking her childhood was nothing more than books, Casey made it bright and fun, and she’d always be thankful for that.

Now, working at SVU, between the paperwork, motions, arraignments, and trials, she had more than enough to keep herself busy. She had also become close with the squad, spending part of her time in her office, in court or in the squad room, helping Alex to fill that hole in her life. She had been working on a rape with the squad and they had gone through all evidence and possible suspects that they had, but it seemed like nothing would be able to bring these little girls the justice they deserved, and that broke their hearts. Growing up, Alex tried to be this ‘cold’ persona to try and keep her emotions in, even if sometimes she failed, she knew better than to break this persona in front of people. She had chosen this career to bring justice and to help those who felt helpless, so if she had to be a serious and determined person in everyone’s eyes, she was in for it.

“The thought of them losing their childhood for this asshole, and we can’t connect him to anything.” Elliot shook his head as he sighed.

“There’s still hope that they can at least work through it and enjoy their childhood but…it’s a work in progress.” Huang shrugged. “What they went through…it’s not something they’ll easily forget.”

“Every kid deserves to have a happy and nice childhood. It’s a shame.” Munch looked back at them as he sat in his chair.

“You had a nice one, Munch?” Fin grinned as he looked at his partner.

“I did. Can recall every bad thing I did.” Munch grinned.

“Can only imagine that.” Olivia laughed and then looked at Alex. “How about you, counselor? Was your childhood okay?”

“I can only imagine Cabot being a serious kid, hiding from everyone with a pile of books by her side. I’d like for you to tell me I’m wrong.” Elliot raised his brow as he looked back at Alex.

Alex offered a faint smile as she looked at them. “It was a bundle of light and joy.” She grabbed her briefcase and then made her way out, leaving everyone with a confused look on their faces, everyone staring at each other.

********************

Alex felt like she was back to being nine years old when the squad asked her to go with them to a softball game and support Elliot. It had been years since she had stepped a food on a softball field, she had no reason to go to and it brough back many memories that she really didn’t want to be reminded of it would hurt too much. But, she had promised that she’d try to go out with the squad more often and that she’d do better to socialize and be a more open person, so she pushed herself out of her bed, dressed up in comfortable clothes and went ahead to meet the squad. She knew she’d get bored at some point, so she took a book with her just in case; she carried one special book either in her briefcase or in her purse everywhere she went, that book that she hasn’t finished in years, and she couldn’t bring herself to do so. She didn’t have that person to tell the end of the book after all.

She sat on the stands beside Olivia, smiling slightly as she noticed everyone being so excited to support Elliot, they even had shirts with his name on them, which Alex had refused to use. Once the game started, she once again prepared herself mentally to spend the next hour or so to see nothing but sweaty people batting and running around. She didn’t tell them that she understood the game a bit, spending a lot of time with Casey had helped her to understand the game enough to know when she was either winning or losing, that with Casey in the team, they always won. For a moment, she had decided to grab the other book she had brought to keep herself a distracted and then be able to go back to the game, but in that same moment, her eyes suddenly fell on a redhead, a woman. She frowned and stared with intent at the woman, there were about 3 or 4 women in each team, but that was not any woman, she recognized her, she knew her eyes weren’t lying to her; that was Casey Novak.

Her heart sank for a moment as she had a hard moment to catch her breath. It was impossible. It couldn’t be her. But she would recognize those eyes, that hair, those cute and adorable dimples of her anywhere she went, even if she hasn’t seen Casey in years, she could never be wrong about recognizing someone, and more now that it was Casey. Her Casey. Suddenly the game became interesting as she saw that Casey was going to bat next, smiling a bit as it brought her back to those years when she’d be first on the stands, and she’d be cheering for Casey. Casey had joked so many times calling Alex her cheerleader, and even if Alex had hated it so much, she couldn’t help but agree, she’d always be her number #1 fan. She completely forgot that she was with the squad and people she knew were around her, her eyes never looking away from Casey. Next thing she knew, Casey had made a homerun, and she was running, making Alex stand from her place and clap louder than anyone around her.

“Go, Ali Cat!” Alex screamed before her mind proceeded with her words, not noticing at first but then figured out what she had said. Her heart stopped as she looked back at the squad who were now staring at her.

Alex tried to say something, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to make up words to justify what had just left her mouth, but nothing came out, and now she was not only speechless, but her face felt as warm as the sun, and there was no way she could escape from this. So, the only thing she could do was say that she had to run away, not giving them time to say anything to her or joke or laugh at what she had said, soon enough, she vanished from the place.

Casey was running for her life as she heard screams and clapping, but as she got to the last base, she almost tripped as she heard the unfamiliar yet so familiar name that she had not heard in years. She stopped in her tracks as she looked at the stands and tried to find whoever had screamed that name, almost thinking that she was delusional and that maybe she was dehydrated or something. But just as her team ran to her to celebrate the win, her eyes landed on a blonde that seemed to be leaving in a hurry, not giving Casey any chance to take a good look at her to see who she was. She smiled at her team and tried to focus on what was happening, but she was stuck in thought. It couldn’t be, could it? It’s been sixteen years. She was probably just tired.

********************

“You’re kidding me.” Alex whispered softly as the elevator doors opened and just a few feet away from her, there she was; Casey.

It had been around 2 weeks since the softball game accident, the squad knew better than to mention what had happened back there, but now their curiosity to know more about Alex had grown and they were paying more attention to Alex than before. They knew that Alex was a private person, and she didn’t talk much about her private life, just like any of them, but after what they had seen that day, that bright smile on Alex and the excitement which had taken over her entirely, something…no…someone had brought Alex to act that way, and they wanted to know who.

And now, Alex had the reason why right in front of her, just a few feet away. She would be lying if she said that she didn’t see Casey in the law field, Casey was great with arguing and didn’t settle for just any agreement, and Alex knew because they had been stuck in many ‘arguments’ and took their time to settle for a decision that benefited the both of them. Alex always thought it was cute because she always thought that because she was older, Casey would listen to her, but she was wrong, and she’d literally do anything for her. So, seeing her here, in the same building as she was, dressed in a pretty black suit with high heels and her beautiful red hair, it was both surprising but not weird at all. It now made sense why she had been playing with the attorneys in the softball game.

Would she recognize her? She didn’t think she would. It’s been so long, they completely lost contact and maybe Casey had forgotten about her, maybe she didn’t even remember who she was. So she couldn’t just come up to her and say hi, not after what had happened in the game, she didn’t think she had heard her or maybe she did, but even then, she wouldn’t recognize her. She stopped the doors of the elevator as they started to close, not even noticing that she had stood there just staring at Casey, hopefully no one noticed. She cleared her throat and looked down at the floor as she walked to her office, trying not to get noticed.

Later in her office, she had tried to focus on her paperwork, but her mind couldn’t stop thinking about Casey and her being in the same building as she was. Was she supposed to just pretend that nothing happened and that she was not there? That she didn’t know her? I mean, she could try, definitely, but she knew she would fail. Her anxiety just wouldn’t forget it. But go to her and say hi? She couldn’t do that. She didn’t want to be a creep, she didn’t want to make a fool out of herself. She had already done that once and she regretted it so much. She looked at her briefcase and sighed softly as she opened it and got the book that Casey had given her years ago. She smiled as she looked down at it, her fingers tracing the wrinkles that the cover now had. Even though she had taken good care of it, she took it everywhere with her, unfinished, and being in her briefcase or her bag, caused the book to have its imperfections now, but still meant everything to Alex. She didn’t notice that her boss was standing on her doorframe, just staring at her, and wondering what was going on in Alex’s mind.

“Alex?” Elizabeth asked as she raised her brow.

Alex looked up at Elizabeth and offered a shy smile. “Hi. Is everything okay?”

Elizabeth nodded and walked inside the office. “Yes. Just came to say hi.”

Alex raised her brow as she grinned. “You never just come to say hi. What did I do?”

“Why do you think you did something? Did you?” Elizabeth smirked.

“I don’t think so, not yet.” Alex placed the book in front of her and smiled as she leaned back in her chair.

“Those detectives are definitely changing your mind, they’ll drag you down with them.” Elizabeth smiled.

Alex chuckled as she shook her head. “They’re not. And if anything, I’m willing to. They have a good heart.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I know you’ve been loads of work, not only from SVU cases, so…Branch and I decided to bring a new recruit to help you out.”

Alex frowned as she looked at Elizabeth. “I don’t…I don’t need any help, Liz. I got this.”

“I know. Trust me. But I don’t want you to be drowning here, Alex. You also need a life outside of the office and the courtroom. Don’t worry. She’s good. I know her and I gotta admit that she’s almost on your level. Branch and I believe that she can definitely work with you and the squad.”

“You bet your money on her?” Alex grinned.

“I could.” Elizabeth smirked. “I’ll send her your way later. She’s with Branch right now.” Elizabeth walked to the door but was stopped by Alex.

“What’s her name?”

Elizabeth looked back at Alex. “Casey Novak.” She then looked at Alex’s desk and smiled. “I read that book years ago. So cliché but cute.”

Alex looked down at the book and smiled. “I uh…haven’t finished it.” She looked back at Elizabeth.

“You should.” Elizabeth smiled before she left the office.

Alex felt like her mind had started spinning around at the name, deep inside she knew it could be Casey, but part of wished that she would name someone else, that it wouldn’t be her. What was she supposed to do now? Was she going to pretend that she didn’t know her? Was she going to tell Casey who she was? Would she even remember her? The question spiraled on her mind once again, playing various scenarios in her mind as she tried to focus back on her paperwork, putting back the book inside her briefcase. This would definitely be torture; the what ifs, the scenarios playing in her mind, the millions of ways that this could play out. Anything could happen, but she couldn’t possibly deal with that ‘anything’.

Before she knew it, an hour or so had passed, she had gotten a call from Liv, telling her that some redhead had showed up at their scene and asked Alex why she couldn’t take the case. Alex didn’t know how Casey was as an attorney, but the fact she went to the scene with them made a lot of sense. Alex just explained to Olivia that if they needed anything, she’d be there for them, but to trust Casey in what she was doing, and things would be okay. After that, her anxiety was back taking over her body as she tried to focus back on work, but once again, it was interrupted by a knock on the door, and that is when, once again, Alex’s heart stopped just like the very first time she laid eyes on Casey.

“Hi. Liz told me to stop by your office.” Casey smiled softly. “Can I come in?”

Alex nodded as she cleared her throat. “Y-Yeah! Come on in.” She offered a small smile as Casey walked in and sat down. What was supposed to happen now?

“I heard you’re the ADA of SVU. Sorry that you gotta work with me now.” Casey chuckled softly.

Alex shook her head as she huffed a chuckle. “According to Liz, she doesn’t want me to drown in work and you’re here to save me from it.” She smiled as she looked at Casey. “Heard you already made yourself present with the detectives.”

Casey scoffed as she nodded. “I don’t think they like me much.”

Alex shook her head. “Don’t worry about it, Case. They just need to get used to you. I know they had to get used to me.”

Casey frowned at the mention of her name, even if some people had called her Case before, it felt different coming from the blonde in front of her. And then it hit her. This was the blonde that she saw in the game. She was not delusional, this had been the girl that yelled that nickname that she has not heard for the last sixteen years. And everything made sense now. She looked so mature, even more than she did when they were young, and now she was wearing glasses, which fit her so perfectly and made her features stand out. Her hair was shorter, it was as beautiful as she remembered but now it braced her face just perfectly. And those eyes…how could she forget those blue eyes; she always thought that those stood out over anything else, and she loved looking into them. This was Alex Cabot. Her Alex Cabot.

“Ali Bear.” Casey whispered softly as she stared at Alex.

Alex’s heart stopped at the nickname, staring back into green eyes. “You…you remember me?”

Casey’s smile widened as she huffed a laugh. “How could I forget you? We…you were my best friend in my childhood.”

Alex’s heart warmed at her words, her smile widening too. “And you were mine.” She chuckled softly as she shook her head. “I uh…I was afraid maybe you…you wouldn’t recognize me.”

Casey tilted her head as she smiled. “You’re the only one I’d ever let call me Ali, remember?” She shrugged. “It’s been that way ever since.”

“So, no one knows your middle name is Allison, huh?” Alex grinned.

“Nope, and I hope no one knows.” Casey laughed softly as she looked down at her hands for a moment, and then her eyes went back to stare at Alex. “I always wondered what you were up to.” She smiled.

Alex smiled softly and nodded. “I wondered too.”

Casey smiled. “How about we go for a drink to update each other?” She bit her lip softly as she tilted her head.

Alex felt butterflied on her stomach as she looked at Casey, always been fascinated by the way she bit her lip. “Sounds good.”

********************

Alex was talking to Olivia and Elliot about a case that had been assigned to her, trying to go over what they could and not do to not screw the case. As always, Elliot tried to get under her nerves trying to get her to do as they pleased and basically telling her to ignore the law and her bosses, sighing loudly as she looked away. Elliot kept going on and off about how Alex didn’t think about the victims and more shit, and in that moment Alex stopped listening to him as she noticed Casey walking out of Cragen’s office, making her focus on her and literally ignore Elliot. She smiled softly as Casey’s eyes landed on her and she smiled back at her, trying to get her attention back to Cragen.

“Alex!”

Alex turned to look at Elliot as she sighed. “I told you already, and I won’t repeat myself. Either you get me a good reason, or I won’t be doing anything. I’m not about to do your job, Elliot. And you know that.” Elliot sighed as he shook his head and walked away from them, leaving Olivia and Alex alone. Alex turned to look at Olivia and raised her brow. “Anything you’d like to say, detective?”

Olivia shook her head as she grinned. “You got lost there for a moment.”

Alex frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, c’mon. You’re really gonna tell me that you were not just staring at Novak.”

Alex turned back to look at Casey and then back at Olivia, shrugging. “Not sure what you mean. I just didn’t know she was here.”

“Oh, so the smile she gave you was…nothing.”

Alex rolled her eyes. “Your point?”

Olivia grinned as she tilted her head. “She was the bundle of light and joy, wasn’t it?”

Alex stared at Olivia for a moment, and against her will, a smile appeared on her face, rolling her eyes as she looked away. “I-“

“You know better than to lie.” Olivia raised her brow.

Alex looked back at her and smiled. “Yes. It was Casey.”

“And you hadn’t seen each other all these years?”

Alex shook her head. “Sixteen years. She moved away, we tried to stay in contact but…it only worked for a bit.”

“And you had a crush on her.” Olivia smirked.

Alex rolled her eyes again as she grinned. “What is this, 20 questions?”

“I’m curious.” Olivia smiled.

“You better not tell the rest of the squad.” Alex raised her brow.

“Oh, they been curious for a while now…Ali Cat.” Olivia grinned playfully as she laughed.

Alex hit her arm playfully. “Shut up. I thought you guys would never mention that, and please, do not bring it up to Casey.”

Olivia chuckled. “C’mon. It’s cute. Childhood nickname?” Alex nodded. “What’s yours?” She smiled.

Alex sighed. “Ali Bear…” she whispered softly.

“That. Is adorable.” Olivia laughed again. “Better than ice queen.”

“You know what, I’m out of here. I’ve got work to do.” Alex grabbed her briefcase and shook her head.

Olivia laughed again and patted Alex’s back before she left. Alex hadn’t noticed, but the whole time she had been talking to Olivia, Casey had been staring at her and trying to figure out whatever she was talking about to Olivia. She sighed softly as she focused back on Cragen and offered a small smile before she too left. It had been a long time since they both had seen each other, even if Alex had recognized her and they were now spending time together again, she knew better than to think that Alex had been thinking about her this whole time. Casey had only been her childhood best friend and now they were colleagues, trying to form a friendship again. That was it.

********************

“C’mon, Casey. You really don’t believe that.” Olivia sighed as she shook her head.

“Olivia, you cannot hold her here when we have no reason. If you get her to confess right now, you can definitely book her in, but otherwise, we have nothing.” Casey said as she looked at Olivia.

“She killed that kid, and you want her to walk away?!” Olivia raised her voice as she looked back at Casey.

“Olivia…it’s been almost 24 hrs. You got nothing on her, and I don’t see her confessing any time soon. She’s not under arrest and soon enough, she’ll lawyer up. Unless she already did, and you haven’t told me about it.” Casey stared at her with a serious look.

Olivia shook her head. “You’re unbelievable. You rather her walk away and get back home, and maybe, she’ll go after another innocent kid. But no, we cannot arrest her. It’ll be on you if another kid dies in her hands!”

“Olivia, that’s enough!”

Both Casey and Olivia turned to find Alex at the door, staring at both women. Alex was now directly staring at Olivia, and Olivia could feel the tension and figured that she had upset not only Casey, but Alex too. After a moment of silence, Alex finally sighed and spoke up, cutting the tension of the room.

“You know better than to argue and blame Casey for something that is not in her hands. Cut her loose and try to find something.” Alex tried to sound as calm as possible, her eyes never leaving Olivia’s.

Olivia nodded softly as she looked between Casey and Alex. “Okay.” She whispered softly and walked out of the room, leaving Alex and Casey alone.

Casey crossed her arms as she sighed, looking back at the suspect. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“There’s nothing you can do right now, Casey. I know better than anyone that it’s their way to intimidate you, so you do something. And honestly, that’d only get you in trouble.”

“I’d get in trouble, not you. So why does it matter?” Casey looked back at Alex and shrugged. “Olivia is right. She’ll go back to the streets, she could get another kid and…” she sighed. “It’ll be on me.”

Alex walked to Casey and placed her hand on her shoulder, rubbing it up and down. “They’ll find something, and you’ll get her. Do not start blaming yourself for this now, Case. Olivia is just upset.”

Casey scoffed as she looked away and licked her lips. “Yeah, well. Maybe you should calm your girlfriend down.” She said almost in a whisper as she went to get her briefcase.

Alex frowned as her eyes followed Casey. “What?”

Casey looked back at Alex as she shrugged. “She listened to you. I could’ve said the same to her and she’d still be all over me here, yelling at me, telling me how I’m heartless and prefer to let her walk free.” She shook her head. “But you walked in, and suddenly she agrees.”

“Casey-“

“No, seriously, Alex. I get it. They have to get used to me but…maybe you should tell your girlfriend that I’m only trying to do my job here, and that’s it. I’m not looking for enemies or anything.” Casey sighed as she shook her head again. “I’ll see you back in the office.”

Before Alex could say anything else, Casey walked out of the room, leaving Alex alone with a confused look on her face. Her girlfriend? Where did she get that from? Why would she say that and why did she seem to be so upset? A lot of questions crossed Alex’s mind as she stood there. Was…was Casey jealous?

********************

The unfinished book had been laying on Alex’s bed for a while now, Alex had gotten herself to finish some paperwork at home since it was a chilly night in New York, and she preferred to finish all of it back in the comfort of her house. She was now making sure that the paperwork was done and making sure there was nothing left to do before she closed the file and put it back on her briefcase. Her eyes landed on the book for a moment, Liz’s words suddenly showed up in her mind as she smiled. She had only left two chapters, around forty pages left. The reason she had never finished the book had been because it reminded her of Casey, and reading it only meant that she would know the end of it, and she wouldn’t be able to tell Casey about it. Of course, she could’ve just told her over the phone, but it wasn’t the same. It wouldn’t be the same. She sighed softly as she grabbed it and placed it back in her briefcase, deciding it was time to sleep.

A few days later, Alex had just arrived at her office after a full day of motions and trials, feeling defeated as she sat down on her chair, leaning back and throwing her head back as she groaned. For the second time that week, her eyes landed on the book that was peaking out of her briefcase, almost as if it was calling for her. For a moment, it made her think back to what had happened with Casey a week ago, she had not been able to talk to her because they both had been pretty busy and Alex had not seen her around the office, but something also told her that maybe, Casey was avoiding her. Even if she was still confused and a little sad over it, she smiled a little and grabbed it, opening it for the first time in god knew how long. Her eyes studied the whole page and finally, she decided she was ready to finish it.

She figured that it had been somehow silly that she never finished it, but it had honestly meant so much for Alex when Casey gave her the book, that the thought of finishing it without her, broke her heart and it made her feel as if she was betraying Casey in some way. Now, Casey seemed to be mad at her, but something told her that she had to finish it, that she could now finish it, and maybe this could be some sort of closure for her. An hour or so went by and Alex had been leaning back on her chair, moving it side to side as she read the book, lost in the words; she had missed how fantasy books made her feel, and it so happened that this book had come with a twist that she had not expected but it made her smile ear to ear. A knock on the door made her look up, her smile fading slightly as she noticed the redhead standing at the door.

“Hey.” Casey said softly.

“Hi.” Alex offered a small smile. “I thought I was the only one in the office.”

Casey huffed a chuckle as she shrugged. “I had to do some paperwork and I thought it would be better to finish it here.”

Alex nodded. “Heading out?”

Casey nodded. “Yeah.” She nibbled on her lip as she looked at Alex. “But…I was hoping I would find you here.”

Alex grinned slightly. “It’s your lucky day.”

Casey chuckled softly as she nodded, closing the door behind her even though she knew they were the only people there. “I uh…I wanted to apologize, for the other day. You…you were protecting me and I just…took it out on you.”

Alex shrugged. “The squad gets on your nerves at some point.” She offered a sympathetic smile.

“But not you.” Casey shook her head. “And you didn’t do anything other than speak for me.”

Alex nodded. “Apology accepted.”

“I’m also sorry about the Olivia thing. It was out of line and-“

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

Casey frowned as she looked at Alex. “She’s…not?”

Alex shook her head. “No.” She chuckled. “We’re just…close friends but…she’s not.”

“Oh.” Casey blushed slightly, trying to look away. “I- made a fool of myself.” She chuckled nervously as she looked down at her hands.

Alex frowned as she had a playful grin on her face. “Did you really think we were together?”

“I just-“ Casey shrugged as she looked back at Alex. “You…you were laughing and…I thought-“

“We were talking about you.” Alex snapped as she smiled.

Casey stopped for a moment and just stared at Alex. “What?”

“She…” Alex huffed a laugh. “That day…of the game. I was supposed to go in support of Elliot. They had invited me, and I had said that I wouldn’t go but they insisted. I got there, and I knew that I was going to bored. I had not been to a game since I went to yours.” She sighed. “When I screamed for you…they stared at me with a face…” she laughed. “With a face that could clearly tell that they were so confused. They were so confused, and I ran away. And then, one time, we were talking about this case, they mentioned out childhoods, and when I was asked how mine had been…I said it had been a bundle of light and joy.” She smiled. “I meant you.”

Casey’s whole body warmed at her words, a faint smile on her face as she listened to Alex. “She figured it out.”

Alex nodded as she smiled. “She did.” She shrugged. “She asked me about you, and I told her. She was making fun of my nickname.”

Casey rolled her eyes playfully. “It was only fair that you were Ali Bear.”

Alex chuckled as she nodded. “Of course, you were my Ali Cat.” She smiled.

Casey smiled as she placed her briefcase on the chair, walking to Alex and leaning over the desk. “What else did you say?”

Alex looked up at Casey and smiled. “I didn’t let her say or ask anything else. I just left.”

Casey nodded. “Was there a question you didn’t answer?”

Alex stared at her for a moment and nodded. “There was.”

Casey smiled softly and then looked down at Alex’s desk, noticing the book in front of her. Her smile widened. “You still have it.”

Alex looked back at the book and smiled. “I just finished it.”

Casey looked back at her and smiled. “Tell me the end?”

Alex looked back at Casey and smiled, a slight blush on her cheeks. “It’s a love story with a twist. She thinks she had her whole future planned, fell in love with someone. But…she ended up with her best friend.”

“A girl?” Casey raised her brow.

“A girl.” Alex smiled as she shrugged. “I’ve never read a book like this one. They always end up with the handsome guy.”

“A bit cliché, anyway, don’t you think?” Casey grinned.

“Maybe. Still nice to see a different ending.” Alex smirked. “Haven’t read a book like this in years.”

“And why did you never finish it?” Casey asked softly as she crossed her arms, looking at Alex with a curious look on her face.

Alex looked down at the book and smiled. “Because you weren’t here to tell you the end.” She looked back up at Casey and smiled. “But now you are.”

Casey wetted her lips and nibbled on it, staring down at Alex. “What was the question, Alex?”

Alex took a deep breath and stood up from her chair, standing in front of Casey. She didn’t know where all this confidence had come from, but she would take it any day. “She asked if I had a crush on you back then.” She took a moment, knowing that Casey would ask about it. “And I didn’t answer it. But the answer is yes…I did.”

Casey smiled. “A kids crush?”

Alex chuckled as she shrugged. “Figured until I was 13.”

Casey stared at her for a moment as she took a deep breath, grinning. “I figured when I was 10.”

Alex frowned. “What?”

“I might’ve been a little too young but…” Casey shrugged. “I had heard other girls talking about crushes. I heard about their crushes and…I tried to read about it anywhere, what a crush was and how could you tell you had one.” She smiled. “I figured when I was ten. But we were kids. I thought…it would just go away. But all I could think about was you.”

Alex’s heart stopped for a moment as she looked into green eyes, taking off her glasses out of nervousness, not knowing where she could put her hands or what to do at the moment. She then started playing with them, not knowing what to say. “And…was it just a kids crush?”

Casey shook her head. “No.” She smiled. “It became more than a kids crush. You never left my mind. And I waited for the day where I could finally see you again, and I hoped for so long that I would.” Alex tilted her head as she brought the temple tip of her glasses to her lips, biting it as she nodded. Casey slowly took the glasses from Alex and put them back on Alex, her hand landing on Alex’s cheek while the other put a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “I always wondered if you’d ever end up with glasses.” She smiled. “They fit you so well. I like it.”

Alex stared at her, her breath hitched as she felt Casey’s stare literally intimidating her without intention. “Casey.” She breathed out.

“It has not gone away, Alex. After all these years.” Casey smiled. “And I finally found you.”

Alex smiled softly as she nodded. “I found you too.”

“So…Ali Bear…” Casey chuckled. “Do you have a crush on me?” She grinned.

Alex chuckled softly as she bit her lip. “Ali Cat…I do. I’ve been in love with you for the longest time. As cheesy as that sounds.”

Casey tilted her head as she smiled. “So.” She stroked her cheek softly. “Should we give it a try?”

Alex smiled as she placed her hands on Casey’s waist, making her stand up and move closer to Alex. “I don’t want to miss another chance, not when you’re back in my life.”

“You’re so cheesy, Ali Bear.” Casey chuckled softly as she wrapped her arms around Alex’s neck and pulled her closer, closing the gap between them.

Alex smiled against her lips before kissing Casey back, her arms wrapping around Casey’s waist and bringing her impossibly closer to her body. Of course it wasn’t her first kiss, but it felt like it was the kiss that she had always dreamt of having, and with the perfect person. She laughed in her mind at how cheesy this whole conversation had turned, but after all, she had ended with the cliché finale that she had read so many times, but this time, that finale included Casey and not some lame, stupid guy. It included the girl of her dreams, and she knew this was just the beginning of their story.

#casey novak x alex cabot #casey novak #alex cabot #alexandra cabot #svu fic #svu #law and order svu #calex

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